Fortress of Spears e-3

by Anthony Riches

  He turned away, speaking into the hall’s dark shadows.

  ‘One letter in particular made me realise what fools we all were to believe that Calgus was at war simply to expel the Romans from our lands.’ He turned back to face Iudocus, his face white with anger. ‘It was from you, Iudocus, telling Aed that Brennus was an old man and past his prime, with no “reliable” successor. Telling him that you could ensure the support of the elders, and therefore the people of this tribe, for a change of leadership should this prove necessary.’ He walked deliberately towards the elders, who to a man were slowly but surely inching away from their white-faced leader. ‘You condemned your king to death, Iudocus, and thousands of our warriors with him. Did you hope to take control of the tribe yourself, and find some innocent to be king while you pulled his strings from behind the throne? Some child, father recently dead in battle and whose mother was expected to pose no problem? Except my wife wasn’t taken in, was she? She saw through you in an instant, the way I should have done before we ever marched away to war and sealed both their fates. So you had her, and my daughter, tossed to the Selgovae dogs for their sport, and my son thrown to his death from the south rampart.’

  Iudocus put his hands out as if to defend himself, his face pale with terror.

  ‘It was the Selgovae, they…’

  A sheathed knife landed on the stone floor before him with a quiet clang, a small weapon more suited to a child’s hand than a man’s.

  ‘Before I started the climb up the south wall yesterday I found his body on the rocks near its foot, broken by the fall and picked clean by carrion birds. I knew it was him, this was still on the belt he was wearing. I gave it to him for his last birthday…’ He walked slowly to where the child-sized weapon lay, scooping it up and ripping off the rain-stained scabbard. ‘You had my son thrown from the palisade and you gave his mother and sister to the Selgovae as playthings. She’s dead, the women tell me, by her own hand rather than face any more of their torment. She killed my daughter first, a mercy killing you could say.’

  He tossed the child’s blade at Iudocus’s feet and turned away to stare into the hall’s shadows, wiping a tear from his cheek before turning back to face the elders.

  ‘You’re all guilty of this. You all nodded at this goat-fucker’s suggestions, and you all turned a blind eye when he murdered my son and condemned my woman and child to a slow death at the hands of dozens of Selgovae warriors. By rights I should kill you all, here in this den of your evil…’

  Scaurus stepped to his side, his face creased with anger and his hand raised to point a finger at Iudocus’s white face.

  ‘And we won’t raise a hand to stop the prince if that’s his choice. In fact I’d put good money down that Centurion Corvus here would take his swords to you alongside Martos, given the chance. He understands more than you can imagine about this sort of crime.’

  Martos nodded his thanks to the tribune before turning back to the terrified elders.

  ‘I should kill you all… but to do that would leave the tribe without leadership. I can’t take the throne, I was as much to blame for the king’s death in my pride as you were in your deception and plotting. And with my son dead I have no heir to follow me, nor the appetite to take another woman for the purpose of breeding a successor. So, I shall be the kingmaker rather than the king, and my word will be law unless you all want to suffer a death as undignified as that of those you betrayed, and for your daughters and granddaughters to be whores for the legions. My sister’s son will be king, and you will guide him in the years that remain until he is old enough to rule alone.’

  One of the elders opened his mouth to speak, but Martos raised a hand to forestall him.

  ‘The new king’s first act will be to sign a new friendship treaty with Rome, and this will include routine and frequent inspection visits to ensure that you fools are keeping your end of this distasteful bargain. This tribe will be an ally of Rome once more, and you will all work to ensure that friendship, or you will find this tribune, or one very much like him, calling you all to account.’

  The elders exchanged glances, hardly daring to speak for fear of upsetting the delicate balance in Martos’s words. Iudocus stepped forward and nodded solemnly, spreading his arms as if to welcome the prince’s words.

  ‘Most regal, my lord, you have shown as us all…’

  He stopped abruptly, looking down in confusion at the torrent of blood and bile pouring from his ruined belly. Martos had lunged forward with his hunting knife, concealed behind his back throughout his judgement on the elders, and ripped him open from hip to hip. He stepped back with a satisfied smile, watching as the stricken Iudocus fell to his knees and stared at him imploringly, a wavering moan of distress escaping from his lips as his blood puddled on the hall’s stone floor. The prince stared down at him contemptuously.

  ‘I said I was a realist, Iudocus. I didn’t say I was stupid. Besides, these sheep needed a reminder to take away with them of just how ruthless I’ll be if they ever stray from this agreement.’ He raised his voice. ‘I was careful not to open him up too widely, or to spill too much of his blood. This ruthless old bastard dies here, unaided and without any succour, and any man that touches him will die alongside him in equal agony. And when you’re dead, Iudocus, there’ll be no coin for the ferryman. I’m going to behead you and throw your headless body from the south rampart, where it can lie on the rocks to make a meal for the crows. Your head comes with me, as my guarantee that you’ll forever be caught between this world and the next. And as for you all…’ He pointed the knife at the horrified men standing around the elder’s spasming body. ‘This is the last and best warning that you’ll get. Cross me in any of what I’ve just commanded, and I will make sure you die just as slowly, and with just as little honour. Try me.’

  10

  Back at the fortress’s main gate, Marcus found a scene of orderly chaos as the Tungrians carried the last of the Selgovae dead through the wide archway and down the steep approach towards a rapidly growing pyre of wood that the other two cohorts were gathering from the nearby forest. Julius was standing in the gate’s shadow barking orders at the tired soldiers, and when he saw his fellow officer approaching down the fortress’s slope he waved a hand out over the plain below them, indicating the toiling soldiers crossing to and from the forest with bundles of firewood.

  ‘Once again the Twentieth Legion seems to have found its true role. You should have seen their first spear’s face when I told him and that tribune of theirs that the fight was already over. He looked like it was his birthday, and…’

  A shout from the wall above him interrupted his musing.

  ‘Horsemen! To the west!’

  Both centurions hurried up the ladder that led to the palisade’s rampart, turning to stare in the direction indicated by the sentry. At the limit of their vision, perhaps five miles to the west, Marcus could just make out a flicker of movement. A small band of riders with a long white banner trailing above them was riding for the fortress, the standard’s forked tail flickering in the wind of their passing. Julius shook his head with a disgusted look.

  ‘It’s the bloody Petriana. I’d know that dragon standard anywhere. I stood and watched the bloody thing fluttering in the breeze while they sat and watched us fighting and dying at Lost Eagle. And wherever that thing twists its tail you’ll usually find that wily old bastard Licinius. You!’ He shouted down to Scarface, who was standing at the bottom of the ladder. ‘Stop following your centurion around like some love-struck goat herder, go and find Tribune Scaurus and tell him that Tribune Licinius will be at the gate by the time he gets down here. Go!’

  Scaurus joined his two officers in time to watch the last mile of the horsemen’s approach to the fortress. He stared out at the approaching cavalry squadron without any visible sign of surprise.

  ‘I’ve sent Martos to get some sleep, he was almost beside himself with fatigue. So, what have we here, just when I thought life was finally about to turn d
ull for the rest of the year? My colleague and his men aren’t riding like men who’ve decided to come by and see how we’ve done for the want of anything better to do.’

  The Petriana’s tribune dismounted a dozen paces short of the gate and stalked up to the palisade wall with a grim smile, squinting up at Scaurus and his officers and then glancing back at the men building the pyre on the plain below the fortress. He called up to them, shielding his eyes with a raised hand.

  ‘Well now, colleague, I see you’ve accomplished your orders with the usual efficiency. Perhaps you ought to come down here and join me, though. I’ve something to tell you that will give you some pause for thought.’

  Scaurus climbed down from the wall after instructing Julius to keep the men inside the Dinpaladyr at their tasks.

  ‘You’d better come with me, Centurion Corvus, I suspect I’m going to need someone to take notes of whatever it is my brother tribune has to tell me. I may well be too busy banging my head on the palisade in frustration.’

  The two tribunes clasped hands, and Licinius waved a hand at the fortress with an appreciative nod.

  ‘Well done, Rutilius Scaurus. How long did this take? It looks as if your men are only just digging out your marching camp.’

  Scaurus nodded happily, jerking a thumb at Marcus.

  ‘We got lucky, or rather Centurion Corvus here got lucky on our behalf. That and a little intervention from Prince Martos.’

  He talked his colleague through the story of Marcus’s fight for the gate, and their subsequent discovery of the havoc wrought by Martos and the released Votadini warriors, and the young Roman found himself on the receiving end of a long stare from the veteran cavalryman.

  ‘Outstanding work, young man. Perhaps you should have chosen a more heroic name to hide behind, since it seems that you positively refuse to blend into the landscape and be forgotten. Which reminds me, there are imperial agents loose in the border area hunting for you. It’s hardly a surprise, but it seems that the praetorian tribune discovered that you’ve taken refuge with this cohort through a piece of battlefield gossip that eventually reached the wrong ears. Apparently that knowledge has already cost more than one innocent life in Rome, and the report I’ve received tells me that Perennis believes the combination of a praetorian and a corn officer will be strong enough to ensure that you’re brought to justice. Although I have to admit to being somewhat baffled as to what’s to stop a ruthless senior officer from simply putting them both in the ground and nobody any the wiser.’

  Scaurus frowned.

  ‘While I thank you for that warning, I can’t see you having ridden this far north to deliver that unwelcome news in person.’

  Licinius nodded his head, grim faced.

  ‘You’re right. My other intelligence for you is of a rather more pressing nature, and concerns a Venicone king that seems to have a hard-on for your cohort.’

  Scaurus gathered his senior officers in the Dinpaladyr’s great hall, its stone floor still wet where the blood that had poured from the dying elder, as he had bled out under Martos’s unforgiving stare, had been scrubbed away. Tribune Licinius took a cup of wine with Scaurus, Laenas and their senior centurions, lifting it in salute as the small group drank to their success in capturing the fortress.

  ‘But that’s not all we’re here to do, is it, Tribune?’

  First Spear Frontinius had greeted the arrival of the Petriana’s commander with an instinctive reserve, and now he asked the question that was on every lip in a respectful but questioning tone. Scaurus nodded in recognition of his senior centurion’s question, tipping his wine back and placing the cup on the table beside him.

  ‘No, First Spear, indeed it isn’t. Tribune Licinius?’

  The cavalry officer stepped forward, looking around the small group to take their measure before speaking.

  ‘Gentlemen, for what it’s worth, I don’t think that Drust has any intention of attempting to take this fortress. He has neither the time to spare in his march north, nor the equipment for any sort of siege. But if it isn’t territory that’s on his mind, something else must be dragging him so far out of his way home. Something that matters to him more than anything else. Think back, gentlemen, to that morning that we broke into Calgus’s camp in the forest, the day that we broke this rebellion into splinters and scattered it to the wind. It was your men that were detailed to search the Venicone section of the camp, if I have it right?’

  Frontinius and Neuto nodded with a grim glance at each other, both seeing where the cavalry commander’s reasoning was taking him.

  ‘And nothing of any great importance came to light? Or at least, nothing that was surrendered by your men…? I thought so. My guess, gentlemen, is that one of your men found something of the utmost importance to King Drust, and that he promptly stuffed it into his armour and kept quiet as to the discovery. Something small enough to conceal, perhaps a piece of tribal jewellery, a crown, or perhaps a torc, something worth enough money to make an entire tent party join the finder in his crime. I also think he tried to sell it to someone known for such dealing, even though I won’t be able to prove it until I get back south of the Wall and catch up with a certain stores officer. I’m pretty sure that he in turn recruited one of my centurions to help him with the coin needed to buy this trinket. A centurion who was then captured and tortured to death by Drust’s men, during which agony I’d be surprised if he didn’t buy a quick death with news of Drust’s lost treasure. All of which means, if I’m right, that your command is about to receive the undivided attention of eight thousand angry barbarians, all bent on recovering whatever it is that their king mislaid.’

  Tribune Laenas frowned for a moment before asking the obvious question.

  ‘So why can’t we just march everyone into this fortress, shut the gates and wait for these barbarians to get tired of camping outside and resume their journey north?’

  Scaurus shook his head.

  ‘That was my first reaction too, but the rainwater cisterns are almost empty and we don’t have time to refill them. The Selgovae haven’t allowed anyone out to fetch water for weeks, and the rain hasn’t been anything like enough to do the job for them. Add to that the fact that they’ve just about stripped the place bare of food, and there’s no way I can order almost three thousand men to take refuge here. If we camp inside this fortress we’ll end up having to feed the population as well as ourselves, and our water will be exhausted within a day or two. Unless Drust were to take one look and then turn around and head for home we’d be bottled up in a trap of our own making. No, gentlemen, I’m afraid that we’re going to have to fight Drust and his warband. Either that, or we run for our lives and abandon the Votadini to their fate. Not much of a choice, is it?’

  The tribal elders reacted to the news of the approaching warband with the smug equanimity of men well accustomed to the idea of their fortress’s invulnerability. It was only when the Romans had explained to them the parlous state of their supplies that they realised their predicament.

  ‘And if you think the Selgovae were bad then you’ll find the Venicones a revelation. They need food, and since you don’t have anything to offer them I’d predict that they’ll leave this hill a smoking ruin populated only by your corpses. Perhaps they’ll spare your children for a life of slavery, but the rest of you will die in ways that will make you beg for your ends.’

  Licinius stepped to Scaurus’s side, his face set equally hard.

  ‘You may live beyond the edge of the empire, but you’ve become accustomed to life in the shadow of what those of us on the southern side like to consider the civilised way of life. You trade your cattle and grain with us in return for luxuries, and many of you speak our language. The Venicones, on the other hand, despise us, and in consequence they also despise you. You’d be well advised to do everything in your power to ensure that they never come within sight of your walls, or you may find your entire tribe erased from existence.’ He stared hard at the dismayed elders. ‘If you do
n’t believe me, just sit back and wait for a while If, on the other hand, you’d rather take a hand in ensuring your survival, you’ll have every able-bodied person that can wield an axe or a spade gather at the gates as quickly as possible. I’ve an idea that just might get us all through this, but it won’t work without enough labour. To put it simply, your people can either dig or die.’

  The Romans turned away to leave the tribal council to their deliberations, and Scaurus raised an eyebrow at his colleague.

  ‘Got somewhere in mind, have you?’

  The older man smiled grimly and nodded.

  ‘We passed it during the ride here. We can make it ready in an afternoon, and Drust’s men are too far out to reach it before dusk. All it needs is a few hundred feet of earthworks, a few hundred carefully felled trees, and then some ankle-breakers and lilies, and it’ll be perfect. And now, if you’re amenable, I suggest that we go and find whatever it is that’s drawing Drust towards us like a runaway bull. Got any ideas?’

  Scaurus nodded tersely.

  ‘Just the one.’

  The Tungrian cohorts mustered as ordered, watched by the 20th’s bemused legionaries. Scaurus stepped out in front of his command, his eyes sweeping across the ranks of his men. He nodded to First Spears Frontinius and Neuto, and at their command the cohorts’ centurions barked the order that brought their men to attention. An uneasy silence settled across the ranks, disturbed only by the gathering number of men and women mustering at the fortress’s gate with spades and axes. The tribune raised his voice to be heard across the mass of men standing before him, raking them with flint-hard eyes.

  ‘Soldiers, you doubtless think I’ve paraded you in order to congratulate you for taking the fortress! And I have. Well done to you all! You will no doubt be fondly imagining that your fighting for the year is finally over, and looking forward to the march south and some long-overdue time in barracks. Perhaps you are wondering if you will be returning to your own forts. All of which is quite understandable… except for the fact that your fighting isn’t over yet. One tent party here, a few men among fifteen hundred, have presented us all with a problem. They are hiding a secret from the rest of us. These men are in possession of something that doesn’t belong to them. It used to belong to the king of the Venicones, and it now belongs to the Emperor by rights. One of you discovered it while we were searching the enemy camp, most likely, and tucked it away to sell later. We suspect that the man in question probably tried to complete the transaction that same day, once darkness had fallen, but for some reason the deal fell through, and he was left holding his prize.’