“We will make them pay dearly,” Venutios said.
*
Later that afternoon, Caratacus was about to lead a large contingent of horsemen and hunt down the last of the Caledonians, when he spotted a tired and blood-spattered Rhian and her cavalry detail approaching with the supply wagons. Instantly, Caratacus felt his heart shoot up into his throat. He realized that Rhian had led the caravan behind the army as they had advanced down to the valley to cut off the Caledonians. It was a terrible blunder on his part for not ordering her to stay behind until the battle was over. He had been so absorbed in pursuing the enemy, he had completely forgotten her. He realized they could have been destroyed. He had entrusted Rhian and the women to protect the wagon supplies. To his relief, they survived.
Rhian rode her mare triumphantly forward with five heads hanging from her saddle. “See what I bring you, my Husband!” Rhian exclaimed as she drew up before him and held up a bloody head by its stringy hair. She appeared eager to receive his acknowledgment that now, she too, was a real warrior.
“Well done, dear Wife,” he said formally, smiling broadly, proudly. “Their spirits will become part of your totem, making you even stronger. You’ve earned the right to be called warrior.”
Instead of tying the head by its hair to her mount, she tossed it to the churned-up ground.
Why did she do that? Caratacus puzzled. I’ll ask her later when we are alone.
Rhian described their encounter with the raiders. “My riders and I left the baggage train behind. True to your orders, I led my horsewomen and harassed the enemy’s flanks.”
Good gods, no wonder why she rode on ahead, I failed to change the order.
Rhian said that the Caledonians fought like demons, but the women struck back slashing the enemy footmen to pieces with spears and longswords.
“I hate to admit it,” Rhian whispered, “but I was horrified the first time I saw one of my riders die. When she was struck by spear to the chest, I ... I wanted to weep, to kill, to wreak revenge. Instead,” she said in a louder voice, “I hardened myself and refused to dwell upon my fallen friend. I gored the Caledonian demon in the eye with my lance and sent him screaming to the trampled ground.” Rhian thrust her hand forward as if holding a dagger. She added that she quickly bloodied herself as she chopped down those attacking her warrior maids. “I drew pleasure from seeing the surprised expressions on the enemies’ faces as if they were saying, How could a mere woman kill me? Revenge was all the sweeter.” She grinned.
“I had predicted that you and the warrior women would get share of heads by the end of the battle,” Caratacus said. “Well done.”
“Thank you, my lord,” Rhian answered, bowing her head.
Caratacus’s remarks seemed to please her, considering he could only address her in an official manner in front of his warriors.
For a split second, she held her breath and pointed towards him. “Your head and arms.”
“Oh, those?” he said. “Minor injuries, nothing serious, they’ll heal. However, I must ride out and finish the enemy once and for all.”
“What about us?” she asked, motioning to her surviving seventy-plus horsewomen. “As your consort and captain, I have the right to fight along your side.”
“As prince and leader of the army I decide who fights,” Caratacus answered stiffly. “You will stay behind and guard the booty and wagons.”
Rhian winced and grabbed her shoulder before dropping her hand to her side. “Why us?” She shook her head and wiped the sweat and blood from her face and mouth. Glancing down at her legs, she looked at three hairline slashes slanting across the left leg above the knee. Through the caking dust, tiny rivulets of blood dribbled from each.
“Those we hunt will fight like the desperate savages they are,” Caratacus answered.
She waved back towards her mounted detachment. “My women fought like wildcats, doesn’t that warrant them another chance!”
“They fought bravely,” he answered quietly. “But your losses were too high, almost thirty. If you join us, you’ll lose more. King Cunobelinos and the Council will prohibit the women from fighting again. Is that what you want?”
“Of course not!”
“Then you will obey my orders,” he said evenly.
“As you wish, my Lord Caratacus,” she answered in a tight voice and turned her horse away, riding back to her troop.
As he watched Rhian leave, Caratacus shook his head. She hadn’t realized how fortunate she and her riders were to have survived the skirmish. He may be marrying Dana when he returned to Eburacum, but he wasn’t ready to lose Rhian. Not now, not ever! He turned about and gave orders to his men and set out to smash the remnants of the Caledonians.
*
That evening when Caratacus returned, he saw Rhian speaking to Morgana and her other leaders outside the headquarters tent—all of whom were covered in blood. He told Tog and Venutios to see to their men. Beyond his wife, he spotted the bodies of Caledonians lying about the wagons. Flies noisily swarmed about and feasted upon the macabre figures. Caratacus dismounted and approached his wife.
She thrust her chin forward and smiled in triumph. With a sword in one hand, she pointed to the corpses. “The Caledonians attacked the wagons, and we destroyed them to a man.”
“They will sing songs of your feats for a thousand summers!” he exclaimed. He gave her a hug, blood and all.
“Tell me how it came about,” Caratacus said.
Rhian shoved the weapon back into her scabbard as she and Caratacus stepped a few paces away from the women.
“It happened about an hour after you and your men left us,” Rhian said. She explained she’d been on her mare, surveying the perimeter they were guarding, when Morgana, her squat-legged second in command, rode up beside her. “Morgana said one of the scouts reported seeing a small band of Caledonians sneaking through the forest. They had spotted the wagons and were about fifteen minutes away.”
“What happened next?” Caratacus asked.
“I told Morgana I wanted them closer. When they saw that we were women, I wanted those demons to think it would be easy to slaughter us. Morgana said they would be disappointed.”
“An understatement,” Caratacus said.
Rhian nodded. “I drew my sword and ordered the women to the wagons.” She nodded toward one of the bodies on the ground. “The Caledonians were so reckless. They came out of the woods right in front of the wagons like they owned them—the nerve. Their leader was an ugly cur. His scummy face was full of scars and had a head of dirty auburn hair. He stood in front of his ragged thieves, like it was going to be an easy fight, and screamed an order to attack.”
She turned towards her leaders. “I gave the signal, and my women and I swarmed from behind the wagons. We caught them by surprise. We slaughtered the pigs.” Rhian described how her women hacked and jabbed the marauders and wielded swords and spears with deadly skill. She hurled a javelin at the leader. The iron blade plunged deep into his chest and nailed him to the iron-red earth. “Like Banshees, we wiped out the whole band.”
*
That evening as the sun set, glowing crimson and orange, in the valley where Caratacus and his warriors defeated the men from the north, he ordered the construction of a victory trophy for transport by wagon to Eburacum. His men slapped together two large, wooden crossbeams crowned with the silver eagle helmet of the Caledonian chief warlord. They decorated the arms of the cross with his shield and those of lesser chieftains. The chain mail and tunic of the leader clothed the upright part of the beam, while the base was stacked high with the swords and shields of his best warriors, symbols of triumph over the enemy.
The prince gathered his forces and stood before the torch-illuminated trophy. He held his hands skyward. “Behold your enemy. No more will he raid our lands; not in our lifetime. Your bravery and valor made this possible and will be rewarded. Because the people to whom this booty rightfully belongs were butchered and cannot be given back, you
have right to its claim. When we return to Eburacum, all will share!” The trumpets sounded, and five thousand warriors raised a tumultuous cheer.
*
Late that evening, a cool Brigantian summer rain drifted in from the German Ocean to the north, sweeping away the month-long, simmering heat wave. As Rhian lay in Caratacus’s arms in a corner of the brightly painted headquarters tent, she wept, no doubt Caratacus suspected, with memories of the day’s lost friends.
“What’s wrong, my Wife?” Caratacus asked softly.
“I’m … I’m almost ashamed to say it, but I find no joy in taking heads or seeing you injured in battle.”
So that’s it. Now I know why she tossed the head away.
“You don’t have to be ashamed,” Caratacus said, “you fought as bravely as any man. But I’m puzzled about your trophy heads.”
“At first, I was so proud and wanted your praise. Then I looked at my trophies and thought, why do I need this! It did nothing for me except bring back bloody memories.”
“Of what?”
“I kept thinking of the night before we were married when the assassin nearly killed me. And I remembered how Clud sliced him through with your new sword and seeing the bloody corpse on the floor. Today’s battle wasn’t what I had expected. I saw hundreds of the same bloody stumps, some by my own hand.”
“What did you expect?”
“That it’d be as simple as slaughtering pigs or cattle, and the glory and honor of conquest over our enemies would be rapture. This was not the glory promised by the bards or portrayed by old warriors,” she said as she wiped tears from her cheeks. “Close friends of mine died today. The bards lied! The warriors lied! Men lie!”
Caratacus exhaled. “True enough. There is no glory in what happened today. Just bravery, death, and driving out invaders. Do the other women feel the same way?”
“I think so. Most of them won’t admit it, but I saw it in their eyes and faces. Oh, at first they were very excited, showing off their heads to one another. Some of the women surprised me, like Morgana.”
“What about her?” he interrupted.
She exhaled. “I expected great feats from her, but she vomited after lifting her first head. And timid little Brigit was a demonic badger. She refused to give ground or quarter when the bandits charged, thrusting herself suddenly in their midst and now, she’s ...” Her voice drifted off.
“It’s always so,” he comforted.
She continued softly, “But soon they grew weary and tossed the heads aside. Some wet themselves or ran into the forest. I saw others vomiting behind bushes while more hid their tears. I don’t know if it’s because they realized it wasn’t as glorious as they had expected or if they were grieving for their lost friends or both.”
Again Rhian cried and Caratacus held her tightly and stroked her soft hair.
“Wars are so wasteful.” She sniffled. “If there’s a warrior’s paradise, it’s a place for men, not women!”
He considered her remarks. “From what you told me, most of the women fought like hellcats. The feelings of a first battle are to be expected, even of men. As for the bards, years from now when they sing a ballad of this day, you’ll remember fondly those who fought bravely and fell, and yes, of the glory and honor the women warriors brought to our clan.”
Rhian only sighed as they embraced beneath the furs.
Later, Caratacus awoke and found her lying fully awake. “Is yesterday’s battle still bothering you?”
Rhian took a deep breath. “I had been resolved to be a great warrior and make you proud of me. But right now, my only consolation is in the comfort and safety of your warmth.”
Caratacus reached over and brought Rhian closer to him.
“Perhaps that is the only truth of victory,” she said, “returning to the arms of loved ones, something the accusing, dead eyes of my trophies never can.”
Rhian snuggled next to his warm body. “I wish this night would last forever.”
“I wouldn’t mind, either, Rhian, but why now?”
“Because tomorrow we return to Eburacum, and you will marry Dana.”
“That’s what we agreed upon,” Caratacus answered, feeling a little annoyed. “Are you having second thoughts?” Are they going to get along? The last thing I need is a house with tension festering just below the surface.
“No, actually not. I guess I’m concerned … I’m more concerned about our return to Camulodunum. You must be ready to assume your father’s throne—you said his health was failing. But will he honor his promise to you?”
“Why shouldn’t he?”
She pulled away from Caratacus’s embrace. Even in the darkness, Caratacus knew Rhian’s emerald eyes were fixed upon his. “He might change his mind. The king’s council of clan chieftains and Druids can easily manipulate Adminios. He could receive their votes over the objections of your father and be elected the new king. If that happens, then what? Will you fight your brother in a civil war?”
“Adminios thinks only about Adminios. He is no friend of our people, not even his own family. I will have no choice but to kill him.”
Chapter 25
LATE SEPTEMBER, AD 39
Three days after Caratacus defeated the Caledonians, he and his warriors crossed the Ouse River, east of Eburacum at a shallow ford. Earlier he had sent a messenger ahead to inform King Dumnoveros of their impending arrival.
A scout, part of the advanced skirmishers, returned to Caratacus. “The fortress is over the rise, less than three miles away.”
The prince nodded and ordered him to inform the clan chieftains and captains leading the companies behind him.
Riding her piebald mare, Rhian trotted along Caratacus’s right side with Tog and Clud on his left. The soft clip-clopping of hooves echoed in his ears, and a light cloud of dust drifted up from beneath their mounts. The pungent smell of horse sweat swirled through his nose and gritty dust filled his mouth. It had been a long day’s ride.
As sweat poured down his muscular shoulders and stained his tunic, Caratacus turned to Rhian, then Clud and his brother. “It may not be home, but it’s good to be entering friendly lands.”
“Aye, they should be,” Tog said, “we sent the Caledonians like dogs running with tails between their legs.” His gelding whinnied, and one from behind answered.
Clud wiped perspiration from his beefy face with a calloused hand and nodded. “Still, I’ll be glad when we set eyes again on Camulodunum.”
Rhian pulled down the bandana covering her nose and mouth and spat. “I’ve been eating dust all day—I will be so happy to clean up. It’s been a long three days since I last washed.”
Caratacus grinned. “You’ll have your chance, Rhian, and so will your women—they’ve earned it.”
Smiling, Rhian brushed dirt-caked, stringy hair from her sweaty face. Then she sobered. “It just occurred to me, you haven’t mentioned Dana once since we left Eburacum.”
Caratacus cricked his head and eyed her skeptically. “Why? My mind was on the campaign, no time to think about her until we returned to Eburacum. Does that bother you?”
She shrugged. “Not really, I guess.”
“You chose her to be my consort,” Caratacus reminded her.
Clud and Tog looked at one another, nodded, slowed their mounts, and allowed Caratacus and Rhian to ride ahead of them at a discreet distance.
For a split second, Rhian turned away from Caratacus. “I know, but now that we are almost there, I was wondering if you really wanted her as your wife?”
Caratacus rolled his eyes and frowned. Why is she acting this way? This was her idea. “I have no doubts about Dana,” Caratacus finally answered. “You picked a good woman for me, but ...”
“But what?” Rhian’s muscles on her sunburnt face tightened.
“Now that you mention it,” Caratacus said in a strained voice, “when we arrive in Eburacum, I will make it a point to see Dana, alone.”
“Is that necessary?”
&
nbsp; “Dana told me in your presence she wanted to be my consort, but I plan to find out if she was telling the truth.”
“She told you the truth,” Rhian said in a huff. “But if you feel you must do this, go ahead.”
Caratacus studied her for a moment. “You don’t sound like you want her for my second wife after all.”
“Yes, I do, you need sons, but … but now that it’s about to happen, I can’t help but feel a little jealous.”
He raised his head toward the hazy sky and loudly exhaled. Lowering it, he focused on Rhian and said, “Look, I can postpone this if you have any doubts.”
Rhian vigorously gestured. “No, please don’t. Dana would be humiliated, and the king would lose face among his people. We need his alliance.”
“You’re right, we do, but,” Caratacus raised a hand and pointed in the direction of Eburacum, “I don’t need a house in which the two of you will be at each other’s throats like cats.” He dropped the hand to his side. “Once we reach Camulodunum, I will have to deal with Da’s failing health, and …”
“What’s this about your father’s health?” Rhian asked. “You haven’t said a word to me about it.”
The prince hesitated. He twisted about and looked back toward Clud and Tog, who were still riding a short distance behind. Slowly, he turned and leaned toward Rhian. “I know,” he said in a lowered voice, “he made me promise not to tell anyone, but you might as well know. If I can’t trust you, then who else?”
Caratacus explained about his father’s deteriorating mind. When finished, he added, “I can’t help but wonder how much worse he has grown since I last saw him. Another question, has Ibor been able to hide his condition from the High Council?”
“I don’t see how he can if it’s that serious,” Rhian finally said, hunching her shoulders.
“Aye. And this brings up another problem. My lazy, scheming brother Adminios.”
The Wolf of Britannia Part I Page 23