by M. K. Hume
‘Aye! To the right of the road as it reaches the lowest point of the valley.’
Paulus nodded. ‘The bastards have been watching us from the moment we left Glastonbury. They lit that warning fire when they realised we were advancing along the valley floor where the main force must be positioned.’
Constantinus examined the fire pit, the marks of heels and the tracks of hooves in the sod. He then checked every square foot of land around the signs left by the enemy scouts. Eventually, he barked in triumph and snatched up a small gold ring, designed for either a woman’s hand or a man’s little finger.
‘Look at this! One of Conanus’s warriors has dropped a bauble and it’s been ground into the dirt when a horse’s hoof stood on it.’
It was a small, simple plait of pure gold. A single word, Elen, had been crudely carved on to the inner band; Constantinus tucked the ring into a pouch attached to his belt.
‘We ought to return to Glastonbury, sir. We’re vulnerable here, and we might be caught in the open by whoever lit this beacon,’ Paulus warned. ‘The bastards could easily double around and outflank us during our return journey.’
‘I concur! Conanus’s main force must be close, so they’re probably watching us even as we speak.’
On their return to Glastonbury, the scouting party was apprised of Cael’s return to consciousness.
‘Thank the Lord! It’s about time we left this gilded little trap in which we’ve placed ourselves,’ Paulus stated.
‘Aye!’ Constantinus agreed. ‘But it’s going to be a difficult proposition to escape unscathed.’
Constantinus spent a few hours in amicable discussion with Father Gregory, during which time the Roman commander asked for the services of a young woman who could act as a chaperone for Severa during the journey to Tintagel.
‘In the eyes of the world, it’s a little late to employ a chaperone if you’ve been alone with the young lady for at least one night,’ Father Gregory pointed out.
‘We were as alone as one can be when one is surrounded by a detachment of seventy legionnaires. Still, you could well say that we were alone, in a fashion,’ Constantinus replied drily. ‘However, I would still prefer that my charge has a chaperone for the remainder of the journey.’
‘Then I’m sure a suitable woman from the village could be found who would be prepared to accompany the young lady to Tintagel. I won’t force anyone to volunteer for such a dangerous task,’ the abbot replied. ‘Although there’ll be a number of young girls who will leap at any offer that will bring them into close proximity with your young cavalrymen.’
The Roman centurion went on to discuss the escape plans he had devised to spirit Severa out of Glastonbury and, later, to Tintagel, while avoiding open conflict with an enemy of unknown size and efficiency. He was confident that Father Gregory understood his need for absolute discretion.
Then, once Father Gregory had offered his advice and provided the name of a suitable woman who could serve as a lady’s maid, Constantinus strode to the hospice to speak with the newly conscious patient and Severa.
The largest room in the hospice was drenched in golden afternoon light as Constantinus entered the building. It gave Severa a halo around her unusual hair, as if God had conferred sainthood upon her. Constantinus shivered.
If Constantinus had committed a blasphemy through his errant thoughts, then his attraction for this British woman and his delight in her features combined to sweep away any guilt. The maturing young girl was taking on the trappings of a nun or a saint, someone who was pure of spirit and self-sacrificing in her motives.
Yet Constantinus could also remember the flirtatious girl who walked the perimeters of their night camps with him, her smile both knowing and innocent.
Would this complicated, albeit naïve young woman agree to his plan? Would she take such a huge risk with her reputation, one that might never be mended? And would she dare to place her life into the hands of a man who was still a relative stranger?
Then, before his resolution could fail him, Constantinus strode into the hospice. He congratulated Cael on his survival and then began to explain his plans for making good their escape from Glastonbury to the incredulous lady.
Nothing would be quite the same for either of them – ever again.
CHAPTER IX
Union
Few famous men have the whole earth as their memorial.
Thucydides, History of the Peloponnesian War
Three riders trotted through the long grasses behind the tor on almost silent hooves. The darkness was complete, although a cloud-obscured moon permitted a faint glow occasionally to illuminate the three black-clad horsemen who hunched over their horses’ necks. Even the metalwork on their harness had been dulled with mud to conceal its steely glitter.
The horsemen rode cross-country and avoided any tracks as they set their horses’ heads towards a river that wound unseen from its source in the east where the small settlement of Lindinus nestled on the main Roman road. On reaching the river, the horsemen planned to cross the stream at a shallow ford before turning to the right to travel in a southerly direction.
Back in Glastonbury, the religious enclave was still and silent with sleep. Nothing moved, not even the dogs that protected the herds of sheep grazing along the slopes of the tor. Above the stables and inside the pilgrims’ quarters, the Roman legionnaires slept lightly, as all fighting men do, always ready for attacks that might come under the cloak of darkness.
Perhaps those among the enemy who were watching from around a banked fire near the beacon on the hill were expecting little subterfuge from members of the Equites Legionis, the special century created to escort the late Marcus Britannicus to his betrothal. Perhaps they believed that Romans favoured physical might against skulduggery when devising their strategies. Perhaps, too, they might have been lazy.
One thing was certain: Conanus’s force was unaware of the Roman scouts who had been observing their activities or else they were so arrogant and confident in their strength that they were unconcerned. In fact, the leader of the enemy force had forgotten that the more gifted commanders in the Roman legions always devised a number of alternative plans to use on those occasions when they were confronted by complex problems.
By early morning, before the sun had begun to rise from the thick blanket of white fog that shrouded the Glastonbury environs, the Roman column had begun its march into the south after bidding farewell to the small cluster of prelates, torches in hand, who watched their guests as they made an obviously carefree departure. As was his habit, the centurion rode at the head of the column. Meanwhile, Severa travelled on the seat at the front of the wagon with her replacement driver, a local villager. Wrapped in a heavy cloak to ward off the cold mist drifting towards them, Severa kept her wonderful hair dry inside its capacious hood.
The Roman column had covered several miles and Glastonbury had disappeared into the early morning like a dream by the time the rising sun burned off the ever-present night mist. Off to his left, Paulus saw a sudden thread of grey smoke rise from the highest point of a rounded hill. He watched with interest as the smoke plumed thickly at first and then began to thin when the light breeze in the upper air whipped it away. Paulus grinned with satisfaction and the cavalrymen closest to him noted the odd smile that curled his thin lips. Something in that smirk promised pain for someone.
‘Send word back to the infantry that we will be attacked at some time in the next few days. It might be sooner, rather than later, but every legionnaire is to remain on constant alert. We can expect a shower of arrows to come at us when we enter the trap that will almost certainly be set for us. Open ground should be safe, but we must be careful when we are close to the forested sections of the route we will be following. When the enemy unleashes its arrows, the infantry will form a fighting square around the wagons to protect the woman. The caval
ry will scatter to protect the horses at the first indication of bowmen mounting an attack. Once clear of the ambush site, the cavalrymen will re-form along the flanks and be prepared to mount a counterattack on the enemy.’
Alerted to the dangers that lay ahead of them, the cavalrymen rode gingerly through a soggy landscape of shallow swamps interspersed with small hillocks of dry earth. Mud clung to the horses’ hooves and the wagons’ wheels in thick black rinds so that the going was predictably heavy. Inevitably, the wagons were regularly bogged down; when these irritations occurred, the cavalrymen dismounted and used human muscle and the strength of their horses to force the wagons free from the sucking quagmire. Within a short period of time, every man in the column was carrying his fair share of mud on previously spotless red cloaks.
As they rode through the woodlands parallel to Fosse Way in an effort to avoid any signs of civilisation, the three horsemen found a copse of trees that provided shelter, so they took a long-awaited opportunity to dismount and stretch their limbs. Constantinus took off his cloak and laid it on to a bed of thick grass in a sun-dappled space between patches of dense underbrush.
‘You’ll need to rest for an hour or two, Severa. Once we’re clear of the low-lying swamps, we’ll be able to make better time. After that, we’ll try to ride through the nights to outstrip any possible pursuit, so you’d best sleep while you can. You’ll be stiff and sore before we can rest again, so make yourself comfortable. We’ll eat as we ride!’
‘How good this grass feels,’ she sighed as she pulled off her sturdy boots and ran her toes through the ferns and ground cover. ‘Thank you, Centurion.’
Constantinus had been worrying about the slow pace of their journey so far, but the girl’s gratitude jerked him back to the present.
‘What for? Surely you resent being dragged away from a warm bed in the middle of the night? Aren’t you a little nervous at being separated from your bodyguard?’
‘I think you are sufficiently capable of keeping me safe, Centurion. If my uncle Conanus is determined to capture me, then he’ll be making his best efforts to find me. You’ve done your utmost to outfox him, so it’s pointless for me to worry. I’d rather enjoy the adventure, especially the male clothes! I know that I’ll be married off soon enough, after which I’ll spend the rest of my days wearing women’s gowns, raising children and doting on grandchildren – if I’m lucky.’
She thought of her mother’s death in childbirth and was suddenly afraid for her own life. ‘That’s if I live long enough to become a mother.’
Constantinus found himself bowing his head, for he was aware of the presence of Drusus, the scout, who was hobbling the horses a few feet away. Severa’s male dress was highly inappropriate; leather trews covered her legs and a tunic rendered her torso completely shapeless. Her hair was braided tightly around her head and covered by a knitted cap. With her freckles, she could easily be taken for a boy who was travelling with his kinfolk. However, if the ruse was discovered, her reputation would be lost forever.
‘The only way you will fall into the hands of Conanus will be after my death, and I’ll not perish in the immediate future. I have a destiny to fulfil, my lady, so you have my oath that you’ll survive this journey and your life will go on for many, many years. I can swear to the truth of this statement.’
Severa smiled distractedly and lay back on the centurion’s cloak. She closed her eyes, turned several times to find a comfortable position and then, like a healthy young animal, she fell asleep. Constantinus straightened and padded off with the water bottles and the hobbled horses to search for the streamlet that could be heard as it bubbled and gurgled its way over rocks inside the coppice.
Once the stream was found, the water bottles were filled and the horses permitted to stand, hock high, as they drank their fill, Constantinus allowed his thoughts to travel back over the previous day and his fears of an ambush.
Father Gregory had deplored the possibility that a violent confrontation was imminent, offering his opinion that consensus would always be a preferable response to most of the problems of the secular world. However, he was also a realist, and not so gullible as to believe that Conanus could be convinced to see reason.
‘I agree that subterfuge is a more effective ploy than violence in this situation, Centurion. Would you consider splitting your command into two separate columns to convince this Conanus to chase after the wrong quarry?’
At the time of this discussion, Constantinus and Paulus had been breaking bread with the priests during the frugal evening meal; the centurion had been surprised by the cleric’s grasp of an alternative means of denying Conanus’s aspirations. Constantinus and Paulus had already considered that such a solution was the only viable means of keeping Severa safe.
‘I’m reluctant to engage with Conanus’s men in an ambush. I know we can defeat his forces if all factors are equal, but we don’t know if Conanus has received reinforcements. It is possible that he has received support from one or more of the local British kings, rulers who could be colluding with him. If treason has been done, we will be putting Lady Severa’s safety at risk. I know her death is the last thing that Conanus wants, but battles aren’t predictable and stray arrows don’t always choose their targets. I’d prefer to keep her away from danger.’
‘But we can’t stay here indefinitely,’ Paulus replied. ‘The longer we stay in Glastonbury, the more time we give to Conanus to amass an even larger force.’
‘Father Gregory has a point, Paulus. What if Lady Severa and two trusted guards made a secret departure from Glastonbury by an unlikely route? The main column could make an obvious departure on the following day, despite the probability that they would be ambushed by Conanus’s forces. We would need to convince Conanus that Severa was still travelling with the main column, but such a ploy will only be successful if the trio made good their departure during the hours of darkness.’
Paulus’s mind raced ahead of his superior’s explanation. ‘Father Gregory has promised to provide us with a maid to accompany Lady Severa for propriety’s sake. The spies at the signal fire to the south wouldn’t be able to tell if a woman in the baggage wagon is Severa or not when the main column begins its journey.’
‘True!’ Constantinus replied eagerly as his own thoughts caught fire from Paulus’s observations.
‘I’ll wager no one among Conanus’s assassins has taken the trouble to do a detailed head count of the numbers in our column. They would have made a rough estimate of our strength from a distance, based on the size of our column while we’ve been on the march,’ Paulus added. ‘They won’t really be able to tell if a small group of our cavalry are missing, so Father Gregory is right. Perhaps a little subterfuge might be better than the point of a gladius – at least on this occasion.’
During the next few minutes, the two officers devised a rough strategy between them. At first, Paulus was eager to accompany Constantinus and Lady Severa, but as a pragmatic officer he had to accept that the commander of the main column must be Constantinus’s second-in-command. Paulus must assume the role of a centurion during the coming battle.
Father Gregory expressed his fears for the girl who would be taking Severa’s place within the column, but Constantinus explained how their enemy had indicated their intention was to capture Severa alive. Still, any prospective maid must be warned of the dangers, and her family compensated for allowing the girl to put herself at risk.
With the worst of his own fears allayed, the abbot agreed to the plan and left the table to speak with his chosen woman and a member of her kin. He carried with him a purse of silver coins provided by Constantinus that would reward her for undertaking this task. The centurion felt a little like Judas Iscariot during the exchange, but he pushed all misgivings to one side.
‘You’ll bear the brunt of any attack, Paulus, even if I manage to escape cleanly with Lady Severa. My mission and my r
esponsibility must be to ensure that she arrives safely in Tintagel, so I must be the one who takes her there. But I’ll not sacrifice my men by stripping them of their most senior officers during the coming battle. As always, I have complete confidence in your abilities, Decurion, so I need you to take care of my men for me.’
‘Aye!’ Paulus answered with a sigh of resignation. ‘I will obey!’
The Roman column moved along the road leading into the south-west with the heavy, arrogant movements that could be expected from the masters of the known world. In his borrowed helmet, Paulus looked out at the landscape around him, low-lying and sodden, so that only the track was raised above waterlogged meadows where dragonflies and butterflies danced in the morning sun. Too few trees provided the cover needed by an attacking force of considerable size. With a sigh of relief, Paulus decided that his men would be safe from attack for at least the remainder of the day.
But night would bring danger. Under the cover of darkness, their enemies could use stealth to infiltrate the Roman lines, unless the soldier on piquet duty remained alert. Ahead, perhaps a day’s march away, Paulus could see the misty crowns of a line of heavily forested hills. Ambushes could be mounted from behind the cover of trees, so he sensed that the morrow would bring trouble.
The march remained uneventful during the remainder of the afternoon. The going was heavy with mud, but the day was pleasantly warm so the column was able to make good speed. Although the legionnaires knew that they would soon come under attack, they remained cautious but cheerful. For his part, Paulus accepted that every mile travelled was a mile closer to an inevitable ambush, but the joy he usually derived from battle was tempered by his sense of responsibility for his men.
As the long day drew to a close and the twilight softened the harsh glare of the sun, Paulus ordered camp to be made in a secure spot where a deep water hole would protect their backs and one of the flanks to ensure that their defensive perimeter was of minimal length. Meanwhile, he took pains to be as scrupulous in his demands as Constantinus would have been. Every legionnaire set to work to raise a low wall and a defensive trench around their section of the perimeter with good will, for all were aware that these small fortifications could save their lives. The horses were watered and tethering lines placed at the rear of the bivouac, while guards were ordered to act as rotating pickets to ensure that the beasts were protected. Then, once he was satisfied that his bivouac was as secure as he could make it, Paulus settled down beside his fire to snatch a few hours of precious sleep.
