Hosker, G [Sword of Cartimandua 09] Hero of Rome (30 page)

Faolan felt at a total loss. He had, selfishly, counted on the money from Morwenna to finance his coup.  Although never stated openly he had felt there was an agreement.  He might just as well have stayed at home and had Corentine murdered. He had lost most of his oathsworn and was left with mercenaries and fortune hunters. As they all stood around the body wondering who would take charge the door of the hut was thrown open and there, in the light of the sunset, framed in red stood a red headed younger version of Morwenna.

The druids almost fell to their knees in relief. “Caronwyn!”

Her eyes narrowed as she fixed a glare of unbelievable hate upon all those in the room.  Each one quailed before it. The Fist was the one who held her look the longest before he too looked away. “My Mother came here for protection and yet you, her warriors, her priests and her protectors could not save her from one warrior.” She looked down at her sister’s body and felt a shiver of anger run through her body. “Do you, at least, have the killer?”

They all looked at the floor in silence.  The only one with the courage of words was The Fist. “It was her son, Macro but I think your sister hurt him.”

Suddenly animated she rounded on the deserter. “What makes you say that?”

“When we pursued him he was not running well and he was unable to raise his head in the boat.  He had to be carried aboard the ship.”

“Where is my sister’s knife?”

They all looked for it, grateful to be able to do something and avoid the recriminations of the new Witch Queen. When they could not find it they feared another outburst but were shocked to see her smile. “Then her killer is dead for my sister, as we all did, carried a blade tipped with a deadly poison to which there is no antidote.  He will have died a slow and painful death and for that I am glad.” As she moved her eyes across the hut she seemed to see, as though for the first time, that her mother was without a head. Her eyes wide and angry she launched herself at the chief druid, grabbing him unceremoniously by the shoulders and shaking him, “Where is my mother’s head?”

“They took it on the Roman ship.”

“Then sail after them and return it!”

“We cannot, the Romans burned all our boats.”

“Then send a rider to bring one.” She seized Faolan by the arm. “You, Hibernian, your captives are gone and you are without gold.  If you fetch me my mother’s head I will give you the money you need for your army!”

Faolan’s face lit up. Perhaps there was something to this religion, he had had no hope and now he had his crown within his grasp again.  “As soon as we have a ship I will follow them and return with that which you seek.”

Coldly, and hissing like a venomous snake, the girl who had, in a heartbeat become a grown woman said, “If you fail to do so then do not return here or I will kill you, slowly.”

******

Metellus had organised Itunocelum well. The captives had all been housed under the watchful eye of Nanna. Metellus had thought that she would make a perfect quartermaster; such was her organisational and logistic skills.  They had created a hospital under canvas close to the beach.  The capsarii had said that the sea air would clear away the risk of disease and so it had proved for they had not lost a man since the fleet had departed. Metellus and two other troopers had undertaken a patrol to ensure that there were no other barbarian survivors to be added to the line of crosses. There were still one or two of the stronger barbarians left alive and Metellus had to admire their spirit.  The lack of water had meant that they had no voice but the glares and stares as the Romans passed by left them under no illusion about the feelings of the barbarians.

“Sir, the ships they are back.”

Metellus breathed a sigh of relief for the first time in days. To beard a lion in his den was a dangerous feat and Metellus had wondered if he would every see his friends again.  He shielded his eyes from the sun. They had seen the fishing ships arriving back over the last couple of days and Metellus was confident in the time it took them to dock.  He estimated that he would have at least an hour and decided to check on the horses.  They had recovered well from their ordeal but now would have to travel back across country, almost a hundred miles and autumn was rapidly approaching.

As he passed Nanna she came over to him.  “Have you eaten today?” The question had an accusing tone to it for Nanna was convinced that Metellus was wasting away.

“Yes Nanna.  I ate with the men.” She fell into step with him, obviously wanting to talk. “The ships are back which means that soon you and your people will be home.”

She humphed, “Home? I have a home no longer.  My husband and sons are dead. There is nothing in Stanwyck left for me but memories.”

Metellus was surprised.  He had thought that she would be delighted to get back to the familiar. “But these people they look to you…”

“They look to me because I can make decisions and they were the ones whose husbands told them what to do.  They were unable to think.  Once they get home do you think I want to look after them again? No it was my duty as the wife of a headman to help them but when we return? No thank you.”

They had reached the horses and Metellus went along the tethered line checking legs and heads. “But what will you do?” There was a silence and Metellus knew that she was looking at him. “Have you no relatives? Somewhere you could stay?”

“You live among us and you fight for us Roman but you do not know us.”

“I am not Roman, I am from Britannia although not a Brigante.”

“I did not know that.  It explains then why you are taller than the other Romans.  In our tribe we live as a family with close family around us. My husband and his father had been the headmen of Stanwyck.  Now that they are dead, as all the men are dead then other people will come to Stanwyck for it is a good settlement and those women,” she pointed dismissively, “will take new husbands and go back to their way of life. That I cannot do. She slowly stroked the horse. When I was younger I loved horses and when my husband chose me I was glad for he was a smith and I got to work with horses.  I think I will go and raise horses for they are kinder than people.”

Metellus stood and looked at her, seeing the sadness in her face and finally, understanding the true effect of these raids.  It not only killed the innocent, it robbed the survivors of their lives. “What would you like to do?” He emphasised the word you.  Looking after horses alone was an unrealistic dream and he thought that she knew it. He could also see the tears close to the eyes telling him that she had more to say, if he let her. He gave her a shrewd look for he thought he understood her words.

“What I would do?  If I, a mere woman, had a choice?”

“Men and women all make the same choices Nanna.”

She snorted, “How long have you been a soldier?”

“Most of my life, ever since I was no longer a boy.”

“Then you have lived your life in a world ruled by men. When you were on leave you chose where and what you ate and drank. If you wished to buy something then you chose it.  If you wanted a woman then you chose her and paid for her no doubt.  She did not choose you. When I was a young woman then I was chosen. The house in which I lived, it was chosen and built by my husband and the men. When I went to the market it was when my husband chose.  When we bought anything, food, clothes, animals, even the jewellery I wore, then my husband chose not I.” She paused, almost out of breath at the torrent which had emerged from her mouth. “So how do we have the same choices?”

They began to walk back to the shore, the ships now much closer and almost ready to dock. Metellus felt he was getting closer to her and went on quietly, “Then let us suppose that you had the same choices that a man has, what would you choose?”

“I would choose to live quietly in a home close to neighbours but out of sight.  I would choose a home with a stream and a wood. I would choose to keep and raise horses and to ride them when I chose.” She paused and stared intently at the tall decurion. “I would choose a kind thoughtful man with whom to live; an intelligent man with whom I could talk as equals.” She sighed and then said, simply, “I would choose you Metellus.”

Taken aback Metellus stopped.  “But why me? I have nothing.  I am a decurion of the auxiliary and I have lived more than thirty five summers.  Already the first snows are falling on my head and I have nothing.”

She laughed and it was a tinkling happy laugh like a mountain stream and her eyes lit up. “You are a fine and noble man; I have seen you and seen the respect you have from your men.  They do not give that to anyone.  You have nothing? You have a wit and an intelligence I have rarely witnessed, besides I have gold.” He stopped, his mouth dropping open. “The barbarians did not get the gold and savings of my family.  When we return I will dig them up. You said, think as a man and make a man’s choices.  I choose you.  Will you have me?”

Metellus was stunned and, as he stood looking at this woman he had spent every waking hour with for the last ten days, he knew that he did. “Yes,” he said weakly, “I will.”

******

The journey of Gaius and Antoninus Brutus had been fraught with danger and uncertainty. Deigning guards and companions, to keep a low profile, they had made their way across the desolated highland which separated the lands of the eastern Brigante from the western clans. Mamucium was as far as they could travel and yet still remain in the land of the Brigante.  They hoped that news of their flight would not have reached the garrison at Deva or all their attempts to save their lives would have been futile.

Gaius was largely silent on the journey across. The wonderful helmet his father had bought for him was buried close to the high part of the hills for they needed as little evidence of their involvement in the failed rebellion as possible. Since he had buried that symbol of his failure Gaius had barely uttered a word.  It was as though he had buried his hopes and dreams with the shining helm. Antoninus had tried to cheer him, telling him that they would not find him quickly and, once they had done their business in Mamucium they would return as though they knew nothing of the revolt which had culminated in disaster. It was not that Gaius did not believe him, although he did not, he just did not care any more. For a brief moment in time he had had real power.  He had had thousands of men who did his bidding and he had controlled an army.  He had felt alive and, for the first time, like a real man.  He found it hard to look at his father who had chosen a life of trade over a life of war. Had his father chosen to lead his people rather than making profit then who knows how Gaius’ life might have been different?

As they approached the vicus at Mamucium, Antoninus reined in their weary mounts. “We will need to be as inconspicuous as possible.  I have contacts who will give us shelter from prying eyes.” His greedy eyes flickered to the two pack horses laden with the black jet; a commodity more valuable to some than gold and his hope for a return to better fortunes.  Once the jet was sold he could buy the wagons needed for the stone, hire the drivers and return home as though they had missed the whole revolution. A canny businessman he had ensured that both of them each had a belt into which were sown gold pieces.  If things went awry then they could flee. Antoninus looked fondly at his son.  “We will emerge stronger Gaius, believe me.”

“How? “ Anger flamed in his eyes.  “Will we buy a new army? Where? The only warriors who would fight now litter the streets of Eboracum.”

As they made their way down the gentle slope to the gates of the vicus Antoninus tried to give him a glimmer of hope. “There are Brigante who are dissatisfied with Rome and there are tribes,” he pointed west, “across the sea who would follow a brave leader. You at least showed your bravery.”

“But my face was hidden, no-one knows.  And if they did I would be a hunted man.” There was his dilemma; to cash in on his limited success he needed to leave Britannia but at least he now knew that there was hope and there was a change in the young man for a while and his father was pleased with his own wisdom which, it appeared, had helped his son to turn a corner.

The man Antoninus sought was more of a criminal than a business man.  He had made his money robbing travellers crossing the high land and then, when the Romans began to patrol more, changed to become a trader himself with armed guards preventing others doing what he had done. He had expanded his empire so that he now produced wagons as well. Before the arrival of the Roman roads wagons were of limited use but now they enabled men like Antoninus to convey larger and heavier cargoes. For Gnaeus Vedius saw an opportunity to expand his empire to the east. He knew that Antoninus had quarries in the east and Rome was voraciously devouring stone in their huge road building programme.  The desire for Roman villas also fuelled the need for quality stone and that was what Antoninus had.

Gnaeus had a fine fortified house between Mamucium and Deva but it suited his purpose to have a home in the vicus, an anonymous though well apportioned dwelling where he could do his business close to the busy Forum. He greeted Antoninus and his son like old friends even though he had only met the Brigante trader once.

“Welcome old friend to my home.  A good journey?”

“A tiring one.”

“I will have your horses stabled at once.”

“Before you do that could your man bring in the cargo?  It is valuable.”

Gnaeus’ eyes widened as he sent his slaves to the horses.  “Gold?”

Tapping his nose Antoninus said, “Better.  It is jet which is lighter and, around here, more valuable.”

Gnaeus could see that he had, potentially, a good ally.  Around Wyddfa and Mona, jet was prized by the druids and priests who still hid in the secret caves and forests which proliferated in the high places and there was an increasing market in Camulodunum where the rich and noble had it fashioned into fine jewellery. “How much?”

In answer Antoninus pointed to the four bags which the slaves deposited with a reassuring thud to the floor. “An Emperor’s ransom.” Gnaeus was impressed. “I believe I know a man who will buy it all. Shall I arrange it?”