The comparison of the two was stark, the Briton tall, lithe and sinewy, naked from the waist up, his body painted in blue woad, hair sticking out with lime and screaming like a devil; the Roman colourful with his red cloak and shining armour, helmet glistening in the sunlight, standing waiting.
The single act of combat in the midst of the madness was ended swiftly before it could commence. The spear launched seconds before, descended from nowhere and punched a hole through the soldier’s upper chest. The look of astonishment on his face was an image of battle and the reality of war, shock and horror. This invader would never see his home or family again, he would die here on Britannia’s green and fertile land.
The warrior slashed out with his sword as he drew level with the soldier, the weapon slicing into the meat of the man’s bare thigh, blood sprayed out. He saw the spear had pierced the armour and chest of his opponent who fell backwards. Blood spattered the shaft of the spear as the warriors hands fought to pull it free to be used again. It was a moment, a brief moment in a battle and was over virtually before it had begun.
The warriors decimated that part of the column Caratacus had chosen, towards the rear of their line. Any reinforcements were hindered by the valley and the twists and turns of the paths the Romans had used to move along but the Britons knew the terrain well and could slip in and out before becoming trapped using the maize of paths and track ways. A few of their cavalry reached the attackers but were driven back by archers and slingers high above on the valley walls.
The triumphant Britons began to withdraw, hacking and stabbing at their prone opponents who weren’t fortunate to die instantly. Running up the incline towards their leader and their waiting horses, the victorious warriors raised their weapons in salute. Caratacus signalled for his men to withdraw taking one final look at the stricken column. He knew this small encounter wouldn’t stop the advance but it had given the invaders a bloody and broken nose and it would sow a seed of doubt in the minds of others.
The dead and injured were spread across the valley floor below, one Briton was running from each making sure no life blood still coursed through the veins of the men littered helplessly on the ground. When he found one that he suspected still lived, he slashed his dagger across the throat and then ran to the next. Caratacus had ordered this done as he knew that if they didn’t they would be healed and returned to face them another day. His grim task done, the Briton ran up the hill towards his leader.
“How many did you count?” Caratacus asked.
The man answered, “Thirty three Sire.” as he ran past and mounted his horse. Caratacus looked along the ridge and saw at least ten other lone Britons racing up the slope. If they had all done as well he thought, they had slaughtered over three hundred men, it was a good start.
Legate Titus Flavius Vespasian, Commander of the Second Legion Augusta, walked amongst the dead from the third cohort. He had known they would have been vulnerable bringing up the rear but he had never expected this kind of slaughter, especially by tribal rabble. He knelt down to examine a young soldier’s dead face, he couldn’t have been more than twenty years of age but his life had been taken from him by a single puncture wound to the neck. The pierced entry hole blackened with arterial blood was already beginning to thicken and harden.
“I will avenge you young man, I swear by the gods I will avenge you.” He stood, “Centurion,” a man ran forward, “General?”
“I want these men buried before we move forward and I want scouts sent out to find the war band that did this and I want them nailed to trees in retribution for their actions today.”
“Yes General.” The centurion began to rattle out orders to waiting soldiers who quickly hurried off to carry out their tasks. A cavalry cohort approached summoned by the General.
“General Vespasian sir, I’m told you have quarry for us to hunt.” Vespasian looked up to see an Optio on a brown horse, several riders behind the first to arrive.
“Take a good look around. I want the barbarian bastards that did this tracked down as quickly as possible. You are not to engage them but report back to me on their movement, number and position. I want this horde taken alive if possible, just so that we can make an example of them.” He looked at his slaughtered men gripping the handle of his gladius at his side. “Ride out and find these scum and you will witness their deaths.”
“With pleasure General.” He saluted and turned his horse and then galloped away, the other riders following.
The Emperor Claudius himself had appointed Vespasian to command the Second Augusta in Britannia personally knowing his record. Vespasian knew that this would be a bloody campaign and his men would take casualties but he had hoped he would be able to determine when and where those engagements would take place.
“Macro, he shouted.” The man was a Centurion of the class that could be trusted to perform any and all tasks. Vespasian had used him previously on difficult missions in Gaul and he had always been successful.
“Yes sir?” Macro slammed to attention near his superior, Cato his trusty brother in arms close behind him.
“I have a special task for you two gentlemen if you’re willing?” He raised an eyebrow under his helmet. Vespasian was determined to use every means at his disposal to rid himself of these barbarian rebels and Macro and Cato were just the type of men he needed.
Some distance away, Varro and his men were preparing to say goodbye to the Britons who had welcomed them overnight. He especially was surprised that he was saddened to be leaving Brenna after their brief night together.
“Will I see you again Roman?” She asked smiling and watching him putting his spatha under his saddle and checking his equipment.
“If the gods will it lady then yes we will see each other again. I have a duty to perform for my Emperor, if it were not for that I would be willing to see your face when I awoke every morning.” He smiled as she helped strap the leather to his wrists as he faced her. He kissed her gently on the lips and then mounted his horse.
“We will lay together again I’m sure of it if you are willing.” He smiled and gently kicked Staro’s flanks as the horse took off at a canter, the other men following.
Gaius drew level with him, “Well Centurion Varro, you certainly got more than you bargained for there didn’t you?”
His commander smirked briefly, “Could you have resisted my friend?” He asked.
“Probably not, I just hope she’s not full of the pox and that your old man drops off in a couple of days’ time.” He laughed. “I’d hate to present you to the General all scabby with your balls blistered and ruined.”
Varro didn’t reply but laughed and was merely content to move them in the direction of Quintus and his men for their scheduled rendezvous.
As they began to move east back towards the general area the column was heading along, Varro couldn’t help but think about the image of Brenna’s body and their lovemaking the previous night. She had been more than willing and assertive in their play and although he had experienced that before, there was something else, something different with this woman he couldn’t quite put his finger on.
He shook his thoughts free as he concentrated on the mission to find Quintus. The day was warm and the sky bright blue with small wispy clouds overhead. They had all been warned of the inhospitable weather patterns over Britannia but so far all they had experienced was warm sunny weather which suited them and their horses. Out here free from the rest of the legion, it was different but things would change if they were called back to the ranks and ordered to form battle lines but as things were, they were happy to be away from the Second Augusta’s marching columns and dust.