On a few occasions they came across abandoned roundhouses, where signs of the previous occupants were still present. Crops were overgrown, growing wild nearby and overrunning boundaries, fencing and tracks on the ground. Maybe the occupants had tired of living their solitary lives and had moved to live with others, perhaps they had died during a raid from wounds received from different tribal regions. Inhabitants tended to live as far from borders as they could to avoid being the first victims when cross border clashes occurred, but raiding was still a way of life in some places.
As they travelled through the rich green countryside with birds twittering and singing in the trees all around them, it was hard to believe that a real danger lurked somewhere ahead. The first day was uneventful and before the daylight began to withdraw, the scouts returned to the main column where they found they had already halted. The daily routine was underway with trenches being dug, defences re-enforced with large wooden spikes that each eight man squad carried with their kit and tents were erected. After the marching camp was secure, food would be prepared and the exhausted troops would be allowed to relax, after checking their kit and cleaning their armour, all those except for the men detailed for sentry duty.
As they were in relatively unknown and possibly hostile territory, Vespasian ordered extra guards be posted inside the temporary structure and sentries outside each eight man tent. Guards patrolled the internal perimeter and static posts manned the embankments that had not been there, just the day before. He ordered that wolf mouths were to be half buried in the ground outside the palisade in the trench they had created and that caltrops be sprinkled liberally over the surface. They were sharpened thin twisted strands of iron that would pierce the feet of men or hooves of horses, should they get into the ditch. The men rotated their duties after the hour, allowing them all to get a decent night’s sleep so they were refreshed and ready for another days march.
The next morning, the men not on guard awoke to the patter of rain on their tents. The night had been uneventful and the daily routine of preparing for another hard days march was underway. Horses as well as men were fed and any mounts that had slight injuries or had gone lame from the day before were rested. They wouldn’t be ridden again until they were healed and would follow at the rear of the column. Replacements were found and the injured animals allowed to walk un-ridden tethered to a cart.
As the final preparations were made to advance, weapons were checked and tents secured on carts or mules as the case maybe for each squad. The last thing to be taken down as the men prepared to march were the sharpened wooden staves that had been embedded into the palisades. The Roman army had learned long ago that taking them out before the men were ready to move had cost lives and sometimes entire legions.
The next two days proved to be the same routine and there were no incidents or sightings of hostile forces. The men were trained to march, build an encampment, guard and sleep and take it down again the next day. On the fourth day however, as they began to prepare their defences for the night, in the distance were the hills and mountains that marked the territory of the Silures.
Vespasian had sent scouts out and knew that by midday the next day he and his men would be entering the lands that had adopted Caratacus as their leader. The atmosphere around some of the campfires that night was tense. It was the first time since they had set out from Isca Dumnoniorum that men looked out of the palisades with real concern on their faces. More men were detailed for sentry and picket duty and each tent party was ordered to have a two man guard outside.
The night passed by without event and in the dawn of a new day the men of the Second Augusta quietly prepared their kit and dismantled the camp. A few men who were in the minority were overly loud and went about their business telling their comrades how many Britons they intended to kill high in the mountains of the Silures. The more experienced amongst them knew it was probably just nerves or foolishness and that by nightfall they may have the answer to which, one thing was certain, from today they would have to have eyes everywhere.
Miles to the north, halfway to the summit of one of the mountains, the Britons watched the Roman camp in the distance. From their vantage point they couldn’t make out specific details but the large encampment was clearly visible on the landscape. The large dark rectangular mass had never been there before and once in a while the wind would carry the sound of a trumpet to them, faintly but distinguishable from everything else on the morning breeze.
They waited until they could see the first thin line of men leaving the safety of the temporary encampment, as they began to slowly move towards their position, weaving through the lowland countryside below.
“Let us prepare to receive our guests.” Caratacus said as he climbed onto his horse. He took one last glance at the enemy before kicking his horse and going further up the mountain.
By the time the legionaries felt the incline starting to burn their legs, the hills and mountains blocked out most of the sky before them. They had been ordered to wear their helmets and carry their shields for the first time on this expedition and they knew that an attack could occur at any moment.
Varro and his party scouted ahead but at all times were ordered to stay in sight of the leading column, Vespasian didn’t want to risk losing any men in a fool hardy manner so close to the enemy. Tracks and trails were evident everywhere and ran in many different directions, it was impossible to identify specific traces that would show any real evidence of the direction of Caratacus and his warriors.
The day wore on as the inclines got steeper and Vespasian was forced to call regular breaks for his men and animals to take on water and rest. He knew there was no point in being engaged in a battle with weary thirsty soldiers; it would be a recipe for disaster even before the first arrow took to the air or the first blow was struck.
Even though they were climbing higher and higher all the time, there were still paths and valleys through the hills and mountains. Varro stopped looking forward to the top of the next rise because there was always another beyond that one that and he wondered if the local people were actually part goat. They had seen no settlements or roundhouses since crossing the river that divided the lands of the Dobunni and the Silures, just the occasional deer that ran as soon as it sensed the advancing column. White dots broke up the green land ahead where sheep grazed in the distance, at least food wouldn’t be hard to find here. Higher and higher and further into the valley they marched until by midday Vespasian called another halt. He had chosen a relatively flat and open area that was surrounded by thick forest and called his senior officers together to discuss what he intended to do next.
Varro and his party it was decided, would for the first time since entering the valley and mountains, scout ahead and try and locate somewhere suitable to establish the army for the night. It was better to advance slowly and securely rather than at speed with little haste Vespasian had told them looking around the high peaks now surrounding them in every direction. It was suggested by one centurion that Varro take an entire cohort with him for safety but the Legate chose against it, deciding that a small group was less conspicuous and would be able to move more quickly in the event of an attack. He was to be back with the column well before nightfall, which would give the men time to establish a camp using the trees nearby if necessary.
The sky was grey and cloudy as he led his squad on horseback into unchartered territory. He moved at a slow pace knowing that to go around a corner at speed could mean certain death. It meant progress was time consuming which they could ill afford but he had no choice. The ground was littered with shale and rocks, so even if they wanted to move quickly it would be virtually impossible unless they wanted to risk a horse slipping and breaking a leg. He made sure that those following were strung out in single file on their own with at least ten feet in between each rider.