Slaves of Fear: A Land Unconquered (19 page)

As more and more imperial soldiers stormed into the compound, the Silures warriors found themselves outnumbered and outmatched. If King Orin had had a week or better to muster his people, perhaps they could have made a viable stand against the Romans. Given the hellish terrain the legion had to make its way through just to reach the mines, they could have set a sizeable ambush and succeeded where Caratacus had failed. As it was, men were falling, attempting in vain to break the legionary shield wall. And while fiercely brave, the Silures were also pragmatists. There would be another time to fight the Romans, and they could always reclaim their gold another day. Within twenty minutes of the Twentieth Legion storming the barricades, the deep bellow of a war horn sounded the order for the Silures to retreat.

“They win this one,” a war chief muttered.

Chapter XV: To Tame a Land

***
             

The rugged terrain and dense woods prevented Paulinus’ division from completely surrounding the mines at Dolaucothi. And since the actual clash of arms was disappointingly short lived, only a few dozen Silures warriors lay dead or wounded; scarcely sufficient retribution for the Romans’ losses this day.

Magnus slowly calmed down from his rush of fury. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw his own century had escaped mostly unscathed. There were but a handful of wounded, and these were mostly minor injuries to the arms and legs.

“It’s just a flesh wound,” one legionary said dismissively, despite the copious amounts of blood that had run down his arm.

Off to the far left of the compound, Centurion Metellus and the Fifth Cohort found the prisoner stockades; large, uncovered enclaves filled with hundreds of men. All were young, for one did not grow old working in the mines. Many had vacant, distant eyes. Others clutched the bars of their prison, staring in wonder at the armoured soldiers who had driven off their hated overlords.

“Secure this compound,” Metellus ordered one of his centurions. “I don’t want this lot running off.”

Governor Scapula and General Paulinus rode over to the centurion, who saluted them. They were joined by Amminus and Landon, who quickly dismounted and rushed over to the stockades.

“Looking for old friends, is he?” Scapula asked.

“Silures and Brigantes have been at war since anyone can remember,” Amminus explained. “I have no doubt there are Brigantes amongst these prisoners.”

His assumptions were confirmed when Landon started speaking feverishly with a young man who sat next to the barricade, his head slumped in his lap. Landon pleaded with the man, reaching through the bars to grasp his filthy hand.

“Who is he?” Paulinus asked, kneeling next to the Brigantes man.

“An old friend. We served together as part of the queen’s guard. He disappeared, along with many of our friends, following a Silures raid soon after the war ended.” He looked to the legate, eyes wet with tears. “I doubt we’ll find many more still alive, but I must look for any of my countrymen who may be imprisoned here.”

Paulinus nodded and turned back to Scapula. “The Brigantes are among our most important allies. We should free any we find and return them to Queen Cartimandua.”

“Very well,” the governor replied. “It will be the emperor’s gift for her continued loyalty.”

“What of the rest?” Landon asked.

“What of them?” Scapula countered. “We need slaves to work these mines. Any man here who is not from Brigantes will remain.”

Landon looked at Paulinus.

“Everyone in this land own slaves, to include your own people,” the legate chastised. “These mines are of no use to us without a labour force.”

It was a harsh but accurate assessment.

Landon knew it was hypocritical for him to condemn the Romans for leaving most of the prisoners as slaves. After all, there were many a Silures captive who toiled until death in the Brigantes’ mines and stone quarries. The governor and legate left Centurion Metellus and his cohort to assist Landon in sorting his countrymen from the other prisoners. Doubtless there would be those who would claim to be from Brigantes, once they realized those men would be set free. Regardless, Scapula was still pleased to have claimed this prize for the emperor.

“Now to see the mines themselves,” he said. He kicked his horse into a trot and led his entourage to where he heard the shafts were located.

The main shaft itself was rather underwhelming. It was little more than a large tunnel in the side of a hill. Legionaries stood guard at the entrance. Others ignited torches and made ready to sweep the tunnel of any Silures fighters who might be hiding within. Centurion Furius and his century from the First Cohort were preparing to conduct the search.

“Not much to look at,” the centurion primus ordo remarked. “But, these barbarians are not very adept at harvesting resources.”

Scapula nodded and added, “If there is even a fraction of the gold we are led to believe, then we shall make this a source of wealth for both the province and empire.”

“About that, governor,” Paulinus said quietly, into Scapula’s ear. He tipped his head away from the crowd of soldiers and other officers.

The governor was irritated by the doubting tone in the legate’s voice and made certain he knew it. “Already having doubts about our victory?” he asked in exasperation.

“Not at all,” Paulinus replied. “We have captured what could potentially be a great source of wealth for the empire. My question is, how do you intend to keep it?” He paused for an answer.

Scapula stared at him, his brow creased in confusion.

The legate sighed and continued, “Governor, we are in the midst of an entirely hostile land at least two day’s trek from the coast. We don’t know the intentions of the Demetae. Some of them have come to us professing to be friends, but not their rulers. We can only hope they have not been poisoned by Caratacus’ serpent tongue. The rest of this land is entirely owned by the Silures.”

“Piss on them,” Scapula spat. “Cowardly bastards ran like a bunch of frightened old women. They have no stomach for a fight against Rome.”

“If you were to ask any of our veterans who were in the invasion, they would tell you a different tale,” Paulinus countered. “The Silures are anything but cowardly. They didn’t make a more defiant stand because they did not have the numbers. Don’t think for a moment they will allow us to keep this crown of their wealth.”

“What would you have me do, then?” Scapula was clearly frustrated.

“We should take the time to build a proper fort,” he recommended. “One that will house at least three cohorts of infantry, plus cavalry detachments.”

“It will take at least a month to build a proper fort,” the governor complained, “even with the entire Twentieth Legion here. I’ll have to send word to the other divisions so they can halt their advance.”

“Would you rather we lose the emperor’s prize before he’s seen a single piece of its gold?” Paulinus countered. “Besides, leaving a sizeable garrison here will draw many Silures away from supporting Caratacus.”

Scapula smirked at this assessment. “Of course. It will drive those bastards out of their filthy minds knowing we sit on their riches, with no way to get them back. Very well, we’ll take whatever time we need to fortify this position; even if we cannot claim its wealth for some time. We’ll detach three auxilia infantry cohorts to garrison the fort, plus a single company of cavalry. They only need enough horsemen to provide reconnaissance.”

“That should be sufficient,” Paulinus agreed. “I’ll have the legion begin harvesting timber and digging fortifications as soon as possible.”

With no small measure of difficulty, Scapula managed to get messages to his other divisions, informing them of the delay. While neither General Paetus nor Commander Julianus was happy to halt their march across the Silures Kingdom, the idea of claiming a large gold mine for the empire was too great an opportunity to squander.

It was with an added measure of relief when the Julianus arrived at the centre column’s camp, accompanied by the chief of the Demetae. Scapula had a dais erected near the site of the fort’s principia. Pillars bearing busts of the emperor and the gods, Jupiter, Mars, Victoria, and Bellona, were placed on the four corners; the additional statues having been brought with the legate’s baggage, following his spring return. All the standards, including Legio XX’s eagle, were placed behind the governor’s chair. General Paulinus and Commander Julianus were given seats on either side of the governor. The legion’s chief and staff tribunes stood behind the three. All had their armour polished and their best traveling cloaks draped over the left shoulder. A guard of honour from the First Cohort lined the path leading to the principia. All cohort commanders and centurions primus ordo gathered at the base of the dais.

The Demetae chieftain strode boldly towards Scapula with a small entourage of nobles. Landon walked beside him, acting as interpreter. The chieftain was of average height, with reddish hair pulled back in a ponytail, and a luxuriant thick moustache neatly combed off either end of his lip. He stood bare-chested with a green cloak draped over his shoulders. A large broadsword hung from his left hip. His head was adorned with a bronze circlet. He said a few words and bowed with his hand extended.

“Chief Judoc of the Demetae bids us welcome to his lands,” Landon translated for Scapula. “He thanks you for liberating his mines from the malevolent Silures.”

“Tell him I appreciate his sentiments,” the governor replied. “However, these mines now belong to the Emperor of Rome.”

As Landon translated, Scapula kept his gaze fixed on Judoc, whose face remained impassive. The governor thought the Demetae chieftain would take offence to his assertion that the mines were no longer theirs.

His expression remained emotionless. Judoc simply nodded and said a few calm words of acceptance.

“He says he understands why Caesar would claim the mines as his own. However, he also states, Caesar will need friends in the region if he is to keep them from the Silures.”

Scapula looked to Paulinus, who gave a barely perceptible nod. It surprised the legate that the governor was seeking his implicit approval.

“I am certain we can come to some sort of arrangement,” he said, in a very measured tone. “But for now, tell the chief that he and his nobles are my guests, and Caesar welcomes them in friendship as allies of Rome.”

It was very presumptive of Scapula. Judoc had made no mention of forging an alliance with the empire; however, he knew that diplomatically, he’d made it difficult for the Demetae to presume otherwise. After all, though his terms were vague, Chief Judoc could assume he would be entitled to at least a portion of the gold mined in return for his allegiance to Rome. Even a paltry sum would be better than when the Silures controlled Dolaucothi. The imperial army would remain static for some time while they built up and fortified the area, so there would be opportunities for the Demetae to make the most of this proposed alliance. The high king, Caratacus, and King Orin of Silures would be incensed by this. But as long as they were distracted fighting the Romans, Judoc reckoned he had little to fear. Even if the Silures did seek retribution, the Demetae warriors would fare far better against them than against the massive horde of Caesar’s armoured soldiers.

For the high king, the Demetae were not a concern. At least, not one Caratacus wished to deal with at the time. He had just learned of the Roman attack on Dolaucothi and knew nothing of Chief Judoc’s submission to Caesar. Instead, his focus was on breaking the will of their potentially greatest ally who, thus far, had been kept in check by their weak-willed and feckless queen. If he could not gain the allegiance of the most powerful kingdom in the midlands of Britannia, then he would make them bleed for surrendering to the invaders.

On this night, they would not be doing a simple raid of a Brigantes farming community. Instead, the high king would make a profound statement by destroying the small occupying force Queen Cartimandua had posted near the River Dyfi. With Venutius covertly causing discontent in the northern and eastern regions of the kingdom, the queen had been unable to reinforce the Dyfi garrison with additional troops. She had petitioned the Roman government for assistance, but the governor was fighting his campaign against the Silures, and the rest of their forces were stretched thin across the province. As such, his deputies at Camulodunum were hesitant to dispatch imperial soldiers without his permission.

Two thousand Ordovices warriors accompanied the high king, with several hundred fighters dispatched by King Orin of Silures. The Brigantes defence works were only a fort in the loosest sense of the word. With a wooden palisade atop minimal earthworks, it paled in comparison to the strongholds built by Caratacus’ allies or by their hated Roman adversaries. There was also a small village less than a mile away. The high king promised to give it as spoils to his warriors once they were victorious.

Torches were tied to long poles near the rickety gate. A smattering of others could be seen being carried by occasional sentries atop the earthworks.

Fear grips them
, Caratacus thought to himself, smiling sinisterly. The full moon caused his crouching warriors to cast a plethora of dancing shadows, like spirits of death waiting to strike. They kept low, hoping to avoid being spotted by the enemy sentries until the last possible moment. When they were within thirty feet of the gate, the high king stood and drew his broadsword. He took a deep breath, and wordlessly began to run towards the unfortunate souls who stood half asleep just outside the gate.
Poor fools, if you’d only remained behind your walls, you may have lived a few minutes longer.