“Take my horse, you can ride two and rest one, I can move just as quickly on foot over this terrain.” He said pointing up at the almost sheer face of the mountain. “I’ll just take my dried meat sack and some water, anything else will just wear me down.” He walked to his horse as Staro raised his head, giving him a rub on his ear he whispered something to him and said to the two still watching, “Fill your water skins with fresh water at the stream, you’ll need it.”
***
The rain of arrows and spears began to falter as the men of the Second retreated back into the pass leaving some dead or seriously injured men behind in the dust. The slingers who Caratacus wanted so desperately to join the battle were caught with the same problem and most of their missiles now just bounced off the re-enforced shields. The Britons in their eagerness to draw blood were too crowded on the slopes and too few of them could get close enough to hurl their spears. Likewise only the bowmen close enough to the pass, could get a clear shot, loosed an arrow. Most of the men lying crippled and injured were quickly finished off by warriors as they swarmed over their broken and shattered bodies. Heads and limbs were hacked off, some still with their helmets on to be used as trophies later. A few men were dragged away kicking and screaming, their fate uncertain but not envious.
With the testudo still formed at the battlefront of the retreating lines, those clear of the pass now broke off and started to gain ground running up hill to the attacking Britons on the orders of their centurions. There were no defences except for the trees and the men of the Legion formed their own testudos in century groups until they reached them. Once there they were ordered to break free and engage the enemy. The fighting was fierce and casualties were taken on both sides but in time the men behind the large shields began to get the better of their opponents and pushed the Britons back over the summit. With the advantage of height, pila were passed forward and hurled at the retreating warriors, which helped speed them on their way.
The respite that the Britons had tried not to give the Romans was now a reality and they now held the higher ground on this particular peak. Those who were in the pass quickly began to make their way up the slope and before the rest were safe, the sound of trees being felled could be heard. Rations and weapons were taken from the carts and hurried upward to the top. Ever organised the soldiers of the Roman army began to build a fortified position which would secure them further, for the time being at least.
Vespasian was carried up to the top where rock provided a natural basin of flat land where they could survey the ground below. Medics and surgeons were brought forward to treat the injured and any supplies that could be carried, were taken from the carts in the valley. With all the animals dead, the remaining wagons were set on fire so they couldn’t be used by the enemy. As the daylight began to give way a base camp of sorts was already nearly set up and was preparing for the next attack.
Despite his injury, Vespasian was on his feet as soon as possible against his doctor’s advice. With thick padding over the puncture wounds and bandages strapped round his limb, wooden splits supporting his leg either side of the injury, he hobbled around speaking to his men reassuring them that they could hold the Britons off for days if need be. Each man had left Isca Dumnoniorum with enough rations for seven days but they had managed to salvage more from the carts below. He assured them that they were secure enough and would take this opportunity to draw the Britons in and kill as many as possible, all was not lost.
The faces looking back at him told the reality of the matter however, they were cut off and surrounded in enemy territory with limited resources and weapons and had already suffered many dead and injured. He knew he wasn’t convincing anyone but to give up now would mean certain death for them all and whilst there was still a chance of survival, he would take it.
He walked to the edge of the rocky outcrop on one part of the peak and looked down, he swallowed heavily. Massing below in the valley were thousands of enemy warriors, swarming like insects in the failing light. They looted what was left on some of the carts his men could not reach and stood shouting up at the Romans, waving spears, bows, swords and axes.
“Mighty Mithras help us.” He whispered to himself. Turning he called a centurion over and gave out orders for the defences further down the slope. They would make their mountain fort as impenetrable as they could by angling chopped tree trunks downward but beyond the reach of a standing man, sharpened stakes impossible to climb. Below that would be a ditch dug eight feet deep all around their encampment. Another vertical wall would be built behind the first defence. Pila would be piled at strategic intervals along the line behind the walls, archers behind them would pick off any who got through the walls further up on the land cleared of trees and if all that failed they would defend their land hand to hand until the last man.
As darkness began to fall the chopping of trees and digging continued and once in a while an archer would fire an arrow downward at any Briton that strayed into range, for now the accuracy kept the rest clear as men were speared by the deadly small missiles.
Caratacus and Ardwen watched from the safety of another mountain top close by as the Romans in the distance, the size of peas, toiled at their defences, chopping down trees and digging ditches.
“You have to admire them,” Ardwen said, “they took a good beating today and many of them lay dead but still they prepare for more.” He bit into a piece of meat as he watched and chewed.
“We too lost men and women but not nearly as many as our friends on the mountain top over there, besides what choice do they have? We should have foreseen this, their retreat, and had enough warriors to stop them gaining purchase over there.” Caratacus said in reply.
“If we had that many up there, they would have been seen as they approached and the trap wouldn’t have been sprung. Now we can pick away at them at our pleasure, their weapons won’t last and nor will their food, it’s only a matter of time.” Ardwen said looking down at his warriors below them.
“We’ll wait until its dark and fire the defences, night arrows should burn the wood quickly enough once we’ve put oil to them. We’ll ask for volunteers to go forward and soak the timber. If they’re careful and quiet, they won’t even know we’ve done it until we’ve launched our burning shafts skyward.” Caratacus said, turning to Ardwen he added, “Send some scouts to the local settlements and tell them of our victory today. Tell them we have more Romans trapped and that if they get here quickly enough, they can witness their destruction.”
Ardwen turned to do as he was asked, before Caratacus stopped him grabbing his arm saying, “I want warriors here not old men and women. When we destroy these men,” he said pointing at the peak opposite, “more will realise that these invaders can be beaten and we can remove them from our shores. Old women looking to slice off dead men’s cocks will only get in the way.”
Ardwen smiled and summoned a few men who were used as scouts, their short stocky ponies behind them and gave them their orders. He called for more food and retook his place next to Caratacus, “Well we may as well get comfortable, have some food, relax and wait until our guests are settled.” Both men looked to the enemy still busy forming their defensive lines.
Brenna and Decimus rode slowly at first their mounts trotting along the mountain paths. They didn’t want to draw attention to themselves and the surface was too dangerous to go any faster. The dark night had enveloped the peaks quickly once the daylight began to recede and the paths were difficult to see. They had searched for what seemed like ages looking for a single track that led them lower and eventually they had found one.