He looked to the right and saw that the first of the infantry were struggling out of the water, dripping and struggling to form up. A trumpet sounded from somewhere ordering the cavalry cohort to hold their ground but it made no difference to the men fighting to stay alive. If they turned they would die, so they knew their only hope was to try and stay alive until reinforcements arrived. Varro saw that he wasn’t the only one to have galloped to the left as he was now joined by three others their mounts snorting heavily, eyes wide.
“Let’s hit them from the side.” He shouted as he launched Staro towards the melee, the others followed. The Britons didn’t see them coming so intent were they in their frenzy. They were struck by the charging war horses who ploughed into them knocking them sideways and backwards onto the floor. Varro quickly turned Staro and retreated from the fight. Another soldier wasn’t so quick and was dragged from his mount and stabbed repeatedly never to rise again.
Varro charged out and away with the other two survivors but saw that the Britons were now clearly aware of him. A few peeled away from the large group and raced towards him. He didn’t realise it at the time but this would save his life. He nodded at the two others to retreat and they followed him galloping further away from the battle as spears were launched towards them but fell short.
The pursuing Britons realising they wouldn’t catch the horsemen and so turned and ran back towards the battle. Another trumpet sounded over the fighting and the cavalry engaged with the Britons turned and attempted to retreat. Some were dragged to the ground others were hit by spears but most managed to break free. Varro saw the reason why, the infantry were now formed up properly and were marching forward in tight lines.
The Britons didn’t hesitate as they saw what they were now confronted with and started running at the neat columns of Roman soldiers. Helmets almost hidden behind the tops of large shields they advanced at the loosely running barbarians as another noise resounded over the screams and shouts, the sound of Roman short swords hitting their shields.
Varro and the other horseman began to canter back towards the water their horses breathing hard, breath billowing from flared nostrils as ballista bolts were launched for the first time from the other side of the river. They screamed over the legionaries helmets by the barest of margins and with astonishing speed slammed into the front, second and even third ranks of the running Britons.
Bolts literally spun some of the advancing Britons over backwards such was their speed and ferocity as they cut through the bodies and took their lives, other bolts merely passed through soft flesh their victims unaware until organs failed and they dropped to the ground dead. Varro saw three victims pinned together as the first then the second were slammed backwards into the third as they all then fell to the floor at the same time skewered together. Twenty feet from the front line of the Roman wall, javelins were launched by those soldiers holding them, who before they landed were already holding swords ready behind their guards. More of the enemy were taken from the battle as pila were embedded into bodies.
The first of the Britons began to reach the disciplined ranks, some threw themselves at the wall of shields, others tried to leap over them. Crashing into the large square as swords stabbed out to meet them, the warriors were easy targets. Those at the front were now caught between those following, where they met their end.
Varro halted short of the river as he and the two with him were joined by other mounted soldiers. He heard a trumpet sounding a cavalry flanking charge from the other side of the river, it seemed that Vespasian watching from somewhere unseen now intended to outflank the Britons and destroy them. He turned his attention back to the battle and the square was doing what it did best, unleashing a murderous hell on their attackers. Unbeknown to the Britons who bravely threw themselves against the shields, it was only a matter of time before they died.
From behind the relative safety of their shields the men were stabbing at the enemy, short sharp thrusts were cutting the Britons down. At a Centurions shouted command, those at the front were replaced by the next row as the human death machine rotated its sword and shield cogs to maintain their deadly momentum. Soldiers could only remain on the front line for a few minutes at a time before they exhausted themselves. Slamming a shield boss into a determined enemy and then forcing them back or just holding the line was exhausting work. Stabbing through small gaps at a frenzied enemy and trying to avoid thrusts from spears and swords was equally tiring. It was something that the legions trained many hours and days to achieve and now their work was coming to fruition.
As more Britons ran to join the attack those at the front found themselves trapped by those behind them, there was nowhere to go and they died by the dozen, entire rows were cut down but still they came from the rear. Over the sound of mayhem, Varro heard splashing and saw that the ordered cavalry were making their way into the now almost boiling bloody and muddy water at the gallop. The wall of shields was now beginning to slowly advance over the dead in front of them and the Britons at the head of their battle line hesitated, those at the rear began to turn and retreat. Soldiers at the front were stepping onto their victims, steadily they moved over broken and bloody slippery mess trying to maintain their discipline and balance. The rear of spears could be seen stabbing downward as they moved.
In seconds the cavalry were across the river, what seemed to take an age previously now passed in the blink of an eye, the almost insurmountable dangerous water was nothing more than a slight obstacle to be overcome as the unsuspecting Britons were about to be surrounded. As the cavalry got level with Varro and his group they cantered forward and joined them in their attack on the right flank. As horses struck the fighting Britons another noise seemed to envelope the atmosphere. Varro struggling to control Staro and turned his head to see what was causing it. Starting as a low rumbling, the ground now shook as it got louder.
The Britons to a man and woman turned and were running, retreating the way they had come but the noise overriding the chaos sounded like an earthquake, he didn’t know what it was but saw that the front line of troops had stopped and was standing still, no longer advancing. A line of dead were lying in front of them. Horses were turned towards the growing sound as riders turned their mounts.
Just as the last of the running Britons vanished into the mist covering the marsh, the first of the horses appeared galloping forward tethered to another followed by the men on the chariots they pulled. They emerged from the mist like avenging gods as a collective gasp ran through the men they faced.
“Flanking counter attack now!” Shouted an equestrian officer as he pulled his mount and galloped away shouting again, “Flanking Counter.” Varro knew the order and quickly followed as horses moved away from their current position as if one to avoid the advancing chariots.
Togodumnus rode in the leading chariot whirling a long sword around his head and shouting encouragement and screaming at the men bouncing along in other chariots all around and behind him. Caratacus was one of them, the King his brother in his own chariot but he was convinced he could protect him. As the mobile Britons continued to advance building up speed, those on the sides of their great formation edged away to try and outflank the enemy infantry. The sound of the charging horses and chariots was nothing like anything that had gone before even the infantry now hitting their shields again were drowned out as the Britons bore down on them. Varro saw that the retreating Britons on foot had now turned and were following the chariots into battle.