Fortress of Spears

by Anthony Riches

  Scaurus frowned.

  ‘While I thank you for that warning, I can’t see you having ridden this far north to deliver that unwelcome news in person.’

  Licinius nodded his head, grim faced.

  ‘You’re right. My other intelligence for you is of a rather more pressing nature, and concerns a Venicone king that seems to have a hard-on for your cohort.’

  Scaurus gathered his senior officers in the Dinpaladyr’s great hall, its stone floor still wet where the blood that had poured from the dying elder, as he had bled out under Martos’s unforgiving stare, had been scrubbed away. Tribune Licinius took a cup of wine with Scaurus, Laenas and their senior centurions, lifting it in salute as the small group drank to their success in capturing the fortress.

  ‘But that’s not all we’re here to do, is it, Tribune?’

  First Spear Frontinius had greeted the arrival of the Petriana’s commander with an instinctive reserve, and now he asked the question that was on every lip in a respectful but questioning tone. Scaurus nodded in recognition of his senior centurion’s question, tipping his wine back and placing the cup on the table beside him.

  ‘No, First Spear, indeed it isn’t. Tribune Licinius?’

  The cavalry officer stepped forward, looking around the small group to take their measure before speaking.

  ‘Gentlemen, for what it’s worth, I don’t think that Drust has any intention of attempting to take this fortress. He has neither the time to spare in his march north, nor the equipment for any sort of siege. But if it isn’t territory that’s on his mind, something else must be dragging him so far out of his way home. Something that matters to him more than anything else. Think back, gentlemen, to that morning that we broke into Calgus’s camp in the forest, the day that we broke this rebellion into splinters and scattered it to the wind. It was your men that were detailed to search the Venicone section of the camp, if I have it right?’

  Frontinius and Neuto nodded with a grim glance at each other, both seeing where the cavalry commander’s reasoning was taking him.

  ‘And nothing of any great importance came to light? Or at least, nothing that was surrendered by your men …? I thought so. My guess, gentlemen, is that one of your men found something of the utmost importance to King Drust, and that he promptly stuffed it into his armour and kept quiet as to the discovery. Something small enough to conceal, perhaps a piece of tribal jewellery, a crown, or perhaps a torc, something worth enough money to make an entire tent party join the finder in his crime. I also think he tried to sell it to someone known for such dealing, even though I won’t be able to prove it until I get back south of the Wall and catch up with a certain stores officer. I’m pretty sure that he in turn recruited one of my centurions to help him with the coin needed to buy this trinket. A centurion who was then captured and tortured to death by Drust’s men, during which agony I’d be surprised if he didn’t buy a quick death with news of Drust’s lost treasure. All of which means, if I’m right, that your command is about to receive the undivided attention of eight thousand angry barbarians, all bent on recovering whatever it is that their king mislaid.’

  Tribune Laenas frowned for a moment before asking the obvious question.

  ‘So why can’t we just march everyone into this fortress, shut the gates and wait for these barbarians to get tired of camping outside and resume their journey north?’

  Scaurus shook his head.

  ‘That was my first reaction too, but the rainwater cisterns are almost empty and we don’t have time to refill them. The Selgovae haven’t allowed anyone out to fetch water for weeks, and the rain hasn’t been anything like enough to do the job for them. Add to that the fact that they’ve just about stripped the place bare of food, and there’s no way I can order almost three thousand men to take refuge here. If we camp inside this fortress we’ll end up having to feed the population as well as ourselves, and our water will be exhausted within a day or two. Unless Drust were to take one look and then turn around and head for home we’d be bottled up in a trap of our own making. No, gentlemen, I’m afraid that we’re going to have to fight Drust and his warband. Either that, or we run for our lives and abandon the Votadini to their fate. Not much of a choice, is it?’

  The tribal elders reacted to the news of the approaching warband with the smug equanimity of men well accustomed to the idea of their fortress’s invulnerability. It was only when the Romans had explained to them the parlous state of their supplies that they realised their predicament.

  ‘And if you think the Selgovae were bad then you’ll find the Venicones a revelation. They need food, and since you don’t have anything to offer them I’d predict that they’ll leave this hill a smoking ruin populated only by your corpses. Perhaps they’ll spare your children for a life of slavery, but the rest of you will die in ways that will make you beg for your ends.’

  Licinius stepped to Scaurus’s side, his face set equally hard.

  ‘You may live beyond the edge of the empire, but you’ve become accustomed to life in the shadow of what those of us on the southern side like to consider the civilised way of life. You trade your cattle and grain with us in return for luxuries, and many of you speak our language. The Venicones, on the other hand, despise us, and in consequence they also despise you. You’d be well advised to do everything in your power to ensure that they never come within sight of your walls, or you may find your entire tribe erased from existence.’ He stared hard at the dismayed elders. ‘If you don’t believe me, just sit back and wait for a while If, on the other hand, you’d rather take a hand in ensuring your survival, you’ll have every able-bodied person that can wield an axe or a spade gather at the gates as quickly as possible. I’ve an idea that just might get us all through this, but it won’t work without enough labour. To put it simply, your people can either dig or die.’

  The Romans turned away to leave the tribal council to their deliberations, and Scaurus raised an eyebrow at his colleague.

  ‘Got somewhere in mind, have you?’

  The older man smiled grimly and nodded.

  ‘We passed it during the ride here. We can make it ready in an afternoon, and Drust’s men are too far out to reach it before dusk. All it needs is a few hundred feet of earthworks, a few hundred carefully felled trees, and then some ankle-breakers and lilies, and it’ll be perfect. And now, if you’re amenable, I suggest that we go and find whatever it is that’s drawing Drust towards us like a runaway bull. Got any ideas?’

  Scaurus nodded tersely.

  ‘Just the one.’

  The Tungrian cohorts mustered as ordered, watched by the 20th’s bemused legionaries. Scaurus stepped out in front of his command, his eyes sweeping across the ranks of his men. He nodded to First Spears Frontinius and Neuto, and at their command the cohorts’ centurions barked the order that brought their men to attention. An uneasy silence settled across the ranks, disturbed only by the gathering number of men and women mustering at the fortress’s gate with spades and axes. The tribune raised his voice to be heard across the mass of men standing before him, raking them with flint-hard eyes.

  ‘Soldiers, you doubtless think I’ve paraded you in order to congratulate you for taking the fortress! And I have. Well done to you all! You will no doubt be fondly imagining that your fighting for the year is finally over, and looking forward to the march south and some long-overdue time in barracks. Perhaps you are wondering if you will be returning to your own forts. All of which is quite understandable … except for the fact that your fighting isn’t over yet. One tent party here, a few men among fifteen hundred, have presented us all with a problem. They are hiding a secret from the rest of us. These men are in possession of something that doesn’t belong to them. It used to belong to the king of the Venicones, and it now belongs to the Emperor by rights. One of you discovered it while we were searching the enemy camp, most likely, and tucked it away to sell later. We suspect that the man in question probably tried to complete the transaction that same day, onc
e darkness had fallen, but for some reason the deal fell through, and he was left holding his prize.’

  He allowed that possibility to sink in for a few seconds before continuing, watching the cohort closely. In the 7th Century’s ranks Soldier Manius stiffened, the awful possibility that his centurion might recall their encounter in the torchlit darkness that night sending a physical shiver up his spine.

  ‘The problem that the rest of us have got is that the Venicone king seems to have worked out that we have it, and he wants it back so badly that he’s coming in our direction with his entire warband. Eight thousand warriors. In just a few hours, soldiers, whether we like it or not, we’ll be fighting for our lives against the Venicones again. And in case any of you have forgotten that it was us who stopped them at the Red River ford, and left them stuck on the eastern bank with a bloody nose, let me assure you that they will know exactly who we are. They will be looking for blood in vengeance for their losses that day, and they will know that if they can find us outside of this fortress then they have their chance to slaughter us to the last man. And this time we have no river to hide behind …’

  He turned away for a moment, allowing time for his blunt words to sink in. Manius’s eyes were locked on to Centurion Otho’s back, and he forced himself to look away, and feign bored indifference, as the officer turned to search his century’s ranks with a stony face.

  ‘And so, soldiers, you will understand that I’m feeling somewhat let down by these few men that have put us all at mortal risk. In point of fact I’m angry enough to have them all beaten to death by their century, once I find out who they are. And trust me in this, I will discover them within the next hour. If I have to I’ll have you all remove your armour for searching by your officers, and if the men holding this precious object make me waste that much time, time we should be using to dig defences, I’ll make their deaths appropriately brutal. But, in the interests of getting this thing over with quickly, I’m offering a limited amnesty to these men, if they surrender themselves to justice promptly.’

  Otho was moving now, walking swiftly along his century’s front rank and making the turn at the point they met with the 8th, coming back along the rear of the soldiers’ line. Manius could sense his approach, for all the fact that his gaze stayed locked on the tribune right up until the moment that the centurion pulled him backwards out of the line, ripping off his helmet with an impatience that tipped the soldier’s head back hard and left his chin pointing into thin air, just as the first punch landed. Scaurus fell silent at the sudden commotion, watching impassively as the enraged centurion battered the defenceless soldier, tearing off his weapons and armour in between blows. At some point in the one-sided struggle the object of his search must have revealed itself, for he seized the other man by the ear and dragged him out of the century’s ranks with his knees buckling from the savage beating, a shining piece of gold held aloft for the tribune to see. From behind him he heard First Spear Frontinius’s snort of barely restrained laughter.

  ‘It’s a good thing we don’t need the idiot to tell us the story, I expect he’ll be eating nothing but gruel for the next few weeks.’

  Late afternoon was turning to early evening when the two tribunes rode into sight of the Venicone camp. Halting outside of what they judged was the most optimistic of bowshots, they waited while the word was carried back to the warband’s leader that there were three enemy horsemen waiting outside the camp in the sun’s fading warmth. Having estimated that Drust was bright enough to recognise an opportunity to talk, the Romans were nevertheless relieved when a party of three warriors strode out of the smoke drifting from the barbarian campfires. Drust walked out towards the waiting horsemen until he was close enough to shout a challenge, his hammer carried over one shoulder and a wry smile on his face.

  ‘Have you come to discuss the terms of your surrender, Roman?!’

  Licinius leant forward, muttering quietly to his colleague.

  ‘Leave this to me. He already knows who I am, but you’re a different matter. Let’s allow him a little uncertainty, eh?’ He raised his voice to a parade-ground bellow. ‘Far from it, barbarian! My colleague and I have come to have a good look at your ragged warband. My colleague here is keen to get some measure of how many of them we’ll have to kill tomorrow before the rest of you turn tail and run for home!’ He lowered his voice a fraction, speaking to the Venicone king rather than simply shouting at him. ‘Perhaps you’d like to come a little closer, and avoid the need for all this shouting? I owe you one safe passage, if you recall?’

  Drust nodded and led his companions closer, until the Romans could see the grey hairs in his red beard. Licinius dismounted with an easy grace that belied his years and beckoned for the other two to follow his example.

  ‘If he wants to try cracking my head with that hammer I’d rather be on my feet than stuck up there on a dithering horse.’ He waited until the two parties were lined up facing each other before speaking again. ‘You amaze me, Drust. To have marched your men all this way for the sake of a simple gold trinket? Surely you could have had another one crafted for far less trouble than the likely price of attempting to recover this?’

  He pulled the torc from inside his cloak, holding it up to the evening sun’s golden light in a hoop of liquid gold. Drust started in surprise, and the warrior standing to his right put one hand to the hilt of his sword. Licinius smiled, his quiet chuckle of amusement creasing the Venicone king’s face into a frown.

  ‘I’d restrain your man there, if I were you. Do you imagine I would be waving the bloody thing around this close to you without some assurance of my safety?’ He gestured to Marcus, standing alongside him with both hands on the hilts of his weapons. ‘Your tribes have both suffered at the hands of this young officer before. You, Drust, failed to cross the Red River because of the large numbers of your men that his soldiers left face down in the water as the price of their attempts to cross, and as for you, Calgus …’ He smirked at the Selgovae leader’s surprised expression before continuing. ‘Yes, I know you. That purple cloak, that and your pig-ugly face, were both described to me in detail by the last Roman officer to speak with you at such close range. You had a little chat with him before the battle that we’ve taken to calling Lost Eagle, if you recall? And if he were here, I’m sure Legatus Equitius would want me to thank you for your quite spectacular stupidity in sending your men up that hill to die on his men’s spears in such an unimaginative fashion. He was given the command of a legion as a result of his victory over you, you know? You lost a battle you already had in your grasp that day, for all that you captured an eagle. But I digress, it’s a common fault of the elderly.’

  He smiled without humour at Calgus, but if he’d expected the Selgovae leader to be discomforted by the revelation he was disappointed. After a moment of stone-faced thought, Calgus’s face lit up with malicious glee.

  ‘So you’re the one! I read the legatus’s private papers that we captured during the battle, and I was intrigued to discover that he had a son whose identity was hidden from the world. I still have his head hidden away, you know, preserved in a jar of …’

  Marcus tensed, but Licinius waved a hand dismissively.

  ‘Enough! I came to speak with Drust, not bandy gossip with yesterday’s man. Your tribe is scattered to the four winds and your time on earth is limited, so hold your tongue and leave those men at the table who still have stakes to play with to talk. You can take the matter up with the centurion in the morning, when he has you at the point of his sword.’ Licinius fixed Drust with a level stare, ignoring Calgus’s scowl. ‘King Drust, it’s still not too late for us both to avoid yet more bloodshed. I’ll happily return this bauble to you if you’ll turn your warband’s path to the north and return to your lands in peace.’

  Drust shook his head slowly, holding Licinius’s stare and pursing his lips.

  ‘I think not, Roman. It would be a shame to have come all this way and left without a decent tithe of heads for being put
to the trouble.’

  The cavalryman shrugged expressively.

  ‘As you wish. You know how the battle will go tomorrow as well as I do. You’ll charge our line, and find yourselves on the wrong side of a turf wall that will expose your men to our spears as they try to get over it. It will all come down to a bloody slogging match, and that could last hours and leave thousands of men dead. And, I should warn you, we have more than enough strength to hold you off for as long as you choose to batter your heads against our defences.’

  Drust shrugged.

  ‘I’ll take that “trinket” from your dead body, and your head besides. It will remind me of the victory. And when we’re done with you we’ll march on to the Dinpaladyr and see how pleased Calgus’s men are that we’ve lifted your siege.’

  Tribune Licinius smirked, and tossed the torc on to the grass at his horse’s feet.

  ‘In that case you’d better have this. It will help my men to pick you out as you run before us, and since the reward I’ve put on you both is doubled if you’re taken alive I’d guess they’ll be grateful for that. And with that, colleagues, I think we’ve wasted enough time on these gentlemen.’

  He turned away from the barbarians with one last calculating glance at Drust, whose attention was fixed on the torc lying before him in the grass’s tangle, and then turned back to face them again.

  ‘Although it would probably only be fair of me to temper your expectations as to the Votadini fortress. Should you by some strange chance manage to overcome our defence tomorrow, you might find the Dinpaladyr a little less receptive to your triumphant entry than you clearly expect would be the case …’