by James Mace
“Courage worthy of a king,” Verica said quietly as he and his small escort turned their horses about and rode away.
“Our enemies flee like cowards!” a warrior shouted triumphantly pointing to where Verica rode off on his horse. “The lands of the Atrebates are ours!”
“They have always been ours, we just had to remind them of it,” Caratacus corrected, clutching his injured side. The wound had bled a great deal and was now a dark, coagulated mess. The Catuvellauni prince, who would now be king of Atrebates, was a hearty man, who had been dealt far greater injuries in his years of fighting. The gash in his side would be little more than a nuisance for a while as it healed and scarred over. “We will fill our coffers with silver and tin, enriching our kingdom further. And tonight I will dine in Verica’s great hall before I burn it to the ground!”
All about him lay dead and dying men; the sounds of felling axes and spears striking flesh as his warriors viciously finished off the wounded Atrebates. Their own wounded were being dragged away by their comrades. Medicines and methods of healing were very archaic for the Catuvellauni, relying heavily on druidic magic, and as such many of his warriors would eventually succumb to ghastly infection and death.
“A terrible, yet wondrous sight,” Caratacus observed. “Our victory is now complete, and tonight we will sing of triumph and conquest in honor of our glorious dead!”
As evening fell upon the isle, the triumphant hordes of Caratacus marched into the Oppida Hill Fort that had once served as the seat of King Verica. The inhabitants offered no resistance, leaving the gates open. Survivors of Verica’s army had warned the people, with many fleeing. Still, most remained, for they had nowhere else to go. After all, who could they now turn to, abandoned as they were to their enemies? They hoped for clemency from their new master and understood that any further defiance would only be met with further pillage, rape, and brutal death.
“No members of the deposed royal family to greet us,” a warrior scoffed.
“Verica was a widower with no sons,” Caratacus said as he rode through the gate on a magnificent charger.
Crowds of people lined the dirt path. Some hung their heads while others gazed at the large warrior curiously. In a land in constant turmoil, such occurrences of rulers deposed by mightier warlords were all too commonplace.
“His only surviving relative was his brother’s grandson, who may very well be a feast for the crows by now. And even if he is not, he is of no threat to us. Atrebates is ours now, and the people look upon their new king!”
Verica feared for the safety of his great-nephew, thinking like Caratacus that the young prince may have perished. Such thoughts filled him with despair, coupled by extreme fatigue and lack of food to be found on the road leading south and west towards the grove of Ancasta. The two days of riding had been extremely hard on the now-deposed Atrebates King, and as they reached the grove, barely a mile from the sea, he had to be helped gingerly down from his mount. His once proud army was scattered; perhaps a dozen men were now with him, with a handful more waiting in the grove that had been sent on ahead by Cogidubnus.
“I should have died with my men,” Verica lamented quietly.
“And then who would our people look turn to?” The voice of his nephew was the first welcome sound the king had heard since he’d first been told of the Catuvellauni invasion. Cogidubnus stepped out from the trees, his face pale and eyes red from exhaustion and strain. The king placed a hand on his shoulder.
“There is one who can lead them,” he said tiredly, “and I am not he. But tell me, nephew, what of your family?”
Verica’s wife had passed on years earlier, and the couple had been childless. Cogidubnus was the grandson of Verica’s late brother and was his only living male relative. The young warrior had a wife and two infant sons.
“You need not worry, uncle,” he reassured. “I took precautions before we departed for war. Sorcha and my children are safe.”
“Safe?” Verica asked. “Where in these lands can they possibly be safe? Even if he thinks you are dead, Caratacus will offer a large reward for their capture, in order that he may be able to parade them in chains!”
“It is not within these lands that I sent them,” Cogidubnus explained cryptically. “But come, uncle, we must rest here tonight. Tomorrow all will be revealed.”
Verica was too exhausted to press any further. His guards laid out a pair of blankets for him to lie on, as his nephew and several of his men produced some cold rations of dried meat and fruit. He could hear the gentle current of the River Alre, which ran just over a short rise beyond the grove.
“We sent a couple men down to the river to catch fish, but I’m afraid any fires would be ill-advised,” a warrior stated.
“Agreed,” Cogidubnus nodded. “We must rest under the shadow of the trees tonight. I doubt that the Catuvellauni are attempting any pursuit, but we must not be careless. I only pray it does not rain. We are in what is now their lands and Caratacus will have eyes everywhere.”
The meat proved tough and stringy, though for the half-starved king and his men, it helped sate their rumbling stomachs. A few warriors came back bearing a basket of fish.
“There is a fishing village near here,” one of the men said. “We did not see much activity, and no sign of Caratacus’ warriors, so we should be safe for now.”
They ate in silence, uncertain as to what they should do when morning came. Only Cogidubnus seemed to have any sense of reassurance about him. His aura gave Verica a trace of hope that he had not felt since the word first came to him regarding the Catuvellauni attack on his kingdom. For the first time in a week he allowed himself to fall into a deep sleep as darkness of night completely enshrouded the grove.
The rains came just before dawn but were mercifully brief, with the thick canopy of trees protecting the small, haggard group of exiles. Engulfed in an early morning fog, Cogidubnus led the contingent the remaining short distance along the river to the sea. He grinned as he spotted the large ship rolling in the surf near the inlet of another small river2. His warriors were startled by the sight.
“By the gods, who are they?” one of the king’s guards asked.
“The only friends we have left,” Cogidubnus explained. “The king asked me to send word to our allies once we heard about the Catuvellauni incursion. I ask your pardon for my presumptions, uncle, but I sent dispatches to all of our potential friends, not just those in Britannia.”
“Romans!” a warrior spat in disgust.
“By Sulis, why have you called upon them?” another grumbled. “They create nations of slaves and dare to call it ‘peace’!”
“And who else would you have me call upon?” Cogidubnus retorted. “The Iceni? The Cantiaci? Well, I did, and they did not so much as raise a finger when we appealed to them for help! Forgive me, uncle, but even your brother, King Eppillus of the Cantiaci left us to the mercy of Caratacus.”
“It would appear,” Verica finally spoke up, “that Rome is our only ally not to completely abandon us.”
“Ally,” the first warrior scoffed. “We had dealings with their merchants, though I would hardly call that an alliance.”
“On the contrary,” Verica said, “Our relationship with Rome goes far deeper than many realize. My father, King Commius, served with Julius Caesar during his Conquest of Gaul, from where, as you know, many of our people originate. Despite their later falling out, both I and my brothers maintained a subtle, yet firm rapport with Rome. My eldest brother, Tincomarus, spent the early years of his reign in Rome after the rise of Emperor Augustus Caesar. Tincomarus and Eppillus had a falling out, in a story which would take too long to tell now; suffice it to say, Tincomarus fled to Rome, where he spent the remainder of his days. After I assumed the kingship of Atrebates, and Eppillus took Cantiaci as his own, I renewed an alliance with Emperor Tiberius, who had just become emperor the year before. And though this alliance may have been forgotten by most, it would seem at least one of Tiberius’ su
ccessors intends to honor it.”
“What, with a single warship?” the warrior said, his voice still full of doubt. “What can they possibly bring us?”
“For now, time to regroup,” Cogidubnus explained. “Come, they will not wait for us long.”
As the contingent made its way down the long path that led to the narrow beach, they spotted a number of marines from the Roman vessel waiting for them. They were armed similarly to legionaries, though their armor was lighter and their shields smaller and oval shaped, allowing for greater mobility aboard ship. Their captain, a tall, blonde Norseman, stood at their head. He wore a sailor’s tunic with a gladius strapped to his hip; his hair was cropped above the shoulders, and his face shaven. His northern ancestors may have once been long-haired barbarians, but his demeanor noted that he was clearly ‘Roman’.
“King Verica,” he said in their native tongue as he stepped forward, giving a short bow of respect. “I am Commander Hansi Flavianus of the Imperial Navy. I am here to take you to Rome.”
“Rome?” a guardsman asked, perplexed. He then glared at Cogidubnus. “That was your plan? Forcing us to flee to Rome?”
“We are not fleeing,” the prince explained, keeping his voice calm. “Like I said, we are regrouping. And no one is forcing you to go anywhere. Those of you who do not wish to depart with us are free to leave. Take your chances with Caratacus if you wish; I’ll not fault you for it. Those who will stand by their king will accompany us.”
The twenty or so men who had thus far journeyed with them talked quietly amongst themselves for a moment. Finally the first warrior spoke, “I’m with you, my prince, as are most of the lads. The rest ask your pardon if they cannot accompany you.”
“Please understand,” another spoke up. “We have families that we cannot abandon, not with Caratacus as their lord. Forgive us, sire.”
“There is nothing to forgive,” Verica said reassuringly. “I release you from any oaths you may have taken. Return to your families, and may Freya go with you.”
He then noted that the warriors who remained were mostly young and unmarried. Those with families still in Atrebates, he could not fault for staying to try and protect them. These men bowed and quickly took their leave of their king for the last time.
“It is time,” the Roman officer said. “My men will help you into the ship, and then we must set sail at once.”
“How long until we reach Rome?” Cogidubnus asked. Like all those who accompanied him and his great-uncle, none of them had any comprehension as to the vast size of the Roman Empire or the seas that surrounded its northern and western borders.
“At least two weeks, and that’s if the seas cooperate. Come.”
Verica nodded reluctantly and then looked back inland. Though it was a foggy and gloomy day, his heart was rendered at the thought of, what he felt, was abandoning his kingdom and people.
“Will I ever return?”
“That,” Hansi said, “is for the emperor to decide. You will find that Rome is the gate of kings.”
________
Chapter Endnotes:
1 – River Itchen in Hampshire, England, near what is now Southampton
2 – River Hamble
Chapter II: Demon’s Dagger
The Imperial Palace, Rome
14 January, 41 A.D.
***
“It is time,” Cassius said quietly as the group of conspirators crept down the stairs into the well-lit underground passage beneath the imperial palace. Outside they could hear the sounds of the cheering throngs that were attending the latest in a series of games put on by the emperor, Gaius Caligula. As a member of the Praetorian Guard, it would cause no alarm that Cassius was armed. However, the other members of the conspiracy had to keep their weapons hidden beneath the folds of their togas. As such, they carried short daggers instead of soldiers’ gladii.
Cassius Chaerea was a highly decorated former soldier who had served Rome since his days as a young tribune during the reign of Augustus. He was best known for having saved the lives of over a hundred legionaries during the disastrous ambush in Teutoburger Wald, Germania, more than thirty years earlier. He had further distinguished himself during the campaigns of retribution under Germanicus Caesar; his commanding general once telling the Emperor Tiberius that Cassius was, perhaps, the bravest man he had ever met. It was this reputation that later led to his transfer from the legions to the Praetorian Guard, where he established himself as one of their more respected leaders.
In recent years he had risen through the ranks as a senior officer within the Praetorians; an unusual posting, given his secret loathing of the imperial family. Though he served Augustus faithfully during his early days as a soldier, he never forgave the emperor for appointing the dreadful Quintilius Varus as commander of the Rhine Army, for it was he who led the Seventeenth, Eighteenth, and Nineteenth Legions to their destruction in Teutoburger Wald. Cassius also believed that any retribution should have been dealt swiftly, not six years later, and only then after the death of Augustus. And while he had respected Tiberius as a soldier, as he was one of Rome’s greatest commanders who could rightly boast that he’d never been beaten in battle, as emperor, Cassius found him wanting. Ironically, Tiberius himself would have been one of the first to agree with this!
In an interesting twist of fate, he had helped uncover a conspiracy against Tiberius, which was wrought by Cassius’ own commanding officer, Lucius Aelius Sejanus. He gave a sinister grin, knowing that he had saved one emperor, only to assassinate his successor ten years later.
The men walked quickly down the passage, their sandals echoing on the cobblestones. The praetorian tribune, along with several of his accomplices from the senate and a few guardsmen who were complicit in the plot, walked quickly along the corridor that ran beneath the busy streets between the palace and the circus. Far from being a dank, uninviting tunnel, it was spacious, lit with numerous torches, and served as a means of numerous patricians and other important persons to avoid the stifling crowds.
“Why, Senator Marcus!” a voice said enthusiastically to one of Cassius’ companions.
Despite being the emperor’s personal pathway, it was by no means secret. In fact, it was commonly used by senators, magistrates, and members of the imperial household when coming and going from the palace. The man who greeted them was a senator, whose name Cassius could not recall at the moment. He furrowed his brow when he saw the sweaty complexion of his friend, despite it being a cool January day.
“By Juno, are you feeling alright?” he asked.
“Yes, f…fine,” Marcus said quickly. His left arm was clutched close around his middle, giving the appearance that he was having stomach pains when, in fact, he was concealing a gladius beneath the broad purple stripe of his toga.
“The good senator has been feeling a bit off,” Cassius spoke up, “but this has not prevented him from coming to pay his respects to the emperor. Gaius Caligula awaits our pleasure and, as you know, he does not like to be kept waiting.”
“But of course,” the inquisitive senator said before bidding farewell to Marcus.
The other conspirators also let out sighs of relief. Cassius was the only one who appeared calm and focused. But then, what did he expect of men who’d had a soft living in Rome and never had to draw a blade in anger? Still, he knew they were resolved in their conviction to free Rome from the tyrant. He did not need them to be skilled with their weapons like legionaries, just willing to stab one man who had wronged them all grievously. One of the senator’s had had his wife invited by Caligula to attend a special banquet at the palace, only to have it become a depraved orgy, where the poor woman was subjected to malicious sexual cruelty by the emperor, as well as many of the drunken guests. Even a number of slaves of both sexes had had their way with her. In her shame and despair, she killed herself after confessing to her husband what had happened. The senator vowed to avenge her, consequences to himself be damned.
This was but one of many such
incidences, and the four years of Gaius Caligula’s reign as Caesar had been a twisted paradox. Despite being the son of the legendary general, Germanicus Caesar, those closest to him saw none of his father’s noble qualities. Like many, Cassius wondered if he was the son of Germanicus at all. His sexual promiscuity with both young boys and girls may have raised a few eyebrows; however, it was the incestuous relations that he had flaunted with three of his sisters that caused the most revulsion amongst the nobility. His cruelty towards women was profound. His first wife had died giving birth to a stillborn child, and many speculated that this had ruined the young man. His second wife was only his consort for six days, after being forced to divorce her first husband. Caligula promptly became bored with her and later had her banished on rumor that she’d returned to her first husband. His third wife had also been forced to divorce her husband, a former consul named Regulus, who also accompanied Cassius this day.
