As his men established their camp, he counted himself fortunate for having secured his baggage train. His men had both rations and tents for the night, along with needed medical supplies to care for the wounded. There were a number of dead to deal with as well, twenty in all, including Camillus. Time for a formal ceremony honoring their sacrifice would have to come later. For now, Artorius had ordered a pyre built to dispose of the bodies, lest they fall victim to scavenging animals or wandering bands of enemy warriors. He insisted on personally laying Camillus’ body on the mound of wood and bodies.
It was this burning pyre that allowed the messenger from Plautius to find them in the dark of night. He came escorted by several auxiliary cavalrymen, as this side of the river was still mostly hostile and to send out a lone messenger would be a foolish endeavor.
“Your men are fortunate to have their tents to sleep under tonight,” the man noted as he walked with the master centurion towards the principia. “The Second and Ninth are all encamped under the stars tonight.”
“I took a calculated risk and was lucky the barbarians did not overrun my supply train and make off with it all,” Artorius said as he read the message. “Seeing as how the late reinforcements from the Durotriges have been beaten, I can have the Twentieth Legion ready to advance on the enemy’s main flank tomorrow.”
“Yes, sir,” the messenger replied. “Anything you wish me to take back to Plautius?”
“Yes. Give him a note regarding my losses in dead and wounded, and let him know we will advance on the enemy at dawn.”
“Very good.”
As he made his way back to his tent, Artorius was joined by Magnus, whose face was pale and his eyes red. He had known Camillus just as long as Artorius and had counted him amongst his better friends.
“I know casualties are always inevitable,” the Norseman said awkwardly. “But damn it all, why did it have to be him?”
“He was the bravest man I ever knew,” Artorius said quietly. “You remember during our first campaign, when he was our signifier? And he stuck that German in the chest with the signum?”
“I remember,” Magnus said with a short laugh. “He calmly said afterwards that he feared getting the shit beat out of him by Centurion Macro more than he did being killed by the enemy. Personally, I think he was just being modest.”
“After he tossed the eagle over the side of the ship and advanced with it by himself through the surf towards that mass of druids and barbarian warriors, I knew he was not afraid of anything. I’ve known men of deep religious faith, as well as complete atheists, and yet one thing they all shared in common was a deep fear of death. Not Camillus, though. And if he was ever afraid, then he was the greatest actor to ever live, because I never saw it.”
“I only saw him show fear once,” Magnus said. “It was the year before you came back to us, when his wife was dying. He told me his greatest dread would be leaving his daughters completely orphaned.”
Artorius let out a sad sigh and shook his head. He had forgotten momentarily about Camillus’ two daughters, who were now fourteen and eleven. “Everyone who dies in battle leaves someone behind,” he said. “Our legionaries cannot marry, yet many have common-law wives and children…anyway, I cannot think on this anymore. Our mission is not done yet. I will shed my tears for Camillus and the others when the time is right. And Magnus…”
“Yes?”
“Make sure when the time is right that I can shed the tears for our friends. If I am not the same wreck that I was after Vitruvius, Decimus, and Carbo all died at Braduhenna fifteen years ago, then my very soul is lost.”
“Of course,” Magnus replied. “And you be sure to do the same for me, as well as Praxus. After all, he knew Camillus even longer than we did.”
“I want him remembered,” Artorius continued, “If not his name, at least his actions. Thousands of years from now, I want people to know the bravery of one man who stormed the beaches of a hostile foreign land alone, carrying the eagle of Rome to the furthest corner of the world.”
The night passed uneventfully, with both armies weary from the previous day. Artorius was awake and armored up an hour before dawn. His centurions were rousing their men, who with their usual discipline immediately started to break the camp down, albeit with the typical muttered curses and grumbling that’s been prevalent with soldiers since the beginning of time. Cohort commanders reported to him as soon as they’d broken down their section of the camp and had their men ready to march. It was Magnus who informed him when the First Cohort was ready.
“Very good,” Artorius said to his assembled leaders.
The four surviving equite tribunes were also on hand, and he intended to use them to coordinate between units, as he himself would be marching with the First Cohort in the very center.
“This terrain is pretty open, so we’ll advance in loose battle order, allowing plenty of room for movement between each cohort. The first five will take the lead, baggage trains in the center with the remaining cohorts in reserve, that is, until we spot the enemy. The large river is approximately ten miles north of here. We suspect we’ll run into one of the main roads that lead to a bridge. Provided Vespasian and the other legions are successful today, no doubt there will be a large number of refugees fleeing this way. And while we cannot completely pen the enemy in, we are to kill or capture as many as possible. Any questions?” When there were none, he told them, “Return to your cohorts, make ready to move out!”
For Vespasian, there was no long search to find the enemy. They were encamped barely half a mile from where his legion had dug in for the night. But unlike legionaries, they had simply slept where they had fallen down, posting only a few men to serve as lookouts.
Geta and the Fourteenth Legion had slipped past the Second during the night, and as the glow of the predawn cast its light on the ground, a cornicen sounded his horn, ordering the legion to advance. Geta rode at the head of his legion, anxious for battle. Though a lesser commander may have resented having his entire legion placed in reserve on the previous day, Geta was an experienced enough legate to surmise that the issue would not be decided in a single day. And now, with a fresh legion facing an enemy who’d already suffered untold casualties, as well as massed desertions from many of their supposed allies, he was poised to strike the decisive blow for Rome.
“Smash these bastards into oblivion and perhaps the emperor will grant me a triumph,” Geta said quietly to himself. He then gave the order to his cornicen, “Sound quick step!”
Vespasian was shocked to see Geta ride at a full gallop ahead of his men as they charged the beleaguered ranks of the barbarian army. The enemy warriors seemed equally shocked at the Roman legate’s audacity, and yet their focus on him allowed the legionaries to close within just a few meters before unleashing their javelin volleys. Warriors closest to Geta were the focus of the legionaries closest to him, and these fell in bloody heaps. It looked for a moment as if the legate was risking being killed or captured, yet the cohorts that flanked him on either side drew their gladii and charged, driving hard into their foe. Battle was soon joined in full, and Vespasian could not help but wonder if Togodumnus was surprised at just how vigorous the Romans now attacked his army. No doubt he would soon realize he was facing two legions instead of one.
Togodumnus was, in fact, valiantly trying to rally his warriors into holding their ground against this fresh Roman onslaught. He remained on foot this day, using his own example to inspire his warriors. It was Caratacus who rode up to a low rise and scanned the battlefield, realizing what had transpired in the night. No matter how brave his men were, they were still battered from the previous day’s fighting, their numbers dwindled by casualties and the loss of their supposed allies. Only the Silures, who had been unable to bring their full might to the field, remained, along with King Donan of the Durotriges. Donan’s force had also suffered a reversal, as an entire army of late arrivals was assailed by a Roman legion to the southwest and destroyed. Caratacus knew this same legion now threatened his right flank, and he’d heard no word from his men who were supposed to be engaging the legion that had landed by ship near the mouth of the river.