“Who?”
“Enemy reinforcements,” Taurus explained, “about eight to ten thousand strong. They’re making their way up from the southwest.”
“That’ll be the Durotriges,” Magnus surmised. “They will have been on the march for at least two weeks.”
“I thought there were far more of them,” a tribune said.
“Oh, there are,” Magnus replied. “And, I daresay, most of them are throwing themselves against Sabinus and Vespasian’s shield walls, provided they got across without meeting disaster. But the Durotriges are a confederation rather than single tribal kingdom. I figure these twats probably saw an opportunity to take part in the glory, once they heard just how massive an army Togodumnus had assembled.”
“That also means our rear cohorts with the baggage trains will run right into them,” Praxus added. “If they see our supply trains, no doubt the Durotriges will make a play for them.”
“Our mission is to protect the flank, as well as preventing further reinforcements,” Artorius observed. “We’ll meet these bastards head-on and smash them into oblivion! How far are they?”
“About six miles,” Taurus answered. “My men intercepted a rider from Togodumnus, who had just reported to these men that there is a major battle in progress, and they need to move quickly. About a mile north of here the ground opens up, and you should have no issue deploying your battle lines.”
“Form the legion,” Artorius ordered his senior officers. “Have all cohort commanders report to me immediately. Let us hope that if they have spotted our logistics trains, those two cohorts are enough to hold them in place. Taurus, inform Vespasian and let him know our legion’s disposition. My apologies to him for not being able to crawl up Togodumnus’ ass like I intended, but unfortunately, we will not be able to hit the main enemy force in the flank without leaving ourselves exposed to attack from behind.”
“Keep them from reinforcing Togodumnus, and I’m sure Vespasian will be most grateful,” Taurus said before riding off, following by a swarm of auxiliary cavalry.
“A bit of a relief to have seen friendlies on this side of the river,” Magnus thought aloud.
“Indeed,” Artorius replied. He then gave his next orders. “Have the legion form into four marching columns ready to move into battle formation once we close with the enemy.”
“The Romans are pushing us back, my king!” a messenger said frantically. “We can’t seem to mass our numbers effectively against their shield wall.”
“We have many times the strength of the Romans now facing us,” Togodumnus growled. “What do you mean we are getting pushed back?”
“Sire!” another man said as he rode up. “A second Roman legion has landed near the mouth of the river. They are supported by warships, unleashing great fire upon our men who tried to stop them.”
Togodumnus shoved the men aside and quickly walked over to the edge of the small hilltop. In the distance, off to his left, he could just make out the sails of several Roman vessels in the deep waters. He even thought he could see the flaming shot from one of their catapults.
“Send word to my brother,” the king ordered. “He is to drive the Romans back into the river. I will deal with those who are landing by sea.” He called for his horse and quickly sped down the gentle slope of the hill.
Bands of warriors were slowly making their way towards the battle, though many seemed to lack guidance or initiative. It was as if they were hoping the issue would be decided before any of them had to do actual fighting. The reality was their army was so vast that it had become unmanageable. It was proving to be impractical for either the king or Caratacus to coordinate such a massive and unwieldy force. And for those bands of warriors not of the Catuvellauni, they felt less inclined to press the attack once they crashed into the Roman lines and felt the biting death of legionary steel.
Plautius watched from the deck of Stoppello’s flagship as waves of legionaries disembarked near a small creek that intersected with the main river. The smaller Roman triremes had been equipped with multiple catapults, which they used to send flaming shot over the heads of the advancing soldiers, raining down amongst the barbarians that were attempting to rally upon the far bank. Archers from the closer ships unleashed volleys of flaming arrows as well, driving their enemy back and allowing the infantry time to form up on the sloping terrain that led away from the river. The ground here was coarse and sandy, covered in low grasses, weeds, and small yellow flowers.
“Our enemy is a disorganized rabble,” Plautius noted with contempt. “They outnumber us significantly, yet they do little to try and stop my men from forming up on their side of the river.”
“A little fire does a lot to cower the superstitious,” Stoppello remarked as the catapult on a nearby trireme sent a flaming ball in a high arc. It smashed on the rocks near a slowly advancing band of barbarians, who immediately scattered and fled back towards their more wary friends.
“I only hope Vespasian’s crossing is going well,” the commander-in-chief noted. “His is the crux of this operation; this is little more than a sideshow to draw off more of Togodumnus’ warriors.”
On the field across the water they saw a more daring horde of their foes, at last, make a concerted attack against their still-forming lines. Legionaries were quick to unleash a storm of javelins before drawing their gladii and charging headlong into the barbarians.
“This outcropping of land rests between two great rivers,” Stoppello observed. “The river to the north is substantially larger than this one and can handle even my much larger Quinqueremes. I suspect that if we are successful here, the enemy will try and cross that one in order to escape from us. I recommend dispatching a flotilla of ships to cover that river and harry them in the event they try and flee.”
“A solid plan,” Plautius noted as the admiral gave the orders to his signalman, who in return passed the message to a nearby river barge that acted as messenger between the larger vessels.
On the far shore, Sabinus and his men had formed their battle line at a right angle from the river, allowing the warships to continue to harass the flank of the barbarians with catapult and archers. The Syrian allied detachment under Achillia had disembarked behind the legion and was providing additional support with harassing volleys into the barbarian ranks. Their enemies were holding their ground well in the ensuing bloody grind against the legions. Given their numbers, they could withstand the disproportionate casualties they suffered. It was the fire from the ship-borne catapults and archers that proved most demoralizing. And so the bloody business of the day continued.
As he came down the hill, the sounds of the main battle reverberating not far away, Togodumnus was flabbergasted when he came upon an entire force of allied warriors who were still gathered around their campfires. Not one was armed for battle, a few still slumbered, while others ate. “What is the meaning of this?” Togodumnus snapped. “Do you not hear the sounds of battle not a mile from here?”
“We hear it,” a warrior shrugged. “Seems we have plenty of time to finish our breakfast.”
“You pile of vermin shit!” the king shouted. “You will arm yourselves for battle this instant!”
“I think not,” another man said, who Togodumnus recognized as the war chief, Banning. These men were of the Corieltauvi, a tribe just north of Catuvellauni, who they had fought border skirmishes with in recent years. It was a curse for Togodumnus, having to rely upon shaky alliances with many whom they had recently drawn blood against.
“My men will attack when they are good and ready,” the war chief persisted. “And let us hope that your own warriors have not cut and run already.”