Tevelgus got off his own horse and walked towards the centurion, “You saw that hail of arrows, if we went back we would end up just like them, they’re dead and if they weren’t straight away, they will be by now.”
“What if any of them were just injured, how would you feel if you knew your friends had left you to die?” He answered.
The big Briton stared at Varro almost willing him to argue it seemed and then his eyes widened and Varro heard a thump, he fell forward onto the Roman, an arrow sticking into the back of his head. Varro staggered with his weight, took a step back and let him fall face down. Brenna cried out her brother’s name.
“Mount up.” He shouted grabbing his saddle and swinging his leg back up and onto his horse who, had already started to move forward on his own. Hooves hitting the ground masked the sound of any other flying arrows as they tried to escape again.
From both sides, the Britons scrambled and ran down the steep slopes jeering and screaming towards the men of the Second Augusta who were desperately retreating from the edge of the clearing. Spears were hurled at random from the high ground so thick was the target area below. Legionaries already lay dead or wounded their blood a sharp contrast to the white of their tunics. Despite the deadly avalanche of weapons, the legionaries were already regrouping and forming testudos leaving the dead and injured where they lay as men screamed out for help.
Orders were shouted from centurions and optios inside the formations as they tried to keep order and discipline. One group of such soldiers that were slower than the rest and containing only about thirty men were the first to be attacked. The Britons swarmed the shield wall and they were stopped in their tracks. Barbarians who had jumped down from other areas not even near them, ran and joined the attack. Spears, axes, clubs, swords and arrows stabbed at their defences, hacking and piercing at the shielded formation.
As other testudos retreated, men who were relatively safe for the time being, watched through gaps in their own shields when movement allowed, as they began to fall one at a time. Shields were ripped from grasping arms as the holders were wounded, spears were hurled over the top of the attacking warriors, axes span through the air landing indiscriminately somewhere in the middle, a hand was hacked off a flailing Roman arm as its shield was ripped from its grasp. It was a blood bath, where no mercy was shown.
As the last two men were simultaneously chopped down, Vespasian opened his eyes. He and the optio were in the centre of the clearing under the cart in front of which the two mules lay dead, hit by umpteen arrows. The Legate saw that the soldier had used his neck scarf as a tourniquet to stop the blood flow.
“Report.” He ordered turning and looking out to the scenes of battle around them.
“They’ve just butchered a testudo sir, at least twenty, maybe thirty men hacked and stabbed to death.” He pointed to where he had witnessed the atrocity occur. The Britons were crowding over the slain men picking up helmets, swords and shields.
Vespasian turned in the opposite direction and saw squares of centuries formed up about sixty paces away. “Quickly whilst they’re distracted, we’ve got to get to that testudo over there.” He pointed.
The optio gave him a concerned look until he added, “We can either try and get to them and get some cover or wait here until they,” he pointed a thumb in the other direction, “come over here and drag us out kicking and screaming and butcher us where we lay. It’s up to you but I can’t run without your help.” The optio turned and quickly crawled out from under the cart on the opposite side from the main body of Britons. He knew in seconds they would be bearing down on other men so he moved as fast as he could. Grimacing in pain Vespasian shimmied along on his backside. Once clear of the cart, he was pulled up by the soldier who draped his arm over his shoulder and immediately began half running and dragging the Legate towards the waiting formation.
Suddenly they were aware of shouting behind them, as the optio himself shouted at the wall of shields, silently standing in front of them. Neither of them turned not daring to waste any time but hurried forward, now about forty paces from safety. The noise behind them grew as arrows were launched again but this time they were Roman, they flew over their heads and to the side of them landing unseen. Shouts of pain merged with shouts of anger as some at least found their mark.
The optio pushed Vespasian’s arm higher to get a better grip and was aware of movement in the Roman line now thirty paces distant. His head was suddenly jarred violently forward, a loud single bang on his helmet signalling that he had been struck with something but he didn’t dare look to see what it was. Struggling with the Legate on his shoulder he looked forward and watched as the legionaries launched a wave of javelins into the air towards them. He ducked instinctively as they flew over his head and fell into their intended targets.
He could almost feel the breath of the enemy now and believed that he would die heroically trying to save his Legate. Would his wife hear of his valour? Would they build a shrine in his name? Would anyone survive this catastrophe? Every second he expected to feel a spear puncture his armour and pierce his flesh underneath, snapping his spine. Another volley of pila was launched from the line of shields but it didn’t make him feel any more secure. At least he thought his comrades were doing their duty in trying to protect them as they lurched forward. Twenty paces away from some respite, some of the men in the front line of the formation opened their ranks and waited behind their shields peering out. Another wave of Roman arrows sped towards the heathens behind them as he felt the burning hot sensation of an enemy arrow stab into his heel.
“Arrrggggghhh you bastards.” He yelled, his face contorted in pain as he fell forward the weight of the Legate on top of him and then everything blacked out.
Caratacus thrust his sword at the armoured demon standing in front of him surrounded by his comrades but it bounced off. The soldier leered at him and stabbed out with his gladius from the side of his shield but his reach was too short. Warriors jostled for position sensing victory over this relatively small and isolated group as men barged passed each other, vying for spoils and death. Spears landed in amongst the Romans, some were deflected off shields or armour but a few found soft flesh to penetrate and pierce.
Screams and squeals of pain, some almost childlike, filled his ears as he cut and thrust with his weapon. An arrow flew past his head so close that he felt the draught of its passing at great speed as it smashed its way into a helmeted forehead just below the rim. The eyes were dead and rolling backward into the head long before the body fell and Caratacus wanted more, much more. They were winning this battle within a battle he realised as more spears were thrown from above and shattered men and bone.
From his peripheral vision he saw Ardwen hacking at a soldiers leg like a maniac chopping at a tree whilst another warrior attacked the upper body. The first slice embedded itself deep into the man’s shin before it was wrenched free and another great scything arc removed the leg from below the knee completely. The metallic smell of blood and iron filled his nose. He held his ground briefly trying to assess the situation and saw great rows of soldiers formed up beyond this skirmish, behind their shields. One man was hobbling towards their lines with another draped over his shoulder.
He backed away a few feet from the fighting and gave a hand signal for the archers on the slope to concentrate their fire at the neat rows of silent men waiting to fight. Within seconds the men behind those at the front, hauled up their rectangular shields to form an almost solid roof as arrows struck them. One arrow shaft passed through a small gap and hit one legionary in the face, he dropped from sight instantly. Caratacus signalled Ardwen to break off his attack and follow him, leaving their warriors to wipe out the men before them.