by Griff Hosker
“Not that I doubt it but it was an honourable death?”
“Cato and my husband held off a thousand warriors to enable the remnants of the cohort to make it here. His last action was as brave as his first and he died as he had lived, an honourable warrior.”
Kissing her lightly on the cheek Rufius hugged her. “Your husband has gone Ailis but there are a thousand troopers who will defend you, your home and your children.”
“I know.”
As he left he saw Macro and Marcus almost running towards the Principia. When they saw Rufius, and aware that they were being watched by the garrison, they both halted and saluted. Rufius gestured them in to the Principia. “Your mother awaits.”
Marcus said, “And father?”
“Go see your family and you may have some time with them. I will send for you when you are required, for we ride south before morning.”
A grizzled and heavily bandaged centurion limped over to Rufius. “I am First Spear and I fought with the boys’ father. He was a brave man and he saved my men. We have a debt of honour to repay.”
Rufius shook his head. “Gaius would not wish you to be indebted. It was not his way. Who are these people? For we are charged with pursuit in the morning and I would know as much as I could about this new enemy.”
“They are good warriors but wild. Some of my men thought that they were the Irish, Hibernians. Certainly they are not a local tribe. They have little armour and used swords and axes. They have archers but I think not many.”
“Horses?”
First Spear shrugged. “They were attacking us on foot so I do not know but if they do have mounts they are few.” He looked south, “Would that I was leading the men tomorrow but with this wound I would slow them up. I am to remain here and guard the fort.”
Rufius put his hand on the veteran’s arm. “From your wounds, First Spear, you have done your duty and your comrades will just be rebuilding. I fear our prey will be long gone.”
“You are right. If they had had enough men then they would have attacked here.”
The three brothers and their mother embraced in a tearful reunion. Marcus reproached his elder brother and his mother. “Why did you not tell us of this sickness? We did not get the chance to say goodbye.”
“Only I knew, Marcus, and your father did not wish to burden you with thoughts of death. He said that you needed all your attention on survival not thinking about old men. He could not abide sympathy and sentiment; he said it did no good. He died a good death, a warrior’s death, as did faithful Sergeant Cato.”
“Cato has gone too?” Marcus had been particularly close to the horse master.
“He died at your father’s side.”
“The last of the warriors falling together. We will return their bodies tomorrow for we ride to the farm.”
“I will come with you.”
Ailis looked at the determined face of Decius and nodded. “I will watch over your family until you return and now let us talk of your father and the good memories, for, that is what he would wish. He would not want us to be sad for he died a happy man with a sword in his hand and not coughing and wheezing in an old man’s bed.”
******
The Fist soon caught up with his comrades. The road they had chosen was well south of the area devastated by the raiders. The last thing that the deserters needed was to lose their hard earned booty to barbarians from across the sea. They had selected the route because it was little travelled and yet not too arduous. It twisted and turned through deserted and little used valleys bringing them well south of the land of the lakes. Although an area rich in farms there was no military presence and that suited those who had fled the Roman yoke. The Fist was not complacent. He had seen how Aelius Spartianus had taken too many risks and suffered as a result. The Fist and his companions were not as clever as the decurion but they had common sense and this route promised safety.
“What do we do when we reach the coast?”
The Fist nodded at the question. “An interesting situation presents itself. We have gold but not safety. Safety lies away from Rome but that means some danger from barbarians. We need to make contact with the Witch Queen of Manavia. Offer her gold and advice in return for sanctuary. Better to give away half of our gold and be safe rather than risk losing it all and our lives.”
The other five lived in fear of the violence of The Fist but they also respected his native cunning which had seen him outlive those who had been, apparently, better equipped mentally. “Whatever you say boss. For me I am glad to be away from Rome.”
*******
Gaius and Antoninus Brutus also wished that they could be away from the powerful fingers of Imperial Rome. The revolution had failed but at least Gaius had emerged alive unlike his followers who had been slaughtered to a man. The legion had been ruthlessly efficient at ridding Eboracum of those who would have rebelled. The Governor’s decision to commandeer the shipping had proved to be crucial as the rebels who escaped, few though they were, ran like rats to try to board the ships. As they were moored midstream it had left them nowhere to run and they had died or drowned on the edge of the river.
Gaius and Antoninus now had a dilemma. Did they brazen it out or flee? If they fled they would have little with them for their gold had been used to fund the revolution. It had been a gamble which had failed. Father and son were still rich but it was in land and not gold. If they stood their ground they risked discovery and death. Antoninus looked fondly at his son. Better to escape with their lives and try to start again. From what he had heard the Roman garrisons would have their hands full with the raiders who had devastated the frontier.
“Come, my son. I believe it is time for a trading trip to Mamucium.”
Gaius Brutus still had the same shocked look he had had when he had returned from the debacle which was the putative attempt at rebellion. “Trading trip?”
“Yes we will need to build up our finances again. The Romans will need more stone to strengthen their walls. We can supply it from our quarries but we will need more wagons to haul the material. Mamucium has good wagon makers and we can trade the jet I acquired.” Closer to the coast were jet mines worked by Antoninus. He had cheated the owner out of the rights and allowed him to continue working for a pittance. “It will also keep us from the view of the Romans when they are looking for someone to blame.”
Dully Gaius shrugged. His dream of being a Brigante prince was over for a while. It had not been as easy to defeat the Romans as he had expected.
Chapter 8
Faolan found nothing of worth in the farm but he did collect another twenty mounts from the fields around the farm. He and his bodyguard were now far more mobile; they had the means to escape any pursuers. He called the leaders of the warband together. “We have driven the Romans from this place and gathered much plunder. Already Conan will be nearing Manavia and when we return there we shall all share in the profits but we must move swiftly. The Romans will come. We will return the same way we came. We must move quicker than the behemoth which is the Roman army. Each warband will move as one. If we meet a large force we will disperse and meet further west. The boats will be off the coast and when we have all arrived we will embark.”
Angus was sceptical. “And you, Prince Faolan, will you travel with us or will your horses speed you away from us, away from danger to our treasure?”
Loegaire’s hand went to his sword and many of the chiefs began to mutter angrily. Faolan restrained his faithful retainer. “No Loegaire, Angus is right. It could be that I wish only the treasure and wish to abandon my men. However Angus, you are forgetting that my prize is not the treasure. It is the throne and I will need all of you and all of your men to secure it. When we have done so we will raise an even bigger army and this time when we return to Britannia we will conquer it and we will stay!”
The warriors roared their approbation but Angus was not convinced. He would keep a close watch on the slippery Irish warrior. When he reported to Morwe
nna he would have much to tell her.
******
Cassius and Metellus found the decaying and decomposing bodies of the slaughtered garrison. The wild beasts had done their best to feast on them but there were so many that they would have eaten for a month had the troopers not arrived. Whilst it was important and urgent that they pursue these raiders Cassius also knew they had to bury their comrades. The rocky ground made a poor burial ground but with every trooper and officer working they took less than half a day to bury them under a mound of the plentiful stone lying along the shoreline. While Cassius and most of the vexillation searched the camp Metellus rode in a large circle to look for sign.
“It was a large band, Cassius. I estimate almost two thousand but, thankfully, mostly infantry. They cut a large swathe through the valley as they headed east.”
Cassius nodded, his examination of the camp had revealed much the same information. “They left nothing of any use in the fort. Every piece of armour, useable wood, food, amphorae, all of it was taken. It is as though they came as scavengers.”
“I could find nothing discarded on the trail. They are at least five days ahead of us.”
“Then let us ride east and see who these mysterious scavengers are.”
*******
Rufius ensured that Macro and Marcus were both detailed to the flanks on their ride south, he needed his sharpest eyes and wits there. The troopers and the infantry were wary of attack and ambush although the carrion birds, picking at the dead lining the trail which marked the retreat of the Romans, indicated that there was no living human presence. The pall of smoke from the burning farm had dissipated but, walls without roofs and empty windows like eyeless skulls, gave the farm a dead feel.
The centurion in charge of the auxiliaries formed his men up into a large defensive square. Macro, Marcus, Spurius and Drusus took their turmae in a sweep around the fortified villa. Rufius entered, sword drawn through the broken and shattered gates. The raiders had removed their own bodies, the spiral of smoke on the nearby hillside showed where they had honoured their dead. The defenders lay where they had fallen, desecrated and mutilated to prevent them haunting their killers in the after life. It was obvious to Rufius that there was no danger and he waved the infantry and the rest of the ala forwards. The auxiliaries stacked their shields and spears to help them begin the grisly task of gathering the remains for a fit burial. Although Rufius wanted to honour Gaius and Cato, his two old comrades, he knew that that would have to wait. He ordered the ala forward and they headed down the lane towards Stanwyck. Here were more bodies, more badly ravaged by the animals for these were the soldiers who had fallen following First Spear to the sanctuary of the farm.
Drusus rode up at the head of his turma. “They headed east.” He pointed along the line of the Dunum. “They had wagons and horses.”
Spurius reined his horse in. “They buried their dead on that hill. I left my turma to look for sign.”
Rufius now had a dilemma. Should he follow the raiders or secure the farm? He looked at the faces of his men; they were eager to follow and gain revenge for what was done at the farm. Inside the gates Rufius could see the auxiliaries still gathering the remains. He had not realised until that moment just how hard leadership was. As an Explorate and a decurion he had had much freedom but now he was responsible for almost a thousand men.
“Antoninus and Drusus put your men out as a picket line. The rest of you gather up these fallen and take them inside the farm. I will wait here for the others.
Marcus was the first to arrive with Macro close behind. “Sir the only signs of the enemy are the bodies burning on the hill and the trail east.”
“Good. You two and Lucius take your turmae and follow the raiders. Find a suitable camp and begin to build it. I will follow hard on your heels with the rest of the ala.”
Macro made to nudge his horse forward into the farm but Marcus restrained him. “No brother, if Decurion Rufius does not wish us to see our father it will be for a good reason.” He looked at Rufius who nodded, sadly. Marcus leaned into Macro and said quietly, “We have trusted Rufius since he first let us ride with him. I trust him still.” With tear filled eyes Macro acknowledged that his brother was correct and they wheeled their horses, the three turmae setting off at a steady trot.
As they rode Macro said to Marcus, “I swear this brother. I will have revenge on those that did this.”
Marcus felt the same but there was something in Macro’s tone which worried him. They had been raised by the same parents but Macro had inherited much of his father’s irrational and excitable nature, Macro too would be a hero of Rome, with all the danger that entailed.
The land through which they travelled was not difficult to traverse for it was rolling hills and gentle, shallow valleys but it was country which had the potential for ambushes. Macro was keen for an ambush as he wanted to get to grips with this savage enemy but Marcus, still the level headed one, insisted on sending out scouts. The trail was a wide one and they could see from the improvised burial mounds along the way that the defenders had wounded many who had perished on the escape. The line of retreat did not deviate other than to allow for the rise and fall of the hillside. The steeply rising land to the north meant that they were edging further south as they went.
As they rested their horses and ate some dried meat Marcus pointed south west. “I think they are heading for Glanibanta. They will be trying to get back to Hibernia.”
Macro looked up, darkly, “Or Manavia.”
Sighing Marcus agreed, “Or Manavia. I think we could camp at the bridge over the Dunum.”
The Dunum twisted and turned and passed through a narrow valley. It was a perfect place for an ambush but also a good place for a camp. Although but fifteen miles from the farm Marcus knew that they needed a solid camp with a thousand raiders on the loose. He turned to his two best scouts. “Ride to the Dunum and make sure there is no ambush. If the enemy is there then one of you return to tell us.”
Rufius wasted no time at the farm. There were too many distressing memories to remain and become even more depressively morbid. The Centurion laid out the bodies ready for the family to bury them and they were cleaned up to give them a little more dignity. Already a rider had returned to Morbium to tell the Prefect that the family could return. Rufius had little problem persuading the centurion to leave a century of soldiers as a guard. After what the family had done for them the garrison would do all in its power to protect the family. Decius nodded his thanks to Rufius as he waited for the family to arrive and bury his father. Rufius could see the young man had become much older since had had seen the death and devastation of the happy family home. The family had a new paterfamilias, Decius Gaius Aurelius.
Rufius rode his men hard for he feared that his two young decurions would push on and try to come to grips with the enemy. Even with the whole ala chasing the warband it would not be a simple task to destroy such a large group but with two headstrong decurions set on revenge then it would be a death ride and Rufius cared too much for the young men to allow that to happen.
It was late afternoon by the time they crested the rise over the frail looking bridge across the Dunum. Rufius was relieved to see that the men had obeyed his orders and a camp was already being erected. Harsh words had obviously been exchanged between Marcus and Macro for there was an uneasy atmosphere in the camp. Lucius looked to be embarrassed while Marcus was red faced.
The best policy was just to get on with things as though the siblings had not a problem in the world. When they were ready it would be released, until then any interference would not be welcomed by either brother. Rufius sighed; Metellus or Cassius would have handled this better. Rufius was a warrior, more at home tracking and fighting than being a strategist.
“Well done decurions.” The snort of derision from Macro told Rufius what the problem was; Macro had wanted to push on. “This is the perfect place for a camp. As I recall there is nowhere for another twenty miles, it is exposed
moor land. We will make an early start tomorrow. With luck we may be able to catch them within the day.”
Marcus flashed a grateful look at Rufius. That was obviously the point he had made. “How far ahead do you think they are?”
Lucius, pleased to be able to speak, came forwards. “We found a fresh fire. They camped here yesterday. They have a few horses but they are largely afoot. They will be at Glanibanta the day after tomorrow.”
Rufius rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “The Decurion Princeps and four turmae were there. Interesting. We have them between us. I hope that our comrades have their wits about them.”
Macro nodded and added, sullenly. “They have Metellus, I am not worried, and he is the thinker in the ala. I owe my life to him. They will find a way to halt these killers of my father.”
Marcus shrugged as Macro headed off to berate some troopers who were not adhering to his instructions. Rufius came over. “It is to be expected Marcus. Metellus told me of the horror at the hands of his mother, to have your father die so soon after…”
“I just wish he wasn’t so impetuous.”
“Then he would not be his father’s son for Macro was the most impetuous warrior I ever knew. Brave as a lion and fearless but rarely thought with his head always his heart.”
******
Thirty miles ahead, just where two knolls rose above a twisting river Faolan was in conference with his two advisers. Loegaire knew that the men’s mood was worsening. “They expected more easy fights and they do not want to run from the Romans they have vanquished so easily.”
Faolan laughed ironically. “Were it not for their first victory over the unsuspecting garrison, then they would have lost more men than the Romans.” Faolan was learning that you needed more armour to fight these tough Roman warriors. Their discipline was superb; during the retreat to the farm he had been amazed just how many times the red crested leader had ordered and straightened his lines and repelled the brave but futile charges of warriors, intent on glory. “If they want plunder then they will need to bite back their pride and return with me when we are better trained.”
