It couldn’t go on, however, for risk of shot falling amongst the leading ranks of the Twentieth, and a horn sounded to cease the bombardment. The last of the catapults and ballistas cracked and the crews stood by their weapons to wait for further orders. On the far bank the slingers scurried over the barricades, passing between the ranks of the warriors who had risen from cover now the danger from the Roman artillery had passed. At first Caratacus’s warriors hurled insults and challenges at the approaching wall of shields, then they followed up with rocks, a renewed hail of slingshot and arrows from archers who fired high over the heads of their comrades so that the arrows plunged down on the follow-up cohorts still crossing the river.
Cato felt a cold chill clench his heart as he saw the bodies littering the shallows and the far bank of the river. Some of the wounded who could walk were limping back across the current to seek treatment for their wounds. Well over a hundred had been lost so far, Cato estimated, and the fight for the first line of defences was only just beginning amid the dull gleam of the rain.
A blast of lightning dazzled the mountainous landscape, an image in stark white with dark shadows so that for an instant the scene looked like a monumental relief sculpture, scratched by the rain. Then the illusion passed and Cato beheld thousands of figures in combat as the men of the Twentieth closed with the enemy, swords and spears flickering in the gloom. A shattering crash and boom of thunder followed close on the heels of the lightning and then the hiss of the rain continued, pinging off Cato’s helmet so loudly that he found it hard to hear above the din. Over on the knoll the camp followers were huddled in their cloaks. Already some had given up and were scurrying down the slope and back to the camp to find shelter from the downpour.
Macro was saying something, and Cato shook his head and leaned closer. Macro cupped a hand to his mouth and shouted, ‘The general could have picked a better day for it. What do you think he’ll do? Call it off until the rain has passed?’
‘No. Not him. He intends to see this through whatever happens.’
‘Then it’s going to be tough on our lads.’
‘Very tough.’
They turned their attention back to the fight along the nearest rock barricades, barely visible through the dense sheen of the rain. The enemy appeared to be holding their own and the legionaries could not break through. A steady stream of walking wounded were clambering out of the river, soaked through. They passed between the cohorts of the second line and slumped on to the ground to wait for the medical orderlies to treat them. Some of the green recruits glanced anxiously at the wounded until their optios bellowed at them to face front.
For a while the rain continued, then stopped as suddenly as it had started and sunlight broke through a jagged rent in the clouds, bathing the battlefield in a glow that revealed the terrible struggle in startling clarity. The legionaries had managed to force their way over in several places and were pressing their slender advantage to create space for their comrades to feed into the fight. Then, at one of the points where the enemy had seemed to build the barricade particularly high, it began to move. Cato strained his eyes and could see men on the far side heaving on beams of wood and instantly grasped the danger. But he could only watch helplessly as the rocks began to tumble down on to the legionaries below. The small avalanche swept through their ranks, knocking men over and carrying them away in a tangle of bodies, flailing limbs, shields, earth and mud. The enemy unleashed more rockslides, sweeping great gaps through the tightly packed Roman formations. Then the war horns sounded once more, and the defenders abruptly abandoned their first position and began to clamber up to the second line of defences.
‘We’ve broken through,’ Macro said with grim satisfaction. ‘One last push.’
‘If only it was that easy,’ Cato replied. ‘Look at the incline. Our boys are going to be exhausted by the climb. In full kit, heavier now thanks to that rain and the river crossing. And the ground is going to be churned into thick mud. Hard going.’
They could see their comrades struggling through the gaps in the barricades, slipping and slithering as they negotiated the saturated ground, each laboured step making conditions even worse for those that followed. The lightly armed enemy easily outpaced them and the more daring amongst them stopped to snatch up rocks and hurl them back down the slope, some finding their mark and shattering the jaws, knees or shins of the pursuing Romans. Very soon it was clear to Cato that the men of the Twentieth would soon be a spent force, too exhausted to close with the enemy and fight. They were not even halfway up the slope before their advance came to a halt, men and kit coated in the thick dark mud, some having sheathed their weapons as they went down on hands and knees to get greater purchase on the slope. The centurions, identifiable by their transverse crests, still led the way, urging their men on. Behind came the optios lashing out with their long wooden staffs to try and drive forward those who were floundering at the rear.
Their slow climb was made more hazardous yet by the defenders now that the men of the first line had joined their comrades defending the upper barricade. A steady rain of rocks and other missiles clattered down on the legionaries, inflicting more casualties, and halting those men who raised their shields to try and protect themselves.
‘We’re in danger of losing this,’ Cato said quietly.
Macro grunted non-committally as he regarded the stalling attack. The first six cohorts had merged into one muddy mass, like maggots, and the remaining four cohorts were struggling to stay in formation as they began their climb from the riverbank. They reached the remains of the first barricade and picked their way over it before re-forming on the far side. At least their officers were keeping them in strict formation, Cato noted. Casualties stumbled past them and made for the river below, weakened by their wounds and the terrible exhaustion of the fight for the hill. Only once the four cohorts were ready did the officer commanding them give the order to advance. There was no steady progress as on a normal battlefield. Instead the front ranks seemed to inch forward as they started up the slope to reinforce the leading units. The glutinous mud made the going even harder for them.
The sprawling mass of the first six cohorts was at last approaching the upper barricade. The slope behind them was littered with men, few of whom had been wounded. Many simply sat, or lay, slumped in the mud, summoning up fresh reserves of strength before trying to continue. Before them a figure rose up on the barricade, brandishing a sword, and the blast of the enemy’s war horns rang out along the breadth of the hill. Hundreds of warriors poured over the barricade in a wave and launched themselves down the slope, plunging in amongst the Romans only a short distance below them. Sword and axe blades flashed form side to side as the disorganised front ranks of the Twentieth Legion were engulfed by the frenzied attack. Still more of the enemy were flowing over the barricade, adding their weight to the charge. Incredibly, the legionaries seemed to be holding the line but then there was no mistaking it, they began to be driven back down the slope.
‘Shit. .’ Macro gripped the wooden rail of the gate tower tightly. ‘Now they’re for it.’
Cato nodded. Caratacus had timed his attack to perfection, allowing his enemies to exhaust themselves as they tried to close with his men. Now his warriors had the advantage of the high ground, as well as being fresh from their rest behind the upper barricade. They threw themselves at the mud-plastered legionaries, hacking and slashing with their blades as they wrenched the heavy shields aside and fell on the heavily armoured Romans like wolves. The foremost legionaries were cut down or driven back on their comrades, slithering in the bloodied quagmire. Nothing could resist the pressure from above and their comrades on the far side of the river could only look on with a growing sense of horror at the disaster unfolding before them.