Conn Iggulden - The Field Of Swords

“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.

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.”

They roared at the idea, as he had expected, but still his eyes were cold as he readied himself to tell them the price they must pay.

“The legions have only one weakness, my friends, and that is in their lines of supply. Who in this room hasn’t lost friends and brothers against them? On an open plain, we would fare no better than the Helvetii did years ago. All our armies together could not break them in the open.”

The silence was oppressive as the leaders waited for their High King to continue.

“But they cannot fight without food, and to deny them forage we must burn every crop and village in Gaul. We must uproot our people from Caesar’s path and leave him nothing but a smoking wasteland to feed his Roman mouths. When they are weak with hunger, I will bring my men into fortresses like the one at Gergovia and they can see how many lives they lose against those walls.”

He glared round at the men of Gaul, hoping that they would have the strength to follow this most terrible path.

“We can win. We can break them in this way, but it will be hard. Our people will be frightened at being forced off their land. When they cry out, you will tell them they once rode three thousand miles to reach here. We are still one people, for those who can see it. The land of Gaul must rise. The Celts must rise and remember the old blood that calls them.”

They stood in silence for him and beat their swords and knives together in a clashing noise that filled the space and shook the foundations. Vercingetorix held his arms up for quiet and it was a long time coming. His people stood with eager expressions and they believed in him.

“Tomorrow, you will begin to move your tribes to the far south, leaving only those who are thirsty for war. Take your grain stores with you, for my riders will burn anything they find. Gaul will be ours again. I speak not as one of the Arverni, but from the line of the old kings. They watch over us now and they will bring us victory.”