Hosker, G [Sword of Cartimandua 01] The Sword of Cartimandua (34 page)

On the right flank Earl Woolgar recognised the Romans as the ones who had beaten him twice.  He saw the leader, a huge one-eyed wild warrior wielding a Brigante sword. He would defeat the Romans by killing their leader and in doing so he would regain the honour he had lost in his last battle; he had seen the weakening of his king’s allies. This was his moment of glory. This would give him the revenge for his lost warriors.  Either he or the Roman would stay on this field. He urged his horse towards the undefended right side of the decurion princeps. Ulpius was focussed on the enemies to the front.  He could see the wavering lines begin to stiffen as the legionary centurions and aquifers steadied the ranks and began to start to edge forward. He heard the buccina announce the charge and could see the huge figure of the First Spear begin to lead the legion forward. This was their moment and, unlikely as it had seemed a short while earlier, they might just survive.

Marcus, in the place of honour on the unguarded right of his leader, saw the Carvetii chieftain hurtling towards his friend.  He recognised him from their battle in the lakes and saw that he fought with a sword and a short axe; he knew he was a cunning and ferocious warrior who had despatched Orrick himself a mighty warrior. Ulpius would be dead before he knew he was being attacked. He did not hesitate; his own horse was a powerful Roman mount whilst his adversary’s pony was far smaller though nimbler. Marcus’ horse crashed into Woolgar and his mount throwing him to the ground. As he passed the Carvetii war chief he back slashed with his sword and felt it grate against bone. By now the wedge had lost cohesion and, seeing no more enemies to threaten Ulpius he wheeled his horse around to face his enemy again. He had, indeed, wounded Earl Woolgar but the grizzled old warrior was like a wounded bear. Behind him Aetre stood ready to protect his liege lord. Marcus rode hard at Woolgar keeping his sword between him and his enemy; as the decurion passed he felt the axe crash against his shield and he struck at the unprotected head of the war chief. Aetre appeared from nowhere and his sword stopped the blow connecting. In the follow through his blade caught the flank of Marcus’ mount which reared and threw him. As he hit the ground he was winded and dazed but still held both sword and shield which saved his life for Lord Woolgar saw his chance and sliced down at the recumbent Roman with his mighty sword. Aetre saw his chance as Marcus lifted his blade to defend himself from the war chief’s strike. In doing so he left his right side unguarded. The young warrior plunged his sword towards the decurion’s armpit.

“No you don’t you sneaky little fucker.” Decius’ spear took Aetre full in the throat. “Now if you’ll finish off this bastard, sir, we can get back in the war and beat these fucking barbarians once and for all.” Grinning he wheeled his horse back into the fray. With a shout of anger Marcus leapt up hitting the boss of his shield into the face of the war chief who half fell backwards; as he did so he exposed his right side when his weakened arm dropped his sword to the ground. Marcus did not hesitate but sliced under his arm and through his neck. Withdrawing his sword he decapitated the head of Earl Woolgar and raised it with a roar of victory. The warband saw it and were dismayed; Woolgar and Aetre were now dead, the blood kin of Woolgar were all slaughtered, killed either in the pass or defending their lord on this lonely, desolate hillside and the rest, warriors summoned for the war ran, eager to be away from the wall of death which had appeared from the mists. They would return to their homes, plant crops, raise families and forget the disaster to which Earl Woolgar had brought them. If he did but know it Maeve would soon be heralded as Earl Maeve and Woolgar’s lands would be his.

If Venutius had been angry before he was, by now, furious with red hot rage. The one eyed Roman who had stolen the queen from him and defeated his warriors had now turned the battle. His surprise attack had been itself surprised and defeated. He cursed Woolgar as the remnants of his warband fled unhindered eastwards. Realising that the Roman was now alone and isolated, he raced his chariot towards his enemy.  Soon the sword of Cartimandua, which he saw the Roman wielded, would be his and with it the allegiance of any wavering Brigante who would see it as a sign from the Allfather that Venutius was the rightful king of the Brigante.  The king had one last gamble which could win him all. Ulpius was busy despatching two wounded enemies and did not see the chariot making like an arrow towards him. While he was still some distance away his driver was thrown from the chariot having been struck by two arrows. The king of the Carvetii threw his shield to the floor and grabbed the reins. Venutius was barely thirty paces away when he hurled his spear. Although the spear missed the Roman it took Raven in the neck and Ulpius faithful beast reared on to its hind legs mortally struck.  The misfortunate turned to disaster when the dying beast fell on Ulpius’ leg leaving him helplessly trapped beneath the steed. Realising he would have to dismount to finish off the Roman and retrieve the sword Venutius halted the chariot. Ulpius struggled to extract his trapped leg. The Carvetii blade arced down towards the decurion princeps’ head as it did so Raven’s death throe released some of the pressure and Ulpius dragged his leg out. The blade missed his head but sliced down his left arm.

“Roman you fight well, let us see if you die well.” Venutius was a powerful warrior; he had been a war chief before he had married the Queen and become king.  He knew how to fight and Ulpius was a wounded, weary warrior but in his heart he had a fire and a need for revenge. He resolved to take Venutius with him to the after life. They both hacked at each other furiously, swords beating on shields and glancing off helms and armour. After a dozen thrusts at each other they paused to gather their breath. Ulpius was weak both from the fall and the wound in his arm which was weakening his defence. In contrast Venutius was uninjured and filled with a passionate anger giving him extra strength. The end would not be long in coming and Venutius could not miss the opportunity to gloat. “It is a shame the witch did not poison you as well as the bitch Cartimandua for then I would have won the battle and I would have the sword.” Venutius spat the words at Ulpius hoping to make him lose his temper and forget his Roman training.

The decurion princeps did become angry but his training had been over twenty years and it was as though his body took over from the seething mind of the Roman auxiliary. With a roar Ulpius raced forward, his sudden charge catching his opponent unawares. He felt his blade strike the unprotected thigh of Venutius. The thick blood began to gush from the fatal wound. “You should know Carvetii that whoever carries this sword cannot be defeated.” The now dying Venutius tried ineffectively to break down Ulpius’ defence but his lifeblood was spilling across the hillside for it was a fatal wound. Realising that he himself was wounded and seeing the weakening of the king’s blows Ulpius ended the fight with a might stroke which all but severed the king in two. As he raised his sword to scream “Cartimandua” the arrow from Venutius’ war chief Brennus struck him in his side. The barbed tip entered below his right arm, tore through his body and emerged near his left hip.  It was a death wound and Ulpius sank to his knees on that muddy, bloody battlefield.

As he lay there amidst the carnage and slaughter he did not know that the death of Venutius marked the end of the battle and that the war bands, largely leaderless, were fleeing. He barely heard the cheer from the Roman ranks as they celebrated their victory. The sound of the buccina ordering a pursuit was a dim, far away echo as though in a tunnel.  He began to slip away to the comfortable world of sleep, eternal sleep and peace. His only thoughts were for his men; he hoped that many would have survived and he prayed that Marcus would live. The sky was going dark and he gripped the sword hilt even tighter.  “Allfather your son is coming home.  I hope that I have gained enough honour to be admitted.” He closed his eyes prepared for death and hopeful of being reunited with Cartimandua.

“Ulpius!”

Opening his eye Ulpius realised he was still alive. “Is that you Marcus?”

“It is. Rest I have sent for a surgeon.”

“No my friend for I will not recover from these wounds but do not weep for me for I shall be with the Queen and the Allfather.” He coughed and Marcus could see the flecks of blood which told him his friend had deep injuries and had suffered a death wound. “I want you to do two things for me.”

“Anything but you must live.”

“We both know that cannot be so for I am dying. First take the sword of the Brigante back to her people. The princesses will know what to do and,” he coughed more blood and spittle, “you must find and kill Cresens and the witch.”

“Witch?” 

“It was not just the fat one who caused the death of my Queen, there was a witch. Paid for by Venutius. Look to Eboracum that is where you shall find her.” He opened his eye. “Marcus you have been as a son to me now be a father to our men.” Marcus nodded and gave the Roman salute; the oath was sworn.

Although the eye remained open Marcus told Decius and Gaius later that he saw the life leave his leader as Ulpius Felix, decurion princeps of the auxiliary smiled and passed over to be with his queen and his warriors.

Alexandria

The newly appointed Emperor Vespasian sat in the cool throne room in the Imperial palace in Alexandria. Now that the East was subdued he could turn his attention to Britannia, the site of his first action with Aulus Paulinus.  He had determined whilst serving there that one day Rome would rule that northern outpost of the known world. He summoned his clerk.  He knew just the man to take charge and conquer that barbaric wild land.

“Send an order to Gnaeus Julius Agricola he is on the Rhine.  He is to assume command of all the forces in Britannia and take control in the name of the Emperor Vespasian and Rome.”

Epilogue

It was a cold clear morning as the wagon and small escort made their way across the spring hills sparkling with a sharp frost. Leading the way was Marcus with Gaius and Decius in close attendance. The silence in which they rode was a reflective silence as they carried the body of the warrior who had led them through many close encounters with death. As warriors they knew that the death of Ulpius Felix was the only death they could expect. So far no Pannonian had reached the goal of retirement and citizenship with all the benefits that brought. He had died on the battlefield, he had died undefeated, he had avenged the death of his love; what more could a warrior desire?

In the wagon Macha and Lenta were also thinking about the man who had brought love late in the life of their half-sister; the man who had saved them and their children format best death and at worst slavery. As Macha suckled the young warrior to be named Ulpius by his father she dwelt on the thought that her husband, the new commander of the Ala, Marcus would probably end his days much as Ulpius Felix with a sword in his hand. She determined to make the most of every second they had together.

The newly promoted decurion Decius was perhaps also thinking less about Ulpius and more about Marcus for he now saw that the young warrior had changed him, had made him a better soldier and, if he was honest, a better man. He came on this journey not only to honour Ulpius but to protect Marcus. Although the Carvetii and Brigante rebels had been beaten Decius knew that there were still rogue bands wandering the lonely fells. Alasica had not yet begun the long process of mopping up all the dissident tribesmen.

The barrow loomed into sight, the earth still fresh from the burial of the Queen. This time they found the entrance instantly. When it had been opened they reverently took out the shrouded body of Ulpius. His hair was combed, his armour polished, his amulets and torcs shone; he looked resplendent, the complete warrior. .

“Are you sure you do not want me to put the sword in the grave with him? The three of them would be united forever.”

“No. Ulpius made it clear to you did him not that he wished it to be passed back to the Brigante?” Marcus nodded. “We are now the leaders of the Brigante and we want the weapon wielded by a warrior. And when your son is old enough he too is Brigante and he will honour both his people, Brigante and Roman by fighting with the sword of Cartimandua.”

So it was that Ulpius Felix warrior of Rome was laid to rest in an unmarked barrow with the last Queen of the Brigante, Cartimandua whose fabled sword continued to be used by Marcus Aurelius Maxuminus decurion of Rome.

From the cover of the high cliffs Fainch peered down. Her work was not over, it had hardly begun. When she returned from Mona she would be even more powerful and the little group in front of her would be the first to feel her power and she burned their faces on her mind. They would all die, the Romans, the Brigante traitors and even the suckling child, all would feel the wrath and revenge of Fainch.

In the land of the lakes Earl Maeve viewed the returning remnants of his half brother’s warband. They were a pitiful sight but they were now his warband and he swore that when he had built them back up into a fierce fighting force he would rid his land, the land of the lakes, of this insidious invader.

The opening chapter of Book 2 in the series, Horsewarriors

Chapter 1

Fainch

The closer she was to Mona the more uplifted and confident she became; she felt as though the spirits of her dead sisters were protecting her from the eyes of the Romans. She and her sisters worshipped Mother Earth. She had spent many years, as a child and as a young woman, on the island of Mona where she studied and worshipped with the Druids. She had been there when the Romans had first desecrated the holy places and slaughtered the Druids. As she had hidden and watched she had seen the ruthless Romans slaughtering the priests and priestesses, killing those that she thought of as family. She swore an oath then on the holy places that she would have revenge and drive these Romans from her land she would create an alliance which would defeat these Romans who had disembowelled and crucified the only man she had ever loved; Vosius son of Lugotrix a king killed himself by the Romans. They had killed the only chance she would have of happiness; she would ensure that they had none. In this part of the world the Romans had a habit of killing before questioning; they had learned the hard way that even the women of this wild land could be as ruthless as the men. Fainch did not find it difficult to travel at night time, in many ways she preferred it and she relished the deep dark cloak it afforded her. The most dangerous time was when she came to the shore of the mainland and she could see the sacred island of Mona rising above the fierce, raging white tops. She would need to find a way across the wild waters.