Legatus Legionis: Book Two in the Gaius Claudius Scaevola Trilogy (34 page)

"That put them in their place," the Legate from the fourteenth said, after the Senators had gone, "but they did have a point. Sooner or later we have to take that trench."

"Not necessarily," Gaius shrugged. "Right now we have their soldiers in the trench instead of being behind the walls. Sooner or later we have to remove the soldiers from the field or persuade them to stop fighting and it's a lot harder to do that if they are fortified. Claudius has a plan!"

"I don't doubt," the other Legate nodded. "The question is, which Claudius?"

* * *

Claudius continued is policy of meeting his Legates and Plautius on a one-to-one basis. "I g get four p p plans," he explained once, "b but no arguments." It also meant that only those who contributed knew where any of the plan came from. As Claudius noted, he was also getting sour comments from the Legates about how the Celts were building fearsome fortification out from the city. The simple strategy of cooking the Celts, which the other two Legates had advocated initially, would not work. "Wh what the Legates don't know," Claudius said, "is th that I'd n n never order that!"

"Fortunately, neither do the Celts," Gaius pointed out. "All this work they're putting in is exactly what we want. They'll be really disappointed when they find out."

It appeared that Claudius had also decided to give the Senators something of a thrill. Initially, their stands had been constructed in the centre, where the Senators felt they would get a better view of proceedings. Claudius decided to give them an even better view: they were in a gap between the fourteenth and the twentieth. There was no need to alter any of the other deployments: nothing in front of the Senators would spoil their view.

* * *

This meeting would be the last meeting before the final battle, and Claudius was excited. "Th this has g got to work," he said to Gaius. "All the senators will b be watching."

"Then let's put on a show," Gaius smiled. "What I'd do tomorrow is march the two open legions up to these positions," and he pointed to the map. "I would then announce the villages that have surrendered and hence will not be enslaved, then I'd march up the prisoners, parade them, then invite the Celts to surrender. If they don't, then we must be seen to bring up the catapults. You must make as big a show as possible, and make it as noisy as possible. Make the troops shout insults, chant, anything. We want to make sure the Celts' attention is fully devoted to what is in front of them. The later they find out about the elephants, the better."

"And C C Caratacus? Wh what would you d do if y you were him?"

"It's starting to be a bit late," Gaius shrugged. "His best chance was when we landed, and his next best chance was when we started marching inland, or when we began crossing the Thames. Now, his only chance to put up a fight is to come out straight away before his men desert him. Now, as you can see, on his left flank there's a terrible tangle of brambles. I'm ready to guess that he'll think that we've made a mistake by giving him a protected left flank, and he'll put his weaker troops there. When the elephants to clear a way . . ."

"The following troops will get a c clear strike," Claudius nodded.

"Better, it puts immediate confusion elsewhere. The Celts are brave enough, but when they see their left collapse, given their history of losses and no obvious way to retreat with the water behind them, hopefully they'll start to think about ways of escape."

"Th that sounds g good," Claudius nodded.

* * *

The day began with a fog, so that nobody in Camulodunum could see what was happening. They could hear, however; there was the pronounced sound of various horns, orders, and the clunking of armour. This was no surprise attack, and the legions were assembling for battle. While the lines were being formed, some of the troops began escorting the Senators and their families to the wooden structures from which they could view proceedings, assuming the fog lifted.

"What a waste of bloody time," the Legate of the Fourteenth muttered.

"On the contrary, it is a sign of supreme confidence by the
Princeps
. When he wins, the Senators won't be able to deny his victory."

"We haven't won yet," the Legate pointed out.

"Better not let the Senators hear that," Gaius grinned. "If the Celts break through anywhere, and there's no line immediately in front of them, they'll be scared shitless."

"You know, it's almost worth it! Just for a little while, anyway."

"The thought occurred to me too," Gaius shrugged. "It'd do the scheming bastards good to have a good bowel clean-out, but you know as well as I do, we won't."

"I know. I'll see you later. Good luck."

"And good luck to you too."

* * *

When the fog lifted, the Celts saw the legions lined up to form what was seemingly an overwhelming force. The gates opened, and more Celts poured out to support those behind the massive earthworks running in a line across the area between them. At this point the ballistae opened up. At first, the giant bolts did not make the distance. Two things then happened: some Celts stood up on the earthworks to hurl insults, and some of the Senators began muttering, "I told you this would happen." At that point the ballistae began using smaller bolts; these reached the Celts on the earthworks, and following much screaming, those who could took cover behind the earthworks, leaving a number of bodies in full view. Relative silence descended on the Celts and on the Senators.

The onagers now let fly. Only moderate sized rocks could reach the earthen ramparts, and it was unlikely that these did any real damage, but that did not matter. Their main purpose was to distract the Celts. Meanwhile the legions began shouting insults. From their trenches, Celts howled them back.

This situation continued for some time, and it seemed that neither side wished to take the initiative. Then Claudius saw the sign he was waiting for: movement in the thicket. Immediately he ordered the advance. A horn blew, and the legions began to march forward. Because they were in a ditch, the Celts could not use archers, and Caratacus clearly recognized that his troops could not remain stationary until the Romans reached the top of the rampart. There were roars from the Celts, and they emerged, to charge the Romans.

When the Celtic charge was quite close, a barrage of pilii flew, then another. The Celtic charge paused as Celts tried to avoid being impaled. At the same time, the Romans formed a shield wall, and began to advance. The tactic was standard, the Celts had been ready for it, and they quickly reformed their lines.

The horn blew again, and a great noise could be heard from the brambles. The Celts on the left side turned to see what could be there, and in the centre, the Celtic charge faltered. Then, from the brambles, the first of the elephants emerged, and charged. The Celtic line on the left disintegrated as the Celts tried to avoid the rampaging elephants.

The elephants now charged towards the rear of the previously charging Celts. Before them were Romans, behind them were elephants and the shields of the ninth. At this point, the Celtic charge degenerated into chaos as the wall of Roman shields of the second and the fourteenth inexorably advanced. Gaius managed to get one glimpse of Caratacus riding to his left, desperately trying to instil order. But the Celts now wished to retreat to behind their city walls. To do this, they had to get through or around the ninth, and as they chose to run around, they ran behind their own troops, who could hear the sounds of elephants, horns, Roman armour clanking, screams from their own troops, cavalry, and all this led to general panic. They would turn to look, and to them it was only too obvious that they were losing. They too began to peel away and run.

Immediately Gaius let loose his cavalry from his right flank, and sent a division of three cohorts in support. The retreating British now had their retreat cut off, an attack in front, on their right, and from their rear.

From his viewpoint on a small hillock, Gaius saw Caratacus again. He was beaten, and he knew it. But still he was organizing his troops, ready for one last charge. Let him, Gaius thought.

But when the charge came, it was not quite what Gaius expected. The British charged directly at the infantry supporting the elephant advance. The Romans quickly locked shields and prepared, but then, just as they braced themselves, the attack peeled off to the left.

The Romans turned and chased, but once through the line, the Celts were free. The heavily armoured Roman soldier was unable to keep up with the lightly protected Celtic footmen, and the Roman cavalry was elsewhere.

Gaius nodded in approval. Caratacus was breaking out in the one gap created by the elephants and in the one place where escape had not been considered. The fourteenth's cavalry was deployed to mop up those who had been initially on the left flank, while the twentieth's cavalry was attacking nearer the capital to prevent Celts from returning to their fortified position. Either by good luck or by good analysis Caratacus had found the one spot between legions that was not covered by cavalry.

Then, suddenly, many of the other Britons disappeared. It turned out they had peeled off into a small gully, which, because of the fog, had been overlooked initially. When the Romans pursuers found it, they found the floor was yet another swamp. If they ran, they found themselves up to their armpits in mud, while if they tried to run around the swamp, it was obvious that the Britons would escape.

By now the battle before the city walls was over, and the gates themselves were opened. Gaius recalled his cavalry, and was about to send them after the fleeing Britons when a thought struck him. The cavalry would not be particularly suitable for the fog or swamp, and while the horses were uninjured, they had been ridden hard and long, and they had been in battle. The day had been an outstanding success. There was no need to give the Britons a chance to sour it.

Instead, he sent the cavalry towards the city gates, with the orders to assemble the three cohorts and secure entry to the capital. The fourteenth had also advanced to the city, and Roman soldiers were now proceeding to disarm the inhabitants.

The senators now felt it safe to leave their observation posts and walk towards the gates. A chain of soldiers were quickly assembled to form an honour guard, and the various cohorts began to assemble before the city.

An hour later, the combined horns of three legions blasted a signal into the air, and from the distance a chariot appeared. The horns continued their triumphal acclaim, the chariot came closer, and in it the helmeted figure of Claudius,
Princeps
of Rome, stood with one hand grasping the chariot, and one lifted to his troops.

"
Imperator
!" came the loud acclaim.

Even the senators joined in the acclaim. The Roman army knew who was in charge, and the senators accepted this. They immediately voted a triumph for Claudius on his return to Rome, and it was a very special type of triumph, for Claudius had defeated his enemies in this battle without the loss of a single Roman soldier. It was very clear to everybody that this could never have happened had the attack simply been the expected frontal approach, it was clear to everybody that the elephants allowing a legion to emerge from an impenetrable thicket to attack the rear of the weakest flank had been the key, and nobody could claim to have suggested this. There was no senator who could claim to have thought of anything remotely like this strategy, and most had publicly ridiculed Claudius, safely from a distance, for bringing these animals. Having safely announced the futility of bringing elephants, they could only acclaim Claudius for the success that depended on them.

Claudius was proud, and he had good cause to be proud. The decorations and awards also flowed generously. Gaius, and the other Legates, found themselves the receivers of four further awards, which, on reflection, Gaius thought somewhat excessive. For Gaius alone, the first was for the successful landing and taking of Dubrae. As he remarked to Claudius, this was remarkably simple.

"P perhaps! B b but getting the t troops to sail was not. Anyway," Claudius advised, "t take them. Y ou never know when they m m might come in handy to impress someone."

The next two awards were for the siege on the Medway, and for the defeat of Togodumnus, and the last, the major one, for defeating the Catuvellauni. "I kn know I'm taking the c credit for today," Claudius said, "b b but we know th the triumph should be yours."

"It's much more important that we get a stable government than I get a big head," Gaius said. In a sense he was entirely sincere, but there was a thought running through the back of his mind that he had been promised a triumph. Was this it? A triumph of his, taken by . . . No! that thought must be put to sleep. If nothing else, he may have owed his life to Claudius; he certainly owed him his career, and a triumph was the least he could do in return, the one gesture that would guarantee Claudius' tenure as
Princeps
.

"I I'll get you a b b big head soon enough" Claudius said, and stepped back, and squinted a little with his head to one side as he tried to imagine the effect. Then he added, "Anyway, y you should g get more than your m men," and added that he intended to be liberal with awards to them. And, Gaius realized, Claudius had a point when he added that if Gaius were to make a success of this Roman library, it would help if Gaius himself had plenty of decorations. Victory awards invariably ended opposing denigration. Also, the liberal dishing out of awards pleased the troops, and morale was high as the winter was about to close in.

For the next few days, Gaius had little to do. Claudius had arranged for any British Chieftains that wished to ally themselves with Rome to come to Camulodunum and formally accept the Roman
Imperium
. He suggested that Matius arrange cavalry escort for the Chieftains, while the other Tribunes looked after the getting of supplies.