Hosker, G [Sword of Cartimandua 09] Hero of Rome (17 page)

Marcus met the column below the crown of the hill. “Well done decurion.  How many do you estimate?”

“They are hidden by the bank on the other side but I would think there are more than a hundred and fifty.”

“A rearguard then?”

Marcus shrugged, “Either that or an ambush.”

Rufius looked at the ground around them and saw that it was not favourable for an ambush which meant that this was a rearguard operation intended to surprise and kill as many pursuers as possible whilst enabling the main party to escape. “So they want us to charge frontally across the river.”

Marcus grinned, “It would appear so.”

“Any crossings up or down stream.”

“Plenty.  You can tell that they are warriors on foot; it might be too deep to wade for a man but not a horse.”

“Decurions, to me.” The decurions galloped up and formed a half circle around Rufius. “There is an ambush ahead. They are expecting us to charge across the water and be surprised when we reach the other side.  We will not be obliging them.” The officers all laughed. “Macro, take Drusus and Calgus. Work down stream and cross the river.  When you hear the buccina then you take them from the flank. Marcus you take Spurius and Lucius up stream and do the same. Antoninus your men are the best archers so you will be the bait for our own little trap; you will lead your men to the water and when you are midstream let your mounts drink.  I will follow on with the other two turmae. If you are attacked then fire a volley and retreat otherwise I will sound the buccina for the attack and your turma will fire arrows whilst Graccus and I charge and throw javelins.  Clear?”

At the river bank the Hibernians had finished off the last of the looted spirits from Stanwyck and the farm. They were ready to fight.  They had heard the sounds of the horses in the distance and knew that the Romans were close. Their leader, Torin, was a huge bully of a warrior. He had been desperate to leave Faolan since Stanwyck and he had grasped this opportunity with both hands.  His part of Hibernia was poor and boggy.  He had joined this venture for rewards and having seen how poorly the locals fought he intended to stay here.  He was pragmatic enough to know that he would have to defeat those following him before he could desert with this warband, kindly given to him by Faolan, and head south for the ripe plums he knew would be there for the picking. He had no intention of spending too long protecting Faolan’s rear.  As soon as they had driven off the first attack he and his men would depart.  Had he not heard the horses he would have done it sooner but he knew that they could not outrun horses but this way they might even capture a couple of mounts for him and his fellows.

“Try to avoid hitting the horses, boys.  Torin fancies taking it easy after this on the back of one of these Roman beasts.” The men smiled, Torin was not the smallest of men and any horse would struggle to carry the weight. At that moment Antoninus and his turma stepped from the woods into the water. “Quiet now, here they come.  Let them get a little closer.” The weakness of their defence, in Torin’s eyes was the lack of bows; they had slings and spears but arrows would have given them the edge. He saw the other horsemen come to the water. “This is it boys.  On my command…”

Before he could utter another word the strident notes of the buccina echoed across the water. His men were ready for action and they loosed stones and javelins at the Romans barely forty paces from the bank. Before they could loose another attack they found themselves being assaulted by arrows and javelins. The hedgerow and trees dissipated the effect of the missiles and the Hibernian shields did the rest. Torin smiled as he saw the empty saddles. He could see at least fifty horses in front of him, when their owners were dead, they could ride away on the freshly acquired mounts. “Steady now boys.  Keep your lines. Wait for them to get closer.” He did not want to lose any of these notoriously reckless warriors now.  Better to drive the cavalry off and then fight another day.

The last thing they were expecting was to be attacked from their flanks but, as he heard the cries of pain and turned he saw to his horror more than a hundred and fifty cavalry hurtling towards him. He was an astute enough leader and he knew that he had the hidden stakes to protect him from the river; this new threat was the more dangerous one, but he estimated that he still outnumbered them. “Turn lads. Come on you whore sons let us be about these horse shaggers!”

The Hibernians roared forwards. Once they left the security and safety of the trees then they became better targets for the cavalry javelins.  Even though many of the barbarians used shields to protect themselves some, inevitably fell. Back in the middle of the river Rufius had ridden his men to the edge of the bank.  He knew a charge would not work and, as he saw the hidden stakes, he thanked the Allfather for the protection he had afforded them. It would take time to negotiate the obstacle. “Antoninus see if your men can hit them with their arrows.  We will have to get around these stakes.”

While Antoninus and his men picked off the warriors they could see, the men led by Marcus and Macro were tearing into the raider’s hastily deployed shield wall. Although the turmae were not in one line the troopers had managed to form smaller lines of five or six troopers. Their horses were trained in combat and, hurling their javelins at the last minute, their mounts reared to crash their hooves down on the barbarian shields. The Hibernians had not fought cavalry before and they became terrified by these beasts which fought like warriors. Suddenly they heard a roar of voices, “The Sword, follow the Sword of Cartimandua!”

Every barbarian heard it.  This was the sword they had come to Britannia for, this was the mystical weapon which would capture a kingdom, this was the ultimate treasure.  Torin saw the blade, gleaming from the red crested rider’s hand and he turned to his men, “Wedge! I am going to have that sword, boys!”

The Hibernians launched themselves forward.  This was how they won their battles at home, a wedge of warriors with the fiercest leading.  In Hibernia no-one could stand in their way.  What they had not met, however, was Marcus and his oath sworn. They too formed a wedge and Torin found himself facing tons of horseflesh and whirling steel. One of the Hibernians from the rear of the wedge had managed to consume more of the spirit than the others and, feeling emboldened yelled, “Fuck this!” and leapt forward, his double handed axe whirling above his head. Although pierced by two javelins and dead before he hit the ground , the momentum of the axe embedded itself in Marcus’ horse’s neck; killing the beast instantly. 

Marcus flew over the dying beast.  He had been taught how to fall by Cato and, as the horse master of the ala, was the best rider.  He rolled easily to the side as his dead mount crashed into Torin and disrupted the whole wedge. Marcus shield strap had separated and he was left with just his sword. He sensed the warrior approaching from behind and whirled around, the blade slicing through the unprotected gut of the man, his intestines oozing out.

Torin was the first to react and he stood with his axe and shield searching for the mythical blade.  As soon as he saw Marcus he leapt as him, as did two of his bodyguards. Slashing the blade in front of him, Marcus reached down to pick up the dead Hibernian’s sword.  Although not as good as Macro with two blades he was competent. The first of the bodyguards was too eager to gain the sword for himself and tried to duck below Marcus’ blade. The Hibernian weapon in his left hand plunged into the unprotected neck and Marcus jumped backwards to avoid the falling body. Torin and the remaining guard were more wary and circled Marcus.  They grinned in anticipation. No-one could fight front and back against two warriors.  Marcus identified the bodyguard as the most dangerous as he had a sword; feinting to Torin with the Sword of Cartimandua, he rolled to the ground as the bodyguard’s blade flew harmlessly over his head.  Marcus, lying on the ground stabbed upwards between the man’s legs and the blade sank deeply into the man’s body.  As he fell backwards the sword was torn from Marcus’ hand leaving him with just the one, the Sword of Cartimandua. Infuriated, Torin swung the axe at the recumbent Marcus who rolled out of the way. He quickly stood and noticed that the huge chief was out of breath. The longer the contest went on the more chance of success Marcus would have. The contest ended suddenly when Macro’s horse crashed into the back of the chief and he was speared to the floor by Macro’s javelin.

Leaping from his horse he stood over the wounded chief.  “Couldn’t let you have all the fun brother could I?”

As the two brothers looked around they could see that the skirmish was over and the wounded were being despatched.  Macro was about to finish off the mortally wounded chief when Rufius’ voice roared, “Wait!” The two decurions stepped back. As Rufius dismounted he said, “Let us ask him a few questions first eh? Then we can send him to the Allfather.”

They roughly turned him over to face them. His eyes widened when he saw the Sword of Cartimandua but his eyes burned black with hate. “Coward! You needed help to finish the mighty Torin.” Marcus was about to mention the three to one odds but realised that it was pointless.

“So we know your name.  We know you are Hibernian and we know you are heading for the coast for a boat back to Manavia.” Rufius only knew some of that but when Torin did not contradict him he continued.  “All we now need to know is who is your leader?”

“Why? So that you can kill him?  Fool.” His dying eyes scanned the scene.  “Faolan has ten times the men you have and the Ebdani are proud warriors.” Rufius nodded with satisfaction, he had the information he needed. “But do not worry Roman, for he is coming for that sword, and he will take it.”

They all looked at the sword in Marcus’ hand, dripping blood but still shining in the afternoon light. Coughing blood Torin grunted, “End it warrior.  Kill Torin with the magical sword so that I may tell the tale in the hereafter.” Rufius nodded and Marcus slid the sharp blade through the neck of the chief; killing him instantly.

Macro looked at Marcus as they both realised the implication of the dying man’s words.  “They came to the farm for the sword. Father died at this Faolan’s hands for the sword. I swear brother that I will follow this Faolan to the ends of the earth and have my revenge.”

“And I brother, will be at your side.”

Rufius shook his head.  They had just spoken of desertion in front of a fellow officer. He would have to talk to Livius at the earliest opportunity. He called over to Graccus. “Your men are freshest, decurion. Find the trail of the main band.  They can only be a few miles ahead.  Find them and then send me word.” He turned to the others.  “Roll call.  Find out how many of us are left and how many cannot move.” Although they had won it had been at some cost.  He had seen many empty saddles and he could see trooper’s bodies lying amongst the fallen barbarians.

At the furthest edge of the field lay Tearlach. He had been knocked over by a horse as Macro’s men had charged in.  He had lain, stunned until now, some way from the rest of his dead comrades.  He slowly raised his head and saw, to his horror, only Romans remaining on the battlefield. There was little point in a glorious death when he might reach Faolan and gain some reward for his report. He had news that his leader would want.  The Sword of Cartimandua was within touching distance and the Romans who guarded it were small in number. He crawled unseen over the ridgeline and then ran south west. Faolan would only be a short distance away.  He could be making his fortune.

Chapter 10

Cassius and Decius were making slower going than they had hoped. The trail which Metellus had found kept crossing the larger trail. In the small valley bottom close to the rising uplands they made a tragic discovery, the bodies of three despoiled young women. The position of their bodies and their state of undress left the troopers in little doubt as to their fate and what had happened in the short time before they had been killed. Cassius looked westward, Metellus was following the captives but he still did not know if this was the main band or not. “Decius, get the bodies below ground.  I am going to ride to the top of the ridge, see if I can make sense of this trail.”

As he rode towards the vantage point which would let him see many miles to the east he wondered if he had made the right decision.  In his heart he knew that the main band of barbarians was still somewhere to the west, probably closer to Eboracum but he could have stayed with Metellus and followed the captive band.  His problem was he had too few men with him.  This was a task for half the ala where they could cover a larger area.  He was also acutely aware of the inexperience of many of his decurions.  Decius was keen and hardworking but he had been an officer for less than half a year and he still needed the guidance of someone like Cassius.  Metellus had the same issue with Cicero.  It was ironical that Macro and Marcus, although young, were probably amongst the most experienced officers he had. Suddenly he heard the welcome sound of the buccina; it was ahead of them and not far away. It was the ala; and he idly wondered, as he waved his men forwards, what they were doing this far west.

They kicked their horses and crested the ridge, there, less than two miles away was an untidy mob of barbarians.  Although spread out over a large area Cassius could see that there was some sort of order there with the horsemen to the front and those with helmets and armour at the rear. Decius’ mouth dropped open and Cassius smiled. “Yes Decius there is the warband.  Obviously the ones Metellus is pursuing have the captives with them so, it would seem, that my decision has proved to be fortuitous.”

“Fortuitous sir?  Are we going to attack them?”

Aulus, one of the senior troopers guffawed, to be silenced by a look from Cassius. “No Decius for they outnumber us by almost ten to one.” He pointed at their horsemen.  “If their cavalry try to flee then we may well pursue them but otherwise this is a watch and wait situation. That buccina we heard sounds like a cavalry one.  It may well be that the Prefect has brought the ala to reinforce us but whoever it is, they are Romans and, therefore, our friends.” He turned to the column. “Eat in the saddle and rest alternate troopers.  We may be here some time.”