Starting with a gale that blew in from the ocean, a violent rainstorm driven by high winds lashed at our tents, reviving memories of that dreadful point the year before when our tents were rendered more or less useless. It was especially miserable on guard duty, since the day the storm struck it was our luck that we were the guard Cohort. For those men in the towers at the corners of the walls, there was at least a bit of shelter, but those of us stuck out on the ramparts huddled beneath our sagum, bitterly cursing the Fates that let this happen. What we did not know was that it just so happened that the lost cavalry transports had chosen that very day to try their luck in crossing the channel again. Once more they were swept away by the storm, although they managed to get back to the mainland without losing a ship, man, or beast for that matter. But what we did know was the catastrophe that befell our fleet, the fleet that carried us over and was supposed to carry us back home. I believe I mentioned that while we were trying to flush out the Veneti from their forts, they relied on some trick of the gods that regulates when the oceans rise and the oceans fall. Well, it was this same trick that struck us an almost mortal blow as suddenly, for no reason at all, the level of the sea rose several feet, reaching well past the point where we beached our galleys, thinking that we had dragged them past the highest level that the sea would rise. However, the gods had other things in mind, as the seas, driven by the storm we were sure, rose to a point where the beached galleys now floated and because of the violence of the storm, were flung against the stone beach and broken into pieces. The gods were not through with us however; the storm was violent enough that the cables holding the transport ships at anchor were snapped, and these too were hurtled towards the shore, driven onto the shingle much more violently than when we had landed, so much so that most of the transports were damaged in some way. The day dawned to the sight of the beach, cleaned of bodies yet now littered with wreckage and the damaged ships of our fleet. The fleet that we relied upon to get home.
This sight of our wrecked fleet sent an immediate panic through the camp, so to my dying breath I will believe that it was our own reaction, along with the damage done to the ships that caused the British chiefs who were “guests” in the camp to follow the course of action that they did. There was a constant stream of traffic into and out of the camp by the various tribes on the island, so it was not of sufficient moment to remark on the passage of some of the chiefs who left the camp. It was what they were doing that would cause the mischief. Seeing the wreck of our fleet, and deciding from the size of our camp that we were a relatively small force, the chiefs summoned all the warriors who were dispersed in the days before, telling them to assemble at a site some distance away from our camp. This in and of itself would have been trouble enough, yet the bigger challenge facing us was due to the fact that we were told to travel light, meaning that the heavy tools, of the type needed to work on ships for example, got left behind on the mainland. There was a feeling of desperation that swept through the camp, the prospect of being stranded here on this strange island gripping the imagination of every man, including me. True, we had seen no men ten feet tall, but I was just as convinced as my comrades that there were things on this island of a fantastic and evil nature that we had yet to confront. I held no doubt that were we forced to spend the winter here, we would be faced with these horrors soon enough. There is only one thing that thrives on gossip more than a collection of women and that is an army, and I am too ashamed to recount some of the more fantastic tales that made the rounds during that time. This sense of impending doom was palpable, throughout the camp and both Legions. Two of the most veteran and hard-bitten of Caesar’s Legions were almost paralyzed with the fear of what would befall us on this island.
Luckily for all of us, not least himself, Caesar alone kept his head. A call went out for the immunes with skills in carpentry and working with metals, their duties now to repair the fleet. Because we were stranded here longer than Caesar originally planned, our food supplies were running low, and it was this fact that the chiefs of the island tribes planned to capitalize on, as their warriors answered the summons. Our men were eagerly volunteering for immunes duty, many of them fabricating their experience in carpentry and metalworking, just for the opportunity to help work on our fleet, understandable since it was our only way home. For those of us too unimaginative to turn the time we spent chopping trees into a full-fledged career as a carpenter, we were left to perform the normal duties of camp life. Gear always needs mending and whenever there is a spare moment we train, which is where my time was spent, despite the lack of training weapons. Meanwhile, the food situation was becoming dire and despite only having a total of 30 cavalry who shipped over with Commius, Caesar put them to good use, sending them far and wide looking for consumables. They came back to report several fields of grain just waiting to be reaped some two miles to the west of the camp, near some woods. Most of the other fields had already been harvested so Caesar, not wanting to waste an opportunity to feed us, sent the 7th out to gather up the grain, ordering them to march with only their weapons, sickles and wicker baskets. That day I was involved in weapons training, using our normal swords in their sheaths since we did not bring our training weapons, the men of the Century cursing me and wishing all manner of horrible things to befall me, a fact that I took as a sign that I was making progress. The 7th was gone for perhaps two thirds of a watch when, seemingly out of nowhere, the horns sounded the call for assembly under arms. Luckily, we were all wearing our armor and helmet and since we were using our regular weapons for training, we were one of the first Centuries to make it to the forum. Caesar had mounted Toes, while the Tribunes and Legates of both Legions, the ones from the 7th staying behind undoubtedly to catch up on their rest or to bugger one of the young slaves, were running about in a high state of alarm.
“What by Pluto’s thorny cock is happening, you wonder?” I heard Rufio ask the Pilus Prior, who merely shrugged.
“Don’t know, but I imagine it’s got something to do with the 7th out there getting grain.”
Within moments the Legion was assembled, with our 8th and 10th Cohorts ordered to relieve the two Cohorts on guard. The instant they ran to their posts the guard Cohorts that were relieved came to join us without waiting to be properly dismissed, and shortly after we were trotting out of the main gate. Clearing the gate, we could clearly see what caused the alarm; there was a huge dust cloud, much larger than would be normal for a Legion on the march, hanging in the air some distance away. This did not stop Caesar from ordering us to double time, and there were audible groans as we began trotting towards the dust cloud, heading to help the 7th.
Within less than a sixth part of the watch, we drew within sight of the 7th and could immediately see the problem. This was our first indication that the Briton chiefs were plotting, because the 7th was surrounded by a large mass of warriors, with a much larger number of chariots than met us on the beach. This could only mean that some mischief had been in the works for some time, since it would take several days to assemble such a large host.