“What about our men on-board sir?” The legionary asked.
“I would guess that it’s a little late for them now soldier, they’re probably lying dead with their throats cut.” He looked towards the growing flames and felt pain as his eyes hurt in the glare. The woolly figures on the ships looked as if they were now jumping onto the ice off the far ship of those in the frozen water.
“Ready?” He asked the soldier.
He stopped turning the handle and the man nodded.
“Fire.” He ordered standing back. There was a crack as the bolt was launched into the cold night air and went streaking across the track and landed somewhere on the deck of the nearest boat or just beyond, its flight lost in the flames. It was hard to see where it actually embedded itself at that distance especially with the fire.
“Prepare to fire again.” He ordered as the sentry collected another missile and loaded another bolt turning the handle again, the ratchets clicked with a metallic clunk as they struck each other. Varro heard activity from below and inside the fort as men raced to their designated positions. Vespasian had them trained and drilled for eventualities such as this and the men knew instinctively where their individual stations were in the event of an attack.
Shadows skittered across the ice beyond the boats as one man fell shouting some obscenity as he skidded and slid over the frozen water. He was dragged upright by another and continued to slip and slide whilst trying to get to the far bank.
“Concentrate your fire on them and the ice.” Varro ordered pointing to the escaping Britons. The next bolt flew straight and embedded itself into the ice in between some of the running men, shattered chunks flew up around them as they turned. Another fire started on the ship third along the row farther along the riverside.
“Jupiter’s fucking cunt.” The soldier behind the bolt thrower shouted straining his eyes towards the fourth ship and sure enough within seconds it was the next to be set on fire. Archers began to take up their positions on the wall, some of whom were still throwing on uniform and bits of armour and helmets as they struggled with their bows. He heard men asking what was going on, why had they been woken, looking out over the wall they soon found out. Stringing their bows they discarded their armour dropping it onto the wooden floor for the time being and concentrated on sending arrows towards the men who were lit up by the fires they had started.
Varro heard a commotion down below and saw a column of men forming up just inside the main gate. They were quickly checking the strapping on each other’s segmented armour. A shout from somewhere ordered the doors open as the men in the column turned to face front, shields up, javelins ready.
“At the double.” The voice shouted again and Varro saw an Optio leading the men out from the side of their ranks as they began to jog forward. The doors creaked open and multiple hobnail boots hit the wooden bridge over the trench. The junior officer wheeled the men left and towards the ships now totally ablaze. Unable to do anything except launch the occasional arrow, carefully now because of their own men on the ground. Those on the wall had a bird’s eye view of the column below as they approached the first ship some distance from the safety of the fort. As they began to slow down another column left the gate with a Centurion jogging at their side and the original was ordered to halt. They did so and some of the troops instinctively crouched, behind their shields as the Optio surveyed the scene before him. It was obvious that nothing was to be gained by trying to fight the fire. The vessels were roaring with flames now as timbers burnt and cracked, the mast aboard the first ship already looked like it was about to fall as it lurched to one side.
Varro was aware that locals were coming out of their homes to the right further along the track away from the chaos, to see what all the commotion was, some pointed excitedly as they realised the ships were ablaze. As he turned back, movement caught his eye somewhere to the rear of the crouching soldiers in the shadows, he realised that it was another armed group of Britons emerging from the trees off to the left and behind them. A soldier tried to shout a warning further along the wall. From this distance and with the roaring fire it was impossible for them to hear and he looked on in horror as spears were launched towards the backs of the formed up column. A moment later the first of the soldiers fell forward into the back of the man in front of him, a spear piercing his armour somewhere in the middle of his back.
The Optio turning saw the danger but he was too late and was quickly engulfed by flailing Britons as they hacked him down around the legs with their swords. The enemy were upon the rest of the men so quickly that they didn’t have time to react and form up properly into a defensive square. Within the blink of an eye the legionaries were overwhelmed by the fur covered Britons, those who were still standing began to run towards the other column as it approached at a run forming a testudo.
Varro watched as the two groups collided and then realised more Britons were emerging from the trees to the left. The second column had managed to form it’s protective shell just after the survivors from the first were absorbed into their ranks and began to retreat slowly. The screaming Britons hurled themselves onto their shields as bowmen on the walls didn’t wait for the order to open fire, they launched arrows at the sides of the defensive rectangle as it struggled to get back to the main gate.
From behind the battle below Varro heard a loud cracking sound followed by hissing and realised that the first boat to be set alight was now sinking, flames being exhausted by the freezing water as steam rose upward and outward. Warriors on the far bank of the river cheered as it sank lower and then stopped at an unnatural angle.
As the retreating column got to within fifty paces of the entrance, the attacking Britons broke off the assault, whether it was the result of an order or a pre-determined plan or even the fact that the archers were homing in on them now, Varro wasn’t sure. The running fur clad figures looked like some large strange creatures as they lurched and scurried back towards the woods, their shadows highlighted by the remaining fires. As they began to vanish into the undergrowth of the trees one of them stopped and then another, the others continued running and disappeared completely. Varro watched as the larger of the two cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted.
“Romans,” A voice shouted in heavily accented Latin, “I am Caratacus, King of the Catuvellauni.” Everyone on the walls stopped what they were doing and turned to look at the two men standing beside the wood. Mutters of the name that had just been shouted at them were repeated along the line of the wall. Some had thought that Caratacus had probably died months before at the battle of the River Medway. He had not been heard of since except for rumours claiming that he had gone west.
He continued, bellowing above the sound of the flames. “You have invaded our lands, slaughtered our women and children but still we are here to defy you.” Cheering erupted from the dark trees and from across the other side of the river as hordes of barbarians appeared waving weapons. Another voice shouted above them demanding quiet.
“Romans,” the voice paused, slightly higher in pitch than the first as the other man still visible to those on the wall waved his sword above his head, “I am Ardwen of the Silures, we are one with our brothers the Catuvellauni. Know this, we will not rest until we kill you all or push you back into the sea. These are our lands, the lands of our fathers, the home of Albion and we will not give them up and we will not pay your taxes or tributes. Go home, leave our land and we will leave you alone, refuse and face more of this.”
He lowered his sword and suddenly fire arrows were launched from the far side of the river roaring and rising like a fiery curtain. They rose high into the night sky and through the smoke of the burning vessels, the soldiers on the walls scrambled for their shields as they began to descend. They started thudding into the wood of the fort and embedding themselves into shields, armour and men. A few landed inside the dugout palisade and instantly set pig fat aflame that had been laid in the event of an enemy attack. The ditch burst into a life of flames as some soldiers jumped from the wall and into the interior of the fort as the roaring fire licked up around its exterior wall enveloping some who weren’t quick enough to jump.