Hosker, G [Sword of Cartimandua 08] The Last Frontie

by Griff Hosker

  “Cassius did you believe Spartianus?”

  Cassius sat opposite and looked Livius in the eye. “Not for one moment but, like you, I knew we could never prove it.”

  “Could I have handled it any differently?”

  “No without losing the fairness we know is one of your characteristics. I suspect old Ulpius would have gutted him as soon as he returned but that was in the old days. I think Spartianus is a viper but at least he is not under a rock, we can see him and the others.”

  “The rest have been better behaved since I returned haven’t they?”

  “They are scared, even The Fist is wary. The men respect you and they hate the thought that someone tried to kill you. The five of them move in each other’s shadows, for that is their only safety. But I do not think Spartianus has finished but for the moment he is marginalised.”

  “Right. Let’s get down to basics. I would like to leave for Morbium tomorrow. If we leave Marcus and Macro here to continue to train up the new boys how many trained men will we have?”

  “If Septimus takes charge of turma eight then we will have two hundred and ninety three men and officers. That will leave the two lads with one hundred and fifty eight.” He whistled. “A lot of men for two young lads to command.”

  “You think they can’t handle it?”

  “No they can but, at their age I wouldn’t have liked the responsibility.”

  “I suppose that is the difference, they do. Hopefully we can promote another five or six men and then we will be fully staffed. Right let’s get them all in here and we will tell them of the plans.”

  The small Principia was quite crowded by the time they were all assembled. “I’ll try to be brief. Tomorrow we take out turmae one to eight up to Morbium. Septimus will be in charge of Turma eight as the two sergeants are going to stay here and train the rest of the men. When they are all trained, you have one week, gentlemen, then you will dismantle the fort, you can leave the gyrus and the corral they may be useful in the future. Any questions.”

  Marcus and Macro grinned at each other as all the other decurions smiled; the exception was Aelius Spartianus. “You cannot be serious sir, you are leaving these boys to manage one hundred and fifty men.”

  There was an uncomfortable silence as the others looked at the ground. The only person who did not trust the two sergeants was Aelius and he was now totally isolated amongst the officers. “Decurion when I appoint a man as decurion or even sergeant then that means I have complete faith in that man. Let us leave it at that.”

  Spartianus heard the insult and stormed out. “Septimus looked confused; Metellus said, “He is the only officer the Decurion Princeps did not appoint."

  As Livius led the ala out the next morning, he was inordinately proud. The men looked magnificent, many wearing their new uniforms behind their dragon headed standard, a remnant from their time of the steppes. He was even more proud as he saw that the two sergeants had their men already training, Macro in the gyrus and Marcus in the corral. The sour look on the face of Spartianus told him that he had not forgotten the insult. The two carts which followed contained all the spare uniforms and equipment. Septimus had left two of his men to cook for the trainees but Livius was sure that they would eat better than the rest of the ala as Marcus and Macro would make sure their charges had the finest of food.

  The journey to Morbium was a short one, just over an hour. In an emergency he could have his spare troopers there in less than thirty minutes. As he approached the fort he hoped that he would not need to use his Imperial letter; he hoped the Batavians stationed there might be some of the ones he had fought alongside all those years ago.

  The sharp eyed sentries had seen their approach and the Camp Prefect rode out to meet them. Livius was disappointed; he did not recognise the man. He was a typical Batavian, squat and almost as round as he was tall. His face showed the signs of many combats. Livius halted his horse. “Decurion Princeps Livius Lucullus Sallustius with the First Sallustian Wing of Pannonians.”

  The Prefect leaned forward, “Are you the same Livius Sallustius who served with Marcus’ Horse and fought in the battle just north of here all those years ago?”

  “Yes sir I am.”

  “Then I am glad to meet you. I was a centurion the day your lads made that magnificent charge and routed those bollock eating barbarians! Welcome. What can I do for you and what looks like almost a full ala?”

  “The Emperor Hadrian wants to re-establish control of the frontier with a more flexible force. With your permission we will rebuild our old fort.”

  “Be my guest.”

  Livius turned to Cassius. “Take the men to the old camp and rebuild it. It shouldn’t take long, the ditches are still there and all they need are the palisades. I want a word with the Camp Prefect.” Cassius saluted and trotted off to begin a task with a year ago would have been impossible but now would be completed in a very short time.

  “I would like a favour er…”

  “Prefect Marius Arvina.”

  “Thank you Marius. I don’t want to waste my men guarding our camp when they can be better served patrolling the frontier.”

  “I agree and my men will have shorter patrols if you are stationed here. I assume you are suggesting that my men sentry your fort whilst you are on patrol?” Livius nodded, relieved that the Prefect though the same as he. “It will also help to make our two forces closer.” He looked meaningfully north to where the famous battle had taken place. “It helped last time.”

  “It certainly did.”

  “When you are settled in come over to my quarters for a drink and you can fill me in on this new Emperor. I only heard about him yesterday.”

  “I will ,Marius, and thank you.” He kicked his horse on and was pleased to see that the horse lines were already up and two of the walls almost finished. The men weren’t tired having only ridden fifteen miles or so and they set to with gusto.

  Metellus came over. “The lads are all working hard. Well, all apart from our own particular brand of bad apples.”

  “He’s a fool you know Metellus. He is not making friends with the men and he alienates all of you every time he opens his mouth or walks into a room.”

  “I still believe that an Explorate knife in the night would work.”

  “Much as the idea appeals we are different now, we are regulars. I am afraid we now play by the rules, this is not Aquitania.”

  * * * * * *

  Three days after Livius had left them in charge, Macro and Marcus paraded the men. They had worked extremely hard and the two sergeants knew that their men were as well trained as the rest of the ala and yet they were reluctant to rejoin them. They had enjoyed their independence. They had used humour and praise to bring the best out of their raw recruits. The fact that the two of them were superb horsemen and really effective with any weapon helped for the men knew they were being trained by someone who could do actually do it. After supper the two sergeants had been prevailed upon to tell them of the battles with the Ninth. They told the story but minimised their own role in the heroics. Most, however, had heard the legend of the two young boys who had saved the eagle and they nodded knowingly to each other.

  “Well Marcus, we ought to rejoin the Decurion Princeps.”

  “I know Macro but one more day wouldn’t hurt.”

  “You are right besides which we have to dismantle the camp. We’ll have one last day of training, rise early, and we can be at Morbium by noon.”

  “Excellent plan.”

  Before they could begin to enjoy their training one of their sentries, placed on a knoll a mile away from the camp came galloping up. “Sergeant. Riders approaching.”

  “Barbarians or Romans?”

  “Roman sir, regular cavalry I think with a carriage.”

  “Thanks trooper well done. Rejoin your turma. Shit! A carriage and regular cavalry sounds official. “

  “Probably the Prefect coming to check in us and to see if we needed all the uniforms he
sent.”

  “Better make a good impression. Let’s put them in two columns and parade.”

  By the time the column was in sight of the camp the two sergeants had their one hundred and fifty men in perfectly straight lines. The Decurion who rode in at the head of the thirty regular cavalry looked around for an officer. He looked puzzled and rode over to the two young men. “Where are the officers?”

  “Sir we were left by Decurion Princeps Livius Lucullus Sallustius to complete the training of these hundred and fifty recruits.”

  “We had just finished when you arrived.”

  “And you are?”

  “Sergeant Marcus Aurelius and Sergeant Macro Culleo.”

  “Well you don’t look old to be sergeant to me however, “he leaned forward, “this is the Governor of Britannia, Marcus Appius Bradua and he is here to visit with this Decurion Princeps of yours. He was hoping to have a nice fort to sleep n but instead he has this, a ramshackle camp.”

  “Sir that’s not fair, we were about to dismantle it and join the Decurion Princeps at Morbium.”

  The Decurion shook his head, “Better think on your feet lads or you will be up shit creek without a paddle.”

  Marcus Bradua hated Britannia. The Emperor Trajan had appointed him following his stint as consul in Rome. Of all the postings he had to get, he was unlucky enough to get the one at the coldest place in the Empire. He hated the food, he hated the people and he loathed the fact that he could not grow his lemons and olives. How could the people live without fresh lemons and olives plucked from a tree outside your villa? And now, to make matters worse, he had heard that the new Emperor was going to visit Britannia and he required a detailed report from the Governor outlining the security issues. Bradua had never been further north than Aqua Sulis in all the time he had been in the province. When he had reached Eboracum he had heard of this new ala created by the Emperor. His interest was piqued and he had foregone the dubious pleasures of Eboracum to ride north. As he stepped from the carriage he thought someone was playing a huge joke on him. There were but one hundred and fifty very young troopers and two boys, or equally young men, in front of them. He turned to speak with the Decurion as he did so Macro said out of the corner of his mouth to his quicker thinking brother, “You need to come up with a plan.”

  “I’m thinking, I’m thinking.”

  “My Decurion tells me that I have wasted my time and your commander is no longer here. Do you expect me to sleep in a tent?”

  “No Governor, as we were about to explain to the Decurion that Sergeant Marco Culleo and fifty of the men will escort you to Morbium which is a much more comfortable, stone built camp and I will dismantle the camp here and follow you to our new posting later this afternoon.”

  The Decurion smiled and shook his head. He could begin to see why these two had been left in charge. They had wits and used them.”

  “How far is it, this Morbium?”

  “An hour at carriage speed. sir.”

  Bradua looked at the camp, looked at the threatening sky and nodded. “Very well then. Decurion let us go.”

  Macro winked at Marcus who shouted, “Turmae nine and ten form up behind the Governor’s carriage in fours.”

  The Decurion was impressed with the speed with which the order was carried out. As he rode next to Marcus he murmured, “Nicely done son, nicely done.”

  Chapter 11

  The unhappy Governor sat once more in his carriage. His friends in Rome had told him of the rise in power and influence of Julius Demetrius who had, until recently, been an obscure senator with a dubious background in the auxilia. Bradua’s associate, Lucius Quietus, had been one of the first victims of Hadrian’s mentor, Attianus and Demetrius’ consolidation of power. He had no doubt that the imprisoned senator would be found guilty of some misdemeanour or other against the state. The problem was, where did that leave Marcus Bradua? The Emperor was still in the east and there was a power vacuum in Rome. Attianus was an old man and Julius Demetrius had come from nowhere so fast that he could not have enough of a power base to take control. And where was Marcus Bradua? Stuck on this forsaken frozen frontier where barbarians still raided to take slaves and mutilate men. It was one reason he had insisted on a full turma of Roman cavalry. The Prefect of the Twentieth Augusta had been loath to lose his elite cavalry but when the Governor ordered the Prefect had jumped. As soon as he had inspected this flea hole in the north he would scurry back to Eboracum, write his report and send it on the first boat back to Rome. When he was in the comfort of his villa at Aqua Sulis he might be able to think and plan his way out of his dilemma.

  He peered out of the carriage. The land was just rolling hills, the trees were dull and uniform and, so far, he had not seen a single person, not even on the road. If this were Italy there would be a line of travellers, merchants, entrepreneurs, businessmen even farmers using the fine facilities which Rome had provided. Perhaps it was a measure of the nature of this part of the world. The Prefect in Eboracum had told him how tenuous the hold they had on the north was. Since the demise of the Ninth the tiny line of forts which held back the barbarian horde on the Stanegate, the thin line of defence, had been manned by auxiliaries; a stop gap measure at best. He was also intrigued at the promotion of this Decurion Princeps. From what he had gleaned, from a close mouthed Prefect, the appointment and the renaming of the ala had come from the Emperor himself on his first day as Emperor. How the young man had managed to get from Selinus to Britannia in the time he did was a mystery. It also begged the question, who was this young man and what power did he hold over the Emperor. He leaned his head out of the carriage window and summoned over the Decurion.

  “How long have you served in Britannia Decurion?”

  “Twenty years Governor.”

  “Did you know of an officer called Julius Demetrius?”

  “The Decurion smiled, “Oh yes sir. He was a good commander, he led Marcus’ Horse. They were almost as good an ala as regulars.”

  “What happened to them?” The Governor was curious about their present status.

  “I believe that they were disbanded because they lost so many men in the Brigante rising a few years ago. A great shame. We miss them. The North was a lot safer when they patrolled. Still politics.”

  The Governor looked up sharply, “Politics? Explain.” This was an area in which he was an expert.

  The Decurion realised that he had said too much and he tried to ease his way out of the situation, “Well sir I just think that some people high up were worried about their success and power especially as the Decurion Princeps was a Briton. A man who had been related to the last King of Britannia and he was thought to be a potential danger.”

  “I think I remember the name. He and his brother grew up in Rome I believe. Sallustius or something. Uncle executed when he was Governor of Britannia, ostensibly for naming a lance after himself.” He waved away the Decurion and returned to his ruminations. So that explained why the Governor of the time, and Bradua was in no doubt that it had been the Governor, had decided to use the opportunity to get rid of a potential rebel and magnet for the malcontents of the southern half of the land. He suddenly thought that he should have asked the Decurion what had happened to the young man. He would save that question until after supper; if they were capable of providing supper in this cold and empty land.

  Marcus was at the rear of the column ensuring that there were no stragglers when he noticed, for the first time a civilian riding a very scruffy looking mule and struggling to keep up with the column. There were large panniers on the back of the mule, obviously containing his traps but it was the man’s appearance which intrigued Marcus. He had not a hair on his head which accentuated his long pointed nose. He looked like a bag of bones covered in grey flesh and he appeared to beas unhappy as it was possible for man to be. Marcus smiled at him and he attempted to smile back. The mule was doling its best to go backwards rather than forwards. Marcus rode behind the mule and gave it a slap with the flat
of his sword. The blow to the rump made the mule turn around to try to spit at the perpetrator, but also made it move a little faster.

  “Hello.”

  “Hello sir, thank you for that. The mule does not appear to like me.”

  “Oh I am not a sir, just a sergeant, temporarily. And you are?”

  “Julius Longinus the new clerk for the First Sallustian Wing of the Pannonians. A bit of a mouthful if you ask me.”

  Marcus smiled. “You are probably right, never thought about it. Well you are at the right place ,sort of. We are the ala you seek. Why didn’t you stay at the camp?”

  “I was attached to the Governor and I didn’t want to get stuck in the middle of nowhere with the wrong outfit.”

  “I see,” Marcus appraised the man. He looked to be over forty which made him ancient in Marcus’ eyes. The man’s fingers were stained with a multitude different hues of what appeared to be ink. It made it look as though he was tattooed. “Can you ride?”

  Longinus looked perplexed, “I thought that was what I was doing?”

  “No you are sitting on the back of a mule. I mean can you ride a horse?”

  “Is it easier than this?”

  “Much.”

  “Then yes I can.”

  Marcus whistled and then shouted, “Trooper bring a spare horse here, a docile one if possible.” One of the young recruits handed his string of remounts to a colleague and trotted back with one he carefully selected. He was a keen recruit and obeyed the command to the letter. Marcus dismounted and grabbed the mule’s reins. It seemed to know that this was the man who had struck him and he snorted and squirmed. Marcus rapped him sharply on the nose. “Settle down or you will be supper tonight. I am in a mood for mule meat.” To the clerk he said, “Right sir, jump off that beast and mount the horse. Trooper, dismount and give him a hand.”

  The grinning trooper hopped down and cradled his hands to help the clerk up on to the much higher back of the horse. “There you go sir, up you jump.” Marcus and the trooper had to contain themselves at the clerk’s attempt to jump but once on the mount he seemed happier.