With their javelins thrown the auxiliaries halted, weight on their left legs, bracing their oval shields before them and readying their swords; the rear ranks closed up to support the men before them as the shock of impact shuddered through the mile-long line.
Vespasian held his breath; the cohorts buckled slowly in places and then straightened as centurions bellowed their men forward, leading by example, fending off the slashes and downward cuts of their opponents’ long swords and dealing out death in return with their spathae, jabbing and cutting before them as the Britons strove to cleave through the line.
But the superior number and weight of the Britons did not tell; their long swords were not designed for close-quarters work and once they had crashed their shields into those of their opponents and swiped at their heads they pulled back so as to be able to work their weapons properly: slicing down or across from above their heads as if in single combat, not as part of a shield wall. The line settled; the charge was absorbed and cornua rumbled over the screaming: Plautius had signalled the II Augusta and XIIII Gemina to advance and relieve the auxiliaries.
‘Advance in open order!’ Vespasian shouted at the command-post cornicen. A series of rumbling notes was repeated throughout the legions’ cohorts. Standards dipped and the II Augusta advanced for its first taste of combat with this new and savage foe.
Vespasian eased his horse forward to keep pace with the advance, feeling a pride that he had never known before as it came home to him that he was commanding a full legion in a set-piece battle. His whole life had come down to this moment and now he would find out if he was worthy of it. He steeled himself, determined not to give Plautius cause to rebuke him; there would be no more mistakes.
‘This is going to take some timing,’ Magnus muttered from behind him.
‘What are you still doing here?’
‘I was wondering that myself.’
‘Well, if you’re staying don’t distract me because yes, you’re right, it is going to take some timing.’ Vespasian turned his concentration back to the advance of the five cohorts in the front line. They were in open order with every second file of four men removed and placed alternately in the file next to it, leaving man-wide gaps.
Thirty paces before the II Augusta reached their hard-pressed auxiliaries Vespasian looked down at his cornicen marching alongside him. ‘Prepare to release!’
The man blasted out three notes, which were taken up by his fellows in the front rank cohorts; standards signalled and the first four men of each line pulled back their right arms, feeling the weight of their pila. With ten paces to go the two rear men of each of the auxiliaries’ files broke off and sprinted down the gaps in the II Augusta.
‘Release!’ Vespasian shouted.
With a deep note from the cornu the centurions bellowed the order and more than a thousand pila soared over the heads of the auxiliaries to slam down, with lead-weighted impetus, onto their adversaries, crunching through skulls, sternums and shoulders with brutal and sudden violence.
The neighbouring XIIII Gemina’s volley struck an instant later as the Hamorians started pouring their arrows in from the flank, felling hundreds; the Britons all along the line wavered for a moment. It was all that was needed. The remaining auxiliaries turned and headed down the gaps in the relieving legions’ lines, which were closed by every other man in the file of eight rushing to fill them as soon as their auxiliary comrades were through.
Here and there Britons managed to break into formations causing little pockets of havoc within the regimented ranks and files of the cohorts; but these were soon dealt with.
Vespasian glanced down at the cornicen. ‘Rear ranks, release.’
Another few notes, repeated throughout the legion, and the rear two men of each file hefted their pila over their comrades’ heads as they began their mechanical sword work stabbing at the vitals of the howling enemy.
Barbed pilum heads on the end of thin iron shafts, designed to maximise the penetrative pressure of the weighted weapon, again rained down on the Britons, sheering through many, causing the ground beneath them, already churned with blood, urine and faeces, to become even more treacherous.
Fresh to the fight and having not seen proper action for over two years, the legionaries of the II Augusta went about their business with vicious and enthusiastic efficiency, the body-count before them escalating as they stabbed and stamped their way forward supported by rapid volleys from the Hamorians that spat into the rear ranks of their foes and any that tried to slip around the flank.
The combined weight and tactics of the two legions in unison was too much for warriors used to fighting as individuals and they began splintering off, firstly in ones and twos, then in scores and hundreds, until what was left of the army was running back up the hill with almost as much speed and noise as it had descended it, leaving thousands lying still or writhing in the foul-smelling mud.
‘Sound halt!’ Vespasian ordered.
The cornu blared out and its call was echoed. The II Augusta came to a stop and jeered its vanquished enemies as they raced away having learnt what it means to face a legion of Rome.
But the jeers soon faded as a new force, as large, if not larger, appeared on a hill two miles to the north, facing the XX Legion; it would now be their turn to show their mettle.
‘Relieve line!’ Vespasian called.
Another rumble through the legion caused the rear five cohorts to advance, allowing their tired and bloodied comrades through their formations and replacing them as a fresh front line, should the legion be called upon again that day. Behind them the Gallic and Batavian auxiliaries had begun re-forming and receiving fresh javelins from the quartermasters’ mule-drawn carts stationed in the rear.
The II Augusta watched as the new arrivals began to work themselves up into a battle fever, bellowing courage into their hearts.
‘What’s happened to their chariots?’ Magnus asked once he noticed their absence.
‘I don’t know,’ Vespasian replied, shaking his head. ‘But the real question is: why didn’t they attack together? They could have thrown sixty thousand men at us at once.’
‘Still wouldn’t have been enough, though.’
‘No, probably not. They were idiotic to face us in the open; why didn’t they just wait at the river? It can’t be more than three or four miles away.’
‘I’m sure they’re going to oblige us by doing that very thing; as will that lot once the lads of the Twentieth have introduced them to their iron.’
From out of the middle of the new arrivals strode a single warrior; although he was far away and it was impossible to discern any of his physical attributes, Vespasian understood from the roaring of the tribesmen that this was a man of great importance and smiled coldly. ‘My guess is that’s the brother of whoever was leading our opponents; I think that I detect a sibling rivalry.’
‘Ah, that’s why they didn’t wait; nothing worse than sharing the glory with your brother — and it looks like yours is going to outshine you today.’
To their right the XIIII Gemina were preparing to support the XX next to them as the horde of Britons on top of the hill began to fan out into a wider frontage. The Gemina’s two lines of cohorts had already exchanged places and now their auxiliaries were being brought forward to take up again the first shock of the wild charge.