Slaves of Fear: A Land Unconquered (23 page)

“Calm yourself, my friend,” Caratacus replied, placing a hand on his shoulder to reassure him. “Tell me what has happened?”

“The Deceangli on our right flank have fled like cowards. Every last warrior I could muster is attempting to keep the Romans at bay, but they are crushing us both in front and on the right flank. We don’t have the numbers to hold them!”

The news unnerved the high king. He supressed showing this outwardly. The Deceangli had brought four thousand warriors, and if they fled the balance of power had shifted decisively in the Romans’ favour.

For Ostorius Scapula, he wasn’t sure which was worse, not knowing how the battle was progressing or not being able to decide what actions he should take. The legions and auxilia cohorts had their orders. What else was he to do? He swallowed hard in trepidation as a rider from Paetus’ legion rode quickly up the path towards him. His fears soon turned to relief and hope.

“Sir, compliments of General Paetus. He wishes to inform you that the enemy warriors on the extreme left have fled. Our soldiers are now pressing the enemy flank.”

“Very good.” The governor made an audible sigh. He signalled for his staff officers and escorts to follow him and kicked his horse into a canter.

He grimaced when he saw the first of the numerous bodies strewn along the road. “Send for the hospital wagons and surgeons,” he ordered one of his messengers. Scapula cursed himself for not having done this sooner.

With Paulinus and Paetus commanding their legions, responsibility for tending to the wounded fell upon him. There were scores of maimed and injured men scattered about, most groaning or crying out piteously. Scapula knew casualties in the woods alongside the road were likely just as severe. He sent another rider back, to make certain the medics and stretcher bearers scoured the woods for fallen legionaries and archers.

As his horse stepped carefully over the ruins of the enemy defences, Scapula saw that despite the good news he’d received from Paetus, the battle was anything but decided. The crux of the struggle appeared to be taking place to his direct front, where the largest number of combatants on both sides were mustered. Five of the cohorts from Legio XX were formed into a massive front, battering away against a similar number of enemy warriors who, the governor was surprised to see, had yet to break. He was soon joined by General Paulinus. Strangely enough the legate was on foot, covered in sweat, grime and streaks of blood soiling his otherwise ornate armour.

“Governor, glad to have you with us.”

“Paetus has turned the left flank,” Scapula informed him. “How are your men holding up?”

“They’re pretty fucking spent, sir,” Paulinus replied bluntly. “But they have enough left in them to break this lot. Can’t say we’ll have much left in us for a pursuit.”

“Winning the battle will be enough,” the governor reassured him. They looked to see that the walls of warriors and legionaries were still punishing each other, even as centurions tried to keep rotating fresh lines of troops into the fray. The governor then added with begrudging respect, “These bastards are as hard as iron.”

Chapter XVIII: A Triumph of Steel

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Ostorius Scapula was willing to give his adversaries a certain measure of respect for their valour and tenacity, yet Caratacus felt only hatred and frustration towards his foe. Even if the Deceangli had not fled like cowards, the Roman tactics allowed them an advantage when it came to close-combat fighting. His warriors expended huge amounts of energy trying to break the legions’ shield walls. The imperial soldiers were far more measured and deliberate, though they certainly did not lack in ferocity. What gave them the advantage, besides the superior protection offered by their shields and armour, was the constant rotation of their battle lines. It was mind-numbingly frustrating for his warriors to watch. Every few minutes, the enemy centurions gave the order. Their battered soldiers would withdraw to the rear of their formations and rested legionaries would smash their way into the ongoing brawl.

With so many factors now working against his warriors, Caratacus saw that casualties were starting to mount as his exhausted fighters fell in the onslaught of legionary blades. Enemy archers were also scattered about in small bands, unleashing their arrows on exposed warriors occupying the patches of high ground. The high king understood there could be no retreat, not now. The Silures in particular would condemn him for cowardice. The bravest of all his warriors, he quietly cursed that there were not more of them on this battlefield.

“Sire, King Orin has fallen!”

The voice of a near panicked warrior alerted Caratacus, and he rushed over to where a dozen men carried their king away from the fighting. He had been impaled through the bowels by a legionary gladius, leaving him in hellish agony. He gritted his teeth, refusing to cry out despite the unholy pain.

“Orin,” Caratacus said, kneeling and taking him by the hand.

Blood and bile erupted from the Silures king’s mouth. “I am sorry,” he whispered. “Sorry that I will not be h…here to witness your victory over the Romans.”

Caratacus patted him on the shoulder and ordered the small band of warriors, “Get him to safety, as far from here as possible.”

“Yes, sire.”

“We will not let the Romans take him.”

Caratacus took a deep breath, channelling his rage once more. There was only one thing left for him to do… fight!

Magnus slammed his shield boss into the face of an exhausted enemy warrior before stabbing the man in the guts. As spent as he and his men were, fatigue was an even more critical factor for their enemies. The Silures were some of the bravest adversaries he had ever faced, yet even they were being compelled to give ground against the legion’s relentless assault. Bodies of the fallen were becoming a hazardous and ever-growing obstacle, as legionary and warrior fell in the frenzy of blood and steel. The legion continued its methodical advance. Soldiers in the subsequent ranks stabbed the enemy fallen, ensuring they were dead.

“Onward, lads!”
Magnus shouted, as much for his own benefit as his soldiers’. “They’re breaking!”

Governor Scapula rode down the vast battle front. He saw, in addition to Paetus’ men folding in the extreme flank of their enemy, individual cohort battles were slowly being decided. Warriors on the numerous knolls and outcroppings were wearing down under the constant attack of legionaries, while being harried by volleys of arrows. Small bands of Ordovices warriors began to break and run, then larger groups. Scapula kicked his horse into a gallop, to see what was happening on the right of the battle line. It seemed the entire enemy force was now in full flight. There had been no one decisive moment when their will shattered; the Romans had simply ground them into submission through brute force. Only the valiant Silures continued to battle, but even they could not hold for much longer.

“General Paulinus!” Scapula shouted to the legate who appeared to be engaging the enemy alongside his First Cohort.

“Sir?” Paulinus asked, sprinting back to the governor. Despite his exhaustion, he was grinning from ear-to-ear. The thrill of battle had, for the moment, overwhelmed any sense of revulsion at the terrible carnage.

“The Ordovices are on the run; the Ninth Legion is driving them from the field. Send all cohorts that are not directly engaged to hit the Silures on the flanks.”

Paulinus waved for his servant to bring his horse. He quickly surveyed the scene before sending two of his staff tribunes with orders to the outermost cohorts.

Centurion Metellus Artorius and the Fifth Cohort found themselves on the extreme left of the legion, following their clearing of the ramparts in support of the Ninth Legion. The small hills and rock outcroppings made it impossible for him to see what was transpiring off to the right. For him and his legionaries, the battle was still a chaotic mess, albeit one with far fewer enemies to face them now.

“Centurion Metellus!” the staff tribune called to him.

Too tired to salute, Metellus nodded in acknowledgment.

“Orders from General Paulinus. You’re to take your men and swing around the flank of the centre Silures force. They are all that remains on the field.”

“Excellent,” the centurion replied, with a tired smile. “My compliments to the legate. Tell him we’re on our way and will hit these bastards from the flank and behind.” He turned to face his men.
“Fifth Cohort, reform battle lines! On my command…at the double-time…march!”

Caratacus continued to swing his sword against the Roman shield wall, yet his blows lacked the speed or intensity of his earlier strikes. He had succeeded in felling a legionary with a blow to the crown of his helmet, but he and his surviving warriors were fast succumbing to the wall of steel. His fighters were falling at a rapid rate, fatigue muffling their screams through the constant stabbing of legionary blades. The high king stumbled backwards up the gentle slope and gazed over his shoulder, his eyes widening in horror. With their flank support gone, his wife and daughter were now under assault from a swarm of legionaries. Eurgain wielded her spear with bravery and skill. Yet, it was only a matter of moments before the bottom edge of a shield was slammed into her forehead, splitting her scalp and dropping her to her knees. Young Sorcha had been kicked hard in the stomach by one of those vile creatures. Caratacus’ greatest fears were unfolding before his eyes.

“No!”
he screamed.

At that moment, what little resolve remained among the Silures shattered.

An organized pursuit was proving impossible. Paulinus suspected as much, for the legions were too exhausted to commit to chasing down the hordes of fleeing enemy warriors. And while the light auxilia were scattered about the woods and hills, they were too few in number to capture or kill more than a handful of enemies. What mattered now to Scapula and his legates was finding Caratacus.

“Stop!” Amminus shouted.

He rushed over to the legionary who smashed Eurgain with his shield. The soldier had his gladius raised high, ready to plunge the blade into the woman’s neck.

“What the fuck do you care?” the soldier spat.

“This is Caratacus’ wife. She is worth more to us alive than dead.” Amminus knelt and raised the chin of sister-in-law he had not seen in many years. He reckoned the terrified little girl clutching Eurgain’s hand was his niece, whom he had never even met. “Hello, sister,” he said in their native tongue.

Eurgain spat onto the ground. Her left eye was closed, her face and forehead covered in blood. “Our traitorous kinsman has returned to us.”

“Come, dear sister.” Amminus stood and offered her his hand. “Let us fight no more.”

Eurgain looked around her and saw nothing but growing numbers of Roman soldiers. Were it not for her daughter, she would have attacked her brother-in-law with her bare hands and made the Romans kill her. She did not know if her husband was dead, captured, or fled. All she knew in that moment was Sorcha needed her mother. She reluctantly accepted Amminus’ outstretched hand, allowing him to pull her to her feet. She swooned for a moment, the effects of her injury nearly overwhelming her.

“Come, I’ve got you,” Amminus said, placing an arm around her shoulder.

“Don’t think this lessons the hate I feel for you.”

“Who is he, Mother?” Sorcha asked, clutching her frock and staring nervously at the strange man, eyes wide.

Before Eurgain could answer, Amminus said, “I am your uncle, dear child. And I have come to take you away from this place of misery and pain.”

They were escorted across the expanse of broken bodies and gory aftermath of battle to where Scapula, his legates, and their senior officers were gathering.

“Noble Governor,” Amminus announced. “I have brought you Caratacus’ wife and daughter. I ask that you see to my sister-in-law’s injuries and take care of them. Though her husband may be our enemy, these two are still my kin.”

“Of course,” Scapula said. He pointed to one of the staff officers. “Have the medics see to her injuries then escort them to my tent. Amminus, tell them they will be my guests, and will be treated with respect.”

Amminus translated the message. Eurgain’s loathing for the Romans was in no way dissipated, but she took some solace in knowing her daughter would be safe.

Despite his injuries and roving patrols of Roman auxiliaries, King Seisyll had little difficulty navigating through the woods to safety. The imperial cavalry was concentrated mostly northeast of the River Sabrina. Yet to the northwest it was relatively quiet. A small footbridge spanned the river, concealed by a thick grove of trees. It appeared to be unknown to the Romans. On the other side, he found the remnants of a band of Silures. They were gathered protectively around a makeshift litter, upon which lay the mortally wounded King Orin. The battered warriors bowed their heads in respect as Seisyll walked through their circle and knelt next to his fellow king.