by K. M. Ashman
However, it was not the smell of meat that caught the imagination of Cassus or even the massive sprawl of the village, but what lay across the other side of the valley.
The river flowed toward the bluff before returning on itself in a giant loop and disappearing into the distance, and on the large knot of land, was the first permanent Roman fort Cassus had ever seen. Despite his inexperience, he could see that the positioning was perfect. It was surrounded by the fast flowing river on three sides and overlooked a large open plain to the fourth. A deep ditch encircled the fort and a single well-guarded bridge approached the only visible entrance. Cassus knew that there would be similar entrances on the other three sides, mimicking the layout that every legionary camp followed, no matter where they were built throughout the empire. The walls, made from quarried stone and cut from the cliff by thousands of Germanic slaves, were topped with a wooden palisade, incorporating fighting platforms and watchtowers. The entire enormous rectangular fort was a fierce statement of intent and a fantastic monument to the might of the Roman army.
Alert guards were visible along the ramparts, looking down with feigned interest at the activity on the plain beyond the fort’s walls. A scene they often took part in themselves and one that they did not envy.
Throughout the plain, instructors were drilling thousands of soldiers in groups ranging in numbers of ten to several hundred. Centurions barked commands causing large bodies of men to march and turn in unison, instead of the hundreds of individuals that formed its shape. Many more were lined up before poles sunk into the ground, assaulting them with wooden training swords, while others took part in Pilum practise against other squads, their points padded to avoid injury. A channel had been cut into part of the river feeding a man-made lake and Cassus could see dozens of men swimming back and fore across the deep water, an important skill for every Roman soldier.
Prydain pointed to one side and Cassus turned to see a full Cohort of four hundred and eighty men running at double time toward the fort. Each was fully armoured and carried both shield and Pilum. Even from this distance, the pain was clear on their faces, and the commands from the Centurions could be heard across the clearing along with the occasional thwack of Vitis, the vine stick used liberally to reinforce their authority.
The new recruits were awestruck. They could never have imagined the sheer spectacle of an entire legion and its auxiliaries all stationed in the same place. Cassus and his comrades dismounted and sat on the cliff edge for an age watching the legion train, each lost in their own thoughts as they anticipated spending the next twenty-five years as part of this machine. Finally, Prydain stood up.
‘Right,’ he said. ‘Pointless putting it off any longer. We’ve travelled a thousand miles for this, so why wait? He mounted his horse and turned to Cassus. ‘Coming or what?’
Cassus mounted his own horse and stared down at the fortress.
‘So it begins,’ he said, before wheeling away to descend the path to the valley floor far below.
----
Chapter 7
It had been three months since Gwydion had returned from the Cerrig, and when he had brought back not only the horses, but also the untouched purse containing the gold, he had been given command of ten warriors as a reward, one of ten such bands in the clan.
Autumn had arrived early, and Erwyn had taken a large trading party south to trade for winter fodder from the Ordovices. The trip would take several weeks and involved all of the clan’s carts, along with half of the available warriors. All were necessary to protect the bag of braided gold jewellery that they intended to trade.
The clan had been left in the protection of Robbus, Erwyn’s brother, and Gwydion had been instructed to patrol the surrounding lands by the temporary leader. They were coming to an end of one such patrol when returning to the stockade, they saw two heavily armed riders outside the closed gates.
Gwydion and his group galloped out of the forest to confront the strangers.
‘Hold,’ shouted Robbus from the wall, realizing that Gwydion and his men had drawn their swords.
Though maintaining their readiness, the riders lowered their weapons and encircled the strangers.
‘Who are you and what business do you have here?’ asked Gwydion eventually.
‘We are on the King’s business and seek the one called Erwyn,’ said the taller of the two.
Robbus shouted from above.
‘He is not here, but I speak in his name.’
‘My words are for his ears only,’ he replied. ‘We will wait.’
‘He could be weeks,’ said Gwydion. ‘Will your message wait as long?’
The two men looked at each other.
‘Perhaps not,’ answered one.
‘Then you will talk to me,’ called Robbus and turned to address those inside the palisade. ‘Open the gates.’
Gwydion and his men sheathed their weapons as the gates swung slowly inward. The visitor addressed Gwydion quietly.
‘Do you answer to this man?’ he asked quietly.
‘Until Erwyn returns.’ he said. ‘It is our way.’
‘We will humour him,’ said the stranger and they all wheeled their horses to enter the stockade.
As soon as they entered, Robbus’s men disarmed the two visitors and led them up to the largest lodge in the centre of the village. Inside, Robbus was already there along with six armed warriors.
‘State your business,’ said Robbus finally.
‘I am Alwood of the Deceangli,’ he said. ‘We seek warriors for Idwal.’
‘Why do you need warriors?’ asked Robbus.
‘He is sending a fist to aid the Catuvellauni.’
‘Why does Idwal send our men to aid our enemies?’
‘It pains me as much it does you,’ he answered, ‘but our King has forged an alliance with Caratacus to turn back the Romans. The Catuvellauni are the first line of defence and seek support from all tribes.’
‘The answer is no,’ said Robbus bluntly.
‘You would deny your king?’
‘The Deceangli have not united in battle for years,’ said Robbus. ‘We are told that the Romans covet our lands and yet our weapons remain un-blooded. Perhaps they do not come after all.’
‘They will come,’ said Alwood. ‘Many years ago, when the Romans last left our soil, they left a client King at the head of the Atrebates. For years, he sold out to the Romans, enjoying their patronage and best trading terms. Often they filled their bellies while neighbouring tribes went hungry, but recently they went too far. The new King, Verica, started to raid Catuvellauni lands using the Roman army as a threat should they retaliate, thinking they would bend a knee to their rule. He thought wrong. Cunobelinus took the Atrebates lands, burnt their villages and razed their capital to the ground. They will never make that mistake again. Verica himself disappeared and no one knew whether he lived or died.’
‘That is until now,’ said his comrade. ‘We now know he fled to his paymasters in Rome, throwing himself at the feet of the idiot Claudius and begging him for help to regain his lands.’ He spat on the floor in disgust. ‘Begging a Roman to invade the lands of his fathers. If I ever see him again, I will eat his heart.’
‘How do we know this is true?’ asked Robbus.
‘Even now they gather their legions across the sea. Traders tell us of many ships being assembled on the shores of Gaul, clearing the mountains of trees for miles inland to supply timber for their hulls. They will come, Robbus, it is a fact.’
Robbus leaned forward.
‘Why should we leave our villages unguarded?’ he asked. ‘If the Romans do indeed come, we need to defend Deceangli lands not Catuvellauni. Over half our warriors are in the south and we do not know when they will return. I cannot send what is left to the King and leave this clan at the mercy of brigands and Cornovii raiding parties.’
‘You don’t have to,’ answered Alwood. ‘He does not seek a war party, just ten well trained men, and in particular, he wants one
man. The one known as Gwydion.’
----
Gwydion was busy in the stable, rubbing down his horse with a deer-fur glove.
‘Hwyl,’ came a familiar voice and he looked up to see the smiling face of Gwenno, her arms and chin resting on his horse’s back.
‘Gwenno,’ smiled Gwydion, ‘I didn’t see you coming. How are you?’
‘Oh you know,’ she said, ‘bored, fed up, almost sixteen.’
‘I’d forgotten all about your birthday,’ he lied.
‘You had better not,’ she said in mock anger. ‘Anyway, now you are back, I thought we could spend some time together.’
‘That sounds nice,’ he said. ‘What do you want to do?’
‘I have it all planned out,’ she replied. ‘In the morning, we will ride up to big-cat crag and picnic by the waterfall. In the afternoon, you can teach me to use the bow.’
‘And in the evening?’ he asked.
‘We will watch the sun set, and if it is very beautiful, I just might sing for you,’ she smiled. ‘What do you think?’
‘I don’t think it sounds like a very manly day,’ he laughed, ‘and that I will be teased by my comrades.’
‘Do you answer to them?’
‘Of course not,’ he said, ‘I am my own man.’
‘In that case,’ she said walking around the horse, ‘there is no reason for you not to join me.’
‘You forget one thing,’ said Gwydion.
‘What thing?’
‘Your father may not be back and I will need his permission.’
‘Forget my father, Gwydion,’ she said, ‘there is something you should know.’
‘Can’t it wait?’ he asked, ‘I have to sort out my horse.’
Gwenno fell silent before pulling him close and kissing him deeply on the lips. Gwydion returned the kiss momentarily, before pulling himself away.
‘Gwenno,’ he said, ‘stop, I don’t think we should.’
‘I want to,’ she gasped,’ and kissed him again.
‘Gwenno, no!’ he said, pushing her away. ‘A few more weeks and you will be my bride, let’s not spoil it now.’
‘We can’t wait,’ she said. ‘You have to take me now!’
‘Why?’ he asked, realizing the desperate look in her eyes was not lust, but fear, ‘Gwenno, what’s wrong?’
She hesitated and her shoulders slumped.
‘You should know, Gwydion,’ she said, her head hanging down. ‘I heard my mother talking to Robbus yesterday. It seems you and I will not be allowed to marry.’
‘What? gasped Gwydion. ‘But it is agreed. Erwyn has given his approval.’
‘Erwyn is not here and Robbus becomes my guardian in his absence.’
‘Yes, but soon he will return and sense will prevail.’
‘I fear it will be too late,’ she said, the tears starting to flow. ‘I am to be sent away on my birthday.’
‘But why?’ demanded Gwydion, ‘Robbus can’t just send you away against the wishes of Erwyn; he would simply bring you back.’
‘Not from Mona, he can’t!’
‘The Druid’s isle?’ he said. ‘Why are you going there?’
‘Everyone is worried about the coming invasion and Robbus has asked the Druids for the protection of the Gods. They demanded an acolyte in return and it seems that I am the one.’
‘I don’t understand,’ he said. ‘Why would your mother allow him to send you?’
‘Since Erwyn has been gone, she has grown closer to Robbus,’ she said. ‘I fear that he plans to overthrow my father with the blessing of my mother.’
Gwydion looked shocked.
‘You must be mistaken,’ he said.
‘I am not mistaken, Gwydion. Each night she sneaks out to his hut when she thinks I am asleep. Two nights ago, I followed her and heard her rutting beneath his furs.’
Gwydion remained silent. The news of the illicit affair was common knowledge amongst the warriors, and though it was only a matter of time before they were discovered, it was a matter for Erwyn to sort out. However, the possibility of a takeover was a different matter.
‘If there is a coup, there will be much blood spilt between the factions,’ he said. ‘Many in the clan will die.’
‘I know,’ she answered, ’and I think that’s why Robbus wants me gone. In case I betray him to Erwyn before he has chance to put his plan into action.’
‘Can’t you just say no?’
‘I am the daughter of a chieftain and still untouched by any man. It would seem that purity is powerful magic for the Druids. Even as we speak, they send a wagon to collect me. It will be here on my birthday.’
Gwydion’s face fell. The Druids were all-powerful and enjoyed absolute respect from every clan. They were the keepers of the magic and the servants of the Gods. They had power of life or death over all tribes and were feared by all. He looked at his love in dismay. If the Druids had summoned Gwenno then she had to go. It was as simple as that.
‘Then there’s nothing we can do!’ he said unbelievingly.
‘But there is!’ she said, her eyes ablaze with hope. ‘Don’t you see, if you take me as a woman, I will not be a virgin and the magic will be gone. They will leave us alone and we can be together.’
‘If we do that, Gwenno,’ he said, ‘they will kill us both.’
‘I don’t care!’ she said, ‘I would rather have one night with you and die tomorrow, than face a lifetime on Mona.’
Gwydion shook his head slowly.
‘I can’t do that, Gwenno,’ he said softly. ‘I care not for my life and would die gladly for a night by your side. The Gods know I have waited long enough, but I will not see you killed. You cannot stay here for your life will be in danger whatever happens, and I cannot take you away for our people will need every spear when the Romans come. No, if there is blood to be let, then you should be as far away as possible. At least with the Druids, you will be safe no matter who wins control of the clan. You must go with them and when this mess is over; I will find you and take you far away to start our life together.’
‘What will you do while I am gone?’ she asked through her tears.
‘If needed, my sword will support Erwyn, but I hope it doesn’t come to that.’
‘Oh, Gwydion,’ she cried and collapsed sobbing into his arms. He held her tightly long into the evening until they both lay down to sleep in the hay. It was dark when Gwydion stirred, awoken by a low call from a comrade outside.
‘Gwydion,’ the voice said quietly, ‘Robbus would speak to you.’
‘I won’t be long,’ he whispered to Gwenno, ‘wait here.’
She smiled at him, her tears long dried, and watched as he strode away across the compound to the central hut, not knowing that it was the last she would see of him for a long, long time.
----
Chapter 8
After arriving at the fort, the names of the recruits were taken, and they had been quartered in tents outside the perimeter until any stragglers arrived. Finally, when it was obvious that there were no more due, they were arranged into groups of eighty, and led into the fort itself. Cassus looked around in fascination, drinking in the atmosphere of the busy legionary camp, but before he could take much in, his group stopped in front of a wooden barrack hut. The timber building consisted of a terrace of twelve rooms fronted by a covered portico, one of many such blocks arranged in a straight line along the inner wall of the fort.
‘This will be your barracks for the foreseeable future,’ announced the soldier who had led them in to the fort. ‘Within its walls you will find twelve rooms. The first belongs to your Centurion, and you will never enter it unless ordered to do so. The next ten are shared between the rest of your Century, eight men in each and at the end, there is a latrine. When you are dismissed, you will each settle in to a room and unpack whatever possessions you carry. Choose your roommates carefully, for this will be your Contubernium, the men you will live and die alongside. Inside the room, you will find the equip
ment you will be expected to carry on campaign. The heavier equipment will be carried on a mule. Look after the beast well, for if it dies, you will carry the equipment until a replacement can be found. There is a mess hall at the end of the row and there will be a meal served at last light tonight. Your training starts tomorrow. Form up outside this hut before dawn and await further instruction. Are there any questions?’
‘What about weapons, sir?’ asked one man called Montellus, obviously keen to get stuck in.
‘You have not earned the right to bear arms yet. Now if there is nothing else, I will see you in the morning. Dismissed.’ The soldier marched away and after a moment’s hesitation, the group broke up to hurry inside, keen to see their new home. The men who had joined with Cassus and Prydain since leaving Perre’s ship had formed a close friendship and they ran forward to be first in the hut.
‘Grab the far end,’ shouted Prydain. ‘Away from the door, it will be warmer.’
‘No,’ said Cassus, ‘it’s next to the shitter, get one this end.’
‘Bollocks to that,’ said Montellus, ‘it’s next to the Centurion’s rooms and I want to be as far away from him as possible.’ They settled for one somewhere near the centre and all piled in, throwing their possessions onto whatever bunks they could.
The room was sparsely furnished, containing four double bunks with a folded horsehair mattress on each, a long table with bench seating on both sides and a stone hearth beneath a shuttered window. An iron grill and a large brass pot sat on the hearth, all of which were intended for communal cooking. A stone grinding mill sat in the centre of the table to prepare barley or wheat for dough, along with eight water flasks, bowls and eating tools, spooned at one end for ladling and spiked at the other for spearing meat. A heavy hooded cloak lay folded on each bed along with two white tunics, a belt, a pair of leather Caligae and two woollen blankets. To one side, another doorway opened into a smaller room containing a second fire slab and a drain hole through the wall.
‘Drying clothes and storage,’ ventured Montellus when the use of the room was questioned. Already stored in the room were a large tent and a range of tools including heavy axes, spades and saws. A wicker basket contained a range of smaller hand tools including hammers, planes and files along with sewing equipment, a Strigil, the curved tool used for scraping the skin during bathing and a set of grooming tools for the mule. Finally, in the corner, lay a bundle of stakes, each four foot long and sharpened at both ends, the use of which was as yet unknown to members of the Contubernium.
