Roman

by Kevin Ashman

  ‘What’s the point, Gwydion?’ she asked, ‘Erwyn is dead, Hammer is forced to serve a tyrant, your mother mutilated, and as for mine, she betrayed her own family to whore herself with a murderer. Why should I go on when I have nothing to live for?’

  ‘We have each other,’ said Gwydion. ‘I know it’s hard at the moment but it will soon get better. Once we pass into the lands of the Silures we can take it easy and perhaps join up with a friendly clan.’

  ‘Is there such a thing with the Silures?’ she asked with a sneer.

  ‘There may be clans in the south that do not follow the ways of the warrior,’ said Gwydion, ‘We can talk to them and ask for shelter. We are young, strong and would prove a valuable asset to any clan. If we can convince them we come in peace and have something to offer then I think there is every chance.

  ‘How far away are we?’ asked the girl.

  ‘Half a day,’ said Gwydion, ‘But we are stuck here until tomorrow. The horses are weak and need to feed, as do you.’ He offered her the meat again.

  ‘What about you?’ she asked.

  ‘I have already eaten,’ he lied, ‘This is your share.’

  She took the last of the meat and started to chew, surprised at how hungry she actually was.

  Gwydion unwrapped his bundle and sorted out his equipment. He had two quivers of arrows left along with his bow, knife and sword. He hoped he didn’t have to use them over the next few days but wasn’t optimistic. He gazed in the direction Prydain had taken, his brow creasing in concern. The Roman had been gone for over an hour, far longer than had been expected.

  ‘I’ll be back in a while,’ he said to Gwenno.

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘To find the Roman.’ he said, ‘We need as much forage as possible for the next few days. While I’m there I’ll refill the water pouch.’

  ‘Don’t be long,’ she answered and pulled her blanket closer around her. Night was falling and there was a chill in the air.

  It didn’t take Gwydion long to find the trail and he paused at the forest edge looking for any sign of the Roman. His eyes fell on something half hidden in the undergrowth and he approached cautiously.

  A nosebag lay discarded in the scrub and Gwydion recognised the unmistakeable signs of a struggle. He searched the surrounding area and to his horror came across the bodies of two recently killed men. He realised that neither was Prydain but any thoughts that the Roman had escaped the conflict faded when he saw the signs of countless horses that had been in the area less than an hour earlier. Gwydion came to the conclusion that either his body lay further afield or he had been taken prisoner by the horsemen.

  He glimpsed something in the grass and bent to pick up a vicious looking knife with a curved blade. Its design was unfamiliar to him and he tucked it into his belt before returning to the temporary camp via a circuitous route, careful to avoid leaving any trail back to their hiding place.

  When he arrived, Gwenno was fast asleep and Gwydion decided to stay awake for the rest of the night to guard her against any revisit of the unknown warriors. He knew he had to change his plans. They couldn’t realistically continue south for if the unknown attackers were Silures, it was obvious that they weren’t welcome and he didn’t want to place Gwenno in any more danger. He would let her sleep tonight and tomorrow he would explain, but he knew, deep down inside, their chances of survival were minimal.

  He watched the darkness creep into the forest until finally, with his overtired body giving in to the demands of exhaustion, his breathing slowed and he fell into a deep sleep.

  ----

  The following morning the first thing to reach into Gwydion’s consciousness was the birdsong echoing around the forest. He shuddered as his body registered the coldness of the dew on his skin and his mind struggled to comprehend the strange sound that interrupted the birds. It was familiar but out of place and he tried to focus on its origin. It sounded like the bark of a fox or a cough. Yes that was it, a throaty cough. He hoped Gwenno hadn’t caught a chill but he quickly dismissed that idea for it was far too deep for a female; it was obviously a man’s cough.

  A second later as the implications dawned, his eyes flew open and he reached for the sword he had left at his side hours earlier but his hand fell on nothing but space where his weapon had lay. The point of a spear hovered inches from his chest held by the looming figure of an unknown warrior. For a second he contemplated knocking the spear aside and taking his chances with the man but soon realised the futility of the idea when he saw at least a dozen more men standing guard. Across the clearing Gwenno was gagged and tied to a tree. Gwydion stared around the camp and cursed himself for falling asleep, realising that if these men were Silures or Druid warriors, then his incompetence had probably cost them their lives.

  ‘Gwenno are you all right?’ he asked.

  She nodded her head.

  The spear holder lifted his weapon, the blood stained point tilting Gwydion’s chin upwards, forcing him to look at the man.

  ‘Shut your mouth,’ he snarled.

  ‘Who are you?’ asked Gwydion, ‘Have you been sent by the Druids, because if you have, surely you can see it is too late? The Romans are already here and no amount of sacrifice will make any difference.’

  ‘What do you know of the Romans?’ asked the warrior suddenly interested.

  ‘I know they defeated Caratacus at the Medway,’ he said, ‘And if they can do that, the life of one girl won’t make any difference one way or another. Why don’t you let her go, I will take her place.’

  ‘Hold your tongue,’ snapped the warrior, ‘You fret like a woman. We are not of the Druids.’

  Gwydion breathed a sigh of relief.

  ‘Who are you then?’ he asked, ‘You are obviously not Silures.’

  ‘If I was, your head would already adorn my saddle, but I am interested about what you know of the Romans. Who told you about Medway?’

  ‘I was there,’ said Gwydion, ‘I saw it with my own eyes.’

  ‘You are not of the Catuvellauni!’

  ‘I am Deceangli,’ answered Gwydion.

  ‘There were no Deceangli at Medway.’

  ‘I accompanied Idwal as one of his guard and to translate for Caratacus,’ explained Gwydion.

  The warrior withdrew his spear slightly.

  ‘Stand up!’ he ordered, ‘There is someone who you should meet. If you tell the truth, your life may be spared, however if you lie the crows will be pecking at your eyes within the hour. Bring the girl,’ he barked and marched Gwydion out of the camp towards the road at spear point, closely followed by the rest of the armed party.

  They emerged near the base of a hill and Gwydion was astonished to see several hundred men dispersed across the slope, talking in subdued tones within their small groups. The prisoners were marched towards a ragged tent situated in the centre of the small army.

  ‘Wait here!’ said the warrior and ducked inside. Gwenno was brought up besides Gwydion, her gag now removed and her bonds cut.

  ‘Who are they?’ she asked nervously.

  ‘I don’t know,’ answered Gwydion, ‘Though they speak the Catuvellaunian tongue.’

  ‘Have they been sent by the Druids?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ he answered, ‘This group is far too big to have been sent after two runaways.’

  ‘Where is Prydain?’ she asked suddenly noticing his absence.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ said Gwydion, ‘I’m hoping these people may be able to give us some answers.’

  Gwenno’s face fell but before her concern could develop, the warrior emerged from the tent, closely followed by a giant bearded man. He walked slowly up to Gwydion and stared at him for several moments.

  ‘Do I know you,’ he asked, ‘Your face is familiar to me.

  ‘I was with Idwal prior to the battle of Medway,’ said Gwydion, ‘I had cause to speak to you once.’

  ‘Who is he?’ interrupted Gwenno.

  The bearded man turned to the g
irl.

  ‘Allow me to introduce myself pretty one,’ he said, ‘My name is Caratacus, king of the Catuvellauni.’

  Chapter 41

  Remus and Mateus rode side by side as they led the column further west. The Centurion had forced the pace all day, stopping for five minutes every hour to allow the men to drink and catch their breath. Their armour was heavy and not designed to be worn for long periods of marching, that’s what the following mule train was for, but this was unknown territory and neither Mateus or Remus wanted to take any risks with this so called Silures tribe.

  The rolling landscape was thick with broad leaved forestry interspersed with manmade clearings, obviously formed for the grazing of cattle but strangely unoccupied by man or beast. They neared a stream and called a halt to enable the men to refill their water skins.

  The ground was muddied and trampled near the water, a sign that animals often drank at this point. Remus dismounted and allowed his horse to drink his fill from the cool stream. Mateus removed his helmet and dipped it into the water before pouring it over his head, gasping at its refreshing coolness.

  Remus crouched and put his fingers into a cow pat before looking up thoughtfully.

  ‘That’s disgusting,’ said Mateus looking down at the squatting Centurion.

  ‘Cow shit,’ said Remus simply.

  ‘So what?’ asked Mateus.

  ‘Still fresh, yet no cattle to be seen.’

  ‘Perhaps they wandered off?’

  ‘It’s still warm,’ said Remus standing up and wading into the stream to wash his hands, ‘They were here less than an hour ago and cows don’t move that fast unless the are a being driven by men’

  ‘They can’t be that far away,’ said Mateus, ‘Perhaps we should pursue them; we could do with fresh meat.’

  ‘I think not,’ said Remus, ‘What worries me more is that if these herdsmen knew we were coming, then who else knows?’ He looked around at the surrounding hills. ‘My guess is that we have been being watched since we crossed the river this morning.’

  ‘This concerns you?’

  ‘Not unduly, it would take quite an army to take on a full cohort, and armies take a while to assemble. We should be gone long before anyone can assemble the sort of strength needed to cause us any problems.’

  ‘Riders coming!’ called one of the sentries and everyone reached for their weapons.

  Remus stepped forward and peered at the dust trail being kicked up by the fast approaching horses.

  ‘It’s two of the scouts.’ said Remus, ‘And they look as if they are in a hurry.’ The horses reined in before him. One of the scouts dismounted and saluted him

  ‘Hail, Remus,’ he said, ‘We have important news for the Tribune.’

  ‘Report,’ answered Remus simply.

  ‘Sir, there is a large band of barbarians encamped on the other side of the hills to the front.’

  ‘Do they know we are here?’

  ‘No, sir,’ answered the scout, ‘Their route follows the road we seek and takes them south.’

  Remus was joined by Mateus.

  ‘Then it is of no concern of ours,’ he said, ‘Keep an eye on them but we will allow them to pass. We have more important things to do.’

  ‘Sir there is something important you should know,’ said the scout, ‘The group is led by Caratacus himself.’

  ‘Caratacus,’ gasped Mateus, ‘You must be mistaken; he faces Plautius in the east.’

  ‘It would seem Plautius was victorious and routed the Britons at Medway,’ said the scout, ‘Caratacus flees south to seek refuge with the southern tribes.’

  ‘How do you know this?’ interrupted Remus.

  ‘We took one of their number prisoner while he was hunting,’ said the scout, ‘He told us everything.’

  ‘You are sure of this?’ snapped Mateus.

  ‘Why would he lie? We did not suspect they were led by Caratacus, he volunteered the information as he thought it would save his life.’

  ‘And did it?’ asked Remus.

  ‘No, sir,’ 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 god’s 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, sir,’ 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 sir, 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.

  ‘Sir, 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, sir, 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, sir,’ 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 sir, 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, 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.’