Hosker, G [Sword of Cartimandua 02] The Horsewarriors

by Griff Hosker

  “You truly are kind master.”

  “We will be kind to these people Atticus but to those savages who murdered our shipmates and the good men of this village we will be ruthless.”

  Atticus face hardened. “Aye sir and you can count on me.”

  “I intend to, do not worry, I intend to.” He had used and taken advantage of young men for twenty years in the auxiliary; he would continue to do so and to milk this community for all that they were worth.

  Chapter 2

  The New Governor 70 AD

  Quintus Petilius Cerialis had spent most of the long journey from Rome still smarting from his briefing from Vespasian and his inner circle. He smashed his hand down angrily on the stern of the ship. Damn that Bolanus! How could he have been appointed as Governor when he managed not only to lose a valuable ally and client queen in Cartimandua but also nearly a whole legion. But for the fortuitous and timely intervention of an ala of cavalry then Rome’s tenuous grip on their northernmost province would have been loosened not to say lost. His instructions had been quite clear; bring order to the province by whatever means. There was also an implied message of ‘or else.’ The Emperor knew the province well having served here in the early days of the invasion. Although preoccupied in the east if he had to come to Britannia to pacify it then Quintus Petilius Cerialis would suffer and his military career would be over.

  He looked down again at the tablet in front of him which gave the numbers and dispositions of his forces. They were thinly spread. The second Augusta was still dealing with the insurgents in the south west. The powerful fourteenth legion was already on its way back to take part in the wars in the east. The twentieth legion was with his most successful general, Agricola, subduing the west and the troublesome island of Mona. The Second Adiutrix was a newly formed legion and he could not rely on it yet. He had decided to base it at Lindum. The Ninth was Cerialis’ own legion and he had been prefect during the Boudiccan uprising. He knew them better than any legion and, more importantly, he trusted them and their officers. He had two reliable, though committed legions, one new to the country and one brand new legion untried in any action. He had auxiliary units but he knew that any campaign would be won by the legions. The auxiliaries were only there, as far as he was concerned, to stop the legions taking casualties before they could attack.

  The sun was setting but the white cliffs to the north looked almost red. Cerialis hoped it was not a bad omen. In his experience a good soldier needed good fortune almost as much as he needed brave soldiers and the right battlefield. He would have little time to spend at Camulodunum which was still in the throes of being rebuilt following the savage slaughter unleashed years earlier by Boudicca. He would have to race up to Lindum, the northernmost fortress before finally taking the Ninth to the new fortress at Eboracum. The new fortress was still being built and he needed to make sure he had a secure base from which to attack. At least his deputy, Sextus Julius Frontinus would be able to mop up the west and remove that headache. He would have to leave the second Adiutrix at Lindum, which was least settled. They would be his reserve and he would have to test the mettle of the Ninth in the coming months. Bolanus had been given two years but Quintus knew that he needed success in less than a year for this new Emperor, who was familiar with the province, would not be patient. The Brigantes were about to learn a savage lesson at the hands of the new ruthless Governor.

  North of the Dunum Fluvius

  Marcus Aurelius Maximunius half turned in the saddle as his two turmae struggled to climb the steep banks of the river. They had left the newly built fort at Morbium before dawn and it was now nearly noon. The rest of the much depleted ala was some way behind awaiting a report from Marcus’ two turmae. The first part had been easy for they had travelled across the new Roman bridge and up the partially paved Roman road which one day would become Dere Street but which was now an easier way of travelling in this road less land.. They were deep in enemy territory now and Marcus was well aware that he had some fresh recruits with him. His old decurion, the fabled Ulpius Felix, would have trained them for at least another three months before going on such a hazardous patrol but there were so few experienced men that he had had no choice. He threw a leg over his horse’s hindquarters and slid to the ground. “Rest the horses. Gaius, put out two sentries.”

  Leaving his chosen man to manage the troopers the decurion climbed the slope and peered over the top, careful to avoid being silhouetted against the skyline. They were on the borders of Brigante territory and he knew little of the tribes who lived this close to the coast. He suspected they were allies of the rebel Brigante but he had no way of knowing. The Carvetii, the tribe which the dead Venutius had led also lived close to here. There were no allies. The best he could hope for was neutrals. They had seen no-one since leaving their fort and this worried Marcus. It was almost a year since the battle of Brocavum when his great friend and mentor Ulpius Felix had died killing Venutius, the king who had ordered the death of Cartimandua Queen of the Brigantes. Just thinking about Ulpius made Marcus slide his hand down to the mighty sword he carried, the sword of Cartimandua. If the Brigante rebels knew that he wielded their most holy weapon then they would not rest until he was dead and it was returned to them. That was the main reason he carried it with him at all times; that way anyone who saw it would be on its receiving end and could tell no-one.

  Thinking back to the dark times after the battle Marcus remembered counting up the four hundred auxiliaries who had survived. Almost as distressing was the number of dead mounts. The result was that even after the vexillation returned from the abandoned Glanibanta fort they only had four hundred and thirty men and one hundred and fifty mounts. Even now they only had five hundred men and less than half were mounted, although the prefect, Flavius Bellatoris had promised them replacements of both men and mounts. Even the prefect had had to take on the role of Decurion Princeps as all the senior decurions had died in the mighty battle. He glanced back to the troopers. There was only Gaius and Lentius that he knew well. He had grown and changed dramatically from the eager callow youth of two summers ago. Now he was a battle hardened veteran and Marcus knew it was only a matter of time before he would have to put him forward as decurion. He always missed Ulpius but at times like this he missed his friends Drusus who was with Decius, Metellus and especially the irascible Decius Flavius now a decurion with the rest of the ala.

  He turned back to view the distant woods and scanned them from east to west. He saw nothing. There was no movement and, surprisingly no birds. He was about to rejoin his men when he noticed a movement from the corner of his eye. He fixed his attention on the centre of the wood and he saw the warrior low down on his pony’s back; it was the enemy. Which enemy he did not know but it was an enemy. He slid down the bank. “Mount!” He gestured to Gaelwyn their Brigante scout. “Belly up the rise and identify the warrior near the woods.” The Brigante scampered up like a squirrel up a tree. “Gaius, take half the men and head east. If this warrior sees us I don’t want him heading back in that direction. The rest of you we will head west. I want this warrior alive. You,” he pointed to a young warrior,” Er Flavius have your bow ready and take down his mount. Not the man. Got it?” He nodded a nervous reply and Marcus wondered about the wisdom of taking over forty untrained men as the main scouting party.

  Gaelwyn quickly mounted his pony. “It is a Novantae.” The way he said it implied that it was so obvious that Marcus should have known. He still could not distinguish between the tribes. Impishly he added, “From the west. They are close allies of the Carvetii.”

  “Thank you, you wise old, “He paused, “man. Right Gaius you take your men down the valley and we will head straight across. Ride!”

  As the best horseman in the ala Marcus soon found himself ahead of his men and he had to rein in his mount Moon Child. In time his troopers would become more proficient but the battlefield was not a good classroom. The enemy scout saw them and turned, as Marcus had expected, east. Suddenl
y the file of riders following Gaius appeared and he whipped his pony around with a dexterity which impressed Marcus. He headed back towards the wood which worried the decurion as he would soon lose the heavy cavalry mounts in that tangled mass. “Flavius!” He shouted over his shoulder. He hoped the recruit would realise what was wanted. The boy galloped past unslinging his bow as he did so. His riding impressed Marcus who saw that he controlled his horse with his knees; all troopers were supposed to be able to do so but the decurion had found that many could not. The grain fed mount quickly gained on the warrior who kept glancing back. Flavius first arrow over shot as the Novantae jinked right. The manoeuvre cost the fleeing horseman distance and the next arrow plunged into the horse’s rear. Although not a fatal wound it made the mount more difficult to control and Flavius notched his next arrow confident that he could lame the horse. Marcus realised with dismay that the edge of the woods was a mere ten horse lengths away. The last arrow flew true and would have hit the pony on the right rear had the tribesman not repeated his jinking manoeuvre and the arrow struck the side of its head. It was killed instantly and pitched forward. The rider flew through air to crash into the bole of a tree. The troopers raced forward in case he ran off but when they arrived he was still recumbent, he was dead.

  “I am sorry sir. I did not mean to kill the beast.”

  “And yet you did.” As soon as he said the words he regretted them. The boy had done all that could be asked of him. “Do not worry Flavius it was good shooting but the fates were not with us. Gaelwyn search the body. I want a volunteer to find the ala.” The words were barely out of his mouth when the thought rushed into his head. ‘I should have detailed a man’ for he knew who would volunteer.

  He heard the voice cry, “Me sir, I volunteer.”

  He turned and looked; he was correct. It was Macro so keen he made Gaius, once the most energetic and keen member of the turma look like a dormouse about to hibernate. The truth was he was a very likeable young man. He was powerfully built, in fact some said he would have made the perfect legionary for he would have been as a rock in line of battle, and very hard working but he insisted on volunteering for everything. He was also so full of self confidence that had Marcus asked for a volunteer to take on the whole of the Brigante he would have jumped at the chance. “Macro! Why I am not surprised? Do you think you can find the ala?” Gaius smiled for he knew as all the rest of the turma did that Macro would reply yes. “Forget that, stupid question. You could find the end of a rainbow couldn’t you? Don’t answer that you moron! Find the ala and tell them that we have found a Novantae scout. “He looked at Gaelwyn for confirmation and the Brigante nodded. “That means that the main force may be nearby. And don’t flog your mount into the ground.” The young man grinned, saluted and rode off south whooping loudly. “And don’t be so noisy about it!”

  Gaelwyn searched the body and the men began hacking chunks of meat from the dead pony. “Don’t cook that yet;” ordered Gaius anticipating Marcus’ next command, “the rest may be close enough to smell the smoke. At least we will eat well tonight.”

  “Find anything?”

  “He is a Novantae scout and he has not ridden far. He has no provisions so I assume that he would be eating with the main party which means they are, “the scout looked up at the sun “within camping distance. He is lightly armed, “he held up a dagger and sling. “I would think that he is young and he is has yet to fight in a battle.” He gestured at the bare arms; there were neither tattoos nor trophy torques.”

  “Ride back along his line of march and see if you can see the main party. Don’t get spotted!”

  Gaelwyn snorted in a derisory manner. “Had I have been him you would still be lying in the valley awaiting food.” In one movement he mounted his pony and sped off back towards the valley. Marcus knew that the wily little warrior would not be spotted. He was the best scout since poor Osgar had met his end defending Cartimandua when she fled Stanwyck.

  “Rest your horses. Let them eat the grass. Gaius, detail two sentries. I will be, “he looked around and pointed to a large oak, “under that tree asleep.” The young troopers looked at each other with amazement. Their leader the infamous Marcus was sleeping with the enemy close by. To the young men he was all they would ever want to be.

  The sun was beginning to set by the time Gaelwyn returned. He sniffed contemptuously at the butchered carcass; the look told the recruits that he would have done it better. Gaius nodded to him and they went over to the dormant decurion. “I can hear you both. Well, “he said raising himself onto one elbow, “where are they?”

  The Brigantes did not use time as the Romans did; instead they used instead the time it took to get to places. “Half a Roman march.”

  “Good that means they won’t smell the smoke and they won’t surprise us. Gaius get that meat cooked I am starved. How many men are there?”

  The Brigante shrugged, “A couple of war bands. Twice your number of cavalrymen.”

  “So over a thousand and they are Novantae?”

  “Yes, mainly on foot with some ponies. Some have armour,” he added meaningfully.

  Just then they heard the hooves of the rest of the ala approaching. Marcus noticed with pleasure that the decurion of the lead turma was his old friend Decius. “I knew the minute we started cooking you would be here.”

  “Well as long as you are not cooking I will eat. And what are we eating?”

  “Pony.”

  “Excellent.”

  The look of horror on the faces of the men of Marcus’ turma was universal. They had counted on eating the pony themselves not sharing it with the voracious Decius. “Spoils of war, Decius spoils of war, although I may invite you to our fire.” He looked around. “Where is the prefect?”

  Decius grinned, “I think he finds the saddle a little harder than he used to. He has stopped a couple of time to, “he grinned conspiratorially, “consult the map. He will be along later.” He looked over to his turma. “Lucius picket the horses and put out some sentries.” He looked up as he saw Gaius. “Well young Gaius how is it being a chosen man?”

  Before he could answer there was a cough from behind the decurion who turned to reveal Macro. “I found them sir and I brought them,” he added lamely,” as fast as I could.”

  The three of them looked at him, then each other and burst out laughing. “Well Marcus I see you have a new Gaius to replace this sober young leader I see here.”

  “Well done Macro, rub down your mount and rejoin your comrades, you have done well.”

  Macro strode off as though he had completed the labours of Hercules. Gaius shook his head. “He will now regale the rest of them with the details of the whole journey from beginning to end. There will be warriors he had to avoid, rivers to swim,”

  “Carrying his horse of course,” added Marcus.

  “And all without a wound,” finished Decius.

  “Ah I see my young recruit has ridden with you today then?”

  “Is he always so keen?”

  “Always but to be fair he is a good trooper and would do anything for our decurion here,” smiled Gaius. “He hero worships him a little.”

  “Before you get too big for your own boots young Gaius I would look at myself first.” Decius was delighted when Gaius blushed like a virgin and scampered off to the roasting meat.

  Just then another familiar voice sounded. “Well done Gaius I love roast pony.”

  “Drusus there might be a little for Decius but a man of your appetite…”

  “Think yourself lucky Lentius is with the rearguard or you would be eating mane and tail stew.”

  As they laughed and slapped each other about the shoulders Flavius Bellatoris rode up and gingerly dismounted. “I am glad that my decurions are so happy it makes an old man happy. How in Hades name do you do this every day?”

  “I seem to remember Ulpius Felix told us tales of the two of you doing so yourselves.”

  “Aye,” the prefect cackled, “but we were youn
ger and fitter. This is a young man’s game.” He pulled Marcus over to one side and spoke quietly. “This will be my last campaign. When we return I will recommend you for Decurion Princeps that way I will get to sleep in a soft cot until my retirement.” Marcus looked up in surprise. “Oh you are ready. Old Ulpius knew that and we need experienced men with these, “he waved his arm vaguely around the camp, “boys. And now let me sit down and you can give me your report. I assume you have wine to go with the pony I smell?”

  Marcus smiled wryly, “Would an old campaigner like me fail to anticipate his leader’s comforts? This way. Gaius, food and wine. Come Decius.”

  Later that evening when they had eaten sufficiently and drunk enough so that the prefect could sleep on the hard ground the three of them discussed the course of action for the following day.

  “Why don’t we just wait for the bastards here and ambush them?” The very blunt Decius always followed the line of least resistance.

  The prefect smiled as Marcus gave the intuitive answer he knew he would. “This is their line of march; true for it is where we saw the scout. But the scout did not return, nor did his pony...”

  “So they will wonder where he is.”

  “They will wonder where he is and be suspicious. Were I their leader I would travel west as they planned but further north. Remember they cannot be heading for the bridge as we have the fort there. Their only route is through one of the fords further west. We know where they are going. I would also have scouts beginning to infiltrate those woods.” Decius looked in mock alarm at the woods which suddenly seemed threatening and dangerous. “They will not worry until he fails to return.”

  “Probably about now.” Interjected the prefect happy to hear the clear analysis from the man he intended, one day, to lead the ala.

  “Right about now. They will spend some time debating and then send his scouts out so that they will arrive just before dawn.”

  Decius’ grin was from ear to ear. “By which time our lads will already be there and we’ll gut the bastards.”