Caratacus had watched from thousands of feet up as the Romans had sent a scouting party into the gorge below. They were already a few hundred feet above sea level and their chance of taking a different route was narrowed with every step they took, until they were down to one. The main party had stopped and were taking a break at a fairly large clearing as the scouts entered the path below. Caratacus watched from his vantage point and began to give orders as warriors scurried down the paths carrying out his orders.
Although he was perched watching the enemy from behind the tops of trees on the slope below him, he felt almost exposed to the dangerous beast he now saw. If only he could reach out with his hand and could grab this army and crush it in his hand and squash it like a mosquito. He stood up and scrambled down the slope through the trees holding the hilt of his sword and pushing it down so its blade faced upward at an angle and didn’t scrape along the surface and give away their position. He wanted to wait until the last possible second to spring the trap and kill as many of these intruders as possible.
As arrows and spears began to thud into the ground and flesh alike, causing heavy impacts from their deadly rain, the cries of alarm and pain began from both human and animal alike. As Varro took two giant strides and leapt up onto Staro’s back, he saw from the corner of his vision at least two bodies falling from the horses of his own people. As he began to turn, he kicked the horse into a gallop and saw that the fat lamb that had stopped his progress a few seconds before, was now pinned to the floor, a spear impaling it through its back as its legs scrambled to try and gain some purchase on the slippery shale. Rich red blood was already vividly staining the white woollen fur, then an arrow struck it’s skull at the side and it stopped moving altogether.
“Follow me.” He managed to shout half turning again as his horse built up speed, hooves biting into the stony floor as he ripped his up shield above his head. Arrows and spears continued to land and he heard more shrieks behind in the chaos as they attempted to escape the deadly shower, the noise was almost deafening. Staro chinked this way and that as he moved almost automatically round the tight corners with Varro clinging on for dear life with his legs leaning low.
The first thing that Vespasian knew of the ambush was the instant red hot pain boring into his exposed flesh inside his upper leg, he felt above his right knee and almost collapsed. Crying out in agony immediately and frowning he looked down where he saw a large arrow shaft had embedded itself through his skin and out through the other side. A member of his bodyguard screamed something that he didn’t quite hear and ran over to him stopping his fall as he went to go to ground. As the soldier propped him up, other arrows zipped past his head and landed, some hitting the ground but others wounding and killing other men as they desperately looked for cover. In that second he looked up and saw his men taking both arrows and spears which meant the Britons were close, very close.
“Come on sir we’ve got to move.” The legionnaire said half dragging and carrying his Legate up under his shoulder cursing under his breath. Another man ran over to them an optio, and got on the other side of their commander, almost instantly the first soldier was hit. Vespasian turned hearing a thump followed by a cracking sound as an arrow struck and he felt the man go suddenly slack and fall away. He saw it had pierced his face below the right eye and was inches deep into his head. Deep red blood pulsed out and down into his open mouth. The man was dead before he hit the ground his helmet falling clear and landing before he did.
The optio screamed for help as he dragged his Legate towards a cart where the helpless mules were already being hit and injured by a number of arrows. They jerked around helplessly bellowing their anger trying to get free as men fell all around them. He saw that some had huddled together to form better protection under their shields collectively and were virtually crawling, stooped down trying to get out of range of the deadly torrent. Someone unseen was shouting for testudos to be formed. Shrieks of pain filled the air all around him but he knew he had to take control of the madness that now surrounded his world.
Arriving breathless at the wheel of the cart the optio didn’t wait for his commander to crawl underneath, he hurled him to the ground, the arrow breaking off in his leg as he did so, Vespasian cried out in agony and fought to get under the wooden surface, fury written over his face briefly at the optio.
“Mars fucking hairy cunt, you fucking barbarian goat fuckers will pay for this.” He shouted grabbing at the length of arrow shaft that still remained in his leg. He tried to pull it out but it was already slick with blood. The optio took his neckerchief off and shouted, “Not like that sir, the barbs will rip your fuckin leg apart, turn over.”
The Legate frowned but did as he was told mentally scalding himself for losing his composure, he turned his back on the optio who had wrapped the material around the wooden shaft and was wiping blood away. He smothered the deadly barbed head with the cloth and without ceremony or waiting for his commander to ready himself, yanked the arrow free. Legate Titus Vespasian blacked out and was lost to the chaos.
***
Varro rode as fast as he could around the twisting curves of the track, the sound of the animal’s hooves loud in his ears. He was faintly aware of the others behind him but didn’t dare turn to look and see who was following, who was still with him. Leaning forward low over his mounts back he urged the beast on determined that they wouldn’t die in this place. On and on they rode, arrows showering the ground all around them. He knew an archer would be lucky to hit a galloping horse or its rider especially as they jinked and turned around the bends of the track but also knew that an injury out here far behind enemy lines could mean death even if it wasn’t severe. Although the odds were low on being hit, he knew that there must be dozens, hundreds of Britons firing and throwing missiles at them because the deadly storm kept coming. A thought quickly entered his head as he knew Parthians were known to smear their arrows in excrement to ensure disease even in the slightest of cuts, maybe the Britons did the same.
In the space of a blink of an eye he imagined all kinds of images, their naked bodies stripped of clothing and armour, barbarians celebrating as they disfigured their torsos, their horses killed and eaten, the men at Isca Dumnoniorum never knowing what had happened to them, lost on the frontier. They could be poisoned by an arrow and left to die a long and painful death. Dark thoughts and images filled his mind as he clung onto Staro as he snorted with effort galloping for his and his masters life, it seemed to go on for an eternity. He was pulled from the nightmare by shouts from somewhere to the rear, a familiar voice.
“Varro slow down, stop, we’re clear.” It was Tevelgus. He risked turning and saw the big Briton behind him and slowed down and for the first time. He saw that he was followed by only three, Brenna and Decimus were there also, there was quiet from the banks either side.
“Where are the others?” He asked stopping his horse looking up at the sharp mountain slopes either side of them expecting to see more arrows being launched, his chest lurched with the effort of the frantic ride.
“They were hit in the first wave.” Brenna said, “There was nothing we could do for them.” Automatically they all checked themselves and their mounts to see if they had been injured, they hadn’t. Panting Varro jumped off his horse.
“I didn’t see them. They must have been hiding in the trees waiting to ambush us, there was no sign, nothing at all.” He looked around again certain of more missiles. “We can’t just leave them we’ve got to go back.” He said.