Hosker, G [Sword of Cartimandua 12] Roman Wall (3 page)

“My men do not like such weapons.”

Caronwyn spoke for she had been listening carefully.  “Perhaps you and your leaders could wear it.  This might encourage others to adopt the style.  We would not want you killed through a chance blow. I have seen too many brave warriors die to a wound which could have been prevented by mail.”

Briac was convinced, “For my leaders then.” The three seemed relieved at that.

Severus stood. “My lady I will go to see to my men.” He looked at Briac. “I will have to travel south to secure your weapons. I will meet you in a month.  Where will that be?”

Briac did not yet trust this Roman and he did not want him to come to the secret places he and his men used. “If you reach Eboracum then you can travel to the fort of Stanwyck.”

“I remember it,” he grinned.  “I helped to destroy it.”

Caronwyn flashed him an irritated look while Briac reddened at the humiliation heaped on his people by the Ninth legion. Caronwyn waved a dismissive hand.  “Then go and take your tongue with you!”

He did not seem discomfited by the censure. After he had gone Caronwyn asked, “What is his story, sister?”

Flavia settled herself into the chair.  “He was an optio in the Ninth.  He beat a prisoner to death.”

Briac looked up in surprise.  “And for that he was punished?”

Flavia smiled and shook her head, “Not really.  The prisoner was about to divulge some information and so he was demoted and had to rejoin the ranks. He had been, shall we say, a little harsh with his century and he killed one of the legionaries who tried to extract revenge.  He fled the legion just before they sailed for Germania and I found him hiding in Londinium.  I discovered he has many skills. He is useful and he is grateful to me.” She turned to Caronwyn. “He bears no love for Rome.  He feels he was betrayed. He will serve you well, Briac, and he might just make the difference when fighting the Romans.”

Caronwyn clapped her hands three times and, almost within moments, a servant appeared with a jug of wine and three goblets.  Briac was not used to such things; he would have preferred beer but he joined the two women.  In truth he was a little overawed by the two of them.  In his village the women were subservient to the men but these two seemed to be almost superior beings.  Caronwyn was a witch and to be feared but this Flavia appeared to be such a controlled and powerful woman too.

He became aware that they were both studying him and he was uncomfortable with the attention. They seemed to be hunters assessing whether to make a kill to not. This was not the world of Briac but he knew he had to endure it.  This might be his only chance to gain the throne of the Brigante. He knew that he had more of a claim to the throne of the Carvetii through Venutius, his grandfather, but there was little chance of power there; the Romans had the land of the Carvetii under tight control. He would have to trust his new allies and take the chances when they came.

“How many men do you have Briac?”

“I can field two thousand warriors, Lady Flavia.”

“And how many of those can you depend upon?”

“All of them!” Briac bridled a little at the veiled insult.

Caronwyn laughed, “Let us have honesty.  How many of those two thousand would stand against a Roman cohort?”

He did not answer for he knew that a cohort, let alone a legion, would walk through his men.

Flavia reached over and touched his hand once more. “Caronwyn does not mean to demean or belittle your men but it is a point well made.  You need allies as well as weapons. We need success first to draw in other tribes like the Votadini and the Parisi.  Too many of them now realise that they have made a bad bargain with the Romans but we need success.”

Now that the Roman had gone Briac felt, strangely, more comfortable talking about his plans. “If the legions are not on the wall then we can attack and defeat the Tungrians and Batavians who guard the forts but their cavalry, Marcus’ Horse, they are to be feared. Their leader wields the Sword of Cartimandua and that is worth a thousand men in battle.”

He suddenly noticed that Flavia’s eyes narrowed and anger raced across her face. “I will pay a bonus of a hundred gold pieces for the warrior who kills the leader who wields the sword.”

Briac was taken aback by such passion. “It is said that he is of Brigante stock.”

“I care not if he is descended from the Emperor of Rome I will pay handsomely for his head.”

Caronwyn reached over to put her arm around Flavia. There are many ways to kill a man that do not involve battle. Let us use our minds sister. And, Briac, the trick with cavalry is to use the land to help you.  The Mother does not like the Roman presence.  The land of the Brigante has many places where you can ambush and slaughter the Romans. You do not need a pitched battle. Lure them close and use the land and your numbers to kill them.  Whittle them down little by little. The sea does not destroy a cliff in one night; it takes years.  Be patient.”

Chapter 2

Decurion Marcus Gaius Aurelius reined in his mount. He sensed danger ahead. He looked up in the sky to see if the hawk was there.  It was not.  The spirit of his step brother sometimes hovered close by when there was danger but the air was free from birds of any type. That, in itself, was a good thing.  They would not, as they had last week, come across the bodies of ambushed Roman soldiers. The land to the south of the wall was strangely peaceful but here, in the land of the Selgovae, there were still murderous attacks. The heads of the soldiers, their arms and their armour were always taken by the attackers but the bodies could always be recognised as Roman.  The caligae were a clear mark. He sniffed the air.  Drugi and Felix, the two scouts they used in the Dunum, were always able to smell an enemy.  If the wind was right then Marcus could too. He detected nothing.

I held up his hand and waved it forward. Gnaeus, his Chosen Man, trotted forward. “Send Titus to the right with Decius and the buccina; have them come around to the north of us. I want them to meet us just beyond the trees ahead.” He pointed to a stand of trees a mile or so in the distance.

“Something ahead, sir?”

“Let us say I have an itch which I can’t scratch.”

Gnaeus laughed, “Then there will be danger ahead.” He turned and rode down the line. “Weapons at the ready lads, the decurion has an itch.”

Marcus heard the sound of spatha being loosened in sheaths. He continued to stare ahead at the woods in the distance. The road they travelled would pass close by to the trees and it would be a good place for an ambush. The IX had built this road and the VI
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maintained it but since the wall had been built it was patrolled less often.  There had been a time when the auxiliaries would have had a daily patrol to the isolated forts which guarded it.  This was the first such patrol in a week. Most of the outlying forts had been dismantled and abandoned. All the efforts of the ala were aimed at protecting those who were finishing off the wall.  Once the wall was completed then Marcus hoped they would finally subjugate this wild land.

He heard the hooves of the two troopers as they headed across the turf to the north. He kicked into Raven’s ribs and the horse began to trot forward. Mindful of Gnaeus’ instructions to the rest Marcus slid the Celtic sword, the Sword of Cartimandua, from its sheath.  Its familiar hilt reassured him and he felt, oddly, better. He laid it across his saddle and put his left hand through the straps on his shield.

The land dipped a little which afforded him a better view and he saw that the dry valley to the west of the road fell away steeply.  He frowned.  Whoever had built this road had not followed the instructions of the legate.  The road should have been built further east and away from such danger. Marcus felt guilty for his thoughts.  The road had been first built in the time of Agricola and had been laid under fierce opposition. They were trying to get north as quickly as they could to destroy the Caledonii and Pictii. He would have to use his mind and experience to outwit the Selgovae.

It was the lack of animals and birds which confirmed his suspicions of danger. There should be a host of birds ahead. At this time of year they were busily feeding for the shorter days ahead. There were none.  Raven’s ears pricked.  There was danger ahead.

“Stand to!”

He reached down and lifted his shield. H moved his sword down to his side.  Without looking he knew that the rest of the turma were all doing the same. With the shield protecting his left side he lifted his sword and waved the troop forward. As they trotted along the road he stared intently at the dry valley. There were bushes and scrubby windblown trees. Any and all of them could hide warriors. He sensed that the attack would come from that direction.

Perhaps one of the Selgovae was nervous or excited, or both.  Whatever the reason Marcus saw the movement in the elder bush closest to the road. “Lines of eight!”

Seven troopers trotted their horses next to Raven.  Without looking Marcus knew that Gnaeus would have done the same behind. There would be three lines of eight and a reserve of six.

The first javelin was hurled at Marcus.  He had already lifted his shield and the sturdy, well made shield easily deflected it away.  Their cover blown, the Selgovae roared from their places of concealment and charged the troopers.  It was their first mistake. There were many of them and they were spread out. The eager and fitter ones began to outstrip the others.

“Charge!”

While the rest of the first line hurled their javelins Marcus held his sword before him. He calmly counted the half naked, tattooed warriors. There were over fifty, probably sixty of them.  They held a variety of weapons from swords and axes to spears. Only one or two had shields although Marcus noticed that one of them was a Roman cavalry shield. The seven javelins took out four warriors.  One young warrior with his hair limed and spiked charged Marcus screaming his war cry.  He held a long axe above his head and he began to swing it. Using his knees Marcus changed Raven’s direction slightly.  The axe head began to slice towards Marcus’ unprotected right side. Pulling his sword across his body Marcus swept it towards the axe head. The warrior looked in amazement as the razor sharp blade chopped the shaft in two. As Lucius’ javelin was thrust into his throat he died with that same look of amazement etched forever on his tattooed face.

The horses of the turma were well trained animals of war and they did not flinch as the warriors swung and sliced with their weapons.  The troopers’ javelins easily despatched the Selgovae. They were used more as spears now.  The length of the javelins and the height of the horses gave every trooper a distinct advantage. Marcus felt a hand trying to wrench his reins around.  He lifted the shield and chopped it down on to the skull of the warrior.  The thin metal rim split the unprotected head into a bloody mess and he fell to the ground.

To his right Marcus heard the sound of the buccina.  The Selgovae looked in horror.  They were in danger of being outflanked.  They did not know it was just two troopers. They were indecisive and that was their second mistake. The turma had now enlarged the front so that there were sixteen troopers who were racing towards the Selgovae.  A chief tried to rally the demoralised barbarians. His torc marked him as a leader and he hefted the captured Roman cavalry shield and spatha. Urging Raven towards him Marcus drew back the Sword of Cartimandua.  The chief saw him and he pulled his own shield around for protection. His problem was that he was static whilst Marcus could go left or right. The decurion feinted left, towards the spatha and then whipped the reins to the right.  Swinging overhand the mighty sword smashed into the shield.  Roman cavalry shields were well made but the blow was so hard that the chief’s arm was damaged by the strike. Marcus saw the pain on his face. Savagely turning Raven to the left Marcus stabbed at the neck of the chief.  It was not a clean blow but the edge sliced across his shoulder. The wound opened like a ripe plum. Jerking Raven to a halt Marcus lifted the sword and swung it across the neck of the chief.  His head leapt from the body, which seemed to stand unsupported, before it fell to the ground.

All resistance ended and the Selgovae fled down the dry valley. Marcus shouted.  “I want prisoners!” His men began to pursue the Selgovae. He slung his shield on his saddle and patted Raven. “Good boy!”

He dismounted. He noticed a warrior bleeding to death on the ground close to the chief.  The javelin was in his stomach. Marcus took the Sword of Cartimandua and, as he ended the warrior’s pain, spoke to him in his own language.  “Go to the Allfather.”

Sheathing his sword he examined the shield.  As he had expected it was marked on the back with the former owner’s name and turma.  It had been a Thracian trooper’s. Marcus remembered a report the previous year about two turmae which had disappeared north of the wall. It had probably been an ambush such as this one. Perhaps the Selgovae had been emboldened by their success and they had tried it again. The Thracians were new to life on the frontier.  It was in the blood of every trooper in Marcus’ Horse. 

He looked up as Titus and Decius rode up.  “It looks like we missed the fun, sir.”

“Well done, Titus.  They thought you were another turma coming to our rescue. Check the bodies and take anything of value.” He handed the shield to Decius. “We’ll take this back too.”

Gnaeus led the rest of the turma up the dry valley.  There were ten Selgovae warriors tethered from the horses of ten troopers.  The ten look defiant but there were men back at Cilurnum who were past masters at extracting information from prisoners. Marcus did not approve but it yielded results and saved Roman lives.  He was half Brigante and understood the desire for freedom which was in the heart of every barbarian. He was a Roman officer first and last; he would do his duty.

“Right boys let’s get back.” He glanced around and saw no empty saddles.  There were wounds in evidence but no dead troopers.   With twenty dead Selgovae and ten prisoners it had been a good day’s work and Marcus was content.