As he made his way through the thick growth of reeds and tall grasses on the far side, the Tribune noted that the Batavi had already formed a vanguard and were pressing forward. One of their officers was waiting for him, and he wordlessly signaled for Cursor to follow him. The Tribune left his horse with one of his cavalrymen and crept along behind the man, trying his best to keep quiet as they hunkered low through the thickets. They came up a short embankment lined with sporadic trees. As the two men hunkered down behind a large briar bush, Cursor gasped at the sight across the open plain. Hundreds of war chariots were arrayed in a massive column, with sizeable gaps between each rank in order to give room to limber up the horses when they made ready to go into action.
“This must be every damn chariot in all of Britannia!” the officer whispered. He then observed, “They intend to let the legions get a number of their men across, and then smash into them like a giant hammer.”
“Chariots are worthless without horses,” Cursor noted. He nodded towards the east as the faintest glow of the predawn illuminated the area. “An hour until the sun rises. It is time to move, and let us hope the legions are able to secure their pontoon bridges!”
As a veteran of Braduhenna, where he received Rome’s highest honor, the Grass Crown, Cursor understood the peril his men would be in, should the legions fail to emplace their bridge and make their way across. Being cut off and surrounded was the ultimate feeling of hopelessness, and while his cavalry would have a reasonable chance of breaking away and outrunning the barbarians, his Batavian infantry would have no means of escape. And honor would not allow Cursor to abandon even one of his men.
Though his plan was similar to Artorius’, Vespasian had a narrower crossing, and since his was the main effort for the coming battle, he had access to all of the rafts and pontoon bridge material. Several squads of legionaries had gotten to the other side in a similar fashion as Artorius and his men, though the rest were now waiting for the pontoons to be placed. The Twentieth Legion would require hours to cross over, when what Vespasian required was speed once he was ready to attack. It was quite a feat of Roman engineering, to say nothing for it all being accomplished under the cover of darkness and with minimal talk amongst the soldiers carrying out the task.
The pontoons for this particular bridge were prefabricated over the previous couple days, using logs lashed together to make short rafts. They were large enough for a squad of legionaries to stand on. Though heavy and cumbersome, they were manageable when carried by groups of men who were used to working together. The support ropes were laid out across the water, with the pontoons going in between. As the first was laid into the water, soldiers quickly tied the ends to the support ropes, repeating the process as they formed their bridge across the short stretch of water. Within less than an hour, the bridge was in place, and although it curved substantially in the middle, where the river current dragged against it, Vespasian knew it would do the task required.
“We’re ready for the general advance, sir,” Master Centurion Lyto reported. “No signs of the enemy yet from the pickets on the far side.”
“What in Juno’s name is wrong with them?” the chief tribune asked. “They’re just going to let us across?”
“We have a report from Cursor’s auxiliaries,” Lyto explained. “Togodumnus has arrayed hundreds of war chariots off to the left of where we’re crossing.”
“He intends to let us cross, then hit us in the flank with his chariots while his warriors engage us from the front,” Vespasian observed. “Provided Cursor waits until just before dawn to take out their horses and chariots, we can catch them off-guard. I also doubt that Togodumnus thinks we’re brazen enough to attempt a water crossing at night, and he cannot be altogether certain that we will attack at all.” He then turned to his chief tribune. “I will take half the legion across now, you will remain with the rest in reserve. Once we push out far enough, I will get the signal back for you to bring the rest over. We’ll them form into a single front, with the Fourteenth Legion becoming the reserve.”
The young man looked crestfallen at first at the thought of having to stay back, but then realized quickly enough that with the size of their enemy, he would get his share of fighting soon enough. Behind them, Master Centurion Lyto led the first century of men over the river, where he would coordinate the initial placement of his men. With any luck, to say nothing of careful preparation and discipline, Togodumnus would be met with a nasty surprise come morning.
Chapter XVII I: Hammer the Winds
The frantic calls from war horns, and what sounded like the cries of a thousand terrified animals, awakened Togodumnus from his fitful slumber. The Catuvellauni king threw off his bearskin blanket and stumbled from his tent. The sky was now cloudless, in a show of just how rapidly the weather changed on the isle, and the rising sun in the east blinded him temporarily as it first broke over the horizon. Shielding his eyes with his hand, he scanned the valley below. Enemy skirmishers were appearing from the woods in a statement of Roman audacity; for the main attack would, in fact, come right at them from across the river.
It was as the king expected and why he had left his chariots concentrated near his main camp. And yet, as he looked off to his right, he could see a large number of his war chariots still in their staging area with no horses being limbered up.
“Why have they not moved?” he asked aloud. He then turned to a messenger. “Have our chariots manned at once! They must smash the Romans as they cross the river, before they can establish their battle formations!”
“Yes, my king.” The man quickly mounted his horse and rode at breakneck speed down the hill, not knowing that most of the Roman legion to their front was already across the river and making ready to advance out of the wood line.
Togodumnus quickly threw on his mail shirt and baldric. He was baffled by the great confusion below, as warriors seemed slow to engage the Romans. Behind their vanguard of auxiliary skirmishers he could now see the distinctive red shields and gleaming armor of legionaries.
“Damn it all!” he swore. “Where are my chariots? Why do they not ready themselves to attack?” He summoned his horse, quickly mounting and riding to see what the issue was. As his horse cantered down the slope, he came upon Caratacus, who had spent the remainder of the night with his warriors on their temporary mustering field. It was he who had discovered the reasons for his brother’s frustration, for he had intended to personally lead the charge of heavy chariots that would drive the Romans back into the river.
“The Romans have driven off or killed all of the chariot horses!” he shouted in dismay. “Their light auxiliaries crossed during the night and just as the sun rose, killed or spooked them all. We were almost trampled by the mad rush of those that had escaped the slaughter.”
“Bastards,” Togodumnus growled. He took a deep breath through his nose, finding his resolve. “No matter. Brother, you will take our warriors and drive the Romans back into the river. Our numbers alone will prove too much for them. I will go and rally our ‘friends’ and see why they delay.”
“Steady lads!” Vespasian shouted as he leapt from the makeshift rope bridge. Soldiers of the Second Legion were still getting used to their commanding general’s ‘lead-by-example’ mentality that had not been seen since the days of Germanicus Caesar.