“A damned bloody nightmare,” Metellus grunted. “And what advantages do we have? Better weapons and armor, of course; but can we get them to face us in the open?”
“That may be our greatest challenge,” the master centurion replied. “And if they do have a decided numerical superiority, then we could quite possibly lose that battle which we seek. I think this will become a campaign of logistics and diplomacy as much as brute force. Whether using skirmishers or a massed force, the Britons cannot keep their warriors on campaign for very long. As none of the kingdoms have a permanent standing army, they have no concept of maintaining warehouses of rations and equipment to be used during a protracted campaign. Like most barbarians, their wars are very short, lasting maybe three or four months. By fall, those warriors not dead or crippled return to their farms. And if the issue cannot be decided diplomatically by their leaders during the winter months, they will fight it out again in the spring. Therefore, once we establish a stronghold for operations, it will be crucial that we keep our supply lines to the continent open, while making as many friends as possible. In turn, we can march on the kingdoms one at a time as they try and conduct their harvest.”
“A substantial challenge,” Metellus remarked with a furrowed brow. He shrugged. “Well, Julius Caesar did it against the Gauls for nine years!”
“Exactly. And when Vercingetorix failed to break Caesar’s lines of logistics, he knew he was beaten. There was no beating him in open battle, and so all he could do was fall back to his stronghold at Alesia. My only hope is that it doesn’t take us nine years to break our enemies in Britannia.”
It felt strange to Artorius, leaving Cologne, this time never to return. The legion would be making its new home somewhere in Britannia. Though Diana was returning to Rome, Marcia had decided to remain in Cologne, until such time as her husband sent for her.
“There is nothing for me to return to in Rome,” the young woman had explained to Artorius. She had sought out her father-in-law, once she knew their time on the Rhine was growing very short. Though late in her pregnancy, she insisted on going for a walk, as she complained about having spent too much time lying about as it was. Diana was watching after Titus while Marcia and Artorius strolled along one of the paths near the river.
“You do know it could be a couple years until it’s safe for families to travel to Britannia,” Artorius emphasized. “I cannot fault you for not wishing to return to Rome. However, I know Diana would be more at ease if you and the children stayed with her.”
“Her offer is very kind,” Marcia replied. She grinned. “And I know it is not just she who would feel safer if I took my children and returned to Rome. But please understand, Father, my life is with Metellus, and I have to be able to stand on my own, like any good soldier’s wife. I have made friends here, and we will look after each other. After all, I am not the only one whose husband is heading off to war for Juno knows how long.” She then stopped and they turned to face each other, Marcia placing a hand on the side of his face. “You have been very kind to me, and I love you and Diana very much. But it is for us to make our own way in the world now.”
Artorius gave a sad smile and kissed her on the cheek. Though he had not been a part of Marcia’s life, he knew he had always loved her since the time he had seen her as a young child. She may not have been of his bloodline, but he felt as if she had always been his daughter.
“Your mother would be overjoyed if she were able to see you now,” he said.
“I never knew her, and yet I miss her deeply,” Marcia replied. “That sounds silly, I know.”
“Not at all,” Artorius replied, shaking his head. “There are many things we simply cannot understand, and I think the depth of bond between a mother and her child is among those. I am thankful that your children will not grow up deprived of their mother.”
Marcia kissed him on the cheek and then held him close. “Look after my husband, lest my children be deprived of their father.”
They returned to the fortress where Diana lay on a couch, baby Titus fast asleep in her arms. Marcia took the sleeping babe in her arms and kissed Artorius and Diana each on the cheek as she left to spend one last evening with Metellus.
As he reminisced about his words to his daughter-in-law, Artorius tried to remain stoic during his farewell evening with Diana. And yet it was understandably wrought with deep emotion. Both had known the risks when he returned to the legions. Little was said as Diana took him in her arms and kissed him passionately. He carried her up to their bedroom, silently hoping that this would not be the last time he made love her.
It was not just the Romans who knew where the key to their victory lay. At the heart of the former kingdom of the Atrebates, Caratacus called a meeting of the leaders who had pledged to aid him in the pending struggle against the invaders. In addition to his brother and the chief druid, Archantael, there were at least a dozen tribal kings, along with retinues of their subordinate war chiefs.
“You’ve done well,” he said to Archantael as they walked along the short rise that led to where his warriors had erected a stockade and small fort.
“Many revere our ancestors and the commonality of our gods enough to at least put their differences aside for the time being,” the druid replied. “I regret those who did not heed the call of the gods.”
“Yes,” Caratacus said quietly as they approached the throng of kings and warriors.
“Hail, Caratacus, my brother!” Togodumnus shouted, raising his great sword high.
“We will send the Romans to hell!” another man exclaimed.
The king noted the vigor of these men.
“They see you as a savior and one who can unite them,” Archantael remarked. “Give them their triumph over Rome and, I daresay, you could become king of most of the isle.”
Caratacus grinned but said no more as he led the leaders from each tribe into the meeting hall at the center of the hill fort. His staunchest allies, the Silures, were different in appearance than their fellow Britons. Possessing a darker complexion and black, curly hair, it was rumored that their ancestors had come from Hispania many generations before. Their leader was a fierce warrior named Silyen. A big man, similar in stature and build to Caratacus, his face was devoid of facial hair, though that atop of his head was thick and rather unkempt. He had several scars marring his otherwise handsome face, and his left eye was glassy and clouded.
“We are with you,” he said with a deep voice as the assembled war leaders sat at the long table. “But what of those who are absent?”
“The Cantiaci are closest to Rome,” Caratacus answered. “I have little doubt that that is where our enemies will land. They have asked to remain neutral for the time being, having few warriors and fearing what should happen if they ally themselves to the losing side. I should have taken their lands when we conquered the Atrebates.”
“Gut the cowards and take their women in retribution for their cowardice,” Silyen spat.
“And what of the Iceni?” another war chief asked. “Their lands sit just north of the Cantiaci.”
“King Prasutagus is being strangely quiet,” Togodumnus answered.
“He’s an opportunist who will try and placate the victors,” Silyen grunted. “To hell with him! My greater concern is with those north of my lands, the Brigantes. Are they with us or not?”
“Their kingdom is very large,” Caratacus observed. “It is also very much divided. From what I saw on my journey through their lands, I would say that half the warriors would readily fight for us, including the consort, Venutius. However, Queen Cartimandua has refused to commit their forces one way or the other. And despite Venutius’ protestations, their warriors remain in Brigantes. It does not matter.”