He looked at the ships and men still flooding ashore and although believed his words, he wondered how exactly the sons of their former King would deal with this immense army. The enemy had equipment that they had not seen before and they carried a lot of hard metal and strange machines such as large bows attached to wooden frames and soldiers wearing full armour. Each man he thought must weigh nearly twice his own weight, weighed down as they were with weapons and tools carried on their backs. Most of the Britons were limited to a spear or maybe a sword or dagger and if they were fortunate, a small shield. Those of a higher class such as noblemen had large ornate rectangular shields but they were not available to every fighter. They were warriors however, who had lived with conflict with other tribes all their lives. Now he knew they must come together and fight a common enemy if they were to meet this threat head on and defeat them as their forefathers had before them. He and his remaining men would stay close to the Romans and try to discover how many there were and in which direction they were intending to travel. From this high position, he knew that what he saw below was certainly more dangerous than anything he had ever before encountered.
Chapter Two
Lucius another of Varro’s men, caught up with him on his own horse a brown mare as they cantered above the stony beach now down below. The grass underfoot instead of pebbles meant they could talk instead of having to shout at each other over the clatter of their mounts hooves.
“How far will we travel today sir?” He asked.
Varro raised an eyebrow, “We’ll keep moving while we still have good light.” He said looking up at the sky. “I would say that we’ve only lost a few hours of the day so we should be able to follow the coast for sometime before we have to make camp.”
He looked at the sun, the sky was still clear and blue and a warm breeze passed over his muscled arms and legs as he guided Staro with his hips. Roman cavalry had learned decades before to determine the direction of travel of a horse by purely using their legs and hips if required. They would use their thighs to grip onto a large four pronged wooden pommel on the saddle that was covered in leather. It enabled the riders to have free hands primarily so they could wield their swords in battle or throw javelins. Now however, it also enabled them to drink from water skins as Lucius did. His sword was stored under his leg on the saddle on the horse’s right flank so that he could get to it quickly if required.
They were now a few hundred feet above sea level and slowed their animals to walking pace as they took in their surroundings, the area before them was covered in trees and rolling woodland, it was so dense they couldn’t see through or beyond it. Instinctively Varro and his men viewed the obstacles with suspicion and caution as they knew enclosed areas meant that there was always a possibility of ambush. A few small tracks lay at the base of some of the trees running parallel to them which meant that either people or animals used them regularly to travel in the area.
Varro halted his men, who waited a few steps behind him, Veranius and Decimus trotted forward, the three men listened taking in their surroundings. Everything seemed natural, birds sang in the trees and bushes moved normally with the slight breeze as hares nibbled on grass a few hundred feet away, near to the safety of the undergrowth of the trees.
“I’ll go in with Decimus and have a look?” Volunteered Veranius, steadying his horse and pointing to the track, his mount seemed nervous about the trees ahead. Decimus gave him a scolding look, as the horse whinnied and dragged its right hoof across the dirt under him.
“Animals sense things that we can’t see my friend. You’re horse doesn’t seem very happy.” Varro said as he looked to the tree tops. “All manner of things can lurk and conceal themselves in such places, be careful and do not go too far. Stay in sight of each other and out of javelin range of the trees, the rest of us will follow.”
Veranius and Decimus acknowledged the order that seemed more like a warning with a nod as they pushed their horses forward. Veranius was a trusted friend of Varro as well as the other members of the small reconnaissance troop albeit a subordinate. They had formed friendships over years of campaigning together and were considered to be a very tight close knit unit within the legion and vital to its overall success.
As the two began to move forward, Decimus said quietly to Veranius, “Thank you so much for volunteering me my friend.” He peered into the undergrowth. “Remind me to return the compliment one day.”
Veranius smiled and replied, “Your horse was getting impatient and doesn’t like the trees so we’ll show him he’s safe.”
“This fool spooks at sticks and twigs,” Decimus said looking down at the horses ears. “Never mind the trees but knowing our luck this time there will be something there. He threw me once on a windy day when a leaf blew across his path and swirled about in the air near his face.” Decimus replied.
Veranius laughed. He was the only member of the party that was shorter in height than Varro but he too had trained continually and had developed arms that were now the size of small tree trunks and were literally wider than his head at the bicep. He had three passions, fighting, wine and food, the latter normally provided for by utilising his hunting skills.
He had grown up near Venusia on his father’s farm in the south of their country. His family had a military background and it had seemed a natural step to join the army, His father had retired from the legions as a centurion in the infantry and had returned to Venusia, where he too had grown up, to start a family after twenty five years service which was the maximum permitted time. With the spoils of war and his military pension earned by his father, Veranius had a relatively comfortable upbringing.
With most of his modest military pay saved over the years and a generous wagon full of plunder, Veranius’ father had bought the small farm where he grew grapes on the vine that were sold at local markets. In the second year of civilian life he had met his wife and soon-after Veranius was born, another soldier of the empire.
Decimus was the youngest member of the group of scouts and was a joker, tall and rangy, he went out of his way to find female companionship whenever he could. He had looked forward to introducing himself to the females of Britannia and had boasted, ‘They will tell their children and their children’s children, that they are descended from the great Decimus, ruler and Emperor of Rome.’ He had often said usually followed by roars of laughter, from his friends. He was convinced that his charm alone would prevent any conflict once the women had let him entertain them. He was from the north east fishing village of Aquileia, situated on the coast of the Adriatic Sea. He had been with the legion eight years and had transferred from the infantry a year before joining the reconnaissance troop.
Varro dismounted from his horse and took off his helmet, sweat matted his short hair. He removed his water skin from Staro’s side and drank, pouring water over his head when he was finished. He checked his saddle, stroking the animal’s flanks as he made sure the cloth underneath the wood and leather was flat so as not to cause blistering. Hours in the saddle could cause all manner of problems for the horse where the hard wood of the saddle rubbed against the skin through the leather. It could cause a calloused area on the flesh to well up which would affect the animal, it was not something a rider wanted if they were trying to escape a horde of barbarian sword wielding madmen. Experience had shown him that if his horse was injured or wounded, then effectively so was he and he couldn’t afford that in a hostile land.