“Agreed,” Plautius confirmed. “We’ll cross to the north side of the river tomorrow and establish a more permanent camp there. I know the men are exhausted, but we cannot tolerate a substantial enemy presence in this area, and they must be driven off or killed.”
Caratacus, the new king of the Catuvellauni, felt very much alone. Though he had not seen his brother fall, there had been many who did, and the fact that he had failed to rally with the remnants of his army spoke volumes. Also among the dead was Silyen, the leader of the Silures. Only King Donan of the Durotriges confederation was at the king’s fire that night, and his news proved even bleaker for Caratacus.
“I am sorry, my friend,” Donan said consolingly. “But with the losses we’ve suffered already and with the collapse of the alliance, we must look to our own borders. As it is, there will many fewer of us to take in the harvest this year. And for all we know, the Romans could have launched a second invasion force and be ravaging my lands even as we speak.”
It was a hard blow for Caratacus, but in truth one he could not fault Donan. After all, the Durotriges had traveled more than a hundred miles outside of their own kingdom in order to stand with the Catuvellauni, even though the Romans had not made a single aggressive gesture towards them.
Caratacus said as much.
“It is only a matter of time until Rome comes for us,” Donan said. “They are like locusts, consuming everything in their path; ever hungry, desiring more. I am sorry to have to leave you, my friend. You have a way of rallying people to you, even more than your brother did. No disrespect meant to him, for he died valiantly. I also do not mean to place more of a burden upon you, but I think that you will soon become the face behind the resistance to Rome. And once I can ensure the safety of my lands, the Durotriges will stand with you once more.”
Artorius stood looking down towards the expanse of the river below. The Tamesis was substantially larger than the last river they had crossed, though thankfully this had a useable bridge, plus their enemy appeared to be all but beaten. He hoped that in the morning they would confirm that King Togodumnus was, in fact, dead; his alliance of tribal kingdoms completely shattered.
He looked down at the gash on his forearm that had since scabbed over and was now wrapped in a bandage. It was simply the latest of many scars his body had endured in his decades serving as a soldier of Rome. Though he was still very fit and immensely strong, Artorius knew his body simply did not heal as fast as it once had. The nights without sleep before and after a major battle also took its toll on him far more than it had in the past. And while Artorius refused to ever consider himself anything remotely resembling ‘old’, he had to acknowledge that he was not the young lad who joined the legions all those years before. The fact that he found himself thinking about the past so much, only served to drive this point home.
Perhaps he was finally reaching the end of his fighting profession. Diana certainly would not object! He let out a sigh as he thought about his wife. Not a day passed that he did not long to hold her once again, twenty years together doing nothing to dissipate his desire for her. As he lay down on his camp bed and allowed sleep to take him, he could almost feel Diana next to him, her gentle touch soothing after the savagery and loss he’d suffered the past few days.
Chapter XX: Send for Caesar!
“Is this him?” Plautius asked.
The slain man at his feet was large and well built. His tunic, while filthy and now soaked in blood, was of naturally brighter colors than his contemporaries. He also wore a light mail shirt, though it had failed to withstand a pair of arrows that jutted forth from the chest and side. Perhaps most telling was the large sword that lay next to his outstretched hand. A much higher quality weapon than those found on even the nobles they had killed or captured, it was a large two-handed great sword with a highly polished blade and a pommel that was wrapped in leather cords; practical, yet fitting for a warrior king.
The prisoner, who’d been one of Togodumnus’ war chiefs, suddenly fell to his knees, his eyes wet with tears. His hands trembled as his face turned red with sorrow and anger. In a cry of hatred, he lunged forward and grabbed the king’s sword. He quickly spun around, but before he could get to his feet, a legionary’s hobnailed sandal stomped him hard across the head, sprawling him backwards. The soldier rapidly drew his gladius and plunged the blade deep in the war chief’s guts. The man’s eyes rolled back into his head as he clutched his bleeding stomach. The legionary spat on him contemptuously.
“Apologies, sir,” the soldier said as he turned to face his commanding general. “I could have easily subdued him without killing him.”
“I’ll never reprimand a legionary for being quick and precise with his weapon,” Plautius replied. “Besides, his reaction told me what I wanted to know.” He picked up the Catuvellauni king’s sword, admiring its balance and craftsmanship. “This is a fine weapon,” Plautius noted as he showed the blade to Sabinus before handing it to a nearby soldier. “See to it this gets placed in my luggage.”
“Sir!” the legionary acknowledged with a sharp salute before he took the sword away.
“With Togodumnus dead, his brother fled, the alliance shattered, and the remnants in this region cornered,” Plautius thought aloud, “I think it is time we send for Caesar.”
“And what for?” Sabinus asked. “No disrespect intended, but Claudius is no soldier, we don’t exactly need him here.”
“True,” the commander-in-chief conceded. “However, he needs his victory to be seen so that the triumph can be his. Why do you think we invaded this damned isle in the first place?”
“Well, there is a lot of fertile land,” Sabinus observed. “Not like Rome actually needs it, though. And they may have some precious metals, but nothing that cannot already be found in ready supply within the empire.”
“Exactly,” Plautius replied. “We invaded for one reason alone; so that Emperor Claudius could claim that he succeeded where even the great Julius Caesar had failed. He can also claim to have stood for justice, as he restored an allied king to his throne. Let’s just be honest with ourselves, Sabinus, this invasion was a political conquest, nothing more.”
“You don’t seem very distraught over the notion,” Sabinus observed.
“I’m not,” Plautius replied, shaking his head. “I simply accept things for what they are. Besides, a new province requires a new governor, and who do you think the emperor will turn to? Don’t mistake me, though, when Claudius asked me to assemble and lead his invasion force, the last thing on my mind was having my own province to govern.”
“Still, it is a sufficient reward for the conquering hero,” Sabinus said, causing Plautius to laugh. “I reckon all wars are political in the end. Well, let us send for Caesar, then!”
With a lull in activity while the army waited for the emperor to arrive from the continent, Artorius took it upon himself to honor their dead. Most of the fallen had come from the regular cohorts, and he left the ceremonies to their respective centurions. Of the thirty-five dead the legion had suffered during the two days of fighting, four were from the First Cohort, along with Camillus.
The cohort was arrayed in parade formation, weapons and armor still battered from the previous days’ fighting. The four centurions primus ordo stood in front of the formation. Though Legionary Amatius was not officially part of the cohort, he still stood with the eagle, which he would carry until such time as a replacement for Camillus was promoted. Artorius had also given the young soldier leave to return to his century later that day in order to attend the military honors being rendered to a friend of his who was slain during the battle.