Hosker, G [Sword of Cartimandua 06] Druid's Gold

by Griff Hosker

  He found himself breathing almost as hard as his horse. The urgency was gone. Rufius would easily reach the fort before he did and he slowed Badger down even more as he conserved both their energies. He didn’t know if he would come across the four who were pursuing Rufius. Glancing to the west he saw a smudge which appeared to be moving. The deserter army had made good time and Metellus hoped that Rufius had reached the fort for it was less than an hour away. By the time they both had their wind they had covered another five mils. Metellus made the classic mistake of relaxing too soon but fortunately Badger scented Blackie before Metellus saw his comrade’s mount.

  As soon as Badger nodded her head up and down Metellus’ senses became alert and attuned to danger. “You smell something eh? Let’s just see what there is up the road then.” Within a few heartbeats Metellus was horrified to see Blackie standing forlornly at the side of the road and as he drew closer Metellus could see a lump on the ground at the ground near to the horse’s hooves. Metellus kicked hard and was soon at Blackie’s side. Leaping to the ground he saw the arrow sticking out of Rufius’ shoulder. He eased the boy around and heard, to his relief, his laboured breathing. He was alive!

  “That you Metellus? Sorry about this one of them managed to hit me with an arrow. Held on as long as…” Then he passed out.

  “You did well son. Now let’s get this out.” As he examined it he could see that the arrow had not gone far into the boy’s body as the leather armour had absorbed most of the impact. The head was not barbed and had only penetrated in a couple of uncia. Making sure that Rufius was unconscious he took out his medical kit. It was scrupulously clean although if had had time Metellus would have lit a fire and heated the scalpel but he had no time for that. He had to work swiftly while Rufius was out for he would have to cut it out. He eased the sharp point into the side of the head relieved that it was pale surface blood which seeped out. He worked the blade down until he felt no resistance, pushing in with the blade and pulling gently on the shaft he began to pull the arrow out but it refused to move and he felt Rufius moaned a little. He pulled the scalpel out and repeated his action on the other side. This time, as he pulled,he felt it slowly move until with a pop it slipped out. Metellus pushed on the shoulder to let a little more blood out. It came out clear and he took out the wad of cloth and poured some wine on it jamming it on to the wound. He bandaged it as tightly as he could and then, turning over Rufius’ inert body forced some wine down his throat.

  “What I should do my friend is to make a camp and give you hot food but time presses and men may die if we do not move.” He lifted the body and draped it over Blackie’s saddle. “Well Blackie you will have to look after him now.” He took a length of short rope from his saddle bag and ties Rufius’ hands and feet together. Taking another length he passed at under the saddle and around his body. “That’s all I can do I am afraid.” Taking Blackie’s reins he mounted Badger and they headed south down the road. Although they travelled faster than was good for Rufius, Metellus knew that they were barely keeping pace with the army of traitors which was heading in the same direction. It would be a close run thing.

  *

  Porcius had heard disturbing reports of barbarians rampaging through the countryside. Fewer travellers had headed down the road and those who had spoke of bands of warriors raiding and killing. He had taken the unusual step of actually telling his First Spear to double the guards and question everyone who came to the fort. This was not the posting that Porcius wanted. He preferred the easier life he had had before. As soon as it was close to twilight he ordered the gate closed and he and First Spear stood in the tower atop the Porta Praetorium.

  “I don’t like the atmosphere in the vicus First Spear. They are normally welcoming and friendly but they seem very sullen and look to be avoiding us more than usual.”

  First Spear did not like this posting either. “I agree. I would be happier if we had some reinforcements. This lot,” he waved a dismissive hand at the men on the walls, “have not had to fight for a long time.” In truth neither he nor the Camp Prefect had seen a weapon raised in anger since Agricola had left when they had both been starting their careers in the auxilia.

  The guard on the topmost level of the tower suddenly shouted, “Riders approaching.”

  “Can you identify them?”

  “They are not in uniform.”

  “Barbarians! To arms!” The buccina sounded and they both heard the sound of men running to the ramparts.

  Metellus drew up next to the ditch which surrounded the fort. He shouted up. “I am from the Explorates and I bring news.”

  “Give me the news then.”

  “I have a wounded man with me.”

  “Sounds like a barbarian trick and I don’t know you!”

  Cursing the man’s caution Metellus shouted up. “There is an army coming down the road to attack the fort. They are dressed as Romans but they are deserters and there is a Brigante army close behind. Now open the gate and let us in. This trooper needs medical attention.”

  “An army of deserters dressed as Romans! Do you take me for a fool? Archers! Shoot them down.”

  Fortunately for the two Explorates the sentries were neither efficient nor prepared and did not have their weapons aimed. Metellus wheeled his horse around and tugged Blackie back into the gloom and darkness before the archers could aim their weapons. “Well Badger we have done all we could. We’ll head north and then make camp. The fate of the fort is now in the hands of the Allfather but the fool may have doomed his cohort and the vicus to a brutal and unnecessary death.”

  *

  Decius rode up the fort at the head of his twenty horsemen. “Hail the fort. Decurion Gaius Augustus of the Third Pannonian Horse. We seek shelter for the night.”

  The Camp Prefect looked at his First Spear. “Thank the gods we have reinforcements.” He leaned over to order the gate to be opened.

  First Spear grabbed his arm. “Are you mad? Did not the rider say there were men dressed as Romans?”

  “Fool! It was a trick of the barbarians. This is obviously a Roman listen to his voice. He sounds and looks Roman.”

  “He may do but the rider said deserters and they would be Roman. Besides he said they were Pannonians. Yes?”

  “Yes. And?”

  “In which case why are these auxiliary cavalry wearing gladii and the Lorica Segmenta armour of the legionary?”

  “These are foolish and cowardly words First Spear. Who knows why they are wearing Lorica Segmenta.” Even as he chastised his comrade doubt began to creep into his mind. Now that he looked down he could see that they did not look right, they didn’t look, well Roman.

  “Hurry man. My men are cold and hungry. Would you deny us shelter?”

  “Where have you come from?”

  “Bremmetenacum.”

  “And how is Camp Prefect Lividius at the moment? Is he still unwell?”

  “No he is fully recovered I am pleased to say.”

  “The Camp Prefect is not Lividius, I made the name up. Shoot them!”

  First Spear turned to the archers. “Fire!”

  Decius sense of self preservation took over and he wheeled his mount just before the archers fired. Five of his men were too slow and tumbled to the ground. Roaring his anger Decius shouted into the darkness, “Attack!”

  Centurion and the rest of the deserter army were crouching close to the other walls of the fort and, with a shout, leapt at the walls. They had avoided the lillia and had ladders to help them scale the palisade. All attention had been on the front gate and First Spear had been correct, their lack of action had made them slow to react. The first sentries fell to arrows shot from the dark and in the hiatus which followed Centurion and Tiny’s men found a foothold in the fort and one wall was quickly taken. The strength of the fort was in holding an enemy at a distance. Allowing the deserters to close with the walls had taken away their one advantage. That was the beginning of the end for the garrison.

  Tiny
took his chosen legionaries down the stairs to the Porta Praetorium where they hacked and slashed their way through overweight auxiliaries who were out of their depth. As soon as they reached the gate they opened it, allowing Decius and his cavalry to charge in followed by the baying barbarians of Brennus. Porcius watched in dumb horror as a spear took out the only fighting soldier who could have organised a defence, First Spear. Self preservation took over and the portly Porcius grabbed the men nearest him, “The Fort is lost we must leave and tell Deva!”

  The ten men around him realised this would be their only chance and they ran down the stairs towards the rear gate. Porcius allowed them to run for the gate while he ran for the stables where he knew there were horses. Others had had the same idea but fortunately for the Camp Prefect he managed to haul his carcass onto the back of one of them. The ten men he had sent ahead, now reduced to eight managed to open the Porta Decumana and five of them fled down the road, south. Porcius and the other six horsemen were the last to manage to escape the massacre of Mamucium, galloping away for the security and safety of Deva.

  Behind him his command was ruthlessly butchered by Decius, angry that his simple plan had been thwarted. Long after they had killed the inhabitants of the fort, they and their barbarian allies wreaked havoc on the vicus and even erstwhile allies such as Nautius were butchered. Many fled north towards Bremmetenacum while others ran to the woods to hide until the nightmare was over.

  As Livius peered from the road at the slaughter he wondered what had happened to Metellus and Livius but he knew he had no time to think of such things. The rebellion had started and his Explorates had to head north and find, hopefully, the Ninth Hispana which he hoped had already reached Bremmetenacum. If not that fort too would suffer the fate of Mamucium because it would not be two armies attacking, it would soon be three when the Red Witch returned to Britannia with her Irish army. Livius had been too late, he had failed. He grasped the hilt of the Sword of Cartimandua. Had he let down Ulpius, Marcus and Gaius? All those who had wielded the sword so successfully and he, wearing it in his first campaign, had been a miserable unmitigated disaster.

  Part Three

  The rebellion

  Chapter 15

  Prefect Fulvius greeted the weary Livius when he rode through the gate. The decurion was delighted to see the Second Cohort of the Ninth grimly improving the defences of Bremmetenacum and it raised his spirits. “Good to see you Livius. From your expression I gather you have not brought me good news.”

  Livius shook his head and almost fell from the saddle. “No sir. I failed. Mamucium has fallen and two armies are heading north; a deserter army led by my brother and a Brigante army. In addition I believe that Morwenna is bringing an army of Irish to these shores. The rebellion has begun.”

  The Prefect put a paternal arm around Livius’ shoulder. “You did not fail. Your man Metellus reached the fort and warned the camp Prefect but his words were ignored and your intelligence means that I arrived here to reinforce this fort. The Third Cohort is on its way south. I think that, if we have the right information then we can still beat her and her traitorous allies.”

  A smile of relief spread over Livius’ face. “My men are they safe?”

  “Yes decurion. One of your men was wounded. I have sent out some of your men to find the Queen but the rest are here awaiting your orders. Rest today and we will discuss our plans at dinner.”

  Livius found Rufius in the sick bay. Although looking pale he tried to rise when his superior entered. “No Rufius lie back. Where is the wound?”

  “An arrow in the shoulder. Metellus removed it. It is healing well and I should be up and about in a couple of days.”

  Livius shook his head. “No you will be up and about when they,” he waved at the capsarii who were busy organising the sickbay in anticipation of a war, “say it is time. Our job is hard enough when we are fit. When we are wounded it is impossible. You will not know what went on at the fort then will you?”

  “No sir I was strapped to Blackie like an extra saddle cloth.”

  “Well you rest now and I will find the others.”

  “Drusus and Marius are out with their maniples scouting for the Queen.”

  “Good. You rest.”

  The fort was, by contrast with Mamucium and the lethargic Prefect Porcius Fortuna, a hive of activity. Prefect Fulvius had begun strengthening the defences as soon as he had arrived and the ditches were being deepened and sown with the deadly lillia. Inside armourers were sharpening weapons while First Spear Lartius drilled legionaries and auxilia together. Metellus, Decius, Cassius and Agrippa were in the overcrowded stables grooming their mounts.

  “Good to see you sir.”

  “And you Metellus. You did well.”

  “Not well enough. I was just telling the lads that.”

  Livius shook his head. “Tell me, how Rufius become wounded.”

  “Bad luck really sir. An arrow hit him in the shoulder. The leather saved him but the loss of blood meant he came off his horse.”

  “Lucky for him you are the best capsarius in Britannia.”

  Metellus shrugged. “If we had got to the fort in daylight we may have been able to persuade the Prefect to resist and…”

  “It would not have made any difference Metellus. I arrived at the fort as it was overwhelmed. Porcius Fortuna could not have defended the fort for he was not a fighting man. The Parcae were watching over you and Rufius. Had you been admitted to the fort your bones would be lying now in the debris.”

  “It is destroyed then sir.”

  “Yes Agrippa and the vicus too. They were both burning fiercely when I left.”

  “Did any escape?”

  “I saw some figures fleeing south and they were not pursued. I assume that the twentieth will know what is going on.”

  “Will they come to join us then sir?”

  “Afraid not Decius. The Twentieth has to control the wild lands south and west, including Mona. The best that we can hope is that they send a cohort to rebuild Mamucium but I doubt even that. I suspect that the best we can hope is that they fortify the bridge over the Seteia and hold there.”

  “Things look bad sir.”

  “Yes Cassius but the Prefect is a good commander and the Ninth are the best we have. I don’t think my brother will best them. But we could do with an ala of cavalry to give us the edge.”

  “You mean like Marcus’ Horse.”

  “Just like Marcus’ Horse.”

  *

  Morwenna had only waited until she had given birth before embarking with her new army. Maban was wet nursing the boy as she also had given birth to a boy. The new born baby’s body now rested in the holy grove on Manavia allowing the acolyte to use her milk for the new heir to Britain, the child of Morwenna and Decius. The boats which brought the army up the Belisama had been of all shapes, sizes and comfort. It had been the part of the rebellion which had concerned Morwenna the most. If the Classis Britannica had discovered them on the short crossing from Manavia then it would have been easily destroyed. As she watched the warriors disembark she felt more confident. Tadgh, beside her, was resplendent in his new armour at the head of the Brigante and druids who formed the Queen’s bodyguard. The Irish were commanded by Ernan, a young Irish prince whose lands had been stolen by an uncle with more allies than the youthful heir. He had a desperate passion to return to his lands and reclaim his birthright. Morwenna had seen in him someone who could be bent to her purpose and she had promised that, when her kingdom was reclaimed she would help to fund his war in Ireland. She knew it would make him fight fiercely for her.

  She had a good army; a thousand wild Irish warriors, her four hundred bodyguards, a thousand Brigante under Brennus and the deserters, six hundred in total under Decius. She knew that soon others would flock to her banner and this time they had the weapons and the gold to ensure that their rebellion succeeded.

  Tadgh organised the camp on the shores of the estuary as they waited for contact to be made
by Brennus or Decius. The niggling doubt in Tadgh’s meticulously military mind was their lack of horses. It slowed them down and made them blind. He hoped that his men had managed to acquire horses or they would have to blunder blindly through the land seeking an enemy who had both the eyes and ears to find them first.

  Marius was alone when he saw the small fleet edge gingerly into the estuary. He wavered wondering whether he should inform the Prefect immediately or wait to make sure it was the rebel army. In his own mind he knew it was the enemy but he had to make sure that Morwenna was there. She would be the difference between success and failure for the rebels. Despite the hatred felt for her, he also knew that her warriors would fight far harder for her than any man. He had seen it before and he had heard the stories of her mother who had the same power over men. He felt safe in the copse; someone would have to stumble over him to find him. His cloak was dark and he had a mount whose colour varied from black to light brown and blended into any undergrowth like a bush with a tail.