Hosker, G [Sword of Cartimandua 09] Hero of Rome (20 page)

“I told you Marcus that this has someone behind it who knows the country. We will have to split up again.  I do not like to do that but I have to. Which turmae have the maximum complement of troopers?”

“Graccus and Spurius. They have almost sixty men between them.”

Cassius would have preferred to send either Macro or Marcus to follow as they had the most experience but Spurius was an older officer, not prone to stupid decisions and would follow any orders to the letter. “Very well.  They can keep their swords in the backs of the men on the horses and we will close Rufius’ trap with the majority of the ala.”

“Sir!” Macro almost bellowed it as a challenge.  “Let me go after them!”

Cassius looked curious, “Why Decurion Macro? The two officers are sound and they will only be following.  It is we who will be fighting soon.  I would have thought you would have relished that?”

“The man who killed our father is on a horse. Let me follow the horses. I do not want him out of my sight.”

Marcus had a sudden intake of breath but Cassius put his hand out to restrain him and said coldly, “Decurion Macro this is not a private war. You are not here to revenge yourself.  You are an officer in this ala and you will obey orders or I will have you placed under arrest.  Is that clear?”

Sullenly Macro spat out, “Sir! Yes sir!” and rode off to rejoin his turma. Everyone had a look which was both shocked and embarrassed that they witnessed the outburst.

Cassius leaned over to Marcus. “He has been under stress lately but I will not tolerate outbursts like this again. Have a word with him.”

“Sir I am as shocked as you.  I will speak with him tonight.”

Rufius’ two scouts broke the news of the change in plan as soon as they reached him. “Well that has put the cat amongst the pigeons.”

“What sir?”

“Oh nothing Decius, it is just that the Decurion Princeps and myself assumed that when we attacked the front of the warband, the rest of the ala could attack the rear but if they have split up will the Decurion Princeps have followed this band or the other?” Decius looked totally confused and Rufius smiled. “It matters not.  We still perform our part.  We are not trying to wipe them out but merely bloody their noses.” He turned to the two turmae and pointed west.  “They are heading for the high pass.  When we withdraw, and boys we will withdraw, I will personally punish anyone who gets themselves killed here!” They all laughed.  “We will withdraw west.  Keep ourselves between them and their goal. Now get to your positions.”

He had chosen the ambush point well.  There was a bubbling steam which headed south from an old Roman watchtower to the north. It split into two just before the first lake and there was a ford across the shallow river. Further up the river could only be forded by swimming horses and Rufius’ plan was simple.  He and his men were waiting to the east for the column of men to pass.  Just as they turned to cross the river he would attack with arrows and javelins.  In the confusion he hoped that some would drown and others run.  Cassius’ original plan had involved a simultaneous attack from the rear to cause even more confusion. The one part of the change which suited Rufius was that he would now be attacking infantry and not the horsemen who could have chased him down.

They heard the noisy warband long before they saw them.  Their leader, who was easily identified by his shock of red hair, urged his men on at a half run. They had not been travelling far and even the most unfit were managing. Angus was looking for the stones.  He did not mind his men getting wet but it sapped their energy and the wily old warrior was certain that the Romans would purse him and he wanted to be on the trail with a steep slope at his side when that happened. Metellus waited until the leader was in the water and then ordered his men to charge.  They did so silently and, with the noise of the stream and the noise made by the barbarians their approach was undetected.  Metellus waited until they were twenty paces from the warband and shouted, “Loose!” Almost immediately every trooper who had one took his bow and began shooting at the targets who were at point blank range.

As soon as the angry warband saw how few there were they launched themselves at the turmae. “Retreat!” His men needed no further urging as two hundred warriors chased them. The turmae headed north towards the deeper river. At the rear Cassius launched his attack as soon as he saw the warband hurrying to their comrade’s aid. With more men than Rufius he caused even more casualties but he too withdrew in good time.

By the time Angus had reorganised his men he saw that over sixty men had died and many others were wounded. Those too wounded to walk were despatched by their comrades and the warband trudged westwards, once more flicking their eyes behind them for the phantom horsemen.

Faolan had a rude shock as he and his horses reined in and looked up at the pass for they could see the red crests which identified the defenders not as the men of the warband but Romans. Loegaire sent four of the younger warriors forwards.  “They have better eyes.  They can count the enemy.”

Faolan shook his head.  “We chose the path because it could be defended by a small number of men.  That works as well for the Romans as us.”

“Then how did Creagth manage to become dislodged?”

“I am learning Loegaire that these Romans are neither as effete nor as rigid as we were led to believe.  They are resourceful, clever and brave. I think our men will report thirty warriors holding the pass.”

Loegaire made the sign against evil.  “Are you bewitched, do you have second sight?”

Faolan laughed.  “No I am using one of the tricks of the Red Witch, I am using my mind. There are thirty men in each group of horsemen.  In that the Romans are predictable.”

The returning scouts confirmed Faolan’s judgement. He had a problem now for his local knowledge was with his warriors far to the east.  He knew that there would be another pass to the coast, either north or south of the present one but he could not risk wasting time finding out. “We will have to see if we can dislodge them ourselves. Do you notice Loegaire that they are facing west? They are there not to stop us leaving but to face an enemy we cannot see.”

“Creagth!”

“Exactly.  And hopefully he will have some of Conan’s men with him.”

“Not all of them?”

“No, for Conan would have obeyed orders.  I told him to get the captives and plunder to Manavia and he will have done that but I can hope that he has left some men there.”

“Let us ride closer and see what they do.  I have seen that they can shoot arrows from long distances but we should be able to get closer to them.” They nervously trotted forwards.  They knew that there were about fifty men trailing them, keeping a judicious distance away. Faolan did not want to be caught between the pursuing cavalry and those on the pass but he did not want to lose lives needlessly when he was so close that he could actually smell the sea. The steep path twisted and turned but the defenders had chosen a site from which they could see a long way down.

Up on the pass Creagth had also seen his leader.  He had the same number of men as the Romans but he knew that, in a combat situation, they would be hampered by the captives. He turned to his men. “When the Roman warrior’s attention is on Prince Faolan I want one last charge, let us see if we can dislodge them from their rocky perch.” His men were eager for battle, still smarting from not having come to close combat with this elusive enemy who liked to fight from a distance.

As Faolan came closer to the Roman lines, so the tired sentries nervously looked over their shoulders at the advancing line.  Creagth judged the time right and yelled his battle cry.  The sixty warriors raced the fifty paces to the crude stone barrier fired up by the desire to sink their blades into enemy flesh and knowing that their oath sworn prince was but a few paces away. Faolan heard the cry and yelled, “It is Creagth! Charge!”

The men at the wall were attacked from two sides simultaneously. They were between a rock and an even bigger rock. On the hillside Metellus was waiting with his reserve turma, their horses and the captives having been moved further along the ridge to a safer location.  But should Metellus lose then the brave women would once again be in Faolan’s clutches.  His only hope was the two turmae he could see in the distance who were now galloping to attack the dismounted warriors; if they could reach the skirmish in time then the women at least might be saved. Faolan’s horse holders had seen the danger and were racing their mounts in support of the prince. Faolan saw his men following and knew that his time had come; this was the moment for a last push to escape the Roman trap. “Ebdani warriors, let us drive them off this pass!”

As the beleaguered Roman defenders fought two enemies, Metellus led his men to crash into the sides of the warband.  For the first time Faolan had the advantage; until the two pursuing turmae arrived he would outnumber the Romans and he urged his men on. They stabbed and fought as only men who are fighting for a cause greater than themselves can fight; they were fighting for the prince to whom they had sworn their allegiance and given their blood oath. Faolan too, fought harder than he had ever fought before his blood fired up as trooper after trooper fell to his blade.

Suddenly as he hacked a final trooper in the thigh, he found himself face to face with Creagth. Faolan had not time for words but he nodded his thanks. “Hold them as long as you can and then follow us. Do not lose too many men in the retreat, the rest of the warband are coming.”

Creagth and his men formed a shield wall as Faolan and his last thirty warriors mounted their horses, with their precious cargo still tightly tied on their saddles and kicked on over the pass, Metellus cursed the lack of arrows for, with but a quiver of them, he could have killed the leaders as they fled. When Spurius and Graccus arrived with their two turmae the barbarian defenders began to slowly retreat west.  They had taken heavy casualties and were few in number. It seemed that they would die in the pass when Creagth saw the remaining horses left by Faolan and he ordered those still standing to mount. Those too injured to mount lurched forwards to hold off the tired troopers and enable their comrades to flee.

Spurius reined in but Metellus roared at him.  “Follow them! Stop them getting aboard a boat!” As the two turmae hurtled off Metellus looked around at the remains of his command.  Out of three turmae there were barely twenty men still on their feet and he could see brave Cicero lying with a half severed head, sword in hand and defending the pass as ordered. The troopers left looked shocked and shattered but Metellus knew that this was no time for rest.  The larger warband was coming and, although Metellus knew that he would not be able to hold them he would have to die trying.

He looked around and saw that Sextus, although wounded himself in the leg, was still alive. “Sextus, take the wounded and use them to guard the captives and the horses on the ridge.  If… when we fall try to save them.”

Sextus looked as though he was going to object but, as the capsarius glanced around at the devastation in the pass, he knew that the Decurion was right.  The next attack would sweep over the last defenders. He saluted and limped away.

Metellus turned to the survivors who were walking around dazed.  He could see that many of them had slight wounds as he had but it mattered not. “Half of you move our dead over there and we will honour them when we can.  The rest of you come with me.  We have a new defence to create.” He took the men to the destroyed wall. As one or two went to lift the stones Metellus shook his head.  “First we have another wall to build, a different wall which might deter our foes more effectively.” He picked up a barbarian body and laid it in front of the wall. “I want every barbarian laid here as a barrier.  When that is done we will rebuild the stone wall.”

It was a grisly task but the troopers soon saw that the barrier they were creating would be a hard one to negotiate as there would be less purchase on the bodies soft and slippery with congealing blood and gore. By the time they had finished, the bodies formed a wall eight paces wide before a wall which was as high as a man. Satisfied Metellus turned to look at the pile of trooper’s bodies.  There would be no time to burn them as there was little wood in the high pass. Tired though the men were he knew they had no other option. “Let us honour our dead and build them a tomb.” The one thing in plentiful supply was stones and they laid a line around the perimeter of bodies and then built a low wall up.  Once that was completed they began to fill in the middle. As soon as the last face was covered Metellus stood to order them to rest but he saw that the men continued to work. One of them saw his confusion and said, “Let us make a monument that we can remember and hope that our friends do the same for us.” By the time they had finished there was a dome over the grave of those who had given their lives defending the last pass.

******

By the time Angus halted his warband it was already dark.  The barbarians put out a thin line of warriors and, exhausted fell into an immediately deep sleep.  That would have been the perfect opportunity for Cassius to launch an attack but his men were also totally exhausted.  A series of sudden attacks on the flanks and rear of the column had killed thirty barbarians but his men and their mounts could fight no longer.  In addition he feared an attack on the diminished ranks of the ala and had to use a turma as guards. Rufius and his ambush party had rejoined the main group as the ala was so depleted that Cassius needed numbers now. His ruse had worked and the barbarians had taken to using their own scouts to watch for further ambushes.  Another sneak attack would be difficult to pull off.

When the ala slumbered Marcus sought out Macro, remembering Cassius’ words.  As he expected Macro was not sleeping but standing looking westwards. “Brother you should sleep.”

“As should you.”

“But you appear troubled and that concerns me.  I cannot sleep knowing that your mind is filled with serpents.”

Macro spun round his face angry although his voice was a whisper. “You do not know my mind brother! You do not know me!”