Hosker, G [Sword of Cartimandua 12] Roman Wall

by Griff Hosker

  “How many men do you have Briac?”

  “I can field two thousand warriors, Lady Flavia.”

  “And how many of those can you depend upon?”

  “All of them!” Briac bridled a little at the veiled insult.

  Caronwyn laughed, “Let us have honesty. How many of those two thousand would stand against a Roman cohort?”

  He did not answer for he knew that a cohort, let alone a legion, would walk through his men.

  Flavia reached over and touched his hand once more. “Caronwyn does not mean to demean or belittle your men but it is a point well made. You need allies as well as weapons. We need success first to draw in other tribes like the Votadini and the Parisi. Too many of them now realise that they have made a bad bargain with the Romans but we need success.”

  Now that the Roman had gone Briac felt, strangely, more comfortable talking about his plans. “If the legions are not on the wall then we can attack and defeat the Tungrians and Batavians who guard the forts but their cavalry, Marcus’ Horse, they are to be feared. Their leader wields the Sword of Cartimandua and that is worth a thousand men in battle.”

  He suddenly noticed that Flavia’s eyes narrowed and anger raced across her face. “I will pay a bonus of a hundred gold pieces for the warrior who kills the leader who wields the sword.”

  Briac was taken aback by such passion. “It is said that he is of Brigante stock.”

  “I care not if he is descended from the Emperor of Rome I will pay handsomely for his head.”

  Caronwyn reached over to put her arm around Flavia. There are many ways to kill a man that do not involve battle. Let us use our minds sister. And, Briac, the trick with cavalry is to use the land to help you. The Mother does not like the Roman presence. The land of the Brigante has many places where you can ambush and slaughter the Romans. You do not need a pitched battle. Lure them close and use the land and your numbers to kill them. Whittle them down little by little. The sea does not destroy a cliff in one night; it takes years. Be patient.”

  Chapter 2

  Decurion Marcus Gaius Aurelius reined in his mount. He sensed danger ahead. He looked up in the sky to see if the hawk was there. It was not. The spirit of his step brother sometimes hovered close by when there was danger but the air was free from birds of any type. That, in itself, was a good thing. They would not, as they had last week, come across the bodies of ambushed Roman soldiers. The land to the south of the wall was strangely peaceful but here, in the land of the Selgovae, there were still murderous attacks. The heads of the soldiers, their arms and their armour were always taken by the attackers but the bodies could always be recognised as Roman. The caligae were a clear mark. He sniffed the air. Drugi and Felix, the two scouts they used in the Dunum, were always able to smell an enemy. If the wind was right then Marcus could too. He detected nothing.

  I held up his hand and waved it forward. Gnaeus, his Chosen Man, trotted forward. “Send Titus to the right with Decius and the buccina; have them come around to the north of us. I want them to meet us just beyond the trees ahead.” He pointed to a stand of trees a mile or so in the distance.

  “Something ahead, sir?”

  “Let us say I have an itch which I can’t scratch.”

  Gnaeus laughed, “Then there will be danger ahead.” He turned and rode down the line. “Weapons at the ready lads, the decurion has an itch.”

  Marcus heard the sound of spatha being loosened in sheaths. He continued to stare ahead at the woods in the distance. The road they travelled would pass close by to the trees and it would be a good place for an ambush. The IX had built this road and the VIth maintained it but since the wall had been built it was patrolled less often. There had been a time when the auxiliaries would have had a daily patrol to the isolated forts which guarded it. This was the first such patrol in a week. Most of the outlying forts had been dismantled and abandoned. All the efforts of the ala were aimed at protecting those who were finishing off the wall. Once the wall was completed then Marcus hoped they would finally subjugate this wild land.

  He heard the hooves of the two troopers as they headed across the turf to the north. He kicked into Raven’s ribs and the horse began to trot forward. Mindful of Gnaeus’ instructions to the rest Marcus slid the Celtic sword, the Sword of Cartimandua, from its sheath. Its familiar hilt reassured him and he felt, oddly, better. He laid it across his saddle and put his left hand through the straps on his shield.

  The land dipped a little which afforded him a better view and he saw that the dry valley to the west of the road fell away steeply. He frowned. Whoever had built this road had not followed the instructions of the legate. The road should have been built further east and away from such danger. Marcus felt guilty for his thoughts. The road had been first built in the time of Agricola and had been laid under fierce opposition. They were trying to get north as quickly as they could to destroy the Caledonii and Pictii. He would have to use his mind and experience to outwit the Selgovae.

  It was the lack of animals and birds which confirmed his suspicions of danger. There should be a host of birds ahead. At this time of year they were busily feeding for the shorter days ahead. There were none. Raven’s ears pricked. There was danger ahead.

  “Stand to!”

  He reached down and lifted his shield. H moved his sword down to his side. Without looking he knew that the rest of the turma were all doing the same. With the shield protecting his left side he lifted his sword and waved the troop forward. As they trotted along the road he stared intently at the dry valley. There were bushes and scrubby windblown trees. Any and all of them could hide warriors. He sensed that the attack would come from that direction.

  Perhaps one of the Selgovae was nervous or excited, or both. Whatever the reason Marcus saw the movement in the elder bush closest to the road. “Lines of eight!”

  Seven troopers trotted their horses next to Raven. Without looking Marcus knew that Gnaeus would have done the same behind. There would be three lines of eight and a reserve of six.

  The first javelin was hurled at Marcus. He had already lifted his shield and the sturdy, well made shield easily deflected it away. Their cover blown, the Selgovae roared from their places of concealment and charged the troopers. It was their first mistake. There were many of them and they were spread out. The eager and fitter ones began to outstrip the others.

  “Charge!”

  While the rest of the first line hurled their javelins Marcus held his sword before him. He calmly counted the half naked, tattooed warriors. There were over fifty, probably sixty of them. They held a variety of weapons from swords and axes to spears. Only one or two had shields although Marcus noticed that one of them was a Roman cavalry shield. The seven javelins took out four warriors. One young warrior with his hair limed and spiked charged Marcus screaming his war cry. He held a long axe above his head and he began to swing it. Using his knees Marcus changed Raven’s direction slightly. The axe head began to slice towards Marcus’ unprotected right side. Pulling his sword across his body Marcus swept it towards the axe head. The warrior looked in amazement as the razor sharp blade chopped the shaft in two. As Lucius’ javelin was thrust into his throat he died with that same look of amazement etched forever on his tattooed face.

  The horses of the turma were well trained animals of war and they did not flinch as the warriors swung and sliced with their weapons. The troopers’ javelins easily despatched the Selgovae. They were used more as spears now. The length of the javelins and the height of the horses gave every trooper a distinct advantage. Marcus felt a hand trying to wrench his reins around. He lifted the shield and chopped it down on to the skull of the warrior. The thin metal rim split the unprotected head into a bloody mess and he fell to the ground.

  To his right Marcus heard the sound of the buccina. The Selgovae looked in horror. They were in danger of being outflanked. They did not know it was just two troopers. They were indecisive and that was their second mistake. The turma had now enlarged t
he front so that there were sixteen troopers who were racing towards the Selgovae. A chief tried to rally the demoralised barbarians. His torc marked him as a leader and he hefted the captured Roman cavalry shield and spatha. Urging Raven towards him Marcus drew back the Sword of Cartimandua. The chief saw him and he pulled his own shield around for protection. His problem was that he was static whilst Marcus could go left or right. The decurion feinted left, towards the spatha and then whipped the reins to the right. Swinging overhand the mighty sword smashed into the shield. Roman cavalry shields were well made but the blow was so hard that the chief’s arm was damaged by the strike. Marcus saw the pain on his face. Savagely turning Raven to the left Marcus stabbed at the neck of the chief. It was not a clean blow but the edge sliced across his shoulder. The wound opened like a ripe plum. Jerking Raven to a halt Marcus lifted the sword and swung it across the neck of the chief. His head leapt from the body, which seemed to stand unsupported, before it fell to the ground.

  All resistance ended and the Selgovae fled down the dry valley. Marcus shouted. “I want prisoners!” His men began to pursue the Selgovae. He slung his shield on his saddle and patted Raven. “Good boy!”

  He dismounted. He noticed a warrior bleeding to death on the ground close to the chief. The javelin was in his stomach. Marcus took the Sword of Cartimandua and, as he ended the warrior’s pain, spoke to him in his own language. “Go to the Allfather.”

  Sheathing his sword he examined the shield. As he had expected it was marked on the back with the former owner’s name and turma. It had been a Thracian trooper’s. Marcus remembered a report the previous year about two turmae which had disappeared north of the wall. It had probably been an ambush such as this one. Perhaps the Selgovae had been emboldened by their success and they had tried it again. The Thracians were new to life on the frontier. It was in the blood of every trooper in Marcus’ Horse.

  He looked up as Titus and Decius rode up. “It looks like we missed the fun, sir.”

  “Well done, Titus. They thought you were another turma coming to our rescue. Check the bodies and take anything of value.” He handed the shield to Decius. “We’ll take this back too.”

  Gnaeus led the rest of the turma up the dry valley. There were ten Selgovae warriors tethered from the horses of ten troopers. The ten look defiant but there were men back at Cilurnum who were past masters at extracting information from prisoners. Marcus did not approve but it yielded results and saved Roman lives. He was half Brigante and understood the desire for freedom which was in the heart of every barbarian. He was a Roman officer first and last; he would do his duty.

  “Right boys let’s get back.” He glanced around and saw no empty saddles. There were wounds in evidence but no dead troopers. With twenty dead Selgovae and ten prisoners it had been a good day’s work and Marcus was content.

  Prefect Livius was vaguely disturbed. The tribes both north and south of the wall had been quiet of late. That was never a good sign. They did not accept the Roman imposition of order nor did they approve of the buildings the Romans erected. To them it was an abomination. It destroyed the Mother that was their Earth. They would fight until there were no men left to fight. They were up to something. He had his turma out each day and they were given clear instructions to report back any sign that the tribes were planning something. So far they had not seen anything of merit. That did not mean that the tribes were subservient. He knew that revolt was being fermented just below the surface.

  As he headed towards Coriosopitum, the largest fort north of Eboracum, and a meeting with the Legate, Julius Demetrius, he wondered if they would ever succeed in conquering the land north of the wall. He had met the Emperor and knew that the wall was just a stage in the advancement of the Empire. It allowed the clerks to collect taxes and stopped both slave and cattle raids. It had cost many lives already and it was still unfinished. When the eastern wars were over they would move north again.

  “Ah, Livius, is the northern patrol back yet?”

  Livius shook his head. “No sir. But it is young Marcus so I am not worried.” He had sensed some anxiety in the Legate’s voice. “Is anything wrong, sir?”

  “No, but since we lost those Thracians last year I have been keeping a check on patrols and there seems to be a pattern to all this. They have stopped attacking anything larger than a turma or a half century.”

  “We have been sending out single turmae and none have been attacked.”

  Julius smiled. “Your Ala is Marcus’ Horse. They still have a reputation. The trouble is that when we send out a century or two turmae it restricts us. We have too few men to patrol a larger area. I want to know what they are up to. The land to the south of the wall has been quiet and north feels to me as though something is brewing.”

  The legate waved to a seat and Livius sat. “I agree. I have a nagging feeling at the back of my neck too. What about the other Prefects? Have they anything to report?”

  “The trouble is that they are happy that they are not losing any men. The wall, to them, means security.”

  Livius snorted. “We both know, sir, it is not. Forts like this one and Vercovicium are the only defence we have. And, of course, the VIth.” The VIth legion was putting the finishing touches to the wall and its defences. They were a powerful force and more than a match for any barbarian army.

  “And it seems likely that they will be pulled back to Eboracum soon or perhaps withdrawn to Germania.”

  “Surely not, sir. That would just leave three legions for the whole of Britannia.”

  “The feeling is that Britannia is now conquered and can be controlled by the auxilia. That was always the view of Agricola you know.”

  “I know but there are still too many armed warriors for my liking.” He decided to bring up an idea which he had had in his head for some time. “Sir, I would like to arm the troopers with a long spear. The javelins are fine but once you have thrown them then the barbarians can throw them back. They have begun to lie on the ground when we charge. They know our horses won’t stand on them and we have no weapons long enough to reach them when we have discharged our javelins.”

  “Good idea. Put in a requisition and I will get them for you. How are the new helmets working out?”

  The ala had been recently sent the newer helmets with a small metal peak. It afforded more protection from blows to the head and was a better helmet in every way. Livius had been unhappy that the rest of the auxilia in Britannia had had the improved helmets for ten years while they had had to wait for them. “They are good sir. I just wish we had had them sooner.”

  “I know. Come on, let’s go and watch for your patrol.” He chuckled. “When I was Prefect I was always desperate to be either with my men or else I was waiting, anxiously, for them to return.”

  “And I am the same sir.”

  As they approached the northern gate, they saw the Decurion Princeps, Metellus, already watching the road to the north. The Batavian sentries were giving him enough space to pace up and down. Metellus was not a man to cross.

  He saluted as they approached. “Any sign of our patrol yet?”

  “No sir, but Marcus was going as far north as he could.” He smiled ruefully, “He is worried that we are not keeping a close enough watch on the Selgovae.”

  Livius rubbed his chin. “I think he is trying to be two men, himself and Macro. He works twice as hard as any other officer; me included.”

  “I know. I thought becoming a father would have settled him.”

  “No sir. Duty is more important to Marcus than anything. If you sliced into him you would see Marcus’ Horse running through his veins. Besides, Drugi and Felix more than make up for him in his absence. They are like a grandfather and big brother. Those boys could not have better protectors and teachers.”

  One of the sentries shouted, “Patrol approaching, sir.”

  The three of them all breathed a collective sigh of relief when the thirty two troopers hove into view. The fact that there were prisoners w
as a bonus. “Well, let us go and greet the successful decurion.”

  Marcus dismounted and led his turma on foot through the gate. It was part of his regime and it helped the horses to cool down quicker. When his troop saw the three senior officers they stiffened to attention.

  “Gnaeus, take the prisoners to the cells and then see to the horses.”

  “Sir.” Gnaeus took Raven’s reins.

  As Decius passed Marcus took the Thracian shield and proffered it to the Prefect. “We took this from a dead Selgovae. It is from the Thracians who disappeared.”

  Julius nodded. “It seems they are bold enough to attack Marcus’ Horse now. How many were there?”

  “About sixty sir. It was a good ambush but we managed to avoid walking into it.”

  Livius shook his head, “Do not disparage yourself; it means that another turma might be headless corpses and the Selgovae might be celebrating their success.”

  As they strolled through the fort towards the bath house by the river Julius asked. “Prefect, do you wish to double the numbers of your patrols?”

  “No sir. This will put my men on their mettle.”

  “Sir, if we had scouts like Felix with us then this sort of thing might be avoided.”

  “Are you sure that you wish him to rejoin us? I thought he was looking after your boys.”

  “Drugi can manage that.”

  “Then send for him.” Livius looked at Metellus. “I daresay you will be sending another missive to your wife soon. It can go with that letter.”

  Metellus nodded. Communication with their homes was vital but sometimes messages went astray and the messengers’ bodies were a savage reminder that even the land south of the wall could be dangerous. “It might be useful sir, for someone to return to the valley and find out what the Brigante are up to. They have been remarkably quiet.”