“Are they now?” the master centurion replied. He breathed deeply through his nose and spoke slowly but with much force in his voice. “You tell the men, sergeant, that my wellbeing is not their fucking concern. A legionary’s focus is the men next to him on the battle line. Beyond that, he needs to see to the disposition of his leaders one level higher; that would be you. And as long as they know the mission, as well as the commander’s intent, that is all they need to concern themselves with regarding their senior leaders. Do you know the commander’s intent?” The question was directed at the legionary with the bandaged head.
“Yes, sir,” the man said. “It’s to force the Catuvellauni into capitulation; by coercion if possible and force if necessary.”
“Well spoken,” Artorius replied. His voice was still hard, but the soldier swallowed hard and tried to force a half smile. Artorius continued, “If your cohort commander has an issue with my health and wellbeing, he will address it with me. You men need to focus on each other, as well as your decanus. And sergeant, your concern is foremost these men, then your optio, and possibly your centurion. Are we understood?”
“Yes, sir,” the men all said together.
“Know that while we hope the Catuvellauni are already broken, they may still have some fight left in them. Look after your brothers on the line and don’t concern yourself with me. It’s enough that I have to lose sleep every night worrying about every last one you.” Artorius was half grinning at this point, which made the men feel at ease. He had not meant to come across as overly harsh in his rebuke. However, he wanted his men focused on their task at hand, not whether their master centurion was getting enough sleep at night.
The truth was, having to command the entire legion was wearing Artorius thin. Despite his decades in the ranks, most of the duties required of a commanding general were completely foreign to him. The styles of leadership and command responsibilities were completely different for a legate as opposed to a centurion. And for the last few months, Artorius had found himself in the unenviable position of having to do both. As he walked back to his tent, exhaustion finally getting the best of him, he hoped that sooner rather than later Rome would send a competent legate to take command of the legion.
Neither Roman nor Catuvellauni could sleep that night. While Camulodunum was well-fortified, Caratacus could see in the faces of his war chiefs that their will to fight had mostly left them after the river battles and the death of Togodumnus. The hall was surprisingly vacant as many of their leaders, who despite surviving the battle, had refused his summons.
“I know most of you are feeling like the Romans have won,” he said candidly. Some of the men looked down or away, as if ashamed. “Well, aren’t you?”
“What can we do?” one of the leaders asked. “The emperor himself has arrived with reinforcements! You can hear the calls of those wretched beasts with the giant tusks.”
“We could not stop them at the rivers,” another spoke up. “And now that our friends have abandoned us, what would you have us do?”
Caratacus stood and glared at the men. “I would have you make your stand here and now! Not all of our allies have abandoned the fight. The Durotriges are regrouping in the southwest, and the Silures need only see that we are still willing to make a stand against the invaders, and they will send a host of warriors to our aid.” He paused and let his words sink in, knowing they were mostly futile. When he spoke again, he surprised his men. “Very well, I release all of you from your oaths. If none of you have the stomach to defend your lands, so be it. Surrender to the Romans tomorrow, to live as their slaves and be done with it.”
Though the wagon carried what personal effects they had, the real reason Caratacus wanted it was for his wife, Dylis, who was eight months pregnant with their second child and unable to ride a horse. Their young son rode next to her. Not everyone had deserted Caratacus either; nearly a dozen noblemen were accompanying him, as well as nearly a thousand warriors and their families.
“We are with you, my king!” a warrior said determinedly.
Caratacus’ heart was heavy as he made ready to lead these people into exile. And while the Silures were willing to accommodate them, there would be no rest for any of them. Most of these people were farmers and general laborers, and now they would have to fight in order to survive.
“This is not the end,” Dylis said, taking her husband’s hand. “We will return once the Romans are vanquished, and you will be rightfully restored as king!”
The following morning, the Romans made ready to march on Camulodunum. Onagers and the heavy siege ballistae were arrayed in a long line facing the southern wall of the stronghold. The emperor’s war elephants, supported by Achillia’s archers, created a vanguard in front of the men of the Second Legion, who had been selected to either accept the Catuvellauni surrender or lead the attack. Claudius himself rode a horse next to Plautius and the other legates, flanked by a mounted detachment of Praetorian Guardsmen.
Vespasian had elected to carry the emperor’s demands personally to the Catuvellauni. He rather audaciously rode his horse at a slow canter towards the gate of the city. It was half opened and as he approached, a group of older men came out to meet him. They were dressed better than the usual unwashed barbarian, their gold and silver trimmed robes denoting their noble status. The eldest of the men stepped forward and started to speak in his native tongue. Though Alaric had taken to serving as his interpreter, Vespasian had elected to ride forward alone, and so a younger man who accompanied the group of elders translated.
“My lords bid you welcome to the lands of the Catuvellauni. We look forward to our meeting with the emperor of Rome.”
“Where is Caratacus, your king?” Vespasian asked.
The young man did not translate for the elders, but simply answered the question himself. “He is gone, along with many of his followers. Please know that the Catuvellauni now desire peace between our peoples. Our dead are many, and there is great mourning throughout the lands.”
“The emperor’s terms are simple,” Vespasian replied sternly, “total surrender and absolute obedience to Rome. Reparations will also be made for the losses incurred during this war, and the Catuvellauni will subjugate themselves to the Roman governor. Certain border territories will also be ceded to King Cogidubnus of Atrebates. Rome promises to be a fair and just ruler with your people enjoying the benefits of all imperial subjects. Know that your only other option is utter annihilation.”
The young man swallowed hard and translated as best he could. The elder’s face appeared sad, but unsurprised, by the demands. After all, what could they expect after having taken up arms against Rome? They had stood against the invaders and lost. Without another word, the elder closed his eyes and nodded.
“Open your gates,” Vespasian ordered, “and make ready to receive your emperor!” He then signaled back to Plautius.
A sounding of numerous trumpets followed, with drums beating a cadence as the first wave of legionary cohorts marched into the town. They were soon followed by the praetorians, then the emperor, Plautius, the accompanying senators, and their entourage. Cursor followed with the Indus’ Horse regiment, several more cohorts of legionaries taking up the remainder of the column. Their presence was simply a show of strength, and as soon as they marched through the town, they would disperse back to their camp to await further orders.
For the people of the Catuvellauni capitol, this was their first time seeing the feared Roman soldiers up close. Many were slightly shorter than they, but being encased in their gleaming armor, even the most slender appeared much larger. And whatever their natural body types, every legionary was more muscular, especially in the legs, due to the constant marching in full armor and kit that combined weighed in excess of sixty pounds. They also marched in step to the cadence of the drummers, their uniformly painted shields and mostly identical armor giving the appearance of a single entity rather than a mass of individual soldiers. The armor and weaponry of even a single legionary was more costly than any but the richest war chief or king could afford, giving emphasis on the professional nature of the Roman Army, as well as the empire’s immense wealth.