CLASH OF SPEARS... BLOODBATH AT GROANHENGE!

Having recently arrived in the ancient homeland of the haughty and proud Basmatii tribe, Centurion Perfidius of auxiliary Cohors X Flavian Conundrum, had decided to impress upon the natives the overwhelming power of Rome, by leading a raid to the sacred druidic site of Groanhenge, with the intention of enjoying a raucous carnival of roistering and debauchery on the hallowed spot, thus proving once and for all to the barbarian Celts that their religion was naught but empty-headed tomfoolery.

The local trader and wine importer extraordinaire, Titus Rectum was happy to risk a confrontation with the Basmatii, knowing that the Romans would pay handsomely for his goods, which they could enjoy while desecrating the much venerated druidic stone circle.

The sacred site of Groanhenge stood magnificently in the middle of the Uaine Plain, with the Moaning Swamp in the foreground and the Overgrown Forest beyond. The Romans approached the battlefield from the far side of the forest, while the Celts would have to navigate the swamp before they could attempt to defend the henge.

Centurion Perfidius, on the left, and his trusty and faithful Optio, Odius would lead an ad hoc group of auxiliaries, taken from several cohortes based at the nearby Roman camp. In total, they had three contubernia under their command, all armed with heavy throwing weapons and protected by mail armour and large heavy shields.

Determined to punish the Roman invaders for their contempt and downright rudeness, two local Basmatii chieftains, Orthopedix and Spondulix, set off from their nearby hill fort with a warband consisting of a small group of Nobles, a unit of Warriors, two units of javelin armed skirmishers and a much feared unit of slingers.

The forces from both sides arrived piecemeal onto the battlefield, with the Celts bringing on two of their units per turn in the corner by the swamp, while the Romans brought on a single unit per turn on the opposite corner beyond the forest. First to arrive for the Celts, was Orthopedix with units of javelin men and slingers.

On the opposite side of the plain, Optio Odius marched a contubernium of auxiliaries rapidly past the forest and on towards Groanhenge.

Orthopedix responded to the Roman aggression by pushing his light troops towards the swamp, knowing that the difficult terrain would neither slow them down or cause any fatigue. The wily Orthopedix knew that should his missile armed skirmishers be beaten to the target, they would be able to grind the Romans down with javelins and stones.

Cheered on by their comrades, the Roman auxiliaries drove forward to occupy the henge.

However, Spondulix had now arrived and he hastily pushed his warriors forward to support Orthopedix and his light troops.

Eager to begin their debauchery, more auxiliaries arrived with Titus and his supplies.

The Celts swarmed forward, determined to destroy the leading auxiliary unit before support could arrive!

Gleefully, the auxiliaries streamed onto the henge.

Only to be greeted by a shower of missiles from the indignant slingers...

and then a hail of javelins!

But the stoic auxiliaries replied with a barrage of heavy spears which took their toll on the Celtic skirmishers.

The auxiliaries sheltered amongst the sacred stones and prepared to sell their lives dearly.

Support began to arrive for both sides and Spondulix's warriors hurled themselves against a second contubernium of auxiliaries , who failed to react in time to form close order.

Casualties fell on both sides, but it was the Romans who began to get the upper hand.

The Celtic warriors were soon battered down to half strength and their fatigue was climbing to dangerously high levels.

The Roman onslaught proved too much for the warriors and they broke and fled the field, causing a Break Test for the Basmatii warband, which, thankfully they passed and the action continued.

However, the departure of the warriors exposed the auxiliaries to the deadly fire of the Celtic slingers, whose accurate fire devastated the Romans.

Centurion Perfidius continued to push his reserves forward to support the beleaguered contubernium under fire from the slingers, who now also faced the advancing Noble Celtic Warriors.

The arrival of the Nobles proved to be the final straw for the remaining auxiliaries who fled, leaving Perfidius with just two contubernia to hold the ground taken around the henge and the climax of the battle was about to be played out as the Nobles prepared to charge into melee with the final Roman reserve.

The Roman reserve, with incredible discipline, formed themselves into close order and hurled their heavy spears into the massed ranks of the Celtic Nobles, but they failed to inflict a single casualty. The Nobles let forth a blood curdling cheer and hurled themselves into the closed ranks of the Roman invaders.

The clash which followed was devastating, with warriors falling on both sides, but the Auxiliaries manged to gain the advantage, loosing just one casualty to the Noble's three.

With the encounter balanced on a knife edge, Optio Odius decided that this was the time to launch the auxiliaries holding the henge into the fray. His plan was to send them against the slingers, whose shooting had caused so many casualties on the Roman forces. The slingers, however, had other ideas and used their Skirmish Specialist skills to move beyond the reach of the enemy.

In this climactic turn of the battle, the Basmatii slingers caused sufficient casualties to drive the Green Shield Auxilia from the field, but disaster then struck for Spondulix, as his Nobles were overcome by the effects of fatigue and they too fled, causing yet another Force Morale Check, which the Celts failed forcing the remnants of their warband to turn and take flight...

After a Herculean effort, the lowly slingers turned and took to their heels, having very nearly won the day for the Basmatii.

Having suffered such horrendous casualties, the remnants of Centurion Perfidius' forces ironically found themselves sharing a much greater ration of Titus' provisions than any of them could have envisaged at the onset of the day's encounter. In spite of his loses, the day belonged to Perfidius and the eight remaining members of his warband were left to share a dozen amphorae of Rhenish wine and a whole pig; which they did, while enthusiastically despoiling the ancient druidic henge.

LION RAMPANT... "My Lord, Brother Fornicatus is nowhere to be found!"

 
In the Autumn season of the Year of Our Lord 1173, the Kingdom of Henry II was in a state of monstrous turmoil, the land tormented by the heinous scourge of Civil Strife. Each man looked upon his brother with suspicion, knowing not whether he stood loyal and steadfast for the King, or faithless and perfidious for the treacherous queen and her brood of turncoat offspring. Status nor rank were guarantee of loyalty, whether high and mighty or lowly scapegrace, none could be trusted in this age of disorder and disturbance. 

Sir Ranulf de Glanville, King Henry's faithful lieutenant in the North, impatiently snarled at his bungling page, Walter, as he fumbled with the fastening of his great leather war belt. "Where is that false-hearted priest," he bellowed, "form up the host, we'll track him down and I'll see his duplicitous neck stretched from the highest branch of Saint Ebba's Oak!"

Brother Fornicatus, the man Sir Ranulf had trusted implicitly as an advisor and confessor throughout the long, laborious campaign against the rebels and their loathsome Scottish confrères, had disappeared in a most un-godly manner, with certain consequential scrolls tucked beneath the billowing folds of his cassock and was last seen heading north, towards the camp of that vile barbarian, Lord Donnchad, Earl of Fife.

Exhausted from his precipitous flight from the English camp, Brother Fornicatus stumbled wearily into a deserted farmstead, where the fugitive found himself a place of concealment and began to fervently pray that his Scottish paymasters would find him before a furious and vengeful Sir Ranulf arrived to mete out his own particular brand of justice!

After an uncomfortable night in his chosen hiding place, Brother Fornicatus was awoken by the sound of a veritable multitude of braying voices, clearly not belonging to Humphrey, and the tramping of numberless feet emanating from every possible direction. A thoroughly alarmed Brother Fornicatus curled himself into the smallest possible space... although he could see nothing from his refuge, it was clear that both forces had arrived and this desolate farmstead was about to become the scene of a dreadful confrontation.

This little encounter turned out to be much shorter than I imagined it would be. Brother Fornicatus' hiding place was determined randomly and, had he been anywhere else other than the well, his escape from the field of battle would have been much more problematic for the Scots. As it turned out, the Wild Charge rule caused just enough of a delay for Sir Ranulf and his knights to prevent them reaching Brother Brian's spearmen before they could leave the table. The sacrifice made by the skirmishing bidowers in diverting the attention of the knights, will go down in folklore, although I'm not sure that they would see it that way! For those of you familiar with the traditional Scottish nursery rhyme, "Ding Dong Bell, Brother Fornicatus is in the Well!", this brief skirmish is the origin of that tale. The story of Brother Fornicatus has, I feel, many more chapters to run and I am already perusing the Scenarios section of Lion Rampant for the next exciting, and hopefully little longer, instalment.