The two lines were fewer than three hundred paces apart; the Chauci had spread their oars and started rowing to gain some extra momentum. Vespasian could see them clearly now, even with a full complement rowing there were still at least twenty warriors ready to fight; they cheered on the comrades toiling on the oars, urging them to greater speed.
Six more twanging cracks sounded, and as Vespasian watched a Chaucian boat approach, a hole appeared in its sail and the heads of three of the men standing on the fighting platform just disappeared. Those around them turned red with the blood pumping from the gaping necks as the bodies stayed upright, such was the crush of warriors eager to get to grips with the hated invaders. Towards the middle of the Chaucian line one of their longboats started listing; men baled furiously with buckets and shields as water rushed in through the holed hull. Undeterred, its oarsmen rowed on.
At a hundred paces apart the ballistae shot for the last time; ten feet higher on the prows of the biremes than their targets, they had tilted down to aim their heavy stones into the bellies of the longboats. Half a dozen oars from one heaved up at odd angles as a shot carved its way down a line of oarsmen, decapitating and maiming in a spray of gore. Bodies were punched forwards into their fellows causing them to miss their stroke; the dead men’s oars fell back into the water and the longboat skewed around them and into the path of its neighbour, striking it amidships and raking it. Rowers were catapulted back as their oars were slammed into them by the solid wooden prow, screams of agony rose above the cheering of the Roman marines as ribs were smashed and arms snapped by the momentous pressure. But the other eight longboats came on.
Archers now took their place on the biremes’ decks sending a constant stream of arrows towards the oncoming vessels but the warriors raised their shields, protecting themselves and their comrades at the oars from sudden death.
Vespasian loosened his spatha in its scabbard, his belly tightened and he found himself wishing that he had the shorter infantry gladius for this close-quarters work. Ahead of him, two longboats were aiming straight towards the three Batavian vessels; they were close enough to make out the features of the frenzied men in their bows. To his right the nearest bireme was no more than five oar-lengths away, its bronze-headed ram foaming the water before it.
‘Release!’ Vespasian shouted, slinging his javelin once he could see the whites of his opponents’ eyes. The Batavians, with their shields in front of them, hurled their first volley as Ansigar bellowed an order; the rowers hauled in their oars, grabbed shields and javelins and lined the sides of the longboat that ploughed on under its own momentum. Ansigar steered it directly towards the gap between the two oncoming Chauci; they too hauled in their oars. The first return missiles hit with a heavy, staccato thumping on their shields and the bow as Vespasian prepared his second javelin; but the Batavians’ discipline held, as did their shield wall, and there were no agonised cries. To Vespasian’s left Paetus and Kuno’s men let fly their javelins with a roar; a couple of enemy warriors toppled into the water and sank immediately, leaving crimson stains to mark their passing.
‘Release!’ Vespasian again screamed at ten paces apart. The second volley slammed into the Chauci taking more down into the river; they readied their long thrusting spears for close combat. A massive cracking of wood to the right caused Vespasian to glance across to see a longboat being pushed back, impaled on the ram of the bireme next to him; Chauci warriors were jumping into the water and grabbing at the bireme’s oars, thrusting their spears through the oar-ports into the rowers within and trying to scale the ship’s sides; archers leant over the rail picking them off with easy shots.
Ansigar kept his course steady, hoping to pass between the two longboats, but the Chauci steersmen knew their business; at the last moment both boats veered to the starboard heading straight for Vespasian’s and Paetus’ vessels, leaving Kuno’s free to pass by.
‘Brace!’ Vespasian screamed as a collision became inevitable.
‘Fuck me!’ Magnus muttered next to him as he gripped the rail. ‘First horses and now longboats, don’t they do anything natural here?’
A shuddering blow, just to the starboard side of the prow, jolted through the whole boat, throwing a few of the less wellbraced Batavians to their knees. Spears jammed forward with determined force into the shields of the Batavians as the boat started to slew round. Vespasian hacked at a shaft embedded in Magnus’ shield as, behind him, Ansigar roared for some men to take up oars to steady the vessel. An auxiliary shrieked and fell back, ripping a bloodied leaf-shaped spearhead from his jaw; before the gap could be closed two Chauci warriors had jumped across, spears jabbing down from over their shoulders, whilst their comrades hammered theirs on the Batavians’ shields; gradually they gave ground. More Chauci swarmed over, bellowing with battle-joy, pushing the defenders ever back, off the fighting platform and in amongst the rowing benches. The Chauci followed, battering at the shield wall.
Vespasian stood between Sabinus to his right and Magnus to his left, punching his shield forward and up, trying to deflect the long-reaching weapons so that he could get under and close in on his foes; but to no avail. Sabinus raised his shield to a brutal overarm stab, taking the point just above the boss, embedding it with a deadened thump; twisting away from his brother he hauled the spear forward to drag its owner out of the line. Vespasian dipped to his right and swept his sword low below the man’s shield; his arm juddered but he kept his grip as it sliced into a shin with the hard, wet sound of a butcher’s cleaver thwacking into a side of pork. With an ear-splitting howl the warrior stepped forward to balance himself only to find the bottom part of his leg missing; he tumbled to the deck spraying blood from his newly carved stump over the feet of his comrades.
Vespasian pressed forward his advantage, taking his neighbours with him into the gap, his sword flashing red over his shield and into the face of the next warrior, crunching through the bridge of his nose as the man stared in cross-eyed disbelief at the blade. The Chauci line momentarily faltered. Magnus exploded forward, bellowing curses above the screaming, taking the Batavians to his left with him, and hacked away a spear shaft before him; the warrior slipped on the slick blood-drenched deck lowering his shield for a brief instant. Magnus’ sword found its mark.
Now they were past the spears and toe to toe with the boarders; the second rank of Batavians closed up, holding their shields over the first ranks’ heads to protect them from the downward spear-thrusts of the Chauci still up on the fighting platform. Vespasian felt the pressure on his back as the man behind him pushed him forward. He stabbed repeatedly with his spatha until he felt it connect with flesh and then he twisted and was rewarded with a scream. To both sides of him the Batavians were making ground and only a few Chauci were left in front of the fighting platform, trapped, unable to get back up. They died swiftly. The warriors on the platform pulled back out of range of a disabling sword swipe to their ankles. They were at stalemate.
Vespasian stepped back, letting the man behind him replace him in the front rank. Ansigar, with five oarsmen on each side rowing constantly, was keeping the longboat at an angle to the Chaucian vessel preventing it from coming alongside and disgorging even more warriors. To his left Paetus’ crew were having a hard fight of it, they were almost pushed back to the mast. But of Kuno’s boat there was no sign. To the right, the river was littered with flotsam and jetsam; one bireme had flames issuing out of its oar-ports and warriors swarming up its sides from a longboat attached to its bow with grappling hooks. The remaining biremes clustered around the last three longboats afloat, pumping arrows into the shields of their crews who could do nothing but cower.