Hosker, G [Sword of Cartimandua 10] Roman Hawk

by Griff Hosker

  The two guards were talking with Rufius’ two men as they descended to the jetty. They both turned as they heard them approach. The two ex-soldiers slid their knives out of their scabbards and into the men’s throats faster than a blink.

  “Take off their clothes and then get rid of the bodies. Any other boats?”

  The two men began the grisly task of stripping the bodies. Lucius nodded towards the end of the wooden walkway. “There is one up there. It is about the same size as this. Nothing else though.”

  “Right when you are dressed fetch it down here and keep watch.” The two bodies were dropped almost silently into the black waters of the bay. Rufius felt a shiver across his spine. The creatures of the dark waters would soon feast on the corpses of the two unfortunate men who had managed to draw the deadly duty.

  Returning to Gnaeus and Decimus, Rufius looked at the moon which had just disappeared behind a cloud. “This is the hard part. We have to wait until the warriors are drunk before we risk the rescue.”

  Gnaeus looked up the slope to the two guards. “We could go into the fort though. Have a look in the hall, that way we will get a better idea of when they are drunk and we will be closer to Marcus.” Rufius knew that Gnaeus was keen to affect the rescue but he could not see a problem with the idea.

  “We will go into the fort but keep to the shadows. I will decide if we go in the hall or not. It is one thing to evade the guards but I don’t want to arouse the Chief’s suspicions. He asked too many strange questions this morning.”

  The two sentries had obviously been brought some ale by a sympathetic friend and they were both far more relaxed and less alert. “Ha, so your captain let you ashore eh? Good lads. If you go to the hall tell them Orm and his brother would like some more of that ale.”

  Slapping on the back Rufius grinned and winked at Orm. “We will and see if there aren’t a few women eh?”

  Orm shook his head sadly. “No women tonight. Nor until after the slave sales.” He laughed lecherously, “It’ll have to be a sheep or your hand tonight. Still you sailors are used to that eh?” The two brothers laughed until they cried at their own joke allowing the four Romans to move into the shadows towards the Great Hall. This would be the hardest part of their rescue attempt. Rufius wanted to wait until the small hours when everyone would either be drunkenly asleep or too befuddled to know what was going on. Spying out the hall had not been part of his plan but he recognised that it would give them a better idea of how soon they could start their attempt. Gesturing for the three of them to stay in the shadows, Rufius moved to the steps leading to the hall. Two men were lying ungainly across the steps leading to the doors and the decurion avoided them, staying to the shadows. Although the noise from inside was like a battle he heard someone belch and then lurch towards the steps. He ducked behind the wall and saw Snorri emerge from the hall, unsteadily reaching for support; he steadied himself and dropping his breeks began to urinate on the two recumbent bodies that were totally oblivious to the steaming torrent. He laughed a giggly, silly little laugh which did not seem to go with the body. When he had finished he pulled up his breeks and rolled back into the hall shouting something to an unseen companion.

  Rufius risked a move to the door. He peered around the jamb; the light from the hall meant that he was still in darkness, and he saw that many of the warriors were passed out on the floor while others were having drinking contests or arm wrestling bouts. Chief Trygg was seated at the head of the table beneath the dais with his throne behind. He looked befuddled and drunk but he was still conscious. Above his head, resting majestically across the throne, glistened the shining, magnificent Sword of Cartimandua. Having seen enough Rufius slipped back outside, gesturing for the others to join him.

  The four of them crouched in the dark behind the slave hall. “It will not be long now. Most of them are out of it.” He glanced up but the moon was hidden. “We will give it a little longer. Are the two guards still alert?”

  Gnaeus shook his head and grinned, his white teeth standing out in the dark. “No sir, drunk, worse than Orm and his brother.”

  “Good. Gnaeus, take Decimus around the other side. When you are there signal to me and we will take them. Then we will be ready for the rescue when it quietens down.” It seemed to take forever for the two men to get in position but Rufius knew that it was better to be slow and silent than rush and risk a commotion. As soon as he saw the signal, he and the others slipped along the wall like shadows from the moon. The two guards were soon slumped on the floor having been struck silently and efficiently; there had been no noise. Rufius did not know it they were awake or not but they could take no chances. The two ex-soldiers took out their cudgels and ensured that the sentries would not wake before morning. The door had a simple bar as a lock and they slowly lifted it so that the door would be free to swing open when they were ready. It was tempting to open it and bring out Marcus but Rufius wanted as many of the slaves as possible to be asleep.

  Suddenly there was a commotion from the Great Hall and eight men tumbled to the ground. Rufius gestured for Gnaeus to stand back and he slipped on the sleeping guard’s helmet. The eight men began a brawl which gradually took them to the gate where Orm and his brother just stood laughing. Some of those fighting took exception to this and soon Orm and his brother were embroiled in the fray. After a few moments, there were six still bodies lying close to the gate and the four survivors cheered each other, slapped backs and then staggered back triumphantly to the hall. Rufius had no idea if the six were dead or alive but it seemed likely that they would remain inert for a while. It had cleared one problem for them; there was no longer a guard at the gate.

  They waited for some one else to come out. Gnaeus was finding the tension unbearable but Rufius was patient. There would be a perfect time to escape and he was trying to get as close to that time as possible. When it had been silent for a long time he nodded and they slowly opened the door. Once again a wall of foetid air hit them but Marcus and the woman leapt silently to their feet and quickly joined Rufius. There was not time for welcomes and Rufius led them, along the shadows to the gate. When they reached the gate leading them to safety Marcus halted. “Take the woman to the jetty.”

  Rufius looked in amazement at Marcus. “Why? Where are you going?”

  “I’m going to get the sword.”

  Before Rufius could stop him he had taken off for the Great Hall. Rufius cursed. “Gnaeus come with me. You two take her to the boat and then back to the ship. Warn Hercules that we may be leaving in a hurry.” Frann looked terrified as the two men half carried her away but she remained silent.

  Rufius caught Marcus’ arm just as he was about to leap up the steps. “Wait! This is stupid but if you are going to get the sword then let us do it properly. It is hanging on the throne. Get a helmet and a sword. If we walk in there like this we will stand out. Let’s play drunks.”

  The three of them soon looked the part and they staggered, with trepidation in their hearts, into the Great Hall. There was barely any movement and Rufius could see that the drink and violence had taken their toll. He pointed to the throne which shone in the firelight above the unconscious form of the Chief of the Tencteri. They moved cautiously through the bodies, careful not to step on any. While Gnaeus and Rufius kept watch, Marcus slipped to the throne and grabbed the sword. Hardly daring to breathe they made their way back to the main door. Suddenly a figure lurched drunkenly towards them, it was Snorri. He did not recognise them but he recognised the helmet. “Harald? You still fucking sober? I thought you passed out hours ago. Here let’s go and shag some slaves eh?”

  As soon as his face drew next to Rufius he realised it was not his friend and he stood there with a stupid expression on his face. Marcus swung the scabbard of the sword to crash into the bodyguard’s head. His mouth and nose exploded in a mess of blood, teeth and gristle and Gnaeus caught him before he hit the ground. He was alive but out for the count. The three men quickly fled. No-one else was stirring an
d it was only as they left the gate that Rufius realised that he should have locked the slaves’ hall for they slaves were not drunk and if they saw the door open they would leave and that might alert the warriors. He realised it was too late to do anything about it and they ran down the slope to the jetty towards the boats and safety. The two guards they had left breathed a sigh of relief as the three of them appeared.

  Marcus grasped Rufius’ arm. “Thank you old friend. Where is Frann?”

  “Your woman?” Marcus nodded, “On the boat.”

  They were just climbing into the boat when a silent figure suddenly rose menacingly from the shadows. Rufius and Gnaeus’ hands went to their weapons but Marcus restrained them. “Don’t worry. He is with us. This is Drugi.”

  The huge hunter grinned as he joined them in the heavily overloaded boat. “Your friends are not as silent as you are Roman.”

  As they rowed away Rufius looked up at the giant seated in the rear of the boat. His weight made it precariously close to the water. “Where did you find this Titan?

  “This, Titan, is the finest hunter since Gaelwyn, probably including Gaelwyn, and we owe our escape to him. Without him this would not have been possible.” As they rode to The Swan which Rufius could see was preparing for sea, Marcus looked at the beached dragon boats. “We’ll have to do something about those.”

  Rufius threw his hands into the air. “Marcus, have you lost all your senses. First you want the sword and we nearly get caught. Now you want to do something to their ships. What in the name of the Allfather can we do?”

  “Sink them because if we don’t they will follow us and believe me they are faster than this ship and then Chief Trygg will have even more slaves; including Furax and Hercules. Now you do not want that to happen do you Rufius?”

  Rufius knew that, infuriatingly, Marcus was right. As they clambered aboard Frann hurled herself at Marcus to hug him tearfully while Hercules and Furax looked up at the giant who appeared on their ship. “Get us under way. Furax get the bolt thrower ready.”

  “Bolt thrower? We have no time for that.”

  “Yes we do Hercules. Sail slowly towards the dragon ships, we are going to try to sink them, or at least damage them to prevent them following us. Marcus has pointed out that they will follow us otherwise.”

  Saying a silent prayer to Neptune Hercules wondered if he would ever get back to his beloved Italy.

  “We need to aim below the waterline, two bolts to each boat, at the closest possible range; we need the maximum damage. Gnaeus keep your eye on the fort and let us know if there is any movement.”

  Furax and the crew aimed their weapon at the acutest angle possible. When they were fifty paces away they fired and quickly began reloading. They were closing too quickly and Marcus shouted, “Shorten sail, slow down!”

  Cursing the trooper Hercules did as he was told. They managed to hit the other five with two bolts each but their first target had only been holed by one. Rufius was not convinced that they had struck them all in the right place and he was also doubtful that it would hold them up for long. Had they been in deeper water then they would have sunk and been harder to repair. As it was he suspected they had only delayed pursuit by a day at the most. It was now important to put as much distance between the barbarians and themselves as possible. Having taken not only their Roman prize but also the famous sword they would be angrier than a hive of wasps which has been poked by a child- they were that child! “That’s all that we can do Marcus. Hercules, you can sail as fast as you like now.”

  “About time too!”

  ******

  Back at the village there was a strange silence punctuated by the snores, belches and farts of the inebriated warriors. The foxes and rats ventured out to feast on the pieces of discarded food and detritus which had been left after the feast. The dead bodies had not attracted attention as there were piles of much easier pickings lying both in and out of the hall. As a sharp frost hardened on the warrior’s bodies there was a stirring in the slave hall. One of the boys had felt the cold draft from the half open door. Urination was normally carried out in a container in the corner but the boy saw the glint of moonlight through the door and went outside to relieve himself. To the young boy’s eyes the sentries looked asleep rather than dead but he could see the gates to the fort wide open. He ran back to his mother and shook her awake.

  “What is it child? Get back to sleep.” The mother knew that they needed every moment’s rest that they could get for they were worked long and hard.

  “The gates they are open.”

  Suddenly awake the mother looked and saw that there was, indeed, light coming from the door. She went and peered nervously out and saw that her son was correct. She slipped back inside and quickly woke her sister and her two children. “Come! Quietly and follow me.”

  The younger sister did not question the elder sibling’s command for they trusted each other implicitly. On reaching the door, they saw that freedom lay ahead and they raced out with the three children. As the left the fort one of the foxes barked in shock as the silently passed. Inside the slave hall, another mother woke at the sudden noise.

  The fugitives fled down to the jetty. There was only one way off the island, by boat, and they just hoped that they could find one. The passage to the southern stretch of mainland was but a hundred paces and they knew that, inept as they were, if they could find a boat then they could achieve freedom. On reaching the jetty they saw, to their disappointment that there were no boats. Beneath the black waters they could see the remains of sunken and damaged boats but none which were usable could be seen. Picking up the discarded bearskins of the dead sentries, the resourceful elder sister wrapped them around the children. “Wait here and I will look for another.” The younger sister held the three children fearfully as she stared up at the village, just waiting for the alarm which would signal the end to their brief foray into freedom. She caught a glimpse of movement at the gate as other slaves realised that they were free and she felt her heart sink. They had come so close and yet failed. Suddenly she heard a, “Hssst!” Looking along the jetty she saw her sister waving. Running as quickly as they dared along the icy wooden jetty they ran to where Drugi had left his boat. It was small but it was a means of escape and the five of them boarded and pushed off just as the first of the escaped slaves arrived at the end of the jetty. The other shore was closer than they could have hoped and they were soon halfway across; their fellow captives staring helplessly at the only means of escape. Two of the younger women jumped into the icy waters and half waded, half swam towards the departing boat. One of the girls barely made it ten paces to the slowly moving boat before she succumbed to the cold and sank slowly beneath the waters. The other had more resilience and, despite her freezing joints kicked on. The elder sister took pity on this brave soul and they stopped rowing. As the girl reached the boat the sister said, “Hang on to the back and we will take you with us.” The six refugees stood on the shore, the swimmer shivering, draped in a bearskin as they looked at the jetty which was filling up with freed slaves who had nowhere to go.

  As the elder sister led the party south the younger one took an oar and pushed the small rowing boat back to the island. If the Norns so willed it, then others would have the same chance of freedom as they were grasping for such hope with both hands.

  The sound of the fox and the movement through the open gate had woken Orm. The blow he had suffered in the brawl had been slight but the ale he had consumed had taken him to the depths of sleep. He stood, wondering what had occurred when he saw the stream of women and children running towards the jetty. It took him a few moments to discover that he was not dreaming and they were fleeing. He grabbed his spear and yelled, at the top of his voice, “To arms! To arms!”

  On the jetty there was a collective wail as the refugees realised that their bid for freedom was over. Some sat, silently sobbing on the jetty, oblivious to the cold. Others fled along the shoreline to try to find a hiding place on the i
sland. One or two jumped into the water to try to grab the rowing boat which had floated tantalisingly close. One or two the women slipped back to the nearby houses to wait and hide.

  Chief Trygg jerked awake, his head pounding with the sudden movement. Orm appeared at the door of the Great Hall. “The slaves! They are free! They are escaping!”

  The angry chief shook awake the bleary eyes men around the table. “To your feet! The slaves!” He turned around to grab his sword and saw to his horror that it was gone. Although his mind had been befuddled a few moments earlier, he had a sudden clarity of thought, the Roman had, somehow organised the escape and taken the sword. He took his dagger out and banged hard on the discarded helmet lying at his feet. “Get to your feet you lazy whoresons! The Roman has taken the sword! On your feet!” He had a cold hard fury about him. He had been deceived and, what made it worse, was that he had known there was something wrong. He cursed the Roman but he also cursed Lars and his brothers; but for Lars’ lust Marcus would have been safely on the mainland, well away from his friends.

  ******

  Marcus stood staring over the stern. To his left the first lightening of the sky could be seen. Nestled in his arm was Frann who could not quite believe that they had escaped. He turned to Drugi, “The horses?”

  “Cato and his family are free running wild in the forests of Uiteland but the ponies did not wish to go,” he shrugged. “The Norns.”

  Marcus nodded. He was, in some way pleased, for he had liked the sons of Trygg and enjoyed watching them ride. He had seen in them a love of horses and riding which mirrored his own. They would grow to become the first horsemen in their tribe. They would be happy, as would Cato and the small herd they had created. He regretted leaving Cato for he was the finest horse he had ever written. When they returned to Britannia he would ask Nanna to find one as good. He laughed aloud as he wondered what made him think they could escape.