Hosker, G [Sword of Cartimandua 01] The Sword of Cartimandua

by Griff Hosker

  There was a silence as both centurion and queen took in the import of what had been said. It would change the relationship between Brigantia and Rome for never before had the queen asked for aid.

  “Are you sure my queen?”

  “No I am not and I would not if I thought we could defend the walls. What are my alternatives? Flee to Eboracum? If I did so I would be abandoning my capital and my people would see that as weakness. No I will only do that if disaster strikes and there is no other option.”

  “I will see to it.”

  As he turned to leave Cartimandua restrained him and spoke in a quieter voice. “I would also have you do something else for me. Send my sisters and their families to safety, either Derventio or Eboracum. I think your lady should also accompany them.”

  The old centurion smiled, “Thank you majesty but I know she would not go. She promised to stay with me as long as I lived and I still live.” The queen nodded understanding the obvious love and bond between this soldier and his gentle lady. “What of your treasure, should that be sent as well?”

  “No it would only place my sisters in more danger. Bury that in a secret place here and draw a map. I will only need the treasure if all else fails.

  Bowing, the centurion withdrew, leaving the queen to ponder her next action. The outer walls of the stronghold were too big to defend and had been strengthened by Venutius. He would know its weak points. In the next few days she would begin to strengthen the inner ditch and ramparts which were defensible by her smaller forces. She also needed to practice her swordplay for she knew it would be needed sooner rather than later. Drawing her sword from its scabbard she began to swing the beautiful blade back and forth. As soon as she gripped the hilt she smiled as the power entered her body and already she felt nor only safer but more at peace. As long as she held the sword there was hope.

  Woodland north of Eboracum

  Northern Britannia was a wild place at the best of time but in the last year it had become even more dangerous. The Roman war machine had faltered in the west. Back in Rome there was intrigue and infighting as the year saw three emperors come and go. Would the fourth last any longer? The Romans in Lindum and those in the newly established base at Eboracum did not know. The vast land belonging to the Brigante was filled with forests, high hills and bogs. It was not a good place to campaign. The Brigante had been a client and ally of Rome but in the past year they had shown the restless signs of rebellion and every Roman soldier felt uneasy. Patrols were now made up of larger groups of men as the handfuls they had used had been found hacked and chopped to pieces. It had become increasingly worse over the past five years but this last year, the year of the four Emperors was a crucial one. Every Roman was on edge realising that they were clinging on to the edge of the Empire by their fingertips.

  Decurion Ulpius Felix rubbed his unshaven face as he peered through the spindly branches of the elder copse. He idly pulled a bunch of elderberries to strip them from the stalk, letting the rich black juice rundown his chin. It reminded him of the hill country around his vici in Ad Mures; it was a place he barely remembered having been taken there as a captive when he was but four. Still he remembered it, remembered the first taste of elderberries strong and heavy in his young mouth. He remembered the woodland, he remembered the woods and he remembered berries but he could not remember his name before the Roman times. It seemed to him that he had been Ulpius Felix for all of his thirty five summers. He mentally cursed Aulus Plautius the governor of Pannonia who had decided to bring the Pannonians with him to the edge of the world, Britannia. As the alternative posting was the warmth of Judea he would have preferred that to the capricious climate of this little northern outpost. He would have preferred the evenly monotonous days with warm nights and hot days to the uncertainty of snow in early summer and bright sunshine in midwinter. He would have preferred the rich wines of the middle sea to the weak beer and honey laced drinks of this northern sea.

  He idly rubbed the angry scar that ran across his white blind eye, the result of an early battle when he was less careful than he was now. It had happened when he had seen but fourteen summers. The stone which had ripped into it could have deflected by his shield but in those days he believed himself to be immortal, a warrior hero. He had learned his lesson in the long service to Rome. He could see just as well as any of his men, in fact some said that he could see behind him but occasionally it burned and tingled, this was one such time. The pain in the eye was always there; sometimes dull and sometimes so sharp it felt as though his face was splitting in two. At those times his good eye would stream with tears as though he was weeping; those were the dark times, those were the depths of agony far worse than the original wounding. Without reason the pain could be gone as soon as it came or it could last a whole day. His men had learned to look for the signs for the redder and angrier the eye the worse was the tough cavalryman’s temper. When that pain left it was replaced by the pain of training and working as a Roman auxiliary. The life of an auxiliary toiling for the mighty Roman Empire was no worse than being a tribesman. The difference was he was fed on a regular basis. The food might be dull but it was plentiful. He also received pay. The caligae in the legions resented the fact that auxiliary cavalrymen were paid at a higher rate and got to ride to battle but Ulpius and his men cared not. He was also worked hard which resulted in a lean, muscular body. His natural ability with horses had soon marked him out as a cavalryman and he was conscripted into the auxiliary cavalry. Fighting mainly Celts, he had spent over twenty years in the service of Rome; another ten and he would qualify for citizenship and a plot of land. Would he live to see it? It was a thought which occasionally flitted across his mind but he had had too many friends who had dreamed of such release only to find the release of death in some corner of the Empire instead. He was the last of that band of warriors who had left their home twenty years earlier. There were others who had survived such as the prefect who had managed to reach the highest rank of any not born in Rome but the majority died early. Roman generals were more careless with their cavalry than with the precious, solid legionaries.

  He was brought out of his reminisces when he felt the horse behind him push against the hindquarters of Raven, his own horse. He did not deign to look around; he merely held his hand up in silent rebuke knowing that whichever trooper it was would control his mount. As Decurion of the Second Turma, First Sabinian Wing of Pannonians, his ire would result in a severe and painful punishment. It would probably be young Gaius who had no patience at all. Keen as a young greyhound he was always the first to reach the enemy lines; fortunately for him, he was also handy with the gladius which was why he had survived so many skirmishes with the Parisi and Brigantes. He was the youngest trooper and as such indulged a little by the other men in the turma. Today he would need all his patience.

  Osgar, their Brigante tracker, had discovered the tracks of the war band early that morning. They were a small band mounted on a few of the mountain ponies so favoured by the tribesmen of these hills. Not knowing where they were raiding Ulpius had decided to catch them on their return. Whilst it meant that people would die at least he could recapture slaves, acquire whatever loot they had taken and catch the raiders when they were tired. His men and his horses were too valuable to waste on a few raiders stealing from farmers barely richer than they were. He hoped that some of the Brigante warriors would have gold about them; some of the chiefs lauded their golden torcs as a sign of their bravery as well as the amulets, each one a symbol of a success in battle. Ulpius smiled grimly to himself; chain mail would be more effective but he would gladly relieve the corpses of their treasure. He glanced around to look at the auxiliaries following him. Their mounts were far larger than the local horses and fed on grain. They could run all day and carry an armoured warrior. The chain mail of his men, he was pleased to see was oiled and flexible; although it was heavy it was more than effective at deflecting the local arrows. The shields were all slung over their left legs and ready to be
used at a moment’s notice. The javelins in their sheath behind the leg were less accessible but not so the mighty spatha, the Roman cavalry sword which was far longer than the gladius and gave Ulpius and his men the edge over any foe. He returned his gaze to the horizon, happier that his men were alert and prepared. They would not be caught unawares.

  Towards the rear the troopers rode in single file with the easy, comfortable banter of men who have worked and fought together for a long time. Drusus and Metellus had to have Lentius and his horse between them because for some reason their horses, Pirate and Chestnut did not like each and would bite and kick whenever they were in distance. This meant that not only did Drusus and Metellus have to carry on conversations with a horse between them they had to suffer Lentius’ mount, a black gelding with a small star called Blackie. Blackie seemed to Drusus, who was behind him that he suffered from terminal wind added to which he seemed to stop with amazing regularity to relieve himself.

  “Lentius if your horse shits one more time I will feed it to you.”

  “That would be preferable to that slop you passed off as food last night!”

  “You can tell that you came from the valleys otherwise you would have truly appreciated the find taste of roast squirrel.”

  “That’s what it was! I had been trying to work out the taste all day.”

  “Ladies if you don’t shut up and keep you eyes peeled you will all be shovelling shit when we get back to the fort!” Marcus’ voice effectively silenced the three who knew he would carry out his threat. Drusus reined his horse so that it was not quite so close to Blackie and Metellus spurred his on a little. Marcus smiled to himself the easy banter was no bad thing it showed that they were confident. He too had found the food unusual but was because he was the only Cantabrian amongst these Pannonians although he had been with them for so long that he had almost forgotten his Cantabrian roots but he still remembered the taste of the salted fish his mother had given him as a treat and now he was eating tough roasted squirrel.

  Raven told him that they were coming before Osgar’s nose sniffed them out. The nodding head appeared to some like an equine message; Ulpius knew that the gelding was just as eager for action and could smell the enemy. Osgar touched Ulpius’ foot and pointed north; in truth the scout was a tiny little runt, far too small to be a warrior but he could run all day and find tracks in the most unlikely places. He had the same animal senses of Raven and Ulpius knew where the Brigante would be, north. Ulpius relied on him more than he liked for the man was of the Brigante and some of those people were now in a state of rebellion; so far he had never let the Roman down but the decurion was always aware that he could change sides at any moment.

  Ulpius could just make out some movement in the leaves. He turned in his saddle and pointed his vine rod to the south. Almost half the turma eased their way deeper into the copse following Marcus, his chosen man. As second in command he had the responsibility of backing up Ulpius even when he didn’t fully know the plan. He had been with him for five years and most of the time understood his superior’s intentions. Today it was easy; he was the shield and Ulpius the sword. Marcus would defend whilst Ulpius attacked. The other half of the turma loosened their swords in their scabbards to ensure they would not stick when they were needed and then adjusted their grip on their javelins.

  The raiders were trotting along at an easy lope. The troopers could make out the captives in the middle. They were bound and roped together by the neck. It was obvious that they were not warriors; they looked to be farmers and merchants and by their dress less Brigante and more Roman. Ulpius looked towards the rear of the column. That would be where the fiercest fighters would be, in the place of honour; they would be the target for his twenty men. He lifted his body a little to count them. There were nearly sixty; a large number but on foot and he would have the element of surprise. He looked along the line and saw that his men were ready. He hefted the heavy infantry pilum he carried, an unusual weapon for a cavalryman but Ulpius was incredibly strong and the weapon had given him the edge in many an unequal combat for it was far sturdier than the light javelins they used as missiles.

  The end of the enemy column was almost level with him; he could see an older warrior, probably a chieftain at the rear. His face and body had been painted blue but it had worn in parts giving him the mottled look of an adder. His long hair was spiked up with lime and he bore the scars of other combats. Ulpius’ greedy eyes lit up when they say the torc about his neck. It decided him. As he raised his pilum the rest of the turma steadied themselves. As soon as the spear left his hand his men would be upon the raiders like wolves. The spear flew from his hand in a steep arc; even as it was descending he had taken a javelin from his sheath and was kicking forward Raven. His spear took the chieftain in the neck and Ulpius could see from the dark spurting blood that it was a kill. He selected his next opponent. This time he did not throw the javelin until he was almost upon the man. The warrior deflected the javelin as it hurtled towards him but in doing so he revealed his naked torso and the decurion’s gladius slashed down opening the man from his neck to his gut. Seeing no more warriors in front of him he reined Raven to a stop and surveyed the ambush. His man were despatching the enemy so quickly that many were surrendering, for they had not expected any Romans to be operating so far from their fort. He held his sword in the air and his men formed a circle around the few warriors left standing. They all held their javelins at the enemy throats in case of treachery.

  Ulpius slid his leg over Raven’s shoulder, he did not even bother to look for the trooper who would hold his reins they were a well practiced turma well drilled by the most experienced decurion. His good eye took in the warriors who remained and he identified the leader. He did not have a torc but from the bracelets about his arms he had won many fights. His practiced eye saw that the man had been wounded in his arm and could not carry on the fight which was why he had surrendered. He walked over to him and, using his sword, knocked the warrior’s weapon to the ground.

  “So Roman you cannot kill a one armed man you must disarm him first!” He spat the words at Ulpius, defiance in his voice and eyes.

  “If I wanted you dead your worthless corpse would be spilling its life force on the ground in front of me. I want some information. Where is Venutius?”

  “You think I would betray my King. I am Brigante we do not betray our leaders.”

  Ulpius nodded as though he understood the motive behind the statement. “And what of Cartimandua? Where is she? Is she with the king?” The queen was known to favour Rome and Ulpius had been given instructions to find out where she was. It was rumoured that she had divorced her husband and taken up with a shield bearer.

  “That Roman whore is no concern of mine but she will soon be joining her ancestors.”

  Ulpius mind took in the threat but his voice feigned ignorance. “I did not know she was sick.”

  “Sick! You Roman fool. When Venutius takes her he will burn her body and the Roman house she has built. Had you not taken us I would be watching as the flames licked her diseased body.” He spat at Ulpius in a last defiant gesture.

  Realising that he would get no more information from him and that the warrior had told him more than he intended Ulpius gave a nod. His men despatched all the Brigante where they stood. In minutes their heads were taken and strung along the saddles, their bloodied, mangled and mutilated bodies left where they fell; despoiled and deserted. The Brigante prisoners watched as their rescuers took everything of value and mounted their horses. As Ulpius was tucked the torc into his saddlebags a portly trader came up to him. “Thank you lord you have saved us from slavery.”

  Ulpius looked at him briefly and signalled for his men to mount. The ex-prisoners stared around in disbelief as the column trotted after Ulpius. “Lord, are you leaving us here?”

  ”Why? Would you have me escort you back to your farm? For what purpose? We do not escort overweight, whining thieves, we hunt Brigante. Now out of my way before yo
u suffer the same fate.” He paused and looked east. “Go that way as fast as your fat little legs will carry you. There is a camp at Derventio. You may make it merchant before the Brigante eat your eyes for their supper and piss in your empty skull.”He urged Raven into a trot and they headed westwards.

  Marcus fell in besides him. “We could have taken them back to Derventio.” Ulpius stared at him in silence. Marcus was one of the few men who could question Ulpius and live. In his mind Marcus knew there was a sound reason and, equally, knew that Ulpius would only tell him when he wanted to.

  The decurion reached under his saddlecloth and removed a piece of dried meat he had been tenderising. As he tore a morsel of the sweat dampened meat and chewed it he gestured with his head. “Did you not hear what that warrior said? Cartimandua was to be taken; Venutius was on his way to her stronghold to kill her. Think on it Marcus, she was the one who gave us Caractacus. She is the reason we do not need the Second Augusta here. If she is captured by that hothead of a husband we will have the whole of the north of this godforsaken place rebelling against us and remember Eboracum is a half finished wooden fort. Remember what that bitch Boudicca did eight years ago? I know not how but the tribes know of the trouble in Rome and the many Emperors of this year. They see the chance to evict us. Besides we were ordered to protect her by no less a personage than Marcus Bolanus the Governor himself; it was a standing order that she was a priority. The only reason Venutius not despatched her yet is that she holds his family hostage. She is a clever woman.” He spat out an inedible portion of meat and glared at Marcus. “Now having spent more spit than I wished on a useless turd with nothing better to do than question his leader’s orders I will get back to the task assigned to me. You detail a trooper and tell him to go back to Eboracum and tell the tribune that I am going to Stanwyck to see if I can find out what has happened to the only ally we have in this part of the world! We will need help. I hope the gods favour me and it is Flavius who rides to our aid for if it is that thief Cresens we are dead men.”