by K. M. Ashman
‘Well,’ said Vespasian, breaking the awkward silence, ‘the first thing to realise, my lord, is that this man does not fight like other kings. He uses the cover of darkness and only attacks small targets before retreating into the night. Sometimes he attacks many targets at the same time and our forces are stretched thinly over a wide area.’
‘I understand that he targets our supply columns,’ said Scapula. ‘That says to me he needs the stores they carry.’
‘He does, my lord,’ said Geta. ‘One of the reasons is that he maintains a large army and though he has the support of the other Khymric tribes, their resources are stretched and that means there are a fewer men tending the fields, thus food is at a premium.’
‘Have you increased the guards on these columns?’ asked Scapula.
‘We have, my lord,’ said Geta, ‘but once one column is reinforced, he changes target to something not so well defended. Strengthen a column and he targets a granary. Put troops around the granaries and he steals our cattle. Protect the cattle and he’ll target the wagons. It’s as if he has spies in every camp.’
‘Everyone in this entire country is a cursed spy,’ growled Scapula. ‘So,’ he continued, ‘what if we were do the same and burn his crops at source. Target his villages and destroy their families. Would this not have a positive effect and force him into the open?’
‘Perhaps,’ said Vespasian, ‘but don’t forget we are not dealing with just any tribe here. The Silures are not as the Durotriges or the Dobunii. These people are warriors to their core and every man, woman and child will stab you as soon as look at you. Their entire culture is one of warfare and they have left just as many warriors back in the hills as are on campaign, if not more. Strike at their heart and I fear they will mobilise an entire nation behind Caratacus. Even with four Legions I fear we will not have the strength to overcome such a threat.’
‘I disagree,’ said Scapula, ‘but take your point. One way or another we have to bring this king to his knees. His name is now being spoken in the villages of the vanquished as a potential saviour and one who will drive us out. Now, I don’t believe for a moment that this is the case but that’s not important. If the people believe it could be the start of something greater, something we may not be able to control, the question I put collectively to all you men is this. How are we going to deal with this threat once and for all?’
For the next few hours they discussed the options for dealing with Caratacus but always came back to the same thing; they had to lure him out of the shadows to face them on the field of battle. Gradually they came up with a plan, and though it meant committing huge resources and would take time, they final agreed a strategy they hoped would finish the troublesome king for good. Food was brought by the servants, and finally Scapula summarised the plan.
‘So,’ he said, ‘what we have is this. The Augusta will raise their campaign against the Silures homeland, forcing Caratacus northward through the Khymru. Increase your patrols; though keep the aggression to a minimum. We want Caratacus to be at ease moving northward and not see the Augusta as a major threat. At the same time, the Valeria Victrix will make it known they are to campaign against the Deceangli in the north. If my perception of this man is right, he will see this as an opportunity to catch an entire Legion between two tribes and inflict a devastating defeat on Rome.
‘I think he will ride north as fast as he can to join with the Deceangli and that will be our opportunity to catch him in the open. If we time this right, there are open swathes of farmland they will need to cross before reaching the mountains of the north.’ He pointed to a blank area on the map laid out across the table. ‘Unfortunately, we cannot set a trap as it’s unlikely an entire Legion can remain hidden in such sparse country, so what I propose is this. The fourteenth Gemina will remain in the fortress at Corinium and will continue to provide support to the client kings around that area. However, they will maintain a high proportion of the Legion at instant readiness in case relief is required.
‘Geta, the Victrix will continue to campaign against the Deceangli in the north but the moment we know for certain that Caratacus has taken the bait, you will immediately turn south and confront him head on. With the Augusta behind him, he will be forced to go to ground in this open area to the south of the Wrekin hills.
‘As soon as that happens, send signal to Corinium with the fastest riders and I will personally lead the Gemina in support. If this works, there are potentially three Legions available to call on should battle be joined.’
‘My lord, the plan has merit,’ said Geta, ‘but relies on very tight timing and up to the minute intelligence.’
‘Well, that’s where Vespasian comes in,’ said Scapula. ‘I understand he has spies deep within the enemy camp and should be able to give us intelligence as to their movement. Is this not the case, Vespasian?’
‘It is true I had a unit of Exploratores in the field,’ said Vespasian, ‘but recently their subterfuge was uncovered and many died at the hands of the tribesmen.’
‘So there are none?’ asked Scapula with concern.
‘There is one,’ said Vespasian, ‘and he enjoys a high position, but he lives within the forces of Idwal, not Caratacus.’
‘This is a concern,’ said Scapula. ‘Do the two tribes have regular communication?’
‘Almost certainly,’ said Vespasian. ‘They are all tribes of the Khymru and see us as a common foe so I would imagine the communication is constant.’
‘Then your man is tasked with finding out the information we need,’ said Scapula, ‘even at the cost of his own life.’
‘Yes, my lord,’ said Vespasian.
‘Gentlemen,’ said Scapula eventually, ‘the plan is made and though there is no meat on the bones, I will leave the final details with you. I want this to happen before the winter sets in less than three months from now. Now I have to retire for I have an ague, but know I can leave the rest in your capable hands. Goodnight.’
All the officers stood up to salute and watched the governor leave.
‘He looks ill,’ said Vespasian eventually.
‘I noticed,’ said Nasica. ‘The weight of command lies heavily on his shoulders, I fear.’
They returned to the table and spent the rest of the night thrashing out the detail of the plan and by morning, all were much happier about their chances of success. However, as they dispersed, Vespasian knew that it all relied on one man, a man who had to risk his life to find out the mind of a secretive and astute king. That man was Cassus Maecilius.
* * *
Just over two hundred miles away, Cassus Maecilius sat in the giant hall of the Deceangli Cerrig, the stone-built fortress that overlooked the sacred island of Mona and the northern coastline of the Khymru. He had been fully accepted by Idwal and due to his prowess in battle had been rapidly elevated to the king’s close circle of confidantes.
Cassus had been with the Deceangli for almost two years and his loyalty was no longer in question. On many occasions he had killed men in the name of Idwal, but luckily they had always been from local clans and so far, he had not been pitted against fellow Romans. Cassus was thankful for that, but knew there could be a time approaching when he might be confronted with an ex-comrade and may have to slay him to prove his allegiance. When that time came there would be a decision to be made which could signal the end of his cover if not his life. Little did he realise, that time would come quicker than he thought.
Around the hall, men talked quietly in groups, discussing the politics of the area or the next trial of arms often held between the local clans. Idwal was sat on a giant wooden throne near the roaring fire, listening to a messenger from Caratacus imploring the Deceangli to support his cause with food and military supplies. It was the latest of many such requests and Idwal had already sent five hundred men south to aid the Silures army in their constant struggle against the Romans, along with herds of cattle and carts of grain. While their granaries were full, Idwal was happy to support their
cause and besides, there may come a time when he needed the help of Caratacus.
The need to join together was accepted by Idwal but as the Silures were their ancestral enemies, the situation was not straightforward and his warriors still failed to see the benefit of such an alliance. The timing was also awkward as rumours abounded that the Romans intended to march against the Deceangli in the near future, and if that happened and the Cerrig was put under siege, the Deceangli would need every morsel of food available to feed the people within its walls and indeed, the army he would have to field.
‘I will send ten more carts of grain and a hundred head of cattle,’ said Idwal. ‘I will also send a fist of one hundred men to aid his cause. This is the best I can do until we know the threat from the north has eased.’
‘Anything is gratefully received,’ said the messenger and stood to leave. ‘I will ride to tell him of your generous support and in his name, I pledge our swords when the time comes to defend your lands.’
‘Hopefully that time is still far off,’ said Idwal, ‘but the pledge is comfort enough. The wagons will be sent at dawn and will be at the usual place in seven days from now. I need not remind you to ensure no Silures are present at the handover in case matters get out of hand. The last thing we need now is a pitched battle between Khymric tribes.’
‘I agree,’ said the man, ‘and assure you there will only be Catuvellauni present.’
‘Good,’ said Idwal standing up. ‘Give my regards to the king and assure him that one day we will ride side by side.’
‘Your words will be welcomed,’ said the man and walked out of the hut with the rest of his men.
Cassus got to his feet and turned to the king.
‘My lord, I have business in the village,’ he said, ‘and would beg leave to attend.’
‘Does this business have the bluest eyes and hair down to her waist?’ asked Idwal.
Cassus smiled as Idwal described Madoc’s daughter, the girl who had taken a shine to him two years earlier. Though not interested at the time, the girl had grown into a fine young woman and they had since grown a close friendship, meeting regularly in the village of Treforum below the walls of the Cerrig.
‘She does,’ answered Cassus with a sigh, and the rest of the men in the hall jeered in mock derision.
‘Why fixate on one farmer’s girl when there are dozens of professionals just a moment’s walk away?’ asked Idwal. ‘You can take your pick and there will be no charge.’
‘I appreciate your offer,’ laughed Cassus, ‘but I don’t think Sioned would see the saving as a good enough excuse.’
Idwal roared in laughter.
‘Probably not,’ he said, ‘but trust me, the experience would be well worth the grief.’
‘Perhaps next time,’ said Cassus.
‘Leave is granted,’ said Idwal. ‘You go and play house with this girl while we real men take our pleasure with real women. Be back at dawn tomorrow.’
The warriors started laughing again and Cassus turned to leave the hall. In truth he had no problem at all in taking to the beds of whores or slaves, but his relationship with Sioned meant he had an excuse to leave the Cerrig regularly, a task that was essential for the continuation of his mission.
He rode out of the Cerrig and down the hill toward the village where he knew Sioned would be waiting. They would spend the rest of the day together in the village, exploring the market and watching the boats unloading their catch from the sea before making their way to Madoc’s farm several miles away. There he would spend the night with Sioned but not before carrying out the main reason for his request, making contact with his Legion. It was a monthly arrangement and each time the date and location of the next meeting would be agreed based on the state of the moon. This month the date had been moon plus three which meant the last day of the full moon plus three days and the location had been given as a stream junction near to the farm.
He knew the next few months would be a challenge as the respective powers of Britannia jostled for position. Whatever happened he knew his people wouldn’t allow the tribes to get the better of them and whether it took months or years, Rome would prevail.
A voice called out, interrupting his thoughts, and he saw Sioned waving from the village edge. Cassus smiled and pushed the thoughts of war to one side as he rode up to greet the young woman.
‘Sioned,’ he said, ‘it is great to see you again.’
‘And you,’ said Sioned. ‘I have been waiting for ages and thought you would never come.’
‘We had a delegation from Caratacus,’ said Cassus, ‘and I couldn’t leave until they left the Cerrig.’
‘Well you are here now,’ said Sioned. ‘Come, we’ll stable your horse and walk to the sea. The fishermen cook some of their catch straight from the nets sometimes; perhaps we still have time to join them.’
Cassus rode over to the nearby paddock and paid the boy a coin to look after his horse before re-joining Sioned on the road. Sioned took his arm and they walked through the village together. Sioned chatted endlessly and Cassus made the effort to look interested in her girlish banter, but all the while his eyes took in everything around him. Warriors were abundant in the village, and many sat outside huts drinking ale or getting stuck into bowls of Cawl, the local meaty soup that was the staple diet of the Khymric tribes. The mood was quiet and there was definitely a feeling of apprehension in the air. Men talked quietly amongst themselves knowing that the day was near when their skills would be put to serious use for the first time in many years.
As Cassus passed, many nodded toward him in recognition. Over the past two years he had participated in many trials of arms and had garnered a reputation as a fearsome warrior. His face was well known and he had the respect of all who knew him. His cover was well established and he walked freely amongst the Deceangli as one of their own.
The rest of the day was taken up with walking, drinking, eating and laughing. He enjoyed Sioned’s company and knew that perhaps in another life, she would be the sort of woman he could settle down with. But that was not an option he could consider for any length of time.
Whatever the near future held, there was no way he could settle down. He enjoyed his new life but it was one he knew could not last. Despite his comfort, deep down inside he was still a Roman at heart and he knew that when the time came, if forced to choose sides, it would be Rome every time. That’s why he had refused to wed Sioned. They had discussed it on several occasions but he always fell back on the excuse that war was coming and it wouldn’t be fair to tie her to one man in case he fell in battle.
It was a weak excuse but one he could maintain. Eventually Sioned accepted his reasons and resigned herself to waiting until these dangerous times were over. Madoc had turned a blind eye to their union as although there had been no ceremony, he could see they were committed to each other and Cassus seemed a good man.
Over the past few months, Cassus had built a small hut with the aid of Madoc and when Cassus spent time at the village, he and Sioned shared the privacy of the hut away from the rest of the families and the farmhands.
* * *
Toward late afternoon, they retrieved Cassus’s horse and he lifted Sioned up to sit behind him as they road back to Madoc’s farm. When they reached the farm, they shared the evening meal with Sioned’s family before retreating to their hut, to enjoy their private time together.
Hours later, Cassus listened to the gentle sound of Sioned’s rhythmic breathing and, confident she was fast asleep, gently disentangled himself from her arms and crawled out from beneath the bed furs. Though naked, he made his way outside, picking up his clothing as he went, wanting to make sure he didn’t wake her up.
The night was cold and he pulled on his leggings and boots quickly, followed by his tunic and cloak. He had left his broadsword in the hut, but knew he had a knife in the side of his boot in case of any unexpected threat. One of the camp dogs stared at him in interest and Cassus held out his arm to entice him over.
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‘Shhh,’ he whispered, smoothing the dog’s head, ‘no barking now.’
When ready he walked quietly down the path and headed into the forest. He found the stream and followed it up to where it was fed by another. For a while he waited in silence, listening for the sound of anyone breathing in the darkness but after several minutes, he sat back against a tree to await the messenger he knew would soon be there.
* * *
It wasn’t a footstep that eventually warned Cassus he wasn’t alone, but a quiet growl from the dog lying at his side. An hour had passed and the cold air was seeping through his cloak, so, despite the need to keep hidden, he was glad to stand up and get the blood circulating. Still he couldn’t see anyone, but the dog’s continued growling told him someone was there.
‘Declare yourself,’ said Cassus quietly.
For a moment there was no answer but finally a voice came from the darkness.
‘Who’s your friend?’ it said.
‘Don’t worry about him,’ said Cassus, ‘he’ll only attack if I tell him.’
A shadow moved and someone stepped out from the black tree line.
‘Hello, Cassus,’ said the man and Cassus was shocked to see Dento, the man he had shared his training with.
‘Dento,’ he said, grasping his friend’s arm, ‘it’s good to see you.’
‘And you,’ said Dento, ‘though for a few moments there I wasn’t sure it was you.’
For a second Cassus was confused but then realised he was referring to his appearance. Cassus’s hair was tied back from his head and fell below his shoulders and his moustache was full, arching down past the sides of his mouth.
‘I suppose I do look a bit different,’ said Cassus, ‘it’s the way of the Deceangli.’
‘I can’t say it suits you,’ said Dento, who was clean shaven with freshly cropped hair.
‘So where did you go after training?’ asked Cassus.
