Chapter Twenty Seven



Aurelia could not believe what she was seeing. It was like a scene from her worst nightmare. The once green field had become a seething mass of men hacking at each other, bludgeoning their foes until they stopped moving. The dying were left screaming and crying for their love ones on the floor, being trodden on by those eager to take their place in the melee.

The noise was like an assault on the ears, it was like a rolling rumble of thunder with the clash of metal against metal and the roar of so many voices demanding blood to wet their sword. Aurelia couldn't help herself but search for a mere glimpse of Kailen or Bran or Vaughan, something to let her know they were alright, knowing full well that it was an impossible hope, but still unable to help herself.

She stood motionless with Renna next to her, where they had the healing supplies set up a little way up the hill from the fighting, just as Kailen had wanted. She felt like she was frozen to the spot by her fear. It was one thing to bravely proclaim that she would help in any way she could, but it was a different matter entirely when faced with the reality of her decision.

The reality of war. She remembered the stories she was told of epic battles of the past as a child, the staggering odds the Heroes faced that had made her unable to keep still in her excitement at the wonder of it. Never once was fear and disgust mentioned.

And that was when men started to stagger up the hill with the injured of dying. It was like her mind had been switched off and her body reacted on instinct. She jumped into action, helping the men get comfortable and began to clean and men wounds as best as she could alongside Renna who was forced to tend the more dire of the wounded. This was where her experience really shined. Water was fetched, clean wound wrappings prepared and bones were set back into place.

For some, comfort and the last rites were given before their eyes turned glassy and unseeing.

The wounds that were inflicted were hideous, the damage that could be done to a fellow human being was obscene, and soon she was covered in blood just as much as those who were brought to her. At first it made her flinch away, the instinct to not look at the sight was almost overwhelming, but she had no choice but to power through it and attempt to keep up with Renna and her instructions.

And all the while her mind was on Kailen and the plight of the Silure tribe.



~



Kailen knew the limits of his men like he knew his own. They had all trained together day and night, placed their very lives in each other's hands and faced their enemies side by side since the first time they were deemed old enough to wield a sword and shield.

They shared the same blood, nurtured a bond that could only come from the spilling of blood. They were not just warriors. They were fathers, brothers, sons, uncles, mothers, daughters, sisters and aunts. They were neighbours to each other, friends and spouses. No secrets were kept from each other, only openness and camaraderie was encouraged.

And what the Romans were throwing at them so far, didn't come close to the Briton's breaking point.

With each wave of enemy aggression, the Romans were repelled. Hate was met with hate. Rage combated with rage. Kailen fought like he was born to it, taking his anger and his fer of losing his tribe, his Aurelia, out on any Roman who crossed his path.

The Roman's advantage of more men dwindled to less than nothing when they were funnelled into a small space by the pits of wooden stakes and walls of wagons. There was no room to manoeuvre their devastating shield wall, it was Gladius versus British weaponry. It was a fight his warriors could revel in.

Bran was fighting to Kailen's left, the sheer power of his sword thrusts were cleaving men in two. His war cry rallied the Britons to his side and put fear in the hearts of the Romans.

To Kailen's right was Vaughan, his lithe fighting skills let him dance rings around their enemy and enrage them until they struck out clumsily, allowing Vaughan to take their life.

Around them, the rest of Kailen's warriors did the same, the desperation of protecting home and family driving them ever onwards, stepping over the dead to meet the challenge of the next lot. A Roman emerged from the seething mass, a bright slash of red plumage atop of his helmet marked him out as a Centurion. His Gladius cut down a British warrior in front of Kailen's eyes.

Kailen snarled, meeting the man with a slash of his own sword, sending the Centurion staggering back a step.

"Filthy British dog!" The Roman growled, charging at Kailen.

Kailen answered him with a dark laugh, striking out with his blade to the Centurion's midsection. The Centurion was forced to block quickly and Kailen, with a knife in the other hand, slashed at the Roman's throat. A fountain of blood spurted to the side and he fell to his knees gurgling.

"For Rome!" Came a cry from behind him.

Kailen turned quickly but it wasn't quick enough. He saw a Roman soldier swing his Gladius down in an arc and Kailen was powerless to bring his own sword up to deflect the blow that threatened to cut him from shoulder to hip.

Aurelia, he thought in that split second where time seemed to do the impossible by slowing down but unable to act.

But the blow never came.

Kailen was suddenly yanked away by a hand that was fisted in the back of his shirt, the collar inadvertently choking him. The sword missed him by a scant few inches, the swing sending the Gladius to bury itself in the churned earth at his feet.

Caratacus appeared behind the struggling Roman soldier who was trying to pull it out of the mud and thrusted his blade into his back. The soldier didn't see it coming.

Kailen turned to see Bran still clutching his shirt in his white knuckled fist. He gave a weak smile. "I don't think 'thank you' is very adequate for what you have just done for me."

"Thank me by not getting yourself killed." Bran said gruffly. "What have i told you about being aware of your surroundings in battle?"

"Can we save the lessons until we are not completely surrounded by our enemies?" Kailen said archly as he stabbed out at a Roman who had the misfortune of coming too close.

"Consider this conversation on hold then." Bran said amiably as he took the head off of another soldier.

They were interrupted by one long burst of a war horn. The Romans suddenly disengaged from the fighting, the men's retreat covered by a hail of arrows from the Roman flanks to keep the British from picking them off.

"What is happening?" A young British warrior asked breathlessly as they watched the retreat.

"Now the real fighting starts." Bran said with unabashed glee.

"Real fighting? What have we been doing up until this point?" The young warrior demanded.

"Practise." Kailen put in. "The third and final rank of the Roman legion is the triarii, the men who live and breath Rome and its conquering."

What was left of the first two ranks merged into the third rank, swelling it to it's own army force. A second blast of the horn was the signal for the fighting to resume in earnest.



~

As the battle wore on, Aquilla's calm composure was quickly fading into boiling rage. The cavalry had been repelled, the Hastati rank disintegrated into nothing, the Principes fared no better and now the triarii were being put to good use. All of this damage done by a horde of savages half the size of his own force.

Unacceptable.

Aquilla was seated on his horse with his personal guard around him and his two Tribunes looking on the battlefield from the safety of five hundred meters away.

"They can't hold out against us much longer, sir." One of the Tribunes, Sepio, assured him. "No British rabble-"

Aquill's anger snapped out like a whip. "They shouldn't have been able to hold out this long in the first place." He snarled. "Any yet they have."

Sepio grew silent, not wanting to further anger his General.

Verenus stood motionless by them, dressed in the armour of a Centurion and yet unable to be beside his men in the fight as he should. Aquilla had personally requested his presence in his personal guard but would not allow him to be of the rank. What was the General's true intent in singling him out and yet denying him the honour? The man's intentions were veiled behind the serene face of a powerful political man.

But what Verenus did know was Aquilla's anger was something the man could not bury any longer. He would not bear this dark mark against his integrity quietly.

Verenus did not know what possessed him to say it. A force inside him that had been steadily growing since the easy dismissal of Aquilla's Intended spilled past his self control like water.

"Perhaps the men would benefit from seeing their General among them. To see him fight with them."

The two Tribune's looked at Verenus as if he had spat on the Legion's eagle.

Aquilla, on the other hand, looked like he could barely contain himself.

"Why Centurion, i believe you are right." Was his reply.

The two Tribunes now looked at Aquilla aghast. "Sir, you can't mean-"

"It is not befitting of a man of your rank to fight beside the common-"

"It fitted Aulus Plautius, did it not?" Aquilla fired back. "And he was beloved of the people of Rome, hailed as a hero. I will see it done!"

He did not wait for an answer. Instead he turned to Verenus. "Acquire a horse and then follow me to battle." He wheeled his horse around and, with his personal guard in tow, thundered across the field to join in the fray.

Verenus couldn't help but look on after him with a sense of vindictive satisfaction. May Pluto find him on the battlefield and take his soul screaming to the Underworld.



~



Aurelia did not know what possessed her to look up at that moment. She was tending to a man who was suffering from a head wound and something broke her focus from her task. It drew her eyes back to the battle down the hill. In the distance, she could see Roman riders, about twenty of them, galloping to join their fellow soldiers.

Her heart gave a sickening leap in her chest at the sight of the eagle standard. There was only one man who would carry the eagle into battle by means of a bearer.

Aquilla. He had now joined the fight.

A rallying cry of "General! General!" ensued at the sight of him and it gave his men new vigour to push on with their exhausting assault.

She hadn't been aware of rising to her feet until she was standing several meters down the hill and Renna was calling her back to reality.

"Aurelia? What are you doing?" She demanded worriedly.

Aurelia turned back to face Renna in a daze. "Aquilla." She said numbly as she pointed behind her. "Aquilla is now fighting."

Renna's eyes widened. "Gods."



~



The festive season is finally over, work is returning to normal, and chapters are back to the usual weekly updates on Sundays!



Aulus Plautius was a Roman politician and general of the mid-1st century. He began the Roman conquest of Britain in 43, and became the first governor of the new province, serving from 43 to 47. I took creative liscence with this part as i can't be sure if he did ride into battle, but considering the new form of warfare the Roman took to invade across an ocean, i thought it probable.

Also, it is worth mentioning that Plautius was the general wh defeated Caratacus and put his tribe to death.