Hosker, G [Sword of Cartimandua 12] Roman Wall

by Griff Hosker

  As night fell both sides put their plans into operation. Livius sent our four turmae under Rufius and spread them out in the woods close to the river. Armed with javelins their orders were simple; they were to slow down any Brigante who breached the Tinea. Another four turmae waited under the command of Metellus. They were the shock force which would meet any force which evaded the river guards. The rest of the turmae now manned the walls. Marcus’ Horse had lost too many men and horses to be considered an effective ala. The defenders had braziers burning ready to hurl incendiary missiles at any barbarian who tried to attack the fort. The Legate prayed that help would come soon. All that they had done was to slow down the enemy.

  Caronwyn and her Amazons went to the river with the twenty Brigante warriors. They had all volunteered to serve the priestess for their task was dangerous. The overcast night meant that they were almost invisible. The six priestesses who would cross the river were naked and armed only with a short sword strapped across their backs. They were the secret weapon which would unpick the lock of the fort. They slipped silently into the water and began to swim to the northern bank. They had chosen this spot, just forty paces from the bridge for a number of reasons. It was close to the bridge and yet the steep bank hid them from view. There were trees nearby for cover but, most importantly, there was a muddy beach. The six warrior priestesses rolled in the mud and then smeared it over each other. They drew their swords and blackened them too. They became invisible. The only sign that they were human and not animal was when they opened their eyes. Caronwyn would use Mother Earth to help her defeat the Romans.

  The six women slithered their way to the top of the bank. There were some Tungrian sentries in the woods watching for just such an attack. The Legate had anticipated warriors emerging from the river. The other sentries at the bridge were equally well hidden.

  The four sentries in the woods suddenly saw a movement but it was not human. It was a shadow; a shadow which moved without human form. Their senses alerted them to something strange, supernatural. The sacrifice at the river had unnerved them. They could fight warriors but magic was something else. One turned to his companion. “I must be going mad. I can smell a woman.”

  “It must be that priestess.”

  Suddenly two eyes appeared before him and all four men died as the six women plunged steel deep within them. The six swords ensured that they died silently. The women laid the bodies down in the woods. They slipped through the trees barely disturbing the air so light was their movement.

  The last two sentries before the bridge had their attention on the river. Each eddy and bubble made them think it was a swimmer. They felt a sudden sharp pain and then they died as silently as their comrades. The six invisible killers were good at their work. There were four men at the bridge. They were just eighty paces from the wall. If any Brigante tried to sneak across the bridge they would kill them and raise the alarm. If the whole army came across they would raise the alarm as they raced back to the gate. All four were watching the southern end of the bridge. They cursed the cloudy night which made their job doubly hard.

  The six priestesses stepped from the woods and walked silently towards the Tungrians. One turned at a strange smell and a slight sound. He saw shadows with eyes. The woods had come alive! He was the first to die and then his companions followed.

  On the far side of the bridge the twenty Brigante volunteers had been watching. They sprinted across the bridge keeping as low as possible. At the gate one of the sentries thought that he had seen a movement but when none of the guards made a sound he put it down to the nerves of night duty. He looked again, hard. Where were the sentries?

  The Brigante and the priestesses made their way to the gate. Once they reached its shadow they were all hidden from view. The warriors made a pyramid and began to climb. Once they were just a body below the ramparts the six women clambered over them. Across the bridge Briac watched the shadows creep up the walls. He had chosen the two hundred warriors who would assault the gate personally. He felt he had to make up for Elidr’s mistake and he could not afford to let down Caronwyn again.

  The sharp eyed sentry approached his optio, “Sir, I can’t see the guards at the bridge?”

  “Did you hear anything?”

  “No sir!”

  “If they are shirking I will…” He walked back with the sentry to the walls.

  The six priestesses slipped over the walls and, once again, their appearance stunned the guards into silence. Three died with barely a murmur but the optio was made of sterner stuff. He smelled the mud and the blood on the blade and turned as the steel was thrust into his side. He grabbed the blade and, with his dying breath shouted, “Alarm!” as he and the Amazon plunged to the ground below.

  The Legate and Livius had been prepared for an attack. They raced from their quarters already dressed for battle. The troopers who were on duty joined them. They could not believe their eyes as they saw the Brigante climbing over the walls. Some of them appeared to be naked!

  “Livius secure the gate!”

  Julius ran to the ladder. The first of the priestesses was descending to open the gate. He swung his spatha across his body and felt it jar against her spine as he sliced her slim form in two.

  Livius shouted to the four troopers who followed him, “Kill anyone who tries to open the door. Sound recall!” He knew that there were four buccina within the fort and he hoped that a signifier would hear him.

  Julius was being assaulted by a naked priestess and the first of the Brigante. The Legate was no longer a young man and Livius winced as the Brigante sword scored a red line against the body of the Legate. He lunged and his sword struck the back of the naked priestess. She gave a primeval scream and turned on him her eyes boring into him. She screamed a death curse as she launched herself at him with her sword. Livius was no fool. He had wounded her and he stepped back as her body overbalanced and she tumbled to the ground. He sliced down and decapitated the woman.

  Julius was struggling to defend himself. The wound had weakened him. Out of the corner of his eye Livius saw more Brigante pouring down the ladders. He ignored them. His men would have to deal with them. The Legate was his priority. The Brigante knocked Julius’ sword to the ground and he raised his own to finish off the leader of the Romans. Before he could do so Livius hacked at his leg for it was the only part of the Brigante’s anatomy he could reach. The savage cut to the bone made the Brigante turn to face his new enemy. Rather than stepping back Livius stepped closer. He grabbed the warrior’s beard and pulled him forward. He smashed the pommel of his sword into the back of the Brigante’s neck. Falling to the floor the Brigante put his arms out and Livius took his chance. He stabbed down and the Brigante died.

  Julius was lying, bleeding. “Capsarius.” Livius stood over the Legate. “Hang on Julius. Help is at hand!”

  “Forget me! Defend the fort. We must not fail!” The effort was too much and the Legate rolled on to his side.

  The capsarius ran up, his bag at the ready. “See to the Legate! Do not let him die!”

  Livius turned to assess the situation. Brigante were pouring over the wall. “Marcus’ Horse to me!” His strident tones carried over the sounds of battle. The troopers who had responded to the sound of the buccina formed up behind him. All had their spatha and their shield. Many had on their mail.

  “Form a wedge behind me!”

  His four beleaguered troopers were desperately trying to hold the gate. One was already down and a second was about to join him in the Otherworld. Livius did not wait for the wedge to form. He headed purposefully towards the Brigante. He hacked down on the skull of the warrior before him. With his left hand he pulled him away and stabbed forward to kill the naked vixen who was trying to kill the trooper at the gate. With his left hand he grabbed the hair of the last of the priestesses. As her head came back he ripped the edge of his sword across her throat and her lifeless body fell at his feet. His four troopers had held the gate but they had paid the price with
their lives.

  Livius looked at the troopers in his wedge. There were eight of them. “You eight hold this gate at all costs. No matter what happens here do not leave until I tell you so.”

  The Chosen Man who was with them said, “If they pass it will be because we are in the Otherworld.”

  The whole of the garrison had now emerged from their barracks. The fight was suiting the Brigante for it was man to man and the Romans could not use their disciplined ranks. He saw a signifer. “Sound reform!”

  As the notes rang out the troopers stopped and stepped back. “Form two lines behind me!” He was helped by the fact that Roman soldiers were used to obeying orders no matter how strange they sounded. Forty men formed two lines. They were a mixture of horsemen and infantry but they all had a grim determination about them. If they did not drive the Brigante from their fort then they would all die.

  Metellus had heard the buccina and feared the worst. The Legate had assumed they would come from up stream. The noise of battle told him that they had come at the bridge. “Marcus’ Horse, follow me!”

  They were forced to ride in a column of four for the trail was narrow. As they emerged at the bridge they saw that the bridge had been taken and Brigante were scaling the walls. There was no time for delicate and subtle action; direct force was needed.

  “Charge!”

  As the buccina sound, the barbarians looked west. Metellus and his men thundered in. They did not halt at the edge of the barbarian line. Every trooper hurled his first javelin and then used his second like a spear. The press of men at the bridge meant that many Brigante could not bring their weapons to bear. The horses of the ala simply smashed through them. One horse stumbled throwing its rider but the horse’s body formed a barrier at the end of the bridge. The trooper died when his head smashed into the bridge.

  Metellus headed for the ladders which had been placed against the wall. The crudely made siege weapons had served the Brigante well. Metellus put his spear in his left hand and rode along the ditch smashing the ash staff against the flimsy ladders. They cracked and broke throwing the warriors to their deaths in the spike filled ditch.

  Marcus had seen what Metellus intended and he led his turmae to the end to the bridge. The press of men was intense. His turma jabbed and stabbed with their spears. The Brigante could not make progress because of the bodies of their dead comrades.

  Livius and his hastily formed century had cleared the ground around the gate and he now ordered them up the ladders to clear the ramparts. Surprisingly there were still auxiliaries fighting for their lives. They took heart when they saw the Prefect leading the troopers to their aid. With no reinforcements the Brigante began to edge back to form a wedge on the wall. The troopers picked up the discarded and used spears. They hurled them at the Brigante who died on the ramparts. It was the only part of Rome they had claimed as their own.

  As the men cheered, Livius realised that they had not won. The battle was still in the balance. “Get the bolt throwers ready. I want the bridge cleared!”

  The cheers and roars died as his men quickly threw the dead Brigante into the ditch and began to aim the bolt throwers. Livius turned to the signifer who had followed him. “Sound fall back. Prepare to loose javelins. I want the Brigante to bleed on the bridge!”

  Marcus heard the buccina and knew what was to come. “Fall back! Spears at the ready!”

  They backed their horses towards the wall keeping the wall of spears towards the Brigante who were still reeling from the attack of the horse warriors.

  Metellus had cleared the wall and he and his men formed a second line behind that of Marcus. Their javelins waited for the order to rain death upon the enemy.

  Suddenly there was a double crack as the two bolt throwers sent their deadly missiles towards the bridge. Neither the tension nor the aim was quite right, for the original crews had died, but, even so, the two bolts still carved a path of death along the bridge. In the hiatus between bolts a few hardy warriors tried to race forward. Metellus and his men threw thirty javelins and the putative attack faltered.

  An almost instantaneous crack signalled the next two bolts. They had been aimed more effectively and the tension was right. Two files of eight men all fell to the bolt. That was more than enough for the Brigante warriors who fled south to safety. The men of Marcus’ turma followed them across the bridge and formed a human and equine barricade. Marcus raised his sword and shouted, “Brigante! Advance on the Sword of Cartimandua at your peril! The rebellion is over!”

  To Caronwyn and Briac’s horror, some of the warriors slumped their shoulders and began to trudge south. They had come north with the promise of victory and the sword of their ancestors had defeated them. It was in that moment that Briac realised he had lost. No matter what Caronwyn said, he knew that the rebellion was over.

  Banquo and his men had headed south east towards the Roman Road. Banquo had the natural leader’s instinct for action. His men moved through the woods quietly and cautiously. In the distance they could hear the sounds of battle. Banquo would not make the same mistake of rushing in to something. He sent his scouts ahead and he waited. When they returned he knew that he had been right.

  “There are horse warriors ahead and they are watching the river.”

  It was perfect! “I want the men to move south in one line. When I sound the carnyx the Romans die!”

  Rufius and his turmae had heard the recall in the distance. His decurion had wanted him to follow the horn. Rufius had shaken his head. “We wait here until the barbarians come! We have our orders.” He wondered at the wisdom of waiting in these woods but if more warriors came across the river his was the only force which could hurt them.

  It was a mistake but one made for the right reasons. He could not know the danger behind him nor could he know that the threat to the fort was over but Rufius would wake up, for months to come, sweating and fretful, wondering if he could have made a better decision.

  When the carnyx sounded to the north poor Rufius was confused. As his Chosen Man fell to an axe between the shoulder blades he yelled. “Fall back to the river!” The natural leader in the decurion made the right decision. The remnants of the turma fell back to the wild Tinea. Many of their comrades lay dead. The Votadini, hidden in the dark, outnumbered them. The spears and arrows from the elated barbarians began to thin out the troopers. Rufius could see but one solution. “Into the river and swim downstream.”

  As Rufius leapt he felt a blow to his arm but he ignored it as he fought to control his mount. The wild river took them east and towards the bridge. Rufius counted on the fact that the bend was close to the bridge and the bridge itself would save them.

  He held the reins and lay along the saddle to make life easier for his horse. He watched in horror as a trooper lost his grip on his reins and sank to his death beneath his weight of mail. As soon as he saw the bridge, he yelled, at the top of his voice. “Head for the bank!” He jerked the head of his horse and angled his legs so that it was easier for his horse to move left. As soon as his horse’s legs found purchase on the river bottom he breathed a sigh of relief. He had made it. He struggled from the water and released his horse’s reins. He returned to the river where he stood, waist deep in the bubbling foam and held out his arm for his comrades. Marcus and the others saw what he was doing and leapt into the water to help. Soon all that could be saved were plucked from the water but many horses died a foamy death. The troopers could not save them. Many tears were shed that night for faithful mounts which died and were swept down to Arbeia to be food for the gulls.

  “What happened, Rufius?”

  “We were attacked from the north. It was not the Brigante. We have another enemy! They drove us to the river.” He pointed west. “They are there in the woods!”

  Across the river Caronwyn was reflecting on how close they had come the previous night. When she had seen the warriors on the walls she had been convinced that they would win. Her disappointment when the men began to retreat wa
s counterbalanced by the joy when she saw the horsemen in the river. Briac had been confused.

  “It is our allies. They have come at last. Today we finally defeat them. We have them between us and there is nowhere for them to go. They cannot withstand another attack.”

  Briac was not certain but they still had many men left. The Roman mail had saved many. He began to organise his forces so that the freshest and better armed men would attack. They would wait until their allies had attacked first before they risked the bolt throwers.

  As dawn broke Livius surveyed the bridge and the area around the river. They had survived but only just. They were now, effectively, surrounded. There were Brigante to the south and someone else to the north and west. Livius had assumed command when the capsarius had told him that the legate was too weak for command. He had lost too much blood. He ordered hot food for the garrison and a roll call. He had no idea how many men he had lost. The dead barbarians were thrown into the river while the Roman dead were laid, reverently, in an empty barracks. They had died well and would be honoured when time allowed.

  Livius was tired but he would sleep when the war was over. “Marcus, take your turma and ride to the wall. Be careful. If there are enemies from the north then it may have been breached.”

  Metellus was about to say that Marcus was tired until he realised that they were all tired. Whoever drew the duty would be exhausted.

  “Sir!”

  As Marcus led his exhausted turma north Livius began to shift his defences. “Decurion Princeps I want four turmae west of the fort. Now!”

  There was little point in Metellus telling Livius that he had barely seventy men left. He knew the prefect was right. Their backs were to the wall!

  Banquo and his men were elated. They stood on the northern bank of the Tinea and watched as the river swept their enemies away. His decision to leave his brother had been vindicated. He had defeated the vaunted horse warriors.