Hosker, G [Sword of Cartimandua 10] Roman Hawk (16 page)

The headman turned over the jet. “This is a precious object and I thank you.”

Hercules waved his arm expansively at the long house, “You have shown us hospitality.  It is the least we could do.”

“We do have two spare slaves, women.  They are good workers but the man who bought them no longer needs them.” He lowered his voice, “His wife and children died and he lives alone. He is ready to join them.  He lives up in the hills.  I will visit him in the morning.  Now as to the pots…”

Hercules and the headman wandered over to the fire to haggle. “I thought that this might be the place where Marcus had been taken but …”

“Gnaeus do you not see?  These may have been sent our way by the Allfather for if they were captured in Britannia then they will know where Marcus is.  For the first time since we began this quest I have a strong hope that we may find him.”

The two slaves were young women of about eighteen summers.  When they heard the Brigante language their faces lit up and they boarded
The Swan
eagerly although it was not a sign of freedom, it was at least a little closer to their home. The headman was a shrewd businessman.  Hercules did not know how much he had paid the slaves’ owner but he knew, for the rapturous look on his face, that the pots the headman had received far outweighed the pittance he had paid.

“You are more than welcome here again Hercules.”

“And you too Harald Snorrisson, come to Britannia for there they have need for fine wood and you could trade for the pots yourself.”

As they sailed away Hercules wondered about a trade route to this part of the world but the thought of the long ships put him off. He concentrated on sailing south having been given good directions and a chart from the headman who had been eager to build on the relationship.

The two girls were pleased to be away from the strange land but Rufius could tell from their faces that they worried why the boatload of men had bought them. “I am Morag and this is Agner. We were taken two summers since from the land close to the place of the jet. The family who bought us were kind but since the woman died…”

Agner carried on. “He behaved strangely and we feared what he would do.  When the headman came we knew that our prayers to the Mother had worked.” She looked intently at Rufius. “And what will our work be?” The look in both their eyes told Rufius what they feared.

“We will return you to your homes and you will be free.” The joy in their faces and the embraces they gave each other was a visible sign of their relief.  “However you must aid us in our quest. For we bought you as a key.”

The girls looked perplexed. Morag asked, “A key?  I don’t understand.”

“We are looking for a friend who was captured by raiders to the Dunum.  You are the first Brigante we have found and we think you may have been captured by the same band.  If you have then you can tell us of the place and make it easy for us to rescue our friend.”

“We will tell you all we know.  The man who took us was a man called Trygg.  He was not cruel but he has many warriors. They had five ships.”

Gnaeus asked, “Is he a big man with blond braided hair and a full beard.”

“Yes that is him.”

“Five boats with a dragon head?” Again they nodded. “Sounds like him Rufius.”

“Let us not get carried away.  Even if it is the same man we don’t know that Marcus is still there.” He turned to the girls. “Describe his land.”

“There are two islands, close to each other and the land and he has a fort on the mainland. “

“Were the slaves kept in the fort?”

“No there is a slave hall on one of the islands.  Some slaves worked on the mainland and the other smaller island but they were all kept in the slave hall.”

“Do they have slave sales?”

Morag nodded.  “Yes, they hold them at the new moon.”

“Every new moon?”

“In summer, yes but when we were there some of the slaves who had been there longer told us that they only have one in winter.”

Rufius looked up at the sky, seeking the hawk.  “Then let us hope they have not held it yet.”

Chapter 9

The execution of the former headman of the citadel was witnessed by the whole of the community. His craven cowardice meant that he did not warrant a warrior’s death and he was chained to a rock at low tide. Had he sent someone else in his stead then he might have been seen as a hero but the fact that he allowed two slaves to lead the defence of their citadel sealed his fate. As the sea came in his cries became more pathetic and strident.  Marcus almost felt sympathy for him as he tried to stand on his toes in the bone chilling, icy waters, to gain a few more moments of life. It was, in the end, futile but Marcus wondered if, in the same position, he would behave any differently.  Life was something to cling on to and Frann and his unborn child had made his existence and survival even more important and precious; it was not something to be squandered idly.

As the waves finally crashed over him Trygg finally averted his eyes and came over to Marcus. “Now, before they have fled too far  I will take my men and we will make sure that these Suebi have returned to their homes.” He looked at the horses. It would impress the people if we rode.”

It almost sounded like a plea to Marcus who was not sure if Trygg, who had had barely six lessons would manage to stay on his horse.  His sons would manage it easily. “If your sons come they will manage it easily as for yourself, “Marcus paused, knowing that his next comment could determine his future. “The mare, Magpie, is a quiet beast and we could try her.” Magpie was black and white and the name seemed to suit.

Trygg looked disappointed. “The stallion.  He is the horse for a chief.”

“Let us try him but I warn you Trygg Tryggvasson, he is not an easy horse to master, even for me.”

The chief’s face lit up.  “I am sure that you have taught me well.  Saddle him.”

Marcus did not like to say that Cato was not totally saddle broken but the chief would take that as an insult and so the decurion saddled the black stallion.  Cato was not happy with the saddle and snorted at Marcus. “It is not my doing Cato. You are master of your own fate.” The horse snorted and Marcus held on to the reins as Trygg emerged. “I would not wear the sword chief for you will need to balance on the horse.” He looked dubious but unstrapped the blade and handed it to the waiting Snorri. He looked less confident as he neared the horse.  Marcus had taught his pupils how to grasp the mane and the reins and throw the right leg over. He handed the reins to Trygg whilst holding on to the halter. As the chief’s leg came over the back of the horse there was a cheer from his bodyguard and he sat astride the stallion looking like the cat who has stolen the cream. Cato just snorted.

“Let him go Roman and I will ride.”

Reluctantly, and knowing what would happen, Marcus let go of the halter and, released from his grip Cato took off.  He ran straight at Snorri and the guards who were standing by the open gate. The chief had no control over the horse and the guards threw themselves to the ground.  As soon as it had escaped the enclosure it reared up, depositing Trygg, unceremoniously on his back and the black stallion galloped off. As Snorri and the others went to help up Trygg, Marcus went to retrieve the Sword of Cartimandua. The moment he held it in his hands he felt power surge through his body.  He seemed more alive than any other moment in the last four months.  Overhead the hawk screamed as it plucked a dove out of the air and Marcus felt like taking the sword and killing all around him, was this is chance of freedom? Then he remembered Frann.. As he glanced over to Trygg and his guards he knew that he would be able to despatch all of them in a couple of blows but, out of the corner of his eye he saw the crestfallen face of Drugi who knew what Marcus intended.  Marcus followed Drugi’s gaze to Frann who stood watching him. Realising the futility of his action he slowly slid the blade back into its scabbard.

Trygg came over with a rueful look on his face. “Thank you for my sword Roman and you were right about the black one.” He looked over to the horse which stood defiantly a hundred paces away.  “Will you and Drugi recapture him?”

Marcus grinned.  “No he will come.” Taking an apple from his bag he held it aloft and shouted, “Cato! Cato here!” It looked for a moment as though it would ignore the command but then it galloped towards the group. Snorri and the bodyguards scattered but Trygg stood his ground as the stallion came up to take the proffered apple.

“I can see that I have much to learn Roman.”

“Look on it like this. If I tried to sail your ship what would the result be after five lessons?”

Enlightenment lit up the chief’s face and he nodded as he rubbed his back.  “You are also wise.  I will ride the mare and we will see if there are any Suebi left to hunt.”

Marcus would have enjoyed the hunt for the Suebi had it not been for the brooding presence of Lars.  Lars, whose scarred face seemed to bore into Marcus’ back as the warband trotted through the forest, Lars whose mutterings seemed somehow threatening and Lars, whose hand never strayed far from his dagger. Marcus resisted the temptation to turn around and say something.  He was acutely aware that he was just a slave. He saw that Drugi had noticed Lars’ attention and the look on his face told Marcus that his friend was not happy about it either. The rest of the warband were in good spirits.  It was the first time that Trygg had led them from the back of a horse and they all thought he looked almost kingly. The chief, for his part was not confident and, despite his smiles, was clinging to the mane of the mare. Marcus rode next to him and said, quietly, “Relax.  She is a gentle horse and she will not throw you.  Use one hand on the reins, as I do, and sit lower in the saddle.” The chief looked dubious but he did as instructed and he smiled as he found the motion easier and that he did not fall off.

“I think it will be a long time before my warriors ride.” Trygg’s dream of a mounted warband had faced with his crash to earth from the back of the black stallion.

“Were I you I would not use my older warriors as riders.” Marcus pointed at the king’s sons whose ponies were darting through the trees, their riders fearless. “I would use the boys.  Train them on ponies and when they are big enough you will have a fine herd of horses for them to ride.”

Trygg nodded as he digested that information. There was a roar from their right and, turning Marcus saw yet another wounded Suebi being butchered by the jubilant Tencteri.  The unfortunate corpse was stripped of anything valuable and the warband moved on, already enriched by the plunder from the dead. “Drugi go ahead, take the Roman with you and see where they are.”

Drugi grinned and loped off.  As they were moving through trees there was no disparity in the speed of the hunter and the speed of the horse.  Marcus resisted the temptation to speak, he knew that Drugi would be listening for clues to the Suebi whilst smelling the air and looking on the ground. Being higher up gave Marcus a better view and a movement up ahead caught his attention. He gave a short whistle and Drugi looked around.  Marcus pointed to their right. Tying Cato to a tree Marcus and Drugi slipped through the woods. Hearing a noise they dropped down on all fours and began to crawl through the tangles and snow covered undergrowth.  The bushes above their heads were covered in snow still but to their right they were bare having had the Suebi survivors trampling through them. They were a sorry sight.  There were but fifty of them left and they were resting in the clearing. It was obvious that they did not know they were being pursued for it was two days since their attack.  The disadvantage of fighting in winter was the shortness of the days. The Tencteri had eaten well and rested whereas the Suebi had expected to feast on Tencteri provisions.

Drugi tapped Marcus on the shoulder and they backed out. When they reached Cato, Marcus mounted, leaving Drugi to keep watch on the raiders.  As he rode back to Trygg Marcus reflected that he had the same understanding with Drugi that he had had with Macro and he had with Rufius, that ability to know without speaking and act with the confidence that your partner would be there for you.

“The Suebi are up ahead.  They are tired and there are but fifty of them.”

His eyes eager with anticipation Trygg asked, “How far?”

“A thousand paces.”

The chief turned to Snorri. “Split the men into two groups.  You take one to the west and attack the enemy.  They are a thousand paces ahead of us.  I will take the rest.” As Snorri led his band away Trygg slipped from the mare.  “I think I will fight better on foot.” Although Marcus felt happier on a horse he knew from the tone of Trygg’s voice that he expected the slave to join him.  Reluctantly sliding off Cato he tied them both to a tree, along with the ponies, and then, as an added precaution against theft, he hobbled them.

Marcus found himself on the left side of the chief as they moved purposefully through the woods. Suddenly materialising from a bush Drugi stood and held his finger to his lips.  He pointed forwards and held both hands up twice.  Trygg understood, the enemy were twenty paces on the other side of the bushes and trees. The chief waved his men to either side of him and then, drawing the Sword of Cartimandua led them forward.

To call it a battle was ridiculous and to Marcus it was not even a skirmish. The fifty warriors they fought were tired, hungry and dispirited.  They had been driven from their target by arrows and water.  They were humiliated. The eighty Tencteri were rested, fed and fresh.  They were undefeated and they were hungry for revenge. It was no contest and none was left alive. Trygg ordered his men to decapitate the Suebi and he had the heads placed on sharpened stakes in a semi circle facing Suebi land; a warning to other Suebi that they crossed the grotesque barrier at their peril. As they rode back to the citadel Marcus couldn’t help thinking that fighting in a warband was no different to fighting in a turma, as long as you won.

The reception afforded to the returning warband was all the sweeter for the chief as he rode in on Magpie for all could see their leader, the conquering hero. Behind him his sons were just as proud as they rode back on the ponies, the blood spatters on their tunics showing that they had been blooded in this, their first battle. As they rode close to the rocks on the beach Marcus stole a glance at the unfortunate warrior who had been executed there; his bleached body already showing the ravages of the unseen sea life. It was a reminder to Marcus that he was still in a precarious position and he too, could end up as food for the fishes.