Hosker, G [Sword of Cartimandua 09] Hero of Rome (37 page)

“Cunning little bastards.” Vibius could see that defence was not an option and he roared, “Lock shields. Third and fourth ranks, let’s push these blue painted sheep shaggers into that fucking river.” The burly centurion launched himself forwards and, using the momentum of the slope the Gauls pushed down.  As soon as they hit the Votadini line the barbarians behind could not get the space to throw and the front ranks became a melee of slashing swords, daggers and the crash of war hammers on metal.

Quintus glanced to his left where the unseen enemy were still crawling his way. He was desperate to order his men to turn to face the new enemy but the Legate seemed to know what he was doing.

Julius turned to him. “Now Centurion. Take half your men and support the Gauls, we should be able to push them into the river.” Quintus glanced to his left. “Don’t worry Centurion, Rufius will deal with those and I can command the half who remain.”

The remaining centurions looked nervously to their left.  At least they would have shields with which to defend against this attack.  Suddenly the warband rose and charged the Roman lines. Julius said, quite calmly, “Third Century face enemy.”

The centurion muttered, as his men turned quickly to their left, “About bloody time too.”

The Votadini were but forty paces away when they began to fall, hit by unseen arrows and then, just as swiftly, thirty of Rufius’ troopers hit them in a loose line.  The tribesmen stood no chance and were speared, trampled and slashed, the survivors running and diving into the Tinea.

The Centurion of the Third Century nodded his admiration and was then surprised to hear a quiet voice over his shoulder. “It’s all in the timing.” The Legate walked over to the bridge to see the rout of the last of the attackers.

Rufius rode back from the river and halted next to the Third Century. The Centurion nodded at Julius’ back. “He’s a cool customer.”

“He’s had a lot of practice.  Sorry we were a little late.  They had more men up the trail trying to get around our rear.  I left my colleague dealing with them.”

The Centurion of the Third Century looked up as another thirty troopers appeared with two bound captives. “Good man Antoninus.  Now we might be able to find out why they were so pissed off.”

By the time the wounded had been dealt with and the bodies cleared, Rufius had finished questioning their captives.  The two bodies were thrown in the river, already dark with blood and bodies. Rufius’ face too was dark, but with anger. “Well sir he said to the bevy of officers who gathered around him.  “It seems our Gallic friends have been up to their usual tricks.  Not you Vibius but your horse.  Seems they found a hut last night and killed the man and raped the women.  They burnt it down afterwards.”

“How are you certain it was Catuvolcus?”

“I am not certain it was him but I am certain it was his men.” He held up a Gallic amulet. “It seems the ones in the hut killed two of the attackers and our friends found their bodies. They won’t rest now until they have had revenge and they don’t differentiate.  We are all Romans and all guilty.  We now have a blood feud.”

Julius’ shoulders sagged. “Well Livius I think we shall have to have a trial and an investigation.”

“We don’t have time for that sir.”

“What then?”

Livius’ face became grim.  “Rufius and I are still frumentarii and we still have the Emperor’s authorisation. We will find the truth and execute the punishment.” He turned to Vibius. “You are more than welcome to be present Centurion.  It is your cohort.”

“Just let me know when you have done with him. If I get near him…” He looked across the river at the forlorn body of Drusus. “Drusus was a good soldier, worth ten of him.” The sad centurion went off to see to his wounded. 

Julius examined the start of the wall and the detritus of battle. “Well Centurion we have made a start and none too soon. Livius you will need to patrol the north bank.  If they attack too often then destroy the bridge.” They looked at him, appalled. He shrugged. “We can always rebuild and in stone but we will need a fort over there.  We will have to take our time gentlemen.  This will not be built in a year, nor even five years for we will have to fight for every single uncia of it no thanks to one man and his men.”

******

Catuvolcus was not worried when he was summoned to the Principia for there was but the Prefect and one solitary Decurion, no Legate and no board of fellow officers. He was going to get a telling off. He slouched in arrogantly, sneering at the ala clerk who gave him a mysteriously sad look as he passed him. The two guards on the door stamped their feet and rapped their spears on to the floor which sounded ominously to the Decurion like the lid on a tomb rattling shut.

“Decurion Catuvolcus, you are here for a serious offence. You disobeyed orders and put the lives of all those who defend the frontier, in peril.”

He shrugged, “What did I do?”

“You left your picket line.” Livius was a fair man and he waited for the Gaul to deny it but annoyingly the Gaul just smiled, “You went to a woodman’s hut where you killed his family and raped his wife and children.” Again Livius paused and again there was no denial. “What I need to know is this, were you instrumental in this or did you just go along with it? Or did you, indeed, try to stop it?”

“Try to stop it? Stop what?  They are animals and my men and I needed a woman.“ He pointed accusingly at Livius, “You would not let us have slaves.  Those deaths are on you!”

Rufius began to rise but Livius restrained him. “Answer the question.  Were you in charge?”

“Of course I was in charge.  They are my men.  They do as I say. Now I am tired and I would like to get back to my men.”

“You are going nowhere Catuvolcus.”

The use of his name seemed somehow sinister and, for the first time since entering the room he felt fear. “You can do nothing to me without a trial.  I know my rights.”

In answer Rufius threw a leather packet on the desk. “You can read, I know that.  Open the document and read it.” As the Gaul read it all colour drained from his face. “You know what that is, don’t you?  You have heard of the frumentarii.  You know that they answer only to the Emperor and we have this as well.” Livius tossed over the document used, years earlier and signed by Emperor Trajan giving them the Emperor’s authority to act as they saw fit to protect the Empire. The Gaul’s shoulders sagged. “We have rarely had to use these but the Legate agrees with us, for the good of morale you will disappear. Your turma will be split up and watched and we will try to rectify your misdeeds.”

“How will it be done?” he asked dully.

“Despite what you believe we are neither cruel nor vindictive. We will give you a warrior’s death. You will be taken from here to the forest and given a sword.  I will then cut your throat.”

All fight left Catuvolcus and he was not the same arrogant man who had swaggered into the Principia. Later when Rufius and Livius returned to the fort, the dead body already being picked over by foxes and the carrion of the night, they looked north to the forests stretching to the lands of the Pictii. “But for that man Rufius we might have built this wall safely, a barrier which the Votadini would have accepted and would have protected us but because an Irish prince wanted slaves and a Brigante trader wanted power we had to allow that creature free rein and the result will be a longer war and many deaths.”

Rufius looked up at the skies. “Yes sir but we both know that the Parcae and the Allfather give us tests to see if we are worthy; we just keep proving that we are.”

******

Marcus found himself smiling as they road down the road towards Morbium.  The resilient woman from the last wagon, Nanna, and Metellus appeared to be a couple for Metellus rode next to her wagon and spent the whole journey talking and laughing.  When they stopped to rest their horses Metellus sought out Marcus who was discreet enough not to impose himself on his friend.

“Marcus, Nanna has told me how you saved her on the Stanegate.  I am eternally grateful to you.”

The decurion looked down modestly, he did not like compliments. “It is what we do.  She is a brave woman Metellus; she was keeping huge Selgovae warriors away with a war axe.”

Metellus laughed. “I will remember not to get the wrong side of her.”

They both watched as Nanna played happily with two of the orphaned captives. “She is a fine woman.” Marcus paused, not certain how to phrase his next question; Metellus was like Cassius, one of the older mentors whom Macro and Marcus had looked up to.  “Will you be marrying her?”

Metellus’ face reddened.  “I do not know. How could I leave her alone while I soldiered? The frontier will be even less safe now. Besides I would have to ask Livius’ permission.”

Marcus laughed. “By the Allfather! Do you think Livius would refuse you? And as for living alone, my brother has a large farm with many buildings.  You know that he would let you have one and then she would be protected by the family.”

“She is a proud, independent woman.  I am not sure.”

Suddenly the young man was the one offering sage advice to the older man. “Life is short Metellus.  Look at Macro, he was a candle which burned brightly but was snuffed out too soon. You have a chance of happiness, do not spurn it. Take it by the hands.  The Parcae have thrown you two together for a purpose, do not waste their bounty. You will have happiness and should the Allfather and the Parcae end that happiness then you will still have the memory of that time.” His face was effused with passion and sadness. “My mother and my father neither regretted their union nor their meeting which was equally traumatic.  Do not regret yours.”

“You have grown young Marcus.  Today I see the man, and a great man.  Thank you for your advice.”

Epilogue

Caronwyn’s face was white when Faolan and Angus finally returned with their grisly prize.  The storms which had raged for four days had kept them penned in Itunocelum.  The delay had not helped Caronwyn’s humour. Now, aided by her younger sister Eilwen she had seized control of the Druidic council and energetically organised the rebuilding of the jetty and the citadel which was now much improved. Her envoys had gone to Hibernia to recruit more warriors but nothing could be initiated until her mother was laid to rest.  She remembered how her mother and the others of the cult had been angry that the body of Fainch, the greatest of the priestesses had not been given back to the Mother.  Caronwyn and her sister were adamant that the same would not happen with Morwenna and already the burial mound had been prepared, the body laid amongst the grave goods and all they awaited was the final part of their mother.

When the ship finally made the newly built jetty, its shredded sails a testament to the storms it had had to endure, the two sisters waited there eagerly on the new jetty for the return of their mother’s remains. Angus had, tactfully, wrapped his cloak around the head. Faolan ensured that it was he who handed it over to the new Witch Queen for he wanted his reward. Angus’ opinion of this self centred man, was dipping lower and lower as each day passed.

“I promised you I would return your mother’s head and here it is.” He proudly held it out.

Angus stepped forward and said, quietly and thoughtfully, his voice with the true sincerity of one who cares. “Lady, it is burned and it may upset you.”

Caronwyn smiled at the fierce warrior who was showing all the gentleness of a grandfather.  She smiled and touched his cheek. “Thank you Angus.  I know that you cared for my mother and I know that, had you been on watch she would still be alive. Would you take charge of my bodyguards for I will feel safer?”

“It will be an honour, my queen.” The title was presumptuous for she had not yet been crowned but Caronwyn nodded as did her sister.

“As for the state of my mother’s remains, I expected the Romans to desecrate her for she fought them all of her life. Give her to me.” Faolan finally handed over the cloaked remains.  Caronwyn opened it.  Eilwen and she kept a stony face but those around gasped in horror at the blackened skull which blindly stared at them. “This merely serves to make my resolve greater.  We will bury my mother and then we will give you your army, Hibernian Prince and hope that you can do better with it this time.” She turned to The Fist, “And you, deserter, will earn your place here which my mother granted you.  You will buy us weapons and recruit mercenaries to carry this war to Rome. This is not the end, this is the beginning of the revenge we will have.”

******

Gaius Brutus stepped off the boat at the jetty of the only port left on Manavia. He had been surprised how easy it had been to gain passage and at a reasonable price. He did not know that, since the Romans had devastated the island and its forces, Faolan and Caronwyn were desperate for men and the ships they had sent out had actively sought young warriors.  The captain of Gaius’ ship had been delighted to make a little extra profit from the gullible young warrior. Gaius would not have cared anyway; he had a new sword, some fine armour and he was convinced that he was a great warrior who would lead the rebellion which would rid his land of the Romans. Once he trekked up to the heartland and met their leaders they would welcome him with open arms.

******

The wagons had been left at the fort ready to be sent to collect the newly quarried stone.  Marcus’ turma escorted the captives, now strong enough to walk, down the road to Stanwyck. For many of them this would be a difficult time for they were returning, for the first time, to the place of slaughter. A place which was now a memory of the dead. As they neared Decius’ farm Marcus turned to Gnaeus, his chosen man. “Take the captives to whichever settlement they choose. When they are all settled then return to the farm.” Shouting and waving their thanks the captives trudged down the road to their home.  Marcus and Metellus led the orphans and Nanna along the track to the farm.

Nanna looked dubiously at Marcus.  “Are you sure your mother will want to be bothered with these orphans?” The five children were all under the age of five and had clung to Nanna since their return from Manavia.