Hosker, G [Sword of Cartimandua 12] Roman Wall (2 page)

Prologue

Camulodunum 60 A.D.

He looked at the half finished mural on the wall of his new home and wondered if he would ever see it finished. It seemed to take the artist forever.  So far only half of his body had been completed.  He winced as he touched the blue toga the artist had chosen. The dull constant pain in his stomach would not disappear despite what treatment he tried.

Prasutagus, king of the Iceni and husband to the fiery Boudicca had sent all of his servants away as he awaited his friend Sallustius Lucullus.  He wanted no prying eyes and ears present. As the son of the former king Amminus and the grandson of the great Cunobelinus he was one of the few men that this beleaguered king could actually trust. King Prasutagus was surrounded by factions who either wanted him to fight Rome or curb his hotheads.

He deeply regretted the money he had accepted from the Emperor Claudius.  To him and the Iceni it was seen as a gift but he now discovered it was deemed a loan against his kingdom.  He had wasted too much of it in generous gifts to warriors whom he now saw were self serving. He had distanced himself from them but now he wondered if it was too late for such gestures. He could not give the money back for half of it was gone. And then there was this constant and grumbling pain deep in his body.  He had taken it to be too many lampreys, but as he had forsaken them for a month it might be something else.  He wondered if he had been poisoned.  He had a taster but one never knew. There were many who wished his increasingly belligerent wife to rule in his stead.  He knew her love for him would not allow her to be a murderer but there were others who saw the overthrow of the Romans as a way to increase their own power.

The door opened and his young friend entered. He had known Lucullus since the time before his father had fled to Rome.  He was an honest young man who was now without lands and power.  All that remained to him was the monies his father had been given by Rome to remain a loyal British noble.  He lived well but for someone who should have ruled the
Catuvellauni this was but second best.
They were in the capital of what would have been his lands had things gone better.  Prasutagus felt guilty that he now owned the largest house in this newly Romanized town.

Lucullus was respectful and bowed to this most senior of kings.  “Your majesty.”

“Rise Lucullus.  We are friends. Let there be no formality between us. You and I have known each other too long for such titles.  I have watched you grow into a fine young man and you are someone whom I can trust. Sit, please. Time presses and I have much to tell you.”

Lucullus was intrigued. He admired Prasutagus, who managed to balance his dignity and power with the ability to work with the new masters of the land, the Romans. It had been some months since he had seen him and he did not look well. The young man felt concern.

“I have a cousin, Ban of the Votadini. He is, like you, a young and trustworthy man. He has recently visited with me.” He shrugged, “The Votadini can see that the Romans will move north eventually and he was anxious to have my opinion on how to defeat them.” He gave a self deprecating laugh.  “Why my opinion should be sought is beyond me.”

“You have done all that you could.  My father and grandfather saw the folly of trying to defeat this mighty war machine.  Queen Cartimandua of the Brigante has done the same.  Look at those who oppose the Romans.  They are either dead or fled beyond the reach of the Roman eagle.  And even in the far reaches of this island they will not be safe.”

Prasutagus shook his head. “There will come a time when the Romans will stop.  They will have to but that will be long after I am dead and gone to the Allfather. I gave Ban a chest for safe keeping.  It contains the last of the money the Romans loaned me as well as my torc and royal regalia.”

Lucullus was no actor and could not disguise his shock. “But why?”

“I want my girls protected after I am gone. Their mother is a woman I love dearly but she has a passion beneath her breast which will erupt one day and I need you to promise that, if things go awry, you will recover the chest and protect my children.” As Lucullus nodded the King of the Iceni handed over a ring.  It was made of gold and had the image of a boar upon its face. “This ring will be the surety for the chest.”

“You can trust this Ban?”

“I can.  He should be king but there are others who plot and scheme. He was sent here by his uncle who is king. Ban’s cousins are ambitious and war like.” He shrugged, “I told him to leave the Romans well alone. They are like a dog which is sleeping.  So long as he sleeps then do not poke him with a stick.  I told Ban that the Romans will not move north for a while.  Queen Cartimandua is their ally and they have no need to enlarge their Empire.  They tax the Brigante and give them protection.” He looked earnestly at the young noble.  “What do you say?”

“I promise that I will do all in my power to protect your children.”

Prasutagus stood and clasped Lucullus’ forearm in the Roman style.  He nodded and smiled for the first time. ”My heart is easier now and I am grateful to you.”

As Lucullus rode back to his estates he could not foresee the firestorm which would sweep the land of the Iceni and Londinium.  He could not know that his promise would be one he could not keep as Boudicca and her daughters would perish in the slaughter of the Boudiccan revolt.

Chapter 1

Britannia 127 A.D.

This was the fourth time that Briac, chief of the Brigante, had ventured to Manavia to consult with the followers of the Mother Cult. The first time was a few years earlier when he had fled the wrath of the Romans who were seeking him after an abortive revolt. He had been both desperate and alone.  He had also been fearful. The Druids who were the leaders of the cult were ruthless.  Human sacrifice was still a feature of their religion. Fortunately for him he had been accepted and welcomed. He knew that most of the Druids disapproved of him but the unofficial Queen of the island, Caronwyn, appeared to take a special interest in him.  He could not see that he was being used as a tool to further her ends. She was waging war against the Roman culture.  This was a religious war as far as she was concerned. The personal element was that her mother and sister had both died at the hands of a Roman and her grandmother had been crucified.  She burned with hate.

She was a striking woman with flaming red hair but it was her eyes which terrified Briac.  They were bright green and seemed to bore inside a man and his head so that she appeared to know his very thoughts. If she became an enemy then all hope would be gone. She was, at present, his friend. She had persuaded the council of priests that they should invest time in fermenting the struggle against Rome. As the granddaughter of Fainch, the witch who had killed Queen Cartimandua and the daughter of Morwenna who had so nearly ended Roman rule north of Eboracum, she had many who had faith in her.

Briac had been given money and contacts to take back to the land of the Brigante where he gradually formed alliances with other likeminded leaders. Through Venutius he held sway with the Carvetii.  With two tribes on his side he had visited with the Novontae and Selgovae. Unlike the Carvetii they were not committed but he had not been rejected out of hand. Caronwyn had been forceful about the need to be subtle.  He had ordered his warriors to cooperate with the Roman invaders and to pretend to be defeated. The difficulties he had encountered could be measured in the men he had had to kill.  As a hunted man his life had been difficult but now he spied a sort of hope.

As he stepped ashore, flanked by his oathsworn, he was greeted by Caronwyn’s handmaidens.  They were taken to the hall that Caronwyn had built in the shelter of the mountain. It faced the land of the Brigante for, as she told Briac, it was ever in her heart. Briac had heard how her mother had been killed by her son, a Roman and Caronwyn’s half brother. It seemed bizarre to Briac but he did not dare to question it.  The Roman warrior was dead but hatred still burned in the heart of the priestess.

As they approached the hall Briac’s hand went to his sword.  There were Romans waiting outside.  They were not soldiers, their dress was not uniform, but their hair and their weapons marked them as legionaries.

“Fear not, Chief Briac, they are friends. Sheathe your weapons.”

The ex-legionaries glowered at the tribesmen. There was no love lost there.  Briac was curious as well as slightly annoyed. They were trying to rid the land of Romans what was Caronwyn doing bringing them here?

He turned to his oathsworn. “Stay here and cause no trouble.”

Maughan shook his head, “But they are Romans!”

Briac saw that the Romans did not react.  They had not understood Maughan. “This is not our land and we are guests.  Do not dishonour me.” The deferential nod told Briac that his wishes would be obeyed.

The hall had no external light but terracotta bowls burned scented oils. Caronwyn regarded herself as a queen.  It was a delusion inherited from her mother. As a result she surrounded herself with regal accoutrements. She had had a small dais built within the hall and she draped herself upon a carved throne. There were just two servants within. Briac had been there enough times to know that the curtain behind the throne hid her sleeping quarters. As he abased himself and then approached the witch queen, Briac idly wondered what was to stop a Roman killer from entering her hall and ending her life. He shuddered at the thought. Not the thought itself but the fact that Caronwyn might be able to read it!

“You are welcome in my home, Chief Briac. Sit at my feet and tell me how our plans progress.” Caronwyn had been taught well by her mother.  She knew how to control men. By placing him at her feet she was showing her superiority and her dominance over him.

He did as he was told and spoke respectfully to this woman who was a legend to the people for her passionate desire to overthrow the Romans.  She and her family had fought the Romans since before the time of Cartimandua and Venutius. They were the only hope remaining to Briac and the Brigante. “We have done all that you suggested.  We have smiled at the oppressors and ensured that no Roman is harmed in our lands. The Roman legion is now busy building their wall and they have only left a few auxiliaries to guard the bridges.” He looked up expectantly, like a puppy which anticipates a treat.  “Should we attack soon?”

She smiled but it was a cold smile which chilled Briac’s blood. “No, Briac.  You attacked too early the last time and it caused you to lose many warriors.” Her eyes bored into him.  “It is your young warriors who wish to be bloodied, is it not?”

He started. She was reading his thoughts.  “It is true that they are ready for war.”

“Or they think that they are ready for war.  The truth is that your weapons are poor and your men have had no chance to try their skills against the Romans.” Briac nodded. “I have some help for you then.” She clapped her hands and two figures emerged from behind the curtain. Briac jumped to his feet for one was a Roman; at least he looked so from his severe haircut, complexion and the gladius which hung from his waist. He looked just like the ones he had seen outside the hall.

Caronwyn laughed, “Fear not, Chief Briac, this is no trap. These are two people who will help us. This is Severus Catullus, former Optio in the Ninth Hispana and this is Flavia Gemellus who is descended from Old King Cunobelinus.  As you are descended from King Venutius you have much in common.”

Briac was far too unsophisticated to see the machinations of the witch of Manavia. Flavia, in contrast, was not only fully aware of Caronwyn’s plan, she was party to it. She smiled sweetly and held a perfumed hand out for Briac to kiss. Severus hid his smile as the awkward warrior rubbed his dirty hand on his tunic before putting the delicate hand proffered to his lips.

“Sit, Prince Briac.” The unearned title was carefully chosen to flatter Briac whom the two women needed if their plan was to succeed.

Caronwyn waved away the last two servants who remained. “Flavia here is willing to provide weapons for your warriors and Severus will train and lead them for you.”

Briac’s eyes narrowed, “Why should I let a Roman deserter lead my warriors?”

Severus snorted, “Perhaps because your warriors have a habit of dying when led by your leaders.”

Before Briac could react Caronwyn’s voice rang out, “He is right, Briac, but Severus be careful of your tone.  There are three of us in this room who are from this island.  You insult one of us and you insult us all.”

Severus knew he had to obey the two women.  One frightened him and the other paid him. He bowed. “I apologise.”

Briac nodded, honour satisfied by the apology. “How will you get the weapons to us? The Romans control the entire roads in my land.”

Flavia spoke, “True but my ships come to Eboracum with many goods.  They are the luxuries the Romans want.  My vessels can smuggle your weapons into the heart of your lands.”

“Now do you see why I want the land of the Brigante to be peaceful? The Romans need to be lulled by the docile Brigante.  Fear not, Briac, this will not take long. By next spring your warriors will be well armed and Severus will have taught you and your leaders how to defeat the Romans and then we will strike.”

Briac was impressed. This was far better organised than he would have expected. “What kind of weapons can you get for us?”

Flavia smiled and, for the first time, Briac seemed to see how attractive she was. She reached out and touched his rough hand with her smooth and perfumed white one. “Whatever weapons you wish then you shall have them.”

“My men do not like the gladius the Romans use. Can you acquire longer swords for us?”

Flavia deferred to Severus who had adopted a more neutral face.  “We can get you the spatha used by the cavalry. I personally think it is a little long to be used by men on foot.”

Briac smiled.  “We like a longer sword. We can manage the weapon. Axes and spears would be useful if you could get them for us.”

Severus smiled, “We can get those.” He hesitated, “Armour and mail shirts?” He knew that the Brigante liked to fight half naked as a sign of their manhood.  Severus could never understand it himself.