Those at the head of each column carried torches, not just to provide light for the guides, but also so that they could orient off each other. Tribunes regularly passed messages along to Artorius, and several times they had to practically halt the entire legion as they clawed their way through some of the more impassible thickets of brush and undergrowth. It felt like it took an hour just to go the first mile. Fortunately for them, as the river wound its way south, the ground opened up. The legion was able to spread out and speed up its pace.
“The rest of the trek on this side of the river should go smoothly enough,” Artorius said to Camillus. “Troopers from Indus’ Horse said where the trees become thick again is where there is a narrow enough place for us to cross.”
“I only hope it is more passable on the other side,” the aquilifer noted. “We do little good if we’re confined to these damned forests the entire trek.”
Artorius said no more, knowing his friend shared the same concerns he did. Many confined areas prevented the legions from forming battle lines, and having no real idea as to the lay of the land was maddening. He surmised that if Togodumnus was electing to fight the Romans in this region, then the ground must be fairly open in order for him to accommodate his own massive army. Of course, that was all conjecture. For the moment, all he could do was follow the river until he found a place to cross, while hoping it would not take so long as to do the Vespasian’s assault force any good.
It was after dark, and Caratacus sat outside his small tent up on a rise of ground overlooking the valley below, which was dotted with thousands of campfires. The coming fog was already obscuring the wood line along the river, and he feared that his brother was mistaken to think the Romans would not attempt to cross over at night. The woods on the far side shielded most of their camp from view, even from Caratacus’ high vantage point. The best they could tell was that Romans still occupied the camp and had not moved. Still, between the thick forests and the river as obstacles, detailed reconnaissance was virtually impossible for either side. Two enormous armies faced each other, separated by only a short expanse of water, and yet blind to each other’s actual strength and disposition.
He took some comfort from the vast number of fires that burned in the valley, around each huddled a group of warriors who would be ready to give their enemy the decisive battle both sides so desperately wanted. And yet, even the numbers of fighting men made him uneasy.
“Can’t sleep, brother?” Togodumnus asked as he knelt down to join him, wrapped in a blanket of animal skins. “I confess that slumber is deprived of me this night, too.”
“I worry about the stability of our alliance,” Caratacus replied, deciding to forego his concerns about the Romans making a night crossing.
Togodumnus had already scoffed at the notion, and further stated that even if the Romans did manage to pull off such an impossibility, that just meant they had less time to wait before smashing them into oblivion.
“They are anxious, and the longer Rome delays, the more of them that may decide to abandon the campaign and go home. And there are those who refuse to follow the orders of any but their own war chiefs, many of whom are damn near hostile towards us.”
“I admit I have little faith in many of our so-called friends,” Togodumnus replied. “The Silures are the only ones I know we can rely upon, and yet they are few in number. The Durotriges mean well, but many of them are still miles from here. King Donan assures me they are coming with all possible speed, and more of them do arrive every day. As for the rest…well, they did come to this place with the intent of fighting the Romans, and for now that is enough. Once our chariots smash into their compressed ranks, the legions will be scattered and our warriors can finish them off. Those who have refused to ally with us, the Brigantes and Iceni to name a few, will be diminished in power and influence in our lands. Even our most reluctant allies will renew their calls for friendship, seeing the power of our warriors unleashed.”
“Venutius of the Brigantes wishes to join us,” Caratacus noted. “It’s his bitch of a wife who is queen and simply waiting to see who wins before choosing sides. I have considered taking a band of warriors and helping Venutius wrest control of Brigantes from Cartimandua, once and for all.”
“A bold move,” Togodumnus concurred. “And one that certainly has merit. However, that, my brother, is for another day. Once the invaders are defeated, we will be in a much greater position to dictate the ruling of these lands.” He gave Caratacus a friendly smack on the shoulder as he stood and returned to his tent. Caratacus simply sat and watched the valley below. Off to his left he could see the camps of various tribes who had committed warriors to the cause; and though he could not see the sea in the distance, he knew their alliance’s force stretched all the way to the mouth of the river. In that he took some solace, hoping that by the morrow their sheer force of numbers would break the Romans, should they finally decide to attack. Togodumnus had accepted risk in keeping his armies massed together under the assumption the legions would come to them. However, he did base this on the knowledge that if the Romans simply wished to wait them out, then they never would have left the security of the lands they had already conquered. They would have dug in and waited, rather than coming to them. No, the invaders were looking for a battle, and now they simply had to wait for them to make the first move.
Caratacus also thought back to Archantael’s sacrificing of the young Roman officer. Whether he believed in the power of the druids or not, his warriors did, and the chief druid had promised them victory ‘at the land between the two rivers’. There was nothing else for it, and as his eyes finally started to grow heavy, the Catuvellauni war chief and one-time usurper of Atrebates allowed sleep to come.
“This looks like the place,” Artorius said as he held a torch over the water. “The water is too deep to wade across, but at least the current is calmer here, and it is a shorter distance to the far bank.”
“With all due respect, old friend, I’d like to know what in Odin’s name you think you’re doing?” Magnus asked as Artorius stripped out of his armor and tunic.
Lying near the Norseman were several great coils of rope that his men had spent the better part of the previous afternoon tying together.
“If I may flatter myself, I am one of the ablest swimmers in the entire legion,” Artorius replied. “And I cannot ask one of my men to do something I am not willing to do myself. Just be sure you stay with it and make sure the ropes don’t get hung up on anything on this side of the bank. I daresay, even with the calmer current I’ll be a ways downstream by the time I get across.”
Refusing to hear any more words of protest from his centurion, Artorius tied two lengths of cord around his waist. These were smaller and would be easier to carry across than dragging the heavy ropes. They, in turn, were tied to the thick coils they would use as a makeshift bridge. His feet sunk halfway up his calves into the thick, boggy mud; each step a chore as the muck sucked to his legs. The ground abruptly fell off as he stepped into the actual river, falling face-first with a hard splash. He lurched to the surface, thankful that, in the pitch black of night, none of his men had witnessed his clumsiness.
“You alright?” Magnus asked, hearing his friend’s fall.
“Nothing wounded by my pride,” Artorius replied with a grim chuckle as he continued to wade forward. After a few meters, the water came up over his chest, and he leapt forward, swimming with long, deliberate strokes, while trying not to concern himself too much over the current that was deceptively fast. He felt the ropes pulling on his waist as several of his men kept them taught, lest they get swept away and hung up on trees and river undergrowth.