Thinking he was talking to me, I leaned closer to hear him. “I still don’t know how we’re supposed to get off this damned thing.”
I will say the shock was not nearly as bad as we expected, mainly because the bottom of the ship scraped against the seabed before the bow actually made it out of the water, yet while this may have softened the shock, it presented another problem. Once it was clear that we had stopped we ran forward to the front of the ship, where I caught my first glimpse of what was waiting for us. Our first difficulty was that the ship had scraped bottom while the bulk of it was still in the water, so jumping out of it even at the point closest to shore meant we would be jumping into water where we could not see the bottom. Additionally, it was what was waiting for us on the beach that made the prospect of jumping into the water even less appealing, as a multitude of Briton warriors, most of them bare-chested with long flowing mustaches, were standing there. All of them as far as I could see were wearing the same blue paint that the envoys had worn, except this time not just on their faces but chests and arms as well. They stood just a short distance away from the beach, which was not sand but of smoothly rounded stones of varying sizes, and the combination of these two obstacles meant that nobody was willing to jump down into the water. In my case, I was not as worried about the depth as the others because of my height, but for men like Vibius, I imagine that in their minds there was a very real fear of going under the surface and not coming back up again. Now the Britons were roaring their defiance at us, shaking their weapons and their fists, taunting us as the transports all came to a stop along the beach. From what I could see, every other ship was in the same predicament; nobody would be jumping onto dry land, so like our ship, none of the men aboard the other vessels wanted to be the first over the side. We all knew that whoever leaped first would be the center of attention, paid to them by men who looked eager to skewer them. Such was the state of affairs for several moments, as we all glanced sidelong at each other, waiting for someone else to throw caution to the winds and earn eternal glory for themselves and for Rome. I was as hungry for that as the next man, yet I was just as rooted to the spot where I stood as everyone else, and it was growing increasingly clear that we were at a stalemate.
The impasse was broken when we heard a huge splash, and looking to our left, saw the aquilifer of our Legion, holding the eagle standard, which was silver in those days, over his head as he struggled to stay above water. Fighting the surf, he moved towards the shore as he looked not at the enemy, but back over his shoulder as he shouted something we could not hear. We did not need to hear him; we knew exactly what was being said, and the sight of our most prized possession, the symbol of the 10th that we solemnly made a vow to every Januarius, being carried towards an eagerly awaiting enemy was enough for us.
“Over the sides boys, we can’t let any of those blue bastards take our eagle,” a man shouted.
Turning just in time to see him disappear over the bow as he threw himself, shield and javelin in hand, over the side, a column of water splashed up an instant later. Men began climbing over the side, while one man, either overeager or having lost his head, threw himself over the side farther back towards the rear of the ship, sinking like a rock, never to be seen again. Pushing Vibius forward as the men in front disappeared from sight and we waited our turn, we could see that our actions were stirring the enemy into activity. For the first time, we saw how these tribes made use of their chariots. As our men struggled to get out of the water, the missile troops among the Britons began flinging javelins at them, and we could see the men in the water were having a hard time blocking them. With the men on foot flinging missiles, the chariots were doing the same, albeit in a different manner. They turned to run parallel to the shoreline, passing in front of us, with one man driving and another man hurling javelins at us. They made several passes; since there were several chariots, they were heading in both directions and it looked like chaos to our eyes, yet it was something they obviously practiced before because none of the chariots heading in opposite directions collided. The air grew thick with the Briton javelins, and I saw a number of men struck, some of them sinking below the waves and not reappearing, the water where they had been stained red as they slipped from sight.
Our landing was in serious jeopardy of being repulsed, even as we continued pouring over the sides of our ships to join the men struggling their way up to the beach. The shower of missiles continued, the Britons slowly gaining the courage to pull ever closer to us, until some of their javelins actually struck the sides of the ships. At first they bounced off, but with the enemy moving closer, the missiles began to bury themselves in the timbers of the ships, if we were lucky. Vibius was just ahead of me and as he moved to a now-open spot on the rail, the Legionary next to him, a man from our Century named Ahenobarbus, took a javelin directly in the chest, penetrating his armor to drive several inches deep into his body. The dull thud of the missile striking home was clearly audible, and I was standing at a point where I could see the expression on his face as it turned to a look of surprise, then puzzlement as he tried to climb down off the rail while his body refused to obey his commands, finally being replaced at the last by a look of resignation as he toppled into the surf, despite Vibius’ attempt to catch him. Swallowing hard, my heart in my throat, I stepped into the open spot, just in time to hear Vibius.
“Death by drowning, death by javelin, some choice,” he muttered as he closed his eyes, took a deep breath and stepped off into the water.
Hitting the surf with a great splash, he immediately sank from sight, then before I had a conscious thought, I threw myself in after him, intent on saving him from drowning. I went under too, the shock of the cold water almost causing me to open my mouth in a gasp, but I just managed to keep my wits about me. My feet found the bottom and I thrust upwards, my head breaking the surface, the water streaming down my face and temporarily blinding me. Even so, I could clearly hear Vibius spluttering and thrashing about as he surfaced on his own without my help.
“By Dis this water's cold!”
Whereas I was standing in water up to the middle of my chest, Vibius’ head was barely above the surface, a fact that actually turned out to be a blessing in disguise since he made a smaller target. Despite trying to keep my shield above my head to keep it from being waterlogged, I was only partly successful, and I could feel the wood soaking up the water as it got heavier with every heartbeat. Now that we had our bearings, we both began to struggle ashore and it seemed that the entire Briton army gathered on the beach selected me as the target for their javelins. One after another they came whistling past my head, some of them close enough that I could feel the breath of them on my face as they hurtled by, seeking my death. Initially holding my shield slightly above my head for protection, it robbed me of my ability to see what was happening, forcing me to drop it low enough that I could see over the rim. My gut twisted; the beach was now packed with Legionaries who were unable to make any headway off the shingle because of the continuing storm of missiles. We were being strictly defensive, which is not only against our nature, but also is in some ways even more tiring than attacking because of the need to constantly move your shield to block a blow as your eyes dart back and forth, looking for another attack. Our men were gathered into small groups, trying desperately to get into some form of cohesive formation from which we could fight, and the Briton cavalry now came into play as men on horseback charged in trying to scatter our small groups. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught movement of a large object and looked over to see Caesar’s galley, along with a pair of other warships, come rowing up as close to shore as they dared before turning broadside to the Britons so the archers and artillery on board could do their work.