by Griff Hosker
One bearded warrior with streaks of grey rippling through his hair stepped forward. “But they have walls and ditches.”
“Are the ditches deep? Are the walls high? The answer is no. If we attack at the same time, if we climb the walls at the same time, making not a sound then we can succeed. There will be but forty men on the walls. Can we not silence forty men? When you are inside the fort where will the legionaries be?”
One voice shouted, “In their tents asleep.”
“And do the Romans sleep in their armour? No. Do they sleep holding their weapons? No. Tell me, “he said looking directly at the warrior who had questioned him, “do you fear sleepy men with no armour and no weapons?”
There was a roar of, “No!”
“Then tonight we attack. Tonight you will destroy the Romans s they sleep.”
Decius Brutus was just finishing his rounds. He turned to the duty centurion who was following him. “Keep your men on their toes. The cohorts today were made to look useless by the auxiliaries. They need to be sharper. They are getting complacent.”
“You are right First Spear but it is hard to make then care when they never fight.”
“Don’t worry I have spoken with the prefect and the general. They will fight and soon.” First Spear’s words would come prophetically and ironically true even as he slept blissfully unaware of the nightmare which was about to erupt.
The Venicone warriors slithered along the ground towards the fort. The smallest and fittest warriors were in the fore. They had covered their bodies in natural dyes and mud which darkened their skin. The ones who would scale the walls were armed only with knives. Along each of the four walls four warriors carried slings to stun any sentry not silenced by the knives of their comrades. Reaching the ditch was the hardest part of their assault but once there the sentries’ attention was drawn further away. The warriors quickly crawled to the foot of the palisade. One man squatted while another crouched on his back. The signal had been practised back in their camp and as one the squatting man sprang up and the crouching man jumped. The effect was astonishing for the Roman sentries suddenly saw sixty men descend from the skies. The knives flashed as the sentries struggled with the sight they had witnessed. Even as they died the next sixty were springing their way into the air. Sling shots buzzed and struck targets. The Venicone chief, hiding in the tree line began to believe that they would succeed.
Centurion Ballus had, fortunately for him been on his way from one the south to the north wall when the attack began. He suddenly saw his men began to topple, the centurion a fifteen year veteran knew they were under attack,” Alarm! Alarm!”
Realising that speed was of the essence the Chief ordered all his men to attack. While inside the fort men struggled awake as they heard the shouts and screams of the attack. Decius Brutus was awake and out of his tent before Ballus got off his second alarm. “Grabbing his gladius he shouted, “Sound the alarm.” The strident screams of the buccina awoke even the deepest sleeper and men grabbed spears and gladii to face the unseen enemy.
Decius suddenly found himself facing two warriors, one armed with a knife and one with a war axe. The man wielding the axe was more dangerous and he dropped to his knees as the axe scythed over his head and he stabbed the warrior between his ribs. Even as he died his companion slashed at Decius with his knife, slicing through his upper left arm. The gladius continued around in an arc and the warrior with the knife slid to the ground his throat cut. Decius had time to glance around. His men were fighting for their lives but they had no armour and were outnumbered. “To me! To me!” Grabbing the axe in his right hand and holding the gladius in his left hand the centurion became the rallying point and the training of the ninth took over. Men ran to him, automatically forming ranks as though armed, armoured and on parade. Suddenly they had a chance for they were a unit once more. Decius nodded his satisfaction. They might be going to die but they would at least take many barbarians with them.
Vettius raced to Marcus’ tent. “Sir Sir. Come quickly! We heard a buccina.”
Awake in an instant Marcus leapt from his cot. “Sound the alarm.” As he emerged from his tent pulling his mail shirt over his head he saw Agricola similarly dressing himself. “Sir a buccina…”
“I know I heard it. The Ninth must be in trouble.”
“Marcus Saurius guard the fort. Decurion Princeps follow the general and me to the Ninth’s fort.” Leaping on their horses bareback the two leaders raced from the fort.
“Shit!” murmured Decius, “Just charge off don’t wait for us.” He turned to Macro who was also on his horse with three of his turma. “Macro get after the Prefect stop him from taking on all the bleeding barbarians all by himself.” Macro grinned and took off like a greyhound. “Come on ladies otherwise the general and the prefect will kill all of the barbarians without any help from us.” It was a testament to their training that the ala were only a few heartbeats behind their leaders, all of them bareback but all armed.
Marcus, Macro and the general had to slow up because of the terrain in the thick forest. “Sir we are going to have to leave our horses in the tree line.”
“I know Macro.”
“You!” Macro pointed at one of his troopers. “You watch the horses and don’t let any barbarian steal them or it comes out of your pay.”
Agricola and Marcus grinned at each other. They both dismounted at the tree line and they could see Venicone warriors still climbing over the walls although the gates were just being opened. The four Romans were all ready to charge alone when Gaius and his turma arrived. They were fully armed having been the sentries on duty. “Gaius leave someone to watch the horses and then follow us. Wedge formation.”
Even though some of them were shield less they went into the classic wedge formation with Marcus as the point and Agricola on the right. Marco turned to Marcus, “With respect sir I have a shield,” and he unceremoniously pushed Marcus to the left.
The forty man wedge raced towards the gate and before the Venicones knew what had hit them they had killed those trying to enter. The wedge smashed right into the heart of the fort and Marcus shouted, “Form line!” His well trained troopers immediately formed a solid line of shields and javelins, a wall of death for the Venicones.
Hard pressed with men falling all around him Decius heard the Roman voice and felt the pressure slacken slightly as warriors found themselves assaulted from the rear. “Come on lads. They are Roman voices. It is Marcus’ Horse! Rally and hold!”
Suddenly their situation was no longer hopeless and men who had been about to accept death now fought for life. The Venicones turned to face the new foe and the general found himself, for the first time since Wales, fighting for his life. Fortunately he was next to the killing machine that was Decurion Macro. As more and more of the ala rushed in to back up their comrades the Venicones found themselves pressed between two mighty sets of foes. Soon the battle became a series of individual conflicts and in that situation there could be only one winner, the Romans. The Venicones were brave and they believed the words of Calgathus but gradually the heart went out of them and they began, where possible, to flee over the walls or through the gaps in the clumps of men engaged in a deadly combat.. Those who remained died. Eventually, as dawn broke with a sad, grey drizzly morning the only living creatures in the fort were Romans.
Marcus saw, across a bloody, mangled sea of bodies, his friend Decius Brutus. “Hail First Spear. A good joint exercise I think but next time a little warning might help!”
As the two leaders began to laugh, uncontrollably Agricola shook his head in disbelief. With soldiers like this how could any tribe stand against them? As much as he hated the loss of Roman life the incident had been invaluable for the Ninth and Marcus’ Horse were now entwined as brothers who had fought for each other. The bond would last and grow stronger. He now knew that, against all the odds, he would conquer the whole of Britannia.
The face of the witch Fainch grew white with hate and anger as s
he viewed the debacle the attack had become. The Venicone had been on the brink of success when her nemesis, the Roman with the sword of Cartimandua, had once again intervened and snatched victory from the jaws of defeat. She had missed her chance on the island of Mona she would ensure that she would not miss her chance here in Caledonia. The next time she would ensure that he died and at her hands.
As the legionaries began to clean up the fort Agricola spoke to Decius Brutus and Marcus as the two senior officers for the prefect of the Ninth had perished along with more than a hundred and fifty legionaries. “I had thought to do so before this attack but now I am certain of my strategy. First Spear we will move north and we will build a permanent fort. Not a temporary camp which can be assaulted so easily.” He held up his hand as he saw the expression on Decius’ face. “I know, you are sick of building but this fortress will show the barbarians that we are here to stay.” His voice became gentler. “First Spear, does it matter which soldiers have the victory as long as Rome prospers?” Decius hung and shook his head. “We all serve Rome but you know First Spear that we, “he put his arms around both men, “serve and aid each other.”
Decius looked at Marcus and held out his arm. “Thank you Marcus. The Ninth Hispana will never forget this day. There would be far more brave men lying there but for your speed and bravery.”
“Decius had our roles been reversed you would have done the same for me. We formed this bond in the bloody fields of Glanibanta; we are bound by blood and by honour.”
Chapter 14
The new fortress of Inchtuthil was strategically sited in the Valley of the Tava. To the north the high mountains were like the spine of this land, the backbone of the country rising like some giant prehistoric creature. No army could descend into the valley of the valley of the Bodotria without passing the fortress. The pass to the north west was also within striking distance for the legionaries. Around it smaller forts dotted the land providing the auxiliaries with their own bases. Agricola used his time well to ensure that they were stoutly built. The naval supplies continued to arrive, bringing men and material to bolster his army. The barbarians could only stare impotently at the burgeoning Roman presence. Their attack on the Ninth had so nearly succeeded but all it had done was to make the Romans more alert and to increase their defences. Ditches were now double and deeper with sharpened spikes in the bottom. Walls were higher and sentries were doubled. Any complaints from the men disappeared as the stories of the night time assault were told. The security of their home was more important than the loss of a little sleep.
Marcus’ Horse found themselves up the valley from the Ninth at Cardean. Less than two hundred paces away was the Batavian fort with the first and second Batavian cohorts. Agricola was taking no chances; he wanted his most experienced forces at the front to give adequate warning and to repel any assault. Although other auxiliary cohorts were arriving none was as reliable as these three and some, like the Usipi were a liability.
The Quartermaster Porcius Verres scoured the local area for supplies to supplement his ala’s diet. This was not altruistic he could buy more, with less money locally than he could from their bases further south. He found a small fishing village south of the fort on the wide estuary of the Tava which provided him not only with fish but game as well. The clan there although at first wary soon welcomed the silver the business brought. It was close enough that he could also buy some of their bread which was of a better quality than his own ovens could provide. In fact the portly Porcius became quite fond not only of the bread but also the sweet honeyed cakes which they produced.
Fainch was not unaware of the both the forts and the Quartermaster’s expeditions. She remembered a former Quartermaster, Gaius Cresens; she had been able to subvert him for he was corrupt and evil. This quartermaster was not. She needed another plan. The woman who produced the honey cakes worked and lived alone her husband having died some years earlier in an inter clan strife. Fainch insinuated herself into the woman’s company portraying herself too as a widow. The woman needed help as the ala was demanding more and more of her breads and cakes. As a priestess she was not without culinary skills and she persuaded the woman to allow her to live and work with her. This strategy was crucial to the witch’s plan for revenge. She took to chatting to Porcius when he came every few days for his delicacies. She bantered with him and gave him tastes of new treats she had cooked.
“You must tell me what your men at the fort like to eat, I am sure that I could make them treats which they would enjoy.”
“For myself I love the honey cakes Ailsa makes. But these are very pleasant too. What are they?”
“They are oatcakes with dried berries and honey in them. I also have a few spices in there which I think gives them a little heat.”
“I will take some of them back for my officers. Some of them like a change from their normal diet.”
When he returned a few days later he sought out Fainch although she now called herself Una, and asked her about her oatcakes. Some of my officers liked your oatcakes in fact the prefect told me they were the most pleasant food he had eaten. They reminded him of the spicy food of his childhood. I will buy some for him.” He leaned over confidentially, “he is a great leader and a warrior of renown. The general himself often visits our fort to discuss great matters with him.”
“In that case when you return I will bake a batch just for him.”
Porcius looked downcast. “Have you none ready?”
“The spices are expensive. I only use them when I know I have someone who likes the cakes.”
“I will return the day after tomorrow. Ailsa have you my treats ready?”
“Of course Quartermaster.” She eyed his rotund frame. “If you continue to partake you will be the twice the man you are now.”
He laughed, “And that is no bad thing is it eh Una?”
“No Quartermaster it is not.”
The batch that Fainch baked did indeed have spices in them; in fact they were vital to disguise the taste of the poison she would administer. She had two choices wolfsbane or white baneberry. The white baneberry was deadlier and she had used it to kill Queen Cartimandua but it had more of a taste; it had only worked with the Queen because of the alcohol and spices in the pudding. It would be the wolfsbane. This time there would be no escape for Marcus Aurelius Maximunius.
Agricola and his three prefects were studying the map of Caledonia. “I think that a push up this valley,” the general indicated the valley running north west, south east from the Ninth’s fort might be useful. It seems to be the only route into the highland area.”
“Ambush country sir.” Prefect Strabo tended to be a little blunt in his observations.
“You are right Furius but we need to find out who is out there and in what numbers. You three prefects are experienced and you work very well together. Remember Mona and Wyddfa? We had worse country there to manage and we succeeded.”
“True sir, “Cominius was far more reflective than his friend but we have never really faced these warriors in battle. These are the Caledonii and the Vacomagi. How do they fight? What are their numbers?”
“Which is why prefect that we are sending this expedition to gauge our enemies.” The general turned to Marcus who had remained silent so far. “Prefect you have said little. Have you an opinion?”
“I have kept silent general because this is not horse country. It would not be my men who would have to come up with a strategy. Those hills and forests prevent my troopers from using their speed and impetus. We could be fighting as infantry.”
“That is true. The horses would only be useful if we had to pursue an enemy.”
“Which may well occur.”
“Ah, this is a problem for I do not wish to send just two cohorts, it would invite ambush. I would prefer an ala and two cohorts but you have a point prefect. You have presented me with a dilemma.”
“Perhaps some refreshments might help us to think a little more clearly?”
Furius beamed, “An excellent idea. You do have a good quartermaster prefect. Any man with a girth to rival mine knows his food.”
“He has procured some excellent food from the local area. I think you will enjoy it. Atticus.”
His servant entered, a dour look on his ancient face, “Yes prefect?”
“Bring us some wine and a selection of those sweet cakes he promised me.”
“Yes prefect.”
“We could have a turma as scouts and then the rest of the ala as a rearguard. That way they could fight on foot or horse as circumstances dictate.”
“Good idea.”
Cominius still foresaw a problem. “From the scout’s report, it is going to be difficult to find good sites for camps and, bearing mind the problems the Ninth suffered I would want secure camp sites.”
Just then Atticus returned with the food. “These look interesting Marcus what are they?”
“They are sweetened breads from a village by the coast. Our quartermaster has procured them for me. These, “he picked up the berry and honey bread, “are my particular favourite and before you devour the lot Furius I will eat one.” He pointed to the small breads, golden and appetising. “ Those are also really good but they have neither berries nor spice in them.”
“They will do for me.” Furius tucked into the breads so favoured by Porcius. Marcus chewed on his delicacy whilst Agricola and Cominius sipped their wine.
“I think you are right about the secure camp sites. It is a ticklish problem.”
They all looked at Marcus who had suddenly stopped eating, dropping his half eaten cake to the floor. “What is the matter Marcus?”
“My mouth feels numb, feels strange and I am hot even though it is cold I…” Suddenly he started coughing and spluttering, the three men could see that he was struggling to breath. Atticus heard the commotion and rushed in.