by R. W. Peake
“Lead them aboard,” I ordered Gemellus as I stepped to the side to let the men pass, ignoring the sidelong, questioning looks on their faces as they tramped up the plank.
When I did step out of the way, it was to the side where the shack was, which was still standing; the plan had been to bring it down as the last task before we began the work of actually making the ship ready for repair. This was by design, and while it was a risk to do so, I was counting on the distraction of my men boarding the Brizo by whoever was watching that they would not notice me moving, slowly but steadily, towards the shack. It was when Saloninus reached the spot I had occupied that I stepped quickly into the shack, pulling the ill-fitting door shut, then using a crack between the planks forming the wall to watch. There was not enough room for all of my men on deck, of course, but while Gemellus remained abovedeck, it was so that his standard was visible, while Mus led most of the Century down below. Saloninus and the Second would stay above, although it was crowded, but not only were they not going far, it was the appearance that mattered most. Now that the townspeople saw we had no intention of falling upon them, those who had reached their homes came out to join those who had not, and I could see through the crack that they were now more or less motionless, standing in both the closest street paralleling the river and the one we had used that ran from the dock.
On the downriver side of the crowd, a disturbance of some sort developed, and I heard shouts, universally masculine, although it was the commanding note in what I was certain were orders, which I assumed were meant for the townspeople, telling them to move out of the way. This new noise prompted me to move to the opposite side of the shed to use a similar crack to watch, just in time to see that they obeyed, and a pathway opened up. Leading the way was the warrior who was my size, and he was carrying a spear and shield, although he also had a long gladius at his waist, as did most of his comrades as they came striding up the street from where they had been lounging about and debauching. The shack was not large, and I crossed it in two strides to see that the plank was being lifted back up. This was the most important thing; I did not believe that this warrior and his companions would be foolhardy enough to try and rush up the plank where my men were armed and waiting, but neither did I want to risk being wrong. Since the shack had no floor, I could feel the vibration as the black-bearded warrior and his comrades broke into a run, the quality of the sound immediately changing when they reached the edge of the dock, the clattering of their boots making it impossible to hear anything else, but to my eyes, it appeared as if the warrior had every intention of trying to leap aboard, plank or no plank. I could not hear Saloninus give the command, but I could see the arms of his men, each of them holding a pilum, sweep back in preparation for him to give the command to release. The Parisii had never encountered the Roman pila before, but they did not need to in order to understand that, at this range and with the height advantage provided by the ship, they would be slaughtered.
Despite being confident that Saloninus would not do anything rash, I was unsure about the black-bearded warrior, so when he bellowed something that brought the other men crashing to a stop, I could not hold back a sigh of relief. Oh, the warrior was clearly not happy about it, and there was a fair amount of pointing, fist shaking, and other gestures that registered the level of Parisii outrage, but what was important was that, when the crew used the two long poles to push the ship from the dock to get out into the current, they made no attempt to stop them. They entered my blind spot, but in a moment, I heard the splashing sound of oars being thrust out and into the water. It was true we did not have a full crew any longer now that half the Parisii had been released, but this was not crucial, at least when moving downstream. Coming back might be more challenging, but I trusted Motius to be able to handle it, including having my men take a spot on the oars. Now my role was to simply wait and not make any noise. Outside the shack, the tumult continued, but using the cracks, I was pleased to see that the warriors who had been in town were already running in the general direction of the large enclosure where those with horses kept them. It was a gamble, certainly, but I did not think it was a big one. Essentially, we were counting on a number of related things taking place. I could not see if the warrior Ivomagus had pointed out to me was still standing there with his mount, which was a bit worrying, but I decided to believe that he had done what we wanted him to do, leap on his horse and go galloping up the road to the hall where Ivomagus was presumably preparing for the feast, while the warriors who had been nearby were hurrying to make ready to move downstream in order to keep an eye on what, to their eyes, was a trireme filled with armed Romans heading to points unknown.
Now, I knew that if Ivomagus had been present, he would in all likelihood caution against rushing headlong after the ship as he attempted to discern the real purpose behind this action of ours. However, I was also counting on, if not Ivomagus outright panicking when the warrior rushed into the hall to inform him of this development, at least being alarmed enough that he did not take a pause to think matters through. One question that would be answered soon was whether or not the black-bearded warrior, who I was certain was the nominal leader of this group of warriors who were not with Cogidubnus would wait for the king’s brother to get to Petuar before galloping down the muddy track that was the main road running parallel to the river, or rush off and leave Ivomagus to catch up. This, of course, was out of my control, which made it doubly difficult to remain inside the shack, sitting on a crate, forced to rely on nothing but the sounds outside. The tumult had died down somewhat, in the sense that not as many people were shouting, and I could hear a lower-pitched buzzing noise that one associates with a large group of people talking in normal tones. I took these to be the townspeople who, recovering from their panic at the sight of Roman Legionaries marching towards their town, were now trying to make sense of the sequence of events they had just witnessed.
Horses were neighing, but this was not unusual given the circumstances, as men were picking their mount out of the bunch, then leading them to wherever their saddle and tack were stored. It was getting stuffy in the shed, although my eyes had adjusted the scant amount of light coming through the cracks, and I had just resumed my spot on the crate when, over the underlying noise, I heard the sound of galloping hooves. I leapt up and was just in time to see Ivomagus come into view, along with the man he had pointed out, who had done exactly as we hoped. I also saw that the black-bearded warrior was still there, although he had mounted what I presumed was his own horse. Even if I had been able to understand their tongue, they were too far away to hear clearly, so I was consigned to trying to interpret gestures, of which there were many, particularly on the part of the warrior. Finally, Ivomagus brought a hand down in a chopping gesture, and since the warrior was facing me, it was easy to see the anger in his face, and to my eyes it appeared as if he was seriously considering pressing the matter. Then, he gave an abrupt nod; most importantly, he wrenched the head of his animal around, making me curse under my breath, but what was important was the direction he was now heading, downriver. He did wait for Ivomagus, who had already been facing in that direction, to move past him at a quick trot, then dropped in behind him, followed by a double line of mounted warriors. They had taken the bait, but I fought the urge to congratulate myself; there was still so much that could go wrong. When the rap on the door came, I almost jumped out of my skin, but when the door opened, it was Alex.
“Why haven’t you gotten out of your armor yet?” he demanded, which was a good question that I only answered with a shrug.
With his help, I shrugged out of the hamata, then put the baltea back on so that I was now attired like the other men who would be participating.
Thinking of them prompted me to ask, “Did they come with you from camp?”
“Yes.” He nodded as he folded the hamata. “They’re on the dock now.”
I emerged with him to see that Acisculus was standing with what would be our raiding party. Most i
mportantly, I saw that the men from the camp had brought with them the single sledge and the makeshift harness that we would be using.
“All right, let’s load up the boat,” I ordered, and we began the next phase of this plan.
As plans went, it was relatively straightforward, but what made it complicated were all the things that had to happen, and while the first part, the diversion, had worked well, we were far from over, and there was still so much that could go wrong. I was encouraged to see that the collective attention of the townspeople was still on watching the column of Parisii warriors as they followed the ship, the dust cloud hanging in the air above the downriver wall still in sight but moving steadily away from Petuar, but I knew it could not last forever. I had entrusted Motius with the task of informing Acisculus, when he and Cador came to prepare the Brizo, which of the Parisii boats that had been moved to the upstream end of the dock would be suitable for our purposes, which was where Acisculus led the working party. It was the largest boat by far, but it still looked more like a canoe because of the equally tapered ends, although it was broader, and there was a mast about ten feet high, with a leather sail that was naturally furled against the crosspiece at the top of the mast. What concerned me was the shallow keel, and when the men manhandled the sledge, which was nothing more than a wooden platform with two long wooden runners that were faced with iron nailed in place, to my eye, the boat dropped dangerously low into the water, and that was before we got in. Somehow, though, as the men climbed in one by one, the boat did not sink much more, although I had yet to climb in, and I was the heaviest by far. Acisculus was the next to last, and just as he was stepping carefully down into the boat, there was a shout from behind us. I cannot say I was surprised to see four warriors shoving their way through the crowd; if I was Ivomagus, I would have ordered some men to stay behind, but it did not keep me from cursing bitterly.
Turning to Alex, I said, “Get back to the camp, now.”
“What about them?” His hands were full with my armor, so he used his head to indicate the approaching warriors, but I pointed to the men of Acisculus’ original working party, who, as I had ordered, arrayed themselves across the dock. “They’re not going to fight those bastards, are they?” he gasped, and while I did not want to spare the time, I assured him, “No, they’re just there to stall them.”
Then I stepped into the boat, and two of the men on the dock side, using their paddles, shoved us away from the dock, just as the warriors reached the men of the working party, none of whom were wearing their gladii. I had warned them that, barring being in fear for their lives, they were not to put up a fight, but I also noticed that they were each holding a tool, like a hammer, that could be used to defend themselves. Thankfully, for both us and the Parisii, the warriors stopped at our line, and most importantly, did not draw their weapons, seemingly content to shake their fists and shout at my men. When one of them, Marcus Atilius, glanced over his shoulder, I nodded, and my men stepped aside, the four Parisii rushing the length of the dock, where they could only watch helplessly since we were already more than fifty paces out into the river. We had gotten away, certainly a good thing, but our problems were far from over, as we were about to discover. All of the men with us had taken turns at the oars, but we quickly determined that their newfound experience was useless, because there were no oarlocks, which meant they had to turn about to sit on one of the crosspieces and paddle instead of row. In other circumstances, it would have been comical, and I confess I was to blame because I became as flustered as everyone else aboard as we bickered about the best way to paddle. What was not so humorous was that, as we sorted ourselves out, we were drifting downstream, but we finally got into a rhythm, and when I say “we,” I mean we, since I felt personally responsible for not thinking ahead. Acisculus took the responsibility for steering the craft, which did have the equivalent of an attached steering oar, and we began making headway; I just hoped that we had not wasted too much of what daylight was left, because this was another element crucial to our plan.
“We can’t ask for a guide, and we can’t steal some of their oxen because I have no fucking idea how we would load them on their kind of boats,” was how I had put it. “But since we know the general direction from the river, and how far it is, if we get there with enough daylight, we should be able to spot this forest.”
“Without the oxen, how are we getting those big fucking trees back here?”
In answer to Columella’s question, I pointed to myself first, then explained, “We’re going to be the oxen.” I went on to name the men of both Centuries whose strength was well known throughout the Cohort, although we were missing two men who were even stronger than those I named, but one was with the wounded, and the other was dead. “We’re going to have to pull the sledge back, so I want a harness rigged up for us that allows six men at a time to pull the sledge, and we’ll switch out.”
If the gods were with us and the timing was right, our hope was that we would reach the forest with just enough daylight left to select at least two trees, bring them down, trim them, then make our way back in the darkness. There was so much that could go wrong, but there was one thing out of our control that I had the most confidence in, and that was those unseen Brigantes being far more concerned with the sight of heavily armed Romans heading back in the general direction of the largest Brigantes town in this area than leaving a man to watch for some sort of trickery. And, even if they did, they would have to hurry downriver to alert the rest of the Brigantes. Nevertheless, when we reached the opposite bank, as the men dragged the boat out of the water, I scanned the spot that provided the only real cover for anyone spying on Petuar, a clump of scrubby trees and bushes about fifty paces away from the riverbank, but I saw no signs of movement.
“We’re ready, Pilus Prior,” Acisculus informed me, and with four men carrying the sledge, we began moving inland, keeping the muddy stream that Ivomagus had mentioned that ran more or less straight past this forest to our right.
I led the way, with Numerius Cotta, from my Second Section, next to me. Cotta was of average height, but he was almost as broad across the shoulders as I was, and most importantly, he was Cohort wrestling champion, and his strength was almost as formidable as his fighting ability. It was for the latter skill that he was placed next to me at the start. I had Aulus Pulvillus of the Second Century ranging out on the side opposite us from the stream, watching upriver for any sign of movement. We moved more quickly than I would have liked, since from a distance what attracts the eye is movement, and the faster it is, the more likely it is to draw attention, but this was an acceptable risk and made necessary by our bungling the crossing. We moved about a mile inland, whereupon we stopped and switched out the men carrying the sledge, and this time, I was joined by Publius Bibaculus from my Ninth Section. He was taller than average, though a couple inches shorter than I was, but he presented quite an odd appearance because most of his weight was below the waist; he had thighs that, if anything, were a bit larger than mine, making him ideally suited for dragging a heavy object. Although the ground looked flat, it became obvious that we were climbing a very gradual incline, prompting us to switch out sooner than we had planned, and I began to fret at every delay as I shifted my attention back and forth between the setting sun and the way ahead. We were using a track that paralleled the stream, more of a footpath than anything, and it could very easily have been created by animals and not men. Only once did we see any sign of human habitation, a thatched hut on the opposite side of the stream, where I saw some tiny figures standing a short distance away from the hut, and I thought they might be looking in our direction, although there was nothing to be done about it. About two miles from the river, it was Manius Curvus, who I had sent to replace Pulvillus, who called out to me, then pointed off to his left. Even with the fading light, we could see the lighter color of the tree trunks that were at the outer edge of the forest, prompting a low cheer, and we changed direction for the first time, moving away fr
om the stream. We reached the edge of the forest just as the lower edge of the sun was touching the horizon, giving us precious little time, and worse, prevented us from penetrating deeply into the forest.
“You’re going to have to pick a couple from where we’re standing, Acisculus,” and the Immune nodded glumly in agreement.
He began walking along the edge of the forest, moving among the scrub trees and undergrowth along the edge, while the rest of us trailed behind him. It probably was no more than a count of two hundred before he stopped the first time, though it seemed much longer, pointing to an evergreen of some sort, with a light gray bark that was devoid of branches for much of its lower part. It was about twenty paces deep in the forest, and I followed him as he approached it, curious about how he intended to determine whether it was perfectly straight its entire length. I learned very quickly, because he pulled his square out of his bag and laid one edge of it against the trunk, then placed his eye next to it, looking upward. It only took a matter of a heartbeat before he shook his head.
“It bows near the top,” he said flatly, and we continued moving along the edge of the forest, and I was beginning to think that we would have to press more deeply than we intended, when Acisculus came to a stop once more. While it was deeper into the woods, it was only a few paces, and we watched as he did the same thing. Then he straightened up, and despite the gloom, I could see the smile. “This one,” he announced, “is perfect.”
We set to work immediately, with three men taking turns chopping, but Acisculus was already moving, wandering among the other trees as the air filled with the sound of chopping, as the men brought it down quickly and in the proper direction, although it did bounce off the tree next to it, shearing off several branches, which made sharp, cracking sounds that I worried might carry. Once on the ground, the men began trimming off the branches, and it was as they were doing this that Acisculus found another suitable tree. By the time this one was felled and the branches trimmed, it was dark, but this was when brute strength was required because we had to drag both of them out into the open to where the sledge was waiting, so there was not much need for light. The half-moon had just appeared as the men lashed both trees to the sledge, placing them so that about five feet of both trunks hung off the front edge, and about ten feet off the rear. Acisculus laid out the rigging, which were nothing but padded loops of rope that were attached to the thicker cable that was fastened to the sledge. With four men on each side, it took some effort to get the sledge moving, but fairly quickly, the men learned the benefit of that imperceptible slope.