Caratacus shouted encouragement again seeing that his plan was working and concentrated his own force at driving through the enemy wall, pushing the wedge in their column ten wide forward and through them. Barely perceptive at first the entire enemy line started to give as their cavalry retreated once more. It was working and he called for others to join the attack as his warriors forced their way through the auxiliary forces. In seconds the entire Roman line was moving slowly backward not willingly but through the sheer brutality and weight of numbers of their attackers.
With the enemy now in slow retreat and his wedge forcing through, slicing into the once unified ranks of the front line, he pushed his people hard to cut off a huge portion of the auxiliaries. All along the retreating formations the Britons continued to attack but didn’t go beyond that invisible line. They held themselves not hurling their bodies onto the shields or trying to prise them free as they had before. They held off but continued striking shields with their long swords and axes at a distance that prevented the enemy’s short swords from finding their mark. Others massed behind them but at intervals giving them all space.
Roman javelins were launched from the rear ranks landing unseen into the crowds of their attackers who showed no sign of relenting. More Britons joined those forcing their way into the human path as the entire battle reversed moving back towards the fort. Trumpets sounded again and the lines of the invaders increased their backward retreat.
The legions were used to advancing in their squares. Behind the large shields they had the advantage as they stabbed out at attackers as they threw themselves on their formed lines. In retreat however, they weren’t so assured and some legionaries tripped walking backwards and others fell over them. It caused others to panic and turn as gaps began to appear.
Plautius had sounded the retreat as reports came in of the tactics being used by the Britons, his vision was still obscured by the dust. A look of sheer horror was etched over his face as he saw just how far they were being pushed back now. He had intended to call a halt as his men were re-enforced but with some soldiers stumbling and fright clearly spreading, he saw that his battle lines were in danger of failing altogether.
“Centurion.” He shouted at the man to his left.
“Sir.” The man turned saluting his General.
“Have the Ninth Hispana move out and flank right. Those bastards are trying to cut off the auxiliaries on that side. I want Geta fully aware of what he’s up against and get those fucking ballista racked up and ready to fire they’ll be within range in no time if this carries on.”
The Centurion saluted again and ran off to convey the orders. Plautius looked back to the fight now only approximately a hundred yards away, his concern growing more every second. The Centurion hurriedly instructed the ballista crews to ready their weapons and then climbed down the ladder to Geta who was held in reserve within the fort.
Prefect Gnaeus Hosidius Geta stood with his senior officers talking about their experiences of Briton. He didn’t think that his Legion would be called into action but as the trumpets sounded for him to prepare to move and he saw the Centurion running towards his position, he realised that something must have gone badly wrong outside. The Centurion puffing from his run ran straight to him saluted and told him the order from Plautius. After adding a brief description of the battle and what was happening outside, he drew his gladius and began to move forward.
Geta was a man of proven military experience who had campaigned all over the continent including the eastern lands. He was the longest serving Prefect in the army of Plautius and had completed six years more service than Vespasian had in the army. Plautius had always relied upon him when times were desperate as they now were. Marching ahead of his men, he signalled for them to form into columns to exit the fort and began to trot pulling his shield up, his men followed suit.
As he got clear of the gate all he could see was row upon row of retreating soldiers. He angled right as his trot became a run, running wide of the far right flank of the auxiliary’s lines. Instantly he saw that the Britons had managed to separate a large block of soldiers from the rest of the army and were systematically cutting them down.
He ran his men at an angle to the battle still in rows of three in their columns. Shouting he ordered them to stop and ready their javelins, row upon row of pila were readied. They were then quick marched to within throwing distance. The Britons were blood raged and too eager in their havoc to see the danger, too intent on cutting down the auxiliary soldiers who were desperately fighting for their lives.
“Advance, release and rotate.” Ordered Geta as the men in his front row ran forward and hurled their deadly arsenal into the air. Before the first javelins even landed, the second flight were already airborne as the front ranks were passed by the second and then the third. Hundreds of javelins rose and fell and took lives in their deadly hail instantaneously and wounded others.
As the first of the Britons fell, Geta reformed his lines and advanced his men, shields up, swords thrust forward beyond the moving shield wall. Britons not killed or injured turned as they realised the danger and attacked them. Blood lust heightened by their success and then the injuries, they fought like possessed maniacs. Gone was the control their leader had asked of them as they threw themselves at the deadly solid wall.
Heartened by the re-enforcements the retreating columns paused and held firm finding a steely determination now apparent through the men of the legions. Trumpets sounded again ordering the advance as men gripped shields tighter and swords firmer.
Caratacus couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He had been so close to achieving his aim of dividing and isolating a large part of the enemy force ahead of him. He had intended to destroy some of the men and take the rest, the majority he hoped, as hostages having isolated them totally. He’d hoped to force those segregated back to his lines and then seek a treaty with the Roman General but his plan was now in ruins. The Dubonni who made up the majority of the warriors attacking and isolating the Roman auxiliaries were now either dying where they stood or surrendering altogether, throwing their weapons to the ground and their arms in the air. He looked around and then started to fall back as the once retreating Romans now advanced again encouraged by the re-enforcements from the fort. He saw more Dubonni surrendering and couldn’t believe what his eyes were telling him.
He turned and shouted at those nearby. “Fall back, fall back.” Then he began to scream as the warriors around him saw the danger and turned to run.
“Get back to the trees.” He shouted waving his arms as his pace quickened. A chariot raced towards him and then slowed down turning in a great arc as the driver shouted for him to get aboard. Warriors ran all around as some still fought on trying to cover the retreat trying to slow down the marching men. Those that continued to battle, their number dwindling all the time must have known they were doomed as more and more turned to run leaving those fighting isolated.
Caratacus held on tightly as the two white horses pulling the chariot accelerated away from the mayhem. Turning his head he saw that it was the Dubonni who were now isolated and cut off as the Romans had managed to create a reverse of his tactic and they were swallowed, totally surrounded. He ground his teeth together in frustration and then shouted at the sky in anger.
“Keep riding,” he said to the driver, “head for the Tamesa.” He referred to the next great river further north, the last natural defence before his capital of Camulodunum