The Eagles Conquest

'Caesar, the eagles await your orders,' he a

'Well, let's g-get on with it, shall we?' Claudius replied, irritated by the delay; it had not been a part of his battle plan.

'Yes, Caesar.' Plautius nodded to his signals tribune to launch the attack. The massed trumpets of the headquarters staff blasted out across the vale, slightly muffled in the clammy air. Almost at once the British war horns began to bray out their defiant response, and swelling through the noise came cheers and jeering from the British warriors on the ridge. Down in the mist a sharp rhythmic clatter reached the ears of the Roman staff officers. The noise grew in volume and extended down the entire length of the Roman front.

'What is that racket?' snapped Claudius.

'Just our men a

'They d-don't sound too scared to me.' Claudius nodded across the vale.

'Well then, it'll just have to be for the benefit of our men, Caesar.'

'It's a bloody nuisance!'

A loud series of cracks sounded from within the mist and a volley of fire-bolts whirred across the British defences in blazing arcs before crashing through the palisade. Sparks, fragments of wood, sods of turf and bits of men flew in all directions as the heavy bolts stuck home. There was a sudden end to the battle cries from the British, but someone on the other side knew the danger of sitting and taking such punishment in silence. One by one the war horns took up their battle cry once again and they were quickly joined by the shouts of the warriors behind the defences.

From their position just outside the ditch of the Roman camp the men of the Second Legion were in a good position to view the bombardment. The artillery kept up a steady fire and the air above the British defences was continually scored by flaming bolts and dark smoke trails. Already a series of small fires had broken out and thick smudges of smoke billowed up on the far ridge.

'Poor sods.' Macro shook his head. 'Wouldn't like to be over there right now.'

Cato looked sidelong at his centurion, surprised at this evidence of empathy for the enemy.

'You've never seen what an artillery bolt can do, have you, lad?'

'I've seen the consequences, sir.'

'Not the same thing. You have to be on the receiving end of those things to fully appreciate the effect.'

Cato looked at the flames and thick black smoke on the opposite slope, hoping the Britons had the good sense to turn and run. In recent weeks he had come to value most the battles that delivered the least number of dead and wounded at their conclusion. But today he no longer cared. After the previous night's sighting of Lavinia his heart was in the grip of a cold despair that made life seem quite pointless.

The Britons were a game lot and raised their serpent-tail ba

'There go the Praetorians!' Macro pointed down the slope. Just emerging from where the mist began to thin marched an uneven line of uneven white crested helmets. Then came their white tunics as they drew free of the mist. When the first wave was clear, they were halted and the officers dressed the line, then with perfect military precision the Praetorians moved up to the first line of defences: a series of ditches. already the second line was emerging from the mist. The fire from the bolt throwers slackened and finally stopped as word reached the artillery crews that the Praetorians were nearing the enemy.

As soon as the Britons were aware that the danger from the bolts had passed, they swarmed back up to their palisade and began raining down arrows and slingshot on the Romans as they struggled up the steep face of the first ditch. Small gaps opened in the lines of the leading cohorts but the relentless discipline of the Roman army proved its worth as the line instantly dressed itself and the gaps were filled. But the banks of the ditches were already dotted with the white uniformed bodies ofthe fallen. The first line clambered out of the last ditch, re-formed under intense,'ire. and began mounting the final slope to the palisade. Suddenly, all along the palisade, smoke spilled up into the air, and moments later great blazing bundles were raised with the aid of long pitchforks and lobbed oyer. They bounced down the steep slope, showering sparks in all directions before slamming into the Roman lines, scattering the Praetorians in all directions.

'Ouch,' Cato muttered. 'That's a nasty trick.'

'But effective. For the moment. However, I wouldn't fancy being a Briton when those Praetorians get in amongst them.'

'Just as long as they spare enough to sell for slaves.'

Macro laughed and slapped him on the shoulder. 'Now you're thinking like a soldier!'

'No, sir. I'm just thinking like someone who needs money,' replied Cato briefly.

'Where've those bloody elephants gone?' Macro strained his eyes to try and detect any movement out on the far right of the Roman line. 'Your eyes are better than mine. You see anything?'

Cato looked, but nothing disturbed the white bank of mist hanging over the marsh, and he shook his head.

'Bloody daft, using elephants.' Macro spat on the ground. 'Wonder which prat came up with that idea.'

'It has the touch of Narcissus about it, sir.'

'True. Look! In go the guards!'

The Praetorians had reached the palisade and managed to break down a few sections. As Cato and Macro watched, the thin slivers of their javelins rained down on the defenders before they drew swords and forc.ed their way into the breaches.

'Up, Praetorians, and at ' em!' Macro shouted, as if his words would carry across the vale. 'Get 'em!'

The centurion's excitement was shared by those on the grassy mound.

Officers craned their necks to try and get a better view of the distant assault. The Emperor was bouncing up and down in his saddle in unrestrained glee as the Praetorian cohorts charged home. So much so that he had forgotten the next phase of his own battle plan.

'Caesar?' Plautius interrupted. 'Oh, what is it now?'

'Shall I give the order for the legions to move up?'

'What?' Claudius frowned before he recalled the necessary details. 'Of course! Why h-h-hasn't it been done already? Get on with it, man! Get on with it!'

The order to advance was sounded, but the mist obscured any evidence of its being carried out until, at length, the front ranks of the Ninth Legion appeared as spectral shapes gradually emerging into view on the far slope. Cohort after cohort negotiated the ditches with painful slowness, or so it seemed when viewed from the mound. Some of the officers were nervously exchanging quiet words as they surveyed the advance. Something was wrong. The rear ranks of the Praetorian cohorts were still in view on top of the palisade. They should have advanced further by now but seemed to have been stopped dead by something not visible from this side of the ridge. The foremost legionaries of the Ninth were already in among the rear ranks of the Praetorians, and still the waves of the succeeding cohorts emerged from the mist and advanced up the slope.

'Won't there be something of a t-tangle if this carries on?' asked the Emperor.

'I fear so, Caesar.'

'Why isn't somebody doing something about it?' Claudius looked round at his assembled staff officers. Blank-faced to a man. 'Well?'

'I'll send someone to find out the reason for the delay, Caesar.'

'Don't bother!' Claudius replied hotly. 'If you want something done p-p-properly you just have to do it yourself.' Grabbing his reins tightly, he dug his heels into his horse's flanks and plunged down the mound towards the mist.