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

by Griff Hosker

  “Wisht! Are you a man or a wee mousie. He is not here and besides you are not the first laddie I have walked with.” She giggled, “And kissed.”

  “Look Morag, I think you are the loveliest girl I have ever seen but…”

  “Girl! Am I not a woman? She put her hands beneath her ample breasts and pushed them towards Macro. Had he not known that he would have offended her he would have burst out laughing.

  “Look, you are a bonnie lassie and I would like to kiss you but we need to find the time and the place.” He pointed to the walls of the oppidum which had many sentries staring out. This is too busy.”

  “Well when then?”

  “Tonight after supper, I will meet you by the horses. I have to feed them tonight.”

  “All right but you had better be there.”

  Morwenna and Radha lay in each other’s arms. For the first time since she had met her, Radha felt that Morwenna had needed the comfort more than she. The Red Witch had been out of sorts since that first dinner. Radha did not mind, it made her feel more important and more needed. Her life was as good as it could be and she could only see it getting better.

  Morwenna was troubled. There was a presence, a spirit that had come into the hall and she had tried to divine it but had failed. Someone was hiding from her and she needed to know who it was. The problem she had had was that there were just too many people in the room and she could not isolate the spirit which emanated those vibrations. She decided that, at the feast later that night, she would visit each table in an attempt to isolate where the power was.

  Suddenly there was s a shout from outside. “It is Tole the King of the Selgovae.” There was an enormous noise from outside, the clanging of metal on metal and the cheers of people. He had finally arrived, the last of the kings. The delay had been deliberate; it had been Morwenna’s decision in order to increase the impact he would have.

  She leapt to her feet. “We must greet him. He is the final part in our plan. With him on our side the conclave will choose war and the Roman rule in Britannia will end.”

  Although she smiled and hugged Morwenna, Radha could not help but be a little disappointed. Tole would now have her affections and she would no longer be the vital part of the Red Witch’s needs. Her world suddenly seemed a little emptier and lacking some of the colour it had had.

  Metellus and Lugubelenus heard the noise and Metellus noticed the irritated look on the king’s face. It told him that this alliance with the Selgovae was not a marriage made in heaven and he stored that piece of intelligence away for future use. “I suppose we will have to greet the new King and his entourage.”

  When they emerged on to the steps of the hall they saw Tole and his fifty bodyguards in gleaming helmets and with shining swords. The king was irritated that the men at the gate had allowed the entry of so many armed men but he knew that it would be churlish to mention it and he had to ignore it, for the moment. “Welcome King of the Selgovae.”

  Tole hopped from his horse and bowed to the king. “Thank you for the invitation oh mighty king for it gives my people the chance to redeem themselves and regain the honour they lost so ignominiously when they deserted you allowing you to defeat the Romans single-handedly.”

  The deliberate obeisance had been carefully scripted by Morwenna and, as she and Radha watched from the side, saw that it had worked. Lugubelenus picked up the youth and embraced him. “From this day forth we will fight together as allies and together we will drive the Romans to the sea.”

  Metellus caught sight of Macro and Morag slipping in through the front gate and breathed a sigh of relief that everyone’s attention was on the embracing kings. Things were going well. They would be able to leave in the morning once he was certain that the king had taken the plan to heart. Now that Tole was present he was sure that they would begin the conclave and he hoped that it would come to a rapid conclusion.

  Chapter 18

  Marcus was angry after he had spoken with the Prefect at Morbium. The apologetic commander had told the young decurion that a message had reached them that their fodder and other supplies were being taken by sea to Coriosopitum. Although angry, Marcus was experienced enough to know that this was none of the Prefect’s doing. He declined the offer of beds and took his two turmae south west towards his family home. He turned to Sextus Lepidus, his chosen man, who had looked questioningly at the popular decurion when he made the surprise decision. “We’ll be able to get back, quickly enough in one day, if we leave in the morning and my parents will give us better rations than the well meaning Prefect.”

  The idea cheered up all of the men in the turmae. They had all heard many stories of the legendary Marcus’ Horse and Marcus’ father, Gaius, who was the last surviving member of that famous ala. He was also said to be the guardian of the Sword of Cartimandua, the famous symbol of the Brigante people. All cavalrymen had affection not to say adulation for swords and the stories of this one, first wielded by the Decurion Princeps, Ulpius Felix, had been told and retold in the barracks. They were superstitious troopers and, secretly, they all wanted to touch the sword as though some of its legends and magic might rub off on them.

  The original farmstead had been built upon and enlarged ever since it had been first constructed. Gaius had had his wife and children kidnapped once and now a ditch and fortified wall surrounded the extensive property. It was a smaller version of Morbium and the locals knew to seek refuge there when the barbarians raided. He was now a highly successful farmer, although as he admitted to any who asked, he did not know how. His men, who tended his animals and land, were now numbered in their tens and acted as a local defence force in times of need for the frontier was still a dangerous place and raiders from both north and south of the farm plundered isolated settelements.

  As they clattered up the cobbled road, leading to the farm, their standard and their uniforms clearly marked them as Roman and the gates were opened. Marcus’ elder brother Decius greeted him and embraced him in a bear hug. Marcus was not a small man but Decius dwarfed him. He was rounder and taller than Marcus and obviously enjoyed the good life on the farm. When he was finally deposited upon the ground Marcus patted Decius’ belly. “You aren’t expecting my nephew are you brother?”

  Decius roared with laughter, “No but my young wife is. You must see her soon, for her time is almost upon her.”

  “I cannot wait.” He gestured at the cavalrymen behind him. “I hope you don’t mind but I brought the turmae.”

  “No, that is not a problem. Father will be pleased to see you and them.” He shouted over his shoulder, “Gaelwyn!” Marcus started at the name and then realised it was not his old uncle, the great scout who had recently died but his much younger cousin. “Take these men to the barn and stable their mounts. Get one of the house slaves to bring food and drink.”

  The column trotted off and Marcus turned to his brother, “How is father?”

  “Surprisingly well for a man who is over sixty years old. Everyone comments about his youthful looks. They are convinced we have the fountain of eternal youth on the farm for mother is also as youthful as ever. Come they will be in the house.”

  Gaius had just become greyer as he had aged. There were few lines on his face, which was still as open and honest as it had always been. Ailis had less grey but the years of captivity with the Caledonii had left their mark in the lines of old pain upon her face. Their faces lit with joy when they beheld their son and they embraced him tightly, the tears pouring uncontrollably down Ailis’ cheeks. When he eventually prised himself away and sat before the fire, a beaker of home brewed ale in his hand, they began the torrent of questions. The flood was halted when Ailis asked of Macro and Marcus’ face darkened.

  Although Macro was the son of Macro and Morwenna he had been abandoned when a few months old and Ailis regarded him as a son, every bit as much as Marcus and Decius. They in turn called him brother, which he was. “He is well is he not? You would not hide it from me?”

  Marcus smile
d, realising that his own anger at not being selected for the mission had clouded his thoughts. “No he is fine and in good health. He is just on a patrol.” Marcus hesitated. Should he break security and tell them of his brother’s mission?

  His father saw his hesitation. “Do not break your bond my son.” He put his hand on his wife’s arm. “We knew that when they joined the Explorates they would be doing difficult things. Be proud wife that our sons make the frontier safe for us.” The wise old campaigner moved the conversation to safer subjects. “How is Livius? Now Decurion Princeps I hear?”

  “More than that father, he is a close confidante of the new Emperor and will be Prefect soon. The Emperor made him a member of the equestrian class; a great honour for a Briton. He is enjoying the role and he is a good commander.” Marcus suddenly felt guilty about praising someone who had been his father’s junior.

  “He was always a good man and I liked him. I am pleased that he is doing well.”

  “And he met the new Emperor Hadrian when the old Emperor died. He and Julius Demetrius met him in Surrentum.”

  “Well I knew the lad would do well but hobnobbing with Emperors. And it is good to know that Julius has done well.” He smiled fondly at the memory. “I remember when he first came to the ala, so shy and serious.”

  Decius piped up. “Didn’t his father have you flogged?”

  Wincing still at the scars on his back he said,”Aye but he was not like his son. Julius was, is, a good man. And you son? What of you?”

  “I am the horse master, a sergeant and I command, with Macro, a turma. He too is a sergeant and the weapons trainer.”

  “Just like his father eh? That was brave of Livius to promote him in a new ala. Did the older members of the ala not resent it?”

  “There were a handful but when Macro defeated their biggest bully in a training bout they were won around.” He smiled at his parents. “You know Macro, everyone likes him.”

  “Just like his dad.”

  Ailis asked the question which had been on all their minds. “And the frontier? Are we in danger?” With the prospect of becoming a grandmother and remembering the slave raid which had taken her and her children north, it was a fear constantly in Ailis’ mind.

  He shook his head. “It is not good. There are but three cohorts on the border, and our ala. Little enough to stop raids but the tribes are gathering in the land of the Votadini and,” he paused, wondering if he ought to mention the name, “Morwenna has returned. She is at the conclave.”

  Ailis’ hand went to her mouth. “I thought we had finished with her.”

  Gaius’ face darkened and his eyes narrowed. “That snake needs scotching. She has been responsible for more death and destruction than ever her mother was.”

  Ailis put her arms around her husband, holding him tightly. “It was a dark day when Marcus had her crucified. Perhaps her daughter would not have demanded so much revenge had she been spared.”

  “No my wife, there is evil in the world and Fainch and Morwenna are both evidence of that evil.” He shook himself. “Come let us not talk of such dark things when the nights are long. Your men will be hungry and we are being poor hosts.”

  Decius stood, “I had the slaves feed them but you are right. I will go and tell the cook to cook the deer I killed yesterday. It could have been hung a little longer but…”

  “The men are just grateful for the roof over their head and now where is my pregnant sister in law. I would like to see her and see if her bump is bigger than my brother’s.”

  Later that night, they lit a huge fire outside the barn and the family, household and turmae shared the sweet puddings made by the cook from the damaged fruit which would not last until spring, and aqua vitae. The ale flowed and they sang the songs of the ala; Gaius reliving his youth, his eyes moistening as he remembered dead comrades. Sextus said, in the lull between songs and tales. “I am of Brigante stock and I would dearly like to see the sword.” There was a silence as the young trooper had posed the question, lurking on everyone’s mind. The drink had loosened his tongue and as silence descended he began to regret his impetuosity.

  Gaius smiled. “Go Decius, bring it forth. These comrades of our sons deserve to see it.”

  When Decius brought it out in its plain scabbard there was hushed reverence as though a holy relic was being paraded. Gaius held the sheathed sword in his hand and then, looking at Marcus’ proud face nodded to him and said. “You are a warrior now and I am just a farmer. Draw the blade my son.”

  The jewelled hilt glistened and glittered in the sparkling firelight and it seemed that time had stood still as the blade was slipped from is scabbard. It seemed to Gaius that the voices of the dead who had followed the blade whooshed and whooped their own approbation as the shining steel emerged. The eyes of the troopers told Gaius all that he needed to know about the men and boys who followed his son, they were warriors and they respected the legend of the sword.

  Marcus stood and, impulsively, raised the blade to the bright stars above the farm, “The Sword of Cartimandua, the sword of my ancestors!”

  Ailis and Gaius felt the hairs on their necks prickly as the turmae rose as a man, took out their swords and yelled, “The Sword of Cartimandua.”

  Sextus came over and asked shyly. “May I touch the blade?” Marcus and Gaius looked at each other and nodded. First Sextus and then every man laid his hands on the blade. Each one closed his eyes as he did so, intoning a silent prayer on this most magical of swords.

  Marcus returned it to its sheath and sat with the sword across his knees. One trooper asked, “It is said that when the sword went into battle the ala always won. Is that true?”

  Gaius had heard the legend many times. He thought for a moment. “There were but a handful of us who wielded the weapon, the mighty Ulpius, Marcus Maximunius and myself. I can honestly tell you that we never lost a battle whilst we wield the blade and the ala survived.” He looked intently at the young men who were hanging on to his every word. “Not all the men in the ala survived many of those battles, for the ala was always in the forefront of the defence of the frontier and many times it seemed that the ala and the sword were Rome’s only defence but we endured and the stories of Marcus’ Horse and the Sword of Cartimandua are all true.”

  The men turned, bright eyed to each other to tell the tales they had heard of the mighty ala. Gaius heard one trooper say, “Would that the sword were with our ala for then we too would be undefeated.”

  Gaius looked at the way his son held the sword, like a proud father with his firstborn child. He thought too of Ulpius Felix who had relinquished the sword into Marcus’ care as he lay dying, of Marcus who passed it to Gaius married to the last of the Brigante royal family and knew that he had been selfish in holding on to the sword. He knew that the sword had a power which made its bearer fight better but it also meant that the bearer was in greater danger as every opponent tried to capture the sword and in killing its bearer gain the honour. He glanced over at Ailis. ‘She must be fey,’ he thought for he knew that she read his mind. A half smile appeared on her face, although her eyes were moist and sad and she nodded. Gaius returned the nod. He stood and gently took the sword from Marcus who looked crestfallen. Ailis laid her hand on her son’s shoulder as Gaius raised the sword above his head. “The time has come to pass the sword on to the next generation. I hereby give the sword to my warrior son,” he caught the eye of Decius who smiled and nodded, “Marcus, knowing that he will carry the sword with honour and defend this land of the Brigantes and Roman, his two peoples.”

  He handed the sword back to Marcus who unsheathed it again, this time as the owner. Sextus came forward and knelt before Marcus; it was impulsive but something in the moment made him do it. He had been told, by his Brigante father, of the sword and its meaning for his people. “My lord I swear allegiance to you and would be as your bondsman, your oath brother.”

  Before Marcus could react, one by one every trooper came to make the pledge. Marcus loo
ked around in confusion. Even Gaius was unsure of what should happen next. Old Gaelwyn the scout would have known but he was long dead. Ailis knew and she stood next to her son, whispering in his ear, “You accept their oath and tell them you will lead them as a father and you give them the father’s oath of protection.”

  Swallowing quickly to enable him to get the words out at such an emotional moment his voice seemed unnaturally loud on the still night with the dying fire crackling at their feet. “I accept your oath my oath brothers and I swear, on the Sword of Cartimandua, that I will be as a father to you and give you the protection of my sword and my life.”

  The next morning the turmae, despite the late night drinking were up bright and early, eager to ride back to the fort and proud of their actions the previous night. Marcus sat a little higher on his horse as he waited for them to assemble behind him. Decius and his wife waved at him and he shouted over. “It will be a boy and I expect a Marcus, not a Macro.”

  Decius laughed and shouted back, “It could be a Gaius of course.”

  Nodding his approval he yelled back, “Better still!” He leaned down to grasp his father’s arm, his mother looking up with tearful eyes. “Thank you for the sword father. I will look after it.”

  “It will look after you but remember my son its magic does not mean you are invincible. Do not seek combat for the sake of it. The sword will make you a wiser and better leader, it did make me.” He looked up, “May the Allfather watch over you and Macro, wherever he may be.”

  “I will look after him I promise, when he returns.”

  As they rode away Ailis couldn’t help but get a shiver down her spine. Gaius said, “Is it the cold?”

  “No I fear something bad has happened, either that, or someone is walking over my grave.”

  * * * * * *

  The conclave did indeed begin. Macro and Metellus placed themselves well away from the firelight and the eyes of Morwenna on the raised dais. Metellus had explained to Macro that they would leave in the morning. “Thank the Allfather for that. Morag intended to meet with me tonight in the stables and I feared it would end with her father after my blood.”