They pushed forward tightly huddled together, heads low as sharp barbs buried themselves thudding into the wood of their protective shields, akin to a heavy hail storm. The scorpion crews worked like demons trying to give them cover, archers too, but they were severely outnumbered as more soldiers jumped into the sea to join the mayhem below. Those still on-board the ships could see the lines of enemy bowmen, the top of their weapons at least, as they were raised to fire over rocks, there were hundreds of them, whilst above on the hilltop, riders came into view. A marine centurion ran to the captain of the lead ship.
“Sir, look.” He shouted pointing at the dark line of riders as they came lower turning the green hillside black. “We have to warn them, get them back to the ships.”
The captain looked upward, horror in his expression, “Gods above, sound the retreat, get them back to the ships and get your men in the water, we can’t wait for the tide to turn, we’ll have to push off.”
The centurion turned and ran to the side of the vessel and began throwing knotted ropes and ladders over the side, “Sound the retreat, get the ropes over the side.”
A horn sounded but the noise of the sea combined with the constant hammering of arrows drowned it out almost completely and the men already in the water continued to advance. The centurion ordered the remaining legionaries to stay aboard and to create a shield wall around the deck. He then selected enough to make another around his men who would try to force the hull off the beach.
Valerius grimaced as he struggled with his shield and the swirling water, every now and again his shield would move to the side and he would get a view of the shore and the hail of arrows heading towards them. He grabbed the handle of his shield tighter and pressed it against his helmet, head down and pressed on, Pollo behind him still holding his harness. Men fell when arrows struck them due to the movement of the sea pushing their shields aside, others tried to drag them back towards the boat covering them with their own shields. The water was turning pink now as it merged with fresh blood but the heavy infantry pressed on, the men of the first cohort unaware that the retreat had been sounded.
Caradoc raced his horse down the path leading to the water’s edge, a procession of riders behind him, snaking their way towards the battle raging below. His face contorted in rage, he drew his sword and shouted as loud as he could, “Fire arrows, burn the ships.”
At first there was no change to the defence of the beach and so he repeated the order again and again until his voice was hoarse, and then he saw a lit arrow take to the grey skies, followed by others. They arched heaven bound and then began to fall, some into the sea but others onto the decks of the Roman ships, where panicked crewmen ran to put them out. Reaching sea level, Caradoc didn’t jump from his horse but rode it into the sea still shouting encouragement to his warriors.
“Rise,” he shouted, circling the large sword about his head, “rise and kill the invaders.” His men roared and whilst horsemen raced into the water, archers moved from behind the rocks so that they had a clear view of the enemy. Now they fired straight, the men in the sea were easy prey, others appeared on foot, carrying small circular shields; they ran after the horses wading into the sea screaming for blood.
Caradoc charged his mount straight into the flimsy shield wall he found before him, men were cast aside, some struck by arrows as they fell, others cleaved open by his mighty sword blows. Water spewed up, engulfing the Romans and reducing their vision as they fought to stay on their feet and fight back. More horsemen reached the enemy line as their riders hacked and slashed at the men below. Cries of anguish merged with those of pain, as the legionaries struggled to punch their swords upward at their attackers.
From the lead ship, the captain could only watch on horrified as waves of riders rode out into the sea and broke through the Roman lines. On-board, marines and sailors fought the flames caused by the fire arrows, whilst a few archers fired back. The scorpion crews were running out of ammunition now and some abandoned their weapons in favour of defending their vessels by other means. Some leapt into the water and heaved, pushing at the hulls, trying to pry them free of the sand bank. Of those, some were hit by fire arrows that slammed into their unarmoured backs, they fell into the water, the flames fizzing out, dying like their victims.
“Butcher them all.” Caradoc shouted, Ardwen now by his side swiping his blade into the invaders.
“Leave none alive.” He shouted as other men and women took up their battle cries. Some wore tunics but some had thrown them off when the order had come to enter the water, knowing it would reduce their movement. They had abandoned them and ran half naked towards the advancing lines of the Romans. Taught, sinewy and muscular torsos covered in blue tattooed patterns ran, raising their legs but soon, were waist deep and wading further, screaming, faces contorted in rage pleading with their gods for the death of the enemy.
Valerius stabbed forward from behind his shield, trying to stay on his feet just before a horse hit him and knocked him backwards. Sea water rushed into his open mouth and nose, the salt strong as he struggled to get up, he saw the blurred image of horses legs through the bubbles. His heavy armour seemed to suck him further down with its weight. He heard garbled voices as he felt his back land on the floor of the seabed and then an almighty hoof, pinned him there. Letting go of his shield, he tried to stab out at the leg with his sword but missed, striking only more water. Beginning to panic, his head felt like it was about to burst through a lack of air, he shook his head from side to side. His gladius was knocked from his hand by another hoof and spun away, he grabbed the leg stopping him from moving just as it released him, but another intake of water dulled his senses and he saw the blackness of death engulf him.
The triremes still out at sea, beyond those being attacked, were blocked from getting any closer to the battle, as Plautius had decided upon a relatively small cove for his landing. After exhausting their ballista bolts and conventional arrows, they were rowed closer to the beached vessels and tied onto those not already aflame and pulled them free. The ships had little choice but to abandon the men still in the water, a few lucky souls managed to climb up the ropes of some triremes sides or their ladders, but most were left to be cut down.
Pollo held onto one such rope as the oarsmen struck deep and fast and pulled clear of the avalanche of arrows that were still falling. His fingers were numb with cold as he clenched his teeth against the icy grip of the water. He looked down at the unconscious figure of Valerius he held in the other hand as he began to shout up at those on the deck.
“Stop, stop the boat.” He yelled but wasn’t sure if they could hear him against the sound of the battle and the crashing of the waves against the hull. The hand in the water now had no sensation, he couldn’t feel his fingers and willed them to keep a grip of the strap he held on his friends back. Then, just as he was about to give up hope of anyone hearing him, he felt himself being lifted as he rose higher against the side of the ship. He could just make out heads peering over the edge of the outer decking plate and hauling him and Valerius up.
“Pull you bastards. I’ve got another man here.” He shouted as he was hauled up and over the edge, other hands reached down and grabbed the unconscious form of Valerius and took his weight.