Hosker, G [Sword of Cartimandua 04] Roman Retreat (29 page)

Inside the fort the Camp Prefect was looking at Macro and Cilo. “When do we fire back?”

“Have you taken any casualties?”

“No.”

“Then why fire back? Their arrows are wasted.  Save our arrows and bolts for targets too big to miss.”

Lulach had been prepared for his first attack to fail although he had not expected it to fail because the enemy did not fire back. The wagon had been filled with straw and pitch. The front had had the shafts removed and replaced by ten long spears.  He nodded and the forty chosen men began to push it down the slope.  It began slowly at first but soon its momentum and the warriors pushing it caused it to move quite rapidly.  Suddenly the fort’s archers began to fire and soon the forty men had been whittled down to a handful but the damage had been done and the wagon was on its way.  Archers stepped from the woods and launched fire arrows at the out of control vehicle lurching down the paved road.  Some arrows missed but enough struck and soon the wagon was an inferno. Despite the Roman’s attempts to stop it, they failed and it crashed into the gate the wood and dried kindling bursting into flame. 

As soon as it hit, a number of things happened: Lulach launched his attack, the Camp Prefect ordered the buckets of water standing by to be poured onto the conflagration and Gaius began to attack the Caledonii lines. The barbarians were so intent upon the gates that they failed to notice the men at the rear dying. The ala archers caused many casualties but the Romans were not having it their own way and the Caledonii archers now had targets. The auxiliaries with the buckets began to take casualties. Macro was busy both shooting the archers and shouting orders. “Keep the buckets coming!  You men in the fort throw as much water as you can. Piss on it if you need to!”

The tide began to turn when the mass of men passed into the killing ground where the bolts and artillery sliced through whole files of men. Brave as they were it was hard to keep going. “Get to the walls.  They cannot fire at you there!” Lulach’s powerful voice echoed across the noisy, screaming battlefield. Enough men made it to the walls so that they started to climb and engage the auxiliaries in hand to hand.

A small group of a hundred our so warriors evaded all the missiles and the defenders and raced to the bridge.  Their leader raised his staff, the signal that Lulach had been waiting for.  They had secured the bridge. Lulach called his men back to avoid further casualties.  He could now cross the Dunum at his leisure.  He would send over ten thousand of his best warriors in the hours of darkness and they would lay waste to the surrounding land.  It would then be a matter of time before their flimsy fort fell.

As night drew in each leader reviewed the day, Julius was disappointed that they had not killed more men.  The camp Prefect and Macro were pleased that their walls had not been breached but were disturbed by the men on the bridge and the still glowing Porta Praetorium which had held, but only just. Only Lulach was truly content. The morrow would see victory and his warband would flood into the gentle vales and rich lands that surrounded Eboracum.

Chapter 20

Decius Brutus was angry and frustrated.  His legionary cohort could have made the fort in one day but the lack of leadership and training of the new cohorts appalled him. Sallustius Lucullus had kept them idle for too long and they had barely managed forty miles. Those forty miles were hard earned with more moans and complaints than Decius had ever experienced.  His vine staff had been in constant use. Rather than risking them making a mockery of building a camp he had headed for Cataractonium swearing, as he lambasted them, that they would be up before dawn and make the last twenty miles by mid morning.

“What is on your mind Macro?”

“What?”

“I have known you long enough, known you since you trained me at Derventio all those years ago, to know that you are plotting and planning.”

“And I have not known you long Decurion but I too know that your mind is working.”

Grinning Macro nodded.  “It is the bridge.  They can move over their whole army and we can do little to stop it.  I have but one son who lies less than ten miles from here. I do not want him or Ailis and Gaius’ children, to die.”

“What can we do? The best men in here are the ninety men we brought and there are hundreds out there.”

“I know and I do not intend to waste men’s lives.  I intend to steal an idea from the Caledonii.”

“How?”

“Simple Livius.  We will fill the four wagons which we have here in the fort with our own flammable material.  Open the Porta Decumana and send them flaming towards the bridge.  They may kill men but, more importantly the heat will crack the concrete of the blocks and weaken the whole structure.”

“But if the bridge falls then we will be stranded.”

“Any Roman soldier can build a bridge but these screaming half dressed cockerels cannot. At the very least we will kill many of their warriors and, if we reduce the odds we may yet be able to evict them.”

Despite being dubious about the whole concept the Camp Prefect could not come up with a powerful enough argument against it. They spent half the night building the bridge destroyers and it was just before dawn when they were ready.  Unbeknown to Macro and the defenders, Lulach had been busy sending warriors across the bridge, slithering on their bellies like snakes to avoid being seen by the sentries.  Over three thousand had made it by the time the gates opened and, like a scene from Hades, the four flame filled wagons lurched, spat, crackled and rumbled down to the bridge.  The night was like day and the other barbarians attempting to cross the bridge were spotted.  Macro quickly raised the alarm and bolts, arrows, javelins and sling shots pummelled the shocked warriors.  Those on the bridge died in a screaming inferno of burning pitch and oil.  Men, who could, threw themselves into the river and continued to burn as their dying, blackened bodies were carried downstream.

As the survivors gathered on the far bank Lulach decided to launch his attack. There was little point in waiting.  There would be no surprise but this time he would fight until the walls were taken, knowing that the force he had ferried across the river would cause huge damage.  He could only hope his father had been as successful. “Brothers today we will attack and win.  Yesterday we tested them and found that they are weak.  Why I alone could knock down their damaged gate.  With you besides me we could knock down their very walls. Are you with me?”

With a roar his men raised their arms and rushed down the slope. Their speed was such that the auxiliaries were slow to react and Macro had to scream at them. “Fire you dozy bastards! They will be on us.”

The men began to fire and inflict heavy casualties but the Caledonii closed with the walls and leapt on each other’s shoulders to reach the ramparts. As soon as they were close then the power of the artillery was nullified. A party lead by Lulach paused to pick up a log shield and, using it like a ram, smashed it into the door.  The fire had cracked the wood and it began to crumble.  Encouraged by the brittle, blackened nature of the barrier they hurled the logs again and suddenly the gate was breached and it cracked crashed in, the warriors flooding in like water unleashed from a dam.

Julius had nearly been caught off guard but one of the alert sentries had spotted the wagons and awoken the Prefect.  “Gaius, get the men mounted.”

“But Julius the stakes!”

“It doesn’t matter they aren’t guarding them.  We walk through and then charge.  You take turmae one, two, three and four chase down those on the bridge. I’ll take the rest to the fort.”

“Sir!” Gaius nodded his thanks for he would be able to get to his villa and save Ailis!

Macro had the men from the ala ready with arrows and javelins.  They stood in front of the Praetorium in three ranks.  The rear ranks launched arrows as soon as the door fell and many warriors fell but still they came on.  Livius was in the front rank with the javelin men and he cursed his lack of skill with a bow. Waiting until the warriors were but twenty paces away he yelled, “Loose!” and thirty javelins found their marks.  They had no time for another volley for the enemy were upon them and Livius found himself facing a huge red bearded, blue painted warrior wearing a nose ring.  In his hands he held a fearsome looking axe and a small sax. He felt like running and he almost panicked until, out of the corner of his eye he saw Macro fighting two warriors with a smile on his face.  He remembered when Marcus had asked Macro to test him and he suddenly became confident.  This was no Macro.  This was a barbarian with no more idea of fighting a soldier than he had of reading Homer. Livius waited until the warrior committed himself with a vicious swinging blow from his axe and he deflected it with his shield to slice harmlessly into the soil.  At the same time he blocked the sax with his sword and then head butted the bare face of his opponent with his helmet.  He heard the nose break and felt the blood gush but he had no time for self-congratulation; his enemy would soon regain his sight. Bringing his sword up he drove it through the man’s throat and into his brain.  He twisted his blade to free it and moved on to the next warrior.

The ala was not having it all its own way and neither were the defenders on the walls.  They soon found themselves attacked from in front and behind.  Livius noted that the men on either side of him were dead but he remembered his lessons and fought each man as he came at him. The three lines were shrinking until Macro ordered the rear rank to join the others. As soon as he had fellow troopers on either side Livius noticed that it became much easier.

Lulach left the fort and slipped, almost unnoticed out of the Porta Decumana.  With six of his oath brethren he hacked his way towards the bridge where the inferno had finally died down to little pockets of fire and burning bodies. In the distance he could see his warband marching down Dere Street. His lieutenants could continue the fight at the fort; Lulach wanted the glory of Eboracum.

Gaius and his turmae struggled to pass the stakes and the detritus of the barbarian camp.  Loath to lose a mount to a broken leg the Decurion Princeps took it steadily. Their problems really started when they found themselves in the killing ground in front of the fort.  The warriors were twenty deep and trying to get at the walls.  When they heard the horses behind them they vented their spleen on those foes.  “Wedge!” Using himself as the spear point Gaius hacked his way through the seething maelstrom of men. The horses themselves became a weapon as they trampled and kicked all before them in their terrified attempt to escape the blades and barbs which cut and sliced them.  Gaius also had the advantage that he was not heading for the fort but the bridge and its sickening smell of human roast.

The horses were afraid at the bridge because of the smell and the smoke.  When Gaius looked at the bridge he could see the cracks starting to appear.  Macro’s conflagration would mean weeks of work to repair it. Gaius leaned forward and spoke gently to his mount which made its way gingerly across the bridge.  Once he had made the journey, the rest of the turmae followed.

As the turmae came over Gaius saw the empty saddles and empty spaces.  He had less than eighty men left.  “Form up.  Column of twos but be prepared to get into line when we catch up with them.”

Lulach’s long legs and his fitness soon enabled him to catch up with the warband. “Rest for a few minutes and then we run down this road the Romans have so thoughtfully built for us.” He glanced back at the fort as his men laughed. There would be no pursuit; the burning bridge would ensure that.  The Romans had unwittingly helped him achieve his ends.  Cataractonium would be the next settlement which would be put to the sword.

Decius Brutus grinned as the new cohorts struggled along the road.  The legionary cohort was finding it an easy stroll but, having been marching for four hours the unfit auxiliaries were ready to vomit. Suddenly he stopped and ordered the column to halt as his scouts came racing down the road.  “A warband sir and Morbium is aflame.”

So he was too late to save the fort but he would destroy the warband.  “How many?”

The man shrugged, warbands were notoriously hard to count.  “Half a legion?”

“Ninth we will take the centre, three lines!” He pointed to the left and right and the Centurions of the auxiliaries led their men to their prearranged positions.  The auxiliaries were just glad to be halted.

Decius glanced along the line. Whilst he was not confident about the auxiliaries, no-one would get past his cohort and, holding the middle of the line, that meant the warband would be halted.

Lulach and his band came over the brow of the hill and looked with dismay at the forces before them. “Legionaries!” This would not be an easy fight.  The only advantage he had was the slope, gentle though it was, which would give his men impetus. He could see that the legionaries were in the centre which meant the weaker auxiliaries were on the flanks.  “Boar’s snout!” The men quickly formed up with more men on the two flanks and the best warriors in the middle. “Once we are through this pitiful force we will have a free run to Eboracum.  Charge!”

Decius was not concerned with the men of the Ninth for they would withstand the onslaught easily but the untried cohorts on his flanks were a different matter.  He had only had a couple of days to give the Centurions advice on fighting the fearsome barbarians.  He hoped they would heed his words  which came from over twenty years fighting in the province.  He was gratified to see them watching for his signal.  He had impressed upon them the effect of a volley of javelins. He raised his arm and every soldier in the five cohorts raised his javelin. Decius had to time the volley just right for he had a majority of inexperienced men.  Waiting until the first ranks were forty paces away he yelled, “Loose!” His legionaries had their second javelins in their hands almost instantly and Decius yelled, “Loose!” again.  The volley was more ragged this time because the auxiliaries had not been as quick as the well trained Ninth. “Lock shields!” The command was probably unnecessary but Decius wanted the Centurions on his flanks to do the same.