“Just tell us where you want us,” Artorius replied.
The wind and movement of hundreds of ships under oars had made the waves very choppy, and the ship rocked about erratically. Stoppello and his sailors scarcely noticed, though Artorius had to stop for a moment, lest his dinner spew forth onto the deck.
“Right up here, near the prow of the ship,” Stoppello said, waving his hand towards the open space at the front, which normally would have been covered in cargo.
The sun was beginning to set, and both Plautius and Stoppello wanted to make certain all vessels were at sea and in formation before night fell. As the flagship, Stoppello had elected to be among the last to depart.
“Let the men ground their armor but have them stay close,” Artorius ordered Parthicus. “Get some rest if they can, but I want everyone suited up and ready to assault by the time the isle is in sight.”
“Yes, sir,” the optio replied. He in turn said a few quick words to the principle officers and squad leaders.
Before the ship even pulled in its gangplank, the men were out of their armor and lounging on the deck near the front of the ship. Many were using their armor for pillows and back rests.
“Where would you like me?” Camillus asked, walking up to Artorius, who had just finished removing his armor.
“For now, wherever you want,” he replied. “Just be sure you find me well before we go ashore.”
“Of course,” the aquilifer said as he set the eagle down near his armor and kit. “Oh, by the way, before we left, Glabrio asked me about his signet ring. I told him he must have lost it; he never mentioned it again.”
“Probably forgot all about it,” Artorius grunted.
In the background, he could hear orders being shouted by both Stoppello and the sailing master. The ship lurched in the surf as oars slapped into the water, pulling them away from the docks.
“And I shouldn’t use that anymore; just keep it as a souvenir. Plautius gave Sempronius his own signet ring and told him his seal is to be used for the Twentieth Legion.”
“Fair enough,” Camillus shrugged. He turned back and watched the still hectic coastal town as the ship slowly put distance between them and the imperial mainland. “Think we’ll ever see home again?”
“Who knows,” Artorius replied. He then nodded towards the setting sun that glowed red just over the water. “What I do know is that our destiny lies there, just beyond that horizon.”
Chapter XI: Invasion
Off the coast of Britannia
April, 43 A.D.
“They are coming!”
The frantic cry alerted Banning. In many ways it came as a relief to the young war chief. He had more than ten thousand warriors from various tribes all along the coast and keeping them fed and supplied was already proving to be a nightmare, even in the early spring. They had readily taken from the Cantiaci, whose lands they now occupied, for they knew that their king intended to ally himself to Rome.
“They come to us at the start of our campaign season instead of the end,” he said with satisfaction to one of his sub-chiefs.
“They certainly are brazen,” the man replied. “Attacking in the spring when we can mass our numbers, rather than waiting until the fall when we must return for the harvest.”
“The Romans want battle,” Banning asserted. “And we shall give it to them!”
He walked out of the hut that he’d taken for the night and went out to the edge of the cliffs. The early morning fog masked their numbers, but he caught the occasional glimpse of approaching Roman warships. The sea gave the illusion of closeness, and the war chief knew that despite their apparent proximity, it would be at least a couple hours before the first assault wave landed. He then turned to an accompanying messenger.
“Send word to our reinforcements,” he ordered. “Tell them their quarry approaches.”
As he stared out into the sea, his heart was filled with loathing towards Togodumnus and Caratacus. To him, they were blustering cowards who failed to take decisive action that could drive the Romans from their lands before they so much as got off the beaches. He just hoped the number of warriors he had would be enough. If the invasion force was as large as they’d been told, then they would have fleets of warships landing at various points all along the coast.
“Damn you, Togodumnus!” he growled, shaking his head. He walked down towards the beach, where a coven of druids were assembled. “You know what you must do.”
“Of course,” the elder druid replied, his eyes and mouth barely visible from beneath his hooded cloak. “When one lacks allies, it becomes time to call on the gods.”
“Good,” Banning said with a nod. “And now you will bear witness as to how true warriors fight!”
The invasion fleet was enormous. From the prow of his vessel and to his left and right, Artorius could see nothing but other ships in either direction. The sea was choppy, though the waters were only about chest deep where they were to launch the assault. It would be a rough landing, but as the initial wave would be carrying only their weapons and armor it would be passable enough. Though it was now midmorning, the sky was dark, and the wind gusted in his face. Along the short beachhead and up on the cliff he could see numerous fires burning.
“The First Cohort will spearhead the attack,” the chief tribune ordered during the preparations. This came as no surprise, as the First had far more soldiers, who were all highly experienced.
When the scout ships had conducted their reconnaissance of the landing site it was empty, and they did not know whether or not there would be any resistance. The ground at the top of the cliff was reported to be relatively flat and devoid of dense growths of trees. As the First Cohort had the most men, they would move up the beach and secure a large enough area on top of the cliff for the rest of the Twentieth Legion. Once established, a signal would be sent back to the second wave of ships, which contained the majority of the army’s cavalry corps.
The Second Augusta, Ninth Hispania, and Fourteenth Gemina Legions were all making similar landings at various points along the coastline. Even though all the ships had left the coast of Belgica around the same time, it was impossible to coordinate a true simultaneous landing. Those vessels bearing the Second Legion would have to first make their way a number of miles to the southwest before landing, and the very large task force carrying the Ninth and Fourteenth Legions had an even longer trek to the north. As such, the Twentieth Legion would be the first to land in Britannia.
“Depth, two fathoms!” a nearby sailor shouted over his shoulder as he pulled in the knotted measuring rope that told them how deep the water was. Legionaries had donned their armor and were making ready to disembark.
“Standby to reverse oars!” Admiral Stoppello shouted to the sailing master who was overseeing the rowers. Camillus, the aquilifer, stood next to his master centurion on the prow of the ship, the legion’s eagle standard clutched to his chest.
Once they hit the shallows the legionaries would have to slog about a hundred meters through the surf before they hit the beach. It was then that Artorius first heard the ominous chants coming from the beach. Dozens of figures in hooded cloaks stood around the fires, their faces hidden, and hands held in front of their chests in prayer. Dozens more lined the beach, their chants carrying over the wind and seeming to permeate the very air the legionaries on the ship breathed. They grew even louder as the vessel lurched to a halt in the shallow waters.
“Fucking druids,” Camillus cursed as Artorius turned to face his men.
“First Century…up!” he shouted. “Form up to advance!”
The soldiers reluctantly got to their feet, clutching their shields and javelins close to them as the sinister chants grew ever louder, carried on the increasing gusts of wind. Optio Parthicus shouted a few curses as he tried to motivate the men.