Roman - The Fall of Britannia (29 page)

Nasica sat in
his tent, receiving updates about the battle from his commanders.
He sent the scout unit out to retrieve Scipio’s corpse and to burn
the enemy village while a Cohort of light infantry were sent into
the forests to winkle out any stragglers that may have escaped. In
addition, he sent messengers to General Plautius, updating him
about the situation and in particular the tactics used by their
enemy. This was the first pitched battle against any Britannic
tribe and information regarding the way they fought was priceless,
especially the chariots. When the most pressing jobs had been done,
and the wounded had been tended to, he turned his attention to the
fate of the prisoners.

‘
We
have to send a message to these heathen,’ he said to the gathered
officers, ‘one that will spread like wildfire. I have made my
decision. The women will be sent back to serve as slaves in Rome.
The chief will join them, for his fate will be decided by the
senate.’

A murmur of
agreement rippled through the officers. It was usual for captured
chiefs to be paraded through the streets of Rome before being
executed by the Praetorian Guard, usually by throttling.

‘
The
hags and the female children,’ continued Nasica ‘will be released
to spread the news about the folly of opposing Rome, but not before
they witness the fate of the men.’ He paused, looking around the
group of hardened soldiers and the lesser experienced officers. ‘At
dawn tomorrow, every male barbarian will be crucified along the
river bank as retribution for the casualties inflicted by their
chariots. Tribune, you will make the arrangements. Ensure they are
in full view of the surviving prisoners, and only when the crows
have plucked the eyes of the last rotting corpse, will you release
the hags to return to their clans.’

----

The scouts
retrieved the head and corpse of their revered Centurion and built
a funeral pyre on the edge of the river. Nasica had given them a
frightened captive to accompany Scipio to the afterlife and Prydain
had to hold back the nausea as the boy was thrown alive into the
inferno, his screams and thrashing lasting only seconds before the
flames took their toll. Scipio had been honoured and now his soul
had a slave to see to his every need. The scouts were issued wine
to celebrate the life and death of their leader, and though they
were allowed to join with the rest of the cavalry in the rape of
the prisoner women, they preferred to sit around the funeral pyre,
drinking themselves into oblivion. One however, sat slightly
separate from the rest, staring across the slow moving water to the
setting sun, sipping his wine slowly as he contemplated the day’s
events.

Cassus
approached the Scout’s camp, clutching his own flask of wine. He
spotted Prydain leaning against the trunk of the tree.

‘
Hail, Prydain,’ he said, ‘I heard you had joined the scouts.
How are you?’

‘
I
don’t know,’ sighed Prydain. ‘Something doesn’t seem right. All
this killing and raping, I just feel sick at the futility of it
all.’

‘
What do you mean?’ asked Cassus. ‘You knew what we were
letting ourselves in for when we signed up. What’s made you change
your mind?’

‘
It’s not the fighting I have a problem with,’ said Prydain,
‘but the aftermath. Did you hear they are going to crucify the men
tomorrow?’

‘
We
have to lay down a marker to the barbarians,’ said Cassus.
‘
B
y doing this, we will save many Roman lives.’

‘
Or
cause their deaths,’ answered Prydain before taking a swig from his
amphora.

‘
What do you mean?’ asked Cassus.

Prydain looked
up.

‘
Warriors expect to die in battle!’ he said. ‘We expect to die
in battle. I can even understand the crucifixion of the men, but in
the name of the Gods, Cassus, why the children?’

‘
Some of those boys were armed with knives,’ said Cassus, ‘and
would slit your throat given half a chance.’

‘
Yes
and others are only just off their mother’s breast. I joined up to
fight for Rome and take my chances against barbarian warriors, not
to murder babies. Nasica has gone too far this time and I am
beginning to wonder who the barbarians are here, us or
them?’

‘
You
don’t mean that, Prydain,’ said Cassus, ‘it’s the wine talking. Why
don’t you come with me and have some fun with some of the women?
Take your mind off it for a while.’

‘
These are not the willing girls of back home, or even whores
who will accept your coin for their services,’ said Prydain. ‘They
are mothers and wives who would rather die than give themselves to
you. I know you have a lot of faults Cassus, but I never had you
down as a rapist?’

‘
Spoils of war, Prydain,’ said Cassus getting annoyed. ‘It is
our right as conquerors.’

‘
Well, don’t be surprised if you get your throat ripped out,’
snapped Prydain.

‘
I’ve thought of that,’ answered Cassus. ‘I’ll pick one with a
child and ensure the mother understands that if she doesn’t
participate enthusiastically, then her child will join the men on
the crosses.’

Prydain stared
in disbelief.

‘
Cassus, what have you become? Where is the compassion and the
mercy?’

‘
I
am a legionary,’ shouted Cassus. ‘And today I fought for my life
alongside my comrades. Some of them didn’t make it, Prydain; some
of them will never again see the slopes of home. Where was their
compassion? Where was their mercy? No, the barbarian men deserve
their fate and the women are nothing more than spoils of war. The
quicker you learn that, the better.’ He threw down his flask in
disgust and stomped away into the darkness.

‘
I
don’t know who you are any more, Cassus,’ shouted Prydain after the
retreating figure. ‘You shame your father’s name.’

Cassus had
disappeared and Prydain sat back against the tree contemplating the
outburst.

‘
Oh
shit!’ he said eventually, realising he had over reacted. Despite
his arrogance, Cassus had been in the front line, facing barbarian
blades only hours before and the last thing he needed was a fellow
soldier judging him on his morals. Realising he had been too harsh,
Prydain followed Cassus into the darkness, walking toward the
burning village.

----

There was
nothing left of the barbarian encampment except for piles of
glowing embers, their glow reflected in the eyes of the occasional
scavenging dog skulking in the darkness. Prydain walked toward one
of the fires before a sudden movement in the bushes caught his eye
and he turned to face the unknown.

‘
Cassus, is that you?’ he asked.

There was no
answer.

‘
Cassus don’t be a prick,’ said Prydain, ‘if it’s you, say
so.’

When there was
still no answer, Prydain drew his Gladius and walked slowly toward
the bushes. Although the auxiliaries had swept the area there was
always the possibility that the odd warrior had escaped the search
and lay hidden in the undergrowth. He reached the tree line and
leant forward to move a suspect bush with his left hand, whilst
raising his Gladius with his right, ready to strike, but stopped in
surprise as he stared down at the sight before him. It wasn’t a
hiding enemy warrior gazing back up at him but the wide tearful
eyes of a boy and a girl, each no more than five years old, staring
up at him in absolute terror and clinging tightly to each other for
mutual assurance.

For what seemed
an age, Prydain stared down at the children in confusion until the
little girl lifted up her tiny arm, offering Prydain something she
had clenched in her fist. Prydain looked at the offered gift in
confusion, not realising what it was until the firelight gleamed on
its surface. It was a Torc, beautifully braided from the finest
golden cords and its pendant engraved with a bird of prey with tiny
green stones for its eyes. It was a beautiful ornament and had
obviously belonged to someone of very high status within the tribe,
perhaps even the chief.

Prydain’s mind
was spinning. Here he was, standing in the remnants of a burning
enemy village, being offered a priceless Torc by a couple of tiny
children, obviously in a pathetic attempt to buy their lives from
this terrifying invader. They must have been given this ornament by
the owner and instructed what to do if they were found. The girl
still held the ornament up and let out a quiet whimper, struggling
to control her fear as she stared up at the raised sword. Prydain
lowered his Gladius and took the Torc, placing it in the inner
pocket of his tunic.

‘
Shhh,’ he said, quickly putting his finger to his lips in the
universal gesture for silence and looked around to see if he was
being watched. The sky was now pitch black and the two semi naked
children were shivering in the biting cold of the night. Prydain
undid his cape and wrapped it around them while reassuring them
quietly.

‘
Stay here and be quiet,’ he said, though knowing full well
that they didn’t understand him. He pointed at the ground and
repeated himself.

‘
You
stay here, understand? You must be quiet.’ He smiled gently in
reassurance and placed his finger gently on either of the
children’s mouths in turn indicating the need for silence. The boy
nodded his understanding and mimicked the gesture with his own
hand.

‘
Good,’ said Prydain, and he reached inside his tunic to
retrieve some Buccellatum biscuit, snapping it in half to give some
to each of the twins. He thought quickly. He should turn them in,
but if he did, the girl, despite her age would probably fall victim
to the disgusting carnal desires of the Batavian cavalry units,
while the boy’s fate surely lay on the cross.

Prydain watched
the famished children devouring the hard biscuit. Whether it was
the wine or his conscience kicking in, he made his decision. He may
not be able to do anything for the hundred or so children whose
fate had already been decided, but he could certainly save these
two.

‘
Stay here!’ he said for the last time and walked back out of
the bushes, leaving the siblings huddled under his black cape. What
he was about to do, was stupid, ill thought out and would probably
cost the lives of him and the children, but his decision was made.
He ran back into the darkness toward the tented camp.

----

Chapter 23

Whilst the Ninth
were wiping out Bragus’s clan, the three remaining legions made
their way northward with ruthless efficiency. The aim was to take
on the might of Caratacus and close in on Britannia’s capital,
Camulodunum, but though they had faced small pockets of resistance,
the vast bulk of the barbarian army had retreated before them in
confusion. However, as they approached the Medway, it became
apparent that the Catuvellauni were reorganising and making their
plans to retaliate.

Plautius called
a war council and was deep in conversation with a scout Centurion
when the officers arrived. They waited patiently, making small talk
until the Centurion finally saluted the General, and left the tent
to return to his unit. The waiting officers moved out of the way as
the commander approached the central table to unroll the parchment
given to him by the departed Centurion, weighing each corner down
with a wine tankard.

‘
Right, gentlemen,’ announced Plautius, ‘we have a problem. As
you are aware, the advance has stalled due to this cursed river.’
He indicated the feature on the recently drawn map. ‘Our lines are
strong; however this is as far as we can go at the moment.
Caratacus and his barbarians are entrenched on the far side, and
while we listen to the taunts of his warriors, he gathers his
strength.’

‘
We
have nothing to fear from the barbarians,’ said Vespasian, ‘they
are disorganised and have presented little problem to our legions
to date.’

‘
That may be so,’ said Plautius, ‘but so far, we have had the
advantage of surprise. They now know we are here and how we
operate. With this river holding us up, they can chose the manner
and place in which to take us on.’

‘
The
carpenters are felling trees as we speak to make the extra boats,’
said Geta. ‘We have a hundred assault boats being brought up from
the rear but they will not be enough. We need a full month before
we can storm the far bank in any strength.’

‘
We
do not have a month,’ said Plautius. ‘We need to take them on
tomorrow or the next day at the latest, while they are still
disorganised and still trapped between the rivers.’

‘
The
river can be forded here,’ said Vespasian. ‘The bridge is burnt,
but a column may be able to cross at low tide.’

‘
Our
men would be slaughtered,’ said Plautius, ‘the far bank at that
point is heavily defended.’

‘
Then we must take steps to weaken that defence,’ said
Vespasian, ‘my men hold no fear of these inbreeds.’

‘
I
have no doubt about the bravery or ability of your men, Vespasian,’
said Plautius, ‘but it’s not the spears that concern me or indeed
whether we can cross, but that which awaits us on the other side.’
He went on to describe the landscape on the far side of the river
that he had witnessed from a nearby hilltop earlier in the
day.