The Eagles Conquest

Chapter Twenty-Six

The sun beat down on the men packed into the wide-beamed transport. The wool tunics under the heavy armour made the men sweat and the damp material clung uncomfortably to their skin. The resulting odour, combined with the residue of the marsh, made the air aboard the transport foetid to the point of nausea. The heat, the fear and nervous exhaustion had worked to make one or two men throw up, adding the stink of their vomit to the other odours.

Over the side, the Tamesis drifted glassily by, disturbed only by the monotonous splash and gurgling churn from the long sweeps at the bow and stern of the transport as the crew strained to keep the vessel in line with the warship directly ahead. In perfect unison the great oars of the trireme rose from the surface of the river, shedding glistening cascades of water, then swept forward before plunging back into the river to lever the beaked prow on towards the far bank.

From the small foredeck of the transport Cato sca

The assault had already been delayed by the need to unload the supplies carried by the transports, and the legionaries had fumed as they manhandled the unwieldy cargo onto the crude jetty and hauled it out of the way. While they laboured, more and more Britons arrived to reinforce the far bank. For those in the first wave the prospect of facing ever greater odds caused them to fret and swear at their comrades engaged in unloading the transports, urging them to finish the job more quickly.

The first transport was still some way from the bank when the Britons gave voice to their war cry, a note that rose to a crescendo and then dipped, then rose again. To Cato's unpractised eye the enemy seemed to number several thousand but any exact estimation was obvious was that the enemy greatlyoutnumbered the men in the first wave of the Second Legion and the rising volume of their challenge was u

'Musical lot, aren't they?' he said to the nearest men of his century and jerked a thumb over his shoulder. 'Be a different tune a little later.'

One or two men smiled back but most just looked resigned, or were struggling to conceal the fear that caused them to exhibit all ma

This was the moment when Macro would have offered them some last words of encouragement before they went into action. A number of quotable phrases rushed into his mind from all the histories he had read, but none seemed appropriate and, worse, none seemed to be the kind of thing that a seventeen year old could say without sounding hopelessly pretentious.

For a moment the legionaries and their acting centurion faced each other in a silence that grew steadily more awkward. Cato glanced over his shoulder and could clearly make out the features of individual Britons now. Whatever he said, he had to say it quickly. He cleared his voice.

'I-I know the centurion would have something good to say to you right now. Truth is, I wish he was here to say it. But Macro's gone, and I know I can't fill his boots. We've got this chance to make them pay for taking him from us, and I aim to see that plenty of them get to keep him company in Hell.'

A number of men cheered the sentiment, and Cato felt some sort of co

'That said, Charon doesn't give a discount for job lots, so save your money and stay alive!'

A poor joke, but for men in danger of losing their lives even the slightest light relief is prized.

Something splashed into the water close by the transport and Cato turned towards the sound just as a scattered volley of slingshot rattled off the prow and chopped up the smooth surface of the river.

'Helmets on!' Cato shouted and quickly fastened his chin strap, ducking down below the bulwark on the foredeck. Ahead, the trireme turned upriver and let the way pay off before dropping anchor. The first transport slipped under its stern and made for the river bank a hundred paces beyond. The slingshot continued to strike the vessel, but the boat crew and the legionaries crouched low enough to render the volley harmless.

'Easy on the oars!' the transport's captain bellowed and the men on the sweeps rested on their handles, waiting for the other transports to close up and form a line so that they would all reach the bank at the same time and not land their troops in a piecemeal fashion. Under fire from slingers and archers, the clumsy transports manoeuvred into position and waited for the trireme to commence bombarding the enemy massed on the river bank.

A sudden series of loud cracks split the air as the torsion arms of the bolt-throwers were released, and the heavy bolts shot towards the Britons on the bank. Swirls in their ranks marked the passage of the bolts, and the screams and shrieks of the wounded were added to the sound of their war cry. Moments later the auxiliary archers on the trireme began to add their volleys to the bombardment, and the scantily armoured among the Britons fell like leaves. As the support fire began to clear gaps on the bank, the captain of the lead transport gave the signal for the assault to begin and the crewmen bent themselves to their sweeps. The transports moved forward and the legionaries aboard raised their shields overhead against a hail of slings hot and arrows. The crew were afforded no protection, and as the lead transport neared the bank the port-side sweep dropped into the river as both of the crewmen went down; one hit by two arrows lay howling on the deck, while his comrade lay still, killed by a slingshot bursting through an eye into his brain. At once the drag on the port sweep began to pull the bows round. Seeing the danger, Cato dropped his shield and javelin and grabbed at the loose handle, dragging the oar blade from the river. Unused to the unwieldy sweep, he struggled to keep the prow of the transport in line with the bank, as slingshot rattled off the bow and arrows struck the deck with a splintering thwack.

He risked a look over the side and saw that the bank was close by; any moment the transport would ground and the assault would begin. A sudden dragging sensation indicated that the keel had made contact with the shallows of the river bed. The transport stopped moving forward and the captain ordered the crew to take cover. Cato dropped the handle and retrieved his shield and javelin, conscious that all eyes of the century were directed at him.

'Remember, lads,' he shouted, 'this one's for Macro… Ready javelins!'

The men rose to their feet and the first few moved up to the foredeck, ready to hurl their javelins.

'Release at will!'

The rest of the century fed their javelins forward to those on the foredeck and a steady fire brought down more of the enemy until the supply was exhausted. Cato looked round and saw that the trireme had ceased fire.