Roman courage, p.4
Roman Courage, page 4
part #13 of Sword of Cartimandua Series
“And with good reason. He is a deadly and silent killer. I am just glad that he is on our side.”
Marcus took off his helmet as he entered the Principia. First Spear did the same. The centurion poured a beaker of ale and handed it to Marcus. “We have had no supplies for six days. There must be problem at the supply depot. We ran out of wine. You will have to make do with ale.”
“I do not mind ale. My mother was Brigante.”
“I know and that must be the sword they speak of; the magic one.” His voice displayed his scepticism.
“You do not believe such things?”
“It may be a good sword. Of that I had no doubt but magic? There is no such thing.”
It was an argument Marcus could not win. “I fear you will not be receiving supplies for some time, my friend. The fort at Habitancvm has been destroyed. The garrison and their reinforcements were slaughtered.”
First Spear did not seem surprised at the news. He drank heavily from the beaker. “We saw smoke to the south and wondered. How did it happen?” Marcus told him. “So they have mail, helmets, shields and weapons. It will avail them nothing. You can dress a pig in armour but it is still a pig. I hear more behind your words, though, Decurion.” He poured some more ale. “Come, honesty between soldiers.”
“Marcus’ Horse has been sent south to support the Second Legion along with the Mixed Cohort. There is no ala in the east. You are looking at the only horseman for fifty miles. Legate Julius Demetrius has been summoned back to Rome. I do not think that this was planned but the barbarians have managed to strike at an almost perfect time.”
The centurion raised his beaker, “Here is to Brutus Cassidius. He was a good man but, from what you have told me, one of his eager young officers has done for him and all the others. That is a valuable lesson. I will have to go around and ginger up my officers.” He emptied the beaker and placed it on the table. “So, it was the Votadini. You know that Brutus Cassidius and his men repelled an attack and killed a local chief?” Marcus nodded. “Then I think I know who is behind this.”
He took a map and unfurled it. The road was clearly marked, as were the forts. They had been drawn professionally. The lettering and the ink work were perfect. Also on the map were the charcoal marks made by another. Marcus guessed it was First Spear. He jabbed a squat finger at a blue line. “This valley here is where the most dangerous local chief lives. Randel is his name. He has a hill fort at Otarbrunna. Actually, he has two but it is only the one at the lower end of the valley which is manned and occupied.”
Marcus peered at the valley on the map. It was not far from the road. It lay to the south east. He knew that the land on that side was heavily forested. It was country for auxiliaries and they did not have enough of them. “I will take Felix tomorrow and investigate it. If they are celebrating then others will gather there with them.”
First Spear Julius Sextus Sejanus laughed, “You know your barbarians. A little dangerous isn’t it?”
Marcus shrugged, “I served under an Explorate and Frumentari and I have Felix. I will be careful. Have you the means to get a message to Alavna? They too will be exposed.”
“Alavna? Yes. It will be difficult but I can send a couple of men.” He shook his head. “I have not got enough men to risk. Do not worry, Decurion. Our standing orders mean that the commander will have guessed there is something wrong. They will be rationing their food and they will be suspicious. Barbarians wearing our uniforms will not fool them. However, until the horsemen return north we will have to hunker down in our forts and weather the storm. One man made a mistake at Habitancvm. I will make sure it does not happen here.”
Felix and the decurion left after dawn and headed towards the hill fort at Otarbrunna. First Spear had told them that it was also the name of the stream which wound its way down to join the bigger rivers. The decurion led Felix’s horse, Flame, while the young scout ran ahead with Wolf. Both adopted the same position. Felix sniffed the ground as did his dog. He picked up leaves and stones. When he was satisfied he led the decurion off the trail and up the side of the narrow valley. They were looking for a way to the hill fort which would keep them hidden. Felix had found the trail of the single barbarian close by the road. There had been blood on the trail suggesting that the barbarian was wounded. Perhaps he had been left behind. Whatever the reason he was their best chance of finding a quiet way to approach the hillfort.
Marcus realised that they were following a small stream. It was so small that it hardly made a cut in the land. It wound its way through scrubby trees and stunted bushes. Felix made the sign for the decurion to dismount and tie the horses up. Marcus was not precious about being ordered around by a youth. The youth could save his life. With his cloak over his mail and no helmet Marcus could blend in with the undergrowth. He dropped on all fours and joined Felix. Along with the dog they crawled through the wild blackberry bushes and tangled, overgrown, elder. At first Marcus could not see where they were headed. All he knew was the ground was rising but Felix’s movements exuded confidence. When the sky became lighter Felix slowed and he bellied along the ground. Wolf just stayed on the ground.
When Marcus finally reached Felix he saw that they were on a piece of ground which was level with the top of the hill fort. It was just half a Roman mile away. The ground descended from their vantage point. They had walked a straight line to get to this point. The wounded warrior they had followed had obviously chosen the quickest route. Marcus realised that the stream had stopped some time ago. Fortuitously it afforded a view into the heart of the hillfort. He saw a great number of warriors. The ramparts of the hill fort prevented an accurate count but there had to be more than two hundred warriors. It was tempting to ask Felix what he saw but he would remain silent until they were back with their horses. As he scanned the hillfort he also saw that the gates had the heads of two Romans adorning them. He had the proof he needed. These barbarians were the ones who had destroyed the fort. He tapped Felix on the shoulder and they backed away through the trees.
When they reached their horses he said, “What did you see that I did not?”
“I saw that some of the barbarians sported Roman war gear. They must have taken it from the ones they butchered. I counted more than two hundred and fifty warriors. There were the signs that it was at least six clans who were gathered but I saw warriors from a seventh clan there. They had horses and limed their hair. The majority of the clansmen did not have limed hair.”
Marcus had realised that there were a number of different clans gathered for they had their standards. The seventh clan, the ones with the limed hair, did not have a standard. “Well spotted. We will head back down to the bottom of the stream head north and make camp.”
“You wish a prisoner.”
“If we can get one. I think any movement will be from east to west or south to north. We need to place ourselves where we can see any tribesmen travelling alone.”
Felix nodded, “There was that small rise to the west of the road just before the forest on the road to Bremenium.”
Marcus remembered it. It would be a good place to hide and, hopefully, ambush a barbarian. “Good, then let us ride there.”
Chapter 3
In the days before Marcus and Felix had scouted to view the fort Randel had entered his hill fort and his people had rushed to acclaim him. A runner had preceded them for it took some time to travel up the road. The wounded messenger had travelled up the trail to the Holy Spring of Olwen and bathed his wounded leg in the goddess’ magical water. The Allfather smiled on them for every person, young and old lined the walls as the victorious warriors, with their trophies, entered. His wife, Olwen, named after the spring where she was born, greeted him. She garlanded his shoulders with wild flowers and the mystical mistletoe.
When Randel reached his hall in the centre of the fort he turned, “Today we have begun to claw back our land from the hobnailed boots of the Romans. I wish runners to go to those clans who live nearby and to tell them of our victory. We have swords, spears, helmets and shields. We can be armed as the Romans are. We have tried to fight them as our fathers did and it availed us nothing. Perhaps Math Mathonwy felt like playing a trick on our people or maybe the Allfather thought to set us a challenge. Whatever the reason we now have the means to destroy every fort within our tribes’ lands. Tonight, I will lie with my wife and eat of the magic mushrooms and I will dream. When I awake I will tell all of you that which I dreamed.”
Olwen held his hand tightly. Her fingernails made marks where she dug them in. She whispered in his ear, “Lord let us lie together now! I am ready for you. My body hungers for your touch.”
He smiled, “Be patient. We must feast with my men. They did well today but men were lost. They need to mourn. We need to praise those who are dead. Trust me, this is just the beginning. We could not have dreamed that our attack would be so successful. We need to build on that!”
Randel, too, wished to lie with his wife. He felt such power in his body as he had rarely felt. It felt as though a god had taken over his body. The cries of acclamation had been as a draught of heady beer. He craved more and he saw a way to achieve his desires.
When Randel and Olwen had retired to their sleeping chamber it had been to a hush from those watching. The next morning the clan were waiting from before dawn. When they emerged it was almost as though they briefly stopped breathing. Olwen clung on to Randel’s arm as he spoke. He did not shout and he did not rant. His tones were almost hushed and people pressed closer to him so that they could hear every syllable that he uttered.
“I dreamt that I was a dragon. I was a dragon without fire. I searched the earth until Morrigan took pity upon me and she gave me fire. She told me to use that fire and burn the Romans from this land. Fire can destroy their stones and can cleanse this land. As a reward she promised that we would unite the Votadini, Selgovae and Brigante! All would follow my banner. I know what we must do. From this day forth we gather an army and we fight the Romans wherever they are. There are two more of the forts within a day’s ride of us. We will attack them first.”
The sound of the ululations, shouts, and screams seemed to echo through the valley. Olwen whispered in his ear, “You will be the king of a land which is greater than that ruled by the Brigante! Our children will be kings and queens!”
He turned and smiled, “I know.”
Men began to flock to the hillfort within a day. Creagh and his oathsworn were taken aback as they rode up the greenway to the hillfort. Kerryn said, “I have rarely seen so many warriors save at the coronation of a king. Is this all for Ragdh ap Tadgh?”
For once Creagh was without words, “I know not.” He pointed at the skull topped spears. “They are the ones who killed the Romans but I do not see Ragdh.”
He knew Randel but only slightly. As a minor chief this far south in the land of the Votadini he had not been seen to be important. His hillfort was not the best in the land and he could have been quashed by his father at any time. Yet he had not shown any desire to be a leader. The numbers of warriors who Creagh saw milling about suggested otherwise.
He reached the entrance and a young warrior, standing on the rampart shouted, “I am Baradh, brother of the mighty Randel, destroyer of Romans, do you come here to serve under him?”
Kerryn’s hand went to his sword, “Impudent young…
Creagh snapped, “Peace! We have to discover all that we can.” He dismounted. He could tell that riding horses into Randel’s home could be seen as an insult. “I am Creagh son of the chief of our tribe, Agnathus. My father sent me to discover how one of his clans managed to destroy a Roman fort and all its garrison.”
Baradh jumped down, “We used courage and cunning! The Romans were brave but we outwitted them.”
“And what of Ragdh ap Tadgh. How did he die?”
“He bravely drew a bolt from a bolt thrower and enabled us to get close. He will be remembered. The men who followed his father now follow my brother.” Baradh smiled, “See all the other clans who have chosen to join us. This is just the beginning. Soon we will have many more. Perhaps you and your men would like to follow us?”
Creagh was becoming irritated by the young warrior’s arrogance. “Perhaps we should speak with your brother, the chief!”
“Come then but leave your horses outside. We have too many warriors within our walls as it is. More flock here as the day progresses. We thought, at first, that you were volunteers too.”
They had made a raised platform for Randel and he was addressing some chiefs and their warriors. Randel saw Creagh. He had met him but he had not liked him. He had dismissed both Creagh and Tadgh as being beneath him. However, he was acutely aware that he dared not offend the chief of his tribe and his son. “Welcome Creagh son of Agnathus. You are here to celebrate our victory?”
“My father heard of the burned fort and wished me to come and speak with the warriors who achieved that miracle.”
Randel was a clever warrior. He could read men’s thoughts, “You mean you thought to come and see if it was true? You have seen the fort and, I daresay, you have viewed the bodies. You could tell your father that the tribe now has a warrior who can beat the Romans!”
The other chiefs all cheered.
Creagh did not like the way that Randel was being accorded the status of a god like hero! He had done well but he seemed to have ideas which were too grand for a hill chief. “My father would like you to join us.”
“Join you? Has your father burned a fort? Has he slain over a hundred Romans? Has he captured a chest of Roman gold, not to mention the arms and armour?”
Creagh remained silent.
“I respect your father. He was a great warrior.” A sudden thought came into Randel’s head, “Does he wish me to lead his armies? That would be acceptable.”
Once again all the chiefs and their oathsworn cheered and roared as though this was the finest idea they had ever heard. Creagh needed to get Randel away from these men. Isolated he could use the weight of the older chiefs, the ones who really mattered, to put him in his place and to use his skills to their advantage.
“You would have to speak to my father about that. Return with me to Din Guardi and we can speak to all the elders of the tribe.”
Baradh laughed, “Brother, why should we waste our time with old men? That is more than two days riding from here! We can use the time to raid another fort. Our trick worked once. It can work again.”
Creagh’s ears picked up the word ‘trick’. “How did you trick the Romans?”
Baradh was as clever as his brother. Some said that he was cleverer for he could speak Roman words and he was able to decipher some of their writing. “When my brother leads you to war, Creagh son of Agnathus, then you will find out.”
Randel nodded, “My brother is right. That is too long a journey. More men are arriving each day. We will raid the fort they call Bremenium in four days’ time. I have not got time to ride to Din Guardi!”
For the first time ever Creagh was outwitted. What he wanted to do was to tell the young chief that he could not attack without his father’s permission but he knew that was not going to happen.
“You may join us Creagh. I would relish the thought of fighting alongside someone who has slain so many men in single combat. Think how many more Romans you could kill.”
Creagh was not certain if he was being insulted or mocked. “I cannot fight alongside you without permission from my father. I will ride to Ammabile. It is just a short ride away. Perhaps he has already reached there.”
Randel nodded but Baradh could not resist one more jibe, “And when he does visit us perhaps, we will control more of the tribe’s land than he does for we will have taken two Roman forts!”
Even Randel realised that his brother had gone too far, “My brother is just excited about the prospect of driving the Romans from our home. When we destroy the second fort then the nearest Romans will be south of the wall. That is all. I will send one of my men to King Agriragus to explain my actions.”
As Creagh and his men rode east Agnathus’ son was troubled. The King of the Votadini had no sons. When he died the tribes would choose a new king. If Randel captured two forts then he might be chosen to succeed him. That would ruin all of his father’s plans. Drastic action needed to be taken.
Baradh asked, “You really mean to send a messenger to King Clutha? He is even less warlike than Agnathus and the other old men.”
“This is a game Creagh plays. He plays it for his father. They wish to use us to defeat the Romans and then, when the King dies, they will seize power. I know what is in their hearts. Remember my dream brother, I am to be king of a land greater than King Clutha. I will send someone to persuade him that he should support me and I will support him. We need a warrior we can trust and one who is not as young as we are. I have noticed that old men resent the young.”
Baradh nodded. He had a warrior in mind, “Caractus would be the best choice. He has a wound and his beard is flecked with grey. I doubt that we will use him to help us fight. This might suit him. He is very loyal to you.”
“Good, send him to me.”
Caractus was a lonely man. His wife had died in childbirth. His two daughters had married men from other clans and his two sons had been killed when raiding the Romans. He had nothing left in his life and so he had tried to become the best warrior that he could. His farm was largely neglected but he didn’t care. He was not, however, a very good warrior. His leg wound had come because his hands were just too slow with his sword. The Roman who had wounded him had died but he had had nothing to do with the blow. When Randel asked him to take a message to King Clutha it was the crowning glory in his life. Baradh even let him ride his pony. He spent the night before his journey making sure that he knew where he was going and that he had memorized the message he was to give to his king.
Creagh reached Ammabile even when Caractus was still preparing for his ride. He sent Kerryn on a fast pony to ride to his father’s stronghold further up the coast. He gathered the warriors from the settlement. He noticed that there were not as many of them as he had expected. “Where are the other four?”
