Hosker, G [Sword of Cartimandua 05] Revolt of the Red Witch (18 page)

“No Diuran.  I am now convinced that this is the trail. “He said it loudly so that they could all hear. He wanted his confidence transmitted to them.  Their casualties had made them tentative and apprehensive.  He wanted them keen and hungry. “Spread out in a circle and walk on foot until you find it.”

It was almost an hour later, with the light fading fast when the shout went up.  They all raced towards the man who was kneeling next to a tree, his hand touching a wet leaf.  “Piss and still warm.”

“Now we know their trail.”

Marcus had lit the fire well before dark so that it would be burning brightly when the old man returned. He was not worried that his companions had not arrived, it boded well for if they took this length of time to arrive then their pursuers would be even further behind.  He had scouted back and seen that the trail they would take came through a narrow gully in the trees. He waited there, bow in hand, hidden behind a tree. He peered around to see how far down the twisting path and he found he could see a long way but anyone coming up the path would struggle to see a hidden archer.  This would be the last roll of the dice would there be a pursuit. He looked back towards the fire and was pleased that the rocks and sand he had piled behind it hid its light from the land but still showed out to sea.

He sat with his back to the tree relying on his ears rather than his eyes. It was so peaceful this close to the shore.  The noisy gulls of the morning had departed leaving a gentle shush as the waves lapped up n the beach. The water dragged small stones back adding a sort of underscore to the melody of nature. In the forest he could hear the birds as they furtively rummaged amongst the dead material to find food. He had imagined when he finished with his military career that this would be how he would spend his free time, just enjoying his leisure, sitting and watching the world he had raced through as a warrior. The last time he had been this quiet lately was just before Ailis and the boys were captured when he and the others were hunting.  That was the happy time. Perhaps he was doomed never to have a happy time. When he had been taken as a child from Cantabria he had been too young to remember his parents.  The men who had raised him had all left to join other auxiliary forces and he grew up, a young man alone.  When he found Macha and he had his son it was but a fleeting moment of companionship, too brief for him to get to know either of them and then when they were murdered so soon they became an intangible memory, like his parents. Now, in his third age, he had the chance to make amends to save a family, a family he loved and, as he listened for any footfall of hoof beat, he swore that he would make sure that he saw this family and watched them.  They would not become a memory which could not be mourned.  He would grow old watching them grow and their children grow. He was tired of death and tired of pain he wanted life. Their lives were the most important thing in his world now.

Hearing something he immediately became alert and chanced a glance around the tree.  He could see a horse and then sighed with relief when he saw that Gaius and young Decius were on it.  He decided to test his theory about observation; he waited until Gaius and Ailis had passed him before he spoke. “Welcome!”

Gaius almost fell off his horse with surprise but before Marcus could laugh he felt a blade at his throat, “Welcome Tribune! You may hide from Romans and women but Gaelwyn the Brigante can smell you!” The old Brigante helped Marcus to his feet.  “Come on then you old man.  Let us find this boat.”

The sun had dropped below the horizon and the red rays of the sunset spilled over the water making it look warm and glowing. “Any sign of your friend?”

“No but I would not expect him until after dark.  There will be less chance of being seen. I killed and cooked a couple of rabbits this morning.”

Ailis came over to kiss the Tribune on the cheek, “That was thoughtful and Marcus, thank you.”

“You are my family what else was I going to do? I am just glad that we have nearly succeeded.”

Macro murmured. “We may be out of the trees but we are not out of the woods yet. There will be a pursuit.”

“We worry about that when it happens.  First I will get some rabbit and then young Macro you and I will walk down the trail a little and see if we can spot our enemy.”

Macro’s son looked up in panic at his father.  “Are you going to leave me again?”

“Son I am only going down the path with Gaelwyn I will be back.  I will not leave you again.“ He looked up at Ailis and Gaius, “and if I should be kept a little longer then you know that Ailis and Gaius will be as parents don’t you?” Although talking to Decius he was looking at Gaius who nodded.  Ailis gripped her husband’s arm and buried her face in his shoulder. When the two men had left the Tribune called over to the tearful boy.  “Decius come here.  I have a present for you.”

Sniffling back his tears he wandered over curiously.  Marcus and his brother watched equally interested. “What is it?”

“It is something I bought for my son but he, well he doesn’t need it and I wondered if you would like it.” He held out a small pugeo with an intricately carved handle perfectly made for a child’s hand.  The short blade was encased in an embroidered tooled leather scabbard.  His eyes lit up, all thoughts of losing his father gone.

He gently took it from the Tribune’s hand and turned it over to look at the handiwork.  Looking up he threw his arms around Marcus’ neck and said, “Thank you! I will look after it I promise.”

Fighting back tears at the remembrance of his dead son the tribune could only nod. Gaius’ sons had mixed emotions; they were both joyful that their friend had such a lovely present but also jealous for they wanted one.  “Well when we get back to the farm I shall have to get you two one each eh?  I shall have to find out where the Tribune got such a fine weapon.” All jealousy forgotten the two boys rushed to their father and each grabbed a leg.

“I think we had better make the fire a little bigger, it is almost dark now.” He had already collected dry driftwood and pine needles and soon the fire blazed away. “If we sit on the forest side its glow will be harder to see from the land.”

Suddenly the sharp eyes of Ailis picked out something. “There! A splash of white on the pink sea.”

They all looked hard each desperately hoping to confirm what Ailis had seen. “I see it too.  It is about a mile away.”

Marcus stood, “I will go and tell the others.”

Before he could move Gaelwyn raced in gesticulating behind him.  “Caledonii and close! Where is the boat?” They pointed out to sea and Gaelwyn shook his head.  “They will be on us before it can beach.”

They were trapped. They had come so close to escape and now it was to be cruelly snatched away from them.

Julius saw the Brigante camp as he and Livius scrambled up the bank.  They had found a cliff, south of the settlement which overlooked both the fort and the Brigante camp. “It is as I remember it.  It looks as though Atticus has decided to fight.  Good for him.”

“Who is Atticus?”

“The headman of the village and a good man. This works in our favour.  We will send a single turma in to attack and then withdraw to the bank here where our archers can thin them as they follow and then our dismounted warriors can use javelins from lower down the knoll.”

“Fight on foot?” asked Livius doubtfully.

“The horses are exhausted and you may not have noticed but the ground does not suit them.  Come on let us tell the Decurion Princeps what we intend.”

Salvius was not happy when the Prefect told him that he would be leading the attack. “But Sir you should be on the ridge directing the men.”

“No Salvius you know how to use archers more effectively and I want Livius with the men on foot.  When we eturn you must open ranks to let us through and I will wait on the left flank in case we need to do something dramatic”

“Very well Sir but I am not happy.”

Grinning Julius said, “That will teach you to join up.”

As he rode away Salvius turned to Livius, “I am worried about the Prefect.  Since we killed Modius and Macro deserted he has not been himself.  I worry that he is seeking his death in battle.”

Livius looked at the back of the departing Prefect anxiously.  “I hadn’t thought of that but he has been putting himself in harm’s way lately.”

“The good news is that he will not put his men in jeopardy but we need to watch him carefully young Livius, and Livius?”

“Yes?”

“Watch yourself as well.  You are a good officer.  Don’t be foolhardy. Do not try to replace Macro.  He will be back soon enough.” Livius went to his men feeling as tall as Macro.  He had been called a good officer by the Decurion Princeps.

Atticus was not overly concerned when he saw Ownie’s men line up in four ranks as they prepared to attack.  The ditch had been copied from the Roman one he had seen at Derventio and it was littered with spikes and had a steep glacis. He had enough men on the wall to pick off any survivors.  Atticus would become worried if they assaulted the gate at the same time as they attacked this side for he had limited numbers of warriors.  He smiled to himself; for that to work they would need to know the tides and tide times.

“Sir look!”

One of his sentries pointed to the ridgeline where a line of horsemen appeared.  From the slight panic in his voice the man obviously thought they were Brigante.  Atticus had seen these horsemen before and he knew who they were. “Don’t worry they are friends.  It is the Roman cavalry.”

“There look to be too few to make a difference.”

Atticus had to agree that the small group could do little against the huge number but it increased the likelihood that they would survive the day. “They will not like to have an enemy so close to their rear ranks. Any enemy of theirs is a friend to us. See how many of these rebels we can hit with our arrows; perhaps we can annoy them a little.” Although the range was not perfect it might distract them from the Roman cavalry which was about to hit them.

The first that Ownie knew of the attack was the thunder of the hooves coming down the ridge.  He almost laughed when he saw the pathetically small number of horsemen.  His war band was both well armed and well armoured.  “Rear rank, cavalry behind you!” Those at the rear turned and faced the charging horses.  The rear rank alone outnumbered the advancing cavalry by at least four to one and they were confident of victory.

Ownie turned to his lieutenant.  “Looks like they have stumbled on something they didn’t expect. We will have the rear ranks turn and halt them.  It will give the men confidence to defeat the famous Roman cavalry. “

The rear rank placed spears on the ground and braced their shields. They were confident that the horsemen would ride into them but instead the line of troopers halted twenty paces from the Brigante spears and they hurled their javelins at the waiting warriors. The missiles were well aimed and every one, at such short range, found a victim.  Before they could recover, the troopers had launched another volley and then they turned and ran towards the small knoll.

Atticus’ bowmen were hitting enough warriors to be annoying Ownie and discouraging his men. He decided he would take the stockade with half his men and let the other half destroy the Roman cavalry. “Rear ranks eliminate the cavalry.  First two ranks charge!”

All of the Brigante were angry having taken casualties and inflicted none.  The ones at the rear ran in two haphazard lines.  They were so intent on pursuit that they did not notice the cavalry slowing up effectively blocking their view of the ridge ahead. Suddenly the cavalry seemed to disappear in a rain storm of arrows which made the sky dark. Even though many men fell to the deadly barbs, enough carried on, desperate to get to grips with the annoying horse men. As they started up the slope the arrows were replaced by javelins, the deadly arrows hitting the unarmoured men in the second line.  The first line was so depleted by the time it reached the dismounted horsemen that they were easily disposed of.  The second line was a stronger one and its leader, Donncha ordered his men to lock the looted Roman shields and protect themselves from the missiles.  He had seen the Roman infantry use such tactics and he knew it was effective. When the line hit Livius and his men the force was such that the Roman line buckled.  The Decurion Princeps could see that his arrows were doing no damage.  “Swords, follow me!” As soon as the dismounted archers joined their comrades the line stiffened but the superior numbers of Brigante meant that, eventually, they would break through.

The Prefect had reformed his horses on the enemy right. “We have no javelins left so we use our swords.  Force them towards the cliff.”  The cavalry hit the exposed flank of the Brigante line.  On the right the warriors had no s to protect them and the cavalry could pick their targets with impunity. Some of those armed with axes chopped at the legs of the horses but, in the main, it was the Brigante who were dying as the well disciplined Romans moved inexorably forward. 

Slowly the right flank of the line turned in on itself as it was attacked from two sides and Livius was able to shout orders to his beleaguered men.  “Push them towards the cliff. “The right flank of the Roman line plunged down to a cliff and the Brigante were fighting a foe which was uphill.  The warriors on the left of the Brigante line found themselves using their shields, in their left hands to block the increasingly fierce attacks as they did so they inevitably edged closer to the cliff.  The horses began rearing on the right of the line and warriors pushed back to their comrades. It was like a finely balanced scale and suddenly it tipped, scores of men plunged down the cliff while those who could, raced down the slope to the safety of the other lines.

Ownie was not finding the settlement an easy one to defeat.  The slope on the ditch was steeper on both sides than he had expected and the arrows of the defenders were being augmented by stones accurately slung by boys eager to join the fray and aid their elders.  The withering onslaught slowed up the attack and prevented the Brigante from actually climbing the walls and ramparts. As he glanced over his shoulder Ownie saw, with horror that his two rear lines had broken and the force bearing down on him was not a handful of cavalry but at least a hundred Roman soldiers. This was not the walkover he had assumed; it was assuming the proportions of a minor disaster and the only way to avoid making it major was to retreat and live to fight another day.