Roman - The Fall of Britannia

by K. M. Ashman

  ‘During the fight, I took up arms with Erwyn,’ said Hammer. ‘Robbus’s blacksmith was killed but I was only wounded. In the aftermath, when the others were banished, Robbus made certain that I stayed to serve him.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘He hamstrung your mother,’ said Hammer simply.

  It was Gwydion’s turn to stifle a cry and he looked to the heavens in pain as he imagined his mother unable to walk.

  ‘So you see,’ said Hammer, ‘I cannot help you. If I do, they will kill her.’

  ‘Then you should both come with us,’ said Gwydion. ‘Bring a team of horses and a cart. We can escape together.’

  ‘How far do you think we will get, Gwydion?’ snapped Hammer. ‘Robbus is a brutal man and is not stupid. He knows you are in the area and if we flee, it would take but a moment to realize what is happening. We would be dead by nightfall and that girl would be back in Mona by morning. No, you must escape while you can.’

  ‘Is there anyone else who I can turn to?’ asked Gwydion.

  ‘I love you dearly, son,’ he said ‘but I will not risk the life of your mother. If circumstances were different, I would challenge Robbus directly, but she needs me.’

  ‘I understand,’ said Gwydion. ‘Fear not, father, I will not put her or you at risk. We will leave this place forthwith, but know this, before I draw my last breath, I will one day wipe Robbus’s blood from my blade. This I swear by all the Gods.’

  ‘One more thing, Gwydion,’ said Hammer, ‘the Druids know you are here. You were seen crossing the mountains. Every tribe has been warned they will be cursed if they offer you succour. Even now, two Druid warriors drink wine with Robbus. I don’t know where you are going and don’t want to know, but wherever it is, make haste. Get out of these lands while you still can. Now someone is coming, I have to go.’

  Gwenno had stopped crying.

  ‘I don’t believe it,’ she mumbled. ‘How could she do it?’

  Gwydion didn’t answer for a while, but just held her close as he thought of the available options.

  ‘Come on,’ he said eventually. ‘We have to go, Prydain awaits.’

  ‘Where?’ asked Gwenno. ‘There is nowhere else to go. You heard Hammer, even the Durotriges and the Ordovices have been warned against us. No one can help; they are all terrified of the Druid’s wrath.’

  ‘There is one place,’ said Gwydion quietly, ‘where even the Druids fear to tread.’

  ‘Where?’ asked Gwenno again.

  Gwydion looked deep into her eyes.

  ‘We have to travel to the lands of the Silures.’

  ----

  Chapter 39

  Remus rode at the head of the Cohort as they travelled westward. They were flanked ether side by the cavalry units and the trail was being blazed by a mounted section of scouts. Far behind the marching Cohort, a plume of black smoke rose lazily to the sky. Remus had no compassion for those they had slaughtered back in the fort; on the contrary, he had led the charge through the burning gates with ruthless enthusiasm. What had concerned him was the fact that the Tribune had faltered in the decision to burn it down, and as overall commander, had needed to act swiftly and decisively if he was to earn the respect of his men. What was more worrying was despite all his bluster and parading outside the stockade, when it came to the combat inside, Mateus had held back from any situation where he had to face an armed opponent.

  Remus had quickly taken control and as soon as the gate had fallen, two centuries had charged through with a ferocity that crushed the few stubborn defenders who thought they could make a difference with their scythes and pitchforks. All resistance was wiped out and the Cohort only received one fatality and two wounded in the one sided battle. All adult men had been killed on the spot and any surviving old women or children had been placed in the absent chieftain’s thatched hut, with the doors barred from the outside.

  The younger women and teenage girls had been rounded up and though the quality of the women had been admittedly poor, the two hundred or so men involved in the assault had been rewarded with an hour’s freedom to do as they liked before putting them to the blade. Two hours later, the Cohort were once again assembled in marching order, ready to continue their campaign, and they watched in silence as the archers prepared for the final grisly task of the day.

  ‘Archers!’ shouted Remus. ‘Prepare arrows!’

  The one hundred and sixty archers dipped their arrows into prepared fires and aimed them high into the air. The trajectory was designed to rain a hail of fiery arrows onto the thatch of the chieftain’s hut, visible through the charred embers where the gates had once stood.

  ‘Release!’ roared Remus, and the sky was lined with smoky trails as the fire arrows soared into the air. Remus knew there was no need for a second salvo. More than enough arrows would find their target and the extra brushwood they had placed around the hut would ensure the place would be an inferno in seconds. He turned away from the scene.

  ‘Ready when you are, Sire,’ he called.

  ‘Cohort, advance!’ called the Tribune and the column marched away from the fort toward the west. They hadn’t gone fifty paces before the first screams were carried to them on the wind, but not one man’s head turned in concern. This was war and such was the Gods will.

  ----

  Two nights later, Tribune Mateus stood alongside Remus looking over a slow moving river. Behind them, the Cohort was busy building the marching camp.

  ‘The camp is almost finished, Sire,’ said Remus as he broke some Buccellatum biscuit and offered it to the Tribune.

  ‘What do you think, Centurion?’ asked Mateus. ‘Have we come far enough?’

  ‘I have seen nothing that persuades me these heathen are anywhere near the quality of warriors to be found in Gemina,’ he said. ‘We have a full Cohort of battle hardened infantry supported by archers, cavalry and scouts. It would take a number twenty times that to cause us a problem, if the last rabble were anything to go by.’ Despite his own assurances, Remus himself harboured some doubts but his determination to catch up with Prydain drove any uncertainties from his mind.

  ‘Then it is decided,’ said Mateus. ‘We will continue, but send a rider to Nasica to inform him of our progress. I will prepare a briefing about our magnificent defeat of the heathen back in their palisade.’

  Remus returned to the Cohort to oversee the camp’s completion, and after the men were settled and the guards posted, he withdrew to his own tent to get some sleep.

  ----

  Several hours later, Cassus banged on the wet canvas.

  ‘What is it?’ asked Remus, instantly awake beneath his heavy cape.

  ‘Someone is approaching the camp,’ said Cassus.

  Remus threw back his cape and pulled on his Caligae before crawling out of the tent.

  ‘How many?’ he asked, as he belted on his Gladius.

  ‘We can see only one, Sire, but there may be others.’

  ‘Where is he?’

  ‘Outside the south rampart,’ said Cassus. ‘He has made camp. Shall we sound the alarm?’

  ‘No,’ said Remus, ‘no need to wake the Cohort for one man.’ He ran between the tents to the earthen wall that had been erected just hours before. The duty Contubernia was peering between the pointed stakes, and into the darkness beyond.

  ‘Show me!’ whispered Remus to the nearest guard, and his gaze followed the pointing finger into a nearby copse. At first, he could see nothing, but as his vision became accustomed to the darkness, he made out the shape of a horse and the figure of a man sitting against a tree trunk.

  ‘I see him, are there any more?’

  ‘We haven’t seen any,’ said the legionary. ‘He has been there for at least half an hour.’

  ‘Wake the translator,’ he said, ‘and bring your shield.’

  When Cassus returned with the translator, Remus stood up and beckoned the two men.

  ‘Follow me,’ he said and walked over the top of the bank and down toward the cops
e. They walked slowly, holding their shields as a defence against any sudden arrow or spear out of the dark. When they were within twenty paces, they stopped, and Remus told the translator what to say.

  ‘Declare yourself, stranger!’ he called, causing the silhouette to jump up suddenly and grab the unseen reins of his horse.

  ‘Hold your weapons,’ answered the lone rider, ‘I am no threat!’

  ‘Declare your business,’ responded the Centurion.

  ‘I am but a simple traveller,’ came the answer in his strange accent. ‘I will move on in peace.’

  ‘Step forward.’ ordered Remus and the man approached slowly.

  ‘Are you Roman?’ he asked nervously, staring hard into the darkness, unable to make out the shapes of the men. Centurion Remus drew his sword quietly as did Cassus. The traveller heard the unmistakable sound, and realising the danger, took a chance.

  ‘I hear Claudius scratches his arse while his legionaries die to fill his coffers,’ he said in perfect Latin. Remus and Cassus straightened up and stared in disbelief. It was a classic Roman curse.

  ‘Who are you stranger?’ asked Remus in his own language.

  ‘I am Andronicus of the Exploratores,’ he replied, ‘and I am seeking the armies of Plautius.’ All three men from the camp breathed a collective sigh of relief.

  ‘Well, Andronicus,’ said Remus, ‘step forward and be recognised, it would seem you have found us.’

  ----

  Back in the camp, Remus and Cassus sat around a tiny fire and shared a flask of warm watered wine with the scout. They waited patiently as he devoured some dried meat from their supplies. His hair was long and dirty and he smelled to high heaven.

  ‘How long have you been out there?’ asked Remus.

  ‘Three months altogether,’ said Andronicus, ‘gathering information for Plautius.’

  ‘Why are you in such a state?’ asked Cassus.

  ‘When you sleep with pigs, you live like a pig,’ he said before taking another slurp from his tankard.

  ‘You were actually living amongst the barbarians?’

  ‘Sleeping, eating and shitting,’ he confirmed between mouthfuls of meat. Andronicus let out a huge belch and looked around. ‘Seems there’s no more than a Cohort here,’ he said. ‘Where are the legions?’

  ‘About ten days march,’ said Remus. ‘You are welcome to stay with us; I could use someone who has local knowledge.’

  ‘Better not,’ said Andronicus, ‘Plautius himself awaits my report. I have information that will be useful when the he decides to march into the Khymru. What are you doing so far west anyway?’

  ‘We are seeking a deserter,’ said Cassus, ‘I don’t suppose you have come across him?’

  ‘Can’t say I have,’ said Andronicus, his brow knitted in thought, ‘though there was a rumour that a local had kidnapped a girl from the Druids and was heading south. Could that be your man?’

  ‘I doubt it,’ said Remus.

  ‘Shame!’ said Andronicus. ‘If you should come across him, ensure you take his colleague alive. The Druids have placed a huge price on his head. Apparently he goes by the name of Gwydion.’

  Both Cassus and Remus looked up sharply.

  ‘That’s our man,’ said Cassus excitedly, ‘Prydain was bought by Gwydion as a slave.’

  ‘Don’t know about slave,’ said Andronicus. ‘Last I heard, they rode as comrades.’

  ‘Where did you say they went?’ asked Cassus

  ‘I didn’t,’ said Andronicus. ‘I only know that they were last seen heading for the land of the Silures.’

  ‘And how do we get there?’ asked Remus.

  ‘What exactly has this Prydain done?’ asked Andronicus. ‘To send a Cohort after one man, what did he do, kill the Emperor?’

  ‘It is personal,’ said Remus. ‘Now how do we get to these Silures?’

  ‘You don’t,’ said Andronicus, ‘they will kill you.’

  ‘We’ll take our chances.’

  ‘They are not like the others,’ said Andronicus. ‘They are savages with no compassion. Your Cohort will be annihilated.’

  ‘I’ll worry about that,’ said Remus, his patience wearing thin. ‘Now, I’ll ask again, do you know how I will find them.’

  ‘Your funeral pyre,’ said Andronicus, ‘but yes I do.’ He pointed in the direction of the river, hidden in the darkness.

  ‘Cross the river and head west until you reach a well-marked road,’ he said. ‘When you reach the road, head south but keep your wits about you. The Silures are not ordinary men. They are feared by all the other tribes of Britannia and will eat your heart without a second thought. Don’t say you haven’t been warned.’

  They talked deep into the night before Andronicus curled up under his heavy cape to grab a few hours’ sleep. Remus and Cassus talked some more before they too retired, though Remus didn’t sleep. He knew he was close. A few more days and the slave-boy Prydain Maecilius would be within his grasp.

  ----

  The following day, Centurion Remus and Tribune Mateus sat astride their horses staring across the river. Andronicus had given them detailed directions before resuming his journey eastward several hours earlier. While the rest of the Cohort took advantage of the overdue break, they rode forward to join the scouts at the water’s edge and assessed the grisly situation before them.

  On the far bank of the river, a thicket of over a hundred stakes had been driven into the soft ground, each topped with a human head in different stages of decay, both aged bare skulls and those freshly decapitated. Many were still adorned with the helmets their wearers had foolishly thought would protect them. Though there were no written words, the message was obvious; it said ‘Keep out!’

  ‘What do you think?’ asked the Tribune nervously.

  ‘Meaningless drama,’ said Remus in contempt, ‘I have seen it a hundred times in a hundred different places. I see nothing here to prevent us continuing.’

  ‘Do you think it’s wise?’ asked Mateus.

  ‘We are so close,’ said Remus, ‘it would be foolish to return now. Our quarry lies within reach as does the location of the gold mines. Nasica wants either, but bring back both and your name will be known to Claudius himself. Think how quickly the political career of the man who delivers the Khymric gold would advance.’

  Mateus stared across the water, his nerves easing as Remus massaged his ego. Already he could see himself taking his senatorial seat in Rome.

  ‘The matter is decided,’ he said, ‘we will complete our mission. Assemble the men, we push on immediately.’

  ‘Yes, Sire,’ said Remus and returned to the Cohort. Twenty minutes later, they waded through the river in silence as they passed the macabre warning, and when they were safely assembled on the far side, Tribune Mateus addressed the entire Cohort.

  ‘Today you men have made history as the first Roman unit to enter the Khymru,’ he said. ‘Heed not those childish warnings at the river; they are designed to frighten the weak. But we are not weak, we are Roman and they know not what they are dealing with. Thirty miles west lays a route that runs north to south through this land. Before the sun sets tonight, I want to be on that road, so take a moment to secure your kit, for we will not rest until we reach it.’

  ‘This is what you joined for!’ interjected Remus, ‘for adventure, for glory and for gold. All three lie there.’ He waved his hand toward the distant rolling hills. ‘All we have to do is go and get it.’

  They took the chance to eat some Buccellatum and dried meat before securing their equipment. As they were in enemy territory, Remus insisted they wear helmets and armour on the march and the scouts were deployed to the front and flanks of the column. They stood in a double column waiting to start; a heavily armed and highly trained unit of experienced legionaries. A cog in the greatest military machine that ever existed.

  ‘Cohort ready,’ roared Remus, ‘double speed, advaaance!

  As one, the column stepped forward, their pace designed to eat up the
miles before them and as long as they did not meet any problems on the way, would see them reach the road in less than eight hours.

  ----

  Chapter 40

  The fugitives had ridden the horses to exhaustion in a bid to get as far away from the village as possible, and at last, Gwydion called a halt before their mounts died beneath them. They turned off the path to seek the protection of the deeper parts of the flanking wood and finally settled into an overgrown thicket of ash. Their food was almost gone, as was the grain for the horses, and Prydain went with the nose bags to find grass on the outskirts of the wood. Gwenno sat hunched against a tree wrapped in her blanket, her eyes closed in misery. When Gwydion had finished with the horses, he sat down alongside her, stroking her arm gently.

  ‘Gwenno,’ he said, ‘you look exhausted.’

  The girl didn’t answer.

  ‘Here, eat something,’ he continued, offering her a strip of dried beef.

  ‘I’m not hungry,’ she said.

  ‘You can’t go on like this, Gwenno,’ said Gwydion. ‘I know you are upset, but what is done, is done. You have to think of yourself now and be strong. We haven’t gone through all this to give up now.’

  ‘What’s the point, Gwydion?’ she asked. ‘Erwyn is dead, Hammer is forced to serve a tyrant, your mother mutilated, and as for mine, she betrayed her own family to whore herself with a murderer. Why should I go on when I have nothing to live for?’

  ‘We have each other,’ said Gwydion. ‘I know it’s hard at the moment, but it will soon get better. Once we pass into the lands of the Silures we can take it easy and perhaps join up with a friendly clan.’

  ‘Is there such a thing with the Silures?’ she asked with a sneer.

  ‘There may be clans in the south that do not follow the ways of the warrior,’ said Gwydion. ‘We can talk to them and ask for shelter. We are young, strong, and we would prove a valuable asset to any clan. If we can convince them we come in peace and have something to offer, then I think there is every chance.’

  ‘How far away are we?’ asked the girl.