Vespasian waited by the map table, determined to have his say, and he deliberately ignored the warning look and beckoning wave from Sabinus who had paused briefly at the threshold. At last, only Vespasian, Plautius, the Emperor and his freedman remained.
'I take it you d-disapprove of my plan, Legate.'
'Caesar,' Vespasian began warily, 'the plan is excellent. You want to fight this war like a bolt of lightning, striking down your foe with one dazzling thrust that will overwhelm him before he can react. Who would not want to fight a war in this way? But… ' He looked round to gauge the expressions on the other men's faces.
'Please continue,' Narcissus said coldly. 'Your silence is thunderous. But?'
'The problem lies with the enemy. We are assuming that they will simply sit on that ridge and defend it. What if they conceal troops in the wood? What if-'
'We've been through this, Vespasian,' Narcissus responded, as if explaining something yet again to a particularly thick schoolboy. 'The scouts say that the woods are impassable.'
'But what if they're wrong?'
'What if they're wrong?' Narcissus mimicked. 'What if there are chariots hiding in ditches waiting to burst out on us the moment we approach? What if they have thousands of men hiding in marshes? What if they have secretly allied themselves to a tribe of Amazons to distract our men from thoughts of invasion and conquest?'
His mocking tone enraged Vespasian. How dare this fool show such contempt.
'The lie of the land has been thoroughly scouted,' Narcissus went on. 'We know where the enemy is positioned, we know how to play to our strengths and their weaknesses, and we have beaten Caratacus before and we'll do it again. In any case, we've issued all the orders so it's too late to change things now.'
Plautius caught Vespasian's eye and shook his head to forestall any more argument. The Emperor's word was law, for soldiers more than most, and there was no arguing with that. If Claudius wished to wage his lightning war, then no one could stop him – except the Britons.
Chapter Forty-Eight
The humidity of the last few days, and the proximity of the marsh and river combined to produce a particularly thick mist that lay most densely in the shallow vale between the two armies. Long before the sun came up and tinted the milky wreaths with orange, the legionaries had dressed and fed and were marching to take up their positions for the coming battle. From either side of the Praetorian cohorts came the mechanical clanking of the bolt-throwers as the artillerymen strained at the torsion levers and the ratchets dropped across cog teeth. Small braziers gleamed as incendiary missiles were made ready. Far to the right the elephants stuck closely together, thoroughly unnerved by the pallid wisps of mist that hemmed them in on all sides.
From a small grassy mound just outside the Roman camp, the Emperor and his staff waited for news of the battle preparations. Below them the mist blanketed most of the Roman armY and only vague snatches of shouted orders, drumming hoofbeats and the clatter of equipment indicated the presence of thousands of men. A continuous stream of messengers went to and fro as Plautius struggled to co-ordinate his invisible army. Fortunately, he had foreseen the rising of the mist and during the night had ordered the engineers to layout pegs to mark the start position for each unit. Even so, dawn came and went and the sun was well above the horizon before he was satisfied that the army was in position and ready to attack.
'Caesar, the eagles await your orders,' he announced finally.
'Well, let's g-get on with it, shall we?' Claudius replied, irritated by the delay; it had not been a part of his battle plan.
'Yes, Caesar.' Plautius nodded to his signals tribune to launch the attack. The massed trumpets of the headquarters staff blasted out across the vale, slightly muffled in the clammy air. Almost at once the British war horns began to bray out their defiant response, and swelling through the noise came cheers and jeering from the British warriors on the ridge. Down in the mist a sharp rhythmic clatter reached the ears of the Roman staff officers. The noise grew in volume and extended down the entire length of the Roman front.
'What is that racket?' snapped Claudius.
'Just our men announcing themselves, Caesar. They're hitting their shields with their javelins. It makes them feel good and scares the enemy.'
'They d-don't sound too scared to me.' Claudius nodded across the vale.
'Well then, it'll just have to be for the benefit of our men, Caesar.'
'It's a bloody nuisance!'
A loud series of cracks sounded from within the mist and a volley of fire-bolts whirred across the British defences in blazing arcs before crashing through the palisade. Sparks, fragments of wood, sods of turf and bits of men flew in all directions as the heavy bolts stuck home. There was a sudden end to the battle cries from the British, but someone on the other side knew the danger of sitting and taking such punishment in silence. One by one the war horns took up their battle cry once again and they were quickly joined by the shouts of the warriors behind the defences.
From their position just outside the ditch of the Roman camp the men of the Second Legion were in a good position to view the bombardment. The artillery kept up a steady fire and the air above the British defences was continually scored by flaming bolts and dark smoke trails. Already a series of small fires had broken out and thick smudges of smoke billowed up on the far ridge.
'Poor sods.' Macro shook his head. 'Wouldn't like to be over there right now.'
Cato looked sidelong at his centurion, surprised at this evidence of empathy for the enemy.
'You've never seen what an artillery bolt can do, have you, lad?'
'I've seen the consequences, sir.'
'Not the same thing. You have to be on the receiving end of those things to fully appreciate the effect.'
Cato looked at the flames and thick black smoke on the opposite slope, hoping the Britons had the good sense to turn and run. In recent weeks he had come to value most the battles that delivered the least number of dead and wounded at their conclusion. But today he no longer cared. After the previous night's sighting of Lavinia his heart was in the grip of a cold despair that made life seem quite pointless.
The Britons were a game lot and raised their serpent-tail banners above their defences. The lack of any breeze meant the bearers had to sweep their banners to and fro to fully reveal the tails and in the distance they looked like frenzied worms twisting on a hot plate.
'There go the Praetorians!' Macro pointed down the slope. Just emerging from where the mist began to thin marched an uneven line of uneven white crested helmets. Then came their white tunics as they drew free of the mist. When the first wave was clear, they were halted and the officers dressed the line, then with perfect military precision the Praetorians moved up to the first line of defences: a series of ditches. already the second line was emerging from the mist. The fire from the bolt throwers slackened and finally stopped as word reached the artillery crews that the Praetorians were nearing the enemy.
As soon as the Britons were aware that the danger from the bolts had passed, they swarmed back up to their palisade and began raining down arrows and slingshot on the Romans as they struggled up the steep face of the first ditch. Small gaps opened in the lines of the leading cohorts but the relentless discipline of the Roman army proved its worth as the line instantly dressed itself and the gaps were filled. But the banks of the ditches were already dotted with the white uniformed bodies ofthe fallen. The first line clambered out of the last ditch, re-formed under intense,'ire. and began mounting the final slope to the palisade. Suddenly, all along the palisade, smoke spilled up into the air, and moments later great blazing bundles were raised with the aid of long pitchforks and lobbed oyer. They bounced down the steep slope, showering sparks in all directions before slamming into the Roman lines, scattering the Praetorians in all directions.