Roman courage, p.22
Roman Courage, page 22
part #13 of Sword of Cartimandua Series
The sentry was clearly visible. They had watched his routine. He left the turret of the gate fort and walked to the next turret. There he waved at the sentry who watched from the turret. That done he walked back. Scarth and his men timed their movements so that they only moved when the sentry had his back to them. Then they froze like shadows on the ground. In this way they approached the ditch. It was when they reached the ditch that they heard the buccinas to the east. His boys had attacked. The Romans must have had some sort of system for the sentries looked to the fort when they heard the buccina. It meant something to them. In those few moments the men in the mile castles signed their own death warrants for the Selgovae swarmed across the ditch and reached the wall. Using shields, they boosted warriors up and over the walls. Scarth was the first. Already dawn was breaking in the east. Aelric brought his sword around. It struck the auxiliary’s shield but the man knew his business. He jerked his spear forward and it tore through Scarth’s left arm. The old chief ignored the blood and brought his sword down across the soldier’s neck. He fell to the passageway below. More of his men had joined him. The Romans fought bravely. There would be no surrender and ten of the Selgovae died before they took the turret.
The Romans who had been asleep now ran up the ladder to fight their attackers. They knew the interior of the mile castle and eight more Selgovae died before all opposition ceased. They had taken their first gate fort. Scarth was on the wall. He shouted down, “Open the gates and bring the reserves.” Opening the door to the wall he led his oathsworn to the small turret which lay ahead of them. “Grab as many Roman shields as you can. They have bolt throwers and they will try to use them against us!”
The handful of men in the small turret had seen the fate of the milecastle and they had fled to the fort. The two turrets were empty. There was no opposition but the Romans in the fort had been warned. The Selgovae could expect opposition.
The young warriors who had swum the river had exceeded all of Scarth’s expectations. The old chief had expected to distract the garrison and allow his men to get close to the fort before discovery. Instead the lithe young warriors had managed to kill the sentries at the bridge and capture it. They even managed to turn the bolt thrower around and use it on the gate into the fort.
Prefect Decimus Porcius Sura had been awaiting an attack. He slept with his mail close by his pallet. Hearing the alarm, he had dressed, grabbed his sword and run to the river. The buccina had told him where the attack had begun. When he reached the centurion at the gate he saw three men slain by a bolt and the bolt thrower wrecked. Centurion Helva said, “It was lucky hit Prefect. They have the bridge and they are using the bolt thrower. Luckily, they are slow at loading. Down sir!” A bolt flew towards them. The first ones had been killed because the Romans were not expecting to have their own weapons used against them. Now they were watching.
“Centurion Helva, take two centuries and clear the bridge.”
“Sir.”
He turned and shouted, “Centurion Vetus fetch another bolt thrower. Bring one from the north-east tower.”
First Spear hurried up the ladder, “I was making sure the sentries in the other turrets were all closed up sir.”
The Prefect nodded, “This must be Brigante. They are coming from the south.” Another bolt flew from the bridge. This time it was aimed across the fort. The barbarians were learning. Once again luck was with the half-naked warriors. It tore through three Vangiones on the turret just forty paces from them. “How in Hades did they capture the bridge? Were the sentries asleep?”
First Spear peered across the river. “Sir, we still hold the far end of the bridge. These came down the river. They aren’t Brigante. They are Votadini or Selgovae.”
Just then there was a cry of alarm from the north-west turret. A voice shouted, “Sir, the barbarians have crossed the wall. They have captured the milecastle.”
It was the most disastrous of news. The Prefect turned to Centurion Vetus as he and his men hauled the bolt thrower into the turret. “Centurion Vetus, take charge here. When the bridge is cleared have Centurion Helva bring his two centuries and reinforce the west wall.”
“Sir!”
“Come on First Spear you and I will earn our pay this day.”
By the time they reached the turret they could see the barbarians racing down the wall to the north-west turret. The garrison of the small turret were there. First Spear knew every man in the fort. He jabbed a finger at the Optio who had been in the turret. “Optio Flaccus, report.”
“They must have sneaked close to the mile castle, First Spear. The first that we knew was when we heard fighting. They took Cotta’s turret. I knew we had to warn you sir and so we barred the doors and came here.” The Optio was worried. To abandon a turret on a wall was a grey area.
First Spear nodded, “You did the right thing Optio.” He turned to the men who had been guarding the turret. “Get that bolt thrower. Aim it at the door on Optio Flaccus’ turret.”
The Prefect peered west. The new day was not far away and the light was becoming greyer. He could make out barbarians on horses flooding out of the gates. They appeared to be a large warband. The wall had been breached. “Take charge here, First Spear.” The Prefect hurried down the ladder. He waved over a Decurion from the horse section. “Decurion Pavo, send two troopers to Coriosopitum. Warn the Legate that the wall has been breached. Barbarians are heading south.”
“Sir.”
By the time he had returned to the turret the Selgovae had broken through the gate. Whoever was leading them was not a wild unthinking barbarian. The men who advanced had taken the time to grab auxilia shields and were advancing in what looked remarkably like a Roman tortoise. Behind them came the rest of the warband with the own shields held aloft.
First Spear said, “Right Optio, let’s show them that there is more to being a Roman soldier than just carrying a shield.”
“Sir!” The optio adjusted his aim and then shouted, “Release!”
The bolt flew straight and true. It ploughed through the shield as though it was not there. Scarth’s wound had slowed him down but he still led his warband. The bolt tore through his mail and his body. He would not die of the coughing sickness. The bolt carried on through the next two men and finally stopped when it struck the spine of the fourth warrior. Their chief was down but his oathsworn had their blood up. They closed ranks and moved faster. The ageing chief had slowed them up and now they were able to run. It affected the bolt thrower. The next bolt did not hit the Roman shields but struck those following. Once again it hit five men.
First Spear shouted, “Javelins!”
As the javelins struck there was a rattle like hailstones on a roof. They were less effective than the bolt although they made the shields unwieldy. The warband struck the gate below the turret. First Spear said, “I’ll go below sir and give them a Vangione welcome!” He turned and shouted, “Centurion Helva! I need your men now!”
The Prefect admired the courage of the Selgovae. They were coming up against disciplined men who wore mail and were well armed. He saw that most of the barbarians were half-naked. Any strike would cause a wound. The bolt thrower cracked again and another file of barbarians fell. The javelins were having more effect against the ones with the small Selgovae shields and their numbers were being thinned. The Prefect was amazed when one warrior, struck by a javelin merely pulled it from his arm and hurled it back. It missed the Prefect by a handspan.
In the turret below the Prefect, First Spear was organising the men to welcome the barbarians. The turret was wide enough for eight men: a contubernium. “Helva with me. I want three lines of men. Listen for my command! Second and third ranks, use spears. The rest give them your swords!”
They would fight like legionaries. They did not have the scuta of the legions nor the short stabbing sword, the gladius, but First Spear had served with the IXth and knew how to fight. The door gave way with a crash and the barbarians poured in. The narrow door meant that they had to come in one at a time and that guaranteed their death. The first one was skewered by Centurion Helva as the exultant Selgovae physically hurled himself at the waiting Vangiones. With their chief dead and their most experienced warriors slaughtered the barbarians had no one to organise them. They entered the turret and they died. By the time dawn broke the attack on the fort was over.
Prefect Decimus Porcius Sura descended the ladder to First Spear. “Take Centurion Helva’s men and clear the wall. I will take the horsemen out and we will try to plug the gap.”
“Sir.”
The Prefect stepped into the parade ground and shouted, “Decurion Princeps Celsa, mount your men.” This was where a mixed cohort was like gold. He had over a hundred horsemen. He would ignore the ones already south of the fort and the wall. His task was to regain control of the frontier. He led his men west. They did not gallop. With javelins held at the ready they rode down any Selgovae they came across. The Prefect glanced over to the wall. He saw that First Spear had recaptured the first milecastle. He waved his javelin. “Decurion Dorsuo, take your turma and take the next milecastle.”
As the turma peeled off the Prefect hoped that First Spear and the Decurion would arrive at the same time. He saw that the next two mile castles had also fallen. Their gaping gates shouted it loud and clear. He knew that the Prefect at Broccolitia was a sound commander. His Tungrians would hold on but they had no horses. Prefect Sura had to plug the gap.
As they passed the next milecastle he sent another turma to take it. He now had just two turmae. If they had taken more than one more milecastle then he would struggle to retake them. Then he saw, in the dawning light that only one more mile castle had its gates open. A battle was taking place at the next one. Early sunbeams glinted off swords and spears.
“Decurion Princeps, let us retake this mile castle!” They wheeled to the north and headed towards the gate. The Selgovae had already left and the milecastle was empty.
The Decurion Princeps shouted, “Horse holders! Chosen man, get those gates closed.”
Prefect Sura shouted, “Second turma, with me.” He hurried up the ladder. The dead garrison lay butchered and naked. Their weapons and mail had been taken. The prefect knew that the assault on the next mile castle was his priority. He led the thirty men of the Second Turma towards the battle at the next mile castle. Each turret they passed told the same story. The auxiliaries had fought as long and as hard as they could but Roman courage had not been enough against overwhelming numbers. By the time they reached the mile castle the Tungrians had prevailed. The Selgovae had simply run out of men.
The Prefect greeted the bloody centurion he met, “Well done, Centurion. The gap is closed. I will take my horsemen and hunt down those who are south of us. Have the turrets and mile castles garrisoned. This is just the beginning.”
Hours later when Prefect Sura finally rode into Cilurnum with his weary horsemen it was with the satisfying knowledge that they had hunted down and killed every warrior who had crossed the wall. The Selgovae had paid a heavy price but so had the Romans. More than a hundred and twenty Romans lay dead and the wall was now more thinly manned than it had been.
In Coriosopitum the Legate heard the news of the attack. He had expected it and, in some ways, it was a relief that it had come. He now had to worry about the attack from the Brigante. When would they strike? He sent messengers north to warn Habitancvm and Bremenium of the insurrection and then walked the walls with First Spear.
“Now we play the game, Quintus. Do I commit the VIth north to Cilurnum or wait here?”
“I know you have made that decision already sir. We wait. It is as clear as the nose on your face. The Prefect at Cilurnum will tell us if they need help and we have heard nothing from Onnum.”
“You are right Quintus, I am just seeking reassurance that our plans are the right ones.”
“It is those poor buggers to the north I fear for, sir. We have help all around us here. Those four forts are little islands in a sea of barbarians.”
When Chief Haerviu received Scarth’s message he put his plan into operation. Like the other tribal leaders, he had learned to respect the Romans. Frontal assaults did not work. He had a large warband waiting to the south between Cataractonium and Morbium. He wanted the road cut. The rest of his warband were gathered at Morbium. The fort there was not a large one but it was vital. Chief Haerviu planned on destroying the bridge and cutting off the wall and the north-eastern corner of the province. Like Scarth he did not plan on waiting for dark of moon. He assumed that Chief Randel and the Votadini would be rising already. Eostre had been the time they had all agreed.
The Legate had sent for the Cohors Primae Aquitanorum some time ago. They had been delayed in Lindum where there had been some unrest. The Prefect was keen to reach the wall. He knew how urgent his mission was. Perhaps it was the fact that they were not only south of the wall but also south of the Dunum but whatever the reason the cohort was not as alert as it might have been. They knew that Morbium was just five miles away and, in their minds, they were already enjoying a hot cooked meal and a night where they did not have to build a marching fort.
The Brigante had good intelligence. They could move faster than the Romans and they had tracked the cohort as it had first marched to Cataractonium and then left. Consequently, the warband was in place even before the cohort had left the Roman fort. The Brigante had chosen their ambush site well. There was a rocky crag which overlooked the road. The IXth Legion had built the road as straight as they could and had used the high ground whenever possible. The crag was not in the way of the road and so they had left it there. It was covered in scrubby gorse, heather and bracken in equal measure. On the other side of the road were stands of scrubby bushes. Elisedd led the warband. He was a seasoned warrior. He had enjoyed victories and suffered defeats. He had learned from both. He had his slingers and archers amongst the rocks of the crag. They would initiate the attack. When the Romans turned to face it then he would launch his main attack with sword and spear.
The first to die was Prefect Lepida. His fine mail and plume made him a target for the young slingers. Four stones struck him and he died instantly. Had First Spear not turned to see where the attack had begun then he too might have lived. As it was he was hit in the face by a stone. The experienced centurion had a mercifully quick death. The next most senior, Centurion Buteo, saw men dying. He took charge. They had been marching in a column of fours. “Second and Fourth Centuries turn right; Third and Fifth Centuries turn left. Lock shields!”
The shield the Cohors Primae Aquitanorum used was not as effective as the scutum but as soon as the shields turned to face the arrows and stones then the casualties stopped.
Centurion Buteo shouted. “Cohors Primae Aquitanorum, hold! Keep tight!”
Elisedd saw that the Romans had not fallen into his trap. He had a choice; he could back off or he could continue with the attack. Chief Haerviu was already in place waiting for darkness to attack the fort. If the Roman auxiliaries reached the fort intact then it would ruin the tribe’s chances. “Charge!”
The barbarians burst from cover. They were eager to emulate the success of the slingers and archers. They ran recklessly.
“Third and Fifth Centuries, javelins!”
One hundred and forty javelins flew through the air. The Brigante had little mail. A few had shields and one or two had helmets. Eighty javelins found flesh. “Third and Fifth Centuries, javelins!” Once again the javelins were effective but the Brigante closed with the Romans and hurled themselves at the shields. Many were impaled.
Second Century, turn and support the Third and the Fifth.”
As the Brigante tried to fight and claw their way into the auxiliaries ranks the Second Century began to hurl their javelins over the heads of their comrades into the attacking barbarians. The slingers and arches had almost used their ammunition up and they could not resist joining their more experienced comrades. They ran down from the crag towards the Fourth Century. Their centurion had been waiting for just such an opportunity. “Ready javelins!” He waited until the eighty or so boys and youths were just thirty paces away and then he shouted, “Release!” More than half the barbarians fell. The centurion saw the opportunity to end the attack. “At them!” The stunned slingers and archers stood no chance. A dozen managed to flee but the rest were butchered. “About face!”
Centurion Buteo saw that the Third Century was tiring. “Fourth and Second, javelins. Fifth Century replace the Third. Third Century retire, now!”
Only the Roman army could perform this manoeuvre. It required great training and trust in the men behind you. One hundred and forty javelins sailed through the air as the Fifth Century stepped into the places vacated by the Third.
Elisedd saw that his ambush had failed. Along the road more than two hundred of his warriors lay dead or wounded. He shook his head in disbelief. The control the Romans had over their men was remarkable. He took the cow horn from around his neck and blew two blasts. Most of the Brigante heard it and obeyed. A dozen had blood in their heads and they fought on until they were butchered. Elisedd pulled his men north to block the road.
When it was clear that the barbarians had fled Centurion Buteo said, “Capsarii, see to the wounded. Optios report the numbers of dead and wounded. Fetch any undamaged javelins. We may need them.” Centurion Buteo would need all of his experience to extricate the cohort from this disaster. The sun was setting. There was no chance of making a camp while the barbarians stood blocking the road. He shouted, “Centurions, to me!”
