Hosker, G [Sword of Cartimandua 05] Revolt of the Red Witch (12 page)

“Sadly, Salvius, unless it affects them directly and their lands are threatened then they will move slowly.  I just pray that the barbarians have raided enough this year and have satisfied their greed and lust.”

Livius watched the Prefect as he went with the Quartermaster and Sergeant Cilo examining every mount and every piece of equipment. The side of his job which Livius, who aspired to lead the ala, would not relish was the mind numbingly complex area of logistics. He would have loved to lead the ala in battle but not this. Walking back to his quarters he reflected that the ala was but a shadow of its former self. The departure of Macro had left a hole which no one could fill.  It was as though the big man was the heart of the ala. Taking off his armour he wondered if he would have dealt with Macro the same way as the Prefect had.  That the Prefect regretted all of his actions since pursuing Modius was obvious but once the chain of events had started there was little that any of them could do.  The Parcae were fickle creatures indeed.

Aodh was impressed at the large number of Brigante and Carvetii chiefs who arrived over the next few days.  It showed that they were dissatisfied with Roman rule.  The Caledonii raids had worked in their favour. All of them wanted to speak with this new Queen and Aodh was privy to every conversation.  He stood behind Morwenna as each man came for an audience.  Perhaps why they wondered why this Caledonii warrior was guarding the Brigante queen but none dared ask the question.  Each man was ensnared the moment they met her. She seemed to know something about each man as they entered. It took him some time to work out how she did the seemingly magical trick of telling each warrior about himself the first they met. Each chief took it as confirmation that she was, indeed a sorceress. Aodh spotted the trick when an acolyte brought in a beaker of a liquid for Morwenna prior to each audience.  She would whisper something in her ear and then the other acolyte would bring in the chief.

Rather than the knowledge diminishing his approval and adoration of Morwenna, it actually added to it.  She soon had every chief of the Brigante and Carvetii not only behind her but willing her to greatness.  They all wished for the heady days of Queen Cartimandua, now a tale told around fires by old men;  a time when Brigantia was independent and not reliant on the crumbs from the Roman table. That she was a woman and a sorceress were taken to be good things for Queen Cartimandua herself had appeared to have magical traits. The Sword of Cartimandua was the only point over which they were uneasy.  The story of the sword being lost did not sit well with them for if lost it could be found and used against them.

Late in the evening when Aodh, Morwenna and the two acolytes were resting Morwenna summed it up. “We have to find the sword. I curse myself for when I lived with Ailis I had it almost in my grasp.  Would that I had realised its significance. The Mother weaves complex and complicated baskets for our dreams and she makes us seek that which is most precious.  Now we know what is precious we can seek it.”

“I could go north to my home and find it for you.”

Smiling maternally at the eager young warrior Morwenna explained, as though to a child, “I am afraid that Lulach would not be happy about your desertion.  You left him to follow me. No we will go to war without it and, when we win, I will ask Lulach to find the sword for me.”

The next day all the chiefs stood in a semi-circle around Morwenna; she was dressed simply in a white shift but the golden torc and the black raven seemed to accentuate her green eyes and red hair. Each chief knelt with his sword pointing upwards so that they all touched. She walked up to the blades, to the very point where they touched and she put her breast so close that one would have sworn the points entered her. “Today the land of Brigante goes to war.  I will lead you and we will drive these invaders from our shore. It will not just be the men who fight for, as with Boudicca and the Iceni, all will fight for it is our war and our land and we must all fight to free it.” The ululation from the women was louder than the cheers and roars from the men and Aodh fully understood the power which the sorceress had unleashed. “Go for your fighters and your warriors.  Rediscover your weapons and your warrior hearts.  The day after tomorrow we destroy Cataractonium and then on to Eboracum!”

The Camp Prefect at Cataractonium was just grateful that the cohort of Tungrians on their way north to Morbium had spent the night at the fort.  The Governor had finally reacted to the news of the Caledonii raids.  It was too late to stop the raids but it boosted the number of soldiers in the north. At least he had not been worried about attack for with Marcus’ Horse constantly on patrol he was understaffed quite heavily. As he watched the autumn mist creeping along the ground he did not envy them their march north. Although he had not heard of any more raids the quiet was a little worrying. The Caledonii were unpredictable and the Selgovae and the Votadini appeared to be every bit as belligerent. The First Spear of the Tungrians waved his hand in salute, “Thank you Camp Prefect.  When we are settled in to our new fort you must enjoy our hospitality/”

“I will do.  Beware of ambushes, especially just out side Morbium.”

“Thanks for the warning.  Come on step out lively there.”Smacking one of his recruits on the back the smiling Centurion headed out at the back of the column.  Behind him the mules were still leaving the fort when suddenly the mist erupted in a sea of blades and savage blue painted barbarians.  The young recruits stood no chance.  As far as they were concerned they were safe for they were still in a fort. The disaster which ensued could have been minimised if they could have shut the gates of the fort but the recruits panicked and ran back, all semblance of order gone. The barbarians poured in after them. The Tungrian First Spear managed to form a thin line with the first century, all of whom were experienced.

The Camp Prefect turned to his aquilifer. “Grab a horse and get a message to Eboracum, tell them the Brigante have revolted and Cataractonium is no more.” The man looked at him in shock.  “Go on get on with you or Eboracum will fall too.” Grabbing his sword and his shield the old Centurion ran down the steps to the mayhem in the Praetorium.  It had been many years since he had wielded a sword in anger he hope he still had it.

He stepped into the gap next to the Tungrian Centurion. “The ambush came a little early!”

“Sorry about that. Well let’s see if we can thin these out a little.” The two Centurions became the rock around which the sea of rebels broke. Had there been more soldiers of their calibre and fortitude they may have stemmed the tide but all around them the Tungrians were being assailed and assaulted from all sides. The auxiliaries had never faced an enemy before and their training had been in the open.  The confined space of the fort suited the barbarians. The young soldiers did not use their weapons as well as their officers and the casualties mounted as they were hacked, chopped and slashed by four warriors to every soldier. The Brigante and Carvetii were venting all their anger and frustrations upon the hapless Roman defenders. Their walls no longer protected them, they enclosed and imprisoned them.  Gradually the Roman line fell back to the Porta Decumana, the last exit from the camp and the last hope of the Romans. Some of the weaker and fearful members of the cohort had opened it and fled south. As they came closer to the open gate the Tungrian First Spear said to the Camp Prefect. “If we hold them at the gate, it might give some of these lads the chance to escape.”

The Camp Prefect had lived a long life and a good life.  He had survived all those who had joined with him over thirty years ago. A sacrifice now might enable some of these young untried soldiers to become the veterans who would save Britannia. It would be a worthy death, an honourable death, a death with a sword in his hand. “You’re right and I am not running anywhere.” He gestured with his eyes to his leg which had been sliced from the ankle to the knee and pieces of bone protruded. “Right then.  They’re your boys you tell them.”

“Tungrians here is my last order. Get out of the fort and go to Eboracum tell them what  has happened.” The two Centurions were still falling back and fighting for their lives yet the auxiliaries did not move. “Run! Now!” Like a dam which suddenly bursts the survivors fled around the two Centurions who moved backwards to fill the gate. Brigante warriors hurled themselves at the two but each was beaten back.  The barbarians had not fought seriously for years and there was neither order nor method in their fighting. The Tungrian Centurion used his shield and sword in perfect harmony. He punched with the shield and stabbed with the gladius. The Camp Prefect covered his sword side and he too found his opponents less than skilful.  Had they an experienced century then the two men might have held the enemy off indefinitely. Their end would come, inevitably, through tiredness but the gate was still filled by the two heroes and, in front of them the ground was filling up with the dead and dying warriors who continued to hurl themselves at the two rocks.

Finally Ownie had had enough and he hurled a mighty war axe.  It caught the Camp Prefect on the side of his helmet and as he staggered back, a young warrior thrust his spear into the unprotected throat of the veteran. The First Spear had no chance then for they were on him like a pack of wolves and, like a pack of wolves, they tore and hacked at his dying body as a punishment for holding them up for so long. Finally Ownie raised the decapitated head of the Tungrian Centurion who had held them and saved some of the garrison.

The eighty men who escaped thanked the Allfather for the courage of their two leaders and each swore that they would revenge themselves on the treacherous Brigante. Elsewhere in the troubled province of Britannia other Roman garrisons found that the people they were there to protect rising against them and the only force which could have done anything was patrolling north of the Dunum; unaware of the disaster in the south.

Chapter 8

At Eboracum the Legate, Appius Mocius Camillus could not believe the news but the battered, wounded Tungrians who trudged through the main gate proved to be a powerful argument. The garrison commander shook his head, “We haven’t got enough troops here to launch a counterattack.  You will need to bring troops from further south.” Vibius Duilius Scaeva was a cautious man.
He had spent many years dragging himself up the ranks to his present position of power.
The last thing he wanted was for a disaster on his record.  The Brigante were a dangerous tribe and if he marched his cohort off and lost then it would be remember for all time.

The Camp Prefect looked off towards Cataractonium as though he could actually see the hordes of barbarians flooding south. “You could always recall the ala operating north of the Dunum.  There seems little point protecting that part of Britannia if we are in danger.”

The Legate was new to the province and
he not need
the last thing he needed was for
a minor problem like a fort or two being overrun becoming a major disaster with a legionary fortress like Eboracum falling. His two advisors had been in Britannia for some time.  Until the Governor came north and gave him orders he would take the advice of the two local experts. “Very well.  Send to Lindum for the rest of the Ninth and recall the cavalry; once they are here we can put down this little rebellion.” He hoped that he would be able to put down the rebellion.  He had served in the east and there wars were fought in a very different manner; control of water and passes was much more important than here where any barbarian band could travel in any direction.  Here enemies could attack at any time with impunity. Nowhere was safe.

Morwenna was angry and frustrated.  The Brigante chiefs had made much of their conquest of one fort.  They celebrated long into the night burning every hated symbol of Roman rule.  She had urged them to follow the Romans she knew had fled but this was war they said and men needed to rest after such a magnificent victory. She knew that they would not have had the victory but for Aodh; he had proved his worth with the plan to hide in the fog and attack when the gates opened.  The chiefs had been most impressed that Morwenna had conjured the fog and summoned the power of the Mother. Morwenna and Aodh had merely exchanged knowing looks; the fog was predictable in the vale at this time of year.

The two of them sat, with the acolytes, apart from the whooping and celebratory Brigante and Carvetii. Aodh tried to placate the seething sorceress. “One day’s delay will not hurt us. Even if the Romans get to Eboracum before nightfall they cannot leave until the morrow and we could catch them on the road.”

“They will not leave Eboracum. I am more concerned that the refugees alert other forces and bring them to their aid.  If the chiefs had pursued the Romans and stopped them from reaching Eboracum then we would have had total surprises. That is why I am angry. We have to fire the other tribes and make them join our rebellion.  One little fort will not do so but Eboracum? That is a mighty prize.  If that fell think of the effect on the rest of the province.  The Silures and Ordovice could rise against Deva and the legions would be stretched.  No Aodh, you did well with your plan but we had surprise. Eboracum has been warned and we will need a better strategy now.”

Aodh pointed to the west. “But the victory is bringing us more warriors.” A line of  torches  showed where other tribes, from further afield were coming to join, what looked like becoming a rout of the Romans.

“We will need more, especially when they bring the legions north.”

The messenger entered Morbium just as the ala was about to go out on the new patrols. “Prefect! Cataractonium has fallen, the Brigante have revolted.”

Dismounting Julius called, “Officers to my office.  You come with me.” The messenger joined the ten men into the office, “well give us the worst.”

“Yesterday morning the relief column for Morbium was surprised by a huge force of Brigante as they were leaving Cataractonium.  The barbarians broke into the fort and killed the garrison.  There were less than fifty survivors.  The Legate wants you to go to Eboracum where he will make a stand.”