Rage consumed Artorius as he and his men brawled with the host of Catuvellauni warriors. The ghastly murder of Sempronius, as well as the death of Camillus, fueled his anger. Axes and clubs hammered his shield, sending numbing shocks up his arm and shoulder. And yet he continued to fight, smashing away with the boss and edge of his shield, while stabbing with the gladius in fury. The line continued to advance, his men matching his wrath. It was then he realized they’d been fighting for almost ten minutes at a blistering pace, and he needed to withdraw his front rank.
“Set for passage-of-lines!”
Despite the initial shock of facing a fresh legion of Roman soldiers, Togodumnus was confident his army could prevail. Though many of their so-called ‘allies’ had abandoned the field without a fight, the king was glad to be rid of them. Warriors had told him that Banning and his men had fled with scarcely landing a blow. Once the issue with the Romans had been decided, he would deal with them one by one. The Silures had remained loyal, few as there were at the moment. Once they could be certain as to the safety of their own lands, hordes of warriors from the mountains would spill forth onto the enemy occupied territories. The Durotriges had also kept their vow and continued to fight alongside the Catuvellauni, despite having one of their reinforcing armies scattered by an errant Roman legion.
“The Romans continue to drive us back, brother,” Caratacus said.
The two kings now sat astride their great horses, watching the battle unfold. Even with the additional legion that had come up from the southwest, the battle was still a virtual stalemate, which suited Togodumnus.
“We outnumber them still,” he replied. “And once they think they’ve driven us to the bridge, we will withdraw across and dare them to come at us.”
“Over there!” Caratacus said with alarm, point to the east with his sword.
To their dismay they could see the fleeing mass of what had once been the left wing of their army.
“Their cowardice will become infectious,” Togodumnus growled. He then ordered his brother, “Stay here and rally our men, I will head for the bridge and turn those bastards around myself!”
As he reached the edge of the River Tamesis, the Catuvellauni king first caught sight of not just the Roman cavalry that pursued his broken force, but also several warships that sailed parallel to the fleeing mass, firing their catapults and volleys of arrows into their ranks. Seething with rage, Togodumnus turned his horse about and rode the short distance to the bridge, placing himself in the way of any who would attempt to flee without his permission.
“Lost!” a warrior shouted. “The battle is lost!”
Others called out similar lamentations, which only served to fuel the king’s anger.
“Turn back, you fucking cowards!” he screamed at them. “Your king stands, and you will stand with him!”
His words shamed a number of warriors into ceasing in their flight. Unfortunately, this only made them an easier target for the nearest warship, whose catapult unleashed a fireball that burst amongst them, dousing several in searing flames. As the warriors screamed in pain, the king’s horse reared up at the sight, throwing him off before sprinting away.
As the king staggered to his feet, the same vessel began to turn so as to place its broadside towards the bridge. Scores of archers lined the rails, loosing volleys into those who attempted to make their way across. Togodumnus thought, at first, that if he could rally these warriors, they could, in fact, attack the nearest warship. They were mostly decent swimmers and could certainly overwhelm the slow-moving ship, should they be able to board.
Before the king could attempt his plan, a flaming arrow slammed into the side of his neck. He gasped, his mouth agape as he clutched at the arrow, the burning shaft scorching his hand. His warriors, recovering from the shock of the fireball, stood in horror as a further pair of arrows buried themselves in his chest and side, driving him to his knees. As his eyes clouded over, Togodumnus knew that his demise would bring about the death of both the alliance, as well as the Catuvellauni kingdom.
Caratacus, who had not seen his brother fall, was still rallying his men near the Romans’ battle line. Though unable to fully stem the tide of fleeing men, the force of his personality and extreme courage was able to maintain some semblance of order as his men withdrew either along the main bridge or along the southern bank, heading west. The battle may have been lost, but the man who did not know he was now king of his people was determined to fight on.
Night had fallen by the time all of the senior leaders within the army arrived at Plautius’ principia tent. Their combined efforts, the iron discipline of their men, supplemented by the murderous fire support of Stoppello’s warships, had led to a decisive victory for the invasion force.
“The enemy is on the run,” Sabinus stated as he signaled for servants to distribute wine chalices to all the men present. He then raised his cup. “Roma victrix!”
“Roma victrix!” the men shouted in unison before taking a long pull off their wine.
And while Artorius had been disappointed at not taking part in the main thrust of the battles, his men had performed well, preventing the Durotriges from reinforcing Togodumnus, as well as cutting off several avenues of escape and taking a number of prisoners.
“Any word on total losses for both days of fighting?” Plautius asked.
“Yes,” Vespasian said, reviewing a wax pad where he’d scrawled numerous notes throughout the evening while compiling different reports. “First off, it would seem that Togodumnus did not have such a cohesive alliance after all. Most of his army never even engaged us and simply ran once the fighting started. I’ll be candid, sir, whatever the discipline and valor of my men, I doubt they would have held had our enemies been able to mass their numbers effectively.”
“As it is, I would hazard to say that any large-scale fighting is almost over,” Geta added. “That’s not to say the barbarians are finished, but rather they will now mistrust each other even more and will stick to smaller hit-and-run tactics, like they did before.”
“Well, that being said,” Vespasian continued, “preliminary counts look like we can reasonably assume that over five thousand enemy warriors were killed these past two days. We’ve taken nearly twice that number in prisoners, many of whom are wounded. I would hazard it to guess there are at least a similar number of enemy wounded that managed to escape.”
“And better yet,” Sabinus said. “Rumor has it that Togodumnus himself was killed during the battle, near the bridge that leads across the great river. We extended our camp to this point and have men standing guard over the body. We’ll take you up there in the morning so we can verify, Plautius.”
“Bring some of the prisoners to make certain it’s him,” Plautius directed. “And if Togodumnus is, in fact, slain, then so much more becomes our victory. Our foes now appear to be scattered and leaderless.”
“If I may speak up, sir,” Artorius said. He was normally quiet during such meetings of the senior leadership, but as he had been acting legion commander for most of the campaign, he knew he had earned the right to speak his mind. “There will always be someone to step up and replace the fallen leaders. In this case, Togodumnus has a brother, Caratacus, who from what I’ve been able to gather is an even more effective and charismatic leader than Togodumnus was.”
“Duly noted,” Plautius acknowledged. He then turned back to Vespasian. “What about our casualties?”
“Combined losses between all battle groups came to three hundred and fifty-five dead with about three times as many wounded; regrettable, but acceptable, sir.”