Slaves of Fear: A Land Unconquered (11 page)

The senior ranking centurions made more than the occasional mention of the poor execution of their advance. While they had sacked the occasional small village or farming settlement, there could be countless others hidden behind the hills and forests they passed. Troubling as it was to Centurion Magnus, with the vanguard approaching the lake, his focus was on the task at hand. There was a vast forest to the right, which was now being scoured by auxilia light infantry. Two cavalry regiments rode ahead to screen the army’s approach, while the men of Legio XX advanced on the road leading through a small strand of trees off the northeast corner of the lake.

In the eastern woods, Seisyll held his breath in anticipation. He watched the long column of imperial soldiers marching briskly along. He kept his warriors about two hundred meters away from the path behind a long defilade. The grove was not very large, perhaps a hundred meters from end-to-end, and the Romans likely didn’t think it was occupied. At least, that is what the Ordovices king suspected, for not a single legionary or auxilia trooper was seen crawling through the woods to check for enemy fighters.

Further south, Caratacus and his bands of Silures warriors laid low in the deep trenches. Most were up to their chests in water as they hugged the grassy embankment. With the reeds and tall grasses covering much of the landscape, it was difficult to tell the canals were there at all. The high king looked to his right and saw his son up to his waist in slow-flowing water, clutching his spear as well as a handful of turf to pull himself out of the trench. Jago’s eyes were closed. He was breathing slowly and deeply through his nose. He accepted that death was a possibility this day; his only concern now was fighting bravely, proving to his father and fellow warriors that he was worthy of being counted as one of them.

The Roman cavalry had ridden well ahead of the main column and were now out of sight. This made Caratacus a bit nervous. He quietly passed word to his war leaders to keep a watchful eye, in case they returned. The lead cohort of legionaries was just passing Caratacus’ position, completely oblivious to his presence. A foreign war horn sounded to the north. The high king gritted his teeth in frustration. King Orin’s forces, north of the lake, had either launched their attack too soon, or were discovered by imperial scouts. Whatever the cause, he knew he needed to spring the remainder of the trap now.

“Down with tyranny!”
he roared, leaping from the canal, his sword held high.

Auxilia skirmishers had indeed spotted the force of barbarians lurking in the woods along the north side of the lake. This prompted those to the east to attack well before the entire army was within the trap. Instead of facing legionaries, the Ordovices surged from the eastern woods coming face-to-face with numerous cohorts of auxilia infantry. With spears and shields together, the imperial soldiers quickly turned to face this new threat. Up the road, Governor Scapula was pointing towards the northern woods with his spatha, shouting orders to General Paetus and the Ninth Legion. The discovery of these potential ambushers allowed them to deploy into battle ranks before assaulting the wood line. Three of their cohorts were directed to the left, to hit the Ordovices in the flank.

Meanwhile, the lead elements of Legio XX faced the enraged barbarian standing atop the canal bank. None realized this maddened berserker was the very man they had been pursuing these past months.

“Contact left!”
Master Centurion Tyranus shouted, jumping from his horse and waving the aquilifer to him. The primus pilus placed his century at the centre of the cohort, with Furius and Magnus on his right, and the remaining two centuries on his left.

As his men dropped their packs and formed into six ranks, the Norseman spotted a large force of barbarians emerging to the Romans’ right.
“Furius!”
he called out. “We’re about to be flanked!”

“Pivot your century off me!” his fellow primus ordo shouted back. “We’ll anchor this point while you secure the flank.”

Magnus raised his gladius high.
“Third Century, right wheel…march!”

With precision brought on by many years in the ranks, the hundred and sixty legionaries of Magnus’ century pivoted backwards. Optio Caelius made certain their extreme left remained close to Furius’ right. Magnus had his men form a forty-five degree angle off their companions on the left. They only had moments to react, and the barbarians were now charging straight for them, rather than trying to manoeuver further around their flank.

“First and second ranks…javelins, throw!”

There was scarcely enough time for his men to unleash their heavy pila before their adversaries smashed into the shield wall. The Silures’ initial charge lost much of its momentum, as scores of fighters were struck down by the fearful missile barrage. Men screamed in agony as their guts were ruptured and limbs mangled. Splintered ribs, arm, and leg bones burst through flesh in a gory display of horror.

Their own light spearmen unleashed a retaliatory barrage. Long throwing darts rained down upon the ranks of legionaries. Many of these deflected off shields, helmets, and segmented plate armour, yet a number of painful screams echoed from the Roman battle lines as spears plunged into the exposed faces, necks, and limbs of imperial soldiers. Fallen legionaries in the first two ranks were replaced quickly by their mates in the third and fourth. Those in the rear unleashed a second wave of javelins. With no armour and only wicker or board shields, the Silures warriors had little defence against these subsequent volleys. The first minute of battle had already been a bloody affair. The warring gods, Mars and Aeron, would be pleased.

For Jago, the time had come to prove both his valour and manhood. He tried to pull himself from the ditch, falling onto his stomach as the handful of tall grass he’d been clutching ripped from the damp earth. In frustration, he tossed his shield over the embankment and used both hands to pull himself over. His delay proved fortuitous, as many of those warriors who’d surged ahead of him were painfully struck down by the Roman javelin barrage. Some were dead, many maimed, their screams of agony ripped into the young lad’s soul.

The broken bodies and hundreds of expended javelins obstructed their advance. Jago regained his footing as he retrieved his shield and raced into the fray. The initial surge of warriors pulled back a few feet from the Roman shield wall, having failed to break the line, leaving even more of their companions dead or dying. A subsequent volley of javelins flew over the heads of the imperial soldiers, though these were flung in a very high arc and were easier to avoid. Jago gasped as he leapt to the right, knocking a pilum out of his way with his shield. The shock of the weapon’s weight jarred him.  Thankfully, it failed to stick in his shield.

The young warrior took a deep breath and strode forward with purpose, maintaining his composure. He was now at the front of the throng of warriors. He steeled his mind, blocking out the piteous cries of the wounded. Jago’s greatest fear was not death, but that they would be ordered to withdraw before he had the chance to kill a Roman.

He focused his attention on a legionary directly in front of him. What baffled Jago was how old the soldier was. He had always been under the impression the Romans recruited their fighters very young, yet this man looked to be three times his age. He knew nothing of a legion’s elite First Cohort, whose soldiers were experienced, battle-hardened veterans rated the best close-combat fighters in the entire army. Had he been aware, it would have filled his heart with trepidation, or possibly excitement at the possibility of killing one of the empire’s best.

“They’re not pressing the advantage, sir,” a decanus said to Centurion Magnus.

As he slammed the bottom edge of his shield into the stomach of the warrior he was fighting, the Norseman took a quick moment to survey the ongoing battle. The barbarians were bravely standing their ground, refusing to yield to the imperial legions. Yet they were almost tentative in their attacks. The assailing warriors most certainly had them outnumbered, but no attempt was being made to manoeuver around the legion’s exposed flank. A few hundred warriors could easily sprint around the open meadow that lay between them and the lake, and threaten the Romans from behind. Such action would force them to break off legionaries from their rear ranks, weakening the entire formation. And yet, this bizarre stalemate continued to their front.

“What the fuck are they playing at?” Magnus asked his signifier, ever by his side, behind the centurion’s left shoulder.

“I don’t know,” the standard bearer said, shaking his head. “It’s as if they aren’t even trying to win.”

“They’re simply holding us in place,” Magnus suddenly realized. He gnashed his teeth at the revelation. “This is nothing more than a bloody diversion!”