Hosker, G [Sword of Cartimandua 10] Roman Hawk

by Griff Hosker

  “I have a letter from the Emperor authorising my actions and I am a frumentari.”

  If Rufius had slapped Gnaeus in the face he could not have had a bigger reaction. “I had better watch my step then.”

  “I tell you this not to impress you but to impress upon you the danger we will be in. I have done this before when I served as an Explorate. We had to operate amongst the enemy far from friends. You will doing the same. Where we are going no-one is our friend and we will need to watch each other’s backs constantly.”

  Gnaeus wondered at his decision to volunteer and then he remembered two things, the oath he swore to the sword and then the sight of the barbarian waving at him. His honour demanded that he go.

  The Legate waved to the three of them as the trader gently nudged the wooden jetty bouncing up and down on the waves and the tide. Hercules appeared, “You two ladies had better get aboard quickly for the tide is turning and I don’t want to end up on those rocks.”

  The two men threw their bags aboard and jumped over the side. Julius Demetrius clasped Rufius’ arm. “Bring him back but, just as important, bring back yourselves and my ship. I care deeply for those two.” He nodded at the old man and the street urchin he had rescued from the Lupanar.

  “We will.”

  The two of them stood in silence watching the land disappear in the flurry of sleet, rain and snow. It disappeared far faster than Gnaeus expected and he looked up, a little warily, as the darkness enfolded them and the sailing ship’s bow bit down into the choppy sea. His reverie was broken by Hercules’ voice. “The Legate said we should sail east but there is a bloody big bit east. Could you refine that and give me a better direction than east?”

  Rufius looked at Gnaeus. “Gnaeus here saw the ships and he said they had dragon prows and the men were blond. That is right Gnaeus?”

  “That’s right.” In the cold dark of night on a black empty sea heading into the unknown, that seemed perilously little to go on.

  “Well that means east by north east then. We will try Uiteland first. It is a peninsula.”

  Gnaeus looked blankly at Rufius who laughed. “Like a long island attached to the land. It means that Hercules can sail around it. What is our story then?” Both Romans were dressed in civilian clothes and looked just like the other sailors. They had not shaved for a few days and looked much less reputable already.

  “We act just what we purport to be, traders. We have some jet, which explains why we have been to Britannia and, just in case anyone notices that we are a bit Roman, some lemons and spices.” He pointed at Gnaeus. “We are relying on you spotting either the men or the ships. That will be just the start for it is unlikely they will have kept him at the port. He will, if we are lucky, have been sold on.”

  “And if we are not lucky then what?” The question almost stuck in Gnaeus’ throat.

  “Then Marcus will be dead!”

  ******

  By the time of the winter solstice, the impossibly long nights and the ridiculously short days, Marcus had finally trained Cato so that the beast was calmer in the enclosure. This made the ponies easier to control and he had those rein trained quickly. Trygg came, with his sons, to see the ponies and they even managed a circuit of the enclosure whilst their ponies were led by Marcus. The falls that they had suffered, confirmed Marcus’ opinion that they needed saddles. Chief Trygg had spoken quietly to Marcus as his sons had fed the ponies some oats which Frann had managed to procure. “I see that you were right about the skills and the saddles. I did wonder if you were using that as an excuse.”

  Marcus looked directly at the chief. “I do not speak falsehoods, Chief Trygg.” He gave a wry smile. “In fact I believe you find my honesty a little disconcerting at times.”

  Chief Trygg laughed. “It is true that others who spoke to me as you have done would have lost their heads already but I believe that the sisters who weave our fate, the Norns, have woven a web with you and me in it. It is not for me to break the spell.”

  Marcus felt a shiver for the Norns sounded too much Morwenna and her Mother cult for comfort. He changed the subject. “How are the bridles and saddles coming along?”

  “Good. It is a quiet time for the tanner and carpenter and they enjoyed the challenge. Within a few days they will be ready. And how is life with my hunter, Drugi? He looks happy enough.”

  “We get on well and he seems to like having Frann around. He certainly enjoys her cooking and we have much in common for we are both slaves.”

  “You are slaves but not as others,” the stern look he gave to the Roman left Marcus in no doubt that he had been afforded special treatment and that he would need to reciprocate with his advice and help on all things military. He looked off to Hjarno-by. “You were right about Lars, Roman. He does feel anger to the woman. You were wise to keep her close but she is still a slave. Until she has a child Lars could rightfully claim the right to taqke her and I could do nothing about it. Nor would I want to.”

  The tone in his voice and the expression on his face told Marcus that he should make Fran pregnant as soon as possible. Marcus felt like saying that they were trying every night but instead asked a question about Drugi. “Drugi is happy here and he is a content man but he yearns for some of the sausages he ate as a child in the land of the Wends. Frann could make them but she needs some spices; the ones which come from the east. I know that Phoenicians trade them. Do you get traders here for it would make his heart happy for a fond remembrance of his childhood if we could make the treat for him?”

  “You are a strange man Roman. Many other men would have thought only of themselves but you think about the woman and the other slave. Yes I will ask the harbour master to ask visiting ships about the spices. We get a few traders here but none from the south.” Trygg wandered over to inspect the horses which appeared contented as they ate from the bags which Marcus had fashioned about the rails enclosing the beasts. “The animals, even to my untrained eye appear to be healthier than they were.”

  Marcus nodded. “They are being treated as domestic animals now not wild and as man profits from care and husbandry so do the animals.” He pointed to the bags. “The food, tied away from the ground is warmer and is nutritious. There is little grazing hereabouts and they need to supplement their food. They are doing well and will improve over the winter.”

  “But we need more.”

  “We need more. Drugi and I will be going out in the next few days to capture as many as we can. The short cold days mean that they have to forage further afield for their food and they are weaker, easier to capture.”

  “Good.”

  Although Marcus was used to the cool Britannic winters he had never been as cold as when he and Drugi set off through the forests to try to capture horses. The wind whipped all the way from the east and the icy sea it crossed merely added to its icy hold on the land. He was glad that he was living with Drugi for the hunter had many pelts and Frann had made a leather jerking and breeks to be worn beneath the bear skin cloak he affected. He also wore a hat made from squirrel skins but he could do nothing about his cold hands as he needed his fingers free for the bow he carried and the ropes, wrapped around his shoulders that they would use to catch their prey.

  For a big man, Drugi kept up a healthy pace and, allied to his familiarity with the land, meant that they were soon in the part of the forest where Drugi knew there were horses. As he had said, before they set off, it was easier for two men to capture horses than one. They had developed a system of signs which meant that they needed few words. They both spied the hoof prints and steaming dung at the same time. The horses were near. Drugi gestured for Marcus to move left. As he did so he unslung the first rope and then slung his bow across his shoulders. He eased the noose into a loop ready, should they suddenly spot one. Their aim was to gather a small herd but if they had to capture them one by one then they would do so.

  Marcus saw the five horses grazing at some moss on the north side of a tree. They looked, to Marcus’ ey
es, emaciated and thin. There were three mares and two year old foals; a perfect start to their hunt, if they could be secured. Marcus watched as Drugi assessed the wind. They had both known that the horses could not smell them but it was good to be certain. Drugi tied one end of his first rope to a tree and walked towards Marcus. The Roman did the same and walked towards Drugi. When they met they had a half circle which, hopefully, would halt the horses when they bolted. The two hunters then retraced their steps to go around the herd. One they smelled the humans they would move away, into the barrier, or so the two slaves hoped. Marcus identified the horse he would rope first. Neither man would bother with the foals for they would stay close to their mothers and the dominant female was closest to Drugi. As they edged ever closer Marcus saw similarities between the foals and Cato. If this was his stallion’s herd then life would be much simpler. Could the Parcae be making life easier for him? Or was it Macro? Marcus suddenly knew that it was Marco’s doing and that gave him all the confidence he needed.

  The dominant mare lifted her head; she had their scent but was having trouble identifying it. Marcus and Drugi had been close to their ponies and Cato that morning and Marcus knew that horse scent would be on them. The delay gave them the edge and they both stepped forwards their ropes looping over their heads to strike the two mares. The third looked around in confusion and Drugi tied his first rope to a tree and then tried to rope the second. Marcus, not as practised as Drugi was slower but he had his foal caught at the same time as Drugi. The third foal pressed himself close to his mother making his capture simple. Marcus had brought some of the oats Frann had acquired and he held them to the dominant female. At the same time he began to keen to her.”Come now pet, we aren’t going to hurt you. We will take you where it is warm and your master awaits. Come here pet, eat the oats.” His soothing voice calmed the mare and she was so hungry that she ate the oats greedily. Marcus repeated the words and the feeding with the others and they were soon calm.

  As they led them back to the citadel Drugi shook his head. “What are those words you use Roman? Are they witchcraft? Are they magic?”

  Marcus laughed, “No Drugi they are just the words I spoke as a child, Brigante. You could use Tencteri words it does not matter as long as the tone is soothing and the movements slow.”

  “Ah. I will try that. It is good to learn, even if one is old. “He looked curiously at Marcus. “The commands you use with the horse, Cato isn’t it? They are in your language not Eudose.” There was a twinkle in the hunter’s eye. He had seen through Marcus’ ploy.

  Marcus had the good grace to nod. “True they are in my language. It is just a way for me to keep control and make myself indispensable. I can teach you the words if you like.”

  It was now the turn of Drugi to look embarrassed. “I have learned them already and they do work.”

  The two men laughed. For the first time since Gaelwyn had died, Marcus felt close to someone who was not his brother and it felt good to be able to relax and enjoy life. It was a shock to Marcus that this life as a slave was not only bearable but pleasant. He and Frann had a good life, he was working with horses. He and Drugi enjoyed hunting and Trygg and his bodyguards treated him with respect after the boar incident. But in his heart he knew that he could never be as happy here as Drugi was and he would have to return to Britannia but he could not see how that was possible. He looked up in the sky but there was no hawk; there would be a way, he knew that.

  ******

  Rufius and Gnaeus unpacked the crate which they had brought with them. Hercules was steering but Furax joined them. This was the first day sine they had set sail that the weather had been benign enough to allow them to work on the deck.

  “What is it Rufius?”

  “A surprise in case we encounter a dire emergency.” Rufius winked at Gnaeus and the two men began to put together the strange contraption.

  When they were halfway through Furax clapped his hands in excitement. “It is a bolt thrower. The ships used them in Manavia. Can I have a go?”

  Hercules’ voice sounded behind them, he had left the steering to the First Mate and come to observe the war machine. “It is not a toy Furax. It is a deadly weapon and if we have to use it then we will have failed to complete our task as we should, discreetly and secretly.” The old captain had not been happy about its inclusion but, as the Legate had pointed out, they were going to the dens of pirates and that increased their risk of having to fight. He was happier about the extra men recruited in Eboracum by the Legate. They were all ex-soldiers signed on for one voyage only. As there was less work available in the winter months there had been many takers especially as many of them had served with the auxilia and looked forwards to a little action, albeit on a ship. Below decks there were more weapons for the extra crew to use. As the cargo they carried was small there was no overcrowding.

  Once the machine was built they placed it at the bow in line with the bowsprit. It meant that they could aim easily and yet the machine could be covered with a tarpaulin to disguise it. Furax helped them to tie its feet securely so that it did not move whilst at sea, in battle they could loosen them to allow it to traverse. Rufius looked at Gnaeus and grinned, they were like children with a new toy. “I think we should try it out eh Gnaeus?”

  Furax squealed in delight and Hercules stomped off, mumbling about too many children being on his ship. Gnaeus cranked back the handle as Rufius fitted one of their precious bolts. “Let us try the maximum power and see how far it goes.” Gnaeus kept on winding back as Rufius elevate the front to its maximum. “Well that is ready.” Both men could feel that Furax was almost bursting and Gnaeus nodded. ”Well Furax would you like to see how far it goes?”

  “Yes please Rufius.”

  “All you have to do is to release this catch here, just pull it and the bolt will fly.” The boy stepped forwards and nervously approached the machine which suddenly seemed both enormous and deadly. He looked up at Rufius and then touched the catch. With a whoosh and a sharp crack, the bolt was hurled forwards. The whole crew watched in amazement is it arced into the air for what seemed like the longest time and then slowly dipped down towards the horizon and the white flecked waves.

  Furax clapped while Rufius said to Gnaeus. “That went further than I anticipated. “He turned to the First Mate. “Throw out a rope let’s see how far it went.”

  One of the sailors quickly put a knot in a rope and threw the end over. He then fed it out over the stern of the ship. The boat went forwards swiftly but still they did not reach the bolt, finally, just as the sailor called out, “No more rope!” Furax pointed to the red feathers on the bolt which could be seen four hundred paces in front of the ship.

  “That is over half a mile,” said an astonished Furax.

  “And the ones with the metal barbs go even further. Well let’s get this covered up and secured.” Furax looked disappointed. “Sorry, Furax, but we have a limited number of bolts and we can’t replace them.” Rufius was happier now that they had something to warn away any pirate who wished to pick the easy prize that was The Swan.

  The next day the lookout spotted land and the tension on the ship became palpable. They were approaching a coastline where Rome did not rule. To the south, fifty or so miles away, was the mighty river which marked the end of Roman expansion. The people whom they encountered now could be pirates or barbarians intent on taking an unwary ship; this was no longer the land of Pax Romana. Hercules had confided to Rufius that he had never sailed into a port which was not Roman; he had no charts and no idea where the ports were. Furax had been tasked with keeping a map which could be used by other sailors but for The Swan they were on the edge of a precipice and they had no idea how big was the drop. Hercules shortened the sail to reduce their headway and a man at the bows leaned over to watch for rocks.

  “It is an island. No sign of life.”

  Hercules steered to the north of the island and behind it they could see the coast line of the mainland stretching away north,
to the end of the world. “Smoke to the nor east!” The voice from the lookout drifted down to them and Hercules put the tiller over. It might be a farmhouse or it could be a port, but it signified people and that was the start of their quest.

  While it was not a port it was certainly a settlement. They could see small coastal fishing boats pulled up along the shoreline and the ten large huts all emanated smoke suggesting that they were all occupied. As they edged in, they noticed the men emerge from the buildings and Furax’s sharp eyes spotted that they were armed. Hercules ordered the sail lowered and the anchor dropped when they were fifty paces from the shore. The fact that the boats were drawn up on the beach meant that it was unlikely that there were rocks but Hercules did not want to be stranded on a lee shore. The small rowing boat was lowered into the water and two ex-soldiers climbed down into it while Rufius and Gnaeus prepared themselves to meet the villagers.

  Hercules came over to them. “Remember lads we are looking to trade. Don’t even think about mentioning pirates, raiders or slaves. We will save that for a port. All you need to do is to find a port.”

  They lowered themselves into the boat. They had brought some pottery to trade, for the Roman province of Britannia produced high quality pottery which would be valuable in the lands beyond the frontier. The two ex-soldiers pulled hard on the oars and the boat went swiftly through the surging surf. Rufius kept his eye on the men on the beach. Although the men were armed they did not appear to be threatening; he had had plenty of experience at gauging danger and he sensed that this was not a dangerous situation. Perhaps the small number of men in the boat reassured them. Rufius had a smattering of a number of tongues and he hoped that they would find a common one. They had decided, back in the Principia at Rocky Point, that the last thing they would do would be to speak Latin. If any barbarian spoke it they would claim to know but a few words.

  The two sailors jumped out when they reached the surf and held the boat against the waves. Rufius climbed out first, leaving Gnaeus with their merchandise. The leader of the welcoming party stepped forward. Rufius held both hands out to show that he had no weapons and came in peace. He tapped his own chest. “Gaelwyn! Brigante.” The old scout’s name came easily to Rufius and he did not want to be caught out in a stupid lie.