Hosker, G [Sword of Cartimandua 10] Roman Hawk

by Griff Hosker

  “No not against Romans, against the enemies of Tencteri.”

  “Germans?” Trygg nodded. Marcus could see no dishonour in fighting the enemies of Rome, especially as it would afford him more opportunities to flee. “Then yes!”

  Trygg clasped him by the forearm. “Good, I like you Roman and I will enjoy fighting alongside you. When we have horses we will talk again.” He looked down at Frann. “You have done well.” The two Brigante braced themselves for the words they were dreading that she had finished her task. “You will continue to look after him until,” he patted her stomach, “until the baby you will grow is too big.”

  Marcus left the hall stunned. He had been asked to fight for the barbarians and to produce a child. He could almost hear old Gaelwyn laughing at the irony.

  ******

  First Spear Vibius felt strangely relieved when it began to snow. Although the work on the wall did not halt it meant that the barbarians were less likely to attack for the snow meant the auxiliaries returned to their guard duty rather than helping the legionaries with the construction. He left his senior centurion in charge and rode to Rocky Point. He had had little chance to speak with Livius since Marcus had been abducted. It was a fear all soldiers had; it was one thing to die on a battlefield, or to be wounded, for in both cases your comrades could honour you or look after you but to be a prisoner meant you were alone and if you died your body would be discarded like yesterday’s rubbish and your spirit would wander for eternity looking for a place to settle. Vibius shivered with the thought.

  Although the sentry at the gate recognised the Gaul he checked the password and halted him. Prefect Sallustius could be a martinet when it came to security. As he rode through the gate Vibius, like Julius Demetrius before him, noticed the gloomy and dispirited atmosphere. The sentry outside the Principia stamped his feet together, rapped his spear on the wooden floor and shouted, “First Spear Second Gallic Cohort.”

  “Come in Vibius.”

  When First Spear saw Livius he was taken aback. In the few weeks since Marcus’ abduction the Prefect had aged considerably. The few flecks of grey were now a sea and the increased numbers of lines on his face reflected his tormented mental state.

  “Sit down. It is good to see you. How goes the wall?” Livius managed a wan smile, so forced that it shocked Vibius even more.

  “Fuck the wall sir. What has happened here? The place is like a cemetery with the dead still walking. This isn’t the Second Sallustian any more.”

  Livius looked up, seemingly surprised that the question had been asked. “But did you not hear Vibius? Marcus has been taken by raiders from the east.”

  “Much as I like the boy, and I do, he is just one man. He is not the whole ala is he? By all the furies in Hades he might not even be dead! Have you thought of that?”

  Livius’ face fell as though he had been slapped. “Not dead?” Over in the corner of the office Julius Longinus looked up, a slight smile on his face. He had wanted to talk to the Prefect as the Gaul had done but their relationship was a different one. This might be just the conversation to stir some life into the Prefect and the ala.

  Vibius sat down and poured himself a drink from the amphora on the office table, it was half empty a sure sign that the Prefect was drinking more than usual. After a mouthful his face took on the expression of someone who has just sucked a lemon. It was even worse than that, the Prefect was not drinking too much wine, he was not drinking! “Water! Have you no beer or even wine?”

  “I’ll get you some, centurion.” Julius bobbed out of the principia.

  “When we fought in Germania this happened more times than I care to remember. The only time the barbarians killed their captive soldiers was when they wanted to show us what they had done. If they had wanted to kill him they would have done it where your men could have seen. You told me that your lads were at the Dunum estuary when the ships left and one of them waved?”

  “Yes it was Marcus’ chosen man, Gnaeus.”

  “And they followed them all the way down the river?” Livius nodded. “Well if they didn’t kill him then why would they take him all the way back to their own land? It is at least a seven day’s sail.” Julius came in with some beer in a jug and a beaker. He took a mouthful. “By all the gods this tastes like gnat’s piss. I will bring you a barrel of my latest brew. That’ll cheer up your lads.” Julius couldn’t help liking the coarse Gaul. He was known as brewer, someone who loved ale and since he had been at the wall had brewed up barrels of ale for his own consumption. As far as Julius knew this was the first offer he had made to give the stuff away.

  “But we thought he was lost.”

  “Don’t get me wrong, it will not be a barrel of laughs for the lad. He will be a slave. They will not treat him well but believe me, somewhere across the Mare Germania, in some little port Marcus is a prisoner but he is alive.”

  Later, when he was alone, Livius mulled the words of First Spear Vibius over and over in his mind. How could he have been such a fool? Of course Marcus was still alive! Every fibre of Livius’ being told him that. As he rode into Coriosopitum for the conference called by Legate Demetrius, the Prefect thought how best to exploit that information. He had mentioned it neither to the officers nor the men, for he did not wish to raise their hopes unnecessarily but there had to be something that they could do. Riding through the gates of the stone fort of Coriosopitum Livius remembered that he had neither seen nor spoken to the Legate since he had snapped at him and then been admonished by the Emperor. He did not regret the words but he regretted that he had offended the Legate. Treasonous though the thoughts were, he did not care what the Emperor thought, for he did not know Marcus and he did not know the ala but Julius did and he would have been as distraught as he had been. He wondered how he could begin to mend those particular bridges.

  He was the last to arrive but noticed that Vibius had saved a seat for him. Centurion Quintus Broccus gave him a sympathetic half smile as he came in. The other Prefects and centurions also nodded their acknowledgement. Livius had served on the frontier longer than anyone apart from the Prefect of Coriosopitum; all of the other senior leaders held him in high regard but they all noticed the change in him in the last weeks. Those who were newer put it down to the stresses and strains of frontier command but his older colleagues knew the real reason; it didn’t help, they could do nothing to ease his pain.

  Julius had a map on the wall and a pointer which he used to illustrate his comments. “Gentlemen, welcome. For those who are new to the province and have only served further south I must warn you of a particular phenomenon here in northern Britannia. We are about to experience days which are but a few hours old when the nights seem to last forever. It will become so cold that those precious pieces of manhood we hold dear will flee to the warmer confines of our insides for protection.” Apart from Livius and the Prefect at Coriosopitum the others looked confused. “I mention this because it means that we have less daylight in which to work and the enemy have more hours of darkness to cause mischief.” He let the idea permeate through their minds and the implications of that fact. “We are not yet behind schedule but neither the Emperor nor his engineers have experienced Britannia in winter and until they do they will expect the progress they planned. I know this will not happen but I should warn you, the Emperor will.” He looked at Livius and nodded. “The other problem is related to the cavalry. We do have grain for their horses but they need fodder. Once the snow is on the ground they can patrol less. I tell you this so you do not think that Prefect Sallustius and his men are sitting in their camps enjoying themselves in the warm whilst you and your men freeze in the snow. It means that the auxiliary foot will have to shoulder even more of the burden. Now as to the work plans of the next few weeks…”

  After Julius had outlined the plans they all said their goodbyes. “Er Livius if you have a moment.”

  When they had all left Livius just jumped in. “Can I apologise for my outburst when you and the Emperor vi
sited. I know that you were as upset as I was and I had no right to embarrass you like that in front of the Emperor.”

  Julius shook his head, he had totally understood the outburst although he regretted that the Emperor had heard it and would think less of the Prefect. “Do not worry about that. I explained to the Emperor the situation and he understood with your reaction, he didn’t agree with it, but he understood it. I am more worried about you and your men than my feelings. I have been receiving reports about them.”

  “What that they are not doing their duty?” Livius face filled with anger.

  The Legate held his arms out to calm down Livius. “No, no, nothing like that. No one is impugning the honour of your men. Rather it is to do with their state of mind. The reports suggest that they are despondent and depressed. And we both know what that can do to the efficiency of an ala.”

  There was a silence in the office. The only sounds which could be heard were those from the fort, footsteps on the ramparts, challenges at the gate, the rattle of horse harness. “You are right Julius and that is my fault.”

  “No Livius the depression is not your fault but the lack of a cure is. The men look up to you, use Cassius, Metellus and Rufius. You must inspire your men.”

  The idea which had been growing in Livius’ mind on the ride over took form. “There is one thing sir.” Julius raised his eyebrow at the formality but let it slip. “Vibius has persuaded me that Marcus may still be alive. If he is then I would like to find him.”

  “Is that all?” Livius shrugged. “You want me to let you go… well I don’t actually know where, to find one man who may or may not be alive?”

  “Hear me out sir. We know that they were blond haired and came from the east or the north east. If the Classis Britannica could stop ships and find out where the raiders took their slaves…” even as he said it Livius knew how ridiculous it sounded.

  Julius however began to think. The fleet was too busy just managing the seas without trying to find a needle in a haystack. On the other hand one ship, a civilian ship could visit the ports where the raiders lived as a trader and ask questions about slaves.

  “Sorry sir. It was a stupid idea. It just struck me that it might just be the kind of hope which would put the spark back into my men.”

  Julius stood up, excitedly, and went to the other map on the wall, the one of the Empire. “We have The Swan, remember. If she sailed, here, just north of the last Roman port she could sail up here, around this peninsula asking questions and trading. The other ports further north are less well known but we could start in the south and, who knows, they could find some intelligence which might lead to discovering his whereabouts.”

  Livius joined him at the map. “Isn’t that putting old Hercules at risk? Not to mention your ship.”

  “To be honest I think that the old man misses the excitement, he enjoyed our last two adventures and it could make money for me. There are Roman goods we could trade for timber and amber. It could be profitable.”

  “One more suggestion sir. As you said the next couple of months are quiet ones for my ala. I would like to accompany The Swan.”

  Julius shook his head violently. “Out of the question you are far too valuable running an ala and a mixed cohort as you do. No, not you but you could send a decurion and a trooper. Metellus or Rufius perhaps?”

  “Not Metellus, he is just married and I would not like Nanna harassing me. It would have to be Rufius. Yes Rufius for he was close to Marcus and Macro. When can you get The Swan here then sir?”

  “She is due in Eboracum at the end of the week with some goods for me. I will meet her there and arrange it. Send Rufius and the trooper down to the new fort at the mouth of the Tinea and we will meet them there.”

  ******

  In the three weeks since he had arrived in Hjarno-by, Marcus had changed dramatically. His hair had quickly grown as had his beard. Wearing the leggings and tunic of the Tencteri with a deer skin over his shoulder he would have been indistinguishable from the other men but for his lack of weapons. He no longer moved like a soldier of Rome; he was more casual in his gait and his back was less stiff. But it was in his demeanour that he had changed the most. He was much calmer and philosophical about his incarceration than when he had arrived. If he had analysed why he would not have had to look beyond Frann and her influence upon him. His first foray into the nightly coupling with Frann had been a revelation. Before he had experienced it himself he had only heard the boastings of his troopers and some of the other decurions. It had seemed somehow, a furtive and grubby experience with much fumbling, groping and, to hear them something of a mess at the end. Perhaps because he was so gentle, unlike the men who had taken her before, Frann responded in a gentle yet considerate manner. She knew what to do whereas the virgin decurion didn’t and she guided and helped; she was a teacher and she was a patient teacher. Now, after three weeks they had both found how to pleasure each other and to do so even in the hall filled with others. Because Marcus was the only male slave the only other groping beneath the bearskins were those between women desperate for some love and comfort from any source. The girls who were taken by the warriors were always removed to the warrior hall. Frann always looked sad when the tearful girls returned as she remembered the horror or her visits and the fearsome drunken warriors who regarded the girls not as human beings but lower animals to be used and discarded. Whenever they returned to the slave hall she nestled and cuddled even tighter than before and her eyes filled with gratitude. Marcus had saved her from that nightmare, at least for a while.

  He could now converse quite well, understanding most words and able to communicate effectively. When Trygg had asked him about the training of Roman soldiers Marcus had explained about the wooden rudius. “Your warriors do not practise with real weapons? They use bits of wood?” Trygg had sounded incredulous until Marcus had had the carpenter make two to his specific directions.

  “Here are two rudii. Feel one.”

  “It is heavier than a sword.”

  Yes and hurts when you strike.”Marcus looked directly at the chief. “When your warriors train with real weapons do you get injuries?”

  Trygg laughed, “Of course. It is what makes them warriors.”

  “But sometimes they are hurt so badly they cannot fight again nor cannot go on a raid…?”

  Trygg looked with interest at the wooden sword. “Yes but does that not happen with your training?”

  Marcus shook his head, “No, the worst that would happen would be a few bruises or a bloody nose.” He took a deep breath. “Would you like to try a bout with me?”

  Snorri gasped and stepped forward, his sword halfway out of its scabbard. “No Snorri. Do you think he can kill me with a piece of wood? If he can then he should be chief of the Tencteri not I.” He saw at the eager look on Marcus’ face as he looked at his sword. But I will take temptation away from him.” He removed the sword of Cartimandua and handed it to a servant. “Take this to my hall.”

  Taking the wooden sword he faced Marcus who smiled at the poor stance. “One thing chief; we have a rule that you strike no head blows for they could be fatal.”

  Trygg smiled and gestured to Snorri. “See Snorri. He warns me of the dangers.” Suddenly he launched himself at Marcus who had been expecting such a move. Stepping forward with his left leg he half turned his body so that Trygg crashed passed him and he hit the flat of the rudius hard into the midriff of Trygg who collapsed on the ground, struggling to catch his breath. Snorri ran forward but the chief held up his hand and when his breath returned said, “No Snorri, I am but winded.”

  Marcus gave an apologetic smile. “Sorry Chief Trygg but the training took over and I just reacted to your attack.”

  “I can see now why you wished to fight me for the sword. I would have rushed in like that. I see you stand differently to me why?”

  “You balance on the balls of your feet and you keep your shoulders low. Let your enemy do the work for you and tire himself out. Try
it.” Trygg adopted the same pose. “Now do not use the sword like a club. Hold the blade so that it points upwards and use it to stab. If you have a sharp point it will go through leather and only iron will stop it. If your enemy has armour, then go for the legs. It slows a man down and makes him move less well.”

  The two practised until Trygg was too tired to life his arm. “Why is it that you are not out of breath, and I am ready to fall to the floor? This wooden sword seems to weigh as much as anvil. You can still lift your weapon and yet I am like a baby unable to move it any more.”

  “Training. We do this for an hour every morning, sometimes more. My brother, who was a much better warrior than I am would train for three hours every day.”

  “And he is better than you?”

  “He was, he died last year.”

  “I would like to meet the man who could beat the man who could beat you.”

  “It was no man. It was a witch.” It was as though thunder sounded .Both Snorri and Trygg made the sign against evil.

  “Thank you for today Roman. Every day I learn more about you and about myself.”

  Marcus had been called upon to give others a lesson with the rudius. Snorri had eventually learned a grudging respect for the Roman after he had nearly had both wrists broken. The one warrior Marcus wanted to fight, and to hurt, Lars the rapist, never came near the lessons, making his hatred of Marcus obvious to all.

  One morning, when the snow was lying crisply on the ground, Frann and Marcus were led to the jetty. “Come Roman. We are going to the mainland to meet Drugi.”

  Marcus could feel the excitement coursing through his body. Although it was an icily cold morning he felt expectantly hot. He had not forgotten his plan to escape but, as he needed to take Frann with him, he wanted a safe and secure plan. This took him back to his Explorate days. Observation and deduction were key skills taught to him when he was young. All the training from Gaelwyn and Rufius would be used as he harnessed every sense and skill he possessed. He had already worked out that it would be easier for them to leave from the west coast of the mainland for that would be a shorter journey but he had no concept of how the land to the west of their island lay. He was also excited because Drugi was getting horses for them and that, too, was a major part of his escape plane. Once on the back of a horse Marcus felt that he had no equal. The only flaw would be Frann for if she was with child it would make flight difficult, almost impossible and he had no idea of her skills, if any, as a rider. He could only hope that, coming from the northern horse country, she had been familiar with horses.