The Rise of Caratacus

by K. M. Ashman

  Despite this, the two intervening years had numbed the pain and Gwenno was happy living with Gwydion in the forest. When their child was born, they had decided to stay in the glade where they had first pitched their tent after the battle between the Romans and Caratacus had ended in the Briton’s favour a few miles away. The outcome would have been so different if it hadn’t been for the timely intervention of Prydain and the Silures. Gwydion found himself frowning at the memory and picked up the axe to resume his task.

  ‘Pointless worrying about something that never happened,’ he thought. But nevertheless, he knew how close they had come to death that day.

  ‘Gwydion,’ called Gwenno a few minutes later.

  ‘Over here,’ he answered, resting his axe once more.

  Gwenno appeared through the trees and Gwydion caught his breath at her beauty as he always did. Her long hair hung below her shoulders like a golden cloak while the white linen dress hugged her slim figure like a second skin. Taliesin was wrapped in a shawl in one arm while the other carried a woven basket.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ he asked.

  ‘I’ve brought you some lunch,’ she said.

  ‘Gwenno,’ he said, ‘what have I told you about wandering the forest alone? You could get easily lost.’

  ‘Oh, stop moaning,’ she said as she sat down on a clear piece of grass, ‘I know these woods as well as you. Here, sit down and have something to eat. Anyway, Taliesin was missing you.’

  She pulled some mutton and flat bread from the basket along with a small skin of milk, and they sat together enjoying the afternoon sun. After feeding their son, Gwenno placed the baby in the basket and once he was asleep, turned to Gwydion with a twinkle in her eye.

  Despite there being work to do, the rest of the afternoon was spent talking, laughing and making love as they spent the time enjoying the peace and safety of their lonely existence, so different from the way of life they had known back in the clan.

  Finally the baby stirred and Gwenno knew they would soon have to return to the hut. ‘Looks like you’ll have to come back tomorrow,’ she said standing up, ‘it’s getting dark.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he said, ‘I’ll have it done this week.’ He gazed into her clear blue eyes and leaned forward to kiss the woman he loved, but at the last moment her gaze altered to focus on something behind him. He hesitated for half a second but before he could say anything she called out in fear.

  ‘Gwydion,’ she screamed, ‘look out!’ She pushed him to one side. Gwydion tripped over the basket and fell sprawling to the floor. As he fell, he spun around in a defensive manoeuvre and watched in horror as a spinning hand axe embedded itself deep into Gwenno’s chest.

  For a second, nothing seemed to happen apart from Gwenno staggering back a few steps. She stared at the weapon hanging down from her body and looked over to Gwydion in shock. Slowly she raised her hand toward him and just before she fell forward, Gwydion saw a single tear roll down her face.

  ‘Gwenno!’ screamed Gwydion in horror, and jumped up from the ground. Across the clearing a warrior turned to run back down the hill, and though every cell in Gwydion’s body demanded he catch and kill the unknown man, his first thought was for his wife and he ran across to lift her up and cradle her in his arms.

  ‘No, no, no,’ he murmured as he brushed her hair from her eyes, ‘not you, not now.’

  The girl half opened her eyes and forced a weak smile.

  ‘Worry not, Gwydion,’ she said weakly, ‘there’s no pain.’

  Gwydion looked at the axe, still embedded in her chest, and knew she would be dead within minutes.

  ‘Gwenno, my beautiful wife,’ said Gwydion through his tears, ‘we had it all, a new home, a new life, a future…’

  ‘Gwydion,’ whispered Gwenno, ‘I know I am dying, so I want you to listen carefully.’

  ‘What is it, sweetheart?’ asked Gwydion, the tears running freely down his face.

  ‘That man, I know him.’

  ‘Who is he?’ asked Gwydion. ‘For I swear I will tear his still beating heart from his chest with my bare hands.’

  ‘I know not his name,’ she whispered, ‘but I have seen him in the village.’

  ‘Lanbard?’

  ‘Yes, a few weeks ago, he was staring at us but turned away when I met his gaze…’ Gwenno started to cough violently and blood spurted from her mouth.

  ‘But why attack you?’ cried Gwydion. ‘It makes no sense.’

  ‘I don’t think the axe was meant for me, Gwydion,’ said Gwenno, ‘he was trying to kill you.’

  Tears flowed freely down Gwydion’s face, as he stroked her hair.

  ‘Oh my beautiful, beautiful wife,’ he said, ‘what pain have I caused that the gods punish me so?’

  ‘Don’t berate yourself, Gwydion,’ whispered Gwenno, her voice faltering, ‘just cherish the time we had and do something for me.’

  ‘Anything,’ said Gwydion.

  ‘Look after Taliesin,’ she said. ‘Keep him safe and one day, take him to the Blaidd and help him claim what is rightfully his.’

  ‘I swear by all that is holy I will,’ sobbed Gwydion.

  ‘One more thing,’ whispered Gwenno as her breathing got weaker, ‘bury me in the clearing where we first made love.’

  Gwydion nodded and wiped away the tears once more.

  ‘I will, Gwenno,’ he said quietly, ‘I promise.’

  ‘Then I die happy, Gwydion,’ she said, ‘and will await you in the next life.’

  Gwydion turned and picked up his son, now wide awake and oblivious to the drama unfolding around him. He lowered the baby gently into Gwenno’s arm, carefully avoiding the handle of the axe still sticking out of his wife’s chest. Gwenno turned her head and met her son’s gaze.

  ‘Goodbye, my beautiful child,’ she said weakly. ‘Be good for your father and one day you will be a great chief.’ Despite the pain of movement she stretched her head forward and kissed her baby for the last time, and as her eyes closed and her life slipped away, Gwydion tilted his head back and let out a primeval scream that echoed all around the valley.

  * * *

  Gwydion stumbled through the forest, carrying the limp corpse of his childhood sweetheart in his arms. He had removed the axe, and the basket containing his son was cradled in her blood-soaked lap. He entered the clearing where they had started their new life together, passing the hut they had worked on for so long, the hours of aching limbs outnumbered by those of laughter, as they shared the labour of love. He continued on past, blind to the animals looking hopefully in his direction, and made his way to the grassy clearing next to the spring before placing the basket and Gwenno on the ground.

  It had been their special place, the place where they had first shared their love together and where they sat most evenings to watch the sun go down over the distant mountains. Leaving Taliesin alongside his mother’s dead body, he returned to the hut to bring the digging tools. For the next few hours he dug her grave, taking out his frustration on the reluctant soil as he swung the pick furiously at the soft ground. Uncovered rocks were cast down the hill in fury, followed by curses and tears as he screamed at every God he knew, demanding they return her and take him instead.

  Occasionally he stopped and held his son, crying uncontrollably as he absorbed the tragedy and the enormity of the task before him, but when Taliesin’s cries became constant, the fog cleared momentarily and Cassus brought a jug of cow’s milk from the hut and fed the baby from a hole in a leather water-skin.

  When his son slept once more he wrapped Gwenno in their best blanket, recalling the way she’d squealed in delight when she’d first seen the vibrant colours and felt the softness of the lamb’s wool lining. It had cost them all the coins they had managed to save from the sale of the meat they traded in the nearby village, but it had been worth every one just to see her smile at the first bit of luxury they had seen for two years. The thought suddenly hit him that the day she selected the cover for the marital bed, she c
ould never have guessed that she was also selecting her shroud.

  He wrapped her body tight in the blanket, leaving her face uncovered so she could see the sunset one more time beside him. He lit a small fire and brought two tankards with a skin of honey wine from the hut, laying them out as they always did on any night where the weather allowed.

  Everything was perfect, exactly as Gwenno would have wanted, and Gwydion talked to her as if she was still there, forcing himself to stay awake all night, reliving every last minute he could recall with the girl he had known all his life. The childhood games and silly pranks they’d played on the adults when they were children, the stolen walks in the forest and swimming in the river as teenagers, and finally the shy glances as their feelings had changed along with their bodies. Even the dangerous time where she had been almost sacrificed by the druids was looked back on with fondness, the terror and hardship of that time subdued by the subsequent happy times that had enveloped their relationship. Gwydion allowed himself to wallow in grief and memories the night through, but as the sun rose, he was a different man. He fed the baby and, ignoring his cries, turned to the task that he knew would break his heart.

  He gave Gwenno’s now-cold face a final kiss before sealing her shroud one last time and lowered the body into the grave, back-filling it with the loose earth. His mind was numbed from the sound of soil falling on the body of the woman he loved. Finally, he planted an oak sapling he had dug up from the forest edge and patted down the soil firmly around its base, knowing full well that Gwenno would have loved that last gesture.

  ‘One day, my love,’ he said quietly, ‘I will return to sit beneath the boughs of this oak, and we will watch the sunset together once more.’

  Without another word, he picked up the basket containing his son and returned to the hut.

  * * *

  Less than an hour later, he left the clearing for the last time. In his saddle bags he had food and water for several days along with any smaller essentials he might need as he travelled. Across his saddle he had Angau, the Parthenian recurved bow given to him by his father years ago and on top of that, his son looked up at him from the basket that had become his makeshift crib.

  Behind him, the hut he and Gwenno had built as a labour of love blazed fiercely in the morning air, his last gesture of mourning. He headed across the valley to the hut of a woodsman and his wife who had become their friends and as he approached, the man looked up from chopping firewood.

  ‘Gwydion,’ said the woodsman, ‘you are welcome. To what do we owe this visit?’

  ‘It is not a happy visit, Derwen,’ said Gwydion. ‘I have tragic news and a great favour to ask.’

  A portly woman ducked out of the timber hut followed by two small girls.

  ‘Gwydion, what’s the matter?’ she asked, seeing the stress on his face. ‘Where’s Gwenno?’

  ‘She is dead, Lynwen,’ said Gwydion coldly, ‘murdered by an assassin’s axe meant for me.’

  ‘Oh, Gwydion,’ gasped the woman and ran forward to his horse. ‘What about Taliesin?’

  ‘He is here,’ said Gwydion, ‘and he is fine though he cries for his mother.’

  ‘Give him here,’ she said tenderly and took the basket carefully from the horse’s back. ‘Derwen, help the man down, he looks exhausted.’

  ‘No,’ snapped Gwydion, ‘I am fine. But I have a favour to ask. I promised Gwenno I would look after our son but I have thought the night through to seek the way. I know nothing of raising children and fear my son would suffer at my hands due to my ignorance. I will give my life for him, yet I cannot look after him. I have no right to ask but would request you take him from me and raise him as your own. I have no coin to pay you though my animals are across the valley and are yours to keep.’ He paused. ‘I know I ask a lot, Lynwen, but I know not which way to turn.’

  The woodsman’s wife glanced at her husband before replying.

  ‘Gwydion, we don’t have much and life is often hard. Sometimes we go hungry and as you know, brigands abound. Not a day goes by where we do not worry what the morrow will bring and only the gods know the future. However, and I know I speak for my husband in this matter, if this is what you must do then your son is welcome in our home and will be treated as our own. When times are good, he will share our meat yet when times are hard, he will hunger alongside us. If you are happy to do this, then we will bring him up as our son. We can offer no more.’

  ‘And it is all I can expect,’ said Gwydion. ‘Bring him up as a man of the woods and one day, if the gods are willing, I will return to take him back to our people.’

  ‘What about you, Gwydion?’ asked Derwen.

  ‘I don’t know, yet,’ said Gwydion, ‘but at the very least I need to find the man who took Gwenno from me.’

  ‘I understand,’ said Derwen, ‘but why don’t you stay for a while and get some rest?’

  ‘I appreciate your concern, Derwen,’ said Gwydion, ‘but there are things to do.’ He glanced down at the baby in the woman’s arms.

  ‘Goodbye, Taliesin,’ he said. ‘With the god’s’ will, one day we will ride alongside each other as father and son,’ and with a simple nod toward his two friends, he turned his horse and galloped away.

  * * *

  Gwydion’s face reflected the determination he felt. The time for weeping was done and from now on he would return to what he knew best. It had been two years since he had wielded any weapon in anger, but that brief interlude had ended. It was time to pick up on the ways he had known for most of his adult life, the way of the warrior. He had a debt to pay and an anger in his heart that burned like a roaring fire.

  Without a backward glance he headed down from the hill and made his way toward the nearby village. Gwydion of the Blaidd, son of Hammer, warrior of the Deceangli, had returned. And he was on a mission.

  Chatper 3

  The River Tamesas

  46AD

  Plautius stood in the watchtower overlooking the river Tamesas, contemplating the events of the last two years. After ceremoniously accepting the surrender of Camulodunum, Emperor Claudius had returned to Rome within weeks and left Plautius in charge of the country. Claudius had given the general the title ‘Governor’ and tasked him with achieving the domination of Britannia within three years. He had been left with four Legions to aid him in the task, as well as twenty thousand auxiliaries including Batavians and Thracians, a total of over forty thousand military men in all. Allowing for all the usual traders and camp followers the total invasion force counted over sixty thousand individuals.

  A main route was cleared from their initial landing site at Rutupiae and a never-ending stream of stores was unloaded by hundreds of slaves and transported along the route supplying the string of fortresses they had built between the bridgehead and the country’s capital, Camulodunum.

  The task was enormous. Along with the invasion force, he had to deal with the constant stream of refugees that warfare always produced, along with the obligatory slaves that Rome demanded. Only the young and fit would last the long and arduous journey and were sent to Rome, while the older ones were set to work building the straight roads that Rome’s engineers were famous for. Quite apart from the enormous bureaucracy, the post demanded he still had the task of organising the military campaigns needed to dominate those tribes further afield, which had so far refused to bend the knee to Rome. With this in mind, he had deliberately avoided setting his base within the city and instead had ordered a fort built overlooking the narrows of the river Tamesas where he had outwitted Caratacus two years ago. As soon as it had been erected the camp followers quickly established a settlement around the fort and within weeks had named it Londinium. It was a small town, split down the centre by the river Tamesas, though both sides were linked by an impressive wooden bridge built by the Roman engineers. Within months the shores of the Tamesas had been secured from Londinium right back to the sea, allowing stores to be sailed almost right up to the settlement, supplementing those transported by r
oad.

  With the river secured and the fortresses dominant, Governor Plautius allowed himself to once more think about the military campaign that had faltered for far too long. He had summoned the four Legion commanders to the fort and whilst three were already relaxing in their quarters, he still awaited Nasica from the Ninth Hispana who was stationed two days ride away to the west. Of all four Legions, the ninth had had the worst of it since the invasion two years previously and had already lost an entire cohort when they failed to come back from an ill-thought out expedition westwards two years previously.

  He stared out over the river, lost in the memories of home. The sun-soaked vineyards and crystal-clear waters of the Mare Nostrum were a stark contrast to the constant rain and muddy waters of the lazy river before him. His reverie was short-lived as the guard commander approached along the ramparts.

  ‘My lord, Nasica’s column approaches,’ said the Tribune quietly.

  ‘Thank you,’ said the governor. ‘Let him freshen up and then bring the Legates to my quarters.’

  ‘Yes my lord,’ the Tribune responded before disappearing into the dark.

  Plautius lingered a few moments longer, drinking in the fresh air of the night, before descending from the ramparts and making his way to the briefing room.

  * * *

  An hour later the four men were standing around the briefing table drinking warm wine. Before them lay a map of Britannia as far as they knew it. It was drawn onto the scraped inside of a softened cow hide and had been brought from Rome with the invasion force. The coastal outline was clear and had been mapped by a cartographer from on board a Bireme that had circumnavigated the islands years previously. Major population centres had been drawn in from information gleaned from the many traders who had plied their trades for many years in these lands, while any further information gathered since the invasion was added as it was discovered. The map was detailed, with most tribes marked within circles along with relative strengths and weaknesses. Tracks were marked with dotted lines while paved roads were added as solid lines as they were made. Along with the main rivers and mountain ranges, the map was a detailed and very important weapon in Plautius’ armoury.