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

by Griff Hosker

  The Brigante nodded. “The sword is worth a hundred men.”

  “Aye well start your men down the pass and I will follow with my men. Be watchful for ambushes. Their leaders are too clever by half.” As he loped off Ulpius turned to Marcus. “I mean you no slight decurion for you could do the task as well as I but this is more than a skirmish we need the Brigante to fight for their land not as mercenaries but as brothers in arms. The sword will do that for with the queen dead it is the symbol of Brigantia. If we can defeat the Carvetii I have hopes that more tribesmen will come to join us and that gives us our only chance of success for if Venutius brings his whole army we will be defeated.” Marcus nodded. “One thing still rankles. Find out from the two men who survived the tower how they believe the enemy was able to get past them. I do not want a repeat of that disaster. If it were not for their survival and quick thinking we could have suffered ever greater losses.”

  Orrick had reached the neck of land between the lakes as the battle was raging near to the tower. His scouts reported Woolgar’ messenger heading north but were unable to stop him. He knew this area well and the thin, spindly copse would hide his men. He sent thirty archers to the opposite hillside as the enemy was not in sight it would give them the chance to climb high enough to be safe from an attack. Orrick turned to his men. “At last we have a chance to strike back at the deceitful Venutius by destroying this warband. I have no doubt that our Roman friends will defeat them and they must return by this path. You will await my signal to attack. I want to trap them between us and Ulpius. Now hide and rest but be vigilant.”

  They were too far from the battlefield to hear anything and the late winter morning was silent so it was that they heard the first wounded stragglers dragging themselves towards their camp. Orrick wondered, as he signed for his men to remain hidden, if he could have attacked their camp but he dismissed the thought as soon as it entered his head for the camp would be fortified and he might not have reached it, no the Roman barbarian had been right. Suddenly they heard the tramp of a larger number of men and the whole of the Brigante force tensed as they sensed they would soon be embroiled in a deadly conflict. Orrick was in the middle of the ambush and he waited until he had counted fifty men pass him. Then with a scream of Brigante invective he launched himself at a warrior with a chieftain’s torc. His sword sliced through the shoulder of the grey haired leader who died almost without knowing they were being attacked. As the ones further away from the assault turned to face their attacker they found arrows raining down on their unprotected backs. Orrick felt immortal as his sword sliced through thin leather and damaged shields his enemies falling away before him. The momentum could not last for the Carvetii outnumbered them three to one and soon his men began to fall. On the other side of the path Carvetii archers were picking off the hidden Brigante.

  A voice boomed out. “Brigante bandit face a real man” and he found himself facing Earl Woolgar who was dressed in mail with a mighty helm upon his head. Undaunted the younger warrior leapt forward and slashed at his opponent’s head. A shield blocked it and Orrick barely had tome to raise his shield as the axe hammered down chipping pieces of metal and would. Before he had time to counter Woolgar backhanded the hammer end of the axe and it jarred against Orrick’ arm making it slightly numb. Earl Woolgar then used the boss of his shield to punch Orrick in the face. As he stumbled backward the last thing he saw before oblivion took him was the axe head slicing down. The blow was so powerful it split not only the warrior’s head but the top half of his body.

  The day would have been even worse for the Brigante had not Aetre suddenly shouted. “The Romans they are right behind us!”

  Woolgar turned to his blood kin. “Hold the pass! We will meet in the afterlife.” His blood kin gave a mighty cheer and turned to make a shield wall before the oncoming soldiers. Leaving the remaining Brigante who were still engaged in combat Woolgar and Aetre took his men through the narrow part of the pass and into the wider land between the lakes.

  Ulpius and Esca emerged like wolves from the hillside and fell upon the Carvetii still fighting. The rearguard locked shields and began to sing the Carvetii song of death. The Roman in Ulpius wanted to use archers to slaughter his enemy but the barbarian and warrior knew that it was important to kill them as warriors. He formed a line of troopers where the pass was at its widest and, as his men threw their javelins they charged.

  Raven was a warrior’s mount and as they approached the shield wall the jet black horse raised his front hooves; as they crashed through one man’s skull Ulpius sliced down on another. His blade went through metal, leather and bone. A shield wall was only effective when every shield was locked. Ulpius had taken out two in the middle and suddenly its cohesion was gone; its strength had left it and the end was in sight. The Romans had the advantage of height and their spears allowed them to strike beyond the range of the Carvetii weapons. It was only a matter of time before every warrior lay dead in a lake of blood. Not one of them had surrendered and they had bought their Lord the time need to get to his fortified camp. The warriors died to a man holding their weapons in their hands, fighting until the last gasp of breath was driven from their bodies and they all died knowing that they would meet again in the Allfather’s hall and tell the tales of their bravery for all eternity.

  Chapter 16

  Brocavum

  Venutius’ muster had gone well and, as he surveyed the mighty army gathered before him, Carvetii, disaffected Brigante even some Novontae and Selgovae from the northlands, he could not help but feel smug, for it was a huge army. There were chariots drawn by small ponies, men armed with javelins, slings and arrows, warriors armed with huge hammers and men who fought with two seax, one in each hand. It was a hotch potch and it lack uniformity but it had a purpose. At the last banquet he had seen the passion each warrior chieftain felt for their cause. This was the last roll of the bones; the Silures, Ordovices and Deceangli were all but defeated. The last druid strongholds on Mona were being put to the sword by ruthless Romans, bent on revenge for the actions of those savage priests. It was only here, in the north, where there was any resistance. Caractacus, Boudicca and the other figures of opposition were dead or imprisoned. Venutius had managed to gather the last army. He could not help a self satisfied smile, not noble born but a marriage to Cartimandua had given him the chance to be king of two tribes. This was his destiny and this was his moment. After he had defeated the Romans he could unite the whole of the land under one king, King Venutius of the Britons.

  He paused to acknowledge the cheers of another contingent, this time blue painted warriors from the north. His army was huge the trick would be to ensure that they fought together, He remembered the stories of Boudicca’s army, five times bigger than the legions she had opposed but they had been slaughtered. They had allowed the Romans to choose the battlefield he would not fall into that trap. He had already organised his armies into four giant warbands. This played to his strength, loyalty to your tribe. It also meant that within the warband there would be smaller groups of warriors who could be used tactically. He had seen the Roman army enough to know that the century, small though it was, could operate independently or as part of the whole. He could not presume to make his army as disciplined as the Romans in such a small time but he could use the ideas. The other strength of his army was mobility; they were lightly armoured but they could strike at the enemy and then retreat. He frowned for this was the one weakness of his force. They had a tendency to lose their heads and keep attacking, disobeying orders. Earl Woolgar’s experience had shown them all the danger of indiscipline. This was why he had decided to keep one war band in reserve. If one warband failed to keep order he would not have lost the battle. As for the place of the battle, he would fight close to his stronghold at Brocavum. The Romans would be coming from the east and the land, although flat sloped up to his walls. There was more than enough room for him to outflank the Romans and not do as Boudicca had done and give the enemy secure flanks.
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br />   Thinking of the flanks made him look westwards. Earl Woolgar had still to send a messenger. Were the Romans he had encountered a patrol or had this Alasica decided to attack on two fronts? He still cursed the failure of his plan to disrupt the Romans at Eboracum. Even though Fainch had begun the work well security had increased with the arrival of the new commander and they were being well supplied. The use of the river to carry his supplies had caused problems. He could not disrupt by raiding the ships he had none. In a single stroke he had been out manoeuvred. He was now reliant on his army defeating the Romans in battle. His allies and subordinates were arriving in huge numbers in fact his biggest problem was feeding such a mighty host. He was only awaiting the return of Earl Woolgar who would report whether he had Romans to his read or not. As soon as he heard from Woolgar he could begin to plan his battle, the battle that would rid his land of Romans.

  East of Brocavum

  Galba was having his own problems. He had long left the proximity of his new fort and the supplies which could come up by boat. He needed secure supply lines and that meant wagons; wagons meant a road and that was what was slowing him up. He was building the road across the windswept land to the west of Eboracum. His scouts were constantly in touch with the enemy scouts and he knew that they were close. In five days he would be within striking distance of Brocavum.

  Brocavum

  “King Venutius, it is Earl Woolgar, he returns.”

  “Send him to me.” It was a bloodied and battered Earl Woolgar who prostrated himself before the mighty king. As he had made his way through the huge host assembled he had decided that he would swallow his pride and bite his tongue. This was not the time to upset the unpredictable king. He could paint his action as a victory rather than a defeat. “Well Earl Woolgar. Have you good news?”

  “I have your majesty. There is no Roman army to the south and west it is merely a small force of cavalry.”

  “Who you, of course, destroyed?” The sneer in his voice was apparent to all who listened.

  “Most of them are dead sire but a small force escaped and joined with some rebel Brigante in their fort at the head of the big lake. They cannot do anything as my warband has fortified the valley of the two lakes.”

  “And what if I need your warband Earl Woolgar. What then? Will they still be trapped? Will they still be unable to attack?” Why did you not destroy these forts? Their marching camps are weak little affairs.”

  “My lord the fort is not a marching fort. The Romans must have been there over winter. It will take siege engines to destroy it.”

  For the first time Venutius was at a loss for words. How had the Romans managed to build such a building over winter? If there were one could there not be more? Perhaps this Alasica was bringing more legionaries from the south. It made battle even more necessary. “I need your warband. If these cavalry are defeated then a few men should be able to hold them.” As Earl Woolgar left Venutius, wondered if these Romans were the same ones who had spirited away Cartimandua? Part of him wanted to destroy them himself but he knew his destiny lay in defeating the bigger Roman army.

  “My Lord! My Lord! The Romans are at the other side of the valley. We have seen their cavalry.”

  “Excellent! Then we attack the day after tomorrow.” He turned to Aegre, the leader of the rebel Brigante. “Send your warband to the valley and prevent their cavalry from crossing. Send reports as more Romans arrive. We have them. To your war bands it will not be long before the camp is surrounded by the heads of dead Romans.”

  Glanibanta

  At the Roman fort Ulpius was scanning muster lists of dead wounded and fit. Now that the action was over he felt tired and weary. Would the Carvetii attack sooner rather than later? Although he had fortified the tower again he had had to use even more troopers as they had to watch the path they had discovered to the east. Although not big enough for an army it was big enough, as they had discovered to their cost, for a small group of men to cause havoc. His other problem was supplies. They had used almost all that they had brought and were running low on almost everything. He called in Decius Brutus and Marcus. It was time for some decisions to be made and he was sure that Marcus would not like them.

  “We may have driven off the enemy but it has been at a cost. Centurion how many effectives have you?”

  “One hundred and ten counting those who are lightly wounded. Ten others may be fit within the week as for the rest?” The shrug told it all.

  “Marcus?”

  “We can mount two hundred troopers which will leave two hundred dismounted and able to fight.” The winter had been harsh and many fine animals had died. Their bodies had supplemented the meagre diet of the troopers who honestly preferred any food to horsemeat.

  “We have supplies for another week, if we go on half rations. There are two hundred Brigante left. Have you any suggestions?” The looks on both men’s faces told Ulpius all that he needed to know. “I have spoken with Esca. There is a trail which goes south, then east and then north east. It brings us perilously close to Brocavum but if we take it then we will be heading towards our supply lines.”

  “But sir the princesses. The wounded. We couldn’t move them.”

  Ulpius held up his hand. Perhaps I was not clear. I was not talking about moving all of us. If we all went we would run out of supplies sooner rather than later. At least here we can fish and forage. No I am talking about taking my Pannonians. If we take the best horses we can make good time and bring the supplies we need back here. Decius Brutus can command the legionaries, Brigante and unhorsed Pannonians. By my reckoning he should have ten mounted auxiliary for scouts. Well centurion how does that sound?”

  “It is a good plan although,” the legionary leader laughed,” we would have plenty of supplies if we all ate horse!”

  Ulpius laughed. “It may come to that. Now Marcus what is your opinion?” The steely look in his eye told Marcus that he had had the only outburst which would be tolerated.

  “If it means the princesses will be safe and results in more supplies then I am happy.”

  “Good. Well go and say goodbye,” he suddenly became serious, “for ours is the more dangerous mission. If we are not ambushed and do not run into the whole Carvetii host then we might be able to return,” he paused and added “as long as we haven’t fallen from a crag or drowned in a lake or perished in a thousand different ways. Give the men today and tomorrow to rest. Find any who are weak and let them remain here. I want no weak links when we ride, for we will need our best men and all our strength, if we are to survive.”

  Gaius and Decius went with Drusus to the lake. They took lines and bait for it was not often they were told to rest by the decurion princeps. They did not think they would catch anything but it mattered not for they would chat and engage in the kind of ribald banter which bonded warriors such as these.

  “Well I for one am glad that I am not remaining in the fort,” said Drusus as he cast his weighted line into a deep channel.

  “Then you are stupid… sir. I’d rather stay in the fort where you have a bit of wood and soil to protect you. Out there in the hills you never know where your enemy is or when he is going to pounce. Remember the patrol we went on? Those sneaky fuckers slit two throats of men on guard, good men and they heard bugger all.”

  “That can still happen here Decius. The ones who are left are generally the wounded and those not as fit as those chosen.”

  Decius spat into the water. “Well in that case I should still be here because I am not fit and a lazy bastard to boot.”

  Drusus laughed. “You cannot fool us Decius for we have seen you fight. There is no better warrior in the turma. You might have carried off that act once but now we know the truth. Who knows we might even see you promoted.”

  “Get away. Me an officer? That’ll be the day. I just fought to stay alive.”

  “That’s all any of us do isn’t it?”

  There was a companiable silence as they watch their lines bobbing up and d
own. When Gaius spoke it was as though his small quiet voice was a shout and the other started in surprise. “I don’t want to die. I am afraid of dying.” There was a pause as the two older men looked at the youth. “I am not afraid of fighting; I just don’t want to die. Does that make me a coward?”

  “Does not wanting to die make you a coward? If that was a rule then the whole fucking turma would be cowards for none us want to die.”

  “That’s right we don’t want nor expect to die but Gaius, “Drusus added gently, “it helps to be prepared for it can come to any of us. You fought bravely, almost too bravely at the tower. You weren’t afraid then.”

  “No but when I saw how close we all came to death I knew I had too much to live for and I am afraid of going into a hole, a hole like the one we put the queen in.”

  “That isn’t death. That’s just the body being respected. You aren’t in your body. You are with the Allfather, Metellus, Julius and all the other dead comrades. Don’t be afraid of a small dark hole, for that isn’t death.”

  They fell to silence once again each of them pondering their own vision of death. Decius broke the moment. “And the secret is, son, fight like you did at the tower. When you fight like a mad bastard there’s no-one who can stand up to you.” He sniffed, “Except of course me. Whoa there!” He suddenly stood up as his line became taut. “Got one! Look at it! Got one!”

  Suddenly the three of them were as children, all thoughts of death forgotten as they held the small river trout as though it was a mighty beast they had taken hours to subdue.

  Macha and Marcus were lying in the shelter of the wagon. Marcus was stroking his unborn child. Each was lost in their thoughts.

  “Do you have to go Marcus? The baby is due soon, perhaps in the next few days. He has been kicking. I think he wants to see his father.”