As tactics of the attack were finalised by Vespasian and his officers, an iron fist enclosed the huge hillside. Roman forces had now encircled the area completely and the defiant Britons were alone, cut off from any help or rescue. Vespasian knew the chance of anyone coming to their aid was remote because of their tribal nature and had taken his time preparing for the inevitable attack. Neighbouring areas were at best lived with side by side at worst bitter enemies although some alliances were not to be ruled out entirely. He thought they were too primitive to organise themselves properly but hill forts like the one towering above them, proved a different threat.
All around him the instruments of war were dragged, towed and pulled into place as men and horses toiled. Varro stood nearby and saw the gathered officers talking and pointing up to the hill. He felt his stomach lurch as he contemplated the days ahead and looked around him wondering who of those he saw would still be breathing in two or three days’ time. In comparison to recent battles in Gaul this would be a minor skirmish but it was like a boil and it had to be lanced.
Heavy infantry troops were briefed in their columns, as were the light, archers and artillery crews and even the equestrian, the Britons surely didn’t stand a chance he concluded so why fight and die, would he if he were on the opposite side? He thought that he probably would if men from a foreign land had come and threatened his way of life. Men, women, children and livestock were about to die and be erased from the earth because their leaders had chosen to fight. The encased Britons had been given three opportunities to surrender and had turned all of them down and so now the butchers prepared their tools before the bill could be paid.
The enemy’s leader a tribal chieftain called Cavaltergex had spat in the face of Brenna as she begged him to leave the fort to speak to Vespasian. He had called her a diseased whore and vessel of the invader who would pay dearly for her treachery. These Britons were stubborn but proud and now it was time to start beginning to test their determination to resist.
Brenna had still tried everything from begging and pleading to giving calm reassurance that Cavaltergex and his people would be treated well and allowed to live their lives as they had always done but it had all failed and fallen on deaf ears. He would not submit to the men below in their gleaming metal armour and so had sealed his own fate and that of all he knew. The assault would begin as soon as the sun was high in the sky the next day. Cavaltergex was breathing his last breaths and was already dead, he just didn’t know it. To defy Rome was to die and be obliterated and join others who had fallen before them, these Britons would enjoy the same end.
The following morning the sky was clear, remnants of fog clung to the trees above the soldiers but it was the clearest day since they had arrived. With the defences more distinct Varro could see that the Britons had used tree trunks bound together with vines and some other material beyond the mud banks. Rows of spiked walls could be seen as the upper lengths of trees could be observed clearly now. Dark shaded bodies moved between the small gaps in between the wooden walls indistinct from this distance, the defenders waiting for the attack to begin. Several billows of smoke rose into the air from somewhere above and a dog started to bark as if sensing what was to come.
A trumpet sounded, it was followed almost immediately by the vicious sound of the gathered ballista releasing their huge bolts. Like a row of giant graceful sleek birds they rose towards the hill fort hurtling with startling speed to their target and within seconds found their mark. Most embedded themselves into the wooden fortifications, some falling short and vanishing into the mud embankments buried deep, a few hit flesh as they seared through the gaps in the wood as screams were heard from within. Frantic cries followed and shouting as the Britons experienced something even their wildest nightmares couldn’t have foreseen, Roman warfare. Chunks of wood and giant splinters were thrown into the air exploding as the large arrows found targets a few of the forts walled logs were cleaved in two and gaps began to appear in their ranks.
Vespasian had ordered that the ballista continue firing until clear entry points were visible in the forts defences. After a time archers were brought forward about one hundred and fifty paces and joined in the murderous hail of fire, raining arrows up into the air to fall down on the inhabitants inside. More cries and screams of pain escaped the large compound above, the Britons were learning and learning well their mistake of defiance.
Varro watched on from the side lines as the ballista bolts took their toll. He and his party had found the hill fort a few days before and Brenna had tried her best to persuade her countrymen to yield to the advancing army. Two days from now they would ride out again after a well-deserved rest while Quintus and his men rode ahead. In the meantime he watched as the artillery teams toiled to launch their missiles, cranking tight their torsion machines, metal scraped against metal, men heaved and the large arrows loosed and whined as they sped into the air. They were making short work of the wooden walls.
Heavy infantry now took up their shields and began to move slowly forwards, a centurion signalling for his men to form a testudo, tortoise formation. The men lofted their big shields, those at the front hoisting them to cover their bodies at the front, those inside the column, raised them above their heads and those on the sides covered any attacks from ground level. As the shields overlapped the centurion vanished into a gap left open in the wall facing Varro and disappeared to give orders on the march, his red converse plume he saw intermittently amongst the shields and was distinct amongst the other helmets.
They didn’t have to wait long for a response from inside the fort as arrows began to fall, first into the attacking archers and ballista crews, who retreated backwards out of range and then onto the advancing column. Vespasian mounted on his horse ordered another column of heavy infantry forward pointing and waving with his sword to a trumpeter who sounded the advance. The arrows of the defenders landed heavily thumping into the shields of the advancing column assisted by gravity as they swiftly returned to earth. No obvious injuries were visible yet but any screams were drowned out by the rising sound of battle. As the first heavy infantry formed into the testudo and began to pass the area where their archers had been positioned, the shower of arrows became heavier. A horn suddenly broke the sounds of battle as a length of the hill forts defensive wall fell inward. Dust was thrown up as a result from the surface masking exactly what had happened but the infantry continued slowly forward now fully on the steep slope, small steps eating the up the ground between them and the enemy.
Varro saw a large Briton appear at the side of the gap in the wall as the dust began to settle and clear. He hefted a large sword above his head and shouted something unheard at the advancing Romans. He wore scruffy looking plaid trousers and no clothing over his upper body, his skin was covered in blue woad enhancing a muscular upper frame. Long grey hair was tied at the back and swung about as he gestured down the hill. He suddenly ducked and moved to the left as a large ballista bolt flew by that was aimed directly at him, he laughed and raised his sword shaking it at his enemy. Placing the hilt at his crotch, he aimed the blade at his attackers and simulated fucking them.