Адриан Голдсуорти - The Encircling Sea

Over half their force was from the classis Britannica, which was good in many ways because their life made them strong. Forty were marines, each man with a helmet, mail, sword, long hexagonal shield and a javelin. There were also two hundred and fifty rowers, apart from the men who remained on board the ships, but these sailors lacked body armour, and only about half had a helmet and a shield. The rest were set to entrenching a position around the beach. It might be useful, especially if they failed to break into the fort on the first day. Yet the sailors were nervous, saying that they feared a fresh storm coming in. It would be better if they could win quickly.

Brocchus had brought a hundred legionaries from II Augusta. They were picked men, all from the first cohort, with many six feet or more, tall and all experienced. Two centurions commanded them, both sound men, and Crispinus knew that these were the heart of his force, although he also had a good deal of confidence in the Batavians. Brocchus had brought fifty infantrymen under a centurion from cohors VIIII and there were also thirty of the troopers who had accompanied him to Hibernia. Cavalrymen were never keen on fighting dismounted, but anyone could sense the hatred all of them felt towards this enemy. One advantage was the detachment of twenty archers, reinforced by sailors with half a dozen of the smallest engines used by the army, little bolt-shooters. If pressed they were light enough to be carried and operated by one man, but the sailors worked in teams of two, which was more efficient, and had a third and a fourth man carrying baskets of bolts.

Crispinus summoned the officers to a consilium. He was relieved that the pirates were not choosing to make a stand outside the ramparts. Although they would be driven back in time, it would cause delay, wear his men out, and he doubted that this Cniva would be foolish enough to be lured forward and destroyed in the open.

Cerialis rode up as they were gathering. They had brought only a single horse, and the tribune had given it to the prefect to speed him as he went to find his wife.

‘I trust the Lady Sulpicia is safe, my dear Cerialis,’ the tribune said, doing his best to make it sound like no more than a polite question about someone’s health.

‘Indeed she is, my lord,’ the prefect replied, ‘but now that I have seen her, I would not wish to miss the kill. I have a good deal to pay back.’

‘Of course, of course. Well, your Batavians will form in the centre, and be the first to attack,’ Crispinus informed them. The infantry would lead, supported by the archers, and with the dismounted troopers in reserve. A second column would form on their right, led by the marines, supported by one hundred sailors as well as the bolt-shooters. Each of these columns would be given two of the precious ladders. The legionaries were placed on the left, closest to the gate in the outer wall. Half, under the junior of their centurions, would be ready to advance, with the remainder following as reserve under the command of the hastatus of the legion, Julius Tertullianus.

‘You are to wait for my signal, my dear Tertullianus.’ Crispinus was more than usually courteous, for the centurions of the first cohort were men whose opinion mattered. Tertullianus was in his early thirties, a thickset man with a bull neck, the iron shoulder bands of his segmented cuirass making him look almost square. Crispinus found himself thinking of coins of Mark Antony, for there was the same flat nose and face, giving off a sense of brooding anger. Tertullianus was young for a man of his rank, suggesting at friends in high places as well as considerable talent, and he was the choice of the legate. All of this made a display of trust in him prudent.

‘I intend to hold the legionaries back a little,’ the tribune went on. ‘We may take the first wall without their assistance.’ The senior centurion’s face was rigid. He looked angry, and that was his natural expression, but Crispinus also sensed doubt. ‘The second wall will be far harder, because it is difficult for us to approach it. I suspect that your men will lead that assault, but I am not yet sure whether to send you against the gate or part of the wall itself.’ He tried to read the impassive face, wondering whether the centurion thought this all too vague. The tribune turned to Brocchus. ‘Any luck finding material to burn the gates?’

‘Not much. It’s too early for the heather to be any use. We have stripped some thatch from the houses, and filled all the sacks we have. Tied up a few bundles of branches as well, but it is not a lot.’

‘Well, it may serve, and we shall have torches ready to light it if the chance occurs. Otherwise, it will be down to your axemen, Festus.’ This was to the centurion in command of his ship. Half a dozen burly sailors would carry axes and picks ready to hack through the gates.

‘We shall cover you like a roof,’ Tertullianus said. Even though he ought to be prepared for it by now, Crispinus still struggled not to smile at the high, squeaking voice coming from the mouth of so formidable a man. ‘The Capricorns will protect them.’ Formed by the Divine Augustus, the legion had his capricorn symbol on their shields.

‘Yes, you can rely on us,’ Crispinus added, for he was tribune of II Augusta and it never did any harm to flatter the pride of a unit.

The plan was a fairly simple one, and yet once again Crispinus was surprised at how long it took for the various parts of his tiny army to form up in position. Brocchus was busy, guiding the leaders to the right places, urging the men on and joking with them. Crispinus admired the courage of the troops, for he had seen men much like these fight and win against heavy odds, but they remained strangers to him. He would have liked to make them laugh and show how much he trusted them in the way the prefect seemed to find so easy. Yet he did not know how, and in the past when he had tried it had sounded stilted and been met with silence.

Crispinus stared at the fort instead. Now that Cerialis was back, the tribune had mounted their lone horse. He told the trumpeter and the man carrying the red vexillum with the golden embroidered figure of a Victory to stay there, while he rode a little closer to the fort. There were black-clad warriors along the first rampart. He counted fifty or so and wondered whether more were hidden. More of the enemy were visible on the second, higher rampart. At first they were silent, but when he came within one hundred paces a few started to yell.

‘Boy-lover!’

Vindex had spoken of a couple of archers, and the tribune hoped that they were as unskilled as he claimed or saving their arrows for the real assault. He rode on, gripping his sword tight in case he dropped it in his nervousness.

‘Come here, sonny, and I’ll give it to you up the arse!’

The tribune rode closer, back straight and head erect. A muscle in his thigh gave a spasm of cramping pain, and he tried to ignore it. He was seventy-five paces from the wall, and the faces along the rampart were distinct. He saw plenty of older men, most with beards, and a few younger ones. At the moment they were all bare-headed, no doubt waiting until just before the fight to don heavy and uncomfortable helmets.

‘Hey, I think he’s in love with me!’ one of them shouted, and there was a roar of laughter.

Crispinus kept going, knowing that at this range even a bad archer would struggle to miss. He was still not quite sure why he was doing this, and he imagined Ferox’s scorn at the gesture. That made him wonder where the centurion was, for the man was surely out there somewhere, and unlikely to sit out a fight unless he was held captive. Crispinus did not know, but wished the grim centurion was here, because he so often came up with a clever idea. The tribune could not think of one, so he must attack straight into the face of the defences and trust to his men to win.