by Griff Hosker
“Thank you, domina.” He mounted the horse which was really a large pony. “Does Drugi still live by the water?”
She nodded, “He does but they will see you long before you see them. Take care, Rufius and may the Allfather watch over you.”
Chapter 4
Drugi had been a slave in the lands far to the west and he had helped to rescue both Marcus and his wife Frann. He was devoted to the family but preferred a lonely existence as a hunter. Rufius had thought himself a good scout and tracker until he met Drugi. The big man could disappear in an instant and was as silent as the night. The decurion knew that as soon as he was within four hundred paces of the house he would be under observation.
The house was where it had always been although Rufius noticed that it had been extended a little. That was probably to accommodate Felix. He reined in and tied his horse to the willow which overhung the stream. As he took the saddle off he heard a slight noise, “You are slipping Drugi; I heard that.”
The ex-slave chuckled, “I made the noise so as not to startle you Roman. I know how nervous Roman soldiers can be when they are in the woods.”
Rufius turned and embraced the giant who came from a land far to the east where the winters lasted most of the year. Drugi never changed. His shaven head and face meant that you could not tell his age anyway. He was enormous but had no fat upon him. He was like a beast of the forest.
“Where is Felix?”
“He is hunting. Come inside he will return soon.”
The hut was basic. There was a crudely made table and two chairs. The bed was a mattress filled with duck and goose feathers and the walls held an array of weapons. A small fire burned in the middle of the roundhouse and the smoke drifted up through a hole in the middle. Haunches of venison and wild boar were hung from the roof and were gently smoking.
Drugi found a place for the saddle and gestured for Rufius to sit. He took two carved wooden beakers and lifted an amphora. “Let us drink. Felix is too young to appreciate this.”
Rufius knew what was coming. It was a potent brew distilled from plum wine made by Drugi. It was a reminder of his home in the east. Rufius braced himself for the shock of the fiery drink. Drugi downed his in one, smacked his lips and poured himself a second.
“So what brings you here, Decurion?”
Rufius repeated his story and Drugi nodded. “The Lady Ailis is right. They have a camp well to the north of Lavatris close to the roaring waters. They keep good guards there.” He shrugged, “If I could be bothered I would have investigated. I think they just play at being warriors.” He drained his second beaker. “I can find out what they are up to if you like.”
“I appreciate the offer, Drugi but I have been given the mission and I must do it alone.”
He chuckled again and the deep rolling noise was somehow reassuring, “Except that you will take the boy and the dog.”
Rufius nodded, “I will take the boy and the dog.”
There was a growling outside and Rufius heard, “Wolf! Friend.”
The door opened and Felix stood there with his sheepdog Wolf. They were inseparable and Wolf was as protective of his owner as any mother. Rufius held out his hand and Wolf sniffed it. Seemingly satisfied it went to the corner and curled up although its golden eyes never left Rufius.
“It is good to see you Decurion. Are the horse warriors returning here?”
“No, Felix. The sword needs you in the north. Will you and Wolf come to aid us?”
He looked at Drugi who nodded, “I will.”
“You do not need to do this, Felix. If you wish to stay here with Drugi then we would understand.”
Felix was a Brigante orphan and his allegiance was to Drugi, the Sword of Cartimandua and Marcus in that order. “If the sword needs us then we will come.”
“But before we return north I would find out what the Brigante are up to. We will leave in the morning for the roaring waters.”
“Good.” He looked at Drugi. “It was a good hunt, the meat is outside.”
Even as Rufius was enjoying the fruits of the hunt Scanlan was scrambling up the path which climbed alongside the waterfall known as Roaring Waters. He had run almost the whole way. His only worry had been when he had crossed the roads but there were no Roman patrols. He remained unseen. He crossed the river by the stepping stones and headed across the trail towards the distant camp. There was no wall around the camp; that would have alerted the Romans. Instead there were crude shelters dotting the flat areas and guards hid and observed all who approached. The spear in his back told Scanlan that he had been seen.
“So you return with your tail between your legs. Where is the whelp Carac?”
“If you do not take that spear from my back you will find yourself growing another apology for your manhood, Aed the Lame.” He whipped around and knocked the spear to the ground. The guard was well known to Scanlan. He had been crippled by a Roman gladius and was now fit only for guard duty. “Where is Briac?”
The surly Aed pointed with his arm. “He is over there.”
Scanlan followed the line of Aed’s arm and saw a huddle of warriors seated on some rocks. He strode off towards them. He frowned as he approached. He could see a Roman with them. What was the wily Briac up to? As he walked across the open ground he could sense the hostility from some of the warriors. Aed the Lame was not alone. Briac’s face appeared to be without expression.
He laid down his shield and his sword and dropped to one knee. “I beg your forgiveness, Chief Briac.” He looked up into the face of his leader. “I made a mistake and I am here to atone for that error of judgement.”
Briac nodded. “It is the mark of a warrior that he can admit when he makes a mistake. You are welcome.” He stood and raised his voice. “Scanlan son of Tadgh is welcome here in our camp. Let no man offend him.” He smiled at Scanlan. Scanlan, for his part was studying the Roman who was sharpening his gladius. Briac noticed the attention. “This is someone who will help us to defeat the Romans.” Scanlan nodded. “But tell me Scanlan, where are Carac and the other warriors?”
A small crowd had gathered. Scanlan stood. This was a tale which needed telling carefully. “Carac decided to attack a wagon on the road to the east. There were just fifteen soldiers guarding it.”
The Roman looked interest and spoke for the first time. His Brigante was awkward and halting. “Horse warriors or men on foot?”
“Marcus’ Horse.”
There was a gasp from the warriors. Briac shook his head. “Carac was reckless but even he should have known better than to take on such warriors. How many died?”
“Carac and the rest.”
The Roman spoke again. “And yet you survived.”
Scanlan’s hand went to the hilt of his sword. Carac and the others were already dead when I left. I did not leave the field of battle whilst any lived.” There was a challenge in his voice and the Roman shrugged.
“I mean no disrespect. I have not heard of such a thing before. The horse warriors either kill all or take prisoners.”
Briac put his hand out to calm Scanlan. “Scanlan is one of the best warriors we have. Look at the warrior bands on his sword. No man has killed more in single combat than he has.”
The Roman nodded. “How did this Carac attack?”
“We hid on each side of the road and he and his men charged the wagons.”
“But you did not?”
“I had bowmen and I used them.”
“Good.” The Roman gestured to Scanlan. “This man shows he has a mind.”
Briac smiled. “And how many did our warriors kill?”
The silence hung in the air like a sword about to behead a prisoner. “None. We wounded a couple and a horse but that was all.”
Scanlan expected censure but Briac stood and shouted to all who could hear. “Now you see why we need to think like the Romans. It is the only way we will defeat them. That is why the Romans are here. Heed their words and take what they teach.” He stepped down fro
m the rock and put his arm around Scanlan. “Your journey and the sacrifice of Carac and his men was not a waste. We can learn from this.”
Rufius and Felix did not leave the next morning as planned. Drugi was not happy about Felix’s appearance. “You still look and smell too Roman.” The ex-slave spent most of the morning rubbing plant extracts on Rufius’ face, hands and hair. He could not see the effect but Felix told him that he looked more like the Brigante and his beard and hair appeared less Roman. He also smelled less Roman.
It was not until early afternoon that they left. Rufius was not worried. He knew that they could easily reach Roaring Waters in a few hours. His anxiety was fuelled by the fact that there appeared to be something happening and it was occurring in the worst part of the land of the Brigante; in the centre. It had the least roads and the fewest garrisons.
As they headed north west Rufius began to assess the number of Roman soldiers who might be available. By his count, there were just two centuries guarding the east west road. A further century was based at Cataractonium. When the legion came south to Eboracum there would be nothing to stop the Brigante from flooding north and attacking the wall from the south. It was, potentially, a disaster. The forces on the wall were thinly spread out.
Felix had spurned the offer of a horse. He had grown somewhat since Rufius had last seen him but he appeared to be able to keep up with the decurion. Wolf ranged far ahead. He would be their early warning of an enemy. They did not speak much as they travelled but when they did it was in Brigante. The sun began to set ahead of them and they heard the roar of the waterfall.
Although Rufius had been travelling for almost two days he knew that they had to strike while the iron was hot. They tied the pony to a tree and, with Wolf ahead of them, began to ascend the narrow path leading to the top of the waterfall. Had Rufius commanded the Brigante he would have had a sentry perched there to watch for spies such as him. As he peered over the top he saw that there was none. They moved forward cautiously. The swiftly flowing Dunum was quite intimidating in the dark. Rufius had been there before and knew that if he went upstream he would find some stepping stones.
Felix had his bow and for that reason Rufius kept his sword sheathed. Felix would be in a better position to notch an arrow and silence an enemy than would Rufius. An excellent archer himself Rufius cursed his decision to leave his bow back at the fort. He could see, in the distance, fires burning. The lack of a wall and stockade did not surprise him but he knew that they would have some defences around. He paused and took in the whole area. Wolf and Felix were as still as the statues in Eboracum. He kept his head in one place as he rested on one knee and used his eyes to scan the camp for sentries. He was patient and his patience was rewarded when the hidden sentry stood and stretched. Having identified one it was child’s play to work out where the others would be. He scanned the horizon and spotted them all.
He pointed to a gap. Then he waved for Felix and Wolf to guard his escape. He crept forward. Now that he knew where the sentries were he could plot and plan his route. It took him over rough ground and he had to carefully place his feet as he did so. It took him some time but soon he was on the edge of the camp. He crouched next to a shelter. There was silence from within; it was empty. He ensured that he did not look at the fires; that would destroy his night vision. He closed his eyes and sniffed the air. The smell of wood smoke could not disguise the familiar smell of horses; there was a herd close by. That in itself was important intelligence; the Brigante had not had large numbers of horses since the time of Venutius. He saw and heard a large number of warriors who were gathered close to a large fire. Taking a deep breath, he stood and began to move through the camp as though he had every right to do so.
Two warriors emerged from a shelter to his right and Rufius froze. He could smell the drink on them. They had been imbibing beer and were the worse for wear. When one of them stumbled and pulled the other to the floor Rufius gambled. He went over to them.
“Watch yourselves.” He reached down and offered his arm to one of them. “Here let me help you.”
A slightly slurred voice said, “Thank you brother! Garth here can’t hold his drink. Daft bugger pulled me over.”
As he helped him up Rufius pointed to the unsheathed dagger stuck carelessly in his belt. “If you had fallen on this then you would have saved the Romans a job.”
“Pah! Romans! I spit on them. Here let’s get Garth to his feet.”
Between them they pulled the half drunk warrior to his feet. “Come on, let me help you. Where are you going?”
The warrior pointed a wavering finger at the fire. “Over there. Briac might tell us when we are finally going to slit some Roman throats.”
Between them they held the drunken Garth and stumbled their way across. The dark and Garth’s hair hid Rufius from curious eyes. They reached the rear of the warriors who were seated by the fire and the three of them slumped down. Rufius played the part of someone who had been imbibing too. Garth’s head lolled next to that of Rufius and he fell asleep. It completed the disguise. The warriors in front looked around and snorted their disgust at Garth’s condition. The other warrior shrugged apologetically. Rufius kept his head down and listened.
“We know you are right to train us, Chief Briac, but while we are here our lands and animals are not being tended. When do we strike?”
“Your lands could be tended, Morgan, but you would end up paying taxes to the Romans. Better that your lands and animals suffer a little and we rid the land of the Brigante of Romans forever.”
Another voice shouted, “We have heard this since before your grandfather led the tribe. Why will this time be any different?”
“Because we will have weapons which are as good as the Romans and we will know the secret of the Roman way of fighting. Be patient. I promise you that by the time of the first lambs the Romans will know that there are Brigante who will fight for their land!”
The fact that he had said a time and the optimistic tone he adopted, made everyone stand and cheer. Poor Garth was allowed to drop to the hard earth when Rufius jumped up and joined in the cheering. His new found companion grabbed him by the arms. “Briac will make a difference! He will be his grandfather Venutius, reborn. We will finally drive the Romans back to their homes across the sea, brother!”
“This is a glorious day!” Rufius had heard enough and he feigned needing to relieve himself. “Got to pee.”
His drunken companion waved a hand, “Help yourself!” He promptly fell asleep over the unconscious Garth.
He moved away from the light and headed for the shadows. There was so much noise and pandemonium that he was able to do so easily. When he drew close to the sentries he moved more slowly although they were not hidden from the camp side and were easily spotted. When he reached Felix he gestured for him to follow. He was exhausted when they reached the bottom of the falls and the horse which was still peacefully grazing.
“We go back now?”
“No, Felix. I want to watch them in daylight and ascertain numbers.”
Felix shook his head. “We cannot do it from here. They will see us. We must travel around to the high ground in the north. There is cover there and we cannot be easily approached.”
The value of someone with so much local knowledge was invaluable and, tired though he was, Rufius complied. By the time Felix found a vantage point which satisfied him it was but two hours until dawn. The Brigante scout took off the horse’s saddle. “I will watch while you sleep. You can relieve me.”
Rufius was too tired to argue and was asleep on the hard ground as soon as his head met the turf.
Felix awoke him just after dawn. The young scout yawned and stretched, “They are not awake yet.” He pointed to a stone which was covered with fruits. “I picked some berries from the bushes. The water skins are full.”
“It is time for you to watch and I will get some sleep.”
He nodded, lay down and curled up. Wolf sniffed Rufius and then he too
curled up in the small of Felix’s stomach. They both appeared to be asleep instantly.
Rufius ate and drank some water. After he had relieved himself he checked on the horse. It appeared content. He bellied up to the rise which overlooked the camp. The spot they had chosen was about a mile from the Brigante camp but, as the sun rose higher and the mist dissipated he could see more. The camp was bigger than he had thought. Briac and the Roman meant business. There was little movement and he could not ascertain true numbers but there appeared to be more shelters than he had seen the previous night. The sound of the horse neighing in the distance alerted him to the position of the herd. He located it and counted as the mist was burned off. There had to be two hundred ponies; that was the largest number of enemy horses Rufius had ever seen.
He slid down and rolled on to his back. He risked observation from the sentries if he remained on the skyline for too long. The Brigante had come here to escape the notice of the two half centuries at the closest forts. Had Drugi and Felix not been aware of the location of the camp then it would have remained hidden. From the Brigante chief’s words he knew that the attack would not come until the following year. Rufius knew that he should return to the north and give the legate this information. The VIth could march south and quash this rebellion before it started. The officer in Rufius knew that he had to get as much information as he could. He needed numbers.
He slid to the ridge but moved ten paces to the right so that he was hidden by a solitary gorse bush. He was able to peer beneath it and observe the camp which was now coming awake. He worked methodically and counted from the east. He used a tally stick on which to mark the tens of men he counted. When the numbers milling around made it too hard to see new warriors, he laid it down. He would use it to check numbers later.
He saw the chief he had heard named Briac. A shiver ran down his spine. The man was wearing mail. He looked more carefully and saw another six warriors also had mail. They wore torcs which made then either chiefs or nobles. Now that the light was better he also noticed that there were new spears and swords in evidence. Even worse they looked to be Roman. This was not the normal hotch potch of weapons the Brigante usually fielded. Then another shiver ran down his spine as a Roman soldier emerged from a shelter. Rufius saw the clean shaven face and close cropped hair before the Roman helmet was donned. Another four or five Roman soldiers joined him and they marched towards Briac.
