Chapter 10

The next day a visitor came. “General Artus is coming. He will not vacate the country without a battle. His troops are burning, looting, killing and raping as the go. We need help.” I noted that raping was an after thought; a few women fucked to Hades was not so important as the cows being stolen. He was coming from the West. The West Britons hated him. He had a reputation as a cruel and destructive thug rather than an elite Roman. It seemed he was justifying his reputation as he headed for the channel ports to take his special form of warfare to other parts.

In some ways, devastating the land as you came through was a good plan, since it helped ensure there would be no rebellion behind. But he was devastating the land of allies and foes, Romans and Rebels, alike. He was leaving and didn’t care if anybody knew that he considered this country the arse end of a pig. And devastating the land behind meant there was little benefit in flanking him; we’d be marching through a wasteland. Head on it would be then.

We talked – Bogatrix and myself. Then we sent out messengers in pairs, one Celt, one Roman. Far and wide, telling all who would listen that destruction was coming for Roman and Celt. Those that listened were to meet in three days at Venta Belgarum. Our men set off across the tribal boundaries with the Yew branch of peace before us. As we marched, more joined us. We had set off not knowing if we would be a small army facing the most murderous, effective killing machine in history. By the time we arrived, we were a big army to face that legion. At Venta Belgarum we became a massive army with levies from all sorts of tribes; and Romanised Celtic families, and even Romans. They looked at my entourage – I had brought Alexa and Fortunata to keep me warm at night, and Wenneuereia to advise, and Virtua to record the fight. It was obvious that three of these were owned by me. The Romans looked horrified, what had they joined? I smiled at them, in my armour I looked almost Roman myself but my language was Celtic. Our group formed the centrepiece of the army, the other tribes coagulated round it, and so, somehow, I became the leader of this massive mob which wanted to be a massive army. I told the Romans that when the legion had gone – dead or left – they would be safe as long as they integrated, worked with the locals. I didn’t even say they had to free their slaves. That was up to the locals, who probably wouldn’t want foreigners setting up shop in their villages.

We marched out to the fields beyond and anchored our left wing on the small rivers that are the Itchen. I hoped this boggy land would stop the legion from attempted flank attacks that way, then we spread out North as the Western legion arrived. This time, there would be no attempt at parley. ‘No quarter’ was the rule on our side, and I assumed on the Roman too. They would wreak death and destruction all the way to Dubrae, if they won. Their line extended and bent behind a little to stop our flanking movements. Then they brought up their machinery; their catapults that could launch rocks to remove several people at once, their crossbows that would pinion a row of men in one go.

“If we lose, you are all free. Here.” For what it was worth, I gave Virtua a letter for each girl freeing them. These would be legal if I was killed. Alexa stepped forward and kissed me. Even now, they wished me to live. My resolve to misuse them with all the fervour I had imagined weakened a little more, perhaps Wenneuereia was right.

Our first surprise for the Romans was that we returned their fire. They had more catapults and were more organised, but we had surprise, so the first few stones drove plough furrows through their lines; and they had fewer men to replace them with. We learnt to lie flat as the stones headed towards us, often the stone would bounce and fly over our prone bodies; still, when a man lying beside you stops being a visible human and turns in to mashed mixture of flesh and bone, you wonder if you will survive.

We sent in some fire too. They hadn’t expected that. It drove them to frenzy, General Artus ordered the attack and their infantry advanced. As they did so, their cavalry started towards our open right flank. That’s when I unleashed out chariots. Chariots from eight different tribes. Wide, slashing blades on their wheels, javelin thrower in each. Not quite as manoeuvrable as a horse, but still they were a devastating sight. Behind, the Durotrices poured towards the horsemen. Their lands had already been burnt, the crops stolen; they had a score to settle. No horseman that got stopped came out alive. The legion’s horse were destroyed. Of course the Durotrices and the chariots then carried on towards the side of the legion infantry line; I expected that. They would lose many more men there, but that was their loss. As the legion approached, I ordered a retreat of eight feet. It was a risk, we were faced by an unbroken row of shields carried by the best fighting men (apart from the gladiators), in the world. My army might have broken and run, but they didn’t. They retreated between the row of five foot sharpened stakes we had hidden until then. Now the legion had to hack their way through that. As they tried, we fired our few powerful crossbows, concentrated into the middle of the line. The line split and opened a wound which the gladiators charged into. Then our army advanced with more long, heavy spikes. The short swords of the Romans weren’t in range, groups of ten men pushed the spikes in or on the shields. The line wavered and held, wavered and held, wavered and broke. Then it was over quite quickly. With that first line breaking, the second tried to reform as a solid mass, leaving their colleagues to die in front of them. That was the strength of the Romans, they were ruthless and cool. But they stepped back to have clear space to fight in, and the third line didn’t obey as quickly. The two lines entangled and fell and broke as well.