by Griff Hosker
By the time Trygg arrived at the gates, Marcus and Drugi were there to greet him. The chief grasped him in his arms. “Thank Odin that you did what you did. But for you we would have lost all that we had won. If it had been left to this wretch all would have died.” Marcus glanced down to the bound figure of the former headman. “Tomorrow he dies and we listen to you, Roman, and make our town safer.”
******
The Swan struggled around the northern shore of Uiteland. The winds were not favourable and the sailors had to endure storms with sleet and snow as sharp as needles. The fact that the channels were narrow and they had to spend long hours on the deck taking in and reefing the sails , only to unfurl them a short time later, did nothing to help their situation. No-one was warm despite the furs they buried themselves in when not on deck. All of them were relieved when they finally edged into the calmer waters of the dark sea. Here there were small lumps of ice floating on the icy, almost black, water; not being enough to damage a ship but a warning that they were in strange waters. Hercules rubbed his salt rimed chin. “I tell you Furax, I will never complain about the Mare Nostrum again. This is indeed, the edge of the world.”
Part of his worry was that they would soon be amongst ships which preyed on others for a living. Their only hope was that they make a successful visit to a port and actually trade. The whole crew, Rufius and Gnaeus included, were nervous as the trader edged its way around the headland to the smoke which came from their first port. Hercules was tacking carefully but every sailor was on deck ready to unfurl the sails and flee as quickly as possible should danger threaten. It was with some relief that they saw the six long ships drawn up on the beach. Their crews were not in a hunting mood. The jetty, although that was a rather grand name for some planks of wood thirty paces long, had no posts for them to tie up and so Hercules dropped anchor in the small bay. He anchored so that their bow was facing the shore. If they had any trouble then the bolt thrower would be positioned to fire.
The small boat was lowered and they could see the welcoming party on the jetty. Unlike their first landfall there was little sign of arms or weapons. As Rufius descended into the boat with Hercules and Gnaeus he wondered if that was a good thing. The men he could see were obviously warriors unlike the fishermen of Cnut’s stead. He looked up at the pouting face of Furax. Hercules had insisted that he stay aboard and for once Rufius did not disagree. They both knew the danger they were in; they were going into the lairs and dens of the sea wolves and they did not know how they would be received.
Rufius had managed to pick up some words of the language these people spoke and, as they greeted the welcoming party he was able to introduce them.
The chief was a round warrior who had a pair of beady eyes which gave him the appearance of a pig but Rufius noticed the bracelets which marked him as a warrior. It would not do to underestimate him. “I am Gurt, the headman of this place. Why are you here?”
Rufius recognised the suspicion. They had arrived in the depths of winter,uninvited, in a foreign looking ship. Rufius smiled, spread his hands and began to explain. “I am Gaelwyn of the Brigante. We are traders from Britannia. The markets in Gaul are less welcoming than they were and we are seeking new markets for our wares and new sources for those things we cannot source ourselves.”
Gurt seemed a little more relaxed at that news. “What can we possibly have that you do not have in Britannia for are the Romans not the richest people?” The sharp eyed chief was curious about these visitors for none of them was as rotund and soft as the ones he normally dealt with. Two of them looked to have the lean look of the wolf while the Captain had the gnarled look of an old pirate. They were not what they seemed.
“True, they are rich and they build in stone. Their homes are heated and they even have baths.” Rufius smiled as the warriors shook their heads at such amazing and outlandish ideas. “But they require many slaves and they are not only scarce in Britannia but expensive.”
Gurt grinned and his men laughed as he said, “Perhaps that is because many people from Britannia are now slaves here.”
Rufius nodded as though that was understandable. “Then do you have slaves to trade? We have some fine goods to offer in return.”
Gurt’s face fell. “No we have none but there are other places, further south which have them.” The wolfish smile which appeared on the warrior’s face told Rufius that if they went further south then Gurt and his ships would be waiting when they returned north.
“We have jet, pottery and spices to trade. Is there anything you might have to trade in return?”
“Spices? It may be that we could use some spices for we have heard of a demand for them further south. And we have skins and fish to trade.”
Rufius caught Hercules eye and the old man shook his head. “I am sorry but we have sufficient of those. However as a mark of our good intentions please accept this gift.” Rufius handed over a dolphin carved from jet.
The headman was impressed. “Thank you. Forgive me, I didn’t catch your name?”
“Gaelwyn, Gaelwyn the Brigante.”
Gurt and those close to him followed the Romans and watched as they went back to their ship. They took in every detail of the vessel and Rufius noticed one of them counting the crew.
As they rowed out to the ship, under the watchful eye of Gurt and his greedy companions Rufius asked Gnaeus. “Were those the ships and the men who took Marcus?”
“No, nothing like them. What did you make of that comment about the spices?”
“You noticed that too. I think that means that somewhere south of us are people who like spices and they may well be Roman. It may not be Marcus but at least it is a lead and gives us some hope.”
As they climbed aboard Hercules said, “And I think that the sooner we get away from here the better. It strikes me that we are just a little too attractive for our new friends.”
“And I agree but I wonder if we might try a little test.” Hercules and Gnaeus looked at the decurion who had a strange smile on his lips. “If the people south of us, those with the slaves, are dangerous, then these villagers, or pirates, will probably attack us tonight for they would not wish to lose the chance to raid and take us when we return. If, on the other hand, they are not dangerous then they will let us leave to attack us on our return journey.”
“That sounds very risky.”
“I don’t think so. If we anchor in the middle of the bay and we keep half of us on watch then we should be able to see them if they come out to us. Don’t forget they will have to pull their boats off the beach and we would hear that.”
Hercules looked up at the pennant flying from the mast. “The wind is in our favour. We will try it.”
Furax tried to keep awake but as he fell asleep he was covered in the wolf skin. The cold clear night meant that they had a clear view of the boats but it was unbelievably cold. As the moon rose they could see that the whole of the village was silent and no-one was stirring.
“Do you think he lives still Rufius?”
Rufius looked up at the moon. “I do Gnaeus and yet, if you ask me how I know I could not answer you. It is, perhaps a feeling.” He shifted a little and rubbed his feet which were becoming blocks of ice. “I would be happier if we had heard of a sword for I am sure that whoever took Marcus and his weapon would have recognised it for what it was.”
“I still feel guilty.”
“What for?”
“I didn’t protect him.”
Rufius burst out laughing and the sound seemed to carry across the bay. “You protect Marcus? There was only one other trooper who could best Marcus and that was his brother. “He ruffled Gnaeus’ head. “All that you did was to obey your decurion’s orders. That is all any of us can do.”
“It is just that this land seems, well it seems nothing like our land. It is more primitive and, well more dangerous.”
“True Gnaeus and this is a measure of the success of Rome for I daresay that before Claudius came to Britannia our
land was like this and yet in eighty years it has changed beyond recognition.”
“Well I do not think they are coming. Let us leave.”
“You are right Hercules and with the clear skies we should be safer.”
The crew hoisted the sail and the light breeze which was coming from the land edged them south and east, away from Gurt and his long ships. The coast line was unlike Britannia and there were no cliffs just low dunes and rolling low hills. The ports were, largely, on the beach with no docking facilities at all. The next port they visited lacked long ships but it looked far more business like and more like the ports they had expected. It had long halls with a long wooden jetty and three ships the same size as The Swan tied up to solid looking bollards. They pulled in at sunset having seen no sign of Gurt or his ships. They all knew that it was not good news for he would be waiting for them on their return but that was in the future.
As they stepped ashore they managed to find a friendly headman who spoke their language well and was effusively friendly.
“My name is Gudrun Gudrunsson and I am headman of this port. Welcome.”
Hercules was immediately suspicious but after they were invited into the long house for some honeyed mead Hercules began to mellow. The villagers were pleased to have outsiders visit them and the headman told them of the dangers of the long ships. “Many years ago, in my grandfather’s time they would raid us and take all that we had. We were grateful when they decided that there were richer pickings in Gaul, Germania and Britannia. It was in my father’s time that we decided to become, like you traders.” He pointed vaguely to the east. “We trade with the lands at the end of the dark sea. They have some good timber which make fine ships and the animal skins we trade there are softer and warmer than any we can have. We do well.” He leaned over to Hercules. “But had I been the captain of your ship, I would have travelled here with other ships. We find there is safety in numbers. There are many pirates out there and we arm our sailors. Those who took from us in the past will not do so again. Now what is it that you wish to trade?”
They went through the same routine as before and showed the pots to the headman. He was impressed. “We have some fine timber? Skins? “
Hercules shook his head. “They may be fine but we need a more valuable prize. There is a shortage of slaves in Britannia.” He shrugged his shoulders. “The Romans cannot get enough of them; they probably have one to wipe their arse.”
The headman laughed. “We have some. There is a tribe further south, the Tencteri, who go to foreign lands and return richer but they do not bother us. They have slaves. We do not need many but the ones we buy from them are good quality. Many of them are from Britannia.”
Gnaeus and Rufius masked their emotions as Hercules asked, “Have you any spare? We would take as many off your hands as you can let us have. The pots are fine and…” he nodded to Rufius who took out a carved piece of jet in the form of a bear, “and as a token of good intentions accept this from us, trader to trader.”
The headman turned over the jet. “This is a precious object and I thank you.”
Hercules waved his arm expansively at the long house, “You have shown us hospitality. It is the least we could do.”
“We do have two spare slaves, women. They are good workers but the man who bought them no longer needs them.” He lowered his voice, “His wife and children died and he lives alone. He is ready to join them. He lives up in the hills. I will visit him in the morning. Now as to the pots…”
Hercules and the headman wandered over to the fire to haggle. “I thought that this might be the place where Marcus had been taken but …”
“Gnaeus do you not see? These may have been sent our way by the Allfather for if they were captured in Britannia then they will know where Marcus is. For the first time since we began this quest I have a strong hope that we may find him.”
The two slaves were young women of about eighteen summers. When they heard the Brigante language their faces lit up and they boarded The Swan eagerly although it was not a sign of freedom, it was at least a little closer to their home. The headman was a shrewd businessman. Hercules did not know how much he had paid the slaves’ owner but he knew, for the rapturous look on his face, that the pots the headman had received far outweighed the pittance he had paid.
“You are more than welcome here again Hercules.”
“And you too Harald Snorrisson, come to Britannia for there they have need for fine wood and you could trade for the pots yourself.”
As they sailed away Hercules wondered about a trade route to this part of the world but the thought of the long ships put him off. He concentrated on sailing south having been given good directions and a chart from the headman who had been eager to build on the relationship.
The two girls were pleased to be away from the strange land but Rufius could tell from their faces that they worried why the boatload of men had bought them. “I am Morag and this is Agner. We were taken two summers since from the land close to the place of the jet. The family who bought us were kind but since the woman died…”
Agner carried on. “He behaved strangely and we feared what he would do. When the headman came we knew that our prayers to the Mother had worked.” She looked intently at Rufius. “And what will our work be?” The look in both their eyes told Rufius what they feared.
“We will return you to your homes and you will be free.” The joy in their faces and the embraces they gave each other was a visible sign of their relief. “However you must aid us in our quest. For we bought you as a key.”
The girls looked perplexed. Morag asked, “A key? I don’t understand.”
“We are looking for a friend who was captured by raiders to the Dunum. You are the first Brigante we have found and we think you may have been captured by the same band. If you have then you can tell us of the place and make it easy for us to rescue our friend.”
“We will tell you all we know. The man who took us was a man called Trygg. He was not cruel but he has many warriors. They had five ships.”
Gnaeus asked, “Is he a big man with blond braided hair and a full beard.”
“Yes that is him.”
“Five boats with a dragon head?” Again they nodded. “Sounds like him Rufius.”
“Let us not get carried away. Even if it is the same man we don’t know that Marcus is still there.” He turned to the girls. “Describe his land.”
“There are two islands, close to each other and the land and he has a fort on the mainland. “
“Were the slaves kept in the fort?”
“No there is a slave hall on one of the islands. Some slaves worked on the mainland and the other smaller island but they were all kept in the slave hall.”
“Do they have slave sales?”
Morag nodded. “Yes, they hold them at the new moon.”
“Every new moon?”
“In summer, yes but when we were there some of the slaves who had been there longer told us that they only have one in winter.”
Rufius looked up at the sky, seeking the hawk. “Then let us hope they have not held it yet.”
Chapter 9
The execution of the former headman of the citadel was witnessed by the whole of the community. His craven cowardice meant that he did not warrant a warrior’s death and he was chained to a rock at low tide. Had he sent someone else in his stead then he might have been seen as a hero but the fact that he allowed two slaves to lead the defence of their citadel sealed his fate. As the sea came in his cries became more pathetic and strident. Marcus almost felt sympathy for him as he tried to stand on his toes in the bone chilling, icy waters, to gain a few more moments of life. It was, in the end, futile but Marcus wondered if, in the same position, he would behave any differently. Life was something to cling on to and Frann and his unborn child had made his existence and survival even more important and precious; it was not something to be squandered idly.
As the waves finally crashed over him Trygg finally
averted his eyes and came over to Marcus. “Now, before they have fled too far I will take my men and we will make sure that these Suebi have returned to their homes.” He looked at the horses. It would impress the people if we rode.”
It almost sounded like a plea to Marcus who was not sure if Trygg, who had had barely six lessons would manage to stay on his horse. His sons would manage it easily. “If your sons come they will manage it easily as for yourself, “Marcus paused, knowing that his next comment could determine his future. “The mare, Magpie, is a quiet beast and we could try her.” Magpie was black and white and the name seemed to suit.
Trygg looked disappointed. “The stallion. He is the horse for a chief.”
“Let us try him but I warn you Trygg Tryggvasson, he is not an easy horse to master, even for me.”
The chief’s face lit up. “I am sure that you have taught me well. Saddle him.”
Marcus did not like to say that Cato was not totally saddle broken but the chief would take that as an insult and so the decurion saddled the black stallion. Cato was not happy with the saddle and snorted at Marcus. “It is not my doing Cato. You are master of your own fate.” The horse snorted and Marcus held on to the reins as Trygg emerged. “I would not wear the sword chief for you will need to balance on the horse.” He looked dubious but unstrapped the blade and handed it to the waiting Snorri. He looked less confident as he neared the horse. Marcus had taught his pupils how to grasp the mane and the reins and throw the right leg over. He handed the reins to Trygg whilst holding on to the halter. As the chief’s leg came over the back of the horse there was a cheer from his bodyguard and he sat astride the stallion looking like the cat who has stolen the cream. Cato just snorted.
“Let him go Roman and I will ride.”
Reluctantly, and knowing what would happen, Marcus let go of the halter and, released from his grip Cato took off. He ran straight at Snorri and the guards who were standing by the open gate. The chief had no control over the horse and the guards threw themselves to the ground. As soon as it had escaped the enclosure it reared up, depositing Trygg, unceremoniously on his back and the black stallion galloped off. As Snorri and the others went to help up Trygg, Marcus went to retrieve the Sword of Cartimandua. The moment he held it in his hands he felt power surge through his body. He seemed more alive than any other moment in the last four months. Overhead the hawk screamed as it plucked a dove out of the air and Marcus felt like taking the sword and killing all around him, was this is chance of freedom? Then he remembered Frann.. As he glanced over to Trygg and his guards he knew that he would be able to despatch all of them in a couple of blows but, out of the corner of his eye he saw the crestfallen face of Drugi who knew what Marcus intended. Marcus followed Drugi’s gaze to Frann who stood watching him. Realising the futility of his action he slowly slid the blade back into its scabbard.
