In the time that it had taken them to destroy the former custodians of the five carts, the other soldiers in the column were a few miles west and had already found somewhere to camp for the night. They had begun to set their tents up and were now busy building palisades and all round defensive positions. Soldiers were digging trenches to create six foot deep ditches, the earth they had removed was used to create walls of solid mud. In effect they would soon have a twelve foot wall around their base. They had chopped down nearby trees and were now embedding them into the earthen banks, sharpened at one end and then hammered home deep into the earth. They were then sharpened into spikes at the other once they were in place using axes.
From their position high above, the Britons watched fascinated by the energy, order and efficiency of their enemy.
“Maybe they are intending to make a permanent settlement here.” One of the men offered, then added. “But why would they start building straight away? It seems odd for an army that’s been on its feet marching all day.” The warrior wasn’t talking to any of the others specifically and no-one was answering, they were too transfixed on the scene below. As the construction continued Caratacus noted that there were sentries already posted some two hundred paces from the building going on below them. He also saw men on horses presumably scouting the area for hostile forces. He decided it was better to withdraw and make plans for the next attack.
Varro awoke the next morning with the smell of smoke in his nostrils. As he slowly became aware of his surroundings he realised he was inside a roundhouse, Brenna’s to be precise. He had no recollection of how he had got there, his last memory of the night before was being with her at the lakeside. He turned and found her lying there next to him, partially covered in a large animal fur. Her smooth tanned flesh looked very appealing and he was tempted to peel the furry warm skin back and explore her body, he felt himself getting warmer as his eyes moved over her.
“Morning.” A sleepy voice said and he realised that she was waking, laying there looking at him, eyes barely open. Without hesitation she leaned up and kissed him gently on the mouth, he responded and kissed her back. Her hands sought out his body and he pushed the animal skin aside and was rewarded by the sight of her beautiful body, she smiled before her tongue moved over his as they began to meld together.
“Centurion.” A voice shouted from somewhere outside. Varro recognised it as Veranius as he darted away from Brenna and struggled to his feet.
“I’ll be with you shortly, Varro shouted, ‘go and catch some fresh fish in the lake for breakfast.” He heard something of a reply, a grumble and muttering maybe but didn’t decipher what was said exactly and didn’t really care as Brenna pushed him down and onto his back and mounted him, sliding him inside her.
Sometime later Varro found all his men fishing at the lake. He walked past them as they made remarks about his tardiness and made jokes about where he had been. He didn’t need to answer and within seconds Brenna appeared at the side of the lake, removed her fur blanket, touched his hand and walked naked into the water. The men stared open mouthed as Varro smiled.
“You lucky fucker.” Veranius said as the rest of the men laughed.
Some miles away, Caratacus and three men observed the Roman column preparing to move from their overnight position. It was clear now that they weren’t building a fort at all and that last nights fortified position was just that, a fortified position for just one night. It demonstrated to the Britons just what these foreigners were prepared to do to defend themselves even after a long days march over great distances. The Britons in contrast would in all likelihood only have put lookouts around the perimeter of their own camp.
“These men will take a little more cunning to crack than our normal enemies I believe. They are most vulnerable when they are on the move and strongest when they have built their defences for the night.” He said to those watching with him and the enemy. The sentries were going into their camp and he wondered how they could march all day, guard all night and then march all day again. The answer became evident as he saw the men climbing aboard carts, where they were presumably going to rest or even sleep as their comrades drove the wagons forward.
He watched as the men dismantled the temporary camp below bit by bit, piece by piece. Even the sharpened wooden stakes were hacked from the earth and stored aboard a wagon presumably for use again that night. That meant that they wouldn’t need to fell more trees which also meant that their next camp would be built a lot quicker.
Caratacus had left the rest of his men some miles away, he and this small group would shadow the column watching for an opportunity to attack and their main force would be brought forward when an opportunity arose. The last thing he wanted to do now was lose a large amount of his warriors and for no good reason. He and his men shadowed the column until noon when they stopped for a rest. He saw that scouts were sent out immediately, riding on horseback to positions that gave good vantage points of the surrounding area.
“If their behaviour so far today and yesterday is anything to go by, they will have one large break again later before they stop for the night and build their walls to hide behind. We will hit them before their stakes are in position and can kill our warriors.” Caratacus said to those with him.
Some hours later, once again the weary Roman soldiers came to a halt. They had been marching since sunrise and would have to make the most of this second and last break before their final push moving west. As soon as they stopped some soldiers went to carts to get food, others removed their backpacks, dropped pilums and swords and some walked away from the main body of the column to relieve themselves.
The Britons had got into position in the valley long before the noise of the marching column was within earshot. They had waited at the most likely spot twice before as Caratacus had ordered but the Romans had continued marching but not on this occasion.
As they relaxed, joked, complained and took on food or water, the Britons struck. An Optio had just hitched up his under garments and was reliving himself some twenty feet from a cart and his men. He was day dreaming and listening to the urine splash off the weeds he was watering when his gaze was broken by something that didn’t make sense. A glint of iron caught his eye as he leaned down to see what it was, partially hidden by flowering thorns. He didn’t even have time to move, just to see that it was a sword as it was thrust upward between his legs. The pain was instant and crippling as the sharpened blade was forced upward into his stomach from below as a fierce blue face appeared grimacing beyond it. A brief cry of pain was all that he could muster as he slumped forward, the Briton ripping the blade from him, already moving forward to find another to kill.
As spears, stone shot and arrows were fired and hurled towards the Romans, they desperately sought out their weapons and tried to form defensive perimeters. Chariots raced towards them from both directions along the valley, one occupant steering the speeding vehicles the other throwing large spears into the panicking ranks of the defenders.
Caratacus watched some hundred paces away from the battle as his warriors tore into the enemy flanks from each side of the armour clad soldiers, he had caught them by surprise and totally unaware. They had been unable to organise themselves and most were cut down where they stood. He saw one spear arching downward and a soldier waiting for one of his warriors, seconds from fighting each other for their lives. His man was screaming flailing his sword above his head the Roman stood stock still, as if frozen with his short sword out.