“Your brother, the king, sends word from the south,” a messenger reported. “The silver mines are ours! Several villages were abandoned, the rest surrendered without a fight.”
“That is because Verica has every warrior in his pathetic kingdom here, across that trickle of water,” Caratacus remarked. He then spat on the ground.
That Togodumnus was leading part of the army personally added to his reputation as a strong warrior. The actual defeat of the Atrebates’ army, however, he would leave to his brother who would install himself as their king.
“Time to end this farce of a conflict.” Caratacus then brandished his axe and signaled to the nearest horn player. With the dropping of his axe, the Catuvellauni began their advance.
“It never ends,” an old man lamented from across the field as he leaned against his great sword. His name was Verica, ruler of the small kingdom known as Atrebates in southern Britannia. Opposing him were familiar nemeses, the Catuvellauni. A kingdom of far greater size and power, they had been pressing the Atrebates’ borders, encroaching on their lands since well before Verica became king, twenty-five years earlier. King Togodumnus had now become so brazen as to send his brother to conquer Atrebates and establish his own kingdom, with himself as overlord.
“And our friends have abandoned us,” a young warrior said through gritted teeth. His name was Cogidubnus, Verica’s great-nephew. His blondish hair came just past his shoulders, and he was clean shaven, which caused him to stand out amongst his fellow warriors. He also carried a metal buckler and his weapon of choice was a Roman-style gladius.
“Even if the Cantiaci and Iceni both joined us, our numbers would still be too few against the Catuvellauni,” Verica observed somberly. “Most of their army is out plundering our lands, sacking villages, and laying claim to our precious silver and tin mines. The force that Caratacus leads against us is but a fraction of his total strength.”
“And he still outnumbers us three-to-one,” Cogidubnus growled.
“I would rather die than be Caratacus’ slave!” another warrior spat as he clutched his spear to his chest.
A war horn sounded from across the way, and a mighty battle cry erupted from the Catuvellauni as they brandished their weapons in the air before slowly advancing. Their faces and bodies painted in various blue patterns, and their eyes mad with savagery.
“And so it begins,” Verica muttered. Due to his advanced age, he was not fit to personally fight; an affliction that emasculated and humiliated him deeply. Instead, it would be for his nephew to personally lead their warriors to their destiny, while their king was confined to simply watching with a small handful of bodyguards.
“Your warriors are with you, uncle!” Cogidubnus asserted. “The Catuvellauni possess neither honor nor courage; they will not lay claim to Atrebates without spilling much blood. And I intend to have amongst that shed be Caratacus’ own!” He then gave a brave shout and held his sword high, his warriors echoing his calls to battle.
Cogidubnus was wrought with both rage and despair, though he did his best to mask these feelings. He knew that neither side possessed any advantages in either weaponry or tactics. This battle would be decided by numbers alone, despite his reassurances to his uncle. The maddened cries of both sides grew louder as they approached the brook. Suddenly, several dozen Catuvellauni sprinted forward, bows in hand. A haphazard volley of arrows followed, cutting down numerous Atrebates warriors as they sought cover beneath their crude shields. The shouts of rage were replaced by those of pain from the stricken. Cogidubnus flinched as a warrior to his left was impaled through the neck by a stray arrow. The man dropped his weapons, clutching at the arrow as blood spurted forth, his tongue protruding grotesquely as he fell to his knees, eyes wide in terror. The Atrebates had a few archers of their own, and these men took aim and unleashed a spattering of arrows in return. Cogidubnus’ mouth twisted in a defiant sneer as he watched a few Catuvellauni warriors fall.
His fear then left him, turning to rage as he gave a renewed cry of wrath, breaking into a sprint, his fighters following. The brook was shallow and very narrow, and in a few bounds Cogidubnus crossed, lunging forward and plunging his gladius into the stomach of a Catuvellauni warrior who stood taunting them while brandishing a large spear. His adversary howled in agony as he clawed at his ruptured intestines. The Atrebates prince shoved the dying man aside, and as his fighters sprinted across the brook, a fierce melee ensued. Despite the ferocity of their charge, as well as their extreme bravery, the Atrebates were simply too badly outnumbered. Warriors found themselves in a brawl with two, or sometimes three, enemy combatants at once. One would tie up the Atrebates’ shield with his own while his fellows would plunge their weapons into his guts. Individual melees resembled more of a pack of wild dogs attacking a stricken cow rather than a battle amongst warriors. The end result was never in doubt.
And yet, it was anything but a one-sided slaughter, for the Atrebates bore the courage of despair, knowing that lest they hold, all would be lost for them and their loved ones. As the Catuvellauni drove them back into the brook, they left in their wake many dead and horribly maimed fighters from both sides. Spears plunged into hearts, swords and axes hacked off limbs, while large clubs smashed the brains out of their victims.
His warriors still attempted to stand their ground, and Cogidubnus found himself stumbling back amongst the slick rocks that lay scattered about the bank. He swung his buckler in a punching motion, the edge catching one of his assailants across the temple, rendering him dazed as the Atrebates prince stabbed him through the cheek with his gladius. It was then that he spied Caratacus. And while Cogidubnus was no small man, Caratacus was a monster in comparison. He wielded his great axe with ease, bringing it down in a vicious chop that cleaved through the shoulder and arm of a hapless warrior. He then swung his weapon in a backswing, decapitating the man.
“Vile bastard of hell!” Cogidubnus shouted as he attacked the usurper.
He caught Caratacus off-guard with a lunging blow to the head from his buckler. He followed through with a quick stab that caught the Catuvellauni leader in the side. It was a painful, but mostly superficial wound, and Caratacus caught the prince in the head with the back of his fist before bringing his axe to bear. His eyes were red with fury as he smashed Cogidubnus’ shield, the metal buckling under the onslaught. The shock of the smash shot numbing pain through the young warrior’s arm, and he found himself suddenly facing more than just Caratacus as a number of enemy warriors came to their leader’s aid. His chance at slaying the Catuvellauni’s war chief was quickly lost, and he stumbled back across the brook, which was now filled with dead and dying men. A hand reached up piteously, catching Cogidubnus on the boot as he splashed past the poor wretch, whose guts had been splayed open by a Catuvellauni sword. And yet the prince knew there was nothing he could do for the man or, indeed, any of his numerous warriors who lay strewn about with sickening and ghastly wounds that they would soon succumb to; that is, unless the Catuvellauni were feeling somewhat merciful and put the men out of their misery.
King Verica watched the battle unfold, his head bowed in sorrow. The entire brawl had lasted maybe a few minutes. Survivors of his army now fled in all directions, their only saving grace being that neither side had any cavalry with which to conduct a pursuit.
“My king, we must leave the field at once!” a warrior from his bodyguard pleaded. “If you are lost, then there will be no hope left for our people.”
Verica nodded reluctantly and allowed himself to be helped onto one of the only horses on the field. The triumphant shouts of the Catuvellauni echoed in his mind as he, and a few mounted guards, fled south.