by K. M. Ashman
‘I was attached to the Victrix,’ said Dento, ‘and spent time amongst the Trinovantes, a strange tribe but not one that poses a serious threat.’
‘So how are you here in the Khymru?’ asked Cassus.
‘I was sent to see you,’ said Dento.
‘But what happened to my usual contact?’
‘He was killed by a Cornovii patrol on the way back to Londinium after the last time he came.’
‘If he was killed, how did you know where and when to meet me?’ asked Cassus. ‘We only agree the details one meeting in advance.’
‘The location was obviously one of three he always used,’ said Dento, ‘and as for the time, we knew it would be one of a few days either side of the full moon. Two others wait at the alternative meeting places while I covered this one as it was nearest to the farm. I have been here for five days.’
‘There are three other Exploratores in the vicinity?’ asked Cassus.
‘There are,’ said Dento, ‘it seems you have suddenly become the most important Roman in Britannia.’
‘I assume this has something to do with the oncoming assault from the Victrix,’ said Cassus.
‘You know about that?’
‘Everyone knows about that,’ said Cassus. ‘We receive riders almost every day telling us of their progress, though it seems Geta takes his time getting here.’
‘There is good reason,’ said Dento, ‘and that is why I am here. You have an important task to undertake and the whole campaign relies on the outcome.’
‘State it,’ said Cassus.
‘Geta’s advance on the Deceangli is but a lure to draw Caratacus from the south,’ said Dento. ‘Vespasian pressures him from behind and we know they are currently somewhere in the lands of the Cornovii. The thing is, Caratacus moves constantly and is hidden from our spies. Scapula has decreed that…’
‘Scapula?’
‘The new governor,’ said Dento, ‘Plautius was recalled to Rome to receive his glory. Anyway, Scapula has tasked three Legions against Caratacus and it is essential we get up to date intelligence. That’s where you come in. We need you to somehow join Caratacus’s army and stay with him until the time is right.’
‘I don’t understand,’ said Cassus.
‘If Caratacus comes north, as we think he will, there will be a short period of time when his army will be in open ground and a prime target for our Legions. At that time we need to alert the Gemina to support the Victrix or there will be a risk they will be overpowered. With early warning, it is hoped the Gemina can get within a day’s march of the battle and with that amount of men, we can certainly hold them until the arrival of the Augusta. With three Legions in the field, there is no doubt Caratacus will be routed no matter how many men he has.’
‘Really?’ asked Cassus with a hint of sarcasm. ‘So how do you explain Teutoberg?’
Dento paused, remembering how three Legions had been entirely wiped out in the Germanic forests forty-one years earlier.
‘A point well made,’ said Dento, ‘but that was in the depths of a Germanic forest and is why it is so important we catch Caratacus on open ground.’
‘So what do you expect of me?’ asked Cassus.
‘We want you to try and link up with Caratacus and let us know which route he chooses to travel. We think there are three possibilities, the west coast, the valley route and the lowlands to the west of the river. Hopefully he will choose the lowlands as it will be closer to our forces but whichever is selected, we will need to know.’
‘And how am I to achieve this?’ asked Cassus.
‘Only you can answer that,’ said Dento. ‘You are the only man we have in the enemy ranks and there is no time to deploy others to any effect.’
‘On whose authority?’ asked Cassus.
‘The highest,’ said Dento. ‘Scapula himself demands your deployment and expects compliance at all costs.’
‘I suppose it had to happen eventually,’ said Cassus. ‘How much time do I have?’
‘That is in the hands of Caratacus,’ said Dento. ‘The sooner he moves north the sooner we can close the trap. You should go immediately.’
Cassus nodded thoughtfully.
‘As it happens, there are events afoot that lend themselves to this task,’ he said. ‘It may be achievable though carries some risk.’
‘Explain?’
‘Idwal sends a fist of a hundred cavalry to aid Caratacus. If I can get attached to them, I will be close to his command structure. The thing is my claim to be Catuvellauni may not hold water when confronted with others from that tribe. We run a risk that my cover will be unravelled.’
‘Then that is a risk you must take,’ said Dento. ‘Join this fist but keep a low profile and avoid engaging the men of Caratacus in conversation. Perhaps the ruse will last long enough to achieve our aim.’
‘I will take my chances,’ said Cassus. ‘The first leaves in a few days and I will endeavour to be amongst them. In the meantime, I will spend one more day with the family of Madoc.’
‘I have watched them from afar these last few days,’ said Dento, ‘and in particular, a pretty girl with long hair.’
‘That’s Sioned,’ said Cassus, ‘and she shares my bed when I am here.’
‘Lucky man,’ said Dento. ‘So, is there anything you need of me?’
‘There is one thing,’ said Cassus. ‘If the fight comes this way, take Sioned and her family from the danger and hide them in the woods. They are good people and don’t deserve to die in this conflict.’
‘I will do what I can,’ said Dento.
They spent the next few minutes covering the details but eventually Dento rose to leave.
‘I have to be going,’ he said, ‘I can only travel by night as the patrols around here increase by the day. Be safe, Cassus, and perhaps one day we can get lost in an amphorae of wine, behind the safety of a fort’s walls.’
‘I’ll look forward to it,’ said Cassus and watched his friend disappear into the darkness.
He returned to the farm and crawled back under the furs to hold Sioned, knowing full well it may be the last time he had the opportunity to do so.
Chatper 17
The Camp of Caratacus
50 AD
Prydain sat at the campfire alongside Gwydion of the Blaidd. Since leaving the south, they had campaigned alongside Caratacus and found him to be an able leader and a very charismatic king. He had embraced the hit and run tactics of the Silures and used them to ravage the Roman supply lines, as well as the villages of the Dobunii on the far side of the great river. Morale was high but despite the army’s successes, they knew the time was coming when they would have to confront the Legions, if they were to expel them from their land.
‘Yeuch,’ said Gwydion and spat out the food he had only just placed in his mouth, ‘what in the name of Aerten is this?’
‘They are olives,’ laughed Prydain, ‘and come from trees to the north of Rome.’ He dipped his hand into the small barrel once again and withdrew another handful. ‘I had forgotten how much I like them.’
‘They are disgusting,’ said Gwydion, ‘and I think I broke a tooth on the stone within. What else was on that cart?’
‘Wine, dried beef and Garum,’ said Prydain. ‘Obviously some officer has a simpler fare on his table tonight.’
‘Wine and beef, I know,’ said Gwydion, ‘but what is this Garum you speak of?’
‘If you don’t like olives, I fear you won’t like Garum,’ said Prydain.
‘Why not?’
‘It is a sauce formed from heavily salted fish entrails and allowed to ferment until liquid.’
‘Sounds disgusting,’ said Gwydion with a grimace.
‘It’s actually very good,’ said Prydain, ‘and sounds worse than what it is. It spices up the blandest of meals.’
‘Keep it,’ said Gwydion. ‘I thought you Romans, or should I say ex-Romans, were supposed to be civilised people, yet you cover your food with rotting fish guts.’
‘You
don’t know what you’re missing,’ said Prydain and carried on dipping into the barrel of olives they had taken from an ambushed supply train.
‘So,’ said Gwydion, ‘how do you see this campaign going?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Prydain, ‘Caratacus is a competent leader but I fear we are still too weak to face any Legion head on.’
‘I’m not so sure,’ said Gwydion, ‘this is an impressive army and your people never cease to amaze me with their bravery.’
‘Bravery is one thing,’ said Prydain, ‘but I know how they work. You haven’t seen them at their best and if they are given time to use their formations, they are unstoppable. You saw them at Medway.’
‘Yes, but there we were unprepared. Caratacus is a man who learns quickly and I have been around many fires as he discusses tactics. He knows full well what the Romans are capable of and I think the next time, he will prevail.’
‘Perhaps,’ sighed Prydain through a mouthful of olives as he stood up to leave.
‘Where are you going?’ asked Gwydion.
‘To find some meat and Garum,’ said Prydain, ‘it’s been far too long.’
‘Yeuch,’ said Gwydion again and turned his attention to the fire where his Cawl was bubbling nicely.
* * *
Prydain made his way over to the captured wagons to seek the food he hadn’t tasted for over eight years. Most had been distributed to the clans who had taken part in the assault, but some remained for the bodyguards of Caratacus.
One of the guards stood to confront him as he emerged from the dark but then recognised the man he had fought alongside many times in the last two years.
‘Prydain, I thought you would be drunk by now,’ said the man.
‘Not yet,’ said Prydain, ‘there will be time enough for that. I seek the wagon containing the rich foods intended for the Roman officers. Gwydion of the Blaidd yearns to taste the flavour of Garum.’
‘There’s nothing left,’ said the warrior. ‘All the carts have been shared equally.’
‘What about our share?’ asked Prydain. ‘Has it all gone already?’
‘It hadn’t,’ said the guard, ‘but a fist of men arrived from the Deceangli a while ago and they were hungry from their ride.’
‘So you gave them the rest of the food,’ said Prydain.
‘It was the least we could do,’ answered the guard. ‘They come to aid our cause so we won’t see them hungry.’
‘A fair point,’ said Prydain. He paused before continuing. ‘Any news on what the morrow brings?’
‘Nothing yet,’ said the warrior, ‘though Caratacus seems distracted. I believe he seeks a big victory before we return to our clans for the winter.’
‘I hope he knows what he is doing,’ said Prydain, ‘these are dangerous times.’
‘He has to succeed,’ said the warrior, ‘there is no one else.’
‘So,’ said Prydain, ‘what strength is this Deceangli fist?’
‘They say a hundred mounted men,’ said the warrior, ‘they are camped by the waterfall.’
‘I might take a walk over and bid them welcome,’ said Prydain.
The warrior laughed.
‘What’s so funny?’ asked Prydain.
‘You,’ said the warrior, ‘you offer the hand of welcome but I suppose it is a coincidence they also have the last of the Garum.’
Prydain smiled.
‘A side benefit to my gesture,’ he said and walked into the dark.
* * *
Cassus lay wrapped in his oiled cloak against the base of the cliff. The ride had been hard and he yearned for sleep yet the sound of the waterfall prevented him from slipping over the edge of consciousness and into the sleep that he required. He watched his comrades sitting around the fires talking quietly amongst themselves. They had been sent by Idwal to aid Caratacus and after leaving the farm, Cassus had petitioned Idwal, requesting permission to join them on the task.
At first Idwal had resisted, but Cassus had persisted, using the excuse that he yearned to fight amongst his own tribe. Eventually Idwal had given in and allowed him to leave with the hundred other men. They were all good warriors and had the best horses available. It was important for Idwal to impress Caratacus with the quality of his men as when this was all over, there would be a repositioning of power and Idwal intended to be an equal partner in any division of land.
The conversation murmured gently, matching the sounds of the water. Suddenly the talk at one of the fires stopped, and all three men stood up to confront the man walking into their camp.
‘Declare yourself, stranger,’ said one of the warriors.
‘I am a friend,’ said Prydain, ‘and have come to welcome you on behalf of your fellow warriors.’
‘Are you Catuvellauni?’ asked the nearest warrior.
‘No, I ride alongside Caratacus but my name is Prydain and I am Silures.’
* * *
Cassus’s eyes flew wide open as he recognised Prydain and he pushed himself further back into the shadows so he wouldn’t be recognised. It had been seven years since the battle where Prydain had discovered his true Silures roots and had defected to the enemy, but though the chances of being recognised were slight, Cassus could take no chances. He wanted to kill Prydain with all his heart but he knew there were bigger things at stake here, possibly the future of the whole of Britannia and despite his hatred, it took precedence over his oath to slay his childhood friend.
For an age he sat back against the rock, hidden by the blanketing shadows watching the man he had sworn to kill, talking less than twenty paces away. Even in the flickering light from the fire, Cassus knew he could place an arrow between Prydain’s eyes or sink a throwing axe into his chest with no problem. But Cassus knew that wasn’t an option, for apart from the fact his mission took precedence, there was no way he would kill Prydain from a distance. He wanted to do it up close and personal, preferably with Gladius or Pugio, so he could watch the life drain slowly from his eyes.
Prydain stayed for several minutes, laughing and joking with the Deceangli warriors but eventually left to return to his own lines, complete with a small amphorae of Garum.
Cassus watched him go and stared after him for a long time. The gods seemed to be playing games with him. He was deep inside enemy territory, assuming the identity of a tribesman at a time of war. As well as that, the one man he had sworn to kill had just been offered to him on a plate, yet killing him could jeopardise Rome’s entire invasion, a jest indeed by the gods.
Despite his exhaustion, the events of the night meant Cassus struggled to sleep and spent most of the night planning how he could stay out of Prydain’s way, at least until the coming battle was done. Then he would hunt him down like a rabid dog.
* * *
The next few days saw Cassus and his men settle in to Caratacus’s army. They were tasked with patrolling the hills to each side of the main force, protecting the flanks from any intrusion. This suited Cassus perfectly as it meant they were kept separate from the main force and his cover remained intact. Despite this, he was occasionally called to the tent of Caratacus to receive his orders and though he had never spoken to the king directly, he had close contact with his warlords.
It was on just such an occasion ten days later when the dominance of Caratacus’s army came to a sudden and unexpected halt. Cassus was approaching the command tent to receive fresh orders when a rider burst from the forest and galloped across the clearing toward the king’s tent before jumping from the saddle without stopping his horse. Two guards grabbed the man and a fight ensued before Caratacus came out of the tent to see what the commotion was all about. ‘Leave him,’ ordered Caratacus and the guards let him go. The rider dropped to his knee, waiting for the king’s acknowledgement.
‘Arise,’ said Caratacus and he looked at the messenger in anticipation. The Silures warrior was covered in sweat-streaked dust and had obviously been in the saddle for a long time. ‘You have news?’
‘My lord, I
have come from the north,’ said the rider, ‘and have ridden two days without rest. My other horse lies dead in my wake.’
‘What news causes this haste?’ asked Caratacus.
‘The movement of an army,’ said the rider. ‘The northern Legion marches on the Deceangli as we speak.’
‘You are sure of this?’
‘I saw it with my own eyes,’ said the rider. ‘A column of armed men march four abreast reaching back further than the eye can see. Cavalry flank their sides and hundreds of carts follow in their dust with strange constructions of wood and ropes.’
‘Artillery,’ said Caratacus quietly.
‘They have many different styles of clothing,’ continued the rider, ‘and march to the sound of drums. To the rear, thousands of people carry their homes on their backs or in carts. It is as if an entire nation is moving.’
‘Come inside and show me on the map,’ said Caratacus. ‘You men join me; you too, Cassus.’
The assembled warlords followed Caratacus into the tent and crowded around the deer skin map, as the Silures scout pointed out the location of the Legion on the map.
‘They march along this valley,’ said the scout, ‘and offshore, a fleet of ships shadow their route.’
‘Why bring ships?’ asked one of the clan leaders.
‘I don’t know,’ said Caratacus, ‘perhaps they plan an assault on Mona.’
‘They wouldn’t dare attack the holy isle,’ said a warrior, ‘they would have an entire nation rise against them.’
Caratacus sneered.
‘Then perhaps we should hope that is their intention,’ he said, ‘for it will bring the cohesion this country needs.’
‘And why do the people follow them?’ asked another voice. ‘Surely they would be too big a drain on their resources?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Caratacus. ‘The workings of their minds are yet strange to me. What we need is someone who knows how they think.’
‘What about Prydain of the Silures?’ asked a chieftain. ‘He was brought up in their ways and served in their Legions.’
