Those Who Crave Freedom (4)
We began our march southwest from Londinium. The richest farmlands in all of Briton lay there, and the rebels had made it their stronghold.
I sent Usiper's cavalry ahead as the vanguard to scout the rebels' positions and gather intelligence on their situation.
The enemy knew as little about us as we did about them. Word might spread through the Britons working in Londinium, but that would take time.
Usiper, who had advanced four hours ahead, returned only in the late afternoon.
"How many rebels were there?"
"We confirmed only five thousand."
"Five thousand?"
I fell into thought at his words. Five thousand. That meant they'd split their forces. Were they diverting more troops to pin down the isolated 13th Legion and secure other areas?
It made sense if that was the case. The 18th Legion in Londinium wasn't in any shape for a counterattack, and if their plan held, reinforcements from the continent would be hard to come by. A reasonable judgment, assuming their premises were correct.
In that case, we could have some fun in the opening battle.
I decided on a night raid before the rebels could gather enough intel on us. After all, our forces included a large contingent of barbarians skilled in field warfare.
Win the first fight, and we'd seize the momentum.
It would bring huge advantages in the battles to come.
I summoned the barbarian commanders, including Usiper and Brikin, and announced the night assault plan. None of them objected.
I handed command of the remaining infantry to Cogol and mounted my warhorse.
With just the cavalry, we covered 30 kilometers in half a day with ease. If we'd pushed without regard for the horses' stamina, we could have gone even faster.
Arriving at a small lake 50 kilometers southwest of Londinium, I let the warhorses rest there while I took only my guards to reconnoiter the enemy.
The enemy had camped on a plain 10 kilometers from the lake, using the legion's temporary encampment as their own base. I observed their camp and confirmed their defenses were lax.
Still, you never knew.
As long as there was even a slim chance of the 18th Legion counterattacking from Londinium, they'd have some minimal precautions.
After carefully scouting the camp, I devised the plan.
First strike: Brikin's cavalry. Their job was to circle the camp and loose fire arrows. Shake the enemy with that.
Then Usiper's cavalry charges in to finish them off in one blow. Simple, but at night, complex plans were hard to execute anyway.
I positioned the cavalry in a forest seven kilometers from the enemy camp and waited for the deepest hours of dawn.
One lesson from years of war: humans are most vulnerable in the late night or early morning. Caught in deep sleep by an attack, they panic and can't think straight.
I planned to exploit that.
Cock-a-doodle-doo.
At the break of dawn, a rooster crowed from the enemy camp.
I gave the order to light the torches. Even if they spotted us now, it was too late.
"Brikin. I entrust the vanguard to you."
I handed the point to the barbarian prince, who had no idea why we'd come here. It was also a test—to see if he'd collude with them.
Constantly doubting and testing those you can't fully trust was essential for survival.
Brikin met my gaze with his green eyes and flashed a faint smile.
"As the governor commands."
I nodded and turned to Usiper.
"Chief Usiper, stand by."
"Yes, sir."
"Charge!"
Brikin barked the order to his men and kicked his horse's flanks.
Thud thud thud.
With the earth-shaking thunder of hooves, the massive barbarian cavalry burst from the forest. I watched them race toward the enemy camp, then spoke to Rikius.
"Rikius."
"Yes, sir."
"What do you think seeing Heigirt's cavalry like this?"
"They seem better armed and more disciplined than when I saw them before."
"Right. That's the enemy we'll face one day."
I watched Brikin's cavalry with a grave expression. Whether Heigirt intended it or not, he'd sent real elite troops, properly trained.
Brikin's riders circled the camp like squirrels on a wheel, raining arrows.
No need for pinpoint accuracy on individuals—the arrows soon littered the camp, igniting fires everywhere.
"Enemy attack!"
The rebels scrambled up to the watchtowers, but they were overwhelmed by the thundering cavalry in the dark and couldn't respond effectively.
A massive cavalry assault from unknown numbers was a catastrophe they hadn't imagined.
The rebels panicked, unable to act properly. As fires erupted across the camp, they floundered in confusion—a common sight for undisciplined rabble.
As the enemy fell into chaos, some of Brikin's cavalry hurled ropes at the palisades. Yanking hard, they toppled the wooden barriers one after another. The old, weathered stakes were no match for the power of sturdy warhorses.
Seeing the palisades collapse, I drew my sword.
"Chief Usiper. Let's go."
"Yes, sir. Attack!"
We poured from the forest like a raging wave, charging straight into the enemy camp. Some obstacles remained, but the path was open.
We barreled inside, swinging swords. A few thrust spears, but against cavalry, they were meaningless. I yanked my reins, leaped lightly over a spear, and slashed a rebel's throat.
By the time we breached the camp, the battle was decided. A few who looked like rebel officers shouted orders, but they soon tasted our blades and lost their heads.
We hacked at the backs of fleeing enemies, severing necks in a brutal slaughter.
The lucky ones escaped the camp, only to meet Brikin's waiting cavalry, who trampled them under hoof.
As dawn broke, we withdrew from the smoke-choked, flaming camp and formed up on the meadow.
In front of the blood-smeared barbarians, I raised my sword and roared.
"All who challenge the Empire's name will die. This is the justice and order proclaimed by the golden eagle!"
I declared victory amid the rebels' gruesome corpses. But the fight in Briton was just beginning.
The Briton rebels were led by a man named Cladius. He traced his lineage to one of the few native noble houses whose origins could be verified in Briton, commanding great prestige among the locals. A trustworthy figurehead, indeed—one who could serve as a rallying point.
They wouldn't collapse after one defeat. Not with a central figure holding them together.
After our first victory, I didn't press the rebels with a swift pursuit. Instead, I leisurely dispatched scouts to gather intel.
Rushing in blind could lead to disaster if we didn't know their dispositions.
They might not break easily even if we took some losses, but I couldn't afford to show weakness. Not with Heigirt's eyes here.
Over four days of reconnaissance, I roughly mapped Cladius's army deployments. They'd allocated around 4,000 to the 13th Legion front and stationed 5,000 to 8,000 in coastal areas nearby.
An odd setup, but considering the Empire's naval power, it wasn't thoughtless. They were guarding against any attempt to relieve the 13th by sea.
Once I had a sense of their positions, I unleashed the barbarian cavalry to harass them.
Brikin, Usiper, and the others torched farmlands and villages daily. They spared lives but inflicted no less terror.
I scorched the rebel-held lands while spreading rumors: merciless demons from the north had landed.
This eroded local hostility toward the Empire and shook faith in rebel leaders who couldn't ensure basic safety.
I slowly tightened the noose, advancing the legion deliberately. Even as a centurion with few under my command, I'd been cautious. Now, bearing the Empire's fate, all the more so.
I'd drive them into a path they couldn't escape, luring them to the battlefield of my choosing.
That way, the natives here would never dare rebel again.
I wanted to crush them thoroughly and completely.
After days of preliminary work, Cladius reacted. Prioritizing us over drying up the 13th Legion, it seemed. Tactically, finishing the 13th first made sense, but they couldn't sit idle watching their homes burn.
They gathered their divided forces in a village called Hampton, 40 kilometers from us.
Hampton was a nameless hamlet known only for pig farming and a highway passing through. As they rushed to assemble, we prepared to strike first.
"Their concentration at Hampton means they'll advance east along the highway for a pitched battle on the plains."
Cogol said. A numerically superior force preferred open space to deploy. Their intent was obvious.
"But we don't have to play along. Feint toward the 13th Legion's base, and they'll chase to cut us off. Then wheel and hit their flank. Done."
I'd lure them to my chosen field.
The spot I wanted: Lake Alon, between Hampton and the 13th's base. Scouts reported open patches around it—terrain awkward for a large army.
To pass, they'd have to narrow their formation. Crush with cavalry, follow with infantry? No need to imagine the rest.
"But Cladius might get bold and march on Londinium, sir."
We couldn't rule it out. But war plans couldn't account for every possibility. That would make generals gods, not men.
"Possible, but if I were Cladius, I wouldn't. In war, destroying the enemy army matters more than land. What say you, Prince Brikin?"
Brikin smiled faintly at my question.
"I agree with the governor. Though..."
"Though?"
"What if Cladius has another card to play?"
Northern or Hibernian barbarians. Brikin's point was valid. But unseen variables slowed decisions.
I replied nonchalantly.
"Of course, as the prince says, they might move. But even then, nothing changes. The one here is none other than me—Ain."
The officers nodded. Even the barbarians couldn't deny it. Brikin said nothing.
I scanned them, then slammed the table.
"Then it's decided. Tomorrow morning, we cross the forest northwest. For the Empire, for the legion's honor—do your utmost.
Merit brings reward; fault, punishment. No mistakes."
All saluted, arms to chests.
I left the tent.
The Empire's golden eagle will triumph.
(To be continued)