by Griff Hosker
“What do I do if I encounter opposition greater than I can handle?”
Agricola smiled at the prefect, “That would indeed be a mighty army of Marcus’ Horse could not deal with it. However you are right and we should make contingency plans.” He turned to the centurion of the Usipi cohort. “Centurion your cohort can build a fort,” he pointed at the map, “here that should enable us to communicate across land should the prefect require support and it will also give you the opportunity to train your men.” The centurion had confided to Marcus that the Usipi were the most obnoxious and arrogant bunch of auxiliaries he had ever trained. The building of a fort would give him the opportunity to knock some of the edges off them. “I will send a cohort of the Ninth to assist you and, er help with the training.”
The centurion sighed and said gratefully, “Thank you sir.”
“Any further questions? No? Well Prefect I hope to see Marcus’ Horse in the spring.”
The journey through the trackless lands of the north was a hard ride but one which Marcus knew they had to do. He chose a route which approached his friendly villages from the north rather than the south. This was mainly because he had missed them out the previous year and he felt it important to get the feel of the land. The chiefs were more than pleased to see Marcus and, as he shared their food he discovered that life had improved since the eradication of the warlike chiefs. “Where did Caolan go?”
“We heard that he fled to the Dumnoni and he had joined a warband there. They live to the north west close to the wild islands.”
Thanking them it gave Marcus food for thought. He had hoped to use the same strategy as the previous year using negotiation rather than force, the fact that Caolan had found sympathetic tribesmen meant he was more like to have to fight. At least when he fought the next time he would have naval support which meant increased artillery support.
The next few weeks saw them cross the trackless lands to the sea. They were further west now than any Roman soldier had ever been and although the Novontae there did not offer any opposition Marcus had to spend longer than he wished negotiating peace. They were camped with the tiny settlement of Girvan when the local chief, an ancient warrior called Keir drew Marcus to one side. “The Irish often raid us here and take our young as slaves. This is why we have a high place in the hills for there we can wait out their raids and return to rebuild. Now that you are here be believe that the raids will stop.”
“They will chief. We will patrol the seas with our fleet.”
“One of their kings has fallen out with his family and he is living with a small band of warriors in the hills to the north. He came to my village in peace and asked for shelter. We gave him shelter for a short time but his men liked my women too much and he wisely took them north.”
“Do you want them destroyed?” Marcus asked bluntly.
“No for he was courtesy itself and paid for the food that they took. I mention it only to prevent you stumbling upon him. There has been too much bloodshed in these lands.”
“I can see that your people are lucky to have such a wise leader and I thank you for the warning which I shall heed.”
As the column moved north Marcus summoned Gaelwyn and Decius to ride alongside him. “It seems there is a band of iris ahead.”
“Good, the lads need a good fight.”
“No Decius this is not a warband but displaced warriors from Ireland. They may prove useful.” Decius looked disappointed. “Gaelwyn I want you to go with a turma and find these warriors. Decius detail Julius, he appears to be the diplomat, tell him I would like to meet with these Irish.”
Julius was honoured to have been chosen. He was still the youngest decurion but he had formed a real bond with his troopers. Gaelwyn, unusually also liked the affable and unpretentious young man. He always deferred to the old Brigante warrior and he listed to all the advice he was given. Gaelwyn felt, as with Marcus that this was a Brigante born to another tribe. The hills were rolling hills and both Gaelwyn and Julius knew that the turma would be easily spotted by a sentry. The scout, therefore took a circuitous route some way inland where he could spot the Irish before they saw him. Just before noon the scout appeared next to Julius. Julius shook his head in disbelief; the man seemed to have the abilities of a ghost or spirit.
“They are around the next headland in a small camp. There are thirty warriors. They have three sentries, one to the north, one the east and one facing us south.”
“Thank you. We shall carry on this track and just come upon them. As though by accident.” Turning to his troopers he shouted. “When we meet the Irish don’t get excited. I don’t want any reacting aggressively to them no matter belligerent they appear. One false move from them and we can bring up the whole ala.” His men smiled; the young man had a presence and inspired confidence.
As they came over the rise to the small camp Julius counted ten warriors. He held his hand palm out in the universal sign for peace. A huge red haired man, mailed from head to foot and resting his tree like arm on the top of a double headed war axe spoke in passable Latin. “Welcome Roman I am King Tuanthal Teachtmhar. What brings you to my camp?”
I am Decurion Julius Demetrius of Marcus’ Horse in the army of General Gnaeus Julius Agricola and I was sent by my prefect to discuss your intentions but before we do so would it not be more polite to ask your other twenty warriors to join us. I wouldn’t want them to be uncomfortable squatting in the bushes.” His men fought to control their smiles and the King nodded and shouted something in a language which even Gaelwyn did not understand and a sheepish band of warriors emerged from behind the troopers who just sat, faces immobile showing nothing although their eyes showed their glee.
“For someone so young you are wiser than many greybeards.”
“Others have made that mistake.” The young decurion dismounted in one fluid movement and stepped forward to clasp the arm of the King. The King had not expected such confidence and looked perplexed although he did take the arm. “Your Latin is excellent King Tuanthal Teachtmhar where did you learn it?”
“A Roman ship foundered on our coast some years ago and one of the slaves we took taught us as children.”
“Yes they do say the younger you learn a language the easier it is. Would you find it easier to talk with my prefect, he is within a few miles.” He leaned forward confidentially. “And it will save you repeating you repeating yourself.”
“Er yes. Can we offer you food?”
“No we have many supplies with us for we are a large ala. Gaelwyn find the prefect and bring him and the ala here and now King Tuanthal if you don’t mind me excusing myself, the men and I would like to start building our camp. Right men, Marco lay out the lines for the camp. Drusus tether the horses. Excuse me.”
The king had been totally thrown off balance by the Roman’s calm and confident manner. He had expected the troopers to be intimidated by their martial appearance and had not expected his prey to have seen the ambush. He had not intended to actually attack the Romans but he wanted to impress them with his men. It had all turned rather sour and the king sat like an uninvited guest at a wedding as the troopers busied themselves with their camp.
It was only an hour later that the ala rode into view. Julius could not help but admire the column as it rode in mail and helms sparkling in the late winter sunlight. He glanced at the king and saw that he also looked impressed, glad, perhaps that he had not chanced his arm and attacked the tiny turma. Julius nodded to his chosen man to continue the building of the camp and strode over to greet the prefect and make the introductions. He did so a good forty paces so that he could speak without being overheard if he needed to. In a louder voice than was necessary he said, “Welcome prefect we have met with King Tuanthal Teachtmhar who wishes to speak with you.” Dropping his voice he added, “There are thirty men and I think they had an ambush planned but thought better of it.” In a louder voice he said, “I took the liberty Decurion Princeps of starting the camp as the day is drawing to a cl
ose.”
Carrying on with the charade Decius said, just as loudly, “Well done Decurion and you have picked a good spot. I taught you well.”
“Come with me Decurion.” Marcus winked as he led Julius to the king. After the greetings Marcus summoned some chairs. “I think we would be better seated eh King?” The move was not lost on Julius; by seating all of them it made them equals negating the claim to be king. “How came you to these lands?”
“I am king from over the water in Ireland and I had my throne unjustly taken from me by usurpers. I was forced to flee and we came to Britannia to offer our services to Rome in the hope that she can reinstate me in my kingdom.”
Marcus recognised the lie for what it was. Until the Romans chanced upon him he had had no intention of seeking Rome’s help but he was obviously an opportunist. “I am sure that the general will look favourably on your request. Rome ever needs allies especially in the far reaches of our Provinces such as this one.” Julius could not help but admire the prefect. Despite his humble origins he had picked up the art of negotiation and diplomacy better than some patricians. He had effectively said they might help the king but only in return for a piece of their land. What the king said now would determine the success of the ploy.
“That is what I wanted to hear.”
“Good.” He turned to Julius. “Send for the marine.”
The king looked puzzled. “My teacher did not tech me the word marine, is it a sailor?”
“A military sailor yes. We will contact the fleet and inform them of your request for an alliance. The message will get to the general much quicker that way.”
The king looked around. “You have a fleet? Here?”
“Yes they will sail along here shortly and we will send them a message. Might I invite you and one or two of you men for a meal? We will, of course, provide food for the rest of your men but space in our small camp is limited.”
The king looked at Marcus with grudging respect. He obviously didn’t want thirty armed Irishmen loose in his camp. He would have done the same. “I will be pleased to accept your invitation.”
After a heavy night’s drinking, even Decius had found it hard to keep up with the Irishmen although the Quartermaster had still been drinking long after the last of them went to bed, the prefect met with the king.”Now this is a delicate problem King Tuanthal for, until I receive orders from my general I just can’t let you wander off around the country.” He saw the king flush a little. “No, no you misunderstand me. The people around here have had problem with Irish pirates staling their children as slaves and I know that is not you but some may fear you and get their retaliation in first. I do not think my general would like to lose a new ally because some local people mistook you.”
“What do you suggest then prefect?”
Perhaps if you would accompany us for me are meeting my general just up the coast. You would then have my protection and of course hospitality.”
’And,’ thought the king,’ we would effectively be your prisoners, with ropes of linen but prisoners nonetheless.’ “Of course we accept your hospitality although you Porcius may have to get more supplies of that fine wine.”
“That is why we have the fleet. We want for nothing.”
It was early spring when Marcus’ column reached the shores of the estuary. Macro and Decius had been disappointed that all of the tribes had accepted Roman rule with such equanimity. Marcus was pleased. His ala had grown thanks to remounts and recruits. His losses, Lentius and the other troopers had been made good. In the ride north he had come to know the Irish king. Whilst he might question his nobility he could not doubt that the man was a fine warrior and believed that he had been treated badly. Macro had enjoyed the nightly combats for, for the first time, he had ground an opponent who challenged him. Macros still won each time but it was not easy.
The reports from Agricola indicated that the invasion along the east coast was going well. The Usipi in the centre of the country were less than impressive but Marcus’ Horse had, again performed the wonders expected of him and his ala. He camped at the juncture of the sea and the estuary. The fleet was close by and Marcus knew that the ships could easily contact Agricola who, he assumed, was not far away.
As the men built, for the, immeasurable time, their fort the king, Tuanthal Teachtmhar drew Marcus to one side. “Prefect I have to compliment you. Your men are superb. The warrior Macro, he would be a chief in my land. They love you, you know that?” Marcus nodded in an embarrassed way.” Had I had the love of my people the way you have from your men I would be king, not only of my kingdom but the whole of Ireland. How do you do that?”
The prefect considered for a moment. “The man who trained me was a great man. This unit should be Felix’s horse for he made it what it is. He taught me to value every man, no matter how lowly, how base as an equal. He taught me to give every man respect until he disrespected me. It is as simple as that.”
“Is your general a similar man?”
“Yes, he is as great as Ulpius but he has a greater vision.” Marcus turned to look directly at the king. “He could conquer the whole of your country as easily as you might spar with Macro but I believe, King Tuanthal Teachtmhar that it will be you who conquers your island for I have seen a change in you since first we met.”
“Will you come with me? With your ala we could make Ireland part of Rome.”
“I would be honoured, but only if my general sanctions it.”
“It has been a privilege to ride with you and your men.”
Fainch
The witch had finally reach Calgathus. The king was not the old man she expected but a young man with piercing eyes and a highly charged nature.
“So you are the witch who fermented such discord in Britannia?”
“I am High King and I would that I could carry on my work here in Caledonia.”
“These Romans are as fleas, annoying but you can rid yourself of the pestilence.”
“Do not be so sure. The Brigantes, the Carvetii, the Novontae and the Ordovice all thought so and now they lie rotting in fields the length and breadth of Britannia.”
“What would you have me do, if you were to give me advice?” the threat was implicit in his voice.
“Join with the other tribes and fight him as one army. You will outnumber him. Rally your people so that all, men, women and children feel part of the fight. Finally you choose the place of battle not this Roman peacock.”
“The words you speak, though from a woman’s mouth speak of a man’s mind. And what will you do?”
“There are many auxiliaries fighting for Rome. Some of them are not enamoured of the Roman ideals. I will find their weak spots and turn some of their units against them. They have few enough soldiers available anyway. One or two traitors could turn the tide.”
“Very well. I will seek my brother kings and find a place where we can destroy this Roman beast, once and for all.
Agricola’s camp.
“You have done well Marcus. You constantly amaze me. I give you tasks that Hercules would baulk at and you exceed them.” He put his arm around his shoulder and spoke quietly. “This Irish king, what do you make of him?”
“He may not be a king but he likes Rome and what we do. It would seem to me that if we a support him we might gain a land the size of Britannia for the cost of a couple of cohorts and an ala.”
“When we have finished out work on the mainland we will visit his island of Ireland. In the meantime he might make a useful unit in battle.”
“He and his men are brave and cunning. They could turn many battles. They can fight on foot or horse.”
“Good you have done well. Go back to your men and leave the king to me. In seven day’s time we will see what opposition is in the western isles. Perhaps we will see how the Irish are in combat.”
Chapter 13
“I hate the sea.”
“I know Decius.”
“And it upsets the horses.”
�
�So Sergeant Cato has told me.”
“Well we should be on land.”
“Has this anything to do with the fact that you have empted the contents of your stomach six times since we left the mainland?”
“Well it stands to reason. If the gods had meant us to travel on the water he would have made it so that we could walk on it.”
The isle grew larger as they approached. The general had told them that it would give them an idea of the problems of invading Ireland. The King had spent many nights trying to persuade the general to support him. As they approached last island the king turned to the general. “General. We have almost finished the conquest in which you have not lost a single man. My island, Ireland is there.” He pointed to a smoky hump in the distance. “Give me but his ala of cavalry and I will give to you the land that is Ireland as a present.”
“A generous offer. But with this ala alone I hope to conquer Caledonia which is a more pressing issue. I cannot give you men but I can give you money and I can give you horses and arms. Finally I can give you the ship which will return you to your land. Just promise me that you will be an ally of Rome.”
The king extended his arm. “You have my word.”
Agricola smiled and walked away. The king turned to Marcus. “Should you ever leave this general, and I accept he is a fine man worth following, I will offer you a kingdom in Ireland.” Decius, standing nearby raised his eyebrows.
“Thank you king and I would happily serve you, once we have completed the task of taming Britannia and with this general I think we have a chance.”
“You are right prefect. Tell your men, and especially Macro that it has been an honour to serve with your ala.” As though rehearsed all of his men raised their swords and roared, “Marcus’ Horse ha!”