Hosker, G [Sword of Cartimandua 01] The Sword of Cartimandua (4 page)

Marcus shook his head a grin across his face. He knew why Ulpius had indulged the boy just as he knew why he had indulged him earlier. The turma trusted Ulpius because he always let them know what he was about. This was a dangerous patrol in the heartland of Brigantia. Marcus clucked in annoyance as the young man turned his horse around and galloped hard along the track. Marcus loved horses and hated to see them badly used. The young trooper would soon realise that you saved your horse whenever possible for it was your final escape from the enemy; Roman horses could outrun anything in this desolate northern land. He once again scanned the skyline. They had more than ten miles to go but if Venutius had scouts out they would be seen quickly. Ulpius must have been reading his mind for he stopped the column and Marcus could see him gesture for the first two troopers to scout north and south of their line of march; Osgar was some way ahead weaving from side to side as he sought sign. The old wolf would not fall into an ambush himself.

An hour later and the whole column looked around as they head hoof beats pounding up the trail. Marcus realised that it was Gaius who reined in next to Marcus. “Smoke,” he gasped, “to the west.  I went up a short rise and saw it.  About five miles away.”  Just then the first two riders sent by Ulpius returned and Osgar jogged wearily back to the stationary soldiers. The decurion held up his hand to halt the column and signalled for Marcus to join him. The two Roman leaders dismounted and walked off a few paces where they would not be overheard.

“The scouts report that Cartimandua’s refuge appears to be safe still but that there is a host approaching from the south.  They are mainly on foot but it looks to be a large number.  We will get to Cartimandua before they do but, unless they have horses, we will not escape Venutius.”

“Do you think the tribune will have acted?”

Ulpius’ one eye narrowed. “I hope our leader,” the sarcasm was not lost on his men, “has sent the rest of the ala. A thousand horsemen will be more than enough but I know not. Still this thirty will have to suffice. If we can be of help then we will do so but I will not risk us for the sake of a glorious death. Come we ride.”

Marcus wondered if he would be able to be so calm when leading in such a desperate situation. If he left the Queen to be sacrificed like a helpless goat then the consequences for the auxiliary decurion would be catastrophic. Yet the alternative was to let his men be slaughtered for a heroic gesture.

The town of Cataractonium was unusually crowded; the war band was gathering. Armed and painted warriors milled around eager to see and hear what their war chief had planned. Chieftains proudly displayed their battle scars as younger warriors bragged about deeds as yet unperformed. There was a noise and a hubbub amongst the thousands of warriors which sounded like the roar of surf on the sea shore. Suddenly there was silence as the door of the hall opened and the crowd breathed in as one.

Venutius was a magnificent looking warrior; his jet black hair hung down his back and his wide torso filled the doorway as he emerged. His arms were covered in amulets, the symbols of successful battles; his body covered by a captured cuirass and ornamented with gold and bronze circlets. His face was devoid of any facial hair and made him stand out from his warriors; it also accentuated his eyes and his nose making him look like a hunting hawk. He was every warrior’s idea of a warrior chief and they had all left Cartimandua with him giving their loyalty to a warrior before a Queen especially a queen who had taken a young shield bearer as a spouse.

He climbed on to a chariot so that the thousands at the rear of the warband could see him. “Warriors! The time has come to show these Romans that they are no longer welcome in our land. The time has come to hurl them back into the sea. The time has come to bathe our weapons in blood.” There was a huge cheer at this and Venutius allowed it to continue, revelling in the acclaim. “Our brothers, the Silures, are even now attacked the legions down there.” He waved his sword in the direction of the South. “Our Carvetii brothers have joined with our Brigante brothers to make an army which is unstoppable.” Again a cheer went up which he stopped with his raised arm.  “They think we are cowed because Cartimandua lay on her back like the whore she is. She gave up Caractacus for her own ends and she is a traitor who must now die. We ride to her stronghold and we will show the world who rules when we publicly end her reign in blood. All those who join with us will be spared; all those who oppose us will suffer the same fate.” The cheers this time were at fever pitch and it took some time for Venutius to quieten them.  “We ride north to destroy the Queen and then the Romans at Eboracum will die. Ride!”

The war host was many thousands strong. There were many horse and many chariots but the majority of the warriors were on foot. Venutius was not worried; he had more than enough mounted men to surround the stronghold and stop anyone escaping. That he would take the stronghold was certain. He smiled to himself.  Did she not realise that it was he who had improved the defences and he knew every tiny part of that huge stronghold. He also knew that she did not have enough men to man the walls. Its strength was as a refuge for the Brigante people not a few who might hide up behind its mighty ditches.  Were it not for his family held hostage he would have taken it in the spring but he was now committed. Hopefully the queen would surrender without harming his family; if not …The murder of hostages would make his warriors even more passionate in their wars against the enemy.

He looked at his eager warriors, his war bands which gave him a ready reserve that would be eager to emulate the deeds of the mounted Carvetii. His mounted men would easily get by the few guards and take the fortress. There would be little Cartimandua and her bodyguard would be able to do. He had given orders for her to be captured alive for in his mind he was already punishing the false bitch who had betrayed him and taken a lowly shield bearer as a lover; they would both pay dearly for that mistake. Once she was dead he would rule as rightful king of the Brigante and with that title came the whole of the north of Britannia. The destruction of the Queen was a symbolic gesture which the whole of Britannia would see for what it was; the end of Roman occupation and collaboration. It would be the beginning of the revolt.

Chapter 2

Stanwyck

Stanwyck took the young Roman’s breath away; it was the largest single structure Marcus had ever seen. Approaching from the south they would see the walls of the Brigante capital stretching away east and west.  He estimated it at four or five thousand paces.  There was a ditch and a barrier made of palisades, another ditch and then a stone and wooden wall. The gate had two towers with a number of guards and a handful in the open gateway. He could see on a small rise behind an internal ditch the unmistakeable orange roof of a Roman villa.  It was the first he had seen on this island.  Looking at the tops of the palisades he could now see that there appeared to be few guards walking the walls and only two warriors chatting by the open gate.  As Ulpius peered through the trees in the fading light he dismissed the defences as a barrier against the legions but conceded that it might halt tribesmen. It was certainly big. He turned to the men in the turma who surrounded him. “Aulus you and Osgar take the road to the south.  When you see the Brigante and Carvetii army, any of them, you get back here as soon as possible. Drusus you take three men and keep watch here.  If we have to come out in a hurry I don’t want to walk into an ambush. The rest of you go carefully. We don’t yet know how the land lies. “He turned to Marcus. “Anything happens to me you get the bitch out and to Eboracum, it doesn’t matter how or how many die. Clear?” He glared at Marcus and the rest of the men all of whom nodded. “Let’s go.”

They trotted forward. They were only yards from the tree line when they heard the challenge from the walls. A dozen warriors, arms filled with bracelets and necks adorned with torcs raced out to the gateway weapons at the ready.

Ulpius’ face showed no emotion as he stopped Raven at the barrier of spears. “I am Ulpius Felix, Decurion of the Second Turma, and First Sabinian Wing of Pannonians.  I am here with urgent news for your Queen Cartimandua.”

There was a silence as the warriors struggled to understand the Roman. The turma were already loosing their weapons in anticipation of a fight when Ulpius held up his hand. “It is vital that I speak with someone in authority for.” He lowered his voice and addressed the oldest of the guards. “Venutius comes.”

The words had the desired effect and the most scarred warrior spoke. “Leave your men in the outer ward and come with me.”

Ulpius turned to Marcus. “Have the men take the saddles off their horses, feed and water them and find some food. “ He turned to the nearest guard. “Have food and drink brought for my men.” He marched off with the expectation that his orders, even to a stranger would be obeyed.

Marcus watched him stride off once again in awe of the command of his leader, totally fearless, prepared for anything. “Come on you lot. If Venutius gets here before dark we will have to fight our way out. Make sure the animals can carry us; treat them as you would your lover.”

As they dismounted one wag called out, “Atticus already does.” The men laughed as the most unpopular man in the turma reddened. Marcus took it as a god sign; if they could joke they would fight and if they fought... Marcus would back this turma against any barbarians.

Ulpius was tall and had to duck beneath the narrow gateway.  Behind him he heard his men leading their mounts through the gateway. The pathway took a sharp right, obviously a defensive strategy to assault an invading enemy from the flank. Behind the outer wall the land was flat and covered in huts and roundhouses laid out in no particular order or discernible pattern. His military mind took over as he followed the guard weaving between the huts. The fortress had an inner fortress and another steep ditch. To his right a forceful stream bubbled its way across the whole fort. At least defenders would be well supplied with water. Ulpius noticed how few guards there were and, apart from those he had met at the gate, what was disconcerting was that none of them looked up for a fight. He realised that any defence of the Queen would come from his handful of men. They passed through another gate, ignored by the warriors who lounged there and Ulpius could see the hall before them. Although not on the scale of a Roman building it was, none the less the most substantial structure he had seen so far in this land of round wooden huts. Ulpius was about to walk directly for it when his guard tugged at his arm.  “This way Roman unless you want to meet the queen with wet feet.”

Looking ahead Ulpius could now see that the land was boggy and marshy; they were forced to walk a narrow path between the stream and the marsh. He began to understand the workings of the Brigante mind.  This would certainly slow up an assault.  If an enemy attempted to get across the marsh he would be an easy target.  If he took the route past the stream he would be an easy target. The hall was set on a knob of rock which rose higher than all but the earthworks.  It looked almost Roman in its design and construction.  Away on the right he could see further concentric circles of ditches marking out the western boundary. As he walked up to the hall he could see, in the distance, the outer defences; by his reckoning it was three thousand paces from north to south.  He could see much evidence of recent building and construction work.  A mighty structure but to defend it properly one would need a horde far bigger than the handful he had seen. He turned to his guards, “A fine hall.  It looks new.”

“Aye Roman your Emperor had it built for the Queen.”

“Did he also put the new defensive walls up?”

One of the more surly guards sneered,”No Roman, that was our King Venutius.”

Ignoring the implied insult Ulpius stored the key information. If Venutius had constructed the extra defences and if there still men loyal to the king then it was even more imperative that he escape with the Queen as soon as possible. The defensive qualities were even less if you were assaulted by the man who built the defences.

His guards stopped him at the entrance of the hall. “Wait here Roman.”

As he waited Ulpius turned around to survey the land around the refuge for the hall afforded a fine view across the country. The trees had been cut back for some distance but the only other natural defence was a small stream, easily fordable.  He gazed eastwards. That was the direction he would have to take. There was a small outpost at Cataractonium to the south but Eboracum was even closer, fifteen or sixteen miles. If his trooper had got there and raised the alarm and, if the tribune had reacted, the ala could be a mere three or four miles away. It all depended on Venutius and his army approaching from the west.

“Enter decurion.” The voice came from a holy man, an old holy man. His hair was not limed as the warriors, it was shorter, cropped but he was a whitebeard and lacked any jewellery. Ulpius detected something about him; he was not a Brigante for he had recognised his rank. “The Queen awaits.” His Latin was flawless and as Ulpius followed he noticed the tattoo. The man had been a legionary.

Queen Cartimandua had been a strikingly beautiful warrior queen in her time.  She had fought in many battles and held off rival armies very successfully. When she first met the Romans she realised that they were here to stay and that diplomacy was the best course of action. She dismayed not only other Celts but also her own Brigante people when she treacherously handed over Caractacus to the invaders. She was pragmatic and politic, a rare thing in a Celtic leaders. She had further alienated her people when, following her husband divorcing her she took up with Vellocatus her shield bearer. This had outraged and shocked her most supportive followers. It was a measure of her character and charisma that she had ruled for a further fourteen years without the support of many of her people.  Two things had been in her favour; firstly the support of the Romans through a series of indifferent governors and, perhaps more importantly, the fact that she held most of her ex-husband’s family hostage. The threat of their death kept Venutius and his horde at bay.