Masters of Rome (21 page)

Vespasian steered his boat towards the three blazing ships, now consumed with flames and wreathed in smoke; behind him the other crews strained at their sweeps, keeping pace. The heat from the raging infernos scorched his skin as they drew closer; sweat poured down the labouring oarsmen's faces and into their beards, and noxious fumes ravaged their gasping throats.

‘Ansigar,' Vespasian shouted over his shoulder, ‘take five of the boats and pass on the other side of the burning ships; we'll try and cut off the survivors. I want prisoners.'

Ansigar acknowledged the order with a wave and veered his craft away to the left, taking four of the others with him.

Passing the blazing bow of the first stricken bireme, Vespasian looked down the gap between it and the next; through the wafting smoke he could see no sign of the enemy, only bodies floating on the surface. He kept his course straight, passing the next ship and peered left, with stinging eyes, into the thirty-pace-wide lane between it and the final fired vessel. Again there was nothing; through the smoke he could just make out the shadowy form of Ansigar's boat powering by the other end.

Vespasian's crew rowed on, eyes squinting against fumes and sweat, past the final burning ship, now listing heavily; beyond it was open water. Vespasian swung the steering oar to the right, slewing his boat in the opposite direction around the doomed vessel as Ansigar appeared around the stern; between them was nothing but smoke and flotsam and jetsam.

‘Shit!' Vespasian swore as he veered his boat back to its original course; Ansigar did the same coming alongside. The oarsmen kept up their pace, groaning with the effort of each pull and soon they were clear of the smoke; and then he saw them. They were mere outlines a hundred or so paces distant but they were unmistakably boats, six of them, heading down the estuary towards the sea. ‘Put your backs into it, lads, and we'll have them; they'll tire before you will.'

The Batavians renewed their efforts in response to his call whilst the archers, seated forward of them, nocked arrows and tried to gauge the distance in the gloom. Behind them the rest of the small flotilla increased their pace at the sight of their quarry.

Then a new sound, shrill and regular, pierced through the grunts of exertion and the creak and splash of oars; Vespasian turned his head. From out of the bank of fire-lit smoke a ship emerged, its blades dipping in time to the stroke-master's piped beat: Sabinus' liburnian. Two men pulled on each of the eighteen oars protruding from either side of its streamlined hull forcing the bronze-headed ram extending from its bow through the foaming water at a speed that Vespasian's craft could not hope to match; but nor could the Britons. Within a few score strokes the
ship had drawn level; Sabinus stood in its stern, next to the trierarchus, encouraging the oarsmen in the open rowing deck to greater efforts. On a platform in its bow a party of marines loaded a small carroballista; winching back the torsioned arms of the artillery piece they placed the three-foot-long iron-headed wooden bolt in the shooting-groove before sighting the weapon. Up ahead the Britons had seen the new threat looming dark against the glowing background and their shouts of dismay carried over the water; but their speed did not increase; they were already at the limits of their power.

‘We need prisoners!' Vespasian yelled at his brother as he passed. Sabinus waved in acknowledgement as, with a rasping twang followed by the dull thump of the arms hitting the padded restraining bars, the bolt accelerated from the carroballista into the night; the whisper of air rushing past its leather flights marked its passing. The marines hurried to reload as the liburnian ploughed on, overtaking Vespasian's flotilla and gaining with every oar-straining stroke on the six fleeing boats.

‘What are you waiting for?' Vespasian shouted at his archers. On unsteady legs the eight Hamians in the bow stood and released a speculative volley from the rocking craft; their comrades in the other boats followed their lead and were rewarded, more by luck than judgement, by a couple of cries of pain and a shadowy figure falling overboard. Then the carroballista spat a second missile; within a heartbeat shrieks rang through the air and a boat disintegrated into foaming water. The Hamians kept up a quick rate of release, peppering the Britons and reducing their rowing power so that their overhaul became inevitable. A third shot from the bolt-shooter, almost at pointblank range, took the head off one warrior before passing through the chest of the next and finally skewering a third by his belly to the pierced hull of the vessel. With the distance closing so that visibility became less of an issue the Hamians set about their work with relish and their kill-rate increased. As oarsmen perished and their sweeps fouled, the boats began to slew and it was almost at a broadside that the merciless ram of the liburnian crashed through the nearest, tossing its crew aside like dolls to be
sucked under its hull or pounded down by its weighty wooden blades.

The liburnian drove relentlessly on towards its next victim, blocking the Hamians' line of sight; Vespasian steered his boat through its choppy wake, searching the surface for survivors. As another fleeing boat was ploughed beneath the bow of the liburnian, a warrior bobbed up from under its stern, coughing and spluttering and making frantic movements with his arms to stay afloat.

Vespasian changed course towards the floundering man, bringing the boat alongside him. With the drawn bows of a couple of the Hamians aimed at his face, he grabbed an oar and was hauled in; he scrambled aboard, his chest heaving and blood streaming down his face from a gash on his forehead. Sweeping his sword from its scabbard, Vespasian brought the flat of the blade cracking down on the man's skull; he slumped, unconscious, into the shallow water slopping in the bilge as the screams of the last of his comrades were silenced beneath the liburnian's hull.

‘He says that he comes from Durocornavis,' Cogidubnus informed Vespasian, Sabinus and Plautius, ‘and I believe him; he has the uncouth accent of the Cornovii of the southwest.'

Vespasian looked down at the terrified warrior, splayed out on a cross on the ground, his arms and legs held in place by legionaries with mallets in their belts and long nails gripped in their teeth. ‘I can't think of any reason why he would choose to lie at this moment.'

‘Ask him whether this was Caratacus' idea,' Plautius ordered, ‘or whether they just took it upon themselves to try to burn our ships.'

After the question had been put the warrior spoke quickly, his eyes flicking between all the nails that might soon be pounded through his wrists and feet.

Cogidubnus listened, the glow of the three dying fires out in the estuary playing on his face, and then nodded, as if satisfied by the answer, before translating. ‘It was their chieftain, Judoc, who
ordered the attack once he'd received news from Arvirargus, King of the Dumnonii, of the ships being dragged across the portage way. The druids told him that they'd read in the entrails of a shipwrecked Roman sailor that the gods would favour them.'

‘They were mistaken on that point,' Sabinus observed unnecessarily.

Vespasian raised an eyebrow. ‘It goes to show that you should never believe everything you read.'

‘Thank you, legate!' Plautius snapped. ‘There's no place for wit in my army. Ask him what he knows about Caratacus.'

Again Cogidubnus posed the question; this time the answer was more hesitant. ‘He claims that they have had no contact with Caratacus.'

‘Bollocks! He's lying.'

‘Yes, I agree; Caratacus would have sent emissaries to every tribe and sub-tribe not yet under Roman rule.'

Plautius looked at the legionary holding the captive's right arm. ‘Soldier, put your nail ready to hammer it home.'

The legionary took the six-inch nail from his mouth, placed it on the warrior's wrist, just below the base of the thumb, took his mallet from his belt and held it ready. The captive's chest started heaving with terrified anticipation and he spoke breathlessly with a pleading timbre to his voice.

Cogidubnus smiled, his eyes glinting in the glow. ‘That's more like it. What he meant to say was that they have had no
direct
contact with Caratacus; he hasn't crossed the water to hold counsel with his chieftain, but his representative did, in the summer of this year, and met with Arvirargus and all the chieftains of the sub-tribes.'

Plautius was interested. ‘When exactly did this man arrive?'

‘A month after the summer solstice,' was the translated reply.

‘Towards the end of July, just under a couple of months ago; that fits with Alienus leaving Camulodunum the first time and taking my cancelled orders back to Caratacus. What was discussed at this meeting?'

‘He doesn't know all that was said,' Cogidubnus translated, having listened to the reply. ‘He's just a warrior and doesn't share
in the counsels of the great; but after the man left, Arvirargus declared that there would be a muster of the Dumnonii on the first full moon after the harvest had been brought in. He also ordered the Cornovii to build more
currachs
– they're the boats that they used tonight. They were told to make them longer and wider so that they could hold more men.'

Vespasian looked at his superior. ‘What were the written orders that Alienus purchased from your clerk, sir?'

Plautius thought for a few moments. ‘They were for you: I'd been considering for a while not advancing any further southwest for the time being, seeing as apart from some tin there's very little of value down there; the Dumnonii don't even mint their own coins. So I issued orders for you to negotiate honourable terms with Arvirargus whereby he keeps his crown and independence but gives us access to his tin mines. Once done, you were to hold this line that we're now on with garrisons of auxiliaries whilst the legion moved to relieve the Fourteenth Gemina. They would then, along with half of the Twentieth Legion, called up from reserve, have gone north into the northern Cornovii's territory to threaten the lands of the Brigantes and force their bitch of a queen, Cartimandua, to make a decision one way or another instead of telling both me and Caratacus that she supports us entirely and would be only too happy to bear our children.'

‘So Caratacus was going to take advantage of our weakened presence down here and send the army of the Dumnonii against us, without telling Arvirargus that you were willing to negotiate.'

‘Which is exactly what I would have done in his position; he would have forced me to abort my move against the Brigantes and would have been able to claim to Cartimandua, with some justification, that he had saved her people from invasion, thereby claiming her loyalty. Only it didn't happen because I rescinded the orders.' Plautius looked back down at the captive. ‘Cogidubnus, ask him what happened to the army after it was mustered.'

The King translated the brief reply. ‘It was disbanded after half a moon.'

‘Because the Second Augusta did not move north, which tells us that the Dumnonii have not got the strength or inclination to face a full legion, which means that they could be open to negotiation. And yet the druids persuaded one of the sub-tribes to launch an attack on us, which is bound to bring reprisals, if not an all-out invasion of their worthless territory which hitherto we have left untouched.'

Sabinus ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head, incredulous. ‘They want us to attack them?'

‘No, brother,' Vespasian said softly, ‘Caratacus wants us to attack them. He's willing to sacrifice the Dumnonii knowing that their conquest will keep a whole legion busy for at least a year or two. And to what end? Some tin mines in a peninsula that leads nowhere; strategically it's irrelevant and he knows it. The druids helped him to try and trigger the attack because it's also in their best interests. Don't forget they have no tribal loyalties, they're not Dumnonii druids or Cornovii druids; their loyalty is only to their gods and they see Caratacus as the man who will preserve their ways and, hence, the druids' power.'

‘Judoc is not going to be very pleased with the druids or Caratacus if he finds that out,' Cogidubnus observed; his face revelled in the pleasure of the thought.

Plautius looked equally pleased. ‘No, he won't; and nor will Arvirargus. I believe that you should be the one to tell them. Vespasian, I think we should revise your part of the plan slightly: Cogidubnus will now go with you and whilst you wait to intercept Caratacus' arrival do nothing to upset the Cornovii; instead, Cogidubnus will go ashore and meet with this Judoc and explain to him that I'm willing to overlook his raid on our ships because he was obviously manoeuvred into it by self-serving priests. If we can turn the Cornovii against the druids they could do our job for us.'

‘Very good, sir. What about Arvirargus?'

‘I'm going to deal with him later. Once the druids are disposed of and Caratacus captured, we'll take the legion a few miles into Dumnonii territory, burn some settlements and then summon the King for a meeting. I'll just ask him one question: does he
want to keep his crown and lands? Without the druids' self-serving advice and Caratacus' false counsel being poured into his ear, I think I can guess what the answer will be.'

‘That's two big assumptions, sir.'

‘Not really; you'll deal with the druids if the Cornovii won't. And Caratacus acted on the false information that Alienus gave him last time and so he will this time; he'll come. You'll sail with the tide at the third hour of the day; so I suggest that you get some sleep. Any questions?'

Vespasian looked down at the captive still lying on his cross. ‘What about him, sir?'

‘What?' Plautius glanced down at the man. ‘Oh, him; nail him up.'

‘I'd rather take him with me; he could be useful. For a start he knows where this nest of druids is.'

‘Will we be ready by the time the tide turns, Maximus?' Vespasian asked, stifling a yawn as they walked through the gates and surveyed the boats rowing back and forth to the nine surviving biremes with the last of the crews and provisions. The burnt-out remains of the three fired ships protruded from the river's surface as they were gradually submerged by the rising tide.