“You know,” Cursor said, “the reality may be that there simply aren’t any viable crossing points close enough for men carrying heavy weapons and armor.”
“Well, not with that attitude…sir,” Artorius replied with a short chuckle.
“Artorius!” The shouted call from Vespasian alerted them, and they turned to see Vespasian standing just outside the large tent, signaling for the master centurion to join him.
“Plautius must think you’re on to something,” Cursor remarked.
The young warrior had struggled to find his way to Togodumnus’ camp, delirious from loss of blood and the shock at having his hand severed with the stump subsequently cauterized with a red hot piece of iron. A small group of Durotriges fighters had found him lingering outside their camp fire soon after they finished their march into the two rivers. Their intent was to join up with Togodumnus in the morning, and these men immediately took the badly injured young man to King Donan. Rains had started to fall, and they beat down on the hut of animal skins the king’s men had erected for him. A fire burned in the center, and the young man was helped into a small wicker chair and given a hide blanket to wrap himself in. One of the camp women brought him some ale.
“Bring him food, as well,” Donan ordered.
“T…the Romans did this,” the young man said, his voice trembling badly. “I must f…find King Togodumnus.”
“It’s alright lad, we’re friends of your king,” Donan replied, placing a hand on his shoulder. “We are joining up with him to expel from our lands those bastards who did this to you.”
As he ate, the man told about the horrors inflicted upon them by the invaders, including the horrific machines they used that could spit both fire and stone. His ramblings sounded delusional, which was of little surprise given that he had a bad fever, and his skin burned to the touch. What Donan did understand was that the Romans were without mercy, taking into slavery all who they did not kill outright. They had also committed a terrible sacrilege by crucifying the village druid. Even in their bloodiest conflicts with hated enemies, no warrior within Britannia was allowed to harm a druid; their sacred persons being inviolable.
“If even half of what he says is true,” a war chief said after the lad had fallen asleep from exhaustion, “then we are facing a different sort of enemy. What demonic monsters are these Romans?”
“Not monsters,” Donan said, shaking his head. “They are still men, though clearly men with neither soul nor honor.”
“We still have bands of warriors making their journey who are strung out between here and Dunium. I only hope the warriors we do have is sufficient.”
“As do I,” Donan agreed. “Togodumnus has assembled quite the mighty host, yet I fear that many of these bands of warriors are, at best, unreliable and, at worst, traitorous.”
The Ninth and Twentieth Legions would soon be breaking down their camps and making ready to march to their assault points. The Second and Fourteenth would remain in place, as they would be attacking their enemy head on across the river. Auxiliary regiments were scattered throughout the lands, already taken by the Romans with only a few infantry cohorts available. Several squadrons of cavalry were dispersed between each battle group to serve as both messengers and mounted support. However, Cursor was sending the majority of his corps to the west. Even if they could not find a suitable bridge or ford, his men could still readily swim their horses across the river. He had also placed these men under the command of Centurion Taurus, as he had elected to personally lead the pending nighttime raid against the enemy chariots.
As evening fell upon the enormous camp, with the sun glowing red in the west, Admiral Stoppello arrived, along with several of his ships’ captains. Accompanying them was a company of what appeared to be Syrian archers. Magnus’ face broke into the broadest grin Artorius had ever seen as the Norseman raced over to the advancing group. It was only then that Artorius spotted Achillia, who Magnus took into his arms and kissed passionately. Though the sight made him miss Diana, Artorius was happy for his friend as he watched Magnus lead Achillia away towards his tent.
Artorius sighed and then as he walked towards the principia, he saw two Britons being roughly handled by a group of dismounted cavalrymen, who were taking them into the large tent. As he was headed that way anyway, the master centurion decided to investigate further.
“We found these two skulking about,” a trooper said as Artorius entered. “No doubt spies of Togodumnus!”
“I’m telling you, we are not spies of Togodumnus!” the Briton with blonde hair said. His ability to converse in the Romans’ tongue startled them. He shook free of the grip of the trooper. “We are Brigantes, not Catuvellauni!”
Artorius stared at the young man for some time before he finally realized who he was.
“Hold up!” he said quickly, walking over to Plautius and the other senior leaders. “I think I know this man.” He then walked over to the Briton. “I do know you, don’t I? Alaric?”
“You do,” he replied, recognizing the master centurion. “We sailed to Judea and fought those pirates all those years ago. And we met again at the crucifixion of the Nazarene.”
“That’s what I thought,” Artorius said quietly. He looked up at the auxiliary troopers. “Unhand them.”
“Do you mind telling us what the hell this is about?” Plautius snapped in irritation.
“Respectfully, sir,” Artorius replied. “It’s a long story that I would prefer to tell another time. But suffice to say that I can vouch that these men are, in fact, Brigantes and not Catuvellauni.”
“We are members of Queen Cartimandua’s personal guard,” Alaric explained.
“So you’re not here to spy on us, then,” Plautius surmised.
“We’ve been observing you for some time,” Alaric replied candidly. “But our task was for our queen, not Togodumnus.”
“Plautius, these men can probably tell us the disposition of the Brigantes and if they are siding with the Catuvellauni,” Vespasian said.
“I assure you, we’re not,” Alaric emphasized. “But then neither have we sided yet with Rome. You must understand our queen’s prudence in this matter.”
“She’s waiting to see who the victors are,” Plautius concurred with a snort.
“Believe me,” Alaric replied, “she has no love for Togodumnus. If she did, she would have sent our warriors to join him, and they are many. We are simply members of Cartimandua’s guard, as well as her eyes and ears. We have no mandate to speak on her behalf. However, I know her, personally, and can attest that her intention is to eventually forge an alliance with Rome.”
“Very well,” Plautius stated. “Once we are finished with Togodumnus and whatever allies he has rallied against us, you will return to Brigantes and summon your queen to me. In the meantime, you will accompany General Vespasian and note well what happens to those who would dare oppose the might of Rome.”
“Release his friend,” Vespasian ordered the auxiliary troopers. “He can return to his people tomorrow. This one will remain with us. Stable both of their horses, these two can bed down with the Syrian detachment.”
Forgetting his original business in the principia, Artorius promptly left and followed the men outside, where night had fallen and only the glow of torches cast their light about.
“I’ll take this one,” he told the troopers, who simply saluted and left with Alaric’s friend. He walked with the young man towards the edge of the camp. “Strange that we should find each other here of all places.”
“Our lives seem to have come full circle once again, Roman,” Alaric replied. “Forgive me, but despite what would appear to be an intertwining of our destinies, I never once learned your name.”
“Artorius,” the master centurion replied. “You say our destinies have been intertwined. Explain.”
“You were there when my village was destroyed,” Alaric replied. “I know you were, I can sense it.” When Artorius did not speak he continued, “I was raised in these isles in the house of King Breogan. I grew up alongside Cartimandua, who I now serve. I think it was fated that we would end up on the same vessel bound for Judea.”