Hosker, G [Sword of Cartimandua 05] Revolt of the Red Witch (26 page)

As the onagers began to hit they heard the dull thuds as they crashed thunderously into  the ground.  Suddenly they heard a harder sound as though it had hit something solid and there was a dull moan.  Moments later there was a scream as a rock hit and killed some hidden warrior. Turning to a second messenger Titus ordered, “Tell the Legate they are attacking.”

All along the battlefield there were cries and screams as warriors stood on the painful and incapacitating caltrops.  In the middle the Legate said, to no-one in particular, “So it begins.”

To the legionaries and auxilia waiting for the attack to materialise it was a strange, eerie time. They could hear screams and cries emanating from them mist but they could see no-one. The Ninth were stoic about the waiting; whatever came through the fog they could deal with.  The auxilia were a little more nervous for they fought in a looser formation and preferred to slow the enemy down with missiles. The Legate was also in a state of nervous excitement.  He had confidence in his men but he did not know how many barbarians would erupt from the fog.  The mist also masked the sounds of the barbarian and the cries of those injured by rocks and caltrops seemed to come from all over, sometimes, bizarrely from behind them.

Ownie and Aodh, leading their men were also enjoying mixed emotions.  Aodh knew that they were taking far fewer casualties than if they had been in the clear morning of an autumn day but, like their enemies, it was the not knowing where the enemy line was.  The caltrops also negated the effect of a charge which relied on a solid line of men.  They could not afford to run.  Ownie was pleased that they were closer to the Roman line for the rocks were now falling further behind and killing fewer of his men.  They had quickly learned to watch for caltrops and were able to keep up a more solid line.

As the barbarians neared the Roman line they could see their enemies as a vaguely indistinct blur.  Titus, on the hill was able to pick out figures and was about to order his men to fire when the Optio in charge of the bolt throwers did it for him.  The bolts flew through the air and although they could tell they were striking home they could not see the effect.  To the Brigante it was even more terrifying than a normal battlefield for they could see nothing until the warrior in front of them was thrown back and the bolt hurtled through his body to strike the next man.

Aodh had seen the first bolt and knew that the time for secrecy and silence was over. “Charge!” he roared and the line hurled themselves forward.  Suddenly the insubstantial shadows became solid and the two armies saw each other, almost clear, for the first time.  The legionaries and auxilia only had time for one volley of javelins and pila before the two lines met in a crunch and clash of sword on shield and man on man. Aodh fought with more energy and belief than he had for a while for he felt the Brigante were fighting on an equal footing.  Their numbers were not thinned and they had, uniquely in this revolt, a huge weight of warriors pushing forward at the same time, their most powerful warriors in combat at the same time. Their weight of numbers began to tell.

The three Roman lines absorbed the pressure but very gradually began to be pushed backwards. The Centurions roared their orders out.  “Hold the line!” The second and third lines locked shield and braced themselves to take the added pressure while the first line sought weakness and bare flesh with their gladii.

The Legate tut tutted in frustration.  “They are forgetting their basic training. “ Stepping forward from the First Cohort he placed himself behind the third line and roared. “Use your shields.  Stab and thrust! Remember your training!”

The senior Centurion of the Second Cohort, stationed on the right of the line, reddened with embarrassment when he heard the Legate reprimand the cohorts, his cohorts. Without turning he shouted, “First century! We are going forward! Hold the line and on my command… Push!” With a mighty blow he punched one warrior in the face with the boss of his shield, head butted a second and slashed the neck of a third.  On either side of him the legionaries managed to despatch their opponents equally as easily and suddenly there was a slight gap. The whole of the line moved forward and the second and third lines followed quickly. It slowed up the attack and the Romans regained some of the ground they had lost. The barbarians had lost their impetus and when the second century began to push forward the barbarians began to give ground. The other cohorts felt the pressure on their lines lessen and they too pushed forwards. The Legate’s command ringing in their ears they punched , stabbed and slashed their way through the barbarians.

On the Brigante left flank the auxiliaries were being inexorably pushed back.  Although their second and third lines were able to hurl javelins over the heads of the first line there were too many barbarians for the weapons to make a difference.  With the Second Cohort moving forward there was a danger that they could be outflanked.  The Legate turned to First Spear, “Centurion Pavo, I want the First Cohort to push back these barbarians.”

Eager to be in the battle Gnaeus Seius Pavo tightened his shield and drew his gladius.  “First Cohort.  In three lines. Forward!”

The gap was too small for the whole of the line to be accommodated and the second cohort found itself being muscled further left while the auxiliaries were just bundled out of the way.  The Brigante on the Roman left had scented victory and were eagerly pushing forward to get at the weakening auxiliaries.  It was with a shock that they ran into the elite cohort of the Ninth legion. The first to die were the chiefs and those brave souls who fought at the front, those who believed the words of the witch and been within touching distance of success.  Their lack of armour and over confidence killed then almost as quickly as the gladii of the Ninth. Soon the whole of the First Cohort was moving forward like a giant battering ram cutting down the Brigante before them.

On the Roman left the bolt throwers were angling their bolts in front of the legionaries to cut down as many as possible.  They were causing huge casualties but they were not taking out lines of men to ease the pressure nor were they touching the warband of Ownie which was making its way towards the four centuries of the garrison spread thinly before the woods and the artillery.

Ownie turned to his warband, still almost intact.  He looked on them proudly for they had looted much Roman armour and were amongst the best protected warriors in the whole army. “We charge these Romans and then we will destroy the hate bolt throwers.”

Ownie’s band had had much success and was as confident as any in Morwenna’s conglomerate force.  The garrison auxiliaries, by contrast, had been fighting a defensive war from behind solid walls for much of the time.  They had only seen defeat and destruction whilst at the beleaguered fort of Morbium. The sheer weight of enemy numbers who were armed as they were threw them back ten paces when they struck.  Ownie targeted the First Spear who stood in the middle of the line.  He threw his throwing axe at the tall Centurion and then raced in with his long sword held high.  The axe nicked a piece out of the Centurion’s shield before angling up and catching his helmet on the cheek guard. As his head flew uncontrollably back Ownie hacked down with his sword on the suddenly bare neck of the leader of the auxiliaries. He crashed to the ground his death a savage blow to his men and their confidence. Ownie gave the man to the left of the dying Centurion no chance and he backhanded his sword into his thigh, slicing through to bone. The gap in the front line was suddenly filled with Brigante and the second line found itself facing the Brigante chief and his oath brothers, a fearsome force. With their leader gone, much of the order went from the demoralised auxiliaries and the line fragmented which suited the barbarians.  Almost unconsciously the auxiliary line began to wheel to face these enemies and retreat towards the protection of the legion on their right.

Titus suddenly saw, to his horror that there was now open space between his artillery and the warband. Even as he prayed to his household gods for the barbarians to ignore him he saw half the warband leave the auxiliaries and begin to run up the hill. The Optios saw the danger and began to depress their machines.  It was a race against time and Titus could see that only a few would be able to bring their machines to bear on the attacking warriors and then the warband would be amongst his lightly armed artillerymen.  He turned to look for aid and suddenly heard the sound of the buccina. 

Julius had seen the disaster unfold before him. He had less than fifty men with him, the men of his turma and the twelve legionary cavalry who had accompanied the Ninth. “We need them to think we are an ala.  Sound the buccina and then make as much noise as you can.  We need to give those lads a chance or they will be massacred. Marcus’ Horse!”

The rallying call was repeated throughout the ala and rolled around the woods and over the fog making it sound like the eerie call of a wild banshee.  The Brigante making their way towards the Tribune and his machines paused as they heard the buccina followed by the roar and then they heard the unmistakeable sound of the thunder of the hooves. They could see nothing at first but they could hear the sound growing closer and closer.  They heard the words, Marcus’ Horse, and they began to fear.  Many of Ownie’s warband had been at Seton and were there when they had the settlement burned while others had witnessed the charge at Eboracum which had broken the back of that attack.  To those warriors these were not cavalrymen, they were wraiths and spectres from beyond the grave.  Those warriors were not going to face phantoms and they turned and ran.  Their comrades wondered why they were running and halted to look for the danger.  That was their death knell for the thin line of horses hit them in open order as they stood at the bottom of the hill. Even as Julius and his men hurtled through them Titus had depressed the bolt throwers and they began to decimate the ranks of Ownie’s men still fighting the auxiliaries. 

By this time the effect of the First Cohort’s charge was taking its effect and the line rippled forward pushing Brigante and Carvetii, alike, back. The legionaries nearest Ownie’s men spilled out at an oblique angle to take the warband in the flank and like the fog which had until recently been surrounding them, the warband dissipated and disappeared. Ownie and his oath brothers saw that they had lost and ran up the hill from whence the cavalry had come.  It was the only safe escape route and there was nothing before them until they reached the Dunum.  The Tribune could do nothing about their departure for he was busy slaughtering lines of warriors and had no means of communicating their departure. Ownie merely paused at the top of the hill to take one last look before he disappeared west with his handful of warriors.

Julius had to stop his charge when they ran into the main line of Brigante.  Over the screaming roaring mass of barbarians he caught a glimpse of Morwenna sat astride her horse. Their eyes locked for a moment and she raised her hand and pointed at him with her first and fifth fingers. The evil smile told him she was cursing him.  For the briefest of moments he contemplated charging her to end it all but one of his troopers plucked at his arm, “Come on Sir.  If we stay here we’ll be buggered.” He looked at the ferocious warriors who were racing towards the isolated cavalrymen on blown horses.  “Probably literally.”

Coming to his senses he shouted, “Sound retreat!”

The buccina horn drew back the ala from their charge.  There were empty saddles and dead horses but the attack on the Roman left had been defeated.

The Legate could see from the small knoll on which he was standing that the Brigante attack had broken down. They had pulled back when the cavalry charged, the name Marcus’ Horse inspiring fear. He turned to an aide.  “Order First Spear to return to the reserve and tell the Tungrian Centurion to resume his position.”To a second aide he said, “Tell the Tribune to realign his artillery, the fog is clearing and he should be able to hit their rear ranks.”

The Morbium garrison had been pushed so far back that they were almost next to the Legate. He walked over to the one remaining Centurion who was bleeding from a deep wound on his arm, a capsarius bandaging it.  The Centurion tried to come to attention and almost pushed the medic out of the way.

“Sorry about that Sir.”

“Nonsense Centurion your men fought well but were heavily outnumbered.  Do let that man see to your wound. The last thing I need is for you to be incapacitated. What I want you to do is place your men at the foot of the hill and woods to protect the artillery.  The third cohort has moved across to cover where you were stationed. “

“Yes Sir we will do.”

On the other side of the field the retreating men might well have melted off the field like the fog which was rapidly thinning but for the wall of women placed there, cunningly, by Morwenna. She knew that the men would not run away whilst their women remained.  Aodh came up to her, his bloodied blade showing that he had been in action that morning.  “Ownie and his men have been destroyed.” The fog had prevented any of the Brigante leaders witnessing the desertion of the chief and all thought he had had an honourable end. “Those artillery units will start to kill us soon.”

“Is there nothing we can do to stop them?” Morwenna understood numbers in battles and tricks but strategies and forces on the actual battlefield  were beyond her, Luigsech had not taught her that.

Aodh scanned the field looking for anything which might be effective.  Cavalry would have been perfect but he had none.  The Romans had sited their machines well and they were protected by trees and a slope.  Suddenly his eyes lit upon the one weapon which might help him. “There is one thing.” He ran to the wagons where there were fifty boys of various ages idling and watching their fathers and brothers dying.  “You lads.  Have you got your slingshots with you?”  His answer was a forest of arms holding aloft the weapons they used every day to kill rabbits and rats.  They could barely speak for they were being addressed by the Queen’s own champion.  “Good.  I want you to kill as many of those men with the machines on the hill as you can.  Are you up for it?” The high pitched roar prefaced a race across the open ground towards the hill. Their small stature meant that they were still hidden by the last of the low lying fog.