Hosker, G [Sword of Cartimandua 09] Hero of Rome

by Griff Hosker

  Angus looked approvingly at Faolan who had grown during the campaign. He would make a good leader, a bad enemy but a sound leader. Angus would not trust the man but he did not need to. When they reached Manavia his role would be done and he could get back to training and honing his warband. “The Romans will follow us; you know that. Probably with whatever cavalry they have which means they will catch us before we can reach safety.”

  Loegaire had been silent; listening to the conversation and planning his own strategy. “This is a good place for an ambush. This side of the river has a steep bank and it has good cover.”

  Faolan looked at the site. Loegaire was right. Two hundred men could be hidden by the hedgerow and trees. Any force would then have to climb a steep slope; never an easy task against determined opposition. “Perhaps we can kill two birds with one stone here.” The two men waited for Faolan’s idea. “Angus, can you find me two hundred of the most vocal of our warriors, the ones who are moaning about the retreat and the ones who are keen to come to grips with the Romans.”

  “Aye there should easily be a hundred, maybe more.”

  “All the better. We will see if they can ambush and destroy the Romans here.”

  Angus shook his head. “They might slow them up but they won’t defeat them.”

  “It matters not for as long as they delay them it helps our escape and it will make our pursuers more wary.” Striding off Angus went to look for his foolhardiest warriors. Faolan took Loegaire to the bluff. “That was a good idea. We will need more ideas like that if we are to escape back to the land of the Ebdani.”

  “Stakes.”

  “Stakes?”

  “Aye stakes like the Romans use in their ditches. If we put them in the river it will slow their advance and might make them easier targets.”

  “Good man. See to it.”

  ******

  “Sir. Found something interesting here.”

  “What is it Metellus?”

  “Tracks heading west.”

  The four turmae had had an easy task following the raiders but they had been careful to check both sides of the line of march, in case some of the group had split off. So far their prey had been faithful to their course. The two officers trotted over to the trampled land. It was over two hundred paces south of their group. Cassius did not doubt Metellus’ judgement, he was, after all, the best tracker they had but he knew that someone else’s ideas helped to clarify one’s own.

  “This is a slightly different group. They have women and children. You can see from the foot prints.” In a bare patch of mud the smaller footprints could be seen. “They also have more horses.” He pointed to piles of horse manure which was of varying sizes and hue indicating that there were different types. “And this time they have a wagon, well at least one.”

  “The question is Metellus, is this the same group?”

  “If it is then they have been thinned out a little. There are more women and children than men.”

  “Refugees? Fleeing the devastation.”

  “Could be. The other thing is that they are recent. They only passed through here the day before yesterday.”

  Metellus was glad that the decision Cassius would have to make was not his. He knew the Decurion Princeps well enough to see the thought processes at work. Did he risk losing the warband by tracking this new group? Or did he abandon these women and children to whatever fate the west had for them to follow his orders. Cassius smiled as he watched Metellus watching him. “One day Metellus you too will have to make these decisions.”

  “Hopefully not for a long while.”

  “Well here it is. I will continue to follow the first group. You take Cicero and identify the new one. They will be closer so if it is harmless then you can rejoin me whilst if it is something sinister you can send a rider for me.”

  “Sir!”

  As Metellus led his fifty men west he wondered at the wisdom of the Decurion Princeps decision. “Come on Cicero we have many miles to go to catch these mysterious travellers.”

  Metellus was very familiar with the land, having explored it since his days as an Explorate. “Any idea where they are going sir.”

  “It is Metellus when we are alone on patrol and yes I do. They are heading further south than the group we followed. They will have to either go back through Glanibanta or head south around the huge lake. Either route takes them to the coast but eventually they will have to head north west again.”

  Cicero looked at the steep hills which rose before them. “How does that help us sir er Metellus?”

  “If we haven’t caught up with them before the lake then we will ride towards Glanibanta, either we catch up with them there or we will be ahead of them near the high pass.”

  The lake on their left seemed almost overpowered by the high hills rising steeply to each side. For Metellus this was a good thing for it meant that his quarry had to follow the path and could not deviate. They pushed on hard knowing that the sooner they found them the sooner they could rejoin their comrades. Suddenly Marius, who was on point held up his hand. Immediately every trooper was on high alert with his javelin ready and his shield tucked tightly into his side. Signalling for Cicero to remain where he was Metellus trotted forwards. “There sir. I can see a hand sticking out from behind the bush.”

  “Good eyes, Marius.” He peered closely at the hand and noticed the swarm of flies nearby. “Has it moved?”

  “No sir.”

  “I think it is a dead man but let us go forwards carefully in case it is a live one.”

  As they emerged into the small clearing they could see that it was a dead man. The ripped throat told of how the man had died but not who had done it. “Looks to me like one of the Irish so perhaps this group is the raiding party we seek. He looks to be important from the number of amulets, bracelets and torcs but who did this to him?”

  “Sir?”

  Metellus whistled for Cicero to bring up the rest. “Oh just speculating son. Normally barbarians bury their dead. He was just left here and I wonder why.”

  When Cicero arrived Metellus said, “Give them a short break while I scout around.”

  Marius turned to Cicero. “He knew the man was dead even though we could only see his hand and the way he works things out…”

  “Decurion Metellus is a very clever man Marius. You would do well to learn from him.”

  Metellus found where some kind of combat had taken place; there were broken branches and patches of blood. He stood and mounted his horse to get a better view. Peering towards the lake he saw what he sought, an unnatural pile of stones. He trotted towards it and began to move the stones. He knew what he would find but he wanted confirmation. As soon as he saw the face he knew he had his answer. It was an Irish chief with torc and tattoos. The bloody patch at his stomach told how he had died. Metellus hated having to do it but he took the torc from the body. “Forgive me, unknown warrior, forgive me Allfather. I will return this when I discover your name.”

  Cicero and Marius were mounted when Metellus reached them. They both looked expectantly at Metellus. “Oh, you want to know what happened? It looks like this is some of our raiders. Both dead men are Hibernians. I think the chief was killed by the warrior Marius and I found and the chief’s men disposed of him. This is good because it means dissension is in the ranks and we can push on much harder and with great care. These are not friends ahead.”

  ******

  Creagth and the other fifty warriors left by Faolan to guard the high pass were bored. Already three had been slightly injured in stupid, drunken swordplay which had suddenly become serious. Unless the Prince returned soon then Creagth might find himself with but a handful of men. They had found the perfect place to defend; the path twisted and turned though sheer high walls and Creagth had chosen the place where it flattened out at the side between two old rock falls. The rock falls provided the building material for a primitive barrier, as high as a man with a firing step on the inside. As a punishment for fighting
, four men had been sent down to the valley bottom to gather enough wood to make a primitive gate. That was days ago and now his men were, once again, bored.

  “Someone coming!”

  “To arms!” Action, any action was preferable to boredom. Creagth soon recognised Conan and his bodyguard. He was not prepared for the huge number of women and children who, tied together, trudged up the steep pass. The wagons which accompanied them were also struggling to get up the slope. “Open the gate and get those wagons up here.”

  He strode down the pass noticing, as he did so, the bandages on the chief and his limping gate. “Good to see you Creagth!”

  “And you old friend.” He gestured at the bandages. “I see that you have had some action at last.”

  “Aye but it was not as easy as the old witch made out. These Romans are tough bastards. If you come against them don’t think that because they are short and don’t rush at you that they are afraid; they are not. I can vouch for that.”

  Creagth escorted the chief to the shelters they had constructed. “You had better stay the night here. It is but a day to the coast and I will send one of my men to summon the ships.” He looked curiously at the scarred veteran. “I assume you are returning?”

  “We are. These men,” he waved a dismissive hand at the twenty men who were not members of his bodyguard, “are some of the wounded. Others died along the way. I had to slit the throat of that bastard Aed. He murdered my cousin Blarth and a few others wanted their way with the slaves.”

  “Was that a problem?” Creagth was eyeing up one or two of the young women, his loins aching already.

  “Don’t get any ideas. Faolan does not want them devalued and I gave my word.”

  Creagth held up his hands. Once your word was given then it was as though it was set in stone and inviolable. “And where is our young leader?”

  “I left him trying to get the sword but he will be hot on our heels soon. I tell you old friend, I will be glad to get back to my glens and my women. I am getting too old for this sort of thing.”

  Chapter 9

  “Sir. Have found them.”

  “Good man Marius. Where?”

  They had seen the trail cross the stream close to Glanibanta and Metellus had sent scouts out along both sides of the stream in case they were splitting up. They knew that they were within a few hours of their quarry for the signs they had passed were fresher and fresher.

  “It isn’t good news sir. They are about ten miles up that pass. There are wagons and, as you thought, captives. They were easy to see climbing the pass. It looks like there was another warband there to meet them. I counted at least eighty warriors. Sorry sir. I wanted to make sure I had counted them all.”

  “No Marius. Information is never wasted. Are they halting or moving on?”

  “They have a wall across the pass. It would be a bugger to take sir but I think they are camping.”

  “Excellent. Get some food. Decurion Cicero.” The keen young decurion trotted up eagerly anticipating some action; all the other scouts had returned earlier and they were ready to ride. “Send a rider to find the Decurion Princeps. We have caught up with the raiders. There are eighty of them and they have women and children with them.”

  Soon the two turmae were riding hard to cover the ten miles before dark. The messenger would have a harder and more dangerous task but Metellus couldn’t worry about that. He had to come up with a plan which might see them rescue the captives or, equally likely, find themselves slaughtered on a remote hillside. He recognised the pass having travelled through it on a number of occasions. He knew that it led to Itunocelum and the sea, and thence, Manavia. He could almost see the place they had chosen and knew that a frontal assault was out of the question. They could see, from the glow of the firelight, where the camp was and leaving two men to watch, he and the others found a sheltered dell in which to work out a strategy. Rather than plan, tell Cicero and then have it repeated to the troopers Metellus decided that honesty and a frank explanation were called for and all of the troopers would find out at the same time.

  “Right lads well here it is. We are between a rock and a shit hole!” They all laughed at the coarse humour. “Up there are Brigante captives. We don’t know if they are from Eboracum, Morbium or one of the many settlements between here and home, but it doesn’t matter for they have to be rescued.” He knew he had their attention for many of them were native Brigante and the majority of those were from the lands around Gaius’ farm. “A frontal assault would just get us all killed. The only alternative is to climb up there.” He pointed at the dark and hidden hillside which rose like a tower behind them. “We would not be able to take our shields just swords and bows. When we get to the top we will be outnumbered and so we need to strike whilst it is dark and they are unaware of our numbers. If they realise how few we are then they will just climb up and pick us off at their leisure. Our only hope is to take out as many of their leaders as we can and hope that the barbarians take their wagons, horses and run. The measure of success will be that we get the captives safely back. Anything else will be a bonus.”

  There was a silence as the men took in the decurion’s words. Cicero leaned over and said, under his breath, “Well at least you didn’t sweeten it eh sir?”

  “Well lads if anyone has a better suggestion, I am all ears, otherwise choose two of you to be horse holders while I go and tell the other two what we are about. Leave any spare equipment on your horses. If we have to leave in a hurry we won’t have the luxury of time to pack. When we get up there we fire two volleys and cheer and shout on the second then run to a new spot, two more arrows and retreat back up the slope to the ridgeline. Any dead men we leave. One last thing, smear mud on your faces and hands it will make us harder to see.” Cicero looked dubious, “Trust me boys it is an old Explorate trick. If we had charcoal it would be even better!”

  While the men checked their equipment Metellus told the two troopers watching the pass what their instructions were. Both were disappointed to be missing out on, what they saw as, an adventure but Metellus pointed out that they could be the only survivors and, as such, would have to follow the captives and then report to the ala. Sobered by the serious message the two young troopers addressed their role with much more enthusiasm.

  “Well Cicero I shall lead off…”

  “But sir I am younger!”

  “Exactly and how would it look to the men if the oldest man, who happened to be the leader, was the last man up? No this is better for we will all reach the top with enough breath to fight. Bring up the rear and make sure they know not to make noise.”

  “What is your plan at the top sir… er Metellus?”

  “That depends upon our enemy. If we can surprise them, shoot their leaders with arrows and make a lot of noise then they may retreat but if they stay then we keep the high ground and kill as many as we can. They can escape but not with all the captives.”

  Cicero looked appalled. “But sir that means some of our people may end as slaves?”

  “True Cicero but it would take a miracle to save them all. If the Decurion Princeps was here we might have enough men to take them but there is still a huge warband out there. This way we save some…” He put his arm on the young officer’s shoulder. ”Get used to it, Cicero, the odds are always against us. We do what we can.”

  Using hand signals the two officers, who had left their shield and spears tied to their mounts, led the way up the steep bank. It was not sheer but it was difficult to ascend and the troopers were soon grateful that they had both hands free to pull and tug at rocks, bracken and branches as they took any help they could get. The wind was blowing, if not a gale then quite strongly, but that worked in their favour for it masked any noise they might have made. Metellus was feeling his age as his thighs began to burn and he found himself heaving. How did one get unfit? Then he realised, it was not a lack of fitness, he was just getting older, a foe it was difficult to fight.

  Suddenly there was nothing
looming above him and he dropped to all fours. His white eyes showed against his blackened face as he watched as his men scramble up. Cicero was the last man and he crawled over to Metellus. “One man injured sir, Agrippa he fell, and I think he has broken his wrist. I sent him down to the horse holders.”

  “A better result than we could have expected.” He leaned over to look down into the encampment. There was neither order nor organisation. The barbarians had just put a few shelters up anywhere. Their fires, too, were dotted around but their glow helped the troopers to identify the sentries. From their perch they could see that there were only guards on the gated barrier. Metellus held up six fingers confirming that there were six guards. He pointed at six men and signalled that, when the order was given, they would take out those guards. The rest began to slip slowly down the slope to get closer to the camp for they needed to see where the leaders were. Metellus assumed that they would have the best shelters, closest to the fires and the wagons. He saw a small group whose arms were covered with bracelets and honour bands. They were the leaders. He pointed to another twelve troopers and gave them the signal that the ten by the fire were theirs.

  Cicero and the rest knew that they would just have to pick their targets as best they could. Metellus unslung his bow. He looked left and right to ensure that all were watching him. He drew back his bow as did every other trooper. Metellus’ arrow hurtled towards the bearded warrior sleeping closest to the gate. Forty four other arrows flew at the same time. They all reloaded but this time, as they shot they screamed and shouted.

  The guards at the gate fell to the man but the leaders were luckier, only six of the arrows found their mark. As Metellus scampered to a rock higher up the slope he noticed that at least fifteen barbarians were down but now they were alerted and it was more difficult to hit them. “Choose your targets. Don’t waste arrows; we have time on our side but not ammunition.” Although he sounded confident, in reality Metellus was not too sure. Perhaps it would not be the ala riding to their aid. The huge warband who had destroyed Glanibanta might reach them first.