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

by Griff Hosker

  “What I would do? If I, a mere woman, had a choice?”

  “Men and women all make the same choices Nanna.”

  She snorted, “How long have you been a soldier?”

  “Most of my life, ever since I was no longer a boy.”

  “Then you have lived your life in a world ruled by men. When you were on leave you chose where and what you ate and drank. If you wished to buy something then you chose it. If you wanted a woman then you chose her and paid for her no doubt. She did not choose you. When I was a young woman then I was chosen. The house in which I lived, it was chosen and built by my husband and the men. When I went to the market it was when my husband chose. When we bought anything, food, clothes, animals, even the jewellery I wore, then my husband chose not I.” She paused, almost out of breath at the torrent which had emerged from her mouth. “So how do we have the same choices?”

  They began to walk back to the shore, the ships now much closer and almost ready to dock. Metellus felt he was getting closer to her and went on quietly, “Then let us suppose that you had the same choices that a man has, what would you choose?”

  “I would choose to live quietly in a home close to neighbours but out of sight. I would choose a home with a stream and a wood. I would choose to keep and raise horses and to ride them when I chose.” She paused and stared intently at the tall decurion. “I would choose a kind thoughtful man with whom to live; an intelligent man with whom I could talk as equals.” She sighed and then said, simply, “I would choose you Metellus.”

  Taken aback Metellus stopped. “But why me? I have nothing. I am a decurion of the auxiliary and I have lived more than thirty five summers. Already the first snows are falling on my head and I have nothing.”

  She laughed and it was a tinkling happy laugh like a mountain stream and her eyes lit up. “You are a fine and noble man; I have seen you and seen the respect you have from your men. They do not give that to anyone. You have nothing? You have a wit and an intelligence I have rarely witnessed, besides I have gold.” He stopped, his mouth dropping open. “The barbarians did not get the gold and savings of my family. When we return I will dig them up. You said, think as a man and make a man’s choices. I choose you. Will you have me?”

  Metellus was stunned and, as he stood looking at this woman he had spent every waking hour with for the last ten days, he knew that he did. “Yes,” he said weakly, “I will.”

  ******

  The journey of Gaius and Antoninus Brutus had been fraught with danger and uncertainty. Deigning guards and companions, to keep a low profile, they had made their way across the desolated highland which separated the lands of the eastern Brigante from the western clans. Mamucium was as far as they could travel and yet still remain in the land of the Brigante. They hoped that news of their flight would not have reached the garrison at Deva or all their attempts to save their lives would have been futile.

  Gaius was largely silent on the journey across. The wonderful helmet his father had bought for him was buried close to the high part of the hills for they needed as little evidence of their involvement in the failed rebellion as possible. Since he had buried that symbol of his failure Gaius had barely uttered a word. It was as though he had buried his hopes and dreams with the shining helm. Antoninus had tried to cheer him, telling him that they would not find him quickly and, once they had done their business in Mamucium they would return as though they knew nothing of the revolt which had culminated in disaster. It was not that Gaius did not believe him, although he did not, he just did not care any more. For a brief moment in time he had had real power. He had had thousands of men who did his bidding and he had controlled an army. He had felt alive and, for the first time, like a real man. He found it hard to look at his father who had chosen a life of trade over a life of war. Had his father chosen to lead his people rather than making profit then who knows how Gaius’ life might have been different?

  As they approached the vicus at Mamucium, Antoninus reined in their weary mounts. “We will need to be as inconspicuous as possible. I have contacts who will give us shelter from prying eyes.” His greedy eyes flickered to the two pack horses laden with the black jet; a commodity more valuable to some than gold and his hope for a return to better fortunes. Once the jet was sold he could buy the wagons needed for the stone, hire the drivers and return home as though they had missed the whole revolution. A canny businessman he had ensured that both of them each had a belt into which were sown gold pieces. If things went awry then they could flee. Antoninus looked fondly at his son. “We will emerge stronger Gaius, believe me.”

  “How? “ Anger flamed in his eyes. “Will we buy a new army? Where? The only warriors who would fight now litter the streets of Eboracum.”

  As they made their way down the gentle slope to the gates of the vicus Antoninus tried to give him a glimmer of hope. “There are Brigante who are dissatisfied with Rome and there are tribes,” he pointed west, “across the sea who would follow a brave leader. You at least showed your bravery.”

  “But my face was hidden, no-one knows. And if they did I would be a hunted man.” There was his dilemma; to cash in on his limited success he needed to leave Britannia but at least he now knew that there was hope and there was a change in the young man for a while and his father was pleased with his own wisdom which, it appeared, had helped his son to turn a corner.

  The man Antoninus sought was more of a criminal than a business man. He had made his money robbing travellers crossing the high land and then, when the Romans began to patrol more, changed to become a trader himself with armed guards preventing others doing what he had done. He had expanded his empire so that he now produced wagons as well. Before the arrival of the Roman roads wagons were of limited use but now they enabled men like Antoninus to convey larger and heavier cargoes. For Gnaeus Vedius saw an opportunity to expand his empire to the east. He knew that Antoninus had quarries in the east and Rome was voraciously devouring stone in their huge road building programme. The desire for Roman villas also fuelled the need for quality stone and that was what Antoninus had.

  Gnaeus had a fine fortified house between Mamucium and Deva but it suited his purpose to have a home in the vicus, an anonymous though well apportioned dwelling where he could do his business close to the busy Forum. He greeted Antoninus and his son like old friends even though he had only met the Brigante trader once.

  “Welcome old friend to my home. A good journey?”

  “A tiring one.”

  “I will have your horses stabled at once.”

  “Before you do that could your man bring in the cargo? It is valuable.”

  Gnaeus’ eyes widened as he sent his slaves to the horses. “Gold?”

  Tapping his nose Antoninus said, “Better. It is jet which is lighter and, around here, more valuable.”

  Gnaeus could see that he had, potentially, a good ally. Around Wyddfa and Mona, jet was prized by the druids and priests who still hid in the secret caves and forests which proliferated in the high places and there was an increasing market in Camulodunum where the rich and noble had it fashioned into fine jewellery. “How much?”

  In answer Antoninus pointed to the four bags which the slaves deposited with a reassuring thud to the floor. “An Emperor’s ransom.” Gnaeus was impressed. “I believe I know a man who will buy it all. Shall I arrange it?”

  Antoninus became the businessman again and Gaius wandered out into the street not wishing to be part of the sordid business. The father frowned and then thought better of it. He would conclude his business first and then sort out his son. “Ten percent?”

  “I was thinking more of thirty. You do not know where to sell it but I do.”

  “I am sure that if I went to the Forum and said that I had jet I would sell it easily.”

  “Yes but not in one deal. Twenty.”

  “I am in no hurry, I can bide my time for the right price.”

  “Fifteen then.”

  Antoninus gave the hint of a smi
le. “Give me a good deal on the wagons and you can have your fifteen.”

  Gnaeus could already see how he would charge the buyer a fee and he would make money all around. “It is a deal.”

  Gaius Saturninus and his weary turma reported to the Prefect at the fort. It was merely a courtesy for Gaius was on the business of the Governor but he knew that the Prefect could hinder his investigations unless he was kept informed. “So the Brigante revolted?”

  “As revolts go it was a skirmish. The Irish raiders did more damage but the Governor wants to make an example of the leaders. Apparently they are a trader, Antoninus Brutus and his son Gaius who led the uprising. Their trail has led us here. They had two pack horses with them.”

  The Prefect checked his daily reports. “They did not come into the fort which means that, if they did venture here, they would have visited the vicus.”

  Gaius did not want to say that the Prefect’s judgements were obvious so he just nodded. “And who would they go to in the vicus?” The rather slow Prefect, whose face reminded the Decurion of an ass, looked blankly at the legionary Decurion. “Which traders are happy to work outside the law?”

  “All of them!”

  “Which would you say was the most important?” Gaius Saturninus tried one last question; another blank look and he would ask one of the sentries.

  “Ah that would be Gnaeus Vedius. A nasty piece of work. He keeps armed guards at his villa and his fingers are in every pie.”

  The Decurion could sense that this was his man. “Where would I find him?”

  “He has the largest house in the vicus, close to the inn called The Saddle. You will see two thugs outside with cudgels.”

  “Thank you. If I apprehend my men have you somewhere I could hold them until we return to Eboracum?”

  “Yes we have a cell here.”

  Gaius went into the tavern to buy himself some wine. He felt he needed to drown his sorrows. The Saddle, which was nearby was owned by a one armed ex-soldier called Horse. A garrulous man he happily chatted away to Gaius for it was a quiet afternoon. “Here on business eh?”

  Gaius ignored the question, having seen the shield and crossed spears on the wall behind the bar.”You were a soldier?”

  “Aye, Marcus’ Horse. Fought in the north. A grand life. Do you fancy being a soldier?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Well they are recruiting at Deva for horsemen. There was a revolt up north and they need auxiliaries. You ought to try it. You look like you can handle yourself.”

  Gaius was flattered and he liked this happy, fat, one armed ex-soldier.”So you just turn up and say you want to join?”

  “That’s all there is to it.”

  “Thank you for that, I might just do that.” He slid a denari across and The Horse smiled. A good tip; it paid to be pleasant.

  As Gaius stepped out he found himself behind a line of Imperial cavalry tramping down the street. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. He somehow knew who they were seeking. He slid into one of the alleys which marked the edges of the closely built huts.

  “You four, guard this end of the street, you four the other. You six, round the back.” Gaius glanced out and could see that the officer was looking towards Gnaeus’ domus and the two guards on the door were looking nervously at the heavily armed soldiers. “Remember we are looking for a father and a son. Anyone who fits that description just grab them. I want too many rather than too few.”

  As soon as he heard the words Gaius knew that his time in Britannia was up. He ran down the alley desperately trying to get his bearings. He remembered that, at the entrance to the vicus, there had been a stable. He made his way there as swiftly as he could and then entered casually. He wandered down the stalls eyeing the mounts while the owner greedily assessed the purse of this potential customer. Gaius saw one black mount he fancied but carried on to the next one which was a chestnut.

  “How much for this chestnut?”

  “Five denarii!”

  “Five?” I want a horse, not your business. Two!”

  “Four and I will throw in a saddle.”

  “What about the black in the next stall, is he cheaper?”

  “No sir, he is the best horse I have. I could not let him go for less than six.”

  “I will give you four and I will buy a saddle or ride bareback.”

  The owner shrugged. He had hoped to fleece the young man but he knew how to haggle. “A deal.”

  As Gaius kicked his horse on heading for Deva he reflected that he would never see his father again but then rationalised his betrayal. His father stood more chance of survival if his son was not with him and he knew that his father would want him to live. He would head for Deva but not to enlist, he would not fight for Rome but he would fight against. He would take ship and sail west.

  Antoninus felt his bowels shift as the huge Decurion burst in through the door. The two thugs on the door lay in the street oblivious to all. Gnaeus Vedius wondered what Antoninus could have done to warrant the attention of an Imperial officer.

  The Decurion grabbed hold of Antoninus. “You are Antoninus Brutus?” He was so petrified that his wits failed him. If he had said no then he might have gained some time. His silence was answer enough. “Where is your son? The traitor Gaius Brutus.”

  “He is not here.”

  “I can see that you dozy old bugger! That’s why I asked you where is he?”

  Antoninus suddenly decided to brazen this out, unaware that Gnaeus could see where this was going and was backing gently away. “Now look here. I am an honest business man. My son is also a trader. I don’t know who you think we are but you are mistaken and I will take this up with higher authorities.”

  The self satisfied look which appeared on the officer’s face should have warned Antoninus but he failed to recognise it. “Higher authority eh? Like, say, the Governor?”

  “Precisely! I knew the old Governor and…”

  “And the new Governor has issued a warrant for your arrest for financing the rebellion led by your son.”

  At that point Gnaeus wondered how he could keep his hands on the valuable black jet which lay at Antoninus’ feet, for one thing was certain the Brigante trader would not need it. Antoninus tried to bluff it out a little longer. “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

  “I am afraid, my little tubby trader that the survivors of your pathetic rebellion and their parents gave you up. Your lands have been confiscated,” he looked down, suddenly seeing the bags of jet at his feet, “as will, this booty. We will return to Eboracum where you will be tried. Now where is your son?”

  Even though it was all up and he knew it Antoninus showed, at last, the kind of courage his grandfather had shown. “I do not know!”

  “Very well bring him with us, and the jet and the slimy bugger trying to slip out of the back.”

  Gnaeus blustered, “I am a business man and I…”

  “And you are harbouring an enemy of the state.” He turned to his optio, “Take some men and ask around, see if anyone has noticed him.”

  The Prefect was amazed at the speed with which Gaius had found his man and delighted to finally have something on Gnaeus Vedius. “We’ll be getting back soon. Just have to go to Deva. Apparently he said he might enlist. I can’t see it myself but if he has gone to Deva and not joined up then he may have already left. A pity, but at least we have the man who financed the rebellion and from what I hear his son was a waste of time as a general anyway.”

  Chapter 18

  The funeral pyre had been built upon the beach facing the west. Macro was laid upon it in full armour with his weapons about him. Protruding from the top was a spear topped with the head of Morwenna and in the teeth of the dead queen was placed the blade which had ended the Decurion’s life. The whole of the ala was gathered around in a hollow square along with the sailors from the ships and they, in turn, were surrounded by the captives.

  Julius had made it a formal occasion for a number of rea
sons, firstly it was a ceremony to mark the death of a great warrior, secondly it mourned and celebrated all the dead of the ala who had perished in the campaign and, finally, it celebrated the death of an enemy of Rome. He was acutely aware of the attentions of the villagers. He knew that they had sympathies which lay, not with Rome, but with Manavia and he wanted a message sending to them. The last of the crucified barbarians had died in the night and as the crows and magpies feasted on the dead bodies it provided a sombre message for the wider community. Fight Rome and this is your fate.

  Marcus took the burning brand from Julius Demetrius, Legate of Rome and walked slowly towards the byre. He knew his dead brother would wish him to do this but he found himself oddly reluctant to do so. It was as though by setting fire to his brother he was confirming that he was, indeed, dead and Marcus still expected him to leap up and be alive once more. Over the hills he glimpsed the hunting hawk and knew that it was a message from the afterlife that Macro was watching. He thrust the torch into the kindling at the base of the byre and stepped back. It was a well made pyre and soon the flames were licking around the warrior’s body. The armour and the leather slowed down the effects of the flames and instead the spear caught fire and its bright tongues ate their way to the grinning skull of the dead queen. The dry red hair, now duller in death suddenly erupted making a corona of flame around her head. The flesh began to melt and drip from her face and white bone briefly flashed before being wreathed in smoke. As the spear finally crumbled the skull fell crashing to the ground, the knife still fixed in the dead teeth and the mouth in a rictus grin. At that moment the flames finally consumed Macro and the decurion of the Second Sallustian Ala of Pannonians passed over to the half life.