With the blades of the vengeful auxiliaries before them and the honed iron of the new, terrifying force bearing down upon their defenceless backs, the Britons wavered for a few moments and then, as if by immediate mutual consent, broke. Chariots and cavalry turned and fled back towards the bulk of their army around the corner of the buckled flank. Vespasian and Paetus led the Batavians in a haphazard pursuit, slashing at the backs of the enemy and the rumps of their horses. With only a few javelins flung by chariot-mounted warriors to harm them, the Batavians took to their merciless task with relish, shedding as much blood as possible without venturing too far and risking engulfment by the horde of foot warriors that were still very much of a mind to break the Roman will. Behind them the auxiliaries followed, led by their centurions and pushed forward by the long poles of the optiones to their rear, arcing back round to straighten the line.
‘Halt!’ Vespasian cried as their quarry diverted around the flank of the main body of foot warriors, who began to turn and face the Batavians.
‘Fall back and rally!’ Paetus shouted, knowing that they were too disorganised to risk an encounter with infantry.
The lituus blew and the Batavians retired, melting around the side of the oncoming auxiliaries who continued at a brisk jog, shield to shield, increasing in pace as they closed with the enemy until, in an act of brave opportunism, they swung round and crashed into the Britons’ flank.
Vespasian surveyed the scene as the decurions dressed the Batavians’ ranks a hundred paces behind the auxiliaries. The VIIII Hispana held as the Britons attacked and then retreated, only to charge again, repeatedly. This was not the mindless shoving and heaving in a press of bodies in an attempt to break through by sheer weight of flesh, this was hand-to-hand combat in waves; flowing forward, with long swords flashing and spears jabbing, making contact and then disengaging and pulling back as if sucked by an undertow before surging forward again. The effect rippled up and down the line, so that there was always contact at various points, in a strangely fluid motion; except where the auxiliaries had pinned the flank. Here the Britons were forced against the shields of the rightmost legionary cohort and the legionaries were thankful for it. Their unseen blades were working bloody death in the press of front rank warriors, who shrieked in gutted agony as the moist coils of their intestines slopped to the churned ground to be stamped upon by hobnailed boots as the legionaries pressed home their advantage.
Caught on the anvil of the legion by the heavy blow from the auxiliaries hammering into their flank, panic began to spread through the massed tribesmen and the tone of their cacophony changed, rising in pitch, becoming shriller and more terrified.
The legionaries pressed on whilst the auxiliaries continued to squeeze and the warriors fell in droves, unable to pull back from the cruel blades. And yet they held, as if the will of their gods forced them to stand and die on the sacred earth of their homeland; their screams and death-shouts rising to the sky in homage to the deities that watched over them but could not, ultimately, protect them.
And then came a new sound: a low groan of despair. Vespasian looked to his left; along the crest of the hill, mounted figures were arriving. More and more appeared, ranging along the entire length of the crest. As their number increased so did the hopes of the Britons lessen, for they knew that behind this second, larger unit of mounted troops would surely be another legion of Rome and the blare of its horns would herald their certain deaths.
Sensing the growing hopelessness in their opponents, the legionaries went on the offensive, urged on by their centurions, attempting to maintain contact all along the line, engaging the enemy on their own terms and increasing their kill rate. The Britons, forced back and suffering dreadful casualties, wavered. Then, as the second mounted force to appear on the hill that day advanced, they began to break and run; the tide had turned.
Away they flowed to escape the relentless blades of the legion, leaving their many dead and wounded behind them, sprinting east for their lives.
Vespasian turned to Paetus. ‘Join up with this new ala and pursue for a mile or so; kill as many as you can.’
‘My pleasure, sir. Won’t you be joining us?’
‘No, Paetus; I’m going to find Sabinus and then together we’ll confront Corvinus. If we’re dead when you get back you must ride to Plautius and tell him that we’ve failed.’
Paetus saluted as Vespasian turned his horse and rode towards the camp.
Riding at speed behind the ranks of cheering cohorts, Vespasian quickly reached the southern gate of the marching camp and then followed the deserted Via Principalis to the praetorium at the camp’s heart. Dismounting, he tethered his horse and then passed through the unguarded entrance.
‘You took your time, brother,’ Sabinus said from the depths of the tent.
‘There was the small matter of an army of Britons to defeat. Where are the guards?’
‘They wouldn’t co-operate so Magnus and I were forced to relieve them of their weapons. They’ll be fine, apart from having sore heads.’
‘Did you find anything?’
‘Very much so; it’s in the sleeping quarters with Magnus.’
Vespasian followed his brother through an entrance at the rear of the tent to see Magnus sitting by a figure lying prone on the bed. As his eyes got used to the dim light he could make out long grey hair and a drooping black moustache. ‘Verica! What’s he doing in here?’
‘It’s not of his own accord,’ Magnus informed him, ‘he was unconscious and tied up when we found him; he only started to come to just before you arrived.’
The old King slowly opened his eyes and groggily focused on Vespasian, then said: ‘They came to surrender.’
‘Who did?’
‘The Catuvellauni and the Trinovantes. They arrived this morning and Corvinus formed the legion up in front of the camp; their leaders came forward to speak with him under a branch of truce and I translated for them. They said that they had come to lay down their arms; once Togodumnus died they had no chieftain in the east who was still willing to resist the invasion and they would therefore submit to Rome. Corvinus sneered at them for being weak and said that he wanted to win Camulodunum, not have it given to him; he had them executed in front of their men. I protested and he knocked me cold when the Britons charged — when they saw what Corvinus had done they abandoned all thoughts of surrender. That’s all I know.’
‘Well, he’s had his victory, and a bloody one at that; the road to Camulodunum is open.’
Verica looked bitter as he eased himself up to sit. ‘It was open this morning and not awash with blood.’
‘Will they still be willing to surrender?’
‘Yes, they’re truly beaten now; but resentment for this will run deep and many of the warriors will go west and join Caratacus; Rome will have a long hard war against him.’
Sabinus shrugged. ‘We were always going to have a hard fight against him; a few thousand more warriors won’t make that much difference.’
Vespasian shook his head. ‘It’s not so much that; it’s the fact that the news will spread that we don’t accept surrender. The tribes will think that they have no choice but to fight to the death; Corvinus has just cost us many Roman lives.’
‘When those guards are found I want the skin off their backs, primus pilus,’ a voice growled, entering the tent.
‘Yes, sir!’
‘In the meantime a cup of wine to celebrate a good morning’s work, gentlemen?’
‘Thank you, legate,’ three voices replied.
The brothers looked at each other. ‘Time for our chat with Corvinus,’ Vespasian whispered. ‘Magnus, stay here and only come out if there’s a fight.’