Hosker, G [Sword of Cartimandua 02] The Horsewarriors

by Griff Hosker

  “Yet you said he disobeyed orders.”

  “He did! I said twenty paces.”

  “Had he been at twenty paces you might have all been killed so which is it did Macro’s presence save the turma or jeopardise it?”

  The silence was so heavy the Decius wondered if he could cut it with his sword. Marcus looked at the prefect. “I think, with respect, that Trooper Macro be dismissed I cannot see how we can punish the man who was responsible one way or another for saving the patrol from disaster.”

  After glaring at his son for a moment the prefect murmured, “Dismissed Trooper Macro.”

  “But sir…”

  As a relieved Macro left the room the prefect said loudly. “However Trooper Gaius did not obey his officer’s orders.”

  For the first time Gaius’ face showed concern. “But sir he was taking us away from the tree line and disobeying standing orders.”

  “He did give an order trooper and you do not know what other orders were given to him as your officer. You do not know, for example, if the prefect of cavalry had asked him to ride closer to the walls to inspect them.”Decius and Marcus both looked at Rufius, he was going to save his son by lying. “If Roman soldiers question their officer’s orders then we will have anarchy and the barbarians will win. Fifty lashes.”

  “Lashes is that all!”

  “Decurion Demetrius you are dismissed. Now leave us and see to your troopers.” The voice of the prefect was that of a scolding father. “Trooper Gaius you are dismissed. Punishment will be at first light.”

  When they had both left Marcus stood to leave. “Sir I think that was unfair. Trooper Gaius is a good soldier and he should not have the punishment on his record.”

  “He should not have questioned his orders.”

  “But your standing orders were disobeyed.”

  “How do you know I didn’t give him other orders?”

  “Did you?”

  The prefect stood up, his patrician face angry. “Be very careful Decurion Marcus. If you even imply that I have lied I will have you crucified. Do I make myself clear? Now go, both of you!”

  Chapter 8

  At Streonshal Gaius Cresens was enjoying life. There was a certain irony in the fact the very Romans who were hunting him had killed his fiercest rivals. He now had two settlements under his control; both of them paid him his taxes and called him master. He had even developed the pirates plunder into a profitable and legitimate business. It had become obvious to him that ships would still be wrecked; now, instead of killing the victims his people rescued them and their belongings but made a charge for their service. The survivors were so grateful that they all paid without question. Things were going so well that he had had a stone built villa erected at the top of the cliffs. He had insisted on walls and towers so that it could be defended. Now that he was master to nearly four hundred people he had his own bodyguard of ten hardened warriors who were without leaders and looked to Cresens for financial support. They had gravitated to Streonshal after hearing of the money the master paid. Atticus did not approve of them believing them to be little more than bandits but the master thought it prudent and in his eyes all of his decisions were good ones. Cresens had to pay them a little from his increasing horde of money but it was worth it for they gave him absolute loyalty and made him less dependent on the noble Atticus. Life was good.

  On the morning of the punishment Decius came into Gaius’ barracks. As soon as he entered he could feel the resentment the men of the turma felt about authority. He gave them a hardened stare which quickly made them disperse. Gaius just looked up his eyes wide with terror; there were few floggings in the ala but they had a reputation of being so painful that men cried and Gaius did not want to do that. “It’s not fair Decius and you know it.”

  “I know son but life isn’t fair is it? Look I have had floggings; most of us have. Just take your medicine. Marcus has wangled it so that you are to be moved into his turma and I have Macro. You won’t have to serve under him again. Now,” he looked furtively over his shoulder and then produced an amphora from under his cloak. “Get your shirt off and I will rub this on your back.”

  What is it?” he asked suspiciously.

  “Just oil and a few herbs and stuff. It will make your back a little numb but it will stop any infection, Trust me it will make life easier.”

  “Thanks Decius. Who is going to do the flogging?” Decius paused for a second and then continued to rub in the slightly herby smelling mixture. “Who?”

  In the quietest voice Gaius had ever heard he mumbled, “Me.”

  “You but…”

  “I was ordered and before you say anything if I go easy on you they will have someone else give them to you, the whole fifty and then give some to me. This will help and, “he looked directly at the young man, “for the pain I will be giving you, I am sorry.”

  This was the first flogging the ala had seen for Ulpius and Flavius had not needed to use such harsh and severe punishment. The troopers looked neither at the figure of Gaius, stripped to the waist and tied to a training stake nor even at the man who had ordered it, the prefect. Instead the combined hate of over seven hundred troopers, was directed at the young decurion Fabius. His younger brother Julius had managed to stand some way away from him as though he was trying to distance himself from the crime. Fabius appeared oblivious to the whole thing, almost bored as he stood at attention with an evil smirk upon his face.

  It was an ashen faced Decius who flexed himself to lay on the first stroke. He looked over to the prefect, part of him hoped that he would rescind his order but in any case he had to have the command to punish. “Carry on with the punishment Decurion.”

  Gaius had a stick in his mouth, mainly to stop him from biting his tongue off but also to make his screams less loud. In addition Marcus had made sure it was laced with a strong spirit which, allied to the salve on his back might diminish some of the underserved pain. The sound of the flail cracked sharply across the silent parade ground, making a noise like lightning as it snapped across his white, unmarked back. The first stroke sliced a thin red line across his back and Gaius stiffened as the tendrils of blood oozed down his back. The shock of the pain was so excruciating that the prisoner almost stopped breathing. Decius took his time with his second stroke and placed it well above the first one. Marcus and Decius had discussed how to administer the punishment with the least damage and they had both agreed that Decius should try to avoid the previous whip mark. Although apparently cruel they had both seen enough floggings to realise that the deeper the wound the longer it took to heal. The concentration on the placement of each blow made it easier for Decius to forget that this was a friend, a friend whose life he had saved. By the tenth stroke the whole of Gaius’ was traced with dripping, bloody wheals. Julius was looking decidedly green but Fabius still had the smug smirk on his face which fuelled the anger of the troopers. Marcus looked at the young man with sadness. As Decius had shown with his brother given the right support any man could become a better officer but that would never be the case with Fabius for these men might follow him to battle but he could never trust them; a blade in the back, a tripped horse, a tardy support any of these could result in his death. As Marcus knew, men had to trust their officers and the officers had to trust that when they went into action their men would be right behind them. He glanced at Julius. He hoped that the young man would not faint or vomit for although the men would understand it would diminish him in the eyes of his patrician father.

  Mercifully Gaius passed out at the thirtieth stroke and the ala breathed a collective sigh of relief. His bloody back looked as though his skin had been sliced off in chunks; the parade ground was covered in gobbets of blood and skin. As soon as the punishment was completed Marcus roared, “Parade dismissed!” Drusus, Marcus and Decius ran up to cut down the unconscious trooper. Macro brought along the bucket of salt and water. All of the troopers had given some of their own valuable supplies to put on his back. If he had be
en awake the pain was unbearable but his present state meant that they could apply it liberally. The antiseptic qualities meant that the wounds would not become infected. Marcus wrapped the bandages tightly around his upper body and they carried him back to his barracks.

  Marcus turned to Decius, “I am going to see the prefect.”

  “Don’t do anything stupid. Gaius took his medicine, that little bastard can’t hurt him again. The last thing we need is to have you punished as well.”

  “Don’t worry I am not going to give either of them that pleasure.” He strode over to the headquarters building. He was about to talk when he heard the thundering of hooves as a messenger halted his sweating horse just behind him.

  “Orders for the prefect, from the Governor.”

  Perhaps Rufius had been waiting behind the door or perhaps he had anticipated the arrival for he was out of the door before the sentence was ended. He imperiously snatched them from the rider without a word. Marcus looked up at him and shouted over a trooper, “Take this man’s horse and rub him down then take him for something to eat and drink. He looks like he needs it.”

  Gratefully the man said, “Thank you” and went with the trooper.

  “It seems the Governor wants a conference with his senior officers.” He scanned the officers gathered around him. “In light of the unrest I will take a turma with me as escort. Fabius Demetrius I will take your turma.” He paused, “You can accompany me. It will be good experience for you to see how the staff works.”

  Smirking his pleasure Fabius snapped off a, “Yes sir!”

  As they left to gather their belongings Decius said to Drusus, “Thank Mithras for that. If he had left that little bastard we would have had to explain how come he had his throat cut and bollocks sliced off, accidentally.”

  Eboracum

  The Governor looked around the temporary fortress that was Eboracum. The Ninth had done a good job but with the extra mules and staff officers it was a little crowded. The auxiliary units were camped out on the other side of the river and had built their own marching camp. In the slog up the east coast Quintus had been pleasantly surprised by the landscape which was not the harsh, wild one he had expected. The rolling hills and rich lush valleys showed him the potential of this part of the province. Once he had wrested control back from the natives it would make Rome and himself very rich. It gave added impetus to his mission. As soon as the prefect of the only cavalry unit available in the northern part of the province arrived he could begin to make his plans. Indeed he could do nothing until Rufius Demetrius arrived for no-one on his staff had any idea what they were facing. The intelligence they had assumed that the Brigantes were allies and, as events had shown, this was not the case. While he waited he considered his limited though professional forces. He would need to take a sizeable number of legions with him. He would leave a couple of centuries to garrison the fort along with a couple of auxiliary centuries. He had decided not to wait for new auxiliary units from Gaul and Rome but instead he had one of his tribunes, Antoninus Saenius, raising one from around Lindum. It wouldn’t do to raise one in Brigante country as he would never be able to trust them but he needed more troops.

  The tribune of the Twentieth, Agricola remembered the Brigante well from his previous visits. He now wished that he had spent more time around Stanwyck rather than just building the bridge and fort at Morbium. The Governor called him over. “You have made good time Julius.”

  “I travelled light.” He gestured at the hills in the distance. “It is more pleasant here than the wild and rugged place which is the spine of this land. It is almost peaceful here.”

  “It is. This is a rich country and we will harvest it. I only await Rufius Demetrius. Do you know him?”

  “I know of him rather than the man himself. He seems to be a competent officer,” he said guardedly.

  “You mean his mistakes are well covered? No do not answer I know what you mean. You know the ala though?”

  “They are a formidable force. I have fought with them. At the battle of Brocavum they were the difference between defeat and victory.”

  “Good then if he is competent he should not be too much of a liability and the ala should carry on performing well,” he shook his head, “I remember when I commanded the Ninth at Londinium when the bitch Boudicca rebelled. They were not the legion they are now and they nearly caused us to be defeated fortunately I managed to rally then and I am a half decent commander.”

  Julius grinned at the man’s candour. He had brought up the one disaster in his life making it clear he wanted honesty. “Rather like myself at Brocavum. Were it not for the Pannonians I might well have been decorating a Brigante trophy spear.”

  “So Julius what is the best way to crack this persistently irritating nut?”

  Morbium

  The prefect had been gone for barely half a day when Marcus ordered all the troopers to the parade ground. The previous day, as the prefect was preparing to depart, the senior decurions noticed sullenness about the men and, whilst they did not disobey any orders, they did not obey them with any degree of cooperation. As they sat in their barracks quaffing their watered down wine Drusus summed it up. “The prefect was wrong, he backed up his son and he shouldn’t have. That is not so bad but he then had one of the most popular men in the ala flogged. There’s neither sense nor reason in it.”

  “No, “agreed Marcus,” but then think of the battlefield. Does that always make sense?”

  “But morally the prefect was wrong. He has put all of us in jeopardy. The older men know the difference between that little shit and the rest of us but the recruits, and we have a lot of them, think we are all the same. We will have an officer no one can trust and us.”

  “Lentius is right Marcus. We need to do something about this.”

  After Decius spoke they all looked deeply at the ground as though trying to divine some inspiration. Marcus almost welcomed the mental challenge as it drove into the dark recesses of his mind, the recent losses he had suffered. He felt strongly about Gaius for he and Ulpius had nurtured the young man and, while Marcus could do nothing about his dead family, he could do something to help Gaius. “I’ll just call in on Gaius.”

  “You have a plan then?”

  Marcus looked at Decius, “I’ll call in and see Gaius; he paused,” and yes I do have a plan.”

  After he had gone Lentius said, “I don’t know how he is coping. If my wife and son had been butchered… well I don’t know what I’d do.”

  “I suppose that is what makes him Marcus. He was always a deep one. When we were both troopers he always thought more than the rest of us. I guess that is why Ulpius marked him down for promotion.”

  “Well he will need all of his strength now,” grumbled Decius, “we are going to war again soon and I for one want the men behind me to follow me without question not wondering if I am going to make a stupid decision and then hesitating.”

  The men stood at attention in their turma the decurions in front. They were in a hollow square with the same sullen expressions they had worn since the flogging. Marcus did not say a word; he just walked along each line looking into the face of each man as he passed. When he arrived at his own turma he halted and cracked his vine staff sharply on his greaves. In the still silence of the parade it sounded like the sound of the flail on Gaius’ back and some of the men started in alarm. From the sick bay Gaius emerged in full armour. He marched up to Marcus, saluted and then stood in front of the men. Decius looked over to Drusus and winked.

  Returning to the centre of the parade ground Marcus began to speak. His voice was neither angry nor censorious, it was calm and measured. ”Troopers when the prefect returns we will be going to war. We will be fighting for our lives against the Brigante. Those more experienced amongst you will remember how fiercely they fought last time and how many comrades went to the Allfather.” Even though they were on parade and at attention some of the men nodded. Marcus deliberately ignored the minor misdemeanour. He wa
lked around and as he spoke he gestured towards the decurions. “These men are your leaders. These men are your officers. These men will make the difference between life and death. These men are your decurions and you must obey them without question.” He stopped next to Gaius. “Without question!” He shouted so loudly that some of the turma swayed backwards as though struck. “This trooper is a fine soldier. He is my chosen man and that means he is, in my opinion, a leader and the best man in my turma. That doesn’t mean he is perfect and he can and has made mistakes. He made a mistake the other day didn’t you trooper?”

  The whole parade held its breath; the decurions wondered where Marcus was going because he was in danger of making the situation worse rather than better.

  “Yes sir.”

  “What was your mistake trooper?”

  “I questioned my officer in front of the turma sir.”

  “And what should you have done? No I will rephrase that trooper. If you felt I had made the wrong decision or interpreted an order wrongly what would you do?”

  “I would approach you sir and quietly explain what I thought.” He smiled, “Respectfully.”

  “Good and I, “he paused in front of Julius, “as a good officer would listen to your ideas and act on them. That is what a good officer does. I might not agree with you trooper for I might know just a little more than you but I would listen and I might ignore that advice. Then what would you do trooper.”

  “Realise that you might know a little more than me sir and obey the orders.”

  “Thank you trooper. And it is likely that had I received your advice I might have acted on it.” He turned to face the parade which looked less sullen and more focussed on the words of Marcus.”Before we leave Morbium I want all of you to realise that we are not only the finest cavalry in the northern part of the province, we are the only cavalry. That means that we will have to do the work of three or four alae. It is highly likely that we will be operating in small units. Your decurions will have to make decisions without senior officers to advise us. That is where the teamwork will come in for your decurions will need to know that you will support and back all of their actions .Looking around me now at the decurions and troopers I am proud for I know that all of you will not let me down. The memory of Ulpius Felix and Flavius Bellatoris will be in all of you. I have total faith in each and every one of the decurions before me.” Marcus had paused before Julius Demetrius to let him know he was included.” So let us stop walking around with long faces. Let us remember who we are. We are the Pannonian cavalry and there is nothing the Brigante can throw at us that we cannot handle. They have never beaten this ala and they never will. Are you with me?”