After travelling only about fifty normal paces and very slowly, he stopped and indicated to those behind him to rest with his hand by gently lowering it to the ground flat. Their progress would be exceptionally slow, not only because they wanted to avoid discovery but also because after a while, the muscles they were using burned like fire. After the pain had eased significantly and after regaining his breath he moved on again, the line of men moving in tandem behind him, silent and unseen.
Later as the first signs of a new day began to dawn, he had reached the drop that he had seen from a distance hours before when they were selecting which route to take. He looked up without moving his head and saw the first strands of morning in the night sky, soon it would be light and he had to make a decision. He edged forward parallel with the narrow stream and peered over the drop. He saw the trees were thicker and taller below, probably due to the shelter from the wind. He followed the waters flow and saw a camp of Britons in the distance on the flat ground through the branches. They were far enough away for little concern for the present and most of them looked as if they were sleeping. He scanned the area for any obvious guards but saw none, so sure were they of their safety.
Corvus decided on a plan of action and very slowly turned his body to the man next in line behind him and whispered his orders. They were to take cover in the trees below and rest, he considered it too much of a risk to go further with daylight fast approaching. The result of their capture or discovery was far too great for the men still above them, they would wait in the trees, try and sleep and wait until darkness came again.
Caratacus stared up at the Roman emplacement high on the mountain in frustration. They had buried themselves like a lice on a hogs arse and would take some manoeuvring and prodding to displace. Having considered all his options and looking at the defences from every conceivable angle, he had formed the opinion that he had to attack. If it failed badly and many of their people were killed trying to scale the fortifications, he would draw back his warriors from the slopes and starve the Romans out.
He and Ardwen were agreed on their course of action and spent most of the night telling their men and women where to position themselves so as to try and cut off every possible area of escape. If they could contain the enemy fully, they knew the battle was half won, the problem however, was that many of them had stopped on or near the tracks, or by streams where they had arrived at the base of the mountain and there were gaps where the Romans could force an entire Legion through, if they had one.
By the time they had done as much as they could to disperse the warriors fairly evenly, the sun was beginning to show its first glimmers in the sky. Now the problem was co-ordinating an attack with thousands camped in family groups around the base of a large mountain. They had all been told to watch for the first signs of fire around the palisades once it was a light and they would be able to approach under the cover of the smoke and push the attack forward.
Ten men had been sent up the slopes throughout the night with sacks filled with oil, six had returned. That at least meant that there were now six bags full of highly flammable liquid that would burn brightly once they were hit by an arrow bearing flame, or so he hoped. The signal for the bowmen to go forward was to be the first rays of light. Caratacus looked about him and at first saw no movement or indication that his orders were being carried out but then looking to the east, he saw the first group of bowmen scaling the mountain.
He turned to Ardwen and nodded saying, “There will be no better day than this to crush so many of our enemy.” He clasped his cousins forearm. “Good luck Ardwen of the Silures, may you take many heads.”
“And to you Caratacus of the Catuvellauni, may luck and good fortune bless you today and may our gods crush those of Rome.” Ardwen said smiling and then turned and mounted his horse and made off for his position further along the track.
Caratacus watched as the men grew smaller as they climbed the slopes, slippery with shale and morning dew, bows in hand. The first line of defences were about seven hundred feet up and the men would already be tired from their exertions, then would have to light fires before sending their arrows crashing into the palisade. His attention was drawn to a wave of warriors some few hundred feet behind the archers as they took to the slopes, their end not in sight.
Vespasian had instructed his men not to watch the eight as they tried to make their way off the mountain. A group of gawking fools stood standing and staring over the palisade would have given their position away and they would all be doomed. He had also said that if they were found, they would know soon enough, further explanation was not required. The medic had cleaned his wound again with water and applied some herbs that he was told would speed his recovery. He still couldn’t put his full weight on the leg unaided so one of his men had fashioned a crutch from a branch which in itself was difficult to use on the uneven surface of their sanctuary, but he was thankful nevertheless. With the crutch and the wooden splits either side of the wound for support, he hobbled from place to place.
He had managed to sleep briefly in between the pain of his leg and the cold disturbing his slumber together with the nightmares he foresaw of his destruction and of those around him. He was standing trying to lean on his injured leg that had stiffened somewhat during the night when the alarm sounded from somewhere below. A lone trumpet at first was quickly joined by others as men raced to put their helmets on and grab their javelins.
Roman archers were the furthest forward, positioned at the top of the defences. As soon as the first alarm was raised arrows were nocked onto draw strings as the men ducked behind the cover of wicker walls made for them to launch their arrows from. The wicker would take some impact and absorb damage but they wouldn’t last long against a hail of continued assault. The men crouched behind their small walls hoping that the trench beyond them would be enough to stop the Britons gaining access to where they were.
Legionary Titus Valerius was one such soldier, he looked to the other man, Valerio also sheltering behind the relatively small six foot wicker wall and nodded. To the side of each of them were piles of arrows ready to use against the attackers, neatly stacked and facing the same way to ease loading. The position was mirrored at intervals of fifty paces all the way around the mountain, several hundred feet from the lower ground.
Valerius peered through the small gaps in the wicker and saw movement below, a lot of movement. His fingers felt the reassuring draw string again as he edged to the side of his part of the wicker. The sight before him made him pause and shocked him to the core. There were thousands of enemy warriors struggling up the slopes towards them. A few carried torches and were surrounded by pockets of archers beyond them in the masses were blue painted warriors, men and women carrying long swords, axes and spears. Some he saw wore cloaks against the morning chill their pale skin underneath covered in woad in circular Celtic patterns.
“Fire Arrows!” Valerius bellowed as loud as he was able and drew back his bow, he knew that their own missiles would carry further than those of the Britons due to the height advantage and indeed fly faster through the air. They had to keep them as far away as possible to avoid the wood in their defences catching on fire.