The Blood of Kings: Tintagel Book I

by M. K. Hume

  The Britons seemed to hang suspended for a moment before they followed their king down the hill, galloping directly towards the press of bodies around the wagons. The outlaws attempted to manoeuvre their heavy wagons into a defensive formation, but the horses in the traces were terrified by the proximity of the flames, the radiating heat and the noise that battered at them from all sides. They fought against the outlaws, struck at them with their hooves and tried to drag the wagons away into the pre-dawn darkness.

  Into this chaos, the disciplined Roman troops descended on the outlaws like the sweep of a peasant’s scythe. Outnumbered, but with the precision that becomes second nature after years of training, each Roman picked out an outlaw as a target and struck him down. Then each man wheeled his horse before renewing his attack on another target. As those outlaws who weren’t mounted tried to gut the Roman’s horses from below, the cataphractarii forced their horses to act as deadly weapons during the hand-to-hand encounter. The horses had been trained to strike out with their hooves and use their great weight to pound their enemy into a red paste. Meanwhile, the Britons had encircled the surviving outlaws, forcing the renegades to keep their backs to the murderous fire in the stables while facing a line of inexorable, highly trained warriors.

  One large and shaggy outlaw threw down his spear in surrender, but Caradoc merely laughed, drove his horse at the press of bodies and beheaded the man before retreating beyond the reach of defensive spears and swords. His actions were so fast and precise that Maximus, who saw the manoeuvre from the corner of his eye, was forced to grin in admiration.

  ‘Better to have him as a friend than an enemy,’ he muttered, before charging at a filthy, red-bearded villain who was fighting two-handed with a sword and an axe.

  For effect, Caradoc continued to roar out his commands in the local tongue. He wanted these outlaws to anticipate the ugly inevitability of their fates.

  ‘No prisoners! This battle is for our dead at the mantrap. Kill them all!’

  And so, as dim light heralded the beginning of a new day through a haze of freezing rain that set the fires to guttering, the cavalrymen obeyed their masters with a fierce joy.

  ‘They were worse than fools,’ Caradoc decided as he sat on the lip of the wagon and wished fervently that the outlaws had left some shelter that could protect his men from the biting sleet.

  Maximus tore his gaze away from his blood-soaked mittens. His hands were damp and sticky, so he removed the gloves and cast them into the remains of the fire where they began to smoulder.

  ‘Well! I’m amazed! They set fire to their buildings before they were ready to leave. That was sheer stupidity! They could have held us off for some time if they’d kept the barn as a defensive fortification. As it stood, there was nowhere to run and several were cut down with their backs to the flames. The rain put out the flames, but it was far too late to save the outlaws.’

  ‘These men weren’t professional warriors,’ Maximus agreed. ‘Their leader surrendered soon enough when he realised they had no chance of fighting their way out of the trap they were in. I’m sorry I disregarded your orders, Caradoc, but I wanted to come to grips with our enemy. I wanted to stare into the eyes of the bastard who had the gall to attack and kill my man.’

  Caradoc had the distinct feeling that the outlaw chief would rue the day he surrendered to the Romans.

  ‘Did he tell you who trapped Ercol and Cessus and killed them?’ Caradoc also nursed a desire for revenge, although he had been raised to crush such time-wasting personal urges.

  ‘Of course! We have two men awaiting retribution once we’ve dealt with this place.’

  ‘Then God save their souls, my friend, because I know you won’t be merciful.’

  The two commanders sat in relative companionship after purloining several wizened apples from a basket in what proved to be a supply wagon. Hungry now, they munched their way through what would be the only food to break their fast during a busy morning.

  ‘Have you carried out an inventory on the other wagons yet? I told Decius to give Trefor whatever assistance he needs,’ Maximus asked. In fact, wealth meant little to him unless it could further his influence. He took far more pleasure from the contents of the supply wagon which freed them from foraging or dependence on the charity of farmers and townsfolk.

  ‘Decius and Trefor are both working on the lists as we speak. I trust both men implicitly,’ Caradoc added, in case Maximus held any doubts about their honesty.

  Maximus shrugged idly to indicate his lack of concern. ‘That wagon is sitting quite low and its wheels have been driven down into the mud by the weight it’s carrying. Only gold or silver, other than lead, will have that kind of mass and I don’t believe outlaws would try to carry lead away with them.’

  ‘That lot wouldn’t be interested in lead. Not them!’ Caradoc laughed at the mental image of thieves trying to protect ingots of that base metal with their lives.

  Around them, British and Roman cavalrymen were busy. Destruction of the detritus of battle was an important consideration after a battle like this one. The threat of disease from rotting corpses was minimised by interring the enemy dead in mass graves while cavalrymen were detailed to collect valuable weapons and equipment that could be reused in the future.

  The dead outlaws were stripped of all items of value and their corpses were cast onto a pitiful pile in the very place where they had been relieving themselves an hour or so earlier. Forlorn wails or weak screams of pain indicated places where the victors found a wounded man who was still alive. Without healers, and far from any form of medical treatment, wounded men would die horribly, so the cavalrymen had no hesitation in putting them out of their misery.

  As for their own casualties, such a violent conflict left few who were wounded with survivable injuries. Like their enemies, the severely wounded cavalrymen received the quick release from pain that each warrior understood. Those with survivable wounds were treated by their comrades with some assistance from Decius and his healer’s kit.

  ‘It’s poppy juice,’ Maximus explained succinctly when Caradoc saw Decius making a concoction. ‘Pain kills, so poppy must be kept for those who can be saved. Decius knows what he’s doing.’

  Caradoc watched as the two officers completed their rough catalogue of the wagon’s contents on a scrap of hide, using a stick of charcoal as a makeshift writing implement. Then, before they approached their commanders, Decius ordered three badly wounded cavalrymen to be placed onto the tray of the wagon. Their dead would be tied over the backs of their horses for the return journey to the main camp, where Caradoc and Maximus would preside over their cremation. The commanders had decided that urns would be easier to transport than corpses, and the remains wouldn’t be a source of decay and disease.

  Once they were satisfied with the arrangements for the return journey, Decius and Trefor approached their masters with their folded strip of hide.

  The two officers bowed low.

  ‘How go our prizes, Decius?’ Maximus asked.

  ‘Those incompetents were far better thieves than warriors, my lord,’ Decius began to explain. ‘Trefor has the accounting, but they’ve obviously collected tributes from a variety of sources, as well as the proceeds of their thievery. There are ear-jewels in a box in the wagon with dried blood on the pins that screwed into the earlobes of wealthy women, and there are a number of necklaces, bracelets and rings that have been stained with blood. Some rings are still on the fingers that were cut off, while other valuable gems were simply torn off dead bodies.’

  ‘I’ve itemised some of the smaller objects, including most of the silver amulets and rings that would have been worn by farmers and traders. I counted one hundred and forty-six items in just one of the boxes,’ Trefor added. ‘But there are another four boxes in the wagon that have to be assessed. They are even larger than the first box. There’s a huge mountain of
jewellery.

  ‘We’ve also counted a number of silver and gold bars, all of which were minted and marked with the legion insignia. The gods alone know what hands these ingots have passed through, but the outlaws have obviously been given them by a wealthy patron. I doubt this vermin had the ability to take them off a Roman paymaster in normal combat.’

  ‘Can you make a guess at who would have paid the tribute?’ Maximus asked sharply. ‘I’d like to know some of the details before I reach Venta Belgarum, if that’s at all possible.’

  ‘I’m sorry, my lord,’ Trefor replied as he handed over the long list of their spoils. ‘Except for the markings of the Ninth Legion, there is nothing to indicate the source of the treasure.’

  ‘Eburacum? That gold has travelled far.’ Maximus furrowed his brows. ‘I’m certain the outlaw chief will tell us, so summon the men, Decius . . . Trefor! I’d prefer we made examples of these bastards in public.’

  Both cavalry troops were assembled as the two surviving prisoners were brought before the commanders for interrogation. Although the light was watery and the sleety rain had stuttered to a halt, the clouds marching in from the direction of the sea gave a promise of more rain later in the day. With his nose bright red and beginning to drip from a head cold, Caradoc prayed fervently that their dead comrades could be sent to the fire and their ashes collected before the weather finally broke. They had been extremely fortunate to lose so few warriors, mainly because their cavalry had such a significant advantage over foot soldiers in such an engagement. On the other hand, they had four severely wounded men. These men would not be able to ride.

  The same pessimistic thoughts about the weather had occurred to Maximus, so he ordered three of his men to collect suitable lumber from the partly burned barn. This material would be used to construct a cross for use once the interrogation of the captured outlaws had been completed. At the same time, the ruins of the cottage would be packed with the corpses of the dead outlaws and set on fire.

  While the living outlaws stood in a cleared space in front of the barn with ropes around their necks and their arms bound behind them, several of the cavalrymen began the task of setting the ruined cottage alight. A container of oil suitable for burning had been found in one of the wagons; the still-damp timber took a little time to catch, but even wet thatch will smoulder and then burn eventually. The reek of roasting flesh was soon making breathing unpleasant.

  ‘The beasts of the forests and the air will clean up anything that the fire rejects,’ Maximus explained. ‘But we will have done our best to minimise any threats of disease.’

  Caradoc merely grunted and covered his nose and mouth with his scarf until the wind changed direction and blew the reeking smoke away from the massed cavalrymen.

  Once the problems of dealing with their dead were resolved, Maximus gave orders for the two outlaws to be dragged away from what was left of the half-burned barn. Both men were bruised, bleeding and covered in filth, although little of their private thoughts could be read on their faces. They wore their hair long and their faces were covered with bushy and untended beards. Not only were there no warrior plaits on their heads, but their hair was tangled and matted. The drab-coloured locks were too dirty for any real colour to be discerned and Caradoc found himself scratching. Even from several spear-lengths, the Dumnonii king could see lice crawling along the receding hairline of the outlaw chieftain.

  The second outlaw, who admitted to being at the site of the mantrap ambush, was a sorry specimen of a human being. Short in stature, the man possessed a fearsome squint and a nasty sword cut had almost sliced away the lower cartilage of his nose. Caradoc noted that the wound had been covered by thick salve and a makeshift bandage had been tied around his head; it had slipped to expose part of the wound which was oozing anew.

  The chieftain was an unusually large man, at least twice as heavy as his fellow prisoner. Had that excess flesh been muscle, he would have been a formidable warrior but, unfortunately, rolls of fat larded his belly and shrouded his arms, thighs, chest and neck in quivering layers. Even so, the man’s meaty lips and piggish eyes spoke eloquently of a blustering character who threw his considerable weight around.

  The smaller man was terrified of his master, mainly because his chieftain glared at him every time the unfortunate minion snivelled with fear. He was caught between the monster he knew so well and this strange Roman with the deadly eyes.

  ‘You!’ Maximus began, while pointing his dagger negligently at the smaller man. ‘What’s your name, villain. I like to know the names of those men I’m about to crucify.’

  ‘But I never killed anyone,’ the man wailed, aghast. ‘I nearly lost me own head when I tried to stop one of them devils.’ The man jerked his head towards Trefor, who responded by spitting at the feet of the outlaw, and then glaring balefully at him.

  ‘I want your name! I won’t ask again, unless you’d prefer that I assist your memory with my knife.’ Maximus spoke softly, but Caradoc and the outlaws knew that this meant he was probably at his most dangerous.

  ‘My name is Robat . . . Robat!’ he shrieked, before subsiding into a limp whimper.

  ‘Can you give me any reason why I shouldn’t crucify you on what’s left of the barn doors? Your master didn’t give you permission to kill one of my men in such a filthy and cowardly fashion as those you killed in the mantrap. I now have the souls of two of my dead cavalrymen who are screaming to me from Hades. They are demanding justice because you denied them an honourable death.’

  If possible, Robat paled even further under the ingrained dirt of his face. ‘I was only on scout duty, my lord, and I damn near pissed meself when these two men rode their horses into the trap. I dropped me pike and I only picked it up in time to strike at the third rider who tried his damnedest to take off me head with his sword. By the time I picked meself up, me friends had done the business on the two men in the pit. You can kill me if you must, master, but please kill me quick. I didn’t kill yer men. I can swear it on me mother’s life.’

  ‘Your mother’s a whore and you’re a filthy liar,’ the outlaw chieftain yelled, spittle spraying. ‘Where’s your balls, you useless pile of shite?’

  Trefor elbowed the fat man in the face and enjoyed the crunching sound as some of the villain’s few remaining teeth broke from the force of the blow.

  ‘Your own answer will decide your fate, so don’t whine. I can’t stand cowards,’ Maximus answered in the same tones he used when he was bored. Robat almost fainted with terror when the Roman’s basilisk stare bored right through him.

  Now that one outlaw had confessed, Maximus turned back to face the chieftain, a man who was far less likely to be frightened into submission.

  ‘You! Whatever your name is! I’m led to believe you have gold from the legions of Eburacum among the treasure in your wagons. How did you come by Roman property? And how is it that you possess such a large quantity of that precious metal?’

  The outlaw chieftain spat at Maximus who stepped aside deftly to allow the globule of phlegm to miss his face. Trefor hit the fat man at the very centre of his diaphragm, so that the chieftain doubled over. He was forced to gasp for air and his chins wobbled grotesquely.

  ‘I expect honest answers from you, or I’ll be forced to encourage you to speak,’ Maximus repeated in his usual calm monotone, but Caradoc could feel the repressed violence that underlay it.

  The outlaw chieftain shook his head vigorously. Maximus was certain that this man was filled with unspoken hatreds and intended to take his secrets into the shades with him.

  ‘For the sake of all that’s holy, Elphin, tell ’em what they want to know or we’ll both suffer,’ Robat shrieked, his voice as thin and as high as a young girl’s.

  ‘Shut your face, you arsehole!’ Elphin snapped as he spat a tooth onto the muddy earth.

  ‘You’ll tell us what we want to know, ei
ther just before, or just after I start working on your balls,’ Maximus continued. ‘Who or what are you protecting? Would they provide the same protection for you?’

  ‘No! Those bastards wouldn’t, but I’m not going to tell you anything either,’ the outlaw chieftain snarled, his hirsute face puckered with resentment and hatred. ‘Get it over with, you Roman bastard. You know you’re going to kill me anyway, regardless of what I say. You can get one of your underlings to do your dirty work for you, if you haven’t the balls to do the job yourself.’

  ‘The local kings paid it,’ Robat interrupted. ‘It were Fiachna and Bleise that paid it.’

  ‘Shut up! Shut up!’ Elphin was struggling in his bonds like a mad thing.

  ‘Why?’ Caradoc asked, confused by Elphin’s refusal to give what he considered was relatively minor information. The outlaw looked up at the Dumnonii king with eyes that leaked tears and blood in equal measure.

  ‘’Cause we give nothing, nothing at all, to them that think they rule us,’ Elphin explained as if he was speaking to a child. Caradoc flinched away from the loathing in the outlaw’s expression.

  But Maximus remained unmoved. ‘Kill this one,’ the Roman said, pointing at Robat. ‘He’s earned a quick death.’

  He turned back to the outlaw chieftain.

  ‘But my friend Elphin and his moral scruples are a totally different matter. We’re going to allow him to live, but he’ll be pinned onto a cross that will be nailed to the barn doors.’

  According to Trefor, Robat died quickly and silently. Decius beheaded him from behind in such a fashion that the small outlaw had no time to feel the thrill of fear.

  Caradoc watched with a sick disgust as Elphin was nailed to the door through both wrists and ankles. His abhorrence was such that he almost missed Decius’s actions when the decurion climbed a rickety ladder he had found in the ruined stables. His head was close to Elphin’s and he whispered something into the agonised man’s ear. Then he held a small flask to the blue lips of the slowly choking man whose own excessive weight was causing his chest muscles to contract in such a way that breathing was almost impossible.