“If your stomach can’t handle the harbor, we’re going to have our hands full when we put out into the channel,” laughed the senior man of the ship, whose title I do not know.
His jest we did not find amusing in the slightest, although he was right. Once we reached the open sea, which the crew of the ship took great delight in telling us was really just a relatively protected channel, we were even sicker than in the harbor, something I did not think possible. This was far worse than our experience on the barges during the campaign in Lusitania, we unanimously agreed, with men continually running to the side to empty the contents of their stomach. It was in this state that we began our great adventure.
The ships carrying us sailed through the night, while some of the warships holding not only Caesar but the contingent of archers and the artillery that we were taking pulled far ahead. These artillery pieces carried by the warships were mounted so that they could fire from the ships. To the galleys went the honor of being the first to sight the isle of which we had heard so much yet knew so little. Meanwhile, behind them sloshed the transports, bucking and pitching as they fought through the current that seemed to be conspiring against us. With the dawn approaching, we roused ourselves from our stupor to gather along the sides of the boat to peer anxiously towards the west, wagers being made about who would be the first to sight land. Finally, about the first part of the watch after dawn, a shout arose as the sharpest eye among us pointed to his find, and money or markers changed hands. Naturally, we all strained our eyes and could just make out what appeared to be a…….white line? In our limited experience, land would show up as a black or perhaps green line on the horizon, except Britannia was different. We could make out a white line that we were sure were not the whitecaps of waves and immediately wagering began on whether what we were seeing was snow. While we could not credit the idea that snow would be falling this early in the year, there was no denying what we were seeing, and I was among those who were sure that this Britannia was a land that was perhaps encased in perpetual ice and snow. How else could one explain why so few people had visited?
Ever so slowly, the truth was revealed to us and perhaps a third of a watch or so after we got our first view of land, we drew close enough to determine what we were looking at with such eagerness. An almost universal groan escaped from the two Centuries on the boat; very few men, if any, had wagered that we were seeing some form of white rock, yet that is exactly what it was. Sheer white cliffs as it turned out, once we finally caught up with the galleys. By the time we actually joined them, because of the tide running against us, a good part of the day had passed by, and we anxiously watched the sun dropping inexorably towards the horizon. Although the dangers ashore concerned us, what was of more pressing urgency was the idea that we would have to spend another night on this boat, so we were happy to see when Caesar summoned all the officers to his flagship. As they were rowed across to meet with the general, it was right about then that someone noticed something was amiss.
“How do we get off this damned thing?” Vibius mused as he stared down at the solid wooden side of the boat that came up to above his waist.
At first I did not understand what he was saying, thinking of course we would get off the same way we got on. That is when the realization of what he was saying hit me. I began looking around at the boat; no, the sides of the boat were smooth and of one piece, and there was no obvious place where somehow the side would magically lower so we could walk down a gangplank. Instantly after this idea hit me was the understanding that there would be no gangplank, since I thought it highly unlikely that the Britons, who we could now see standing on the cliffs watching us, would offer us assistance of any kind. Despite the diplomatic words of their envoys, what we saw arrayed on the cliff looked anything but peaceful.
“Are those….chariots?” This was gasped by Scribonius, and a moan of apprehension rippled through the rest of the men, a feeling that I must say I shared. We had never faced chariots before, although every Roman child has grown up on stories about their use in war. Our experience with chariots was confined to the races in Rome between the various teams, the Reds, Greens, Blues and whatnot. Even as we watched, with almost contemptuous ease, the men driving the chariots wheeled them back and forth along the cliff, in the same manner as a restless beast of prey paces when put in a cage. This would be what was waiting for us when we got ashore, I thought, as soon as we figure out how to get off the damned boat.
Sometimes the answer to a problem lies in its simplest form and such was the case here. Once the fleet gathered in the shadow of the white cliffs, shortly after the officers were rowed back to their respective ships from Caesar’s flagship, the current suddenly and mysteriously, at least to us, changed direction to begin pushing us farther north along the coast. The Britons on the cliff saw us leaving, and wheeling their chariots around, darted out of sight, the men on foot with them trailing behind, presumably to move to a different vantage point. Sailing for about another third of a watch before there was a signal that a suitable landing place was spotted, without hesitation the signal to land came from Caesar’s ship, with the transports immediately turning to head straight for the shore. The sight of the island drawing inexorably closer brought us all to our feet, as orders were shouted to make ready. Looking nervously about for some sort of indication that might give us an idea of what was about to happen, to our inexperienced eyes it looked very much as if the plan was just to run these ships straight onto the beach. One of the men in the other Century walked over to ask the man steering the ship, and we could see his face turn white at the answer he was given, although it was drowned out by the sound of the wind whistling past the sail and the water slapping the sides of the boat.
The Legionary walked back in our direction, saying loudly enough for us to hear, “This crazy bastard is just going to run us up onto the beach at full speed.”
I can tell you that this caused a bit of a reaction among the lot of us, the men talking excitedly, grabbing at whatever they thought would be solid in preparation for the landing. Clutching the side of the ship, with Vibius next to me, we both leaned out over the side to peer at the beach we were heading towards, and I heard Vibius mumbling to himself.