Spears of Britannia

by Scott Hurst

  But it was proving impossible to get the man alone.

  ‘You must keep your promise,’ the Shadow insisted. ‘Artur demands his sacrifice.’

  Lupicinius could sense the bear god’s anger if he should prove weak now. The Shadow whispered on, ‘You know what Artur would expect then, Lupicinius. Desperatio. The ultimate rejection God’s mercy.’

  ‘Not self-destruction, I beg you,’ Lupicinius pleaded. ‘See how I punish myself,’ Lupicinius whimpered, seizing a sharp stone, clawing it down his flesh.

  ‘We are hurting you for your own good, Lupicinius,’ the Shadow hissed. ‘Show Artur you would make any sacrifice for him, how you bleed for him. Show him he can trust you.’

  Sacrifice. Lupicinius clutched at a sane thought. Let Guidolin build up his army; prepare the tribe to take power. Then he would offer up a huge ceremonial feast in thanksgiving. He would kill him then.

  *****

  Calista stormed through the house, searching for Dye. Finally she found him in the garden, helping himself to a glass of wine. Dye started, guiltily putting down the silver flagon as soon as he saw her.

  ‘That brother of yours is recovering!’ she scowled. ‘Just as Severus is weakening! To think we were so close! Maddening, when we were on the verge of eradicating those stinking Bagaudae and all those other undesirables.’ Picking up Dye’s glass she downed the contents in one. ‘Soon Max will be back to his full strength and you’ll have a rival for the throne again.’

  Rubbing the ridges of his scarred face Dye tried to placate her. ‘All we’ve achieved in Max’s absence is not lost. Most of the nobility have sworn to back us. Our movement to crush the Bagaudae and expel any inferior races from Catuvellaunia is already in motion.’

  Calista sniffed. ‘We must move faster or all we have gained will be at risk. We may have exterminated some of the revolutionaries, but we still have to stamp out their ringleaders.’

  Dye dropped his gaze to Calista’s breasts, magnificent under the thin linen of her tunica. She was so good in bed when she was angry. Daring her exasperation his fingers searched out a rosebud nipple. ‘We have worked so hard, my darling, sharing our vision, equipping our followers, giving them reason to fight for us.’ They’d been so easy to persuade. Greed, self-interest, the promise of power. ‘Nothing can stop us. Soon I will be chief of the Catuvellauni and you will be my queen.’ His other hand reached out to fondle her buttock. ‘It doesn’t have to be all work, does it, my darling?’

  Calista slapped his hand away angrily. He was slurring already and it wasn’t even evening. ‘I don’t want to be pawed by some fat drunkard. Save it for your little slave girls.’ She laughed at his shocked expression. ‘Oh yes, I know. But I’m not complaining. Not if sleeping with them keeps you away from me.’ Smoothing down her tunica she turned to go. ‘Next time I do let you get your sweaty little hands on me, give me an heir. Maximus will soon be lifting the skirts of that little Dobunnic tart again. You know how obsessed those primitives are; they breed like rabbits.’ Her strange eyes glittered. ‘I warn you, Dye, if Sabrina gives Severus a grandson before I do, I will make your life a misery.’

  *****

  Max’s mind was clearing by the day. But with clarity came worry; worry about the Saxon raiders, about Guidolin, about Constantine. The Emperor had made good his threat to pull all his troops out of Britain, or at least those soldiers who still obey his commands. The civil war between Gerontius and himself continued in Gaul. Neither side seems able to win a decisive victory. A temporary truce Constantine had forged with Honorius was in danger of breaking down. The two men were so suspicious of each other that fears of pre-emptive attacks destroyed any chance of lasting peace.

  There could be no doubt of the Emperor’s reaction to the Catuvellauni’s alleged desertion. Constantine undoubtedly regarded him as a traitor now. Somehow he would have to stay safely outside his control, otherwise his life would be snuffed out as fast as a lamp wick, and the tribe left to Dye’s machinations. He wouldn’t wager a single siliqua on Dye in a match between him and Guidolin, far less wager Catuvellaunia itself.

  It was clear now that Guidolin had persuaded their neighbours the Corieltauvi to join him completely. Dobunni and Corieltauvi forces had raided their eastern and northern borders. All along the east and south coasts Saxon raiders were pillaging and looting. Powerless, Max fretted, willing himself to recover. Yesterday Paulinus had brought new word that the Atrebates seemed minded to switch allegiance to Gerontius now too. For now their leader Epaticcus was hesitating.

  If he had another option, Max knew the Atrebatic leader might be persuaded to take it. He had, witnessed how unity appealed to the tribes. As soon as he was fit to travel he would head south and meet with Epaticcus.

  *****

  As he mended Max spent as much time alone with Sabrina as he could. Every evening he found himself watching her. Until now they had slept in separate rooms because of his wounds. Now they were healing he might soon share her bed. He waited for a sign from her, but none came.

  Had she become even more beautiful in his absence? He longed to pull her across to him and kiss her deeply, but the few times he’d kissed her on the cheek she’d blushed so deeply he’d backed off. She was awkward around him, blushing in his presence. No doubt afraid of what was to come. Yet night for night she sat by his side, listening to his tales from Gaul, his hopes and fears for the tribe. She asked such thoughtful questions that, little by little he’d found himself sharing more with her, telling her his growing vision of the tribes working together to fight their common foes and maintain peace. Somehow sharing his dream with her helped deepen his resolve.

  *****

  That evening, as Sabrina made her way to Max’s room Adrastia stopped her and pulled at the heavy platter Sabrina was carrying. ‘You must be tired, Lady Sabrina. Allow me to tend to Maximus this evening. Take some time to yourself.’

  Caught off guard, Sabrina found herself staring at Adrastia. The girl was almost physically perfect. With her beautiful hair and generous breasts she had that effortless femininity men seemed to love, a femininity she couldn’t match. Something, a certain challenge in Adrastia’s eyes, told her that if she gave way now she would soon have a greater battle to fight. She looked her square in the eyes. ‘Maximus is mine, Adrastia. You will not have him.’

  Adrastria smiled as, giving Sabrina a hateful look, she walked off. ‘Prepare your heart, Lady Sabrina,’ she tossed over her shoulder. ‘No man can withstand me.’

  *****

  Rhoswen and Sabrina made a fuss, saying he was not yet well enough to lead troops. Nevertheless, as soon as he was able, Max mounted Zephyr and rode out to see his men. Every part of his body ached. He’d not have withstood a charge or even a gallop, but at least he stayed on.

  Mustering the troops for the first time he had an overwhelming sense of sadness. Salvius had told him which men they’d lost in battle, but it was still a shock as he looked up and down the lines, remembering the faces of the dead. Valerius, whose wife had discovered him with the neighbour’s wife, Aulus, who gotten so drunk in Arelate he went to sleep in the Saxons’ camp by mistake. Faithful Trebicius, the Vellauni cook, who’d always managed to find food for them somewhere. Shaking his head, he turned to Salvius. ‘Too many good men lost.’

  Salvius nodded sombrely. ‘Your father is helping their families.’

  Maximus grunted his approval. ‘The men must be replaced. See if we can spare more men from our household and from our farms. Ask the council to raise men in the towns. From tomorrow half our veterans train new recruits, the other half form a mobile field force. I need soldiers I can send wherever they’re needed. More veterans will be arriving from outlying areas in the next few days. They can help with the training too.’

  Calista arrived to watch the men gather for training. Seeing the men work with such purpose she confronted Max loudly. ‘Are you building yourself a private army? A dangerous move, Maximus, to put so much power in the hands of the few. What
if they rise up against you? Better to rely on local militias and the usual retainers our aristocratic families call upon.’

  Like the aristocrats you have gathered around you, Max thought darkly. Soon he would have to confront Dye and Calista on their intentions. They could not afford the weakening of the tribe their politics caused. He should tackle Dye alone, but something in him hesitated. The confrontation would bring out into the open the growing schism between them. Would they be able to find their way back from that, or would the tenuous bond between them be lost forever? Though he knew he must do it soon, the same old shame and guilt held him back.

  Each day brought new duties, new worries, and somehow the confrontation never came. The new field force and other training units were boosted by familiar faces arriving from across Catuvellaunia. Max welcomed his veterans back with open arms. A few days later the first call to action came. Once again, Salvius was the bearer of bad news. ‘A Saxon war band of five ships had landed on the Trinovantian coast, killing, burning and looting.’

  The tribe was long confederated with the Trinovantes. ‘Our unity is to be tested now. It’s up to us to deal with the attack.’ Within hours Max had gathered his field force and prepared to set off east, making for Camulodounum.

  It was not just his militia leaving that morning. Paulinus came to say he was leaving on urgent business. ‘But before I go, I want to praise you, Maximus. And ask you to take stock. Are you aware that you are much changed? How much you have matured?’

  Max revelled in the words. Since his father never praised him, the tribute from Paulinus was all the more precious. Doubly so now. Severus had barely spoken to him since the Torc was lost.

  ‘I see you grown in wisdom, with new insight, forged out of painful lessons. Before long you will need all that astuteness at your disposal. For without it you will never be able to truly trust your own judgment, Maximus. The ability to do that is surely one of the great tests of a leader.’

  Why was it that those words seemed imbued with special meaning, though nothing of the kind was said? Thanking him, Maximus watched the old monk go, more sure than ever that his mentor knew much more than he shared. He seemed to have connections everywhere – Victor of the Bagaudae, the Atrebatian leader, the carpenter in Arelate…there was definitely more to that old soldier than met the eye.

  Their new force had been on the road only a few hours when they came across the first signs of destruction, a burning village, north of Caesaromagus. Max had his men outflank the settlement in an encircling manoeuvre, to give themselves the best chance of intercepting any Saxon raiders still in the area. Stealthily his men moved forward, following the heavy tracks into a farmyard. In the middle of the cobbled square was a body, lying face down on the ground. Around the corpse were huddled several terrified children and a weeping woman, surrounded in turn by a group of ten men, armed with spears and knives.

  These were no raiders. These spear carriers were Catuvellauni.

  Their leader stood calmly watching their approach. With a sense of dread Max recognized Otho, Calista’s cousin, who had slit the old farmer’s throat. Max strode up to him, barely able to contain his anger. ‘What’s going on here?’

  ‘The man was a Bagaudae ringleader, my Lord. We’ve been told to deal with them.’ He smiled his gap-toothed smile, proud of his work.

  ‘On whose orders?’

  ‘Those of your brother, Lord Maximus.’

  This outrage was a watershed. From now on he could no longer turn a blind eye to Dye’s scheming and manoeuvrings. Max set his jaw, pushing down his anger, and his fear of what that meant.

  The widow was sobbing. ‘My husband was no rebel, my Lord. Just an ordinary, honest man, like the others they attacked. We’ve never caused any trouble. But these men,’ she gestured towards Otho and his cronies, ‘call us a blight on Catuvellaunia, a mortal danger to the nobility.’ The tears were coming stronger now.

  Max put his arm around her. ‘What evidence did you have against this man, Otho?’

  The great ox shrugged, scratching his head. ‘He was seen with Terentius, the Bagaudae leader we executed this week. Chances are he’s a sympathizer at least.’ He shrugged carelessly. ‘Best to be harsh at this stage, till people get the message. There’s been a landowner killed by some of these scum over Brocolitum way. And those missing girls still haven’t been found, Maximus, all this time later. They are not forgotten. The whole tribe would still have revenge for their loss.’ Otho spat at his feet. ‘Your brother believes the Bagaudae are about to rebel. A few lessons like this one are needed, he says, otherwise they’ll rise up.’

  Despite his wounds Max grabbed Otho. Within seconds he had his sword blade to the man’s neck. ‘If I ever hear of you or your men killing innocents again I won’t hold back. And give the same message to anyone else intent on butchering our tribespeople on my brother’s behalf. The Bagaudae are not our enemy and don’t forget it. Now get out of my sight.’

  Otho and his cohorts slouched off, muttering amongst themselves.

  Madoc was looking at Max with disappointment. ‘I’d have slit his throat.’

  Max shrugged wearily. ‘Whether Otho supports Dye or not, he’s still Catuvellauni. Besides, we need every man we have right now. Come on, lads!’ he shouted. ‘We still need to find those Saxons.’

  At Camulodunum they found its gates closed and defended. Picking up reinforcements as he went, Max led his force north, along the road that ran parallel with the coast, towards the territory of the Iceni. His scouts had picked up the trail of the Saxon war band, which seemed to be headed south. As they marched on Max’s men passed looted farms and abandoned settlements. He sent out more scouting parties, desperate for signs of the Saxons. But by the time they reached the Iceni border there were none.

  He faced a dilemma. This was Boudicca’s territory. The Iceni who lived in these flatlands and marshes had earned immortal fame by their revolt against Roman rule. The withdrawal of their Roman tormentors would have caused them untold joy. But relations between the Iceni and themselves were strained. This was no time for lengthy negotiations. He would have to tread carefully. But there was opportunity here too, he realized quickly, though it would mean trusting his own judgment, just as Paulinus had said. As Max spurred Zephyr on he was conscious that being leader meant unpopularity at times, being misunderstood. Even by his own men.

  Salvius automatically turned back at the border. Max astonished him by ordering the men onwards, into Iceni territory. Clearly unhappy with his decision his soldiers marched on in silence. A straight road cut through the region, built by Romans determined Boudicca’s rebellion would never be repeated. Not far from the ancient, long abandoned Iceni flint mines was a small posting station, now abandoned. Max stationed his troops there and sent word ahead, asking for parlay.

  In a short time Herennius the leader of the Iceni himself appeared, looking every inch a tribal ruler. All the Iceni were tall and fierce, but Herennius looked magnificent, adorned with a heavy silver collar around his neck and shoulders. By his side was a large shield bearing the decapitated human head, symbol of the Iceni, the face shown in the old way, with staring eyes and flat mouth. Long ago the Iceni too had collected heads as trophies. Max had heard that Boudica has amassed piles of them. He’d also heard some of the Iceni had now taken up the habit again. He shuddered. The chief’s grey hair blew in the wind, like the silver mane of the powerful horse he rode.

  Max greeted him warmly. ‘Salve, Herennius, leader of the Iceni. I am Maximus of the Vellauni and these are my men. We come in peace, seeking the Saxon raiders wreaking havoc in our territory.’

  Herennius mustered him quietly. ‘Those same raiders have destroyed our settlements also. My men and I hunt them too. Though we’ve scoured our coastline we found nothing. We believe they have turned back into your territory.’

  Max nodded, acknowledging Herennius’s reasoning. He eyed up the Iceni leader, wondering how far the older man’s judgment would extend. ‘I have a sugge
stion for you, brother. We are two tribes hunting the same enemy. With the Romans gone we must keep ourselves safe. Come with us. United we will ensure that this war band never returns to trouble either of our peoples.’

  Herennius regarded him shrewdly. ‘We have heard extraordinary tales, Maximus of the Vellauni, tales of a strange unity you propose between the tribes.’ Herennius allowed long seconds to pass, his eyes searching. Max allowed his inspection and met the Iceni leader’s eyes with honesty and conviction. ‘I had not thought to fight alongside the Catuvellauni this day. But I too believe that united we will be stronger. My men will ride with yours.’

  Herennius fell in beside him and Max spurred Zephyr on. For the most part the two men rode in silence, an air of unreality between them. Though the alliance had been his own suggestion Max could scarcely believe he and Herennius were now riding together at the head of the party, two seasoned warriors facing a common enemy.

  His gamble had paid off. Now he had real proof that his vision could succeed. Tribes working together for a mutual goal.

  The Iceni leader’s scouts located the raiding party on their own Catuvellauni coastline. By Max’s count the raiders had sacked several villages and outlying villas, killing over twenty and taking at least twenty more prisoner. Now the Saxons were making for their ships, laden with booty. When the scouts returned with the numbers, Herennius turned to Max, grinning. ‘They have only half as many men as our combined forces.’

  ‘So the battle will not last long,’ Max grinned.