The ramparts of the fort were now covered with Britons as those closest to the defenders fought like demons, hacking, slashing and screaming at their enemy determined to take their lives. The Roman legionaries fought on, those who didn’t have their shields had disappeared from view, no doubt dead and trampled underfoot by the hordes swarming up the slope. Valerius saw the centurion’s plume jolt backwards as he too vanished from sight, quickly followed by the tribune as the Britons took the top of the rampart and began hacking at the men below.
The battle became a slaughter and Valerius knew he could do nothing about it, although he recognised that he that had made the right decision, he still felt shame as he backed further into the trees. As he did, he was aware of the mounted Britons who had ridden out to meet the auxiliaries, now riding back to the engulfed position where the survivors still fought on. In moments it was all but over and through thick bushes he watched as about ten soldiers were dragged over the raised embankment, they must have been the only ones still alive and were thrown down into the ditch where they had previously been digging.
“What are we going to do?” Valerius jumped, he hadn’t even heard the other soldier crawl towards him.
“Just what do you think we should do?” He asked. “They’re dead, there’s nothing to be done except lie here and hope they don’t see us.” He replied anger flaring in his eyes. “Or we’ll be next.”
They looked out as severed heads and limbs were thrown from the ramparts to great cheers from the warriors surrounding the construction site, some put on helmets taken from the dead legionaries, others carried swords and armour as they danced about celebrating their victory. The survivors were dragged out of the ditch and lined up, some bloodied looking terrified, others defiant. The leader of the Britons pointed at them shouting something that Valerius couldn’t understand, the other Britons laughed.
“Please don’t kill them.” He said to no-one but himself and then thought that it was probably better to die here than to be taken prisoner and made the play thing of these barbarians. He watched on as the chieftain argued with those around him as he gestured to the mountains to the west, he assumed they were debating what to do with their prizes. A short time later, the soldiers were stripped down to their tunics and tied together, with ropes around their necks, Roman ropes, and were led away.
Some of the Britons began collecting the equipment together that the soldiers had been using, and put it into the carts, no doubt to be carried off west as well as the prisoners. Some of them then began digging away at the compacted mud of the ramparts, ruining the work done previously, as more dead bodies were dragged free of the structure. They were stripped bare and left lying face down in the mud.
Caradoc and his warriors had spent a few days relaxing beyond the western border after the successful raid on the fort at Beeston. As promised, Elud had joined the other Britons and had been more than happy to arrange for the distribution of Roman prisoners throughout the territory. The victory over the enemy hill fort was greeted with joy by the tribes and the standing of Caradoc was elevated to new heights when the prisoners were given to the local chieftains to be used as slaves. Elud had shown no signs of regret in leaving his sister and was settling into his new way of life well. Casualties had been low in comparison to the occupiers and had demonstrated to those who were dubious of the Catuvellauni’s leadership credentials, that he was the right man to lead them against Rome.
So far from the enemy, life was almost normal as people went about their daily business of growing crops, looking after their livestock, bringing children up, hunting and fishing, but there was always a dark cloud on the horizon and Caradoc knew it would never go away until the occupiers were either destroyed or were forced to leave Albion. He had heard news via messenger of the successful annihilation of another fort in the south by Dumnoc and his warriors, and of the siege of the other garrison but they had come at a cost, many lives had been lost as Dumnoc had battled the occupants of the second fort. However, he had reconciled himself that losses were to be expected against such a force who, lived for war, unlike his people.
More prisoners had also been brought in after two full centuries had been wiped out together with their cavalry support whilst trying to construct a new fort by an Ordovices war band, who were themselves now fully committed to the war. Although things were going well, he knew these were small victories compared to the enormous task that faced him.
Today however, that was put to one side as he, Ardwen and Brennus and a few others were to go out hunting wild boar in the valleys shaded by the mountains. They had set off early on horseback at first light and were now some distance from the settlement they were currently occupying in the heart of the west. He had decided that to stay in one place was too dangerous, so he and his closest family and friends moved around regularly to avoid the enemy discovering their location. With allies in all the tribal regions now, they were accepted by all the tribes who had allied themselves with the Catuvellauni leader.
The day was bright but the first chill of autumn was in the air as they reached a large forest said by Ardwen to be rich in boar. They had brought a pack of hunting dogs with them, who were now panting heavily, tails wagging and eager to chase the quarry they somehow knew, they would be after that day.
“We can start here if you like?” Ardwen said. “The forest isn’t too thick and we can manoeuvre well enough. I’ve started here or hereabouts before and have been fairly successful. It depends on what you want to do, let the dogs lead or take them into the forest and let them flush the boar out, make them come towards us.”
Brennus laughed, “Whichever it is, I’ll get more than you today so it doesn’t really matter.”
“We’ll see.” Ardwen got down off his horse. “The thing with hunting boar is that they are clever little beasts and,” he looked up at Brennus, “you’re not.” Now he laughed.
“Have you two always been like this?” Caradoc asked.
“Like what, oh I see, me being better than Brennus you mean, of course. He tries, well sort of, but ever since he was small, if you can believe he ever was, he’s been just that, a trier. He was still being weaned by his mother when he was fifteen summers gone.”
Brennus got down off his horse, “And after those fifteen summers I was suckling on your mother’s breasts, enjoyed it and all she did.” He laughed again.
“Alright you two let’s start from here then shall we.” Caradoc said changing the subject. “Who’s going to run with the dogs?”
Ardwen raised his arm, “I will, they’re afraid of that oaf anyway,” he said looking at Brennus, “he’d only lead them into trouble.” He untied the rope from the back of the saddle they had been secured to.
“Right then if someone would like to take my horse,” he handed the reins to one of the others in the hunting party, “I’ll be off.” He looked down at the dogs whose excitement was building. “Come on then my beauties.” He said and walked to the edge of the forest.
“Be careful and don’t get too far ahead.” Caradoc warned.
“I know, I’ve been doing this since I could walk.” He replied and disappeared into the undergrowth.
“We’ll give him a while to get ahead and then follow. It’ll probably take the dogs a while to pick up a scent anyway.” Caradoc said. As soon as he’d finished the sentence, the dogs bayed indicating that they’d picked up a scent.