The Furies Of Rome Part 25

Boudicca had, indeed, travelled fast and had, as she saw it, cornered Paulinus with her speed. She led the Iceni and Trinovantes nations onto the ground of Paulinus' choosing with thoughts only of victory, never of defeat.

CHAPTER XVII.

FOR THE LAST two hours of daylight the Romans watched the Britons arrive and, even as the sun fell, there was no sign of an end to the black shadow creeping up towards them.

Immediately the sighting had been reported to Paulinus the cornu, the horn used for signalling on the field of battle, had sounded and the entire army had formed up across the valley. But Boudicca was not in a position to attack straightaway upon arrival as her army was so spread out; she halted her chariot a half mile from the Roman line and there her army began to build their cooking fires and erect what small amount of tentage they had. As night fell, Paulinus withdrew to his camp and the valley lit up with thousands of points of firelight as if it were a giant mirror reflecting the firmament above.

An hour before dawn the soldiers of Rome, having slept well and breakfasted on hot food, marched out of their camp and reformed the line. As the light grew, the Britannic warriors saw Paulinus' army waiting for them, a short thin line compared to their horde's ma.s.sive bulk, and they laughed as they smeared their war-patterns over chests and legs and spiked their hair with lime. Those who had to go without breakfast, and there were many due to lack of supplies, did not complain or even mind as they knew that the whole business would be over within the hour as all they had to do was run up the hill and sweep the thin line of wood, flesh and metal away; and none in that immense host doubted their ability to do that.

'I'm starting to think that Caenis might have been right,' Vespasian said as the sun's rays revealed the size of the task they faced; his throat had just dried. 'Perhaps I should have gone back with her to Germania Inferior as this is not my fight.'

t.i.tus, astride his horse next to him, reached over and put his hand on his father's shoulder. 'And let me face my first set-piece battle without the benefit of paternal advice, Father?'

'That was roughly the argument that I used with her.'

'Well, I wish you hadn't,' Magnus grumbled, 'even Germania Magna, let alone Germania Inferior, sounds better than here at the moment.' He had relented about fighting mounted on account that it may well be less tiring on his knees; Castor and Pollux sat next to his horse, watching the confusing human spectacle with some interest.

'We'll be fine,' Sabinus a.s.sured them with uncharacteristic optimism, 'at least we're in the reserve line.'

Magnus looked left and then right to the only other three small units positioned behind the main line to plug any gaps. 'What there is of it.' Paulinus had used his three cavalry units as reserves and the Batavians were one of them; the legionary cavalry and an ala of Gallic cavalry that had been divided into two units were the others. Each had a little over two hundred paces of frontage to cover, or three and a half tightly formed cohorts; the Batavians were to the right of the centre behind the first three cohorts of the XIIII Gemina. 'Just over two hundred men to act as a relief for almost two thousand including the elite cohort.' Magnus hawked and spat to ill.u.s.trate just what he thought of the situation.

'My men have the right wing,' Cogidubnus, who had ridden over to wish them luck, said. 'That's not going to be fun with the Iceni trying to get around our flank.'

Sabinus looked over to the right-hand hill. 'The hill's too steep.'

'Do you think that will stop them trying? You just think yourself lucky, Magnus, that you're not going to be used until later, if at all.'

Magnus did not look convinced. 'My point is that if we are used it will be in a very nasty situation where a breakthrough has occurred through a legionary cohort; and I can tell you that if something punches a gap in the first cohort it'll take a lot more than a couple of hundred cavalry to stop it.'

Vespasian had to concede that Magnus had a point and looked nervously at the seemingly limitless body of men that now approached with menacing intent. Deep they were and their limit could only be judged by the mult.i.tude of wagons in the distance, halfway down the valley, stretching from one hill to the other, where their families waited to watch their menfolk avenge the insult to the women of the Iceni.

In the centre of the horde stood Boudicca in her chariot; her daughters, brandishing their long knives, walked next to it with Myrddin and a dozen more of the filthy, matted creatures. There were no other chariots in evidence; scouting parties in the night had evidently found the obstacles deterring them. At two hundred paces out, Boudicca punched her spear, two handed, above her head and they stopped in a shambolic manner and raised a roar to the heavens.

In silence the Romans watched, each man busy with his own thoughts, envisaging just how he was going to get through this day, as Boudicca's chariot turned ninety degrees and started to travel along the front of the haphazard Britannic line. The roar stopped and she began to address her people in her harsh and loud masculine voice that carried far over the field.

'What's she saying?' Vespasian asked Cogidubnus.

'She's talking in their uncouth dialect, but from what I can make out she's saying that it is normal for Britons to fight under the command of a woman but she's not seeking vengeance for her kingdom or possessions taken from her as a woman descended from great ancestors. No, she seeks it as one of the people, for her liberty lost, for the unjust flogging she received and for the rape of her daughters. If the Romans, in their cupidity, cannot even let our bodies go undefiled, then why should they be expected to display moderation as their rule goes on, when they have behaved towards us in this fashion at the very outset?' Cogidubnus stopped translating as he c.o.c.ked an ear.

'Well?' Vespasian asked.

Cogidubnus put his hand up signalling that he was listening.

Eventually the Queen finished and from beneath her cloak she produced a hare; she set it on the ground and it immediately ran towards the Roman line. There began a series of mighty roars; the omen was good.

'That was very eloquent, what she said,' Cogidubnus remarked.

'Tell us.'

'It was a good speech and would have got them roused; it was something like this in translation: "But, to speak the plain truth, it is we who have made ourselves responsible for all that has befallen us, in that we allowed Rome to set foot on this island in the first place and didn't expel them at once as we did their famous Julius Caesar, and in that we did not deal with them while they were still far away as we dealt with Gaius Caligula and made even the attempt to sail here a formidable challenge. As a consequence, although we inhabit so large an island, or rather a continent, one might say, that's encircled by the sea, and although we possess a world of our own and are separated by the ocean from all the rest of mankind so that we believe we dwell on a different earth and under a different sky, we have, notwithstanding all this, been despised and trampled underfoot by men who know nothing else than how to secure gain. They have brought with them laws that take precedence over our customs, the tax-farmers who bleed us dry and then the odious bankers who pretend to offer wealth with one hand but give poverty with the other in order to enrich themselves without a care for the consequences. However, even at this late day, though we have not done so before, let us, my countrymen and friends and kinsmen for I consider you all kinsmen, seeing that we inhabit a single island and are called by one common name let us, I say, do our duty while we still remember what freedom is, that we may leave to our children not only its name but also its reality. For, if we utterly forget the happy state in which we were born and bred, what will they do, reared in bondage to our eternal shame?" Good stuff I'd say; it's just a pity that it's so misguided.'

'I'd say she'd made a few reasonable points,' Magnus said, tugging hard on Castor and Pollux's leads as they reacted enthusiastically to the clamour coming from the Britons. 'From what I can make out this whole thing has been caused by Seneca's, the Cloelius Brothers' and the other Londinium bankers' greed. Not that greed is a bad thing, mind you, it's just when you f.u.c.k off a whole nation rather than a few rivals it ain't so clever.'

Vespasian, despite all the atrocities he had witnessed, was forced to agree. 'But don't forget Decia.n.u.s as well as the bankers.'

'Procurators? Bankers? What the f.u.c.k's the difference? It's all about getting rich on other people's wealth, which, as I say, is no bad thing until ... well.' He gestured to everything around. 'Well, something like this happens and I happen to get caught up in it.'

Vespasian's thoughts on the subject were cut off by Paulinus addressing his troops from horseback.

'Soldiers of Rome!' Paulinus declaimed in the high voice favoured for speeches to large audiences. 'I know your valour for together we have recently subdued the Isle of Mona. You will not fear this horde, this rabble, made up, as it is, of more women, children and old men rather than fighting-fit warriors; and of those warriors many seem to be young men of a new generation who have never been tried before in battle. You have heard what outrages these savages have committed against us; indeed, you have even witnessed some of them. Choose, then, whether you wish to suffer the same treatment yourselves, as our comrades have suffered, and to be driven out of Britannia entirely; or, by achieving victory here today, avenging those who have perished and, at the same time, display to all others who would take up arms against us an example of the inevitable severity with which we deal with rebellion. For my part, I'm sure that victory will be ours; first, because the G.o.ds are our allies; and second, because courage is our heritage, since we Romans have triumphed over all mankind by our valour. And let us not forget we have defeated and subdued these very men who are now arrayed against us so they are not antagonists, but our slaves, whom we conquered even when they were free and independent. Now, one word of warning, soldiers of Rome: if the outcome should prove contrary to our hope and I will not deny the possibility it would be better for us to fall fighting bravely than to be captured and impaled, or to look upon our own entrails cut from our bodies, or to be spitted on red-hot skewers, or to perish, screaming in boiling water or any other manner of torments these savages enjoy inflicting on civilised men. Let us, therefore, either win or die on this ground. You all know your places at the sound of the first cornu signal. So, soldiers of Rome, are you ready for war?'

As the reply was roared back and the question re-asked, Vespasian was relieved that Cogidubnus' men were right to the far side of the field and would probably not have been able to hear all that well Paulinus implying that they were Rome's slaves.

Judging by the shadow that pa.s.sed over the Britannic King's face, Cogidubnus was not impressed by Paulinus' rallying speech. 'I'll return to my cohorts, and see if they're still in the mood for killing their fellow countrymen, as Boudicca put it.'

'It was tactless of Paulinus,' Vespasian affirmed.

'Tactless? Of course it was tactless; it was pure Roman.'

Vespasian gripped Cogidubnus' forearm. 'May your G.o.ds hold their hands over you, my friend.'

Cogidubnus touched the four-spoked wheel of Taranis that hung on a chain about his neck. 'My G.o.ds will be busy today; they have to answer prayers from both sides.'

And then the carnyxes blared.

Discordant barks filled the air, issuing from the animal heads of the tall, upright horns that sprouted from the Britannic host; bronze wild boar, ram, bull or wolf figures mounted on poles, the standards of individual war bands, were shaken above the heads of their followers, as well as wheels of Taranis, coiled serpents and leaping hares. Boudicca made one more length of the Britannic front, holding out her spear so that it rattled along the tips of the weapons or their shafts held up to her for her blessing in a metallic and wooden clatter that gave percussion to the carnyxes' cacophony.

By the time she had returned to her place in the centre, the hundred thousand plus horde of warriors was at fighting pitch, urging each other on to great deeds and stories of valour. Behind them, their families, in similar numbers, roared on their menfolk, eager to see the field running with Roman blood. With one last flourish of her spear above her head, Boudicca brought it down and pointed it at the heart of the Roman line; her warriors took their first steps forward, gradually accelerating, jumping the obstacles, until they were at a run.

And then the cornu rumbled.

Suddenly the cohorts all along the line sprang into action.

'What the f.u.c.k are they up to?' Magnus exclaimed.

Vespasian, Sabinus and t.i.tus were equally nonplussed.

Files of legionaries from the outsides of each cohort raced to its middle, gradually building it up, evenly, so that protrusions of men appeared, lessening until at the tip there was the primus pilus of the cohort, acting as the biting point of the wedge. The Roman line had transformed itself into a series of sharp teeth in the time it had taken the warriors to cover half the separating distance.

Each primus pilus, resplendent with transverse horsehair plumes across their helms, raised their sword in the air and looked along the line to their superior at the apex of the first cohort. Down came the legion's senior centurion's sword arm; his brother officers followed. In unison, ten thousand shields were struck by pila just once; sudden. The resulting crack thundered down the valley as if Jupiter himself had cast a mighty bolt along the length of the field. Warriors deep within the crush who could not see its source looked up to the sky as the shock of the noise made them falter in their step. The carnyxes wavered for a couple of beats and almost, for an instant, there was silence.

And that silence remained on the Roman side; mute and grim were the wedges of legionaries as they watched, with hardened eyes, their foes regain their steel and their pace and their volume.

'Why weren't we a party to that little trick?' t.i.tus asked.

'Spooking the enemy evidently isn't a privilege extended to reserve formations in Paulinus' army,' Vespasian hazarded, his nervousness dissipating, having witnessed more than a hundred thousand men falter.

Paulinus, seated upon his horse, with his staff, to the rear of the first cohort, nodded to the cornicern stationed near him; the man pressed his lips to the mouthpiece and issued a two-note rumble that, because of its booming depth, carried beneath the clamour approaching. The signal was repeated throughout the army and, as the Britannic ma.s.s came to within fifty paces of the Roman teeth, the legionaries in the front four ranks and down the sides of the wedges stamped their left feet forward and pulled their pilum-wielding right arms back, keeping their shields up as the javelin rain started to fall.

Vespasian watched Paulinus calculating distance in his head, thinking of all the times he had to do the same thing when he had been the legate of the II Augusta. He glanced back at the approaching horde. 'Three, two, one,' he muttered to himself. 'Now.'

Sure enough the cornu sounded and a black cloud of pila rose from the legionaries. It was not continuous because the rears of the wedges were not yet in range, but it was lethal. Lead-weighted iron shafts tore from the sky; at thirty paces out the warriors facing the thinning parts of the wedges were pounded backwards in explosions of blood, screaming, bodies arched and pierced, arms flailing, to crash into those behind, taking them down to entangle the feet of yet more following.

Indentations appeared along the Britannic front and, as they were filled, fifteen paces out, another dark hailstorm slammed into them, pulping faces, pinning shields and shield-arms to bellies, slicing into ribcages to explode out through backs in sprays of crimson that splattered the faces and torsos of the men behind the instant before they impaled themselves on the razor-sharp, protruding points. Down went hundreds more in the limb-thrashing agonies of death; many others were tripped or pulled to the ground, there to die trampled by so many feet that their bodies split open and their offal warmed the earth.

But what were hundreds or even thousands amongst the tens of thousands as Boudicca's army surged on, howling bare-toothed hate, swords and spears held high, their long moustaches flowing back in the wind of their haste?

With shoulders jammed into shields and heads hunched low, the legionaries braced themselves for the impact, sword in hand, blade protruding beyond shield-rim.

The pilum clouds now erupted from the rears of the wedges, pummelling down hundreds more, but still that made no difference.

And then the horde hit the leading centurions and flooded down the sides of the wedges so that it seemed to Vespasian, further up the slope looking down, that the wedges themselves were moving forward, penetrating the Britannic body with the ease of a needle into an eye.

But, as they pushed in up to the hilt, the wedges took the velocity out of the ma.s.sed charge for the impacts were spread and the weight of more than one hundred thousand was dispelled so that what could have been a hammer blow that sent the Roman line reeling back did no more than bow it slightly. A ma.s.sed grunting and groaning erupted from both sides as the strain shifted back and forth until equilibrium was settled. And it was at this point that the Roman war machine roared into action. Coc.o.o.ned behind their shields, held firm against the shock of impact, the legionaries down each side of the wedges had room to wield their blades so that the teeth themselves sprang teeth. Swift and sure they worked them through the gaps between their shields and their comrades' next to them, slanted at the same angle of the wedge to present a smooth surface. Stab, pierce, twist left and right, withdraw again and again, no matter if they killed the same flesh twice or thrice as the grinding of the war machine continued.

Pressed together in the crush of the attack the Britannic warriors had not the room to wield their blades with the freedom that they relished in individual combat; they could do little more than hack, in downward strokes, with their long swords or jab, overarm, with spears at heads and shoulders. These, however, were protected by the shields of the legionaries behind them and the warriors did no more than scar the legion's emblem blazoned on boards or blunt their blades on bosses. And upright they died and upright they remained long after their deaths, oozing fluids as their cadavers were pierced again and again for want of fresher flesh, held fast by the press of the tens of thousands behind desiring only to sweep the Romans to their doom.

But the men of Paulinus' army had no intention of letting that be so; now they had absorbed the impact, now they had started to kill and feel the warmth of the blood and urine of their enemies splatter down their legs and onto their feet, now that their comrades around them still stood firm and fought as one, now that they knew that they had not been driven back by the headlong charge and now that they realised that there could not be another; now, because of all those factors, the men of Paulinus' army started to believe that they could triumph and that the field would end the day carpeted with the bodies of their foes and not their own. And so they doubled their efforts, not only now working their swords but punching also with their shield-bosses to clear away the upright, lolling dead and expose new targets. Down the corpses slithered, leaving trails of dark slime smeared on Roman shields; second rank legionaries stabbed into them in case a vestige of life remained in one, enough to punch a knife up into the groin of the man straddling them as, without any signal but rather from the collective consciousness of every component of the war machine, the Roman formation took a step forward.

Now it was with joy, not fear, that they worked their blades and Vespasian sucked in a lungful of air, realising that he had been holding his breath since the first contact a couple of hundred racing heartbeats ago. 'We can do this,' he said to no one in particular, and probably no one heard for the din of battle raged and no one looked at him because it was virtually impossible to tear eyes away from the wondrous sight just down the hill.

Vespasian glanced over at Paulinus; the Governor sat bolt upright in the saddle, both fists clenched, pulled tight to his stomach, his jaw jutted and his eyes staring so intently at his men as he willed them on that they seemed to be bursting from their sockets.

With another phenomenal effort, Paulinus' army took another step forward and the first signs that warriors in the forward ranks of the Britannic ma.s.s were having second thoughts about remaining in combat started to manifest themselves: individuals turned their heads to see if a way clear was possible, some here and there even tried to force their pa.s.sage back, receiving wounds to their kidneys from the relentless swordwork of men who just wanted to kill in revenge for the fear that they had been made to feel by the sight of so vast an army.

On the Roman blades worked, sheened dark with blood and faeces, slicing into Boudicca's army, instilling terror where there had once been confidence. Whether Boudicca was aware of this or whether it was some other power who ordered it forward, Vespasian knew not; but what he was suddenly conscious of, as was every other man, friend or foe alike, was a cold dread approaching from the heart of the Britannic horde, a cold dread that he had felt before and it was close again. He looked up; dead centre between the tips on the first and second cohorts' wedges was a swirl in the enemy ma.s.s as warriors, despite the crush, shoved each other out of the way to make room for a group of filthy, matted beings surrounding Boudicca. Myrddin was coming at the call of the Queen and he had summoned his powers channelled from the dark G.o.ds of the indigenous people of this isle; G.o.ds for whom the great henges had been built long before the Celtic tribes' arrival with their druidical priests more than twenty-five generations before. G.o.ds whose secrets the druids had rediscovered and whose powers, now, only the druids understood; and Boudicca had chosen to wield them.

Through the ma.s.s of warriors came the sacred band of druids surrounding the Queen, brandishing writhing serpents and symbols of the sun and moon, wailing invocations to the G.o.ds of the Celts and the darker G.o.ds of those before, adding fervour, as they progressed, to the warriors already in combat and a desire to engage in those who were not. Wherever they pa.s.sed, the intensity of the fighting grew as they inspired the Britannic warriors, imbuing within them a new strength born out of the chill fear they had conjured. With Myrddin leading, they went in a straight line for he was heading for the weakest point at the centre of the Roman formation where two wedges segued together, a place where the line was only two men deep. It was a place, Vespasian knew, where Myrddin, inspiring the warriors around him, could cause the Roman army to be riven in two.

And Paulinus knew that too for he pulled his horse about and raced back to the waiting Batavians. 'Tribune,' he said, in a calm voice but edged with tension, to t.i.tus as he pulled up, 'I need your men to reinforce that weak spot. My lads won't stand for long against Myrddin, they know of his terror from Mona, which is why we couldn't capture or kill him. But he can die like any other man and perhaps your boys have as good a chance as any having not yet learnt to fear him.'

t.i.tus saluted and then looked down at the advancing druids now just twenty paces from the junction of the wedges. 'We'll do our best, sir.'

'We'll do more than that,' Sabinus said, his eyes locked on the cause of so much suffering, 'we'll take his heart and head.'

Doubt registered on Paulinus face. 'Do you know what you're up against, senator?'

'Yes; and the reason why I came back to this s.h.i.thole was to have a chance of completing my unfinished business with him.'

Paulinus nodded and turned away.

t.i.tus barked the order to advance at Jorik; the decurion repeated it in Batavian and the signaller blew a shrill note on his lituus, the long cavalry horn with an upturned end. The standard dipped and the cavalry unit moved forward at a walk.

Vespasian judged the distance between them and the crucial point. 'We need to hurry, t.i.tus.'

'Sound the trot,' t.i.tus ordered Jorik as they moved on down the hill.

A series of shrill notes quickened the Batavians' pace as Myrddin and Boudicca approached the join between the first and second cohorts; around them warriors fought with the abandonment of fanatics, pressing the legionaries hard, pushing them back, stretching the bow. Across the rest of the field the Romans still made progress, advancing step by step, thus making this push in the centre so much more likely to succeed as the line was being strained. On the far right there were signs of the Britannic warriors fleeing in large numbers as Cogidubnus' Regni and Atrebates auxiliaries triumphed against their fellow countrymen; but all that success would be for nought if the centre broke. Should that happen the entire army would soon be enveloped and then it would just be a matter of meticulous slaughter. And that was what Boudicca had realised; this, now that the initial charge had not swept the Romans away, was her only hope.

Vespasian felt his heart pumping as, with another blast of the lituus, their speed increased to a canter down the hill. Myrddin was less than fifty paces away and already the legionaries before him had started to give ground, so furious now was the a.s.sault by warriors inspired by his and Boudicca's presence.

As they came to twenty paces from the rearmost legionaries the line bowed even further so that they were now no longer shoulder to shoulder, working as one, but, rather, becoming isolated, a target for the individualistic combat so favoured by the Britons. The Roman formation was cracking and, with a chilling series of imprecations, Myrddin cast his serpents over the heads of his warriors and onto the wavering legionaries; and with them he cast the fear of his power, a cold power that cannot be used for good, and it froze the heart of all who felt it and the soldiers of Rome within its net either turned and ran or stood transfixed with fear to be cut down by merciless slashes as Boudicca screamed her followers on.

Britannic warriors now began to pour through the gap and turned left and right onto the rear of the legionaries to either side.

A shudder went through the first and second cohorts.

'Release and charge!' t.i.tus screamed at the top of his voice and the two hundred troopers under his command thundered towards the breech, hurling their javelins at the densely packed flesh as they did, as more of the Iceni flooded through.

His javelin spent, Vespasian drew his sword and felt the cold fear of Myrddin creep towards his heart; he wanted nothing more than to turn and escape the dread that he induced but his mount carried him on, unmoved by fear of human G.o.ds. Thus every horse in the half ala carried the charge home, despite their riders' terror; they piled into the warriors and the Batavians forced themselves to use their swords. Down their blades flashed; Vespasian's arm jolted at the first impact, slicing through a collarbone. To his left, t.i.tus reared up his horse so that the beast's forelegs thrashed out, cracking a skull and snapping an arm. To his other side, Sabinus, leaning forward, hacked his way on, his hatred bare and overcoming the cold aura emanating from his target, now just ten paces away. Magnus, never one for mounted combat, had hung back with his dogs, waiting for a chance of work more to his liking. A b.e.s.t.i.a.l screech from next to him, as Vespasian cleaved open a baying man's helm, and t.i.tus' horse reared up even further, a spear deep in its chest; upright it was in its agony and t.i.tus clung to its mane but could not keep his seat. He slithered down the dying beast and hit the ground, feet first, just managing to dodge out of the way as the horse arced over and collapsed onto its back. Warriors, keen to take advantage of a dismounted officer, surged towards him as Vespasian desperately tried to turn his mount left, towards his son, but found himself having to defend to the right; a quick glance over his shoulder told him that t.i.tus was struggling to hold off the attack; a sword swiped at neck height but Jorik forced his mount forward to take the blow on its shoulder. The beast went down, toppling its rider into the ma.s.s of warriors and blocking them from t.i.tus, leaving Jorik to perish beneath the blades of the Iceni as the Batavians slogged forward.

Slashing and stabbing, the Batavians held their nerve and filled the gap as the legionaries, to either side, tuned to face the Iceni who had made it through and between them they began to grind the warriors down into the b.l.o.o.d.y meat of the arena floor.

But before them still stood Myrddin and no one dared approach him; even Sabinus as he cut down the last warrior between him and the druids, opening the man's face in a splash of blood and teeth, baulked at the prospect and pulled his horse about as Vespasian hacked his way to his brother's side. Myrddin stared hard at the brothers, eyes piercing, as his brethren kept up an atonal chant to their dark G.o.ds; recognition flooded onto his face followed by the joy of having hated enemies within one's power and Vespasian felt his limbs freeze as Myrddin turned his full attention onto the siblings. The druid raised his hand, pointing his finger at Vespasian, and screeched a sentence full of loathing; as he bayed the final syllables, lifting his face to the sky, a black streak shot through the air and clamped itself onto his exposed throat as another chomped onto his extended wrist. For, as with the horses, Castor and Pollux felt no fear of G.o.ds conjured by men; no dread nor creeping cold paralysis; they saw only a threat to one of their humans and, with unquestioning canine loyalty, they went for that threat. Vespasian and Sabinus jumped from their mounts and ran to where the druid lay fighting the beasts off as, beyond him, the rest of the filthy creatures backed off at the combined sight of the chief of their order down and torn and then of more Batavian hors.e.m.e.n coming through the gap, now that the spell was broken. Pulling the dogs off, Vespasian and Sabinus looked down at the ravaged body, blood oozing from great wounds.

Myrddin's eyes flickered and then opened and Vespasian felt a faint voice calling him but he took no notice. 'Do it, brother.'

Sabinus did not need a second invitation. As he raised his sword, what was left of Myrddin's mouth twitched into a smile and his eyes told Vespasian that this meant nothing to him. Down the sword flashed and, with the wet and hollow crunch of a butcher's cleaver, it sliced through the gorge and the spinal column and struck off Myrddin's head, burying itself in the b.l.o.o.d.y ground below. For an instant all seemed still. Leaving his sword embedded, Sabinus grabbed the matted hair, lifted the severed head and screamed out 'Clementina!' over and over; as Boudicca and her warriors saw it, they despaired.

The men of the first and second cohorts began to wield their swords with renewed vigour as the warriors facing them lost heart by degrees. The men of Boudicca's household closed about her and the Queen disappeared back into the crush. Vespasian jumped back onto his horse and turned, looking towards the place he thought he had last seen t.i.tus. Now there was just corpse-littered ground as the Batavian line had moved forward and was now past Vespasian, following up the surviving warriors who had been beaten back through the gap.

'He took my mount, if it's t.i.tus you're looking for,' Magnus said, nonchalantly walking through the debris of battle as it still raged not twenty paces from him.

'It was; I saw him get unhorsed.'

'And I helped him get up again; he looked to be quite enjoying himself, from what I could see of his expression under all that blood. Pity about Jorik, though, he was a good lad. Ah! There they are.' Magnus bent down as Castor and Pollux came bounding up to him, slavering and licking the blood from their chops and furiously wagging their tails in evident self-satisfaction. 'Good boys, did you get the nasty druid, did you? Goooood work; I'm proud of you I am.' Magnus accepted their blood-tinged licks and ruffled their sticky coats as they wagged their tails, pleased at the praise.

Vespasian stared down at the incongruous scene and wondered for a moment if he was dreaming and there was not a battle of epic proportions taking place just a few paces away; then the reality of it became obvious with a mighty cheer from Roman lungs as the Britannic line crumbled and panic, mixed with shame, began to set in to the fleeing warriors. 'Did you just ask your dogs if they got Myrddin?'

'I did.'

'You set them onto him, then?'

'Of course I did. I came down with the charge, hanging about at the back, but, as you know, I just don't hold with fighting mounted, it ain't natural, and I can't work up an appet.i.te for it. Anyway, I saw t.i.tus go down so I thought he might as well have my horse seeing as I wasn't really putting it to good use and me and the boys could wander along on foot, just behind you and Sabinus, bringing mercy to Boudicca's wounded, if you take my meaning?' Magnus pulled a particularly fine silver torque from his belt. 'I saw this just after I noticed that mess Myrddin start to take an interest in you so I sent the boys to help you out whilst I helped the former owner of this fine piece become dead.'

Vespasian, despite himself and all that was going on around him, found himself laughing.

'Senator, we haven't got time for idle conversation and amusing anecdotes,' Paulinus said, pulling up his horse, his face a study in relief. He smiled and proffered his forearm. 'You and your brother have my thanks for everything you've done, not least plugging that gap and taking Myrddin's head.'

Vespasian grasped the arm as Sabinus drew up, Myrddin's head tied to his saddle.