The Field of Swords Read online

  That night, a summer storm struck the coast. Forty of the Roman galleys had their oars and masts torn out and were driven onto the cliffs and smashed. Many more lost their anchors and were driven out to sea, tossed and battered in the darkness. The sheer number of them made it a night of terror, with the desperate crews hanging out over the sides with poles to fend away the others before they were crushed.

  Hundreds lost their lives in collision or drowning, and as the wind softened once more just before dawn, it was a bedraggled fleet that limped its way back to the shingle beach. Those who had seen the bloody savagery of the first landings moaned in terror as they saw a dark crust of bodies and wood along the shore.

  With dawn, the remaining officers began to restore order. Galleys were lashed together and the metal spars of siege machines were dropped as makeshift anchors to hold them. Scores of landing boats had been ripped overboard, but those that survived spent the morning traveling from ship to ship, sharing the supplies of fresh water and tools. The dark holds of three galleys were filled with the wounded, and their cries could be heard over the wind.

  When they had eaten and the Roman captains had discussed the position, some voted for an immediate return to Gaul. Those who knew Julius well refused to listen to the idea and would not put a single oar in water until they had his orders. In the face of their resistance, messengers for Julius were sent ashore and the fleet waited.

  Mark Antony received them first as they came inland. The great force of the gales had been lost a few miles from the coast, and he had experienced no more than a bad storm, though flickering lightning had woken him from sleep more than once. He read the damage reports in dawning horror, before he mastered his spinning thoughts. Julius had not foreseen another storm to damage the fleet, but if he had been there, he would have given the same order. The galleys could not be left exposed to be hammered into driftwood over the course of the campaign.

  Mark Antony opened his mouth to order a return to Gaul, but the thought of Julius’s fury prevented the words.

  “I have five thousand men here,” he said, an idea forming. “With ropes and teams, we could bring the galleys in one by one and build an inland port for them. I hardly felt the storm, but we would not need to go so far from the coast. Half a mile and a wall to protect them would keep the fleet safe and ready for when Caesar returns.”

  The messengers looked blankly at him.

  “Sir,” said one, “there are hundreds of ships. Even if we brought the slave crews out as labor, it would take months to move so many.”

  Mark Antony smiled tightly. “The slave crews will be responsible for their own ships. We have ropes and men to do it. I would think two weeks would be enough, and after that, the storms can blow as they will.”

  The Roman general ushered the seamen out of his tent and summoned his officers. He could not help but wonder if anyone had ever attempted such a thing before. He had never heard of it, though any port had one or two hulks out of water. Surely this was just an extension of the same task? With that thought, his doubts faded away as he lost himself in calculation. By the time his officers were ready to be briefed, Mark Antony had a string of orders for them.

  CHAPTER 40

  _____________________

  The resemblance to the Gauls was striking as Julius ordered his legions into the attack. The British tribes of the interior did not affect the blue skin, but they shared some of the ancient names Julius had first heard in Gaul. His scouts had reported a tribe calling themselves the Belgae in the west, perhaps from the very same line he had destroyed across the sea.

  A long crest of hills formed a ridge over the land that the legions climbed in the face of arrows and spears. The Roman shields were proof against them and the advance was inexorable. The legions had sweated to pull the heavy ballistae up the hills, but they had proved their worth as the Britons tried to hold the plateau and were taught respect for the great machines. They had nothing to match the sheer power of the scorpion bows, and their charges were shattered in disarray as the legions moved on to the slopes beyond. Julius had known that part of their advantage lay in speed across open land, and the tribes gathered under Cassivellaunus fell back as each position was taken and the Roman lines moved on.

  Despite the resistance, Julius could not escape the suspicion that the tribes were drawing them in to a place of their choosing. All he could do was maintain the pace, always on the edge of routing them. He had the extraordinarii harry the retreating enemy in darting raids under Octavian and Brutus. The ground the legions walked was littered with spent spears and arrows, but few had found flesh and the advance did not falter during the long days.

  Twice on the second morning, they were attacked in the flank by men left behind by the main British force. The maniples had not panicked as they held them back, and the extraordinarii had charged them down as they had been trained, smashing through the desperate tribesmen at full speed.

  At night, Julius had the cornicens sound for camps to be built, and the baggage trains brought up food and water for the men. The nights were harder as the tribes kept up a din of shouting that made sleep almost impossible. The extraordinarii rode shifts around the camps to repel attacks, and more of them fell in darkness from unseen arrows than at any other time. Yet even in that hostile land, the routines continued. The metalworkers repaired weapons and shields and the doctors did their best with those who had taken wounds. Julius was thankful for those Cabera had trained, though he missed the presence of his old friend. The illness that had struck him after healing Domitius was a terrible thing, a thief that stole away his mind in subtle stages. Cabera had not been well enough to make the second crossing, and Julius only hoped he would live long enough to see them all return.

  Julius had thought at first that he would crush the tribes against the river as he had done years before with the Suebi against the Rhine. But the king of the Catuvellauni had fired the bridges before the legions could reach them and then spent the days reinforcing his army with warriors from all the surrounding regions.

  Under heavy arrow fire from the opposite bank, Julius had sent scouts to find a place for fording, but only one looked suitable for the legions and even then he was forced to leave behind the heavy weapons that had crushed the first attacks of the Britons and begun their long retreat.

  Reluctantly, Julius arranged his ballistae, onagers, and scorpion bows all along the bank to cover the attack. It occurred to him then that the best of tactics could be defeated by difficult terrain. His legions formed a column as wide as the flags his scouts had jammed in the soft mud of the Tamesis, marking the drop into deeper water. There could be no subterfuge in such a place. A barrage from the ballistae set the range across the river and gave the legions a clear landing ground of almost a hundred feet. After that, the head of the column would be engulfed by the Britons. The tribesmen had all the advantages and Julius knew that would be the turning point in the battle. If his men stalled on the opposite bank, the rest of the legions would not be able to cross. Everything they had gained from the coast could be wasted.

  There was something eerie in preparing for war with the enemy so close yet unable to do more than watch. Julius could hear his officers bark out orders as the lines and files formed and in the distance he could hear echoes of similar shouts. He looked over the dark Tamesis and sent runners to his generals as he noted different aspects of the ground and the formations of the Britons. They looked confident enough as they hooted at the Romans, and Julius saw a group of them bare their buttocks and slap them in his direction, to the general merriment of their friends.

  He understood their confidence and felt nervous sweat drip into his eyes as he gave orders. The legions would be vulnerable to bow fire and spears as they crossed the river, and the death toll would be high. Julius had sent scouts up and down the Tamesis to look for other fords he could use to land flanking forces, but if they existed, they were too far away to make it worthwhile. Even the best generals were forced on occas
ion to rely on the skill and sheer ferocity of the men they led.

  Julius would not be amongst the first to cross. Octavian had volunteered to lead the extraordinarii over, with the Tenth close behind. The young Roman would be lucky to survive the charge, but Julius had given way to him, knowing it had to be his choice. The Tenth would smash their way in behind the cavalry and establish a clear area for the others to follow on their heels. Julius would come in with the Third Gallica and Brutus, with Domitius following them over.

  The sun was clear in the sky as Julius pulled on his full-face helmet, turning the cold iron features toward the Catuvellauni. He raised his sword and some of them saw the gesture, beckoning him on.

  Julius looked at Octavian, who watched him, waiting for the signal. The extraordinarii were grim and their spatha blades glittered as they held their position. By the time they reached the opposite bank they would be at full gallop, and Julius felt a moment of breathless anticipation as they waited to bring death to the Britons.

  In silence, Julius dropped his arm and the cornicens blared out all over the vast column. Julius heard Octavian roar and the extraordinarii surged forward into the shallow water in a mass, faster and faster. The horses churned the water into froth as the Roman cavalry lowered their swords over their mounts’ heads and leaned forward, ready for the first kills. Arrows and spears punched into them and horses and men screamed, staining the water red as their bodies slipped into the current. The Britons roared and came on.

  It called for precision, but every man on the heavy ballistae was ready. As the Britons surged forward to meet the extraordinarii, Julius signaled the teams and a load of iron and stone flew over the heads of the galloping Romans, smashing the first impetuous ranks into rags.

  Great holes appeared in the mass of the enemy, and Octavian aimed his horse for one, the gelding staggering slightly as he reached dry ground. His mount was blowing heavily and he was drenched in freezing water. He heard the bellow of the Tenth as they charged across the ford behind him, and he knew the Roman gods were watching the sons of their city, even so far away.

  There was no room for thought in that first charge. Octavian and Brutus had chosen the extraordinarii for their skills with horse and sword, and they formed an arrowhead without a single order being called, striking against the Britons and carving a path deep into their ranks.

  The Tenth could not use their spears with their own cavalry so close ahead, but they were the veterans of Gaul and Germany, and whoever stood to face them was cut down. The Britons fell back in disarray before the combined attack, and their main advantage was lost with incredible speed as the Tenth widened their line with the perfection of a dance and the spaces they created filled with legions coming over. The squares formed on the flanks and the extraordinarii moved amongst them, their speed and agility protecting them from the spears and swords of the Catuvellauni.

  Julius heard horns wail out over the enemy’s heads, and they fell back and to the flanks, opening a wide avenue in their midst. Through it, Julius could see a cloud of dust and then a wall of horses and chariots galloping at suicidal speed. The Roman cornicens sounded the order to close up and the squares halted, the men within locking shields and setting themselves in the alien soil to hold the position.

  The chariots were manned by two warriors and Julius marveled at the skill of the spearmen who balanced so precariously at high speed while their companions held the reins of the charging horses. At the last moment, the spears were launched and Julius saw legionaries killed by a wave of the shafts, thrown with enough power to punch through even the Roman shields.

  Octavian saw the carnage that resulted and shouted new orders. They disengaged from the flanks and cut across the line of the chariots before they could throw again or turn. The Britons rushed in amongst them and Julius saw horses and men gutted and cut down, blood spraying amongst them. The Tenth and Third pushed forward and closed the center, overwhelming the chariot men as they fought with roaring desperation. Some of the Britons’ horses panicked and Julius saw more than one knock legionaries to the ground as empty chariots were dragged through the field behind their wide-eyed mounts.

  “The extraordinarii are clear!” Julius heard Brutus shout to him, and he nodded, ordering spears. It was not the most disciplined of attacks. Many of the Romans had lost their weapons in the fighting, but still a few thousand of the dark shafts went up and added to the chaos of the Catuvellauni as they tried to re-form.

  Julius looked back and saw that two of his legions were still in the river, simply unable to go farther against the press of their own men. He signaled an advance and the Tenth responded with the discipline he had come to expect, locking shields and forcing a way through and over the enemy.

  The Roman line widened as the extraordinarii fell back to protect the flanks. Their insane first charge had thinned their numbers, but Julius cheered as he saw Octavian was still there. His young relative was covered in gore and his face looked swollen and black with a spreading bruise, but he was snapping out orders and his men took up the new formation with something of their old polish.

  On the open land, the Roman legions were unstoppable. Time and again, the Catuvellauni charged their lines and were thrown back. Julius marched over clumps of bodies that marked each failed attempt. Twice more, the Tenth and Third held charges by the vicious chariots, and then a different note sounded amongst the enemy horns and the Catuvellauni began to retreat, a gap opening between the armies for the first time since the river.

  The Roman cornicens blew for double time and the legions broke into a jog, their officers haranguing the men to keep formation. The wounded Britons were run down almost immediately and the exhausted stragglers fell to Roman swords even as they screamed. Julius saw two men supporting a third until they were forced to drop him almost at the feet of the pursuing Tenth. All three were trampled and stabbed for their courage.

  As the sun moved, Julius jogged with the others, panting. If the king of the Catuvellauni thought they could outrun his legions, he would learn. Julius saw nothing but determination in the ranks about him, and he felt the same pride. The legions would run them into the ground.

  Even then, Julius checked the land for ambush, though he doubted the possibility. Cassivellaunus had seen his best hope was to hold the Romans at the river and would have thrown everything he had into those first assaults. However, Julius had fought too many battles to allow a surprise, and his extraordinarii harried the enemy up ahead while smaller groups peeled away to scout.

  It was almost with disappointment that Julius heard a falling, mournful note from the enemy horns. Julius guessed at its meaning even before he saw the first Britons throw down their weapons in disgust. The rest followed.

  Julius had no need to give the orders to accept the surrender. His men were experienced enough and he barely took notice as the Tenth moved amongst the Catuvellauni, forcing them to sit and collecting weapons to enforce the peace. Not a single warrior was killed after the initial surrender, and Julius was satisfied.

  He looked around him and saw houses clustered together less than a mile ahead. The legions were on the very edge of the towns around the Tamesis River, and Cassivellaunus had surrendered in sight of his people before the running battle brought them into the streets. It was an honorable decision and Julius greeted the man without rancor as he was brought to him.

  Cassivellaunus was a black-haired, fleshy-faced young man who wore a pale robe belted around his waist and a long cloak over heavy shoulders. His eyes were bitter as Julius met them, but he sank down onto one knee and bowed his head before rising, the fresh mud spattering his woolen clothes.

  Julius removed his helmet, enjoying the freshness of the breeze on his skin. “As commander of the forces of Rome, I accept your surrender,” he said formally. “There will be no more killing. Your men will be held prisoner until we have negotiated hostages and tribute. As of this moment, you may consider yourself a vassal of Rome.”

  Cassivellaunus
looked quizzically at him as he heard the words. The king looked over the Roman lines and saw their organization. Despite a running fight of almost two miles, the formations were sharp and he knew he had made the right decision. It had cost him a great deal. As he looked at the Roman in his dirty armor, with blood-smeared sandals and three days’ growth of beard on his chin, Cassivellaunus could only shake his head in disbelief. He had lost the land his father gave him.

  CHAPTER 41

  _____________________

  Vercingetorix planted his spear in the ground before the gates of Avaricum and rammed a Roman head on the point. Leaving his grisly trophy behind him, he rode in through the gates to where the tribal leaders had gathered in his name.

  The walled town in the center of Gaul had a population of forty thousand, and most of those had come out onto the streets to point and stare at the High King. Vercingetorix rode through them without looking left or right, his thoughts on the campaign ahead.

  He dismounted in the central courtyard and strode through shadowed cloisters into the main hall of government. As he entered, they rose to cheer him and Vercingetorix looked around at the faces of the Gallic leaders, his expression cold. With a stiff nod of acknowledgment, he walked to the center and waited for silence.

  “A bare five thousand men stand between us and our land. Caesar has left to attack the painted people as once he came to Gaul. This is the time for which we have planned so patiently.” He waited through the storm of talk and cheers that echoed round the chamber. “We will give them a warm homecoming by the winter, I promise you that. We will take them by stealth and by the dozen or the hundred at a time. Our cavalry will attack their foraging parties and we will starve them from Gaul.”