Hosker, G [Sword of Cartimandua 01] The Sword of Cartimandua (20 page)

Even before he heard that he had failed to kill his enemy Cresens was already fleeing the port of Eboracum. He was outside the camp when he heard the commotion from within. He smiled with malicious joy; his enemy would already be dead but before he celebrated too much he would make himself scarce. They would seek out the cook and whilst the cook had not seen him put the poison in the pudding he might remember his visit.  He had decided that he would leave.  Eboracum was too dangerous a place to be between the witch and the governor his life might soon be risked. He would take a trip to Petuaria and check up on the uniforms which should have arrived there. That would give him a good seven days away from the questions and he would also be in a good position for flight.  He went to his quarters and the first thing he did was to get his saddlebags containing his ill-gotten gains. He did not intend to be parted from the wealth he had garnered. He had converted most of the gold and silver into precious gems which were smaller and easier to transport. He struggled to fasten the leather cuirass about him but he did not trust anyone.  Just as he would slip a dagger into man’s ribs whilst sleeping so too would most of the cut throats he would be travelling with; he would take no chances.  He covered the leather with a tunic. He also took his bearskin; it would be a long cold ride. As much as he wanted to take guards with him he had to be invisible. He had to ravel the dark roads where only thieves and robbers ventured. He could not relax until he had left the island behind and then he would become the rich man he had always wanted to be. No-one saw the portly quartermaster leave, no-one that is save Fainch who smiled to herself as she had known what he would do. She would find him when she needed to.

The trader he boarded was heading south to Regulbium. From there he could disappear into the cess pit that was Londinium. The captain of the trader suspected that Cresens was fleeing and had charged an appropriately large fee.  He smiled to himself; when he returned he would earn another rewards for informing on the fat quartermaster.

The guards herded the terrified cooks and kitchen assistants into the governor’s quarters. Bolanus had already ordered the brazier and irons to be made ready for the torturers who were readying their implements. The terrified cook fell to his knees before the governor.  He had not the first idea of why they had been summoned.  Perhaps the food had not been to the new governor’s liking? Whatever the reason the cook felt helpless.

“Was it you prepared the queen’s pudding for her feast?”

“It was sir.  She gave me the recipe and I made it.  I made two for I wanted to try it myself first and taste it.”

“Would it surprise you to know then that the queen was poisoned by your pudding?”

“But I ate the other one and my cooks did as well.” He waved a vague arm towards his cooks who cursed him for including them in his guilt.

“So if you did not put the poison in the pudding then which of these did?”

The assembled throng quailed as his gaze fell upon them. There was a cacophony of noise as they all screamed their innocence. “Take these men away and question them all one by one. I will ask the questions here.”

The guards led out the terrified men while the white faced cook stared in horror at the irons. “But I am innocent.”

“I will be the judge of that.” He turned to Ulpius. “Go guard the queen’s body and ask her sisters about the Brigante arrangements for death.”

Ulpius was glad to leave for the face of the cook had told him he was innocent.  He would be tortured and, hopefully, the name of the real killer would emerge but it mattered not to Ulpius who knew the man he would have to kill, Venutius.

Although the cooks were tortured none of them could add any further information. The chief cook, Julius, had suffered more than his helpers and he had already lost an eye and an ear when he finally remembered something. “The only other visitor when we were preparing the food was the quartermaster, Gaius Cresens but he was in for a short time.”

“Why did you suddenly remember him?”

“He asked me what I was making and he gave me some spirit to put in the dish.”

“Did you put that spirit in your own as well?”

“Yes I think so.”

Bolanus held his hand up and the punishment ceased; this was a new name and the man clearly had no further information. “Send for the quartermaster. Take this one away while we decide if he is telling the truth.”

As he sat in his chair sipping some warmed wine and water he debated upon his course of action. It would not look good for him in Rome if it was discovered that the queen had been killed in his camp. The majority of the legionaries in the camp only knew that there had been an attempt on the life of the queen.  He could dispose of the cooks easily, his senior officers owed their loyalty to him, and his problem lay with the bodyguards, her sisters and the auxiliaries. When he did divine his strategy he did not know if it was the wine or his natural brilliance which gave him the solution. The queen’s sisters said that she had to be buried near one of the secret holy places in the hills to the west.  He would kill all the birds with one stone.  The auxiliaries would escort the Brigante to the holy place and then continue to create a new base in the west. Either the winter or the Carvetii would destroy them and the queen’s death would appear to be an accident of war. The auxiliaries’ foray would distract Venutius who would not want five hundred Romans harassing his supply lines.  The remainder of the Roman army would be able to advance on his stronghold and defeat him.  It was a winning plan and he smiled to himself at his own genius. The tribune did not know that the plan had been his all along. He needed every witness of the debacle away. If he could have engineered it then Flavius would have gone with them. When the dust had settled and the vexillation massacred the death of the Queen would be forgotten, the treasure would be his and Brigantia would be Roman without a native ruler. Saenius Augustinius could then be blamed for the disaster that would ensue when the vexillation and the last of the Brigante royal family died at the hands of Venutius. The plan had a beauty about it which appealed to the convoluted mind of Marcus Bolanus. The order to march away was signed by Saenius Augustinius; the governor’s hands were clean.

The next day he summoned Ulpius who frowned as he looked up at the crucified bodies of the cooks and kitchen staff. He shook his head. They had been largely innocent but it was the roman way to make the punishment as sever as possible to encourage all to obey. He saluted as he entered the headquarters.

“Ah decurion.  I understand that you are to escort the queen’s sisters to her burial.”

“Yes sir.”

“Good well I am going to give you some further orders, “he gestured to the prefect who sat, unhappily in a chair at the side of Bolanus. You are to take your ala and a cohort of legionaries to the west of Brigante land.  I want you to secure a base from which you can harry the enemy. Later in the year, when we have reinforcements we will begin our invasion and we will use your new fort as our base. Understood?”

“Yes sir but we can’t go yet.”

The face of Marcus Bolanus began to swell and redden as he detected insubordination. “I have given you an order you will carry it out.”

“I am not questioning the order sir but we have no supplies prepared and half the ala is still on patrol. It seems to me that if we are to spend time isolated from support we need to be as well prepared as possible. We all want this to succeed don’t we sir?”

Realising that, much as he wanted rid of the embarrassment he did not want to be accused at some future date of deliberately risking failure. “How long will you need to fully prepare decurion?”

“Seven days.”

“Good seven days then.”

“There is one more thing sir.”

“Another demand?”

“No sir a request. When can I meet with the centurion in charge of the vexillation so that we may make plans?”

“Decius Brutus arrived last night.  You can meet whenever you wish.”

Ulpius had been silent since he reported to Flavinius and Bolanus. He had been silent because he was not only mourning the death of his love but imagining life without her. For the past thirty years he had known only war and fighting interspersed with boring garrison duty.  He had only known the comradeship of men.  He had been thrust into a world for which he was unprepared.  A woman had come into his life and, he had just realised, taken it over.  All the things which had seemed important, duty comradeship, Rome had all fallen into insignificance. He was about to spend the rest of his life with a woman who had captivated his heart, he was about to become a father and it had all been snatched away.  He was under no illusions; he would not have the opportunity again to feel the comfort of a loving relationship or the intimacy he had known with Cartimandua. It was a bleak future he faced.  The only glimmer of a lining to this black cloud was the fact that he could revenge himself on the Queen’s killers and then die a warrior’s death. That it was more than one killer was obvious to him. Whilst Venutius might want the Queen dead the others were an irrelevance.  He might have given the orders but someone had to get the poison and someone had to administer it. He was certain that the poisoner was Gaius Cresens.  He needed no further proof than the fact that the man had disappeared following the death. Venutius was known; who had provided the poison? For in his mind they were as guilty as the fat quartermaster.  Her death had not been glorious it had been painful and ignoble.  The mighty Cartimandua deserved a better death. He would not rest until he had had his revenge and the revenge of his dead love.

There were other thoughts racing through his mind.  He was a warrior and he was going to war.  He could not help but think of the expedition he was about to command. Despite what he had said to the governor he was not confident. He would be more than a week away from help, even in high summer, and in winter it could take two or three weeks. He would in a land of enemies, a land unknown to every Roman. He was relying on a man he did not trust. The main driving force in his decision to obey an order which bordered on the suicidal was that it brought him closer to Venutius. All he wanted was the chance to be within a sword’s length of that murderer and the death of Cartimandua would be avenged. Almost without thinking he gripped the scabbard of her sword even tighter.

“Does this not seem a little hasty to you?” Marcus spoke quietly to the decurion princeps as they sat astride their horses waiting for the last of the pack horses to join them.

“The queen must be buried and, cold as it is, she needs putting below the ground.” Inside Ulpius was mourning and was as grief stricken as he had been about anything, never having witnessed a loved one die before but he was trained to be strong.  Much as he thought highly of Marcus he would not let him inside his tough outer shell. Perhaps that was a hope for the future for Marcus and Macha might have the hope that he and the queen had had. He swore that he would protect the two of them with his life.

“Some of the men say it is suicidal.”

“Some of the men may be right and I am sorry that many of our comrades will die and it will be my fault for both the Governor and tribune want us to disappear, to die. Indeed I think they secretly wish I had eaten the poisoned food. It is of no matter. We will survive if only because I promised the queen I would care for her family. I cannot do so in Eboracum but if I can build a fort then I believe I have the chance to protect the sisters, my men and keep this old body alive just a little bit longer.” He gripped the pommel of the sword tighter. “I am not ready to meet the Allfather and Queen Cartimandua yet. Once Venutius dies…”

Marcus looked anew at his leader. He knew just how strong his feelings were for the queen.  What he did not know was that Ulpius’ child had died with the queen.  If he had known then perhaps he would have seen the still, hard glint in the decurion princeps’s eye. “I know that but what of this plan to build a fort on the other side of the country? That seems to me the job for legion not a vexillation with a handful of legionaries and a few cavalrymen. In my years in the cavalry I have never known of such an undertaking.”

“Nor have I but if I tell you that before she died the queen had that idea too. She spoke to me in great detail of a site on which to build a stronghold.” He grinned at Marcus for the first time in a long time, “for sometimes young Marcus we did talk. Her sisters too know of the place.  To me it sounds like a perfect site to defend for it has water to protect it and many natural resources. It also has the advantage that it will not occur to the enemy that we could be so bold as to do this.”

“But to travel before the spring has melted the land and made the journey easier?”

“Who said the Roman army ever has anything easy?  At least this journey now will show us some of the land we are to travel. We will have longer days when we journey and I think that the enemy will be still wrapped around his women in his stronghold. . Do not fear Marcus.  I for one am glad to be away from this pestilential hole. It will be good to be away from potential murderers and intrigue.  We will be with men we know and trust. I do not know what goes through the mind of the governor. Perhaps it is not good to know. I am a soldier, I have been given orders. I give the orders to you. Life is simple. It may be a short one but it is simple.” He looked up towards the hills. “Soon we will arrive at the sacred site and they, she will be at rest.”Lowering his eye he tightened his grip on the hilt of her sword.

Marcus turned to check on the progress of the wagon and pack horses. “It is rumoured the quartermaster has disappeared.”

Ulpius’ face hardened.  “I will find him when the time is right fear not. He caused many deaths and I will make him suffer slowly for each one for each one. The fat little weasel cannot run far enough to escape me. But remember Marcus he was but the knife. That poison was directed by another hand and we know who that was.”

“Venutius,” Marcus shuddered at the tone in his friend’s voice. He would not like to be in the sandals of either man when the decurion princeps caught up with them. Changing the subject to a more neutral one he asked. “What do you know of legionary centurion Decius Brutus who is to accompany us?”