Hosker, G [Sword of Cartimandua 09] Hero of Rome (6 page)

Those were motives the warrior could understand, self interest and revenge.  At last he trusted her. “You will have your invasion.”

Smiling Morwenna kissed him on the lips. She was a little hurt and offended when he did not respond.  Usually men took the kiss as an invitation; it was another sign that age was catching up with her and it would be her intelligence which ruled from now on and not her looks. “Come we will find Idwal and he will select your warriors for the sooner you begin your task the better.”

He looked at her curiously. “And why would that be?”

“My spies tell me that the new Emperor in Rome is interested in Britannia.  Once he arrives then we will have to tread warily for he will bring legions.  If we can strike before he comes he may well decided that this province is not worth the deaths and withdraw.”

For the first time Faolan saw beyond Hibernia. Everyone knew that Britannia was a richer land than his poor homeland.  Who was to say what might happen if the Romans left?  Perhaps he could claim a mightier kingdom here, beyond the waters of home. “Let us see your warriors then.”

******

Caronwyn played the part of servant well and, when Antoninus entertained the rich and powerful the discreet and subtle servant hovered invisibly in the background. She heard all that was said for the men around the table dismissed her firstly as a servant and second as a woman.  The men believed that neither of those states had the capability to understand what they were planning. The biggest problem Caronwyn had was that, apart from Antoninus and Gaius she did not know their names, they did not use them.  Perhaps that was part of their secrecy and their security.  It mattered little in the grand scheme of things.  As long as they revolted then her work was done.  The problem was that they were worse than village gossips; they talked a good rebellion but did not get as far as the planning stage.

It was early in spring and Morag had done them proud serving new spring lamb with carefully cultivated spring vegetables, good beer and fine wine.  The ten men around the table were looking very pleased with themselves.  Gaius kept glancing lasciviously at Caronwyn but she could control that. Once in their cups their tongues and plans ran a little freer.

“When was the last time you saw a Roman soldier father?”

“You mean apart from the ones in the fort at Eboracum?” The nods of approbation from his peers gave Antoninus satisfaction; he loved his son but he should know his place.

Undeterred and aware that Caronwyn was in the room clearing the detritus of supper away he continued.  “Precisely. There are but three or four hundred and where are the rest?” he answered the rhetorical question himself. “Far to the north trying to stem the tide of invading Picts.” To the Brigante anyone from the north was a Pict, a blue painted terror who had ravished and rampaged through their land since the earliest times of the Brigante. Some of the men around the table looked at the young man anew.  He was making sense.

“But we are not warriors.”

Gaius leaned forward addressing the others rather than his father. “But we have warriors.  Since I acquired those weapons we bought in Eboracum I have been training our men.” He looked meaningfully around the table. “Some of those who are your sons and followers have also joined us and are becoming warriors too.  When we get more weapons they too can be trained.  By the summer we will have an army.”

One of Antoninus’ neighbours asked his host.  “Where did the weapons come from?”

“I paid for them and my son bought them at the vicus.” He pointed the finger around the table. “However I will no longer bear the burden alone.  If you want your men armed and trained then you will provide the money and my son will provide the weapons and the training.” There was a buzz of conversation as pairs of the diners discussed the problem.  Antoninus smiled and gave a subtle nod to Gaius who raised his beaker in a toast. When the buzz died down Antoninus looked at each man in turn as they nodded their agreement. “So we are agreed, you will each fund the training and equipping of your own men under the command of my son Gaius.”

“Agreed.”

“To help the secrecy and to give the venture a Brigante name Gaius will be known as Venutius.” This brought smiles and cheers from all those around the table.  Caronwyn was puzzled.  Why choose that name?  Antoninus answered her as he went on, “It is right that the last free King of the Brigante, Venutius, betrayed by the wicked and traitorous whore, Cartimandua, should give his name to this enterprise which will see the land of the Brigantes returned to the Brigante people and the rightful heir to Venutius will rule.” Although they all cheered none of them could, as Caronwyn was able to do, see that the next King of the Brigante would be Gaius, the son of their host.  He had made an implied connection, obviously false, to the last royal family and no-one had gainsaid him, and he would rule the north of Britannia. His ambitions ran high indeed.

Later that night Gaius came, slightly drunk, to the barn where Morag and Caronwyn slept.  The witch’s daughter had been expecting the visit and went outside with him her cloak wrapped tightly around her to keep out the sharp spring air. “I saw you watching and listening, you little vixen.”

“I understood nothing.” The innocence in her voice disappointed Gaius who had hoped that she would have been impressed enough to open her legs for him.

He looked around as though expecting his father to be listening. “My father is arming the men of the vale and I am to command them.  When the time is ripe the Romans will be driven from this land.” He leaned in towards her his breath heavy with the sweet, stale smell of beer and wine. “And I shall rule.  Would you be my Queen?”

Still playing the part she kissed him quickly on the lips. “Be your wife! Of course! Why should we wait until you are king?”

Gaius had not thought it through; his offer was a metaphorical one.  He had no intention of marrying a servant, no matter how beautiful and he began to backtrack on his words. “We would need to wait until I was king and you could be presented as a fitting Queen but before then we could…”

Caronwyn saw the pathetically clumsy attempt at seduction and played the innocent virgin well. “Oh no Gaius you would not want a Queen who was soiled.  Better to have a pure Queen you could present to the Brigante. But Gaius, have you fought in a war?

“Fought in a war?  Of course not; what a stupid and inane question.  What has that to do with being my Queen?”

“If you have not fought in a war then how will you know how to lead an army in battle?  I would not wish you to die in your first battle.” Gaius’ desires evaporated as the cold reality settled in.  While he was the best warrior in the land he did not know how to fight. Caronwyn went on.  “I am sure there are, what do you call them, ah yes, mercenaries who would advise you.  All you would need to do would be to find one. Perhaps the place in Eboracum where you buy your weapons?  They might know of someone.” She played the innocent well enough and the idea was securely planted in the young, would be Roman killer’s mind.  Although he said nothing she knew that he would seek out such a man and then take the credit with his father. It mattered little to Caronwyn; Gaius was merely a piece being used in a larger game.

She decided to leave him with an enticement to do as she had bade him. She leaned in to him and touched his lips with hers, her tongue darted in like a tiny snake and Gaius became aroused. She put her hand between his legs and squeezed his enlarged member. Stepping back she said, “When you have killed your first Roman then come to me and I will reward you even more.”

******

The Fist had been one of the troopers in Livius’ ala.  He, and the corrupt decurion Aelius Spartianus, had bullied and cowed the men before the arrival of Livius. Once he had seen his leader suffer death by bastinado, the huge trooper had decided that his days in the ala were numbered and he and another three or four of his ilk had deserted. Whilst they could exist in Eboracum selling stolen weapons and armour the fact was The Fist was a huge unmistakeable man. He could be recognised. In addition his bullying had meant that many men knew him and would turn him over to the authorities in an instant. So he had a solitary existence in the forests preying on those merchants heading to the coast.  It was a meagre existence but occasionally his cronies from Eboracum would get wind of a merchant travelling along the Roman road and they would ambush him. The result was that they were doing quite well and certainly earning more than when they had been auxiliaries.

When Gaius had first approached them for weapons they realised that they had found a gold mine, for he paid whatever they asked of him. Now, as they met not far from the vicus, The Fist formulated his ideas. “This Brigante will keep coming for more and more weapons and eventually we will run out of the crap we have been selling him.  We need a more regular supply. How about the fort?  Is the Quarter master there amenable to a bribe?”

Lucius, the leader of the others shook his head.  “The old one was but this new Prefect got rid of him and the current one is a list man.  Always checking his inventory.”

“So we need to get weapons before they reach the fort.”

“Not so easy.  They generally come in by boat up the river and guards escort the wagons into the fort.”

The Fist grinned, remembering the fort at Coriosopitum and the way the Romans had used boats to supply it there. “Then we take the boat south of Eboracum before it docks.  The sailors won’t be expecting trouble so close to the port.  We wait in a boat and board them.” The five others in the gang looked dubious.  Robbing wagons on solid ground was one thing but hijacking a cargo on a ship was another. “Listen you spineless jackals how many men on a boat?  Four maybe five. Are they warriors?  No. Are they used to being robbed in a river, where they can’t run? No. All we need to do is find out when a shipment is due.  Lucius, any contacts in the fort?”

“Yes there are a couple of lads who bring us stuff to sell.  I should be able to find out.”

“Good and next time this Brigante comes to see you arrange for me to meet him. Tell him I am a chief or something.  These barbarians are impressed by titles and fancy sounding names.”

******

Caronwyn and Morwenna would have said that The Mother had arranged the presence of The Fist and his unique knowledge of the auxilia.  Livius would have just said that the Parcae were having a game.  Whichever had the true version events began to move when Gaius returned to buy more weapons. He had become adept at slipping through the seedier side of the vicus and entering the hovel unseen. As on his previous visits he was made welcome. They had even taken to buying some rough wine to give a semblance of hospitality.

Gaius had no time for such pleasantries and he waved the beaker away.  “I need more and better weapons.  The ones we have are second rate, not as good as Roman weaponry. Can you organise that or shall I go elsewhere?”

Lucius almost laughed at the palpable bluff.  There was no other game in town, if he did not get his weapons from them, he would not get any weapons. “No my lord, we can accommodate you but a larger and better order will take time and cost more.”

“That isn’t a problem.  I can get the funds you require but there is one more thing, I need a warrior, a mercenary, someone who has fought with or against the Romans.” He looked at the four of them; they looked to be ex-soldiers. Perhaps they might be the ones he was seeking.

Lucius held back the smile. This was easier than he had expected. “There is someone who might be able to help but he could not meet you here.” He leaned to Gaius conspiratorially. “He is a wanted man but he sounds just like the man you need.  He fought the barbarians as a Roman and he has also fought against Romans. He is a powerful warrior. Return tomorrow at this time and we will take you to him.”

Gaius almost ran back to the farm to tell Caronwyn his news but, as he rode back, he reflected that he ought to distance himself from the serving wench.  Soon he could be a Prince leading warriors into battle and he would be able to choose a partner more fitting his status.  The wench would do as a toy to be played with and to amuse him.  He would tell his father the news and accept the paternal approbation he knew he would receive.

Chapter 4

When Faolan met Idwal he was neither impressed nor drawn to the dour Manavian. The man wore his amulets with an arrogance which Faolan did not like.  He spoke to Faolan as though he were a child, new to war. For his part Idwal resented being asked to baby mind a warrior who had yet to fight in a real war. Faolan quickly let Morwenna know that he would take her men but not her leader. Surprisingly that suited everyone for Idwal did not wish to be associated with failure and Morwenna had grown to value the safety which the powerful warrior brought with his presence. Faolan began to believe that all of his victories would be as easy.

The last words Morwenna spoke to him, as he boarded the ship which would cross the short passage of water were, aptly, prophetic. “Do not underestimate the men of the Roman cavalry who ride beneath the dragon standard and be wary of the one who wields the sword. He may appear little more than a boy but he has fought in many battles. I tell you this because I want you to succeed and you need to prepare yourself as much as you can. Do not fail me.”

After he had assured her of both his fidelity and reliability he rid himself of the island of intrigue.  Now that he was within smelling distance of the Roman world he began to become excited. The men he commanded did not constitute an army; he knew that, it was a pack of wild dogs, barely controlled and certainly not on a leash.  The only army he had which he could truly rely upon was his personal bodyguard, led by the invaluable and ever faithful, Loegaire.  Those fifty warriors were the ones in whom he could trust but, once he was in the Roman heartland he could let loose his dogs of war.  He had two aims, to gather as much treasure as he could and to secure the sword.  One of Idwal’s men, Angus, had served in the land of the lakes and Faolan attached him to his bodyguard.  It made sense to have as much intelligence as possible. He had been more impressed by Angus than Idwal.  Firstly, because Angus was a quiet unassuming warrior, and secondly because he was older.  Faolan did not feel that he had to constantly prove himself with the younger Idwal.