Hosker, G [Sword of Cartimandua 02] The Horsewarriors

by Griff Hosker

  Decius looked sadly at his friend realising at last the depth of grief and the intensity of the man’s need for revenge. “Yes boss I understand.”

  All of a sudden a rider burst over the skyline. It was a trooper from Gaius’ turma. “Sir the decurion sent me.”

  “Report.”

  “The decurion has crossed the trail of a large number of horsemen travelling north towards Brocavum. He is trailing them.”

  “Could he identify them?”

  “That Brigante scout, Gaelwyn, thought that the tracks were made by mailed Brigante warriors.” He looked bemused. “I don’t know how he knows that.”

  “Because he is a scout and a bloody good one at that. You useless excuse for a donkey’s dick!”

  “Right. Lead us to them. Single column.” The four columns suddenly became one and they headed after the trooper now lathering his mount as he raced back to his turma.

  They met up with Gaius south west of Brocavum. “Sir come and look at this.” The decurion took his leader to the site of the slaughter two day’s previously.

  “Did the Brigante do this?”

  “No sir,” Gaius paused for effect, “we did.”

  “You mean your men…”

  “No sir I mean Pannonians. There are bits of our weapons left in some of the bodies. It was the other ala, has to be and look at what they did to the children and women.”

  Marcus pulled Gaius over to one side. “Keep this to yourself. We will deal with it later. Where are the Brigante?”

  “They are about five miles away and they look to be trailing the Batavians.”

  Marcus looked up at the sun which was dipping low in the sky. “We’ll have to hurry. If they catch the Batavians they will be almost invisible until the last minute.” He pointed to the reddening sky to the west. He shouted, “Decurions.” When they arrived he outlined his plan. “I want the turma fourteen; the good javelin throwers as a single line with turma seventeen the archers behind them. I will be behind them. Decius you take the left and Lentius the right. I intend to try to get the high ground and charge immediately. Agrippa and Cato I want one volley from each of you and then Agrippa form up behind me. Cato form up behind Agrippa. Keep your archers working as long as you can.” He looked at each of them in turn. “Gaius thinks they outnumber us but we have the advantage of surprise. I want us to surprise them before they slaughter Furius and his Batavians. Let’s ride.”

  Furius was a heavy drinker and he loved his food but he was first and foremost a soldier. The Batavian auxiliaries were his life and he would spend his last drop of blood for them. He recognised that his men were tired and, as his first spear had said, “Eating the dirt and dust from two legions would make anyone want to join the enemy.”

  The prefect was well aware of what would happen if they did not put up a fortified camp. Because they had arrived first he could already see, in the distance the other Batavian camp and the two legionary camps were well under way. His demoralised and weary men just wanted to sleep. “Come on ladies let’s get this camp sorted and then we eat.” Already his engineers had laid out the outline of the camp and some of the first century were digging their section of ditch. Furius turned to see if the others had started when his heart missed a beat. There, less than a thousand paces away thundered a mass of mailed men. “Alarm! Cavalry attack!” The buccina sounded and men threw down their shovels and grabbed spears and shields. Hastily they formed lines but there was no cohesion. Hurriedly the centurions chivvied and jostled the men into position. The Brigante, for now they could see their enemy, were less than five hundred paces. “Prepare javelins!” Furius placed himself at the right flank of the nearest century. He turned to them and said, “Just like in training. On the command throw your javelin then place the butt of your spear in the ground.”

  “One voice from the darkening gloom of twilight said, “But sir they have long spears and armour.”

  “I know lad but you can hold. Wait for the command, wait for the command!” The horses were snorting and thundering towards the thin line and the riders were leaning forward with their spears thrust out. “Throw!”

  The first volley hit home and was as accurate as the prefect could have hoped for but the mail deflected some javelins whilst others merely wounded the horses. The two lines met in a crash of metal on metal and metal on wood. Horses screamed in pain as javelins disembowelled them but the cohesion of the line was not there. “Keep it tight men! Keep it tight!” Out of the corner of his eye the prefect could see his lightly armoured men being speared and crushed to the ground by heavy horses and mailed men. The young trooper next to him gave a silent scream as his throat was ripped by a razor sharp blade. Furius slashed at the neck of the warrior’s horse and it reared up throwing its rider. Before he could rise Furius stepped over the horse and stabbed the warrior in the throat. He risked a glance over his shoulder. His only hope was that the legionaries would come and find some of them alive or at least stop the carrion birds despoiling their corpses...

  Suddenly he saw that the Brigante were looking over their shoulders and not pressing quite so hard. Then he heard a buccina and it was coming from behind the Brigante. It was the cavalry. “Come on lads hold! Help is at hand. Fight you bastards fight!” His men tightened their lines and his second line pressed hard against the first making an impenetrable barrier. The hope of the cavalry had put steel into their backbones and, for the first time, Furius began to believe that they would survive.

  The Brigante commander realised his predicament he was between the rock of the Batavians and the hard place that was the auxiliaries. He made his decision quickly. Aed despatched the two Batavians grappling for his reins and shouted, “Retreat!”

  In an instant the Brigante broke away and headed south. There were many empty saddles and little knots of dismounted warriors still fought but in effect the battle was over. Furius heard a familiar voice shout out an order, “Decius, Gaius take Agrippa and Lentius and see if you can catch them but come back when it is dark! I don’t want to lose men in an ambush!”

  Argentium pulled up next to the red faced and heaving Furius. “Well Marcus it looks like the second Batavians owe you as much as the first.”

  “Glad to be of service. Couldn’t let those Brigante deprive us of the best drinker in the province.”

  Furius laughed, “When we have the camp up come and join us I have some fine ale.”

  Just then a gaggle of mounted officers arrived with a cohort of legionaries in close pursuit. “Well done Decurion Princeps it looks as though you arrived in the very nick of time.”

  “Thank you Governor. Lucky really, we crossed their trail and chased them as hard as we could. We arrived just too late to stop them attacking but they have lost at least two hundred and fifty of their best men.”

  Furius looked around him sadly, “We have lost at least that and more.”

  The Governor pondered this. “Tomorrow morning we will have a meeting we can’t go on losing men like this before we even fight the battle. Carry on.” As the Governor rode off the rest of Marcus’ ala arrived.

  Decius shook his head, “We caught and killed a few but they split up and I didn’t want to risk ambush.”

  “You did right. Let’s get a camp built next to our friends here. Metellus despatch any wounded and collect our wounded.”

  Fabius and Rufius made their way from their camp in the hills to the north of the main camp. “I hear that Maximunius is the Governor’s golden boy again. That man has more luck than is good for him.”

  “Fabius, you impressed the Governor with the capture of Brocavum.”

  “Yes an empty stronghold. He saves a legion, again!”

  “Our time will come. At least this means the threat from the south is gone and we are more likely to be in combat. You and your men will show their bravery then.”

  “I hope so,” replied a sulky son.

  As they entered the Governor’s tent Fabius saw, to his chagrin, the Batavians thanking Marcus
and patting him on the back. From the looks on the faces of Agricola and Cerialis they too had been praising him. “Ah prefect, you arrived a little too late to hear the praises heaped upon your cavalry unit. Once again they have saved this army from disaster.” He held up his hand for silence. “In honour of this Decurion Princeps Marcus Aurelius Maximunius and his ala are to be presented with the Crown of the Preserver for their actions in saving the Batavians. The Decurion Princeps is also to have a separate decoration as commander of that unit.”

  Fabius felt his father bridle when he heard this. Technically he was the commander but he had been nowhere near the action and it would have appeared churlish to bring it up. It galled both the patrician father and son that a barbarian was receiving such a high honour.

  “And now on to other matters. We have done well so far but we have yet to bring the enemy to battle. I need to know where they are. Prefect your cavalry will now form the forwards screen. Prefect Sura your Batavians will protect the right flank and the rear. Prefect Strabo you have suffered many casualties you will take the left flank. The land before us is less hilly and the legions can march abreast. The Brigante appear to be fond of ambush we will be ready to counter such moves. I want the army less strung out. Prefect Demetrius I want your cavalry to form a protective circle while the infantry camps are built each night then you may build yours.” Rufius felt Fabius begin to rise and he restrained him shaking his head to silence him. “If there are no questions rejoin your men.”

  Keeping Ituna Fluvius to their right the army moved up the steep sided valley which led North West towards the sea. The Batavians on the flanks looked up fearfully at the steep sides. If the Brigante had had any sense they would have hurled boulders down which would have decimated the auxiliaries but Fainch’s plan was being adhered to; the Romans were being drawn to a battlefield of their choosing. Some way ahead the twenty turmae gingerly moved forward. The territory through which they were travelling was unknown to all of them; even their native scouts like Gaelwyn knew little of the land. At first the turma were close together but as the almost dry valley bottom opened out they spread out from columns of two to columns of fours and gradually drew apart.

  Gaelwyn was with Marcus’ ala on the left. Periodically he left the main force and scouted ahead. In the early afternoon of the first day of the march he returned with news. “Decurion Princeps. There is a large town ahead and a river. It looks like there is a ford not far ahead, we can cross the river. I can see the enemy; they are camped between the two rivers.”

  “Halt! Go and tell the prefect he may want you to report to the Governor or,“ he smiled sardonically, “he may wish to deliver the news himself.”

  His men rested and took the opportunity to feed themselves and their mounts. Marcus was right and Gaelwyn arrived back, “You must be a druid decurion! The prefect and the Decurion Princeps rode back with the news. He said to halt here and await orders.”

  The orders were soon incoming and were delivered not by the prefect but Fabius Demetrius. “Our orders are to form a secure perimeter one mile from the enemy lines and when the legions and auxiliaries have built their camps we are to build ours.”

  The orders were delivered in a high pitched squeak but with much pomposity. It took all of Marcus’ self control not to busts out laughing. “I assume the prefect wishes us to build two camps side by side?”

  It was obvious that neither the prefect nor his son had thought of the logistics and Fabius just blustered, “Of course! What else would you do?” And then he rode off.

  Decius had arrived and heard the orders. “Do you know I am certain that young Julius had to be fathered by the man who tended his mother’s garden for those two are the biggest…?”

  “Decius, “he said looking around, “the men are listening.” Turning to the ala he added, “Forward.”

  Quintus Petilius Cerialis was in his tent eating with Julius Agricola and studying the map when the sentry put his head through the entrance and said, “Imperial messenger sir. I think it is urgent.”

  “Send him in.”

  The messenger who entered was filthy, dishevelled and obviously exhausted. “Sir despatches from Eboracum, urgent.” His face spoke of terror and fear. He handed over the reports and as Cerialis read them Agricola indicated that the messenger should sit. He poured the man a beaker of wine which he gratefully drank in one swallow. Recognising that the man must be starving and aware that the Governor was still reading he put some food on a plate which the messenger began to devour voraciously.

  “Been on the road long son?”

  “Hastily swallowing the messenger said, “I left Eboracum yesterday with three horses. Two of them are dead.” He paused, “There were five messengers sent. If the others haven’t arrived…”

  “Quite. They could be dead or even captured. This could be disastrous Julius.” Looking at the sentry and the messenger the Governor asked the messenger, “I take it you know what is in this report?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Sentry wait outside but ask the prefect of cavalry to join me. “ The sentry left. “It looks like there was an uprising at Eostre.”

  “Where?”

  “Everywhere but the south east. The prefect at Deva said he has not heard from any garrison south of the river. Lindum and Eboracum suffered assaults and many casualties but they held. We still have the second Adiutrix as a reserve. Thank Mithras.”

  “Do we abandon this attack then and march south?”

  Quintus stroked his chin reflectively as he thought it through. A naturally aggressive commander, some would say reckless it was not in his nature to pull back; on the other hand if he did not pull back then he might lose the whole province. “We are too close to the enemy. We will attack tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow? But sir will the men be ready? What about the artillery?”

  “Julius they will be ready. We have camped early we can rise before dawn. Ensure that the artillery is unpacked tonight and we will take it with us ready to use. I don’t care what their formation is we will attack come what may.”

  “They may outnumber us...”

  “Let us be quite clear they will outnumber us.” He looked up at the messenger, forgotten in all of this. “You are to return to Eboracum with despatches I will write now. Go and rest while you can for you ride tonight.” Grimacing with exhaustion the man left.

  As he did so the sentry reappeared. “Prefect of cavalry sir.”

  Rufius entered. “By rights I should have the two Batavian prefects as well but I don’t have time. While I write the despatches I want you Julius to brief them. Sorry about this but you will not get much sleep tonight. Prefect there are pockets of rebellion in the south and when we have finished with this tribe we will head south to deal with them However I need two of your men and their horses. I need messengers to go to Deva and Lindum.”

  “Yes sir I will see to it.” He started to leave.

  “Sit down man I haven’t finished.”

  “Sorry sir.”

  “We are going to attack tomorrow. I want the camp broken by the middle watch.” He looked up sharply, “Have the Brigante shown any sign of attacking whilst you were building camp?”

  “Surprisingly no. We kept pickets out to warn us but they seemed content to let us build our normal camp.”

  ”Your cavalry will move forward until you can ascertain the enemy dispositions. Leave your Decurion Princeps in charge, I think they are both sound men certainly Maximunius is and report back to me. I need a precise assessment of their battle deployment. No exaggeration understand? I need facts. We have one chance to win, defeat and slaughter these bastards and then sort out the rest of the province. Is that clear?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Good man. Well about your duties I have much to write tonight. Send in my clerk for he will have to make duplicate copies.”

  Brigante camp

  King Maeve sat with his ally kings, Aed, his trusted lieutenant and Fainch. They were all loo
king very pleased with themselves. The captured, tortured and deceased messengers had told them of the rebellion in the rest of the province. Although not as widespread as Fainch had hoped it would still work n their favour. The end of Roman rule in Britannia was nigh. If Maeve noticed the looks exchanged between Aed and Fainch it failed to register. Indeed he was looking ahead to the day when he would become High King of Britannia. The nearest they had had was Caractacus, famously betrayed by a Brigante Queen. His ally kings were also plotting for the best way to use this victory in their own lands. That they would win was never in doubt. There were but two legions and a few auxiliaries. The two rivers prevented flanking and, even now war bands were gathering to the east, to fall upon their rear and others making their way to the north bank of the mighty Taus. They would outnumber the Romans by ten to one.

  “We must wait for the Romans to commit before we launch our flank attack and our attack on the rear. Those attacks will only have auxiliaries to contend with. Watch for the legions to engage and then strike.” King Maeve looked directly at the Caledonian war chiefs and the Novontae leaders. He had been well briefed by Fainch for she knew these war lords would not take orders from a woman. She did not mind. King Maeve could have his temporary glory. At the feast following the victory he would suffer a mysterious death; a death almost identical to that suffered years earlier by Queen Cartimandua.

  It was still almost dark when the prefect, red eyed and tired from a sleepless night reported. “At the moment the enemy look to be camped between the two rivers. They have horses to the south where the land is flatter. From their fires and what our Brigante scouts reported, having crept closer to their lines, they look to outnumber us ten to one. They are the usual barbarian rabble.”