Most of the work at this stage was done by the logisticians, ensuring that supplies and rations where staged where they needed to be, ready to ship across the channel as soon as the invasion force established a secure base of operations. For most of the soldiers, there was little to do but wait while their leaders finalized the plans for the pending assault.
The citizens of Gesoriacum resigned themselves to the fact that their town and surrounding areas was occupied by tens-of-thousands of soldiers. And with all seaborne mercantile activity ground to a halt for the time being, they did their best to make the most of the situation. Merchants eagerly plied their wares to unsuspecting legionaries and auxiliary troopers, often at inflated prices. And various forms of entertainment flocked to the city from across the region, hoping to part the soldiers from some of their coin before they left. Indeed, it appeared as if the majority of women walking the streets were prostitutes. Sempronius made a note of this.
“The lads are tense, not to mention extremely bored,” Artorius shrugged. “I’m glad for any form of release they can get, as long as it doesn’t involve fighting with the locals or each other. Hopefully we won’t be here for very long. I suspect that as soon as the weather and seas are even remotely compatible, we will be on our way.”
“I hope so,” Sempronius replied. “If we are forced to delay, they will drink the town dry of its wine and ale, wear out all the prostitutes, and then resort to brawling.”
“Even the most disciplined of armies is prone to lapses if left idle,” the master centurion concurred as they approached the inn. The eagles of the four legions were posted just outside the entrance, guarded by two squads of legionaries, who would also keep curious onlookers at bay. As they walked into the crowded outer foyer, a tribune approached the men.
“Plautius is meeting with all legion commanders upstairs, sir,” he said to Sempronius, who nodded in reply.
“You’d best come with me,” the chief tribune said to Artorius.
Upstairs, the commander-in-chief had procured a large suite normally reserved for passing dignitaries and foreign princes. Gathered at a large round table were Plautius, Sabinus, Vespasian, and Geta, along with Tribune Cursor. Artorius grinned when he saw another familiar face standing over the table. It had been a few years, but there was no mistaking the tall, bald mariner.
“Commander Stoppello,” he said, extending his hand to naval officer.
“Actually it’s Admiral Stoppello,” the sailor replied with a chuckle, clasping his hand firmly. “You saw all those ships in the harbor?”
Artorius nodded.
“Well, they’re all my responsibility now.”
“Tiberius Stoppello was appointed admiral of the fleet by the emperor,” Plautius added. “It is he who will get our invasion forces to Britannia.”
“A far cry from when you had but a single ship,” Artorius noted.
“If I still had any hair, this posting would have caused me to lose it,” the admiral added with a laugh.
Artorius greeted and shook hands with Cursor briefly before Plautius interrupted them.
“You can exchange pleasantries later,” he said curtly before calling their attention to the crudely drawn map. “Gentlemen, as you can see, we are divided into three battle groups. The largest will be on the right, consisting of the Ninth and Fourteenth Legions. I will be with this group and will attempt to establish communications with the Cantiaci as soon as possible. They are our surest allies in the region and most viable at helping us establish our initial base of operations.”
“And I will be on the extreme left with the Second Legion,” Vespasian added. “In addition to driving the enemy further inland, we will see if we can ascertain the demeanor of the Atrebates. Will they welcome the return of their king under a Roman flag or have the past three years been sufficient to assimilate them into Caratacus’ kingdom?”
“Which leaves us in the center,” Sempronius said.
“The Twentieth will establish a beachhead and temporary base of operations for the majority of our cavalry,” Plautius remarked. “Tribune Cursor will accompany your force in the second wave once you’ve cleared any resistance from the beaches.”
“As offloading horses from warships is a slow and arduous task,” the cavalry tribune added, “I will need you to secure the landing site before we come ashore. After which, we will link up with the left and right divisions, forming lines of communication for the entire invasion force.”
“It will be crucial that you establish communications with me as soon as practicable,” Vespasian emphasized. “That way both legions can support each other.”
Plautius then continued, “Though our immediate mission is to restore the sovereignty of an allied king, all of you know that our long-term goal is to conquer a new province for the empire. Several tribal kingdoms are known to be openly hostile, particularly the Catuvellauni under King Togodumnus. It is his brother, Caratacus, who now rules Atrebates. Intelligence gathering will be just as important as the actual fighting, for we need to know which tribes are aligned with him, and which ones are indecisive about whom they want as their friends. That is why an overwhelming show of force will be necessary once we land. Allies will be welcomed into the empire as friends. Those who oppose us will be smashed into the earth! Admiral Stoppello has the ship assignments for your legions. We launch in two days.”
During the final days of preparation, Centurion Magnus had quite an unexpected turn of events. It was late morning, and the Norseman had just returned from taking his century on a short run along the coastline when he saw her. His face broke into a broad grin as he saw a beautiful woman walking at the head of what appeared to be a hundred or so Syrian archers. Her light olive skin glowed in the afternoon sun, her long black hair pulled back tight against her head. She wore a light mail shirt, belted around the middle, which seemed to only accentuate her figure even more.
“Dismiss the men,” he said hurriedly to his optio before sprinting away. “Achillia!”
The woman stopped abruptly, startled at first, and then her own smile matching his. She calmly but deliberately made her way over to the centurion and stood before him with her hands on her hips.
“Well, fancy that,” she said with a cocked grin. “Didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”
Unsure what to say and despite being sweaty and disheveled from his morning exertions, Magnus took Achillia in her arms and kissed her deeply. She was at first startled by this, her eyes wide in bemusement. She then groaned softly and wrapped her arms around him, kissing him back.
“What are you doing here?” Magnus finally asked.
“Allied detachment,” Achillia explained, taking him by the hand. “I decided a while ago to quit fighting for money in the arenas, that my skills could be better used to serve the empire.”
“But you’re not auxiliaries,” Magnus noted.
“No,” Achillia replied with a shake of her head. “And besides, as a woman, I cannot officially join the ranks anyway. I am, however, still a Roman citizen with a sense of duty. And if I may flatter myself, I am a better shot with a bow than any in the entire army. So I formed a company of my own archers and petitioned Plautius to take us on as hired skirmishers.”
“You’re mercenaries then.”
“When you look at it, my dear, we all are,” she replied with a casual shrug. “You and your men get paid to fight, as do mine. Since the invasion force needs all the additional help it can muster, I think the commander-in-chief was glad to add a few more bows to his arsenal. My skirmishers move quickly and can be very useful when it comes to picking off enemy leaders.”
Magnus found all he could do was laugh at the implausibility of it all. Here was the most stunning woman he had ever met in his life, who he’d last seen fighting as a gladiator in Judea, and now she was leading a contingent of volunteer skirmishers that would be accompanying them in the invasion of Britannia.