Roman - The Fall of Britannia (44 page)

‘
And
did it?’ asked Remus.

‘
No,
Sire,’ answered the scout.

Mateus turned to
Remus.

‘
Do
you realise what this means?’ he said. ‘The King of Britannia lies
within our grasp. This is an opportunity that can’t be
missed.’

‘
It
is not our mission,’ said Remus.

‘
Forget the mission, Remus,’ said Mateus, ‘this is far bigger.
If we can deliver the head of Caratacus to Plautius, Claudius
himself would bestow honour and riches on us. Think about it. How
many Centurions have the chance to deliver the King of an entire
country to their Emperor? Our names would be whispered in
awe.’

Remus considered
carefully. Although he had never sought glory or riches, this would
probably be his last campaign, and the capture of Caratacus could
ensure his retirement would be spent in luxury. The Gods knew he
had earned it. He turned to the scout and interrogated him for more
information.

‘
How
many are there?’ he asked.

‘
About five hundred, Sire,’ he said. ‘Half of them
mounted.’

‘
What state are they in?’

‘
Battle weary,’ said the scout, ‘many carry wounds and all
seem tired.’

‘
Are
they aware of us?’

‘
No
Sire, my men watch from a nearby hill. We have not been
seen.’

‘
Are
they currently on the march?’

‘
No,
it seems that they are licking their wounds. No doubt they feel
safe here for they have set up a temporary camp.’

‘
Fortifications?’

‘
None.’

The Centurion
looked at the Tribune. It sounded too good to be true, yet still he
hesitated until the scout’s next words made his mind up for
him.

‘
Sire, there is one more thing,’ he said. ‘Yesterday, they
brought in two prisoners. One man and one girl. It may be our
quarry.’

‘
You
saw the deserter?’ snapped Remus, suddenly focussed.

‘
It
was too far to be sure, Sire, but one of the prisoners is
definitely a woman.’

‘
Do
you think it is them?’ asked Mateus.

‘
No
way of knowing,’ said Remus, but there is one way to find
out.’

‘
You
think we should take them?’

‘
Like you said,’ said Remus, ‘this is an opportunity too good
to miss.’

‘
Good,’ said Mateus, ‘I will go forward with the scouts to
view the enemy camp, you sort out the men. Make sure they eat well
and get some rest. If the land lies good, we will attack at
dawn.’

‘
Yes, Sire,’ said Remus, slightly amused at the Tribune’s
newly found assertiveness. He wondered if he would be so confident
during the inevitable battle. Somehow, he doubted it.

----

Chapter 42

Gwydion and
Gwenno sat cross-legged in Caratacus’s tent, sharing the roasted
haunch of a boar that had been caught earlier in the day. They ate
ravenously, and Gwenno was slightly disappointed when Caratacus
ordered the rest of the beast to be taken away to be shared out
between his men. Food was scarce and every morsel counted for the
remnants of the army.

‘
So,’ said Caratacus, after wiping the grease from his beard,
‘tell me about yourselves. How come you are so far west yet not a
few weeks back, you faced the invaders at Medway?’

Gwydion started
to tell the lies he and Gwenno had carefully prepared the night
before.

‘
Not
much to tell, really,’ he said, ‘I was split from my unit during
the battle and amongst the confusion, managed to make my way back
to the land of my fathers, only to find there had been a coup while
we were away, so we decided to seek our future in the
south.’

Caratacus stared
at the two fugitives as Gwenno fidgeted nervously.

‘
And
have you seen anyone else on your journey?’ he asked.

‘
No,
it’s been quiet.’

‘
Just the two of you?’ asked Caratacus.

‘
No
Sire, we had a comrade from my clan,’ he lied. It was pointless
trying to explain the Roman to the king; it would just complicate
things.

‘
And
where is he now?’

‘
I
don’t know,’ said Gwydion, ‘I thought perhaps your men may have
some information.’

‘
Why
would you think this?’

‘
Your warriors are the only others we have seen.’

Caratacus picked
up a curved knife and placed it on the floor between
them.

‘
Do
you recognise this?’

‘
It
is the knife I found at the scene of the fight,’ confirmed
Gwydion.

‘
It
is a Silures blade,’ said the King, picking it up and turning the
bone carved handle over in his hands. ‘Your friend’s head probably
hangs from one of their saddles by now.’

Gwenno’s head
dropped as she contemplated the death of one of her
rescuers.

‘
The
thing is, Gwydion’ continued Caratacus, ‘I have a
problem.’

‘
Problem?’ queried Gwydion, ‘I don’t understand.’

‘
You
see,’ said the King, ‘a few days ago we were approached by two
riders on the road. They were warriors from the Druids. It would
seem that they are seeking a group of three people, two men and one
woman. Apparently, the girl was to be a sacred sacrifice, but was
stolen from them by the two men. Now, you wouldn’t know anything
about this would you?’

‘
Coincidence?’ said Gwydion nervously. ‘Must be hundreds of
people on the road like that.’

‘
Even so,’ said Caratacus, ‘how many women wear their hair as
short as your pretty companion?’

An awkward
silence fell and Gwydion knew that the game was up.

‘
Enough of this nonsense,’ said the King, ‘I jest at your
expense. I have known who you are since before my men took you
prisoner.’

Gwenno’s heart
sank

‘
Are
you going to take us back?’ she asked quietly.

Caratacus stared
back at her for a long time and took a deep breath before
answering.

‘
I
think not,’ said the King eventually, ‘I owe the Druids no favours.
Over the years, I have sent them enough tribute for several
lifetimes, yet, when I needed the support of the Gods, where were
they? No, as far as I am concerned, their loss is no business of
mine. Tomorrow we continue south to the land of the
Silures.’

‘
And
what of us?’ asked Gwydion.

‘
You
are free to leave,’ said Caratacus. ‘Call it payment for your
service at Medway.’

‘
Thank you, Sire,’ said Gwydion and stood up to leave, but as
they went, Gwenno turned back around.

‘
Sire,’ she said. ‘One more thing.’

‘
Yes?’

‘
You
say you are going to join the Silures?’

‘
We
are.’

‘
We
are also going south,’ she said glancing at Gwydion, ‘perhaps we
could join you.’

‘
Gwenno!’ interrupted Gwydion. ‘We have taken enough of the
King’s hospitality, we should go.’

‘
The
girl makes sense,’ said Caratacus. ‘On your own, you are easy
targets. With me, at least you will have the strength of my army to
protect you, modest as it is.’

‘
Are
you sure?’ asked Gwydion. ‘We would not want to put you
out.’

‘
You
won’t be putting us out,’ said Caratacus. ‘You will hunt for
yourself and look after your own horses. All I ask is that you keep
away from my men.’ He glanced at Gwenno before adding, ‘they have
not had the pleasure of a woman’s company for a long time. I will
warn them off, but give no guarantees.’

‘
I
understand,’ said Gwenno, ‘we will be no problem.’

‘
Wait outside,’ said Caratacus, ‘I will send my servant to
find a tent for you. Get some sleep, for tomorrow we enter the
lands of the Silures’

----

Chapter 43

The sky was
still dark when the Roman attack started. It wasn’t the full
frontal ranks of armoured legionaries that were so typical of Roman
battles, but a silent and deadly act of subterfuge. First of all,
the sentries were taken one by one in silence, their throats
slashed before they were lowered gently to the ground, their blood
flowing through the hands of their assassins.

Once all the
outlying guards were taken, the scouts stripped them of their heavy
woollen capes and donned them over their own tunics. Suitably
disguised, the scouts wandered unnoticed through the encampment,
taking the opportunity to kill as many men as possible without
being seen, and many Catuvellauni died where they slept, without
even knowing they were in danger.

One of the
scouts walked quietly amongst the smouldering camp fires, the fresh
blood on his spear unnoticed in the darkness. An armed guard
walking amongst the tribe at this time of the night was hardly
unusual. He noticed a tent over on the edge of the camp and made
his way over to see if there was a better opportunity
there.

As he
approached, he could see he was in luck. An older man lay wrapped
in a fur cape, snoring heavily. The scout stood alongside the
sleeping man and adjusted the grip on his spear before placing the
point over the man’s chest, bracing to plunge the weapon deep into
his heart.

‘
Stop!’ screamed Gwydion, emerging from behind a nearby tree
where he had gone to urinate. ‘What do you think you’re
doing?’

The scout spun
around at the shout, realising that this was the point of the
assault that was inevitable. Below him, the sleeping man woke up,
alerted by the shouting. The scout continued to stare at Gwydion
but without as much as a flinch, drove his spear down into the
terrified man’s chest.

Gwydion’s
confusion lasted only seconds, but was enough time to allow the
assassin to withdraw his spear and hurl it at him with full force.
Instinctively, Gwydion ducked, causing the spear to miss his head
by inches. The scout disappeared into the darkness as Gwydion
realised the danger.

‘
Alarm!’ he screamed at the top of his voice waking everyone
in the camp. ‘To arms!’

The camp erupted
into life as the warriors rushed to their weapons and many more
lost their lives as the scouts took advantage of the confusion to
inflict death in the darkness. Gwydion crouched at the speared man
on the floor.

‘
Holler,’ he said gently, ‘don’t worry, I’ll get
help.’

‘
No!’ gasped the King’s servant weakly. ‘It’s too late, my
life is done. Bury me deep, Deceangli. None of this burning
nonsense, I want to be wrapped in the earth’s blanket.’ He coughed
violently, blood spurting from his mouth. ‘Promise me,’ he
continued grabbing Gwydion’s arm, ‘a grave, not a fire.’

Gwydion stared
at the dying man, realising how close he himself had come to death.
Holler had given up his tent for Gwenno to have privacy and a few
moments ago, Gwydion had been lying alongside the King’s servant
outside her tent. If he hadn’t risen to answer the call of nature,
it could be him lying there, gasping his last breath.

‘
I
promise, Holler,’ he said, ‘I will dig it myself.’

‘
Thank you,’ whispered Holler, ‘I guess not all Deceangli are
bad.’ He coughed again and with a last gasp, the light left his
eyes as his body gave up its impossible struggle.

Caratacus ran
out of the darkness, carrying his broad sword.

‘
Explain,’ he demanded coldly.

‘
There is an assassin in the camp,’ said Gwydion. ‘Maybe more
than one. I saw him kill Holler.’

‘
Bring your weapon,’ said Caratacus, ‘Let’s find this
man.’

Gwenno crawled
out of her tent, wrapped in her cape against the cold.

‘
Gwydion,’ she called, ‘what’s happening?’

‘
Gwenno, get back inside,’ he ordered and retrieved his sword
from his sheath. ’Stay hidden,’ he added, ‘I will be back as soon
as I can.’ He followed Caratacus into the camp, alarmed at the
sound of conflict in the darkness. It was obvious that however many
there were, they were causing havoc amongst the
Catuvellauni.

By the time the
sun had risen, over thirty men lay dead or dying across the
Catuvellauni camp. Four of the attackers also lay dead and were
thrown in a pile outside Caratacus’s tent. The leaders of the tribe
gathered around and Caratacus called for silence.

‘
Is
that the last?’ he asked.

‘
As
far as we know,’ said one of the warriors, ‘though many escaped in
the confusion.’

‘
They wear familiar clothing,’ said Caratacus. ‘Who are
they?’

‘
They wear the cloaks of our own people,’ said the warrior,
‘taken from their dead bodies.’

Gwydion looked
down at the bodies, noticing something familiar. He bent down and
lifted one of the legs for a better look.