Hosker, G [Sword of Cartimandua 07] Trajan's Hunters

by Griff Hosker

  Trajan’s Hunters

  The Sword of Cartimandua Series

  Book 7

  By

  Griff Hosker

  Published by Sword Books Ltd 2014

  Copyright © Griff Hosker

  ThirdEdition

  The author has asserted their moral right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.

  All Rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, copied, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written consent of the copyright holder, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

  Prologue

  Rome- the Imperial Palace

  The Emperor Trajan was glad to be back in Rome after the highly successful but exhausting campaign which had finally added Dacia to the Roman Empire. The barbarians had been a constant thorn in the side of a Roman behemoth which was still grinding inexorably eastwards. Hadrian, who was to all intents and purposes Trajan’s heir, stood patiently to one side awaiting the inevitable wave of the hand which would summon him to the desk already overly festooned with maps and tablets. At the age of thirty Hadrian had already accompanied the man he revered most in the world across the Empire from Germany to Dacia. He knew from experience that Trajan was the most patient and thorough of men who weighed every eventuality before making a decision. Hadrian had been impressed, on their travels, with the building work which Trajan imposed upon the conquered territories. Roman influence was clearly demonstrated and, as with the mighty new bridge across the Danube, helped the increasingly stretched Roman army to control land which far exceeded the manpower they had to dominate such conquests. It seemed that the larger the city of Rome became the more land she needed to support it. Goods and men came from every corner of the known world to the port of Ostia and thence to Rome, the centre of the world.

  The hand gestured the acolyte over. “Sir?”

  “It is all about money Hadrian. We need money to make the Empire secure. It is buildings as well as men that we need.” He gestured at the north western corner of the map. “If we built a wall here then the whole of Britannia would be safe and we could harvest even more from that rich little province. And that would mean we would not need as many of our best troops to keep it in line.”

  Hadrian peered at the map. “How far would the length of this wall be?”

  Trajan used his dividers and said, “One hundred miles at most. It is manageable but,“ he threw the dividers down in frustration, “the building and the war in Dacia have exhausted the treasury and we do not have the funds for the endeavour.”

  Hadrian pointed towards the east. “And there is unrest near to Petra and Egypt.”

  “Which is where we will have to go this year for without the grain from those provinces we would have riots in the streets. That is the main reason why we cannot build a wall yet.” He looked at the intelligent young man whom he hoped would follow in his footsteps. He had been adopted by Nerva and it was a much more satisfactory arrangement than allowing children to be groomed as Emperors. One only had to look at the disasters that had followed Caligula and Nero when anarchy and chaos had reigned.”What would you do in my position?” He looked keenly at the man he hoped would succeed him one day.

  Hadrian took a deep breath; increasingly the Emperor was seeking his advice and the younger man felt the pressure that his advice might be acted upon. “Britannia is a rich province but we are not making the most of it.” He pointed at the report on the desk. “Look at that report. We had enough gold to fund the war in Dacia stolen by one of our provincial officials. If we were to make the province secure we could easily fund a new war in the east and consolidate the Empire with better buildings.”

  Trajan picked up the papyrus which he had left to deal with later. Hadrian was an organised and efficient aide. He looked at it closely. “Sallustius? Why does that name sound familiar?”

  Hadrian gave a smile. “He was the Governor of Britannia who conspired with the Governor in Germany to revolt.”

  “Ah yes. “Trajan did remember. It had been he who had put down the German side of the rebellion. “As I recall there was another Sallustius who was implicated as well as the uncle? Is the thief one and the same?”

  Hadrian shook his head. “It was Decius Sallustius who stole the gold and, apparently, the Governor’s wife. The other brother, Livius was arrested with a Prefect of auxiliaries on suspicion of treason but they were exonerated and rewarded.”

  The Emperor put the papyrus thoughtfully to one side. “So are you saying we should forego our Eastern conquests and finish the job in Britannia?”

  Hadrian felt the keen gaze of his mentor boring into him. He had learned over the past few years to be true to his beliefs, even when that meant risking the ire of others. “No sir but if we send the Ninth north they can subdue the tribes on the frontier and gain us time. If you send a new governor then he can reorganise the officials and ensure that the resources of the province are maximised.”

  Trajan stood and walked to the window the report in his hand. He stood looking towards the busy streets of Rome where the populace busied around like industrious ants. They adored the emperor, he knew that, but as many of his predecessors had discovered they were fickle and could turn and bite the hand that fed them at a moment’s notice. “Good advice. Who would you suggest as Governor? We do not want another potential rebel.”

  “No sir.” Hadrian picked up his wax tablet and consulted the list of names which were there. “Julius Metellus Galba appears to be the best candidate. He served with you in Dacia and those around him rate him as efficient and intelligent. Most importantly he is fiercely loyal to you.”

  “Galba? Ah yes I remember him now. Rather humourless and serious as I recall.”

  “Yes sir. But he is not going to need social graces where he is going, merely a strong hand. We need a man with the ability to grasp a province by the throat and not a comedian!”

  The Emperor smacked the document into his open palm. “Good. Here is what we will do then Hadrian.” He smiled paternally at the younger man. “It always helps me to talk things through with you. Clarifies my thinking. First we appoint Galba. Instruct him to send the Ninth north. Give him a legate who knows what he is doing, one of those who fought with us in Dacia. A new hand might well avoid the mistakes of the past. We will then use less silver in the coins we use. That will give us some breathing space and we will use that money to organise the largest games that Rome has ever seen. When we have conquered and subjugated the lands in the east we will turn our attention to Britannia and finally rid ourselves of that impertinent little itch.”

  “I will see to it sir.”

  As Hadrian turned to go the Emperor opened up the papyrus again. “One thing more. I would like to get my hands on this gold which was stolen by this Sallustius. Do we know where he went?”

  “Not really sir. He was involved in an uprising of the Brigante last year but he managed to escape with the gold he had stolen. Apparently sailed in a stolen ship from Eboracum and last heard of close to Gaul. We just know that he left Britannia.” Hadrian stroked his ear lobe thoughtfully. “Interestingly enough his brother came within a whisker of recapturing him.”

  Trajan’s face suddenly lit up with enlightenment. “Does this brother still serve Rome?”

  Nodding Hadrian took another document from the desk. “According to
his records very successfully. He is a brave and resourceful leader. He is now a Decurion in the Explorates.”

  “The Explorates eh? Spies like the frumentarii?”

  “Not quite sir. They are normally cavalrymen who act as scouts. Good trackers by all accounts.”

  “When you meet with Galba tell him to give this loyal Sallustius…”

  “Livius sir.”

  “Livius Sallustius then the task of finding his brother and returning the gold to us. He can take a few men with him.”

  “Sounds like a tall order to me sir. The Empire is a big place.”

  “Yes but who better to find a thief than the thief’s brother and from what you have told me he has an incentive to regain the family honour. If he as is as these reports say then he will do well. Besides wasn’t his brother the reason he was imprisoned anyway?”

  Grinning at the scale of Trajan’s plans Hadrian rolled up the unread papyrus. “It shall be done as you command.” The young man was going to have to find the proverbial needle in the haystack and if he failed then the penalty would be at best disgrace and at worst death. He hoped that the Gods were on his side for Hadrian would not like to be in his position.

  Chapter 1

  The day was fittingly wet as they said their tearful goodbyes to Marcus Aurelius Maximunius, once Prefect of the famous Marcus’ Horse and the wielder of the mighty sword of Cartimandua. The mourners, of whom there were many, were not as surprised as they might have been. Before the last snow had fallen his friend, Cato, had told Gaius and Gaelwyn his old comrades in arms that he was not well and although the warrior had fought old age it had been a fight in vain. His body, which had been wracked and ruined by war, torture and poison, had nothing left to fight the ravages of age. The end had been both peaceful and dignified; he had been surrounded by his friends at the last and they had all said their goodbyes. Each one sharing a personal memory of the cavalryman whose renown had resulted in the ala of cavalry being named in his honour. As he drifted into his last sleep, still smiling, Ailis, the wife of Gaius Aurelius and the cousin of Marcus’ murdered wife Macha had nodded, “He is now with his family and it is fitting that he smiles.”

  “Aye, and I will be seeing both him and the Allfather soon myself.”

  “Pah! Uncle Gaelwyn you will outlive us all.”

  Now as they gathered at the quiet corner of Marcus’ horse farm they each shared their memories of a great warrior. Gaius remembered the kind young trooper who had taken him under his wing and protected him. Ailis remembered the man who had rescued her from slavery. Gaelwyn hearkened back to their days as the elite strike force in northern Britannia when he had scouted for Marcus’ Horse. The young Explorates Macro and Marcus just cried as they thought of the hero they had worshipped from their earliest times. Livius Lucullus Sallustius was as sad as the boys but fought the tears. He had known the darkest hours imaginable as he had waited with his friend to be executed at the whim of an Emperor. He had seen, at close hand, the great skill and intelligence of a superb leader and he had witnessed heroic deeds which seemed to come from the tales of ancient Greece. He had been as close to Marcus as any and, lacking any family of his own would probably miss him the most.

  The service, if one could call it a service, was largely silent. His closest friends, Gaius, Livius, Cato and Gaelwyn lowered the emaciated body dressed in his finest armour into the rock lined grave. The two boys laid Marcus’ weapons into the ground along with other objects precious to the dead warrior: his wife’s torc, his vine staff and his children’s amulets. Finally Ailis placed the coin beneath his tongue. The stone slab was lowered reverently onto the grave and each mourner placed a rock on top of the granite. The mound which stood was testament to the number of mourners and the ex-Prefect’s renowned kindness and popularity. There were representatives from the Ninth legion, the Batavians, the Tungrians, Brigante and Carvetii chiefs and even the chief official from Eboracum. The mound would be left as it was for a week and then sods of turf would be laid upon it. Eventually it would blend into the landscape in the land that Marcus had chosen to live; far from his native Cantabria in the far away land of Hispana.

  Gaius and Ailis looked over to Livius and nodded. He stepped forward and drawing forth the sword of Cartimandua looked heavenward. “Allfather welcome a warrior to your host. Welcome Marcus Aurelius Maximunius to join his brothers, Ulpius, Macro, Decius Brutus and all the other warriors who fought alongside our friend. We swear by the sword of Cartimandua that we will remember him and his deeds until we too join him.” He paused and as he raised the sword to the heavens roared, as with everyone else, “Marcus!” The sound was so loud that the horses, two fields away, started in fear. The silence which followed filled the air and almost on cue the rain stopped and a tiny shaft of sunlight peered benevolently from behind a black tipped cloud.

  In the tradition of the Brigante, Ailis invited all the mourners back to the villa for a funeral feast. The last of the winter ale and mead would be drunk and young oxen slaughtered. Gaius brought out some amphora of wine beloved by Marcus and drunk in his honour, as he would have wished. The way of the Brigante was to celebrate the life of the departed and remember their great deeds, to see joy in their life rather than misery in their death. The deeds of a warrior were to be measured in the painful heads the following day. Marcus’ life would indeed be celebrated and although the two young Explorates, Macro and Marcus and his elder brother, Decius, might regret the death of such a mystical figure they were looking forward to their first grownup feast and all that it entailed.

  The other women departed as soon as the men had been fed. Gaius held his wife tightly in his arms, he was of an age with Marcus and his friend’s death was a warning to both of them that Gaius’ time on earth was limited. Unlike Marcus, Gaius had all to live for and he wished to see his sons grown and grandchildren to indulge. “He was a good friend Gaius and I shall miss him.”

  “He was my oldest friend and now I remain as the last trooper from the Pannonians left to tell the tales. I wonder why the Allfather has granted me such fortune.”

  Her eyes wet with tears Ailis stared up at her husband. “Because you are a good man, you are the best that I have known. Marcus knew that for he told me so. He and Ulpius saw you as the embodiment of all that was good and fine.” She kissed him hard on the lips and, pulling back she wiped the tears from her eyes, “Now make sure those boys do not drink too much. Any nonsense and you and Gaelwyn shall clean it up!”

  Gaius smiled, the lover was gone, and the wife returned. “I will do my best but it is a rite of passage all men must take.” Snorting in derision and mumbling to herself, about boys never growing up, Ailis returned to the women and they would bemoan the behaviour of their men.

  In the fire lit main hall the men awaited the return of Gaius. As he re-entered they all raised their beakers and shouted a toast. Macro could not contain himself. “Tell us of the sword of Cartimandua and Ulpius!” Every voice pleaded for the story they had all heard a hundred times before but Gaius just nodded. It would do them all good to hear of the bravery and courage of a handful of men. Gaius was too modest to realise that, when he extolled the bravery and courage of Ulpius and Marcus, all in the room associated him, equally, with that courage. The three boys’ eyes were glued to their father and even Gaelwyn had to wipe a tear away when Gaius told of the killing of Venutius and the glorious death of one-eyed Ulpius.

  It was in the early hours of the morning when Gaelwyn and Gaius sat by the dying fire and awaited the return of Livius and Rufius who had just carried the young Explorates to bed. “We placed empty vessels next to their beds; I fear they will need them.”

  Gaelwyn and Gaius roared with laughter. “I can still remember my first battle with the honeyed ale.” Gaelwyn smiled fondly at the remembrance. “It was the funeral of Queen Cartimandua’s brother, killed by the Carvetii. I drank so much I did not rise from my bed for a whole day and I did not eat for three days.”

  Gaius shook his head.
“Why do we do such foolish things when we are young?”

  “So that we can look back as we do now and see that we learned a lesson.”

  “You are wise Gaelwyn.”

  “Make the most of it for I fear the next celebration like this will be mine.”

  “You are foolish old man.”

  “No Gaius, I know my body and I will be content when I go to the Allfather for I have been a warrior, I have been true to my friends and I have protected my family. What more can a man ask?”

  They all stared into the fire. Gaius glanced over at Livius who appeared to have been troubled by Gaelwyn’s words. Although he had drunk much Gaius was not drunk and he knew what troubled Livius’ heart. “You think of your brother?”

  Sighing, the Decurion leaned back on the couch. “Aye. Did it show?” Rufius put his arm around his friend’s shoulder and nodded. “I was so close Gaius that I could almost touch him and yet he escaped and my family’s name is still dishonoured.”

  “No Livius for you have redeemed your family’s honour with your deeds and there will be more.”

  “No only when the traitor is dead and I can have no rest until I face him sword to sword.”

  Gaius shook his head sadly. “Do not ruin your life in a useless quest. He is gone.” He turned to Rufius. “Do we know where he went?”

  “No. The boat headed out to sea and nothing more was heard of it. Neither the crew nor the boat returned.”

  “So they could have drowned or been wrecked?” Rufius shrugged. The sea was an unknown place to the young man whose roots were in the hills and mountains.

  “No Gaius, my brother lives. A brother knows these things.” Gaius noticed Gaelwyn nodding in agreement.

  “But you have orders do you not?”

  “Yes we have to return to Eboracum to meet with the new Governor. He has sent for the senior commanders in the north.”