Caratacus had three options; he could surrender, he could flee to whatever part of Britain Rome did not occupy, or he could fight Rome. If he chose to surrender, his future would be that of a slave. Gaius could understand his not wishing that. If he fled, his fellow Celts were as likely as not to sell him to the Romans, so that was not much of an option. If he fought, either he had to defeat four legions of professional soldiers or he had to make the Roman occupation so costly that Rome would leave. He simply did not have the resources to defeat Rome, and unfortunately for Caratacus, it was his lands that were the more economically well developed, and it was his lands that Rome had to conquer first, simply because they were the closest.
For Caratacus, defeat was inevitable. The only issue was what form it would take, and how many men would die before he admitted it.
* * *
For once, Gaius had to admit, Plautius did not waste time. The legions immediately drove forward towards the River Thames. The Britons apparently considered this to be a particularly effective natural obstacle, but Plautius immediately commandeered every boat he could, then the armies marched upstream until the river was sufficiently narrow.
Again the Batavians swam across the river and fought to secure a small landing area. A bridge was made by tying boats together, and the Roman troops marched over, the twentieth leading the way. Gaius felt rather pleased with himself, for now he had his first real opportunity to test his split cohort approach, and the enemy was insufficiently well organized to take advantage of any mistakes.
In the event, nothing was proved. The Britons elected not to defend the multiple village attacks, but rather to fall back to camp north of what would later be Londinium. As Gaius remarked later, that was another one of the rare opportunities lost for the Celts to shine. A river crossing was always dangerous because there was always a period when there were insufficient troops across to guarantee victory against a determined attack, but too many across to be able to afford the losses. The Celts had the home advantage; they knew the land and could count on a good supply of information on what the Romans were up to. If they refused to make some sort of peace treaty, their best chance was to take full toll of the inevitable times when Roman forces were split and at natural disadvantage. As it was, the two legions camped and consolidated their position across the river a little upstream from the Celts, who presented little opposition.
Once all repairs to equipment were complete and the legions rested, Plautius called his commanders together. They would attack the following morning, according to the following deployments. .
* * *
At first light, with fog still on the ground, the Gemina Martia began its advance on the Celtic camp while the twentieth wheeled to the north to cut off reinforcements or escape routes. To cover a broader front, Gaius split his legion into its three cohort groups. This decision had unexpected consequences.
It was unclear to Gaius what actually happened, as the main action occurred elsewhere, and the remains of the fog prevented a clear view. What appeared to happen was that the Britons elected to try a flanking counterattack on the advancing twentieth, making use of the fog. Scouts for the initial deployment found the central cohort group without being detected, and the British chief, believing that he had located the legion, began a flanking manoeuvre by advancing to his right. In doing so, he unsuspectingly ran across the face of Gaius' left flanking division.
Falco immediately decided to launch an attack into the British flank to exploit the clear advantage of surprise. The surprise was complete, and the Celts only realized that the separate Roman unit was there when lances began striking very surprised Celts. The Celtic leader immediately turned and led a charge to give his infantry time to organize themselves. Just as his charge was approaching the Roman infantry, however, Roman cavalry from Matius' central cohort group appeared, and launched a counter charge into his other flank. In the resultant confusion, the Celtic leader was unhorsed, and was inevitably killed. With the counter charge a total failure, and without a leader, the Britons lost all order and men peeled off to flee northwards. Within minutes of the Celtic counter charge commencing, a general rout of the Britons ensued.
It was discovered shortly later that the body of the British leader was that of Togodumnus, brother to Caratacus. Dismayed by this loss, the Britons abandoned their position and fled to Camulodunum.
Caratacus' response was that of simple anger. He ordered raid after raid on Roman positions, supplies, anything, and swore that the Britons would avenge his brother's death. Plautius' response was one of caution. He sent for more reinforcements, and for the Princeps.
"What the hell's wrong with the man?" the Legatus of the fourteenth swore, as he took another swig of wine. "He's got no balls!"
"He wants to advance," Gaius offered.
"You do that by marching forward."
"You advance by giving the Princeps what he wants," Gaius countered.
"There is that sort of advancement," the Legate nodded.
"We've got a new province. My guess is that Plautius is hoping Claudius will come, win, and leave him as governor."
"That could happen," the Legate nodded, then added with a grin that did not entirely hide the undertones, "I can see we'll have to watch out for you."
Chapter 25
After weeks during which the weather had seemed ideal for campaigning, it finally began to close in. A wind sprang up, and heavy oppressive dark grey clouds appeared at the same time that the boats carrying the Hispana arrived. The wind had begun to take effect, the triremes were rocking and looking anything but seaworthy, but they had to sit there, waiting for their turn to beach. Cargoes and men had to be unloaded quickly, to make room for the others. The two Legates were watching from a rise, prepared to quietly applaud good moves, but in practice laughing as small disasters that they had predicted came to occur. They had been through this, and there was nothing that cheered them up more than seeing someone else in deep confusion. It was a good thing the other legions were there because the Celts could make a meal of this landing.
"Actually," Gaius muttered, "if I were a Celtic commander, I would have backed myself to repel any of the other landings."
"True," the Legate of the fourteenth shrugged, "but that needn't stop us from having their Legate on."
"Most certainly not," Gaius grinned, then added, "And this is where it gets better. Judging by its size, if not its sea-worthiness, there is the imperial ship."
"And here comes the rain," the Legate of the fourteenth remarked. "All those pansy Praetorians are going to get their nice clean uniforms covered in British mud."
Two triremes beached, and Praetorians leaped enthusiastically overboard. They ordered their bodies forward but their feet were firmly stuck in the mud. Howls of laughter greeted them as they struggled back to their feet.
"I suppose, in principle at least," the Legate of the fourteenth said, without conviction, "we should order our men to stop making fun of the Praetorians." He thought for a moment, then growled, "Bugger that principle."
Soon the mud-covered Praetorians stopped helping to land goods and noticed the rain was now coming down in a fashion that suggested it intended to stay. Now, belatedly, they realized they had to put up the Imperial tent.
"A little more forethought, and perhaps a glance at the skies, and they would have done this first, while the ground was still dry," Gaius noted.
"All I can say is I hope they fight better than they put up tents," the Legate of the fourteenth grunted, as the wind caught a flap on their first effort, and almost broke completely free. It was held mainly by a muddy Praetorian jumping on it.