Hosker, G [Sword of Cartimandua 10] Roman Hawk

by Griff Hosker

  When Furax released the catch the bolt flew straight and true; the crack resounding like thunder. Already reloading he did not have time to watch but Rufius did and he laughed out loud as the assault party dropped like stones to avoid the deadly and unexpected missile. Some of the rowers took evasive action which resulted in the boat changing direction slightly. The bolt missed the mainmast but, as it sped past the mighty timber, it sliced through a rope and thudded into the chest of the spare steersman, hurling him overboard. The steersman was already compensating for the loss of power down one side and the bolt next to him made him over compensate and the long ship lurched towards the next boat in the line. The cut rope made the sail ruffle and lose power. Rufius and the crew cheered when the next bolt thudded into the hull below the waterline. The next boat was Gurt’s and he watched in horror as the second ship in the line lurched towards him. His converging course meant he was heading over towards the stricken boat anyway and he too had to turn to starboard. Before the third bolt had struck home Hercules and the First Mate were pushing the tiller for all they were worth to make the turn. Even as he pushed, his crew unfurled the sails and the old tub leapt forward as though it was a greyhound released from a trap.

  The last boat in the line, whose captain had been expecting to board the starboard side of The Swan, saw to his horror, the trader heading for his bows. The Swan was a bigger heavier boat than the nimble dragon boat, although he knew the trader would be damaged, his own boat would be sunk and he yelled, “Back oars!” in an attempt to avoid a collision.

  Before the captain could give another command fifteen arrows flew high into the air to be followed a heartbeat later by another fifteen and, before the first had struck, a third flight was launched. There was carnage amongst the unprotected rowers; their shields lay protecting the side of their ship and they wore neither helmets nor armour. At point blank range Furax fired a bolt which went through the steersman and shattered the tiller. The dragon boat lurched, out of control, towards the other stricken and sinking ship. The Swan was suddenly in clear water and rapidly heading north towards safety.

  Gurt looked at his fleet which was in complete disarray. There was only the last ship in the line which had any control and Gurt yelled to the captain. “Follow him. We will join you.”

  The captain of the last ship, The Crow, was not convinced that the pirate leader was correct. He could see one boat, the first attacked, slowly sinking and the other boat which had been attacked was dead in the water. This Roman ship was not a sheep; it had sharp teeth and could use them. He obeyed his orders and slowly the ship turned to starboard to follow the white sailed ship which was disappearing to the north west. Gurt and the other undamaged boat rowed slowly around to pick up the survivors of the wreck. When he saw the dead on the last boat he knew that he could only pursue with three ships, there would be barely enough men to row the damaged ship back to port. His lieutenant must have been reading his mind. “Is it worth it? It is one boat?”

  Part of the pirate leader’s mind knew that he was right but his pride demanded that he continue. His men respected a strong leader and one who let a fat little merchantman get away would not last long. “No we go on. We will catch him fear not and his little surprise is at the front of his ship. Not the stern.”

  They had just transferred some rowers to help the stricken ship return to port when they heard the cry from the lookout. “Dragon ship.”

  “Where away?” Gurt looked north wondering if his ship had returned and why.

  The lookout shouted. “South!”

  They turned and looked at Stormbringer, Trygg Tryggvassons’ boat which was powering towards them. Gurt knew of Trygg’s reputation as a sailor, a pirate and a raider. They did not come into contact with each other as Gurt had not yet had the courage to sail across to Britannia. He would have been wary had it not been the single ship. He looked at his men. He had more than enough men left to defeat the Tencteri if this was a warlike act and if not it would do no harm to talk with the chief.

  Trygg hove to close to the stern of Gurt’s ship so that the two captains were barely ten paces apart. “Have you seen a trader, filled with Brigante or Romans?”

  Gurt waved a remorseful hand at the wreckage bobbing up and down on the icy black waters. “One of my ships is following her. She is heading north west.”

  Trygg nodded. “She is heading for Britannia. What do you intend chief?”

  Gurt was still in two minds but having sent one of his men after her he would have to follow eventually. “I am going to follow her.”

  “Good.” Trygg always saw the bigger picture. He did not like Gurt and he knew that one day, if he was going to rule Uiteland he would have to fight and destroy him but the most important matter was to recover what had been stolen. “I propose we join forces and follow this Roman to Britannia. My ships will soon catch us up.”

  Gurt looked suspicious. “And how do we share the proceeds?”

  “All I want is the Roman slave who escaped, Drugi the hunter and the sword. You can have all the rest.”

  “In that case we have a partnership.” Gurt paused for he did not totally trust this Trygg. “But this is temporary?”

  “Of course.”

  The three ships headed north west. The men were largely rested and the three long ships were soon ploughing purposefully through the water, hot on the trail of The Swan.

  ******

  “Captain. Dragon ship two miles astern of us.”

  “I had hoped that a bloody nose would discourage him but obviously not.” Rufius looked at the sun slipping down in the west. “Two hours until sunset.”

  Hercules shook his head. “By then she will have closed up and this time she will be wary. The others will be close behind.”

  Rufius slapped his hand on the guardrail; he turned to Gnaeus and Marcus. “Move the bolt thrower to the stern and bring up the Greek Fire from below. Captain, slow us down. I want her to catch us before dark.”

  “Before dark! Are you mad?”

  “No I want to sink her and sink her quickly. You are right. She knows about our weapon in the bow so she will keep astern of us. We won’t be lucky enough to hit the tiller a second time and she can keep us at bay until her consorts come. No, we must knock her out, with fire. The others will head for the burning wreck and that will give us the chance to head due west and escape.” Rufius was not a gambler but he knew that the night and the dark was their ally. They need a head start and a fire aboard the dragon ship could be all that they needed.

  Hercules wasn’t certain but the troopers were. Buoyed by their success against the other ships the ex-soldiers felt that they had a good chance of hitting the dragon ship. The captain shrugged. It was as good a plan as any.

  Chapter 14

  The Captain of The Crow could not believe his luck. The trader had slowed dramatically; he still could not see Gurt and the others but he knew they would be just over the horizon. He had had a lantern hung from the stern to guide them. He would just follow this wallowing tub and then, when the others arrived they could pick at her from the rear; he would have no difficulty in maintaining contact with her and his rowers were not even using their full power. Then they would get their revenge for their lost comrades. “Get us under their stern and get some archers here. Let’s see if we can get the old man on the tiller.”

  The men grinned as the boat powered through the water; the low dragon boat seemed to fly through the water. When they were about one hundred paces from the stern of the slow moving trader, the captain ordered his archers to aim at the stern. Their bows were only short ones and he needed for them to be closer than eighty paces to stand a chance of hitting the target. The lookout at the front shouted, “Captain that is a strange looking tiller.” Suddenly everyone on the ship saw a light at the stern. Was there captain giving them a light to follow too?

  They had seen neither a bolt thrower nor Greek Fire before but that night they saw and heard them both. With a terrifying crack the f
iery bolt flew, straight and true for The Crow. At such close range there was not time between the sighting of the bolt and the striking of the fire. The Captain had no time for any command as the bolt struck first the sail and then embedded itself in the mast. One of the sailors threw a bucket of water on to the flames but, to their horror, the flames spread. A second fiery bolt struck the ship towards the bow and that too began to burn with a fierce white heat. When a third set fire to the prow the Captain knew that his Crow would never fly again and every man threw himself overboard as the flames quickly ripped through the wood ship devouring every part of her like a hungry beast gorges on a helpless prey.

  On board The Swan none of them could quite believe the devastation created by this magical substance. None of them, Rufius included, had ever seen the weapon used before. It seemed such a terrible weapon and yet it had saved their lives and bought them valuable time. Already the wind, which had fanned the flames and helped the conflagration to spread quickly, was pushing them northwards into the increasing darkness. Rufius turned to Hercules, “I think we can head west now captain and you can say a prayer to your god Neptune that we can evade observation until we reach Britannia.

  ******

  Gurt’s ship was in the lead and the lookout shouted, “I can see a light to the north.”

  Gurt nodded. Good. He has lit a lantern.”

  As they closed the steersman said, “I don’t think that is a lantern captain. Look it is spread across the waters.

  Suddenly a body bumped into the bow of the ship and Gurt shouted, “Stop rowing.” The wind drifted them up to the wreckage which was strewn across the sea. There were burnt and damaged bodies amongst the still burning timbers of the ship. The other ships came up to join them and they trawled for survivors. There were but three.

  One of the warriors was so badly burned that Gurt nodded to the warrior cradling his head to slit his throat. The other two would survive but the shocked expressions on their faces told the others that they would never forget the experience they had endured. “It spat fire captain. And they must have used witchcraft for when we poured water on the fire it burned brighter and harder. The ship caught fire in a heartbeat and then the ship just disappeared.”

  Gurt glanced around at the white, frightened faces of his crew. He too was shaken. What could have destroyed one of their ships so quickly? Was the apparently harmless trader a dragon in disguise, sent to punish them for their piracy? The ship rolled a little as Trygg’s ship nudged alongside. Gurt looked over at the Tencteri warrior. “The Roman ship spat fire and The Crow sank. There are but two survivors. It is witchcraft.”

  Chief Trygg laughed but it was a cold hard laugh which echoed and rolled across the silent sea of death. “No it is the Roman war machine. My ships and your ships were struck with giant arrows from a Roman war machine. This fire is also a Roman trick. I do not know how they made it spit fire but they did.”

  One of the survivors shook his head. “But the water would not put out the fire! It was magic.”

  “No it is just another Roman trick we do not understand.” Chief Trygg looked impatiently at Gurt. “Well Captain, do we pursue or do I continue alone with my boats?”

  Gurt looked astern of the Tencteri ship and saw another three of Trygg’s ships. He had lost three of his own ships already and many warriors. If he continued he could lose it all and, for what? It was but one ship. “It is but one ship…”

  “No it is not just one ship which we seek, for I intend to punish the Romans. They have dared to come into our waters and they will pay a heavy price for that. Join with me Chief Gurt and we will raid the coast of Britannia and your ships will have so much booty that you will be throwing valuable items over the side just to sail home safely.”

  Gurt knew of the success of his neighbour. It was well known that his visits to Britannia brought him much plunder. If he did not join him then he would have a poor season and one of his warriors might seize control of the band. “You know the waters and the land, we will follow you.” Gurt was ensuring that, if they ran into the fiery trader again it would be one of the Tencteri ships which was lost. He intended to lose no more ships.

  Once Chief Trygg took control they changed course. The wily pirate knew that he could search the seas and not find his prey but he knew where it was heading; the land along the valley of the Dunum. Marcus had told the Chief of his home and described, in great detail, what it looked like. The Tencteri had a good idea where it was. He led, instead, the fleet around the coast of Uiteland. They hugged the coast for a night and a day and, as dawn broke on the second day found themselves off the settlement known as Cnutstead. Trygg had left Hjarno-by hurriedly and while he had enough men and arms he was short of food. He hove to and signalled to Gurt. “The men will need some rest before we sail across the waters to Britannia. I am going ashore to re-provision.”

  “My boats are well provisioned. We will rest. When do we sail?”

  “We have plenty of time to get across the waters to Britannia When I return to my ship join me and we will talk more of how I intend to punish the Romans and their allies. I will tell you of their waters and the currents and eddies which catch an unwary sailor.”

  Cnut did not like the look of the warriors who waded ashore from the dragon boat. He wondered why the others were moored offshore. They had been lucky of late and, since the Romans had left their jet gift, they had prospered. This visit did not bode well and Cnut sent the women and children into the dunes and woods to hide.

  When Chief Trygg stepped ashore he could see that Cnutstead was a poor place but the racks of drying fish told him that he would be able to stock up. “Hail headman I am Chief Trygg of the Tencteri.”

  “I am Cnut headman of Cnutstead and I have heard of you. You are a long way from home Chief Trygg. What can my humble village do for you?”

  “We have run out of provisions and need your fish.”

  “We have little enough for our own people and we can spare you little.”

  The normally patient Trygg was tired and still smarting from his humiliation at the hands of the Romans. He suddenly saw the jet carving hanging from Cnut’s neck and knew that the Romans had visited here too. In his mind that made them allies of the Romans and fair game for his warriors. “You misunderstand me old man. We intend to take it. You can get more.” He turned to Snorri. “Search the huts and bring all the food!”

  There were only ten men in the village, including old Cnut but they knew they had to defend their village and its paltry supply of food or the women and children would die. It was futile but Cnut roared, “No!” and drew out his short seax.

  Trygg had been itching to kill someone since the Roman had fled and he took out his sword, which seemed now, after having handled the Sword of Cartimandua, to be a lesser weapon, and ran the old man through. The others fell quickly to these experienced warriors who had fought Suebi and defeated them. The fishermen stood no chance. As his men took their ill gotten gains back to their ship Chief Trygg looked down at the despoiled bodies of the stead and regretted his action. He had killed because his heart had been filled with hate and, as Snorri took the brand to burn the settlement, the Chief relented. “No leave the houses. We will return to the ships.”

  Whilst the warriors slept as best they could aboard their ships Trygg took Gurt through his plan. “The river we will use to take us onto their land is wide but it twists and turns. When I have been there before I have not had enough ships and men to truly take the plunder that we could.” Gurt looked at him with an intense look of concentration. He would learn much from this war chief and use it to his own advantage later. “The villages which line the river see our ship’s masts and they lock themselves in their forts. We could take them but we would lose many men. With this number of boats we could send two of the boats along the river while the rest of the ships disembarked at the mouth of the estuary. Once they had seen our ships pass by and leave them unmolested they would relax and they could be taken when they op
en their gates.”

  “A good plan but I do not know the land and the settlements.”

  “That is why I propose that Snorri goes with you and I take one of your boats with me. That way we have the best of both worlds.”

  “You are choosing the most dangerous task for yourself. Why?”

  “I captured a mystical sword which brought us great victory over the Suebi. It was taken by a Roman who lives along the Dunum. I intend to find the Roman’s home and retake it.”

  Gurt chewed on some of the salty dried fish and washed it down with some weak beer they had liberated from Cnutstead. He wrinkled his nose in disgust. “You defeated the Suebi? Were there many of them?”

  There was an implied criticism in Gurt’s voice which Trygg chose to ignore. He understood the scepticism; no-one in Uiteland had ever defeated the mighty Suebi before. The Suebi were fierce and uncompromising fighters and their numbers were always superior to the warbands they encountered. “I will be honest with you Gurt. Had it not been for the Roman we would not have defeated them but it was he who organised the defence of my burgh and the Suebi were slaughtered as they broke against his defence. He helped to lead the pursuit and we massacred every Suebi who came north. The trail south is still littered with their bones.”

  “I can see why you want this Roman back.”

  Trygg snarled, “I do not want him back. I want him dead. I learned enough in his time with my people to become a better and a wiser leader and I have been shown how to defeat the Suebi. The next time they attack will be their last.”

  ******

  The next few days were torture for the crew of The Swan. The fickle winds scurried and flurried this way and that and all the time they were looking over their shoulder for the barbarian boats which they expected to see loom over the horizon each morning as dawn broke. The only three immune from the fear were Frann, Drugi and Furax. For Frann this was simple, every sea mile took her further from slavery and closer to her home and she had her man with her. The two Brigante girls fussed over the pregnant Frann; Hercules shook his head at the giggling, shrill female voices which seemed strange on his boat. The only female Hercules cared for was his ship. Frann was oblivious to any criticism. Since they had lost sight of the Tencteri she had seemed freed from worry. The Mother was truly watching over her and as her belly swelled she felt the new life kicking inside her. She spent every moment she could on the deck, normally with Marcus but, if he was in debate with the others, she would just stare at him; grateful that she had met him and thankful that he appeared to love her almost as much as she loved him.