Despite the resistance, Julius could not escape the suspicion that the tribes were drawing them in to a place of their choosing. All he could do was maintain the pace, always on the edge of routing them. He had the extraordinarii harry the retreating enemy in darting raids under Octavian and Brutus. The ground the legions walked was littered with spent spears and arrows, but few had found flesh and the advance did not falter during the long days.
Twice on the second morning, they were attacked in the flank by men left behind by the main British force. The maniples had not panicked as they held them back, and the extraordinarii had charged them down as they had been trained, smashing through the desperate tribesmen at full speed.
At night, Julius had the cornicens sound for camps to be built, and the baggage trains brought up food and water for the men. The nights were harder as the tribes kept up a din of shouting that made sleep almost impossible. The extraordinarii rode shifts around the camps to repel attacks, and more of them fell in darkness from unseen arrows than at any other time. Yet even in that hostile land, the routines continued. The metalworkers repaired weapons and shields and the doctors did their best with those who had taken wounds. Julius was thankful for those Cabera had trained, though he missed the presence of his old friend. The illness that had struck him after healing Domitius was a terrible thing, a thief that stole away his mind in subtle stages. Cabera had not been well enough to make the second crossing, and Julius only hoped he would live long enough to see them all return.
Julius had thought at first that he would crush the tribes against the river as he had done years before with the Suebi against the Rhine. But the king of the Catuvellauni had fired the bridges before the legions could reach them and then spent the days reinforcing his army with warriors from all the surrounding regions.
Under heavy arrow fire from the opposite bank, Julius had sent scouts to find a place for fording, but only one looked suitable for the legions and even then he was forced to leave behind the heavy weapons that had crushed the first attacks of the Britons and begun their long retreat.
Reluctantly, Julius arranged his ballistae, onagers, and scorpion bows all along the bank to cover the attack. It occurred to him then that the best of tactics could be defeated by difficult terrain. His legions formed a column as wide as the flags his scouts had jammed in the soft mud of the Tamesis, marking the drop into deeper water. There could be no subterfuge in such a place. A barrage from the ballistae set the range across the river and gave the legions a clear landing ground of almost a hundred feet. After that, the head of the column would be engulfed by the Britons. The tribesmen had all the advantages and Julius knew that would be the turning point in the battle. If his men stalled on the opposite bank, the rest of the legions would not be able to cross. Everything they had gained from the coast could be wasted.
There was something eerie in preparing for war with the enemy so close yet unable to do more than watch. Julius could hear his officers bark out orders as the lines and files formed and in the distance he could hear echoes of similar shouts. He looked over the dark Tamesis and sent runners to his generals as he noted different aspects of the ground and the formations of the Britons. They looked confident enough as they hooted at the Romans, and Julius saw a group of them bare their buttocks and slap them in his direction, to the general merriment of their friends.
He understood their confidence and felt nervous sweat drip into his eyes as he gave orders. The legions would be vulnerable to bow fire and spears as they crossed the river, and the death toll would be high.
Julius had sent scouts up and down the Tamesis to look for other fords he could use to land flanking forces, but if they existed, they were too far away to make it worthwhile. Even the best generals were forced on occasion to rely on the skill and sheer ferocity of the men they led.
Julius would not be amongst the first to cross. Octavian had volunteered to lead the extraordinarii over, with the Tenth close behind. The young Roman would be lucky to survive the charge, but Julius had given way to him, knowing it had to be his choice. The Tenth would smash their way in behind the cavalry and establish a clear area for the others to follow on their heels. Julius would come in with the Third Gallica and Brutus, with Domitius following them over.
The sun was clear in the sky as Julius pulled on his full-face helmet, turning the cold iron features toward the Catuvellauni. He raised his sword and some of them saw the gesture, beckoning him on.
Julius looked at Octavian, who watched him, waiting for the signal. The extraordinarii were grim and their spatha blades glittered as they held their position. By the time they reached the opposite bank they would be at full gallop, and Julius felt a moment of breathless anticipation as they waited to bring death to the Britons.
In silence, Julius dropped his arm and the cornicens blared out all over the vast column. Julius heard Octavian roar and the extraordinarii surged forward into the shallow water in a mass, faster and faster.
The horses churned the water into froth as the Roman cavalry lowered their swords over their mounts’ heads and leaned forward, ready for the first kills. Arrows and spears punched into them and horses and men screamed, staining the water red as their bodies slipped into the current. The Britons roared and came on.
It called for precision, but every man on the heavy ballistae was ready. As the Britons surged forward to meet the extraordinarii, Julius signaled the teams and a load of iron and stone flew over the heads of the galloping Romans, smashing the first impetuous ranks into rags.
Great holes appeared in the mass of the enemy, and Octavian aimed his horse for one, the gelding staggering slightly as he reached dry ground. His mount was blowing heavily and he was drenched in freezing water. He heard the bellow of the Tenth as they charged across the ford behind him, and he knew the Roman gods were watching the sons of their city, even so far away.
There was no room for thought in that first charge. Octavian and Brutus had chosen the extraordinarii for their skills with horse and sword, and they formed an arrowhead without a single order being called, striking against the Britons and carving a path deep into their ranks.
The Tenth could not use their spears with their own cavalry so close ahead, but they were the veterans of Gaul and Germany, and whoever stood to face them was cut down. The Britons fell back in disarray before the combined attack, and their main advantage was lost with incredible speed as the Tenth widened their line with the perfection of a dance and the spaces they created filled with legions coming over. The squares formed on the flanks and the extraordinarii moved amongst them, their speed and agility protecting them from the spears and swords of the Catuvellauni.
Julius heard horns wail out over the enemy’s heads, and they fell back and to the flanks, opening a wide avenue in their midst. Through it, Julius could see a cloud of dust and then a wall of horses and chariots galloping at suicidal speed. The Roman cornicens sounded the order to close up and the squares halted, the men within locking shields and setting themselves in the alien soil to hold the position.
The chariots were manned by two warriors and Julius marveled at the skill of the spearmen who balanced so precariously at high speed while their companions held the reins of the charging horses. At the last moment, the spears were launched and Julius saw legionaries killed by a wave of the shafts, thrown with enough power to punch through even the Roman shields.