Hosker, G [Sword of Cartimandua 02] The Horsewarriors

by Griff Hosker

  The prefect nodded. “Bluntly put but correct. We will leave here within the next couple of hours. Our most experienced men under you decurion. Decius will be in the woods ready to despatch those that come that way. The rest of the ala will split into two and await them north of the woods. You will wait decurion until you hear two blasts on the buccina and then flank them.”

  “Sounds good. Well I had better pick my men then.” Saluting, the newly promoted decurion strode off to pick the best men. The first one he found was, of course, Gaius.

  “We need men like the Decurion Decius Flavius, Marcus, but we need leaders like you more. Ulpius chose well all those years ago when he identified you as someone who stood out from the crowd. He saw in you, as I do someone who has vision and understands, even more than Ulpius did how to motivate and inspire the men of the ala. Tomorrow it is your battle. I will be there in the front line with you but you must lead. They will follow you I know but tomorrow we forge anew the sword that is this ala.”

  The next day the two wings of the ala were strung out below the crest of a hill. A small party, the bait in the trap, was camped a thousand strides from the northern edge of the wood. In the woods Decius and the rest of the turma were cleaning their weapons from the dead Novantae scouts who had been slaughtered as they crept through the woods in the early hours of the morning. Their heads were already on stakes although they were hidden in the woods. When the battle was over they would be displayed as a reminder of the power of Rome, after the battle. They now waited under the eaves of the trees.

  “I don’t envy those poor sods,” said Decius to Gaius. “There’s nothing worse than being the bait in the trap. Sometimes the rat is a bit quick and takes some of the bait before he gets it. That’s why I never volunteer.

  “It’s a dangerous place alright. “ Gaius suddenly stiffened. “I don’t believe it. He’s volunteered again.”

  “Who does he think he is, bleeding Achilles?”

  There in the small camp was Macro leaning against the hindquarters of his horse as though he were the decurion. Gaius shook his head. “No not Achilles, he is Hercules and he won’t stop until he completes all twelve labours. He’s either going to have a glorious death and short career or we are looking at the next hero of Rome.”

  Their conversation was cut short by the roar as a thousand tribesmen erupted from the foggy dell to the east. Both men were pleased that Macro had been prepared for they saw that all ten were in their saddles in an instant. Pausing only to loose a hopeful volley of arrows they fled west.

  “Right lads this is it. Wait for it. On two buccina calls we take them in the flank. Loosen your swords. We attack silently. I don’t want them to know we are there until it is too late. When they see us then you shout and scream all you like.”

  All the men loosened their swords for it had been a cold night and they didn’t want them sticking. The half a dozen archers put three arrows in their mouths ready for a volley whilst the rest hefted their javelins.

  Marcus could hear the thunder of the hooves even though he could not see them. He looked to where Gaelwyn waited with arm raised, watching the approach. Suddenly he dropped his arm and Marcus lowered his sword. The two lines began to move forward. On his left he could see the prefect at the head of his one hundred and fifty men performing the same manoeuvre. He raised his sword again and they began to trot, their javelins held in their right hands low, next to their horse’s heads. As they rose over the top they could see, a thousand paces away the ten members of the ‘Macro volunteer club’, as they had been nicknamed. Riding as though they were riding for their lives but in fact riding slowly enough so that the men on foot could catch them. Behind then, less than four hundred paces in the rear were the eighty Novantae horsemen and two hundred paces behind them the rest of the warband. It would be a close run thing. He turned to the Cornicen.” Be ready when I command. Two blasts right?” The man nodded his mouth around the mouthpiece ready to give the signal.

  He lowered his sword again, the gleaming sword of Cartimandua which sparkled even on such a dull morning and they thundered into the charge. The Novantae suddenly realised their dilemma but they were northern warriors and they believed they could win for these Romans were a new enemy to them. They too surged forward and began loosing arrows. Marcus grimaced as two of the volunteers fell from their mounts. He shouted. “Now!” The two blasts encouraged the Romans to ride faster as Decius and his men erupted silently from the right flank. As Macro and his men wheeled through the Roman front line.Those trooper hurled their javelins and then charged almost before the javelins had struck. They tore through the enemy cavalry like water through a sieve. With their heavy mounts and armour those horsemen who were not impaled on javelins were hacked and thrown to the ground by cavalry who were much better trained and equipped. .

  The warband saw that their cavalry was gone and the chief halted his men and formed them into a shield wall. This was the most protective formation the tribes had and was very effective, each warrior protected the man on his left with his shield. The problem was it took some time to get every man in position and the cavalry was closer than the chief would have liked. Marcus wasn’t certain, later, if Decius had been lucky or just chosen his moment well for his turma suddenly roared their shout and the left flank of the shield wall, faltered. It was only a momentary lapse but it was enough to create gaps for they lost their cohesion and a shield wall without cohesion is useless. The fifty troopers bundled the hapless left flank into their companions just as Marcus and the prefect hit the front of the line. The best warriors were in the front line of the shield wall and they all perished in the initial onslaught as the horses and mailed auxiliaries bowled into them. The ones who remained had not expected to be in the front line so quickly and the slashing spathas soon demolished all sense of order and planning. Every Novontae just fought for survival. Many ran which was the worst thing to do when facing cavalry for an unprotected back is an easy target. Soon the only ones not dead, dying or fled were the bodyguards of the two war chiefs who remained.

  The prefect held up his hand and the Romans, as well disciplined as ever halted. Riding forward with Gaelwyn he shouted over to the remaining Novantae. “You are defeated. We could kill you now for I have more than enough arrows and I see little armour. I would rather you lay your arms down and march back to you own lands.”

  Gaelwyn translated. One of the chiefs stepped forwards and spoke in halting Latin. “Do you think we are fools? When we lay down our weapons you will kill us.”

  “If I wanted you dead, “the prefect raised his arm and fifty arrows were strung into fifty taut bows, “you would be dead. If I give the command my men will pour arrows into you and you will all die for nothing.” The two chiefs looked at each other as Gaelwyn translated. They had been told that the Romans did not take prisoners. “Listen to me. Go home; raise crops and children, hunt animals and promise me that you will not make war on Rome again and you will survive.”

  The chief returned to the shield wall. An argument ensued which lasted some minutes but eventually the Roman auxiliaries could see the weapons being thrown into the ground. The prefect lowered his arm and the bows were relaxed. All of the Novantae began walking north led by the two chiefs except for one warrior who suddenly ran forwards screaming. His tattooed body had trophy torques and amulets and his eyes were wild with the hot blood within him. He hurled his mighty war axe at the prefect. Even before it was in the air the rebel was pieced by a dozen arrows and two javelins but the blade struck home and found its mark. It had hit the horse’s head and carried on, hitting the prefect on the knee. Even though the dying horse took most of the force the axe was heavy and sliced through the prefect’s flesh to the bone. It had struck him on the kneecap. By the time Marcus reached the old warrior his men had tied a tourniquet to stop further bleeding but Marcus and the rest could see that the prefect was crippled. They could see the bone of his kneecap and there was a jagged crack across it. He would soldier no more.
He would have the soft bed he had desired but he would be in pain every time he climbed into it.

  “Well, decurion, it seems I have fought my last battle. This is how old soldiers end their days; dead like Ulpius or crippled like me. Take command for you are now their leader.”

  Stanwyck

  The two half sisters of Cartimandua, Lenta and Macha had insisted that Marcus Bolanus allow them to refortify Stanwyck. They were now quite concerned that, as he had left his successor might not approve. Lenta was becoming quite outspoken about the Romans and blamed them for not protecting Stanwyck when Venutius had assaulted it and killed her family. Since Macha had borne a child to the Roman decurion, Marcus, she had become far more placid and supportive of them. In their increasingly frequent arguments Lenta had been loud and angry. Macha usually backed down and spent more and more time with her child, the young Ulpius. He had been named after the centurion who had been the lover of Cartimandua and had perished at the battle of Brocavum. She just wished that Marcus, the boy’s father, could be with her. Damn the Romans and their rules. They could live together, unofficially, but not marry. Worse he was stationed away to the north and rarely had time to visit. She ached for him and she knew that he missed both of them as his messages and occasional visits constantly reminded her. She yearned for peace so that they could have stability.

  Lenta, for her part, had taken to a powerful Brigante warrior called Aed. Aed was the nephew of the ex-king Venutius. He was a well built and athletic warrior. More importantly he had taken many of the Roman attributes and methods of war. He adapted the Brigante style of warfare. Many of the younger Brigante looked to him as the future; King Maeve was seen as too old and not the face that would make the Brigante world better. He had helped the Romans at the battle of Brocavum and he now led the loyal Brigante. He had shown both the Romans and Lenta a hope that the Brigante tribe could join in the Roman world and he might be able to increase the number of loyal Brigante. Lenta worried that this number was becoming fewer and fewer. There were weekly desertions and without someone like Alerix or Ulpius to inspire them they would not stay. Too many Brigante leaders had died in the bloodbath that followed the murder of Cartimandua and Lenta knew that she would have to replace her dead sister as a force for good and the identity of the tribe; Macha was too domesticated and overly concerned with her son and Marcus; Lenta had nothing else in her life. She began to feel hopeful again that with Aed at her side she would have some purpose in her life.

  She began her morning as she always did walking the ramparts and speaking with the people. She had deduced that her informal chats revealed much about the undercurrents in the fortress. She had encouraged the pottery makers and tanners to work within the secure walls. She had used her contacts with the Romans to develop markets for the Roman soldiers were well paid and just looking for places to spend their money. The year she had spent with the auxilia had taught her much. She had begun to increase the production of fine weapons. Her people were masters of metal working and Romans liked good blades and strong metals. Whilst some of the warriors might have deserted Stanwyck she was pleased that they had increased the metal workers and begun at attract those workers who would make Stanwyck strong again.

  She smiled as she saw the young men cheerfully clearing the ditch of the debris which had been thrown there during the last battle. Empty ditches made them more secure and she was sure that the new, self-proclaimed king, Maeve would soon be heading over the mountains to raid. She had insisted that Aed regularly send his warriors out on patrol. They had barely two hundred warriors who were loyal to the Romans but they were all well armed and mounted. Lenta had seen the advantage the Romans had had over the Brigante and Carvetii rebels and their arms and armour had resulted in victory over a numerically superior force. Her warriors might not be as well trained as the Romans but they were at least as well protected. Every warrior had a mail shirt, helmet, sword and shield. The shields were based on the Roman design with metal built into a wooden framework to make them stronger. Yes the Brigante under Lenta and Aed were well on their way to creating an army strong enough to fight alongside the Romans almost as equals and who knew perhaps in the future they would be indeed their equals. Satisfied she headed back towards the new hall built especially for them by the Romans; as she approached it she eyed the newly built bath house perhaps later she would take advantage of the Roman’s love of luxury and enjoy the freshly finished building.

  At that moment some twenty five miles away there was a meeting in a thickly wooded valley. She would have shivered, despite the warm bath she was about to take had she known what was to transpire but she was blissfully unaware of the events which were about to unfold. Maeve, or as he styled himself, King Maeve of the Carvetii and Brigante was alone apart from a single, muscular bodyguard. The man on his knees was his spy; himself well armed and muscled though younger than both the king and his bodyguard.

  “You say that the ramparts are all finished?” The spy nodded. “And the men armed as you are?”

  “Yes my lord.”

  “We will not be ready for at least a moon. “ He looked keenly at the young man. “You have done well, the deserters you send are making my army even stronger.”

  “Thank you my lord.”

  “But you must be careful. You must avoid discovery at all costs. Our other men can die, they are expendable but without you the plan fails. Do you understand me?”

  “I am careful my lord. No one suspects me at all.” He smiled grimly. “They are just pleased that I have not joined the other deserters. You need have no fear I will be there when you need me.”

  “Good. The signal has not changed it will be some time after the next moon rises. I am hoping that some of the Novantae will join us and then we will have sufficient men.”

  “I will be ready.”

  They clasped arms in a soldier’s salute and then the young man rode east, back to Stanwyck, back to the Brigante and back to his treacherous, traitorous work.

  Chapter 3

  The prefect did not complain during the whole journey back to the fort at the Dunum Fluvius. They had built a sick bay at Morbium and he knew he would be well looked after. The medical orderlies had made sure that the wound did not become diseased but it was obvious that his knee was shattered beyond repair. As soon as they arrived at the fort the doctor confirmed what all knew, the prefect would be retiring and Marcus would be in charge of the ala. Soldiers all knew that this could happen, a blade that could not be deflected, the accidental slip, any of a thousand events could end your life as a soldier and then you would face a world away from the one you had known for twenty five years.

  No-one had much time to rest for, since they had been out on patrol more recruits and mounts had arrived. While Flavius completed the reports and paperwork Marcus set to work organising the ala for training purposes. Decius might not have been the greatest strategist but Marcus recognised that he was a first rate training sergeant. The first decision the acting Decurion Princeps made was to appoint Decius as officer in charge of training. The normally bluff decurion was touched by the promotion and confirmed in the prefect’s eyes that Marcus was the right man to lead the ala. Whilst Decius chased and chivvied the men to build the training circle, the gyrus, Marcus sat with the clerks and Gaius assigning the new recruits to their turmae. Because they were now short of decurions, after discussion with the prefect, Drusus and Lentius were both confirmed as decurions. That took some of the pressure off the Decurion Princeps for he had four turmae that could organise themselves. He took the opportunity to spread out the more experienced men. Gaius was given a turma to manage until a decurion could be appointed. Much as he would have liked to promote his acolyte he knew that it might be seen as nepotism and in his own mind he knew that Gaius had much to learn. Gaius, for his part, did not mind. He had not expected promotion. The only part of the situation which did not please Gaius was that Marcus gave him the ‘volunteer’ Macro. “Sir of all the men you could have given me wh
y him?”

  “When I look at young Macro I see a younger, albeit heavier, version of you. If he models himself on you Gaius then I shall be happy.”

  Mollified Gaius went off to assign some organisational tasks to Macro who took to them like an eager puppy chasing a ball. When he left Marcus looked at the list and then asked the clerk. “Have we a quartermaster yet?”

  The clerk consulted his list. “The decurion, Lucius Demetrius, who was wounded at Glanibanta. The prefect asked him to take on the role when he arrived back at the fort last month but he is due to be retired soon.”

  Another problem for him to deal with; he would have to find a suitable replacement. Marcus rubbed the side of his head which had begun to ache suddenly. There was so much to do. It was not like a battle where you could focus on two simple things, killing the enemy and staying alive. Of course now he remembered that the prefect had asked the brave Lucius to take on the role and it delighted Marcus. He just worried why he had forgotten it.

  “Thank you.” He smiled at the clerk who was the oldest man in the fort. “I am glad that you have a memory for I have none. Now refresh my failing memory for other details. How many mounts have we? How many new recruits? How many need uniforms and arms and when will the new decurions be arriving?” If he thought he had asked too much of the old man he was mistaken, Aurelius reeled off the answers like someone who has learned them for a test.

  “We have eight hundred mounts; one hundred and ten need schooling.” Marcus nodded that was another task, who would school the horses? One hundred and twenty eight fresh recruits plus the one hundred and twenty who went on patrol,” he paused as though admonishing Marcus, “without the proper training.” Marcus grinned, Aurelius was correct but that had been the prefect’s decision. “We have enough uniforms and arms for a thousand troopers. There will be six decurions arriving within the week.”