Hosker, G [Sword of Cartimandua 09] Hero of Rome (16 page)

“Right lads well here it is.  We are between a rock and a shit hole!” They all laughed at the coarse humour.  “Up there are Brigante captives.  We don’t know if they are from Eboracum, Morbium or one of the many settlements between here and home, but it doesn’t matter for they have to be rescued.” He knew he had their attention for many of them were native Brigante and the majority of those were from the lands around Gaius’ farm. “A frontal assault would just get us all killed. The only alternative is to climb up there.” He pointed at the dark and hidden hillside which rose like a tower behind them. “We would not be able to take our shields just swords and bows. When we get to the top we will be outnumbered and so we need to strike whilst it is dark and they are unaware of our numbers.  If they realise how few we are then they will just climb up and pick us off at their leisure. Our only hope is to take out as many of their leaders as we can and hope that the barbarians take their wagons, horses and run.  The measure of success will be that we get the captives safely back. Anything else will be a bonus.”

There was a silence as the men took in the decurion’s words.  Cicero leaned over and said, under his breath, “Well at least you didn’t sweeten it eh sir?”

“Well lads if anyone has a better suggestion, I am all ears, otherwise choose two of you to be horse holders while I go and tell the other two what we are about.  Leave any spare equipment on your horses.  If we have to leave in a hurry we won’t have the luxury of time to pack. When we get up there we fire two volleys and cheer and shout on the second then run to a new spot, two more arrows and retreat back up the slope to the ridgeline.  Any dead men we leave. One last thing, smear mud on your faces and hands it will make us harder to see.” Cicero looked dubious, “Trust me boys it is an old Explorate trick.  If we had charcoal it would be even better!”

While the men checked their equipment Metellus told the two troopers watching the pass what their instructions were.  Both were disappointed to be missing out on, what they saw as, an adventure but Metellus pointed out that they could be the only survivors and, as such, would have to follow the captives and then report to the ala. Sobered by the serious message the two young troopers addressed their role with much more enthusiasm.

“Well Cicero I shall lead off…”

“But sir I am younger!”

“Exactly and how would it look to the men if the oldest man, who happened to be the leader, was the last man up?  No this is better for we will all reach the top with enough breath to fight. Bring up the rear and make sure they know not to make noise.”

“What is your plan at the top sir… er Metellus?”

“That depends upon our enemy. If we can surprise them, shoot their leaders with arrows and make a lot of noise then they may retreat but if they stay then we keep the high ground and kill as many as we can. They can escape but not with all the captives.”

Cicero looked appalled. “But sir that means some of our people may end as slaves?”

“True Cicero but it would take a miracle to save them all.  If the Decurion Princeps was here we might have enough men to take them but there is still a huge warband out there.  This way we save some…” He put his arm on the young officer’s shoulder. ”Get used to it, Cicero, the odds are always against us.  We do what we can.”

Using hand signals the two officers, who had left their shield and spears tied to their mounts, led the way up the steep bank.  It was not sheer but it was difficult to ascend and the troopers were soon grateful that they had both hands free to pull and tug at rocks, bracken and branches as they took any help they could get. The wind was blowing, if not a gale then quite strongly, but that worked in their favour for it masked any noise they might have made. Metellus was feeling his age as his thighs began to burn and he found himself heaving.  How did one get unfit?  Then he realised, it was not a lack of fitness, he was just getting older, a foe it was difficult to fight.

Suddenly there was nothing looming above him and he dropped to all fours. His white eyes showed against his blackened face as he watched as his men scramble up.  Cicero was the last man and he crawled over to Metellus. “One man injured sir, Agrippa he fell, and I think he has broken his wrist.  I sent him down to the horse holders.”

“A better result than we could have expected.” He leaned over to look down into the encampment.  There was neither order nor organisation.  The barbarians had just put a few shelters up anywhere.  Their fires, too, were dotted around but their glow helped the troopers to identify the sentries.  From their perch they could see that there were only guards on the gated barrier. Metellus held up six fingers confirming that there were six guards.  He pointed at six men and signalled that, when the order was given, they would take out those guards. The rest began to slip slowly down the slope to get closer to the camp for they needed to see where the leaders were.  Metellus assumed that they would have the best shelters, closest to the fires and the wagons. He saw a small group whose arms were covered with bracelets and honour bands.  They were the leaders. He pointed to another twelve troopers and gave them the signal that the ten by the fire were theirs.

Cicero and the rest knew that they would just have to pick their targets as best they could. Metellus unslung his bow. He looked left and right to ensure that all were watching him.  He drew back his bow as did every other trooper. Metellus’ arrow hurtled towards the bearded warrior sleeping closest to the gate.  Forty four other arrows flew at the same time. They all reloaded but this time, as they shot they screamed and shouted.

The guards at the gate fell to the man but the leaders were luckier, only six of the arrows found their mark. As Metellus scampered to a rock higher up the slope he noticed that at least fifteen barbarians were down but now they were alerted and it was more difficult to hit them.  “Choose your targets.  Don’t waste arrows; we have time on our side but not ammunition.” Although he sounded confident, in reality Metellus was not too sure.  Perhaps it would not be the ala riding to their aid.  The huge warband who had destroyed Glanibanta might reach them first.

Down below Conan had taken charge.  The early shock at being surprised had given way to anger that no-one had thought to put sentries on the high ground. “Creagth, they are on the slope. Take half your men and go down the trail, flank them. Have the other half try to get to them. I will take the wagons and as many of the captives as I can to the coast. Join me when they are dead.”

Creagth almost spat his reply but wisely held his counsel.  There could be a thousand men up the slope.  He would do as ordered but if there were too many he would join Conan. This enterprise was not as glorious as he had hoped. Leading his best men he clambered over the dead guards.  The two men behind him fell to deadly arrows fired from the hillside. Shit! They were sitting targets. “Get in the lee of the hill they can’t see us there.  You two crawl through the gate and try to get around the side.”

Metellus could see what they were attempting but it did not worry him.  If they tried to climb up, as he and the turmae had discovered, it required two hands and they would be easy targets while doing so. More problematic was the escape of the others. The barbarians were trying to drag the prisoners to their feet.  “Shoot at the guards near the captives.”

The captives kicked and struggled against their captors.  When the barbarians trying to take them fell, they wriggled and squirmed away making it harder for the barbarians to reach them. Their leader, for Metellus recognised the torc of a chief, was busy helping his men harness their horses.  He had ten of his men hold shields to protect them but in doing so it enabled the captives to begin to scramble up the slope. Conan roared his anger but the wagons began to roll west. Grabbing the nearest captives and throwing them across their saddles the thirty men of Conan’s bodyguard followed the wagons out of sight behind the cliff edge and down the other side of the pass.

Creagth saw that he had been deserted. He was now in dire straits. He had been ordered by Faolan to defend the pass but now he did not have enough men. He chose to make a strategic withdrawal to the other side of the pass.  The mysterious archers would have to come down to be able to hit them and then they could strike back. The huge Hibernian yelled out his orders and the remaining men, shields held above their heads ran back across the killing ground to safety. Over thirty of them made it but many others lay amongst the shambles of a camp.

“Cicero!” The decurion scrambled over to Metellus.  “Take your turma down the slope, mount up and man their barrier from the other side, see if you can keep their heads down.” 

“Do you want us to attack them sir?  I think we outnumber them.”

“We do but that is a narrow pass and we would lose too many men.  I want you to keep their heads down so that I can get these captives to safety.”

Cicero and his men scurried down the fell side.  As dawn was breaking it was a far less hair raising journey and Metellus watched as they reached the horses.  He switched his attention to the fifty or so captives cowering amongst the rocks.  He could see some of them attempting to climb up the slope and he yelled down.  “This is Decurion Metellus of the Second Sallustian Ala.  Stay where you are! We will rescue you.” One woman raised her hand in acknowledgement and he saw her mouthing instructions. The problem the Romans had was that, although they could not fire on the raiders, the barbarians could see the captives.  Metellus could only assume that, like him, they had limited ammunition and for that he was grateful.

He heard the clatter of hooves and then saw the arrows begin to arc towards the hidden barbarians.  He turned to his men. “Right. Down the slope and help the captives up here.  Don’t bring too many at once.  You two,” he pointed at two of the younger troopers, “you stay with me. Collect any spare arrows from the others.  We will try to help Decurion Cicero.”

The journey down was not as hazardous as it had appeared and they were safe from the barbarians until the last twenty or so paces. Metellus could see Cicero and he shouted, “Fire a volley,” he paused, “now!” As the twenty arrows flew high Metellus and his men sprinted the last few paces.

The woman who had signalled took Metellus’ hand and kissed it. “Thank you sir.”

“Thank me when you are safe.  My men will get you up the slope in groups.  Tell your people to be patient.  We will get you all to safety.” Leaving his men to their task he took his two archers and found a rock behind which they could hide. They could see the edge of the barbarian line but their leader had learned that the Romans were accurate and they had shields held up to protect them. “Don’t waste arrows. If they fire, they will be shooting blind so just watch for a target and then fire.”

It was a nerve wracking duel.  The raiders shot arrows in the air but as they heard them clatter harmlessly on the rocks they soon stopped. One impatient warrior stood to get a better shot but two arrows quickly impaled him and no-one else risked that. The sun had reached its zenith before the last of the captives was helped over the top. Metellus turned to his two archers.  “This is the hard part.  We have to cover the killing ground to the blind spot and then climb that slope.” The two grinned.  Metellus had chosen the two because they were good archers but also they were fast and he had known that this would be the difficult part. Cicero had few arrows left and could not give them a volley. Metellus and his men would have to rely on speed.  “Go!”

The three of them raced and zig zagged across the rock strewn floor. They had almost cleared the danger area when the young trooper in front of Metellus stumbled.  The decurion had to stop to avoid falling himself. It was in that moment when the barbarian behind the barrier risked a shot.  The arrow plunged into Metellus’ left calf and he crashed to the ground.

******

Leaving the glory hunters at the river Faolan led his depleted band west. He had hoped that he might have caught up with Conan but so far there was no sign of him.  Faolan was trying to keep to the same route they had taken when travelling east. It had been relatively easy and, more importantly, kept to the valley bottoms affording cover. The cart containing the gold was being driven just behind Faolan and his intimates.  That was his future and he wanted it closer to him than his clothes.

He turned to Angus, “How far to the coast?”

Angus looked at the line of warriors spread out along the valley.  “At this speed?  Probably two more camps. If we pushed it we might get to your men the day after tomorrow.”

Faolan had asked the question for confirmation of his own thoughts.  He hoped that Creagth had, as ordered successfully built a barrier.  If his men could delay their pursuit at the river and if they made the pass by the next day then they would have escaped. He was certain that Creagth would not have been bothered by Romans for the only ones on this side of the divide had already been slaughtered. As there was still no alarm from the river Faolan could only assume that their pursuers had not reached them. It looked like Morwenna had worked her magic with the gods, or Mother or whoever and they had returned successfully from their foray. It was with a sinking heart that he heard the sound he had not heard before he came to Britannia but which he now dreaded.  It was the sound of the buccina.  The Romans had found them.

******

“Sir.” The excited trooper reined his horse next to Rufius.

“Yes trooper what is it?”

“We have found them sir.  They are on the other side of the river just ahead.” He was so excited that he carried on. “Decurion Marcus halted us and, even though they were hidden, he saw them.” The hero worship dripped with every word.

Smiling Rufius acknowledged the report and turned to the column.  “Enemy ahead, form a column of fours.”

The troopers of the eight turmae all began to check their equipment, tightening chin straps and ensuring that their shields were tightly slung. At the rear Macro was cursing that it was his brother who had stumbled upon them and not he. He loosened his sword in its scabbard for soon he would be sword to sword with those who had destroyed his home.  His troopers saw the angry face and wondered at the change in their decurion. Since he had returned from the north he had become more withdrawn, more moody and far less cheerful. They longed for the early days when he and Marcus had been the happy cheerful pair who could raise men’s spirits in a heartbeat.  Decurion Marcus appeared to have changed little but Decurion Macro had grown older very quickly.