Britannia, AD 148
Chapter One
Three piercing blasts from a ram’s horn emanated from the high ground overlooking the valley. The signal was immediately answered by others positioned along its length. The Roman soldiers marching below hesitated momentarily, just before all hell rained down upon them.
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Four weeks earlier
It was a crisp fall day and Centurion Quintus Valerius could just make out the hazy land mass of Britannia, some 20 miles across the channel. He was with a group of legionnaires – who after traveling for several days across northern Gaul – were boarding a bireme to sail across this intimidating body of water. They were destined to join Gaius Octavia’s VII Hispana Legion, currently stationed along the Antonine Wall in the far north. Centurion Valerius was very much a creature of the land, and he murmured a prayer to Neptune as he led the men aboard the heaving vessel. His military adiutor saw to the stowage of his horse, mule and baggage, including his weapons, shield and armor. Valerius was dressed in a warm woolen cloak, worn over his military garb. The only indicator of his rank was the vine staff that he carried in his hand.
Once the ship was underway, the Centurion continued with his appraisal of the men who were traveling with him. There were about two hundred in total. Half of them were seasoned legionnaires, gathered from military outposts across Gaul. The others were an assortment of mercenaries from various Germanic tribes. These men were larger in stature than their Roman counterparts, and no doubt fierce fighters – but they were deficient in the intense training, discipline and steadfastness of spirit which made the Roman legions such a formidable fighting force. Quintus Valerius felt that the trend to assimilate these barbarians into the ranks was a colossal mistake, that it weakened their overall efficacy. But, the never-ending campaigns against Rome’s enemies required the constant recruitment of fresh troops. This was a particularly difficult task for the legions situated in the farthest reaches of the empire.
Gaius Octavia’s legion was currently functioning at less than full strength, and the men in Quintus Valerius’ party were needed to bring it up to its normal operational level. As a Centurion, Valerius usually commanded a century of about 80 men. There were six centuries in a cohort (480 men) and ten cohorts in a legion. With the addition of a squadron of cavalry, a legion at full strength numbered over 5,000 men. Valerius had recently been serving with a legion along the Rhine; one with a mandate to keep the Germanic tribes in check. He had been selected by his Legate to lead this group of reinforcements, and deliver them to the Primus Pilus (Senior Centurion) of the VII Legion.
The ship was well out to sea when the Centurion noticed a few of the mercenaries were smirking and smugly looking his way. He crossed the deck and asked an interpreter what the joke was about. The man reluctantly said, “They’re wondering if you will fight the Caledonians with your little stick.” Valerius approached the perceived ringleader, and slashed him viciously across the face with his vine staff. The enraged man was attempting to draw his sword when Valerius’s Optio – second in command – stepped in and wacked him with his gladius (short sword). The Centurion said, “Pitch this fool overboard and we’ll see if he can swim!” The Optio motioned to two nearby legionnaires. The other mercenaries looked on in shocked disbelief, as moments later their comrade was thrashing desperately in the ship’s wake. They had just witnessed a hard lesson in Roman discipline.
Later, as they approached the coast of Britannia, Quintus Valerius wondered if this would be his last campaign. He was now 41 years of age - long in the tooth by legionary standards - and with just two years remaining in his 25-year enlistment. Valerius recalled that Julius Caesar had been in his mid-forties when he invaded there in 55 BC. He mused… I’ve still got a few good years left. Pushing this thought aside, he instructed the Optio to prepare the men for disembarkation; they were about to dock at the port of Rutupiae. His number two rapped his right fist to his chest and said, “Yes, Centurio!” Valerius would leave the men there for a few days under the Optio’s supervision, while he traveled to military headquarters in Londinium to receive his orders. Upon his return, they would commence a long march north, to join Octavia’s legion.
When Quintus returned, he was accompanied by an auxiliary cavalryman who had been assigned to them as a guide. At the headquarters, he had learned that the recently completed Antonine Wall had been built to connect a narrow choke-point of land between Bodotria and the Clota River. It superseded Hadrian’s Wall 100 miles to the south, and was the northernmost Roman fortification in Britannia. Its purpose was to bottle-up the northern tribes, and prevent them from raiding south into Roman occupied territory. Legate Gaius Octavia was currently preparing his legion for an incursion north of the wall, to disrupt a reported large gathering of threatening Caledonians.
Chapter Two
Quintus Valerius reported to the Primus Pilus of the VII Legion, and after a brief discussion he was taken to meet the Commanding Officer. Legate Gaius Octavia seemed somewhat distracted, and could only spare a brief minute to greet the man who had just shepherded 200 reinforcements across Gaul. Valerius thought, the arrogance of this man radiates like the sun! Later, the Primus Pilus explained that Octavia was from a wealthy patrician family; he was a member of the Roman Senate and had been appointed to his command by the Emperor Antonius Pius, ostensibly to groom him for future advancement. He said, “The man knows nothing about military strategy.” Another reason for concern was that the senior officers under Octavia’s command were also political appointees and equally inexperienced.
Two days later the VII Legion marched beyond the Antonine Wall, and entered territory controlled by the Caledonians. The objective of this reconnaissance-in-force was to locate and engage the enemy, before their growing numbers could pose a serious threat. The Legion was guided by a ‘trusted’ local tribesman, who claimed to be familiar with the terrain and said he knew the probable location of the enemy stronghold. Leading the advance was a squadron of cavalry, deployed in a wide screen to guard against possible ambush. The senior cohort was leading up front under the watchful eye of the Primus Pilus. The Legate and his senior officers were mounted on horseback, positioned between the third and fourth cohorts. In all, 5,000 men marched forth behind the eagle standard that was carried at the front of the column.
Quintus Valerius had been given command of a Century in the first Cohort. He marched with his men who carried heavy packs supported by the shaft of a spear (pilum), suspended over their shoulders. Each legionnaire was burdened with over 60 pounds of gear and equipment in addition to the weight of their shield, weapons and armor. Still, they were able to march great distances, and after three days the Legion was deep into enemy territory. It was then that the weather turned bad. The temperature dropped sharply, and a persistent drizzle turned to cold sleet. Finally, the order was given to establish a defensive position, and set up camp for the night. At first light they were on the march again.
The Legion now entered rugged mountainous terrain, and the path wasn’t much more than a faint goat track. The local guide pointed to the mouth of a mountain pass in the distance, and he explained that it was the fastest route to reach their destination. The problem was that it was impassable on horseback. The only alternative approach would add two extra days for those marching on foot! The guide suggested that the cavalry and the baggage train could take the longer route, and meet the main body at the far end of the pass. In spite of the added distance, he estimated that those on horseback would probably be the first to arrive there. As the Legate pondered this advice, he weighed the implications of dividing his force. It was a difficult decision. Finally, with an eye to the weather he thought, time is of the essence… we must proceed with all speed!
From his position near the front of the column, Valerius observed several horsemen breaking away at a gallop… the Legate’s pennant fluttered on a long staff above them. They soon merged with the cavalry squadron and rode off together, abandoning the troops. A few minutes later, the heavily laden mules from the baggage train followed behind. At this point there had been no order to change the Legion’s line-of-march, as they continued towards the higher ground ahead. A short time later, the Primus Pilus passed by, and he explained what was happening. He wasn’t happy about the Legate’s decision to split their forces, or the fact that he hadn’t sent scouts ahead to reconnoiter. It was now almost mid-day, and a cold miserable rain was falling. The pace of the advance slowed as they entered the mountain pass.
The pass was a narrow defile through the mountains, extending for about ten miles. It was quite steep on both sides, the slopes thickly wooded. The actual pathway was perched well above the boulder choked depths, where a fast-running river flowed through. The path was just wide enough to accommodate one man at a time - in single file – as it snaked through an endless series of switchbacks. In this terrain the heavily burdened legionnaires were struggling and close to exhaustion. To make matters worse, the cold rain had turned again to sleet, and the footing was becoming treacherous. The advance had slowed to a crawl, and the Legion was backed up over several miles. Quintus Valerius thought to himself, whose bloody idea was this? Has the Legate taken leave of his senses? Have they been deceived by the guide?
Chapter Three
The Centurion was weighing these thoughts, when he heard three piercing blasts from a ram’s horn. Almost immediately, a volley of arrows rained upon the extended line of Romans. Valerius shouted, “Testudo!” It was an order for the men to assume a defensive maneuver with their shields. A few of the legionnaires dropped their packs and responded, but strung out as they were on the narrow trail, it was impossible to form a cooperative defence. As an arrow clattered off Valerius’s shield, he looked up just as a nearby tree crashed down. He immediately lost view of the leading elements of the Cohort, including the Primus Pilus and the Legion’s eagle standard. And now, the unseen enemy was rolling boulders down the slope. As the men scrambled to avoid being crushed, many were picked off by well-placed javelin throws.
From his limited viewpoint, Valerius could see that several of the men had already been killed or wounded. The remainder huddled behind their shields, waiting for contact with an enemy that had yet to emerge. These legionnaires were well-drilled in offensive and defensive tactics, but on the perilously narrow trail, they had no room to maneuver. In both directions, the way was now choked with felled trees, debris and fallen men. The only viable options were to either make a suicidal attack up the steep slope, or to withdraw over the embankment to the river. From a distance, Valerius could hear the familiar sounds of screaming men and the ringing clash of weapons. He wondered if this was an isolated attack, or was the entire column under assault. Perhaps the barbarians were just attempting to separate the forward elements… and capture the Legion’s precious eagle.
The ram’s horn sounded again; it was a signal for the concealed Caledonian warriors to sweep down and overwhelm the enemy. With blood-curdling war cries, a horde of tattooed and blue painted barbarians hurled themselves towards the thin line of legionnaires. The Romans blunted the onslaught briefly, when they cast their pilums. But, the sheer momentum of the attack pushed many of them off the path, and they tumbled down the steep slope towards the river. Valerius cut down two of the attackers with his gladius - short sword – before another embedded an axe into his shield, and wrenched it away. He continued to fight, but finally in a struggling crush of bodies, he too was carried over the edge. Behind him the barbarians butchered the wounded, and stripped the dead of their weapons and valuables.
As the Centurion slid down the slope, he clung desperately to his weapon. When the bruising descent ended, he rose to his feet and plunged his blade into the closest barbarian. A quick look around confirmed that the legionnaires were fighting here on equal terms - at least for the moment – as most of their adversaries were still up above, participating in an orgy of blood-letting. He picked up a discarded shield, and inserted himself into the fight. It looked as though his men were gaining control. Valerius shouted, “Legionnaires, on me!” Quickly, about 30 men had gathered around him. As a group, they forced their way along the river’s edge to where other members of the leading Cohort were defending the Legion’s eagle.
Several hundred legionnaires had now gathered along the river in disarray. The Primus Pilus ordered them into a defensive position, but there was little space to form an orderly rank. The fast-running river was at their backs, and the uneven ground they stood upon was littered with rocks and boulders. They had neither an avenue to retreat, or the ability to mount an attack. The sleet had turned to snow as dusk approached, slightly obscuring the view of the barbarians who were massing on the higher ground above them. Once again, the ram’s horn sounded, and the screaming warriors poured down the slope. This time they faced a firm wall of overlapping Roman shields and bristling blades. The Primus Pilus raised his bloodied gladius and shouted, “Roman soldiers, fight with strength and honor!”
There was a stiff price to pay, but the outcome was never in doubt. Overwhelmed by sheer numbers, the Roman defeat was staggering in its completeness.
Chapter Four
Centurion Quintus Valarius lay among the dead at the river’s edge. The barbarians - thinking him dead - had stripped him of his armor, and had fought among themselves for possession of his helmet… valued for the transverse crest of distinctive red feathers. His body was partially obscured by that of the Pilus Primus, and was covered with a light blanket of snow. Suddenly his eye lashes fluttered; something had brought him back, and as consciousness returned, he lay there wondering what had happened. It was dark now, and he realized that he was very cold. Valerius heard the sounds of voices approaching. Looking up he could see brightly lit torches, held by men who were searching the bodies of the dead. To avoid detection, he slipped into the icy water and was swept away by the current.
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The people that the Romans called barbarians – the Celts, Picts, Gaels, Caledonians and Highlanders – were a loose community of tribes populating northern Britannia. When they weren’t fighting one another, they found common cause in their hatred of the Romans. Protected in their homelands by foul weather and rugged geography, these fiercely independent people had been able to hold the expansionist Romans at bay for nearly two centuries. Their current leader was a man who would not be remembered in history. Known only as Eggert, he was a tall charismatic highlander, and esteemed warrior. Eggert had spent the past year visiting the northern tribes, encouraging them to put aside their grievances and unite against the common enemy.
Eggert had a well-placed spy within the Roman encampment along the Antonine Wall. The man was fluent in Latin, and had won the confidence of Legate Gaius Octavia. He had discovered that the VII Legion was about to mount an incursion north of the wall to seek out the Caledonian army. Eggert know that in spite of the overwhelming size of his force, they were no match against the Romans in a frontal confrontation. So together, he and his spy developed a plan which would even the odds. They would separate the Roman cavalry, and then lure the Legion’s infantry into the mountains where they would be ambushed and possibly defeated. The spy rode in the column with the Legate and his officers. He led them in the direction of a narrow pass where his fellow tribesmen lay in wait. There was still uncertainty as to whether the Romans would fall into the trap. But then the weather turned nasty… and the Legate made a bad decision!
The Caledonians would wait until the Romans were fully extended along the 10-mile length of the valley, before springing the trap. Scores of large trees had been notched, and were set to fall across the narrow trail with just a push. This would segment the Roman soldiers into smaller groups, which could be attacked individually. Hundreds of boulders were positioned to be rolled down to create havoc. Archers and slingers flanked the route, with an ample supply of arrows and stone projectiles, while eighteen thousand warriors lie concealed on the upper slopes amongst the trees. The strategy was to block each end of the pass, and then fall upon the Romans at the optimal time. By then, the Romans would be strung out, vulnerable and unable to mount an effective defence.
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Legate Gaius Octavia had approached the far end of the valley on horseback. He was accompanied by his senior officers, and a squadron of 150 Roman cavalry. The Legate was unaware that the baggage train, which he had left unguarded, had been overrun, and was now in enemy hands. The party rode blithely into the mouth of the narrow valley, expecting to meet the leading elements of VII Legion. Instead, they found that the trail had been blockaded by felled trees. As they processed this, hundreds of archers emerged from concealment and loosed their arrows. The Romans immediately wheeled their horses and attempted to escape, only to be confronted by countless blue-faced barbarians. The ensuing battle was short and brutal. The Romans were overrun, and none survived.
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Eggert led the final assault against the Roman column in the valley. The fierce warrior with flowing hair and beard, wielded a five-foot long broad sword as he ran towards the Roman line. He hacked at the Roman shields with fury, while his men struck with axes, spears and whatever weapons they possessed. The Romans fought with discipline, and their razor-sharp gladius exacted a heavy toll. As the bodies piled up, the attackers used them as a step-up to climb over the wall of Roman shields. Some were catapulted into the melee by being boosted by their comrades. Finally, the defence was breached and the horde of barbarians began to slaughter the disintegrating Roman forces.
Eggert fought his way towards two men with brightly feathered helmets, who were fighting back-to-back defending the Roman eagle. He made a massive overhead swing with his broad sword, and cleaved the Pilus Primus from the neck, deeply into his torso. As he attempted to extract his blade, the other Roman spun around and stabbed him fatally with his gladius. That man, Centurion Quintus Valerius, was then struck by a hammer blow to his helmet, and he fell among the dead.
Chapter Five
Quintus Valerius was carried for several hundred yards by the swift current before he managed to grab hold of a rock and pull himself ashore. He moved from the exposed river’s edge, and concealed himself behind a large boulder. He was terribly cold, but knew that he had to keep moving. After carefully looking around, he attempted to climb up the steep embankment. Exhausted and half frozen, he struggled up the icy slope, finally grasping a muddy root and pulling his naked body over the top.
The barbarians had yet to remove the bodies of their fallen, and he found countless numbers of them laying there along side the Roman dead. The Romans had been stripped of virtually everything they had been wearing, while the enemy had been left with their clothing and personal effects intact. With some difficulty Valerius stripped a bloodied sheepskin from a barbarian’s corpse, and his stomach heaved as he slipped the rank smelling thing over his head. He stripped the footwear and wool pantaloons from another body, and again the smell was terrible. But now, at least, he was dressed in the guise of a barbarian, and the clothing offered much needed protection from the cold.
Valerius picked up a discarded javelin, and began walking back in the direction from whence they had entered the valley. He made slow progress in the dark, as the narrow path was choked with fallen trees and dead bodies. After a short distance he had seen enough to conclude that VII Legion had suffered a massive defeat at the hands of the barbarians. He also began to realize that it was at least ten miles back to the valley’s southern most entrance, and it was unlikely that he could return there undetected. Valerius turned around and began to retrace his steps. He thought, the bold move now is to advance to the head of the valley, as quickly as possible, and carry-out my escape under the cover of darkness. He knew that the odds were not in his favor, but perhaps he could find a secure place to hide before morning. At this point, his plan didn’t extend beyond just staying alive.
Over the next hour, Valerius passed several groups of barbarians who were examining bodies by torchlight. Perhaps they were searching for family members… or more likely they were just scavengers. Twice he was approached and questioned in the local dialect. To avoid any direct exchange, he lifted his hand to his throat and made a gasping sound. Then he adopted a limp, and hobbled off with the aid of his javelin. No one challenged him. When he reached the head of the valley he could see a bright glow in the distance. He figured it must be the barbarian encampment. Drawn like a moth to a flame, and now confident in his disguise, Valerius decided to go in and have a look. As he approached the camp, he passed an area where the horses were tethered. They were watched over by a few boys, who seemed more interested in the nearby festivities.
As Valerius threaded his way through the throngs of barbarians, no one took notice of him, so he continued on to where a huge central fire was burning. He observed that the Legate’s command tent had been erected – but not for his personal use – as his head was mounted on a pole… his gaping mouth smiling in a rictus of horror. The VII Legion’s eagle was also displayed, its standard driven into the ground in front of the tent. Standing by these trophies, were the chieftains of the community of tribes. Since Eggert had fallen in battle, none of these pretenders had marshalled sufficient support to assume command. The human cost of defeating the Romans had come at the loss of over 1,000 lives. Not to mention the wounded, many of whom were destined to die from infections. But the chieftains were back to their usual posture of arguing over the distribution of captured horses, weapons and other booty, including the Roman paymaster’s chest which contained hundreds of valuable coins.
Valerius moved away from the central fire, and walked around to assess the camp’s security. He discovered that there wasn’t any. These barbarians were so confident in their victory, they hadn’t even posted guards. It seemed that this night was a time for celebration. And for tomorrow… there apparently was no plan. No one seemed to be in charge. He thought, they should be sweeping down to destroy the Roman installations along the Antonine wall. Instead, the chiefs are arguing over the spoils. Valerius found an inconspicuous spot to rest, and much later when the fires had burned down, he returned to the central hub. It was about an hour before dawn, bitter cold, and not a single person was stirring. He walked up silently to the eagle standard and pulled it from the ground. Then he twisted the small silver eagle from the end of the pole, and tucked it under his sheepskin cape.
The boys tasked with watching the horses, were huddled under their blankets fast asleep. As Valerius surveyed the herd, he noted that the recently acquired Roman horses hadn’t yet been unsaddled. One of the cavalry mounts nickered as he approached - probably from the strange smell – and he whispered to it soothingly in Latin. After removing the hobbles from the horse’s front legs, he slowly led it away. Minutes later he quit the camp, and was riding in an easterly direction. His plan was to put as much distance as possible between himself and the barbarians.
Chapter Six
Valerius had ridden for two days through sparsely inhabited countryside, taking pains to avoid any human contact. Now exhausted and starving, he tied his horse to a juniper bush and stealthily approached a small farmstead. There were chickens in the yard which scattered with their loud-pitched squawking. He stuck his head into a rough-hewn hen house in search of eggs. When he found some, he cracked the shells and greedily gulped down the contents. Valerius backed out, and turned to find himself facing a large dog. The Staghound wagged his tail in a friendly fashion and approached to greet him. Then, out of nowhere a screaming woman attacked him, wielding a knife. Reflexively, he responded by thrusting his javelin deep into her gut. He was immediately appalled by what he had done!
Back on his horse, Valerius rode in the direction of the coast. He knew that the port village of Din Eidyn wasn’t too far away, and from there it was just a matter of a few miles to reach the eastern extremity of the Antonine wall. He felt bad about killing the woman back at the farm, but she had given him no choice… and all for the sake of a few eggs! He clutched his shoulder where she had stabbed him. It hurt like hades, but there was little blood. He thought that she might have punctured a tendon with the sharp blade. An hour later, riders approached from the rear. He anxiously urged his horse to move faster, but the weary animal was exhausted. Soon the riders caught up, and a man spoke to him in the barbarian dialect. When they determined that he was not a fellow tribesman, one of the men nocked an arrow in his bow.
Valerious was dragged into Din Eidyn on foot, with a rope around his neck. He figured that if these men had followed him to seek revenge for the woman, he would already be dead. No, this was just an unfortunate coincidence, and he had no idea what to expect next. The men had been very excited when they found the Roman eagle, stowed in his saddle bag. The eagle was fashioned from silver, and they knew it was valuable. But they probably had no idea on how to profitably dispose of it, and had argued over who should retain temporary possession of the precious object. In the village they tied Valerius to a tree, and one man watched over him, while the others walked to the waterfront where a battered galley was at anchor.
A short time later his captors returned along with two rough looking dark-skinned men. They were presumably from the galley. One of the men approached Valerius and spoke to him in vulgar Latin. He demanded, “Who are you, where are you from?” Valerius pretended not to understand, he just shook his head and responded in some obscure dialect. The man instructed his subordinate to untie the captive’s hands and remove his fleece. As a precaution, they first shackled his leg with a heavy metal cuff, connected to a length of chain. When Valerius stood there stripped to the waist, the leader observed his muscular upper body, and nodded with approval. Then he then stepped back and parlayed with the barbarians; the conversation becoming quite heated before they finally struck a bargain. Valerius had just been sold as a galley slave, for a handful of coins and few rusty swords.
Valerius was shoved aboard the galley, and then manhandled below decks by two burley crewmen. They chained him to a seat, in the midst of a long line of men… each with an oar that was shipped while the boat was at anchor. None of the men looked up, or seemed to take any interest in his arrival. Valerius observed from the light shining through the rowing ports, that all of their naked backs had been badly flayed by a whip. He sat there in the stink and filth for several hours, and then he heard orders being shouted to get underway. The hatch was thrown open, and a brutish looking man ordered them to re-insert the oars into the water. Valerius followed the example of the others, but when he tried to manipulate the oar, his injured shoulder screamed with pain. The rowing boss lashed him with a whip, but it was no good. The shoulder was totally disabled. The brute lashed him again, and then again. Finally enraged, the Centurion lunged at him!
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Just before he was flung into the sea, Quintus Valerius was struck by the irony of having recently sent a Germanic mercenary to a similar fate. Given more time, he might even be reminded of the Latin phrase of the day… ‘id quod circumiret, circumveniat.’ ‘What goes around, comes around.’
By Michael Barlett