Slaves of Fear: A Land Unconquered by James Mace

his horn, signalling for the legion to halt. Another series of horn blasts alerted the cohort commanders, who converged on the eagle standard.
    “We’ll establish camp here,” the master centurion ordered. He pointed towards a lone tree about a quarter mile away. “Post the eagle there. Have all surveyors begin laying out the camp perimeters.”
    “What about reconnaissance, sir?” Centurion Metellus of the Fifth Cohort asked.
    “There’s little we can do until the cavalry have their horses off the ships. Governor Scapula and General Paulinus should be coming ashore within the hour. While surveyors lay out the camp, dispatch half your men to provide security. Post pickets three hundred meters from camp. The rest can begin claiming each cohort’s baggage. Entrenching tools should have been stored at the top of the cargo holds.”
    While legionaries of the First Cohort were exempt from fatigue details while in garrison, they still had to erect their own tents and entrench their section of the camp’s defences while on campaign. Magnus walked over to what would be the northern boundary of the camp and scanned the horizon.
    “Nothing,” Tyranus said, as he joined him. “Not a gods-damned thing. One would think this whole region was entirely devoid of humanity.”
    “Oh, they’re out there,” the Nordic centurion replied, removing his helmet and scratching away at the still-damp mop of hair. “But with no knowledge of the region, we are running blind.”
    “Indus’ Horse will be kept busy, no doubt about that. I almost wish the enemy had been waiting for us on the beach instead of making us go find him.”
    What neither of the centurions knew was that the ridge had not been entirely deserted. A lone rider lurked within one of the many groves of trees dotting the landscape. He’d watched the entire division disembark, doing his best to estimate the invaders’ strength. He had to warn his chieftain and, more importantly, find Caratacus!
     

     
    Something else neither Scapula nor any of his soldiers knew was just how close to Caratacus they had landed. After two days of hard riding, the panic-stricken messenger from the Deceangli rode into the camp at Halkyn Mountain. The Catuvellauni Prince had only just that morning received oaths of unflinching support from his allies in the war against Rome.
    “Great Caratacus, Chief of the Catuvellauni, I bring grave news!” the man said, practically falling from his horse before dropping down onto one knee. It was quite telling that he prostrated himself before Caratacus rather than King Seisyll, who was overlord of both the Ordovices the Deceangli.
    “Rise, my friend,” Caratacus said, helping the man to his feet. “Now, what is this cause of distress among our friends on the northern shores?” Though his voice and demeanour remained calm, he knew the message to be grim. His fears were confirmed when the messenger spoke again.
    “The Romans have landed. I saw their ships sailing past our shores, and they have a huge force encamped ten miles east of our capital at Kanovium.”
    This was distressing news. The bulwark of the Silures and Ordovices armies were several days away, seeking to ambush what they thought was the entire Roman invasion force near the River Sabrina. That a second imperial division of equal size had gone around the peninsula and landed behind them meant plans would have to change quickly.
    “If they sailed right past Kanovium, they must not even know that it’s there,” Seisyll reasoned.
    “They’ll find it soon enough,” Caratacus conjectured. “They have no knowledge of these lands, yet they will send their scouts out in every direction.” He asked the messenger, “How many men do they have?”
    “Ten thousand, at least. I saw one of their eagles and a slew of other standards.”
    King Orin spoke up, his voice filled with growing anger. “And with most of our warriors several days south of here, we have not the numbers to face