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

by Griff Hosker

  Seius moved swiftly through the woods finding the line of sentries stationed by Lugubelenus to warn of any deviation from the trail. He was aware that the trees were thinning and the land beginning to drop away which warned him that he was coming close to the end of the wood. Hope suddenly filled his heart. If the legion could make open ground then they would stand a great chance of surviving this disaster. Perhaps he would have the chance to ride to Coriosopitum for he knew that someone had to warn the commander of the war which had begun. The last sentry to die at Seius’ hand was close to the edge of the wood and Seius was warned of him by the man’s horse which whinnied. He could not see the sentry but he could smell the horse and he bellied along the ground until he saw the piece of brown coloured cloth peeking out from behind the tree. He slid his dagger out from his belt and slowly rose to his feet. The horse had sensed the Roman but the sentry appeared oblivious to his presence. In one fluid movement the Explorate stepped from behind the tree and slit the unsuspecting guard’s throat. The horse was tethered and Seius took the opportunity to mount. Ahead was open ground to the road which could be seen in the distance. He kicked the horse on and lay low over the saddle making his profile as small as possible.

  As he raced across the open ground the warriors who were watching for reinforcements saw him and they urged their mounts in pursuit. Seius saw them but he had not option but to try to outrun them. He was confident that he could do so for he was without armour and weapons whilst the warriors had swords and shields which would, in turn, weigh them down more. If he could make the road then he would easily outpace them. Glancing over his shoulder he saw that they were falling back already, well before the road but they had spread out as though they wanted to stop him changing direction. That suited him for his aim was the road. As he turned back to look for the road he saw that they were not the only guards and five warriors stood up a hundred paces in front of him their bows in their hands. Seius was not willing to release his hold on life quickly and he jerked the horse’s head to the right to try to avoid the men before and the pursuers behind. Unfortunately for the Explorate that merely exposed his side to the arrows of the hunters and three arrows ended his life. Seius lay just a hundred paces from the road, the road which would have taken him to safety and brought hope to the dying and decimated legion.

  In the middle of the Roman column the Prefect urged the men forward. The closer they could get to the fort at Coriosopitum the more chance more men would have of survival. It was hard for the legionaries to pass the dead bodies of their comrades whose lives had been lost gaining their toehold on the precarious path but it made them determined not to let their colleagues die in vain. “Keep your shields together.” Tired men could let their concentration drop and a lowered shield would mean death, not only for the tired legionary but the one whose side he was protecting. He tightened his own grip on his scutum as a wave of barbarians hurled their war axes and spears at the legionaries. Although the shields stopped the blades from penetrating, the blows weakened both the shields and the arms of the men carrying them. The small boys who were across the river were adding to the barrage with their slingshots and the whole effect was one of attrition as men were assaulted from every direction.

  The Prefect could see arms dropping and men falling to the arrows which flew from their left. He realised that nothing had come from their right and that gave them a chance. He shouted to the centurion of the Eight Cohort who was the closest officer to him. “Head up the slope away from the river.” He turned as the column began to veer to the right and shouted to the Senior Centurion of the Ninth just behind him, “Fill in the gap left by the Eighth.” Although men would still die they were no long four abreast, they were eight abreast and that meant that more men would survive and the Prefect knew that all that he could do was minimise the disaster. There was no avoiding the debacle caused by the arrogant Legate. He idly wondered where he was. He had not seen the man or his monsters since they had left the camp.

  Aulus Salonius and his ten remaining bodyguards had chosen discretion over honour. Soon after the cohorts had left the camp and whilst the First were demolishing the walls they slipped south and headed up into the trees on their horses. The Hunni were fine archers and the Votadini sentries they found were soon killed. Once they reached the top of the rise they could see beyond the river the mass of men swarming towards the increasingly thin line of legionaries. The Legate knew that it was merely a matter of time before they would be overwhelmed. It would, at least, buy him and his men the time to escape and reach Coriosopitum.

  When the King received the news from Baroc he summoned Aindreas. “Now is the time brother for the Selgovae to earn the love of the Votadini.”

  “We are eager to gain honour against the Roman invader.”

  “The Roman rearguard is holding up our efforts to surround them. If you could cut them off then we can destroy the rest.”

  Although the King of the Selgovae did not wish to risk his men in combat he had no choice. To refuse would show Lugubelenus that he had ulterior motives. He would, however, not commit too heavily to an attack; he would surround the rearguard but not close with them. When the Votadini had destroyed the rest of the legion and lost many man in doing so then they would destroy the rearguard.

  “My warriors will drink the blood of the Romans!”

  As the Selgovae marched off Lugubelenus did not change his opinion of his erstwhile allies but he needed all of his own men if he was to destroy the invader. He knew he had to destroy the legion to make a statement to Rome. No legion had ever been lost in Britannia and it might make the Emperor realise that he could not take any more land.

  He turned to Baroc’s messenger. “Tell your lord to continue to press the enemy. I will take my men to the edge of the wood and attack them from there.” He and his oath brothers took the five hundred men of the reserve and swiftly headed down the narrow, tree lined trail. They moved quickly to the ford and flooded across the icy waters. Once on the other side the trail rose steeply but the trees were thinner. Soon they would be at the edge of the wood and he could close his trap.

  Macro had found three sentries in the woods and all had died silently at his hands. Hunting men was less difficult than hunting skittish deer and he was amazed at how easy it was. He had a dilemma should he return and tell the Prefect that there was a way to escape, albeit difficult or advise him to keep to the trail? Perhaps there were more of the enemy ahead and he urged his horse on to gain the high ground. He sensed movement ahead and he stopped. There ahead of him were riders but as they moved through the trees he saw that it was the Hunni and the Legate; they were fleeing! Macro had been brought up, by his father and his comrades, with stories of honour, of soldiers fighting and staying with comrades and here was the leader who had led the legion into the death trap selfishly saving his own life and abandoning those men he had led to their doom. Macro became angry and determined to follow them; if for no other reason than to see if this was an escape and a way out of this deadly and final grave.

  King Lugubelenus was resting his men when his outriders from beyond the forest rode in. “We have killed three of their scouts trying to escape.”

  “Good. From which direction did they come?”

  The leader of the riders pointed to the south. “From that direction.”

  “Take your men and stop any more fleeing that way. They must have killed our sentries. Take ten of my riders and plug the hole. I want no more messengers leaving to bring help. These Romans die here, all of them.”

  Mongke began to believe that he and his last ten warriors would escape the trap into which they had fallen. Warrior for warrior he would back any of his men against these pathetically weak barbarians but they were outnumbered so heavily that he knew that would not be an option. He glanced at the pale, wounded Legate. As soon as their leader got them to a ship his usefulness would be over and they would find someone else to follow. This leader’s career was finished now. The money and treasure they h
ad secured was hidden about their bodies and they could and would travel lightly when they needed to. If they died and the Votadini desecrated the bodies of his dead comrades, as they would have done themselves, they would discover a treasure hidden in their clothes. Mongke was determined that would not happen. Urging his men on he afforded a smile as he saw the lightening of the trees which heralded open country and their escape.

  The first two of his men fell to their hidden assailants before they had realised what was happening. Ever the warriors, he and his remaining Hunni strung bows and six Votadini were thrown from their mounts by their accurate shooting. Suddenly men emerged from the trees next to them and thrust upwards with spears, hacked with axes and slashed with swords. Men and beast fell. Mongke saw a gap between Votadini and raced for it, oblivious to the cries of the Legate and the death throes of his comrades, all of whom were dying around him.

  Targh was the last warrior in the line, assigned to wait the closest to the open, clear space; he saw these demons, these defilers of women fall to the blades of his comrades. When the last horse tailed demon came his way he steadied himself and held the spear ready for the thrust and the throw which would impel it towards his target. The bushes, undergrowth and trees meant that Mongke only had one route to take and Targh was waiting for him, willing to risk being ridden down by the pony but determined to kill the last of the slant eyed killers. Mongke had not seen the warrior until it was too late. All that he saw was the broad spear head hurtling towards him. Thrown from so close and with such force the spear threw the warrior backwards and impaled him on a tree his body twitching its death spasms as his life blood and entrails dripped from the mortal wound. The last of the Hunni clan of Mongke died in a forest in Northern Britannia far away from the open steppes of Asia.

  The Legate looked around in panic. The Votadini had been so concerned with killing the demons that they had almost ignored the Roman General and Aulus looked for an exit. He jerked his horse’s head around with his one good hand but the loose pine straw and wet ground betrayed them both and the horse slipped crashing, with its rider, into the ground. The noise drew the Votadini like flies to a corpse and soon the Legate was a bloody piece of meat; the victor from Dacia had been dismembered and despatched in a small skirmish in an outpost of the Empire, his end viewed only by his killers and the young Explorate.

  Chapter 9

  In Coriosopitum the Tungrian Prefect was urgently writing messages for the Governor and the other Prefects of the threatened forts along the Stanegate. When Decius and the other messengers had arrived he had, at first, not believed their messages but soon it became clear that a disaster of enormous proportions had occurred on the frontier. The Ninth Legion, which had fought against Boudicca and put down countless rebellions, was in danger of being massacred. The whole of the province was in danger and all that stood in their way was a handful of forts and a few cohorts of auxiliaries. If the Ninth could not defeat them then what chance did they stand? Already his troops were busy improving the defences of the fort and deepening ditches. He was under no illusions; the fort at Coriosopitum was the key to the lands to the south after his fort the only place they could be stopped, however briefly was Morbium and then the whole of the province would be at their mercy.

  Decius was not happy. All he wanted was to return to Cassius and the Explorates but the Prefect had insisted that he ride with his despatches to Morbium and then Eboracum.

  “I have no riders of my own Explorate and if we do not get help then we will join the Ninth and the Province will go up in flames.”

  Decius looked off to the North, his friends and comrades were in the direst peril and he would be riding south to safety. He made a promise that he would return and he would find his friends he would ride faster than he had ever ridden before; if his friends were to die then he would die alongside them.

  * * * * * *

  Macro watched the Legate die and knew that there was no way out that way; the Hunni might be beasts but the young Explorate knew that they were good warriors and their end had been so swift he had barely had time to draw breath. He reluctantly headed his horse down the hill to report to the Prefect. He needed to know that he was now in sole command. Macro strung an arrow in his bow. He could see that there were even more Votadini in the woods now and he would struggle to do his duty and return to the legion. He gritted his teeth and kicked his horse on. He sensed rather than saw the first warrior who stepped out and aimed his bow at him. Macro’s reactions were just that bit quicker and the surprised man fell backwards. It was an automatic reaction for Macro to notch another arrow and guide his horse with his knees. The second warrior he killed was further away and did not even see Macro until it was too late. A third warrior leapt out with a sword and all the Macro could do was to swing his bow. The tip ripped out the man’s eye and no man can fight when he has just been blinded and is trying to push the glutinous mess back into the socket; and then he was through. To his right he could see a warband racing down to attack the cohort to his front. As he rode towards the line of shields and spears he yelled, “Explorate coming in!”

  The legionaries parted to let the young rider slide his horse in. As he did so he yelled to the centurion. “A warband is about to attack you!”

  Nodding his thanks the veteran shouted, “Shield wall!” Every shield locked instantly and a hedgehog of spears protruded to deter any frontal attack. When the warband hit the wall their momentum prevented them from arresting their descent and the front two ranks were impaled on the sharpened spears of the legionaries.

  Macro did not wait to see what ensued, he rode down the middle of the beleaguered Romans, heading for the eagle which marked the Prefect’s position. “Sir, the Legate and his men are dead.” He pointed up the hill. “The Votadini are on this side as well. If you head up the hill they are at their thinnest but you must be quick for they are reinforcing there.”

  “Thank you Explorate! You had better stay with us for a while,” he smiled, “See if you can thin their ranks with that bow. “ He added, “Aim for their leaders.” He turned to the nearest centurion and pointed up the hill. “Head away from the river when you get the chance.”

  Macro thought the advice unnecessary but he nodded anyway. Sitting on his horse made him an easy target but it also afforded him a better view over the men below fighting for their lives. He calmly scanned the enemy. When he saw a man urging his fellows on he fired an arrow which inevitably killed the warrior and slowed the attack. When he had emptied his quiver he dismounted. It was with some surprise that he noticed that he had been wounded by stones and nicked by arrows. He had been firing so swiftly that he had not noticed. Somehow it made him feel better; he was now a blooded warrior.

  * * * * *

  Marcus scouted as far as the hill fort but he was careful not to expose himself to their weapons. The occupants of the refuge had opened the gates and were preparing to wreak their own revenge on their besiegers. Glancing across the river, desperate to see if Cassius had survived, he saw the Selgovae flooding across the icy waters. He raced his mount as fast as it could go as the warriors from the hill fort flooded down the steep hill littered still with Roman dead.

  First Spear Piso had a line of skirmishers ready to repel any attacks as his elite Cohort dismantled the remains of the fort as quickly as possible. “First Spear! The Selgovae and those from the fort,” he pointed down the trail, now conveniently widened by the legionaries, “they are coming.”

  “How long?”

  “Moments!”

  “Thanks.” He turned and roared at the men still in the process of making the camp uninhabitable and unusable. “Stop work. Get your weapons and prepare to receive an attack!” He looked up at Marcus. “You had better get out of here you can do no more.”

  Marcus unslung his bow. “My horse can get me out quickly. I have twenty arrows and that means twenty less for you to fight.”

  Piso nodded. “Confident eh?”

  Grinning Marcus said, “Fo
r everyone I miss I will buy you a drink after this is over.”

  “I take the bet. And if you do win what do I pay?”

  “Just buy me a drink! For then I know that I will still be alive.”

  The cohort was lined up with a double century frontage. As the largest cohort in the legion they had the ability to fight in deeper lines. The barbarians erupted from the forest like a stormy sea. Marcus’ bow seemed to work by itself although the First Spear could see that he was aiming his bow carefully, for the ones who fell were the largest warriors or the leaders. By the time the Selgovae had covered sixty paces there were twenty bodies with arrows in them.

  “Well done lad. Now go and tell the Prefect that we are engaged and we will begin to withdraw.”

  “May the Allfather be with you!” Marcus kicked his horse on as the ragged line raced forward.

  The first volley of javelins slowed down the line and the second halted it. Piso seized the moment. “Forward!”

  The double century line moved forward and hit the stationary line of stunned Selgovae. The legion just marched over them and they stood for a heartbeat and fled. They had been bloodied and would not risk a frontal attack again. If this were a normal battle then the First Cohort would finish them but Piso knew he had to retain an intact force if any of the Ninth were to escape from this trap.“Halt! Right lads. Now we do it the hard way. We retreat but slowly. Rear rank, march backwards.”With a single century walking backwards the seven hundred men slowly made their way out of the valley of death.

  In the woods Aindreas cursed his losses. His eager warriors had disobeyed him and closed too quickly. He had wanted the attack to be made by Lugubelenus’ men. As his troops regrouped he was joined by Radha and the men and women of the hill fort.