“Veranius take Lucius and ride back to the General as quickly as your horses will allow, he has to be warned.” Varro ordered quickly.
“Sir.” Was all they both said as they turned and galloped away the way they had come.
“Gods, there are thousands of them.” Marcus said studying their lines. “They have horse, chariots and light infantry.” He studied their formation, “There has to be an entire legions strength out there.”
“But they have no heavy infantry or artillery by the look of it. They’ve probably got slingers hidden somewhere though I should think but I can’t see any at the moment.” Varro replied looking at the army arrayed before them some hundred paces distant. They must have been hoping to catch the column cold as it turned along the clearing, he thanked the gods they had gone on ahead. Following a roar of voices, arrows were launched from somewhere to the rear of the Britons. Varro watched as they gained height.
“Archers.” He shouted turning Staro to the right. “Make for the woods men, now!” They all turned and were some two hundred paces from the safety of the trees when the arrows began landing harmlessly in the grass behind them. Varro saw Britons furiously waving battle axes and swords as their jeers grew at them as they entered the safe shadows of the branches.
“Those bastards have archers hidden behind their ranks. Decimus take your horse and inform the General. Marcus and I will stay here and try to keep an eye on their movements. If anything else occurs, Marcus will bring the message back, tell Veranius where we are and tell him to avoid any contact with the Britons at all costs.” Decimus nodded with determination and fear imprinted across his face.
It was now noon and the sun was high in the sky but Varro and Marcus were relatively cool in the woods. They had tied their horses up some fifty paces into the woodland and had returned to the edge of the trees to observe the Britons.
“That has to be Caratacus there.” Varro said pointing to the Chieftain at the front of the group, another man was standing with him. “That’s probably his brother Togodunmus or whatever name he calls himself. If I had a bow I could kill one of them from here, maybe both of them.” He judged the distance to be between one hundred and fifty to two hundred paces from where they were, it would have been within reach of a bow and a skilled eye.
The two soldiers watched the Britons from cover with their helmets off until the first rumbling sign of the Roman force approached. It was a cavalry cohort who had been sent forward to reconnaissance the enemies lines, four hundred of them. They had been sent ahead in force in case of ambush but they stopped in virtually the same spot as Varro and his men had as arrows were launched into the air towards them. They turned and forced their animals into a gallop as they retreated returning the same way they had come.
“Well that didn’t last long.” Varro said. “Those fools,” he said looking at the Britons, “don’t know what they’ve got coming their way.”
Arrows fell to the ground all around them as they retreated, one hit the rump of the last horse, it shrieked and darted to the left kicking out with its hind legs so quickly it looked unnatural as the rider struggled to get it under control, the arrow lodged into its flesh waving around, blood staining its back.
“Those fuckers are going to pay for that Marcus, I fucking guarantee it.” Varro said as the two of them watched the retreating cohort charge by and then saw a large testudo of a marching legionnaires slowly approaching the Britons. At least eighty soldiers made up the front wedge of the attack, their large shields covering them from a frontal assault, the second ranks shields over their heads and so it went on until the rear of the line. Soon the Britons would be faced by thousands. Soldiers at the sides left and right held their shields to the side of the formation, the whole image looking and sounding like an enormous creature. Varro wondered how the Britons would react to the sight and then the sound of the unit of troops as it engaged them.
“Those fuckers will pay for it now Marcus.” He said as the testudo cleared the corner and came into full view of the enemy. An order must have been given as the giant tortoise formation came to a halt but he didn’t hear it above the clump of the boots. The Britons were quiet now and stared at them in silence seemingly unmoved by the monstrosity they saw before them.
The cavalry came to a halt behind the huge square and to its sides, it was followed by heavy infantry, three huge squares filled the enormous gap between the trees of the empty ground. Behind them three centuries of auxiliary archers Syrians, made up the next line of attack. More were assembling beyond them but Varro couldn’t see what tactical formation it was. An eerie silence settled over the battlefield until a single trumpet blare eventually shattered the peace.
A dip formed in the centre of the testudo at the front and a Centurion’s helmet appeared along with his sword as it was thrust skyward and then forward, “Advance.” He screamed out and the formation slowly marched, the soldiers beginning to bang their short swords against their shields, the noise was almost overwhelming as they advanced, boots hitting the earth.
The Britons leader instantly ordered his chariots forward as they raced to meet the Romans around the flanks of their warriors, the faint sound of trumpets could be heard somewhere behind the Roman forces but was swallowed up by the sounds reverberating around the tree trunks. The testudo continued forward slowly, swords banging on shields then the foot soldiers of the Britons ran forward wielding swords and axes screaming like demented devils. To Varro everything seemed to slow as suddenly the front ranks of the testudo dropped down onto one knee, behind them somewhere, four rows back, the soldiers in that line hurled their pilums. That was quickly followed by the next row. Arrows were launched from behind the Britons running towards the wall of shields in front of them.
As the chariots got to within twenty paces, the pilums began to land some finding their targets of flesh and bone of man, woman and horse alike. The horses made ungodly noises as the weapons embedded themselves through their flesh, into chests, necks and heads. The men guiding them towards the invaders were generally fortunate in comparison but one Varro saw was hit somewhere in the upper chest and it took him off the back off his chariot, tumbling head over heal, breaking his arms and legs at awful unnatural angles.
The arrows of the Britons landed harmlessly on the raised shields of the testudo. Just before the remaining chariots reached the shield wall, other pilum were thrust forward horizontally between the front ranks. The horses that were not wounded or killed by the first onslaught were viciously stabbed now running onto the deadly weapons, the spears ends breaking off or bending in their chests as the animals went wild trying to turn and flee the pain, some still impaled. Chariot riders were thrown to the ground their vehicles bounced and turned and some flew apart sending large wooden splitters in all directions impaling men and women alike. As those who still lived managed to turn, they were met by other screaming warriors, half naked from the waist up, men and women alike, hair limed outward and upward, blue streaks over their bare flesh and through their hair, teeth showing as they screamed and shouted toward their enemy.
Another avalanche of Roman spears rose from inside the testudo and then fell into the attacker’s ranks as they became a tangled mass of arms, legs and horses struggling for freedom, to escape this madness, this certain death. The Romans continued to advance slowly their short swords now doing the cutting and stabbing. As the square came to an ordered halt at the sound of a trumpet, the front ranks turned and were replaced by fresh troops who took over the butcher’s role neutralising the enemy.