Hosker, G [Sword of Cartimandua 09] Hero of Rome (10 page)

When Faolan’s men fell upon the town in the early hours of the morning, it was as though wolves had been allowed into the sheep pen.  Faolan’s orders had been clear; his men were to slaughter all the men and old people but to capture the children and women as slaves. He knew he had enough men to outnumber the townspeople and he had threatened the leaders of the smaller warbands he was using with death if any potential slaves were killed. Faolan was already calculating that he could soon return home.  He could make enough with this one raid to buy Hibernia for his scouts had told him that there were hundreds of women and children in the town. He realised that he did not have to risk failure by attacking the heavily fortified fortress of Eboracum. Sceanbh had been correct, Britannia was indeed a rich heifer waiting to be milked.  He could return as many times as it took to replenish his finances. His losses had been negligible and his successes, incredible.

The opposition, inevitably, came from the veterans.  All of their farms were in the same place, just south of the old hill fort, well away from the Brigantes.  As soon as they heard the screams and the clash of blade on blade they reached for their weapons. Marius Spurius had been an optio in the Ninth legion; now almost fifty, he was still fit and he roared his orders.  “Shield wall! I know some of you nancy boys were horse shaggers but even you know how to keep a fucking shield next to your mates!”

The old members of Marcus’ Horse grinned at the banter.  One of them shouted out, “Better watch out lads, we all know that the Ninth preferred men to horses!”

“Forward!”

The double line, with Marius in the centre moved towards the walls of the hill fort.  Over the years the glacis had been eroded and they easily mounted it to reach the top. The inhabitants of Stanwyck who had not been killed or captured were fleeing across the open centre of the old hill fort towards them.  The ridges and ditches were allowing the Irish to catch up with those who fell and they were killed or captured depending upon their sex and age. The old instincts of the veterans took over and they jogged forwards, breathing heavier than in times past but keeping a straight line. The first survivors from the slaughter saw them with their shields and spears, easily recognisable as Romans and ran to the sides, crying their gratitude as they kept running south. The veterans had bought them time to escape the horror of the knife in the dark.

The leader of the Irish warband, Conan, was not enjoying the slaughter.  He had come to Britannia for honour and glory.  So far all they had slaughtered were fat old farmers and traders.  His sword had yet to strike a shield! Suddenly, before the rampaging, disorganised mercenaries appeared a phantom, a line of Roman soldiers. As they trudged forwards from the mist they appeared like ghosts from the past. The first Hibernian warriors fell to the javelins of the veterans.  Marius’ voice roared, “Throw!” and twenty javelins flew through the air. The Irish were spread out but even so, silhouetted against the sun rise and being but fifteen paces from the Romans, eighteen of the weapons found their mark. Enraged the barbarian raiders recklessly charged the Roman line.  The front rank was composed of all ex legionaries and auxiliary infantry and they locked shields to make a solid barrier.  The troopers behind knew what to do and they braced themselves with their shields pushing against the front rank of veterans. To the attackers it was like hitting a stone wall. They bounced back in shock to be hacked down to a man by the veterans who still remembered their training.

Marius risked a glance around and nodded proudly. Not a man had fallen.  He was in no doubt that they would all die that day but they would die with honour intact. These raiders would remember the last stand of the veteran Romans.

Appalled at the slaughter of his men Conan yelled, in Gaelic, “Halt!” Most heard and obeyed but three of the younger warriors carried on their advance and were cut down, too, as they came close to the killing machine who had once been legionaries. Conan could now see that there were but a handful of these Romans and they could be outflanked. “You ten, round that side, you ten round the other.” The twenty men ran to their positions.

Marius could see what was coming. If they stood their ground they would be slaughtered, better to take the initiative. “Wedge!” Both infantry and cavalry knew the wedge formation and, with Marius as their point, they made a dagger shape. The rear rank had ten men in it and, as Marius roared, “Run!” the tight wedge hurled itself to cover the fifteen paces which separated them from the Irish mob. Any more would have been too much for the old men but they hit the line and killed those in the front rank pushing inexorably on.  Their impetus brought them close to Conan who marked Marius as the leader. Here was his chance for glory.  As the man in front of him was gutted by Marius’ gladius Conan stepped forward, his huge sword arcing down towards the optio’s head. He had never fought Romans and Marius used that to his advantage.  He let the blow come and then deflected the blade along his shield to slide harmlessly into the turf. In one motion he stabbed upwards and Conan felt the razor sharp blade slide along his side, cutting through to his ribs. He dropped to his knees and Marius smashed him in his face with the boss of his shield. Trampling over the body the wedge continued forwards.

Time is no friend to old warriors and the twenty years since they had last fought in anger took its toll.  Those on the right of the wedge were facing an enemy who could attack with impunity as their shields were on their other arms.  The men were picked off one by one. Almost in an instant the cohesion of the wedge disappeared and the Romans found themselves each fighting three opponents. Despite killing two of the three, inevitably the third killed the veteran.  The Irish could not understand why the old men died with smiles on their faces. The last to go was Marius who was struck from behind with a ring of bodies around him. The last stand of the Ninth and Marcus’ Horse had not been in vain; a stream of refugees fled south to alert the neighbouring towns that there were raiders in the vicinity.

Over in the town the flames could be seen flickering as the wooden buildings quickly caught light.  Faolan was pleased with the assault until he came upon Conan and the decimated warband.  Conan had come to and was having his side dressed by one of his men.

“What happened here?” Faolan’s tone implied that there was something Conan could have done.

Angus spoke up quickly, “These are veterans of the legion.  These are the warriors you should fear.”

“But the fort when we attacked them, they died so easily.”

“Yes Prince but we surprised those men.  These heard the noise and had time to prepare.  Man for man they will defeat any you send against them.  You need to outnumber them and surround them.”

Faolan looked in dismay at the corpses littering the field.  The circle of dead Romans seemed very small indeed. “So the Romans south of us will know we are here?”

Angus pointed to the north where the flames and black smoke were rising, liked a mountain, high into the sky.  “And to the north.  You had best prepare your defences.”

The Irish warrior bit back the snappy reply that was in his head, the old adviser was right.  He looked at the old fortifications of the hill fort. “We can pull the men behind those ramparts and they will have to climb up to us.”

“Good plan but I would have your men hide to gain the surprise.  They will expect you to have fled and not be waiting for them.”

Faolan nodded at the sound advice.  He glanced at Conan and the wounded warriors. “Conan, take the slaves, the plunder and the booty back to Manavia.  Use your bodyguard.” He looked intently at the red haired old chief.  “It is vital that the captives and the plunder get to Manavia.  Understand?”Conan tried to struggle to his feet. Faolan snarled disparagingly, ignoring the bravery of the warrior who had fought for his Prince. “You will be no use in a battle.  Take one of the captured horses and then you will not slow down your escape.” He dismissed his chief from his mind, as the tired warrior limped away, and the Prince turned to Loegaire. “Get the men behind the ramparts.  Make sure we have stones and arrows to hand.  No-one attacks the Romans until I give the order.” He looked at Angus. “Anything else?”

“I’d feed your men if I were you.  Hungry men don’t fight so well and these Romans will not be surprised.  They will be expecting to fight today.”

******

The fire was recognised for the danger it was both in Morbium and at Gaius’ farm. The Prefect at Morbium immediately mobilised six centuries to investigate and sent a messenger both to Coriosopitum and Eboracum.  It might be nothing but the Prefect knew that they lived in parlous times. Gaius too understood the significance. “Decius, take your mother, your family and the women to Morbium. You will be safe there.”

Decius shook his head. “I am not leaving you alone with the few men we have.  You take the women and I will defend the home.”

Gaius took his young heir to one side. “Decius, I have the wasting sickness.” He had been dreading telling his son but the time now seemed appropriate. He had come to terms with his fate but he knew his eldest would not.

Decius recoiled.  “But you can’t….”

Gaius smiled, “Your mother and I kept it from you.  We both know there is nothing that we can do about it and we are prepared but if I am going to die soon at least let me die defending your heritage.” Decius looked distraught and Gaius embraced him. “It is for the best. If I survive then all well and good but if not then tell your brothers that I love all of you and I am as proud of all three of you as any father who walked this land.”

Holding back the tears Decius went to gather the wagons and horses. Ailis came over.  “You told him then?”

“Aye. I didn’t want to but if things go badly…”

“I will be at your side anyway.”

Gaius held her at arm’s length. “No you shall not! You are a healthy woman and I would not deprive my children of both parents.  You will leave and you will live.  The boys will need your advice and comfort. I will not take no for an answer.”

Ailis almost recoiled at the tone but she could see the sense and she nodded, the emotion too much for her to risk an answer. She stood on tiptoe to kiss her husband. “You are the finest man I ever knew.”

“And I am grateful for the day we raided the Caledonian camp and I found the woman of my heart.”

By the time Decius had organised his wagons Ailis was under control.  As they heard hooves clattering along the lane every man’s hands went to his weapons but were relieved to see Old Sergeant Cato with a string of horses.  He dismounted and gave the string to Decius. “You will move faster with these.”

Decius looked at the former trooper.  “You are staying?”

“Aye.  My farm is harder to defend but your father and I have more chance here.” Gaius nodded his thanks. “And Decius, in front of these witnesses, I would like to say that should anything happen to me, my horse farm is yours and your family’s.” Gaius clasped Cato’s arm and the grey haired horse whisperer shrugged.  “Who else would I leave it to?”

“Decius, go now.  It is some time since we saw the flames.”

The tearful column headed up the road towards Morbium passing as it did so the auxiliaries marching south. Decius’ family were all in tears and the auxiliaries wondered why the whole farm was not being evacuated. The centurion halted the column close to the farm gates. They knew each other well. “Not leaving then Gaius?”

“It may be nothing in which case leaving would invite destruction and we have spent too long building this farm up. If it is trouble then I would like to try to stop it.”

“Good luck then.”

“We’ll have food ready if you find it is just a field fire.”

Looking at the black smoke the centurion shook his head.  “That is the fire of burning buildings. I think things just went from bad to worse.”

“We will just have to pray to the Allfather.”

“And I hope that this time he listens.”

Chapter 6

First Spear left Gaius’ farm wondering why someone would risk his life for a few stones and scrubby piece of land. He would have high tailed it to Morbium the moment he had first seen the fire. He had been a soldier for twenty years and, next year, when he retired he would take the land he would be rewarded with for his service to Rome and sell it! All he wanted out of retirement was a tavern and plenty of good food, more than just his porridge and bread. He knew that he either had too many men or not enough.  If this was a raid then any force large enough to burn Stanwyck could take his vexillation.  He was not convinced about the quality of the auxiliaries he commanded. He thought back twenty years to his arrival in Britannia and then the men had been tougher and more resilient.  The newer recruits took the salary but did not want the hardship.

He glanced over his shoulder and noticed some of those at the back lagging behind. “Optio, take your vine staff and hurry those lazy bastards at the back.  If this is a field fire then I would like to be back before meal time.”

Once they crested the rise a half mile from Stanwyck, First Spear could see that it was not a field fire.  The town was a smouldering ruin and there was no sign of life. The huddled corpses in front of the gate told him that there would be few survivors. “Optio, take six men and scout the wall.” As his second in command trotted off First Spear turned to the column behind. “Form three lines!” Although the land was a little broken with some undergrowth the auxiliaries found the task easier than a legion would have done.  Accustomed to fighting in a looser formation, the vexillation presented a front of one hundred and sixty men. The front rank was already preparing their spears for they were the assault troops.  Most of them thought that they would be burying bodies rather than fighting as there were carrion crows and magpies already plucking at the eyes of the already stiffening bodies. By the time the line reached the bodies the optio had returned. He shook his head. “No-one left alive sir. Looks like barbarians but they aren’t Selgovae, Brigante or Votadini.”