‘We need prisoners!’ Vespasian yelled at his brother as he passed. Sabinus waved in acknowledgement as, with a rasping twang followed by the dull thump of the arms hitting the padded restraining bars, the bolt accelerated from the carroballista into the night; the whisper of air rushing past its leather flights marked its passing. The marines hurried to reload as the liburnian ploughed on, overtaking Vespasian’s flotilla and gaining with every oar-straining stroke on the six fleeing boats.
‘What are you waiting for?’ Vespasian shouted at his archers. On unsteady legs the eight Hamians in the bow stood and released a speculative volley from the rocking craft; their comrades in the other boats followed their lead and were rewarded, more by luck than judgement, by a couple of cries of pain and a shadowy figure falling overboard. Then the carroballista spat a second missile; within a heartbeat shrieks rang through the air and a boat disintegrated into foaming water. The Hamians kept up a quick rate of release, peppering the Britons and reducing their rowing power so that their overhaul became inevitable. A third shot from the bolt-shooter, almost at pointblank range, took the head off one warrior before passing through the chest of the next and finally skewering a third by his belly to the pierced hull of the vessel. With the distance closing so that visibility became less of an issue the Hamians set about their work with relish and their kill-rate increased. As oarsmen perished and their sweeps fouled, the boats began to slew and it was almost at a broadside that the merciless ram of the liburnian crashed through the nearest, tossing its crew aside like dolls to be sucked under its hull or pounded down by its weighty wooden blades.
The liburnian drove relentlessly on towards its next victim, blocking the Hamians’ line of sight; Vespasian steered his boat through its choppy wake, searching the surface for survivors. As another fleeing boat was ploughed beneath the bow of the liburnian, a warrior bobbed up from under its stern, coughing and spluttering and making frantic movements with his arms to stay afloat.
Vespasian changed course towards the floundering man, bringing the boat alongside him. With the drawn bows of a couple of the Hamians aimed at his face, he grabbed an oar and was hauled in; he scrambled aboard, his chest heaving and blood streaming down his face from a gash on his forehead. Sweeping his sword from its scabbard, Vespasian brought the flat of the blade cracking down on the man’s skull; he slumped, unconscious, into the shallow water slopping in the bilge as the screams of the last of his comrades were silenced beneath the liburnian’s hull.
‘He says that he comes from Durocornavis,’ Cogidubnus informed Vespasian, Sabinus and Plautius, ‘and I believe him; he has the uncouth accent of the Cornovii of the southwest.’
Vespasian looked down at the terrified warrior, splayed out on a cross on the ground, his arms and legs held in place by legionaries with mallets in their belts and long nails gripped in their teeth. ‘I can’t think of any reason why he would choose to lie at this moment.’
‘Ask him whether this was Caratacus’ idea,’ Plautius ordered, ‘or whether they just took it upon themselves to try to burn our ships.’
After the question had been put the warrior spoke quickly, his eyes flicking between all the nails that might soon be pounded through his wrists and feet.
Cogidubnus listened, the glow of the three dying fires out in the estuary playing on his face, and then nodded, as if satisfied by the answer, before translating. ‘It was their chieftain, Judoc, who ordered the attack once he’d received news from Arvirargus, King of the Dumnonii, of the ships being dragged across the portage way. The druids told him that they’d read in the entrails of a shipwrecked Roman sailor that the gods would favour them.’
‘They were mistaken on that point,’ Sabinus observed unnecessarily.
Vespasian raised an eyebrow. ‘It goes to show that you should never believe everything you read.’
‘Thank you, legate!’ Plautius snapped. ‘There’s no place for wit in my army. Ask him what he knows about Caratacus.’
Again Cogidubnus posed the question; this time the answer was more hesitant. ‘He claims that they have had no contact with Caratacus.’
‘Bollocks! He’s lying.’
‘Yes, I agree; Caratacus would have sent emissaries to every tribe and sub-tribe not yet under Roman rule.’
Plautius looked at the legionary holding the captive’s right arm. ‘Soldier, put your nail ready to hammer it home.’
The legionary took the six-inch nail from his mouth, placed it on the warrior’s wrist, just below the base of the thumb, took his mallet from his belt and held it ready. The captive’s chest started heaving with terrified anticipation and he spoke breathlessly with a pleading timbre to his voice.
Cogidubnus smiled, his eyes glinting in the glow. ‘That’s more like it. What he meant to say was that they have had no direct contact with Caratacus; he hasn’t crossed the water to hold counsel with his chieftain, but his representative did, in the summer of this year, and met with Arvirargus and all the chieftains of the sub-tribes.’
Plautius was interested. ‘When exactly did this man arrive?’
‘A month after the summer solstice,’ was the translated reply.
‘Towards the end of July, just under a couple of months ago; that fits with Alienus leaving Camulodunum the first time and taking my cancelled orders back to Caratacus. What was discussed at this meeting?’
‘He doesn’t know all that was said,’ Cogidubnus translated, having listened to the reply. ‘He’s just a warrior and doesn’t share in the counsels of the great; but after the man left, Arvirargus declared that there would be a muster of the Dumnonii on the first full moon after the harvest had been brought in. He also ordered the Cornovii to build more currachs — they’re the boats that they used tonight. They were told to make them longer and wider so that they could hold more men.’
Vespasian looked at his superior. ‘What were the written orders that Alienus purchased from your clerk, sir?’
Plautius thought for a few moments. ‘They were for you: I’d been considering for a while not advancing any further southwest for the time being, seeing as apart from some tin there’s very little of value down there; the Dumnonii don’t even mint their own coins. So I issued orders for you to negotiate honourable terms with Arvirargus whereby he keeps his crown and independence but gives us access to his tin mines. Once done, you were to hold this line that we’re now on with garrisons of auxiliaries whilst the legion moved to relieve the Fourteenth Gemina. They would then, along with half of the Twentieth Legion, called up from reserve, have gone north into the northern Cornovii’s territory to threaten the lands of the Brigantes and force their bitch of a queen, Cartimandua, to make a decision one way or another instead of telling both me and Caratacus that she supports us entirely and would be only too happy to bear our children.’
‘So Caratacus was going to take advantage of our weakened presence down here and send the army of the Dumnonii against us, without telling Arvirargus that you were willing to negotiate.’
‘Which is exactly what I would have done in his position; he would have forced me to abort my move against the Brigantes and would have been able to claim to Cartimandua, with some justification, that he had saved her people from invasion, thereby claiming her loyalty. Only it didn’t happen because I rescinded the orders.’ Plautius looked back down at the captive. ‘Cogidubnus, ask him what happened to the army after it was mustered.’
The King translated the brief reply. ‘It was disbanded after half a moon.’
‘Because the Second Augusta did not move north, which tells us that the Dumnonii have not got the strength or inclination to face a full legion, which means that they could be open to negotiation. And yet the druids persuaded one of the sub-tribes to launch an attack on us, which is bound to bring reprisals, if not an all-out invasion of their worthless territory which hitherto we have left untouched.’