Hosker, G [Sword of Cartimandua 08] The Last Frontie

by Griff Hosker

  “Well you will have to persuade them otherwise.”

  Wolf was named for his oversized canines which, added to the hirsute nature of his body, meant he looked like a wolf; his enemies added, behind his back of course, that he smelled like a wolf too. “Not quite as easy as you might think boss. They all heard about the kicking we got in that inn the other night.”

  Aelius rounded on his hairy companion. “We did not get a kicking. They took us by surprise that is all.”

  “Tonight’s little stunt has won over some of the boys though. You know the ones who never look beyond the next meal.” The Fist was an intelligent thug and had observed the effect the evening meal had had on men whose rations were dull at best. If the two young hunters continued to supply such food then the men would side with Sallustius.

  Aelius waved away the idea as though it was a gnat. “Once he has the men building walls and training they will soon tire of a little game. We need to keep our eyes and ears open. Watch for an opportunity to sow the seeds of discord. This man is watching us as are his little band of spies but they will make a mistake and when they do we need to be in a position to take advantage.”

  They nodded their agreement and then fell into an exhausted sleep. A figure silently rose from the environs of the tent and walked over to the officer on guard. Walking away from the troopers who were on duty Rufius reported what had transpired to Livius. “It is as I suspected then. They are trying to undermine us.”

  Rufius took out his pugeo, “We could end this dissention tonight.”

  Livius smiled and put the dagger back in the scabbard. “I can see that I will have to whittle away some of your Explorates tendencies. No there are more ways to skin a cat. I have some ideas which I will put in place on the morn. Get some sleep Rufius, you have done well.”

  The next morning saw an aching camp awake. The men had not ridden so far nor done so much work for a long time. Septimus had been up early cooking up the bones of last night’s feast and adding wild thyme, wild garlic and some sausage he had acquired. The hot meal in the early, chill hours raised the men’s spirits and Livius called him over. “Well done Septimus. You are as good as your word and I appreciate the gesture of rising early to feed the men.”

  Septimus shrugged, “It didn’t take much sir and I know how men like a hot meal if they can get one.”

  “None the less it show me the mettle of a man. You are now Cook with the rank of sergeant and the accompanying pay.”

  “Thank you sir!”

  “No thank you sergeant you are right, a man with a full stomach works and fights better.”

  “If I might be able to start on a bread oven today sir? Men work better with fresh bread and the smell makes them feel better.”

  “Good idea. Take as many men as you need.” Livius next called over the decurions. The last to arrive, reluctantly was Aelius and he stood apart from the other three. Macro and Marcus were unsure of their role; they were, ostensibly, troopers but they knew that Livius had other plans for them. He saw their indecision and with a half smile gestured for them to join them. Spartianus spat on the ground as they approached. Macro’s hand went to his sword but the glare he received from Cassius made him back off.

  “We have much to do today. Cassius I want you to take Macro and Marcus and forty troopers. You can build the gyrus over there.” He pointed to a flattened area in a dell a hundred paces from the fort. Metellus you can take twenty troopers and build the enclosure for the horses next to it. That will leave Rufius, Aelius and myself with the rest of the troopers to finish the building of the fort. Questions?”

  Spartianus spat his question out, “I thought you said last night that you wanted some men to bring in the horses?”

  Livius walked over to him. “I realise you have become used to running things around here Decurion but I am your superior officer and I will have a sir from you or you will be flogged. Do you understand?”

  The Decurion’s face flushed but he grunted a,” Sir!”

  “Now we will be sending for the spare horses Decurion but not today. I need to find out from all of you who the most able men are and we will use them to fetch the new mounts.”

  The sharp eyes of Spartianus glinted at the news. His men would all be recommended and, hopefully, he would be able to make the most of the opportunity. He did not know yet how he could manipulate the situation but if the new leader wanted the best then his men would infiltrate that particular elite group.

  Marcus raised his arm, “Sir?”

  “Yes Marcus?”

  “Do you want Macro and me to go hunting again sir?”

  “Good idea. Help Cassius this morning and then go hunting this afternoon. Take the Cook with you.”

  “Sir!”

  “Right off you go. Metellus and Cassius choose your men and we will have whoever is left.” Rufius remained with Livius as Spartianus sulked off to find The Fist and the others. “Tonight Rufius I want to reorganise the ala. I want those seven men split into seven of the eight turmae.”

  Rufius looked confused. “But we only have five decurions.”

  “At the moment we do but I have a mind to give Macro, and Marcus one temporarily, along with the cook and his men. Hopefully we will discover a potential decurion who will shine in the next few days. Besides one of us can command a couple of turmae eh?”

  Rufius grinned, “Never stopped us before sir.”

  Livius and Metellus stripped down to their tunics and joined in with the troopers as they toiled away making the ditch deeper and the ramparts higher. The troopers looked at them as though they had the moon madness, at first, never having seen an officer working. Aelius looked on them in disdain and just barked orders until Livius walked over to him. “Decurion if your commanding officer can work then the least you can do is to join him eh?”

  Unable to refuse such a command, however pleasantly couched, the truculent decurion had no choice but to comply. He was seething with anger, for his seven cronies had been selected for the other work parties and he was left isolated amongst troopers who were beginning to lose their fear of this man. Aelius worked along with the others but with less effort and less energy. It did not go unnoticed by both the officers and the troopers. Rather than having a negative effect it seemed to inspire the men so that they worked even harder, determined to show their new commanding officer that they not all cast in the same mould as Aelius Spartianus. They worked so well that Metellus was able to begin the construction of the Principia. The men could live in their tents but if there was one wooden building then it would give a sense of permanency.

  The troopers were just tidying away the rubbish which they had accumulated and making the fort look more military when Septimus rode in with Macro and Marcus. They had a pack horse with them and the men roared their cheers when they saw it was a male boar, an enormous tusker. They halted next to Livius. “Good hunting I see Septimus.”

  Marcus slipped off his horse. “We remembered the woods not fat from here where Gaelwyn took us hunting. We knew there were some big buggers there but we never expected to find one as big as this.”

  “Did it put up much of a fight?”

  Marcus and Macro shook their heads modestly. “Put up a fight? I thought it would gore one of the troopers sir. It took five arrows, a javelin and had to be finished by young Macro using his sword! I have never seen the like,” Septimus was happy to sing their praises even if Spartianus had a face like soured milk. “We also found some greens and some more rabbits. It will vary the diet. Well I had best be off and start to prepare this beast.” Septimus had a grin on his face as wide as a river estuary, this was a way of life he actually enjoyed.

  Livius smiled. At least one of the troopers was doing something he liked. The gyrus builders and the corral builders arrived simultaneously. Cassius saluted, he was sweaty and grimy but the smile on his face told Livius that he had had a good day. “All finished sir. We can begin training tomorrow.”

  “Excellent.” To the ala
as a whole Livius raised his voice. “You have done well and tomorrow we can begin to make this ala the finest in Britannia.” The reaction was all that he had hoped for, with the exception of eight or ten the whole of the ala shouted a tired, but heartfelt cheer.

  Livius watched as Spartianus sloped off with his seven acolytes. He gestured for his decurions to follow him to the partly built Principia. “Well?”

  “Some good lads here sir. Some lazy bastards but they are without malice.”

  “Cassius is right but those seven who follow Spartianus, well, the only way to describe them is, evil. I am not certain but I am sure the one they called The Fist knocked around a couple of the lads when we weren’t watching. They are sly”

  “Yeah and I am sure that the one called Wolf tried to sabotage the corral luckily some of the good lads happen to notice the damage and repaired it.”

  “Right Cassius well when we make up the roster I will have The Fist in my turma and you take this Wolf. Divide the rest between Metellus and Rufius. You may have more of his men but the dangerous ones will be separated.”

  That night Spartianus again held conference with his confederates. “Things went too well today.”

  The Fist looked apologetically at the floor. “We tried but those Decurions have eyes like hawks and seemed to watching only us.”

  Aelius could not help but agree. They had been outwitted by the Decurion Princeps and handled piecemeal.”Tomorrow we can begin to disrupt their plans for tomorrow we will be in our turmae and training in the gyrus. You can show them your power.” The Fist inclined his head. He was a powerful fighter and had never been bested in any of the contests in which he had participated. In combat he was like a ferocious, rabid dog and every trooper feared being paired with the mighty warrior who treated every training bout as a real battle. “We must make the men fear us again. The hunted meals will soon pale; especially if they begin to suffer injuries and wounds in training. By the time he has us on patrol he will be ready to leave and return to the Explorates from whence he came.”

  Wolf look across at his leader. “You know where he was before he was an Explorate don’t you?”

  Aelius did not like being kept in the dark but he did not know the Decurion Princeps’ origins. “No. What did you discover Wolf?”

  “He served with Marcus’ Horse and has just returned from a mission for the Emperor Trajan where he journeyed to Gaul. Retrieved gold stolen by traitors and killed his brother. This is not a man to underestimate.”

  Aelius dismissed the praise with a wave of his hand. “Pah! I have seen him move, he has wounds on his legs. When the time comes The Fist will take him and I will assume command of this ala.”

  His men looked doubtful but so far their leader had delivered all that he had promised and they were willing to stay with him just a little longer.

  Livius stood in the middle of the gyrus. Five targets, man sized dummies stood in a line along the middle of the open training area. The ala was gathered in five ranks before Livius and his decurions. “Today we will see what you are like in the saddle and in combat. This morning will be spent on horseback, the afternoon in combat. The best fifty riders, after this morning’s session, will go with my horse master to pick up our herd.” They all looked at each other wondering which of the decurions would be the horse master. Aelius imperceptibly nodded to his cronies. This might be an opportunity to score points over the hated Decurion Princeps/ Livius raised his hand and Marcus galloped, full tilt into the gyrus. The Decurion Princeps could see the joyful look on Aelius’ face. Marcus did not pause but galloped the full length of the gyrus shooting five arrows into five dummies, wheeling and then returning to slice off the top part of each dummy’s false head.

  “Now some of you may be looked at Trooper Marcus Aurelius, son of Gaius Aurelius, and thinking he might be a little young to be a master of horse. And you may be right so I will make this promise. If any of you can repeat the trooper’s actions then you will become the Sergeant Horse Master of the ala.”

  There was a silence as they all looked at each other. One lone, hidden voice yelled out, “We do not use bows in this ala.”

  Livius smiled, “You mean you did not use bows in this ala but you will. Three of your decurions are almost as good as young Marcus and Trooper Culleo is his equal. They will train you so that you too become as proficient as they.”

  A subdued ala spent the rest of the morning learning to ride with their knees whilst throwing javelins at the targets. At first their performance was abysmal but gradually they improved. Exhausted they rested at noon, grateful for the hot soup and bread which Septimus had produced. He and his team had spent the previous afternoon building a bread oven and as the smell of baking bread permeated the air Livius knew he had made a good appointment.

  He approached Cassius and Marcus. “Any candidates?”

  They looked at each other and Marcus deferred to Cassius. “There are about thirty outstanding horsemen. Surprisingly enough two of Spartianus’ cronies are amongst them.”

  “Good then this is the First Turma. Rufius, it is yours to command. They will be the archers we use. Marcus and Rufius take the turma and go to Cato. Return with the mounts.”

  Marcus looked at the darkening sky. “And if it is too late?”

  “Then I am sure you will enjoy Cato’s hospitality.” Grinning Rufius and Marcus left to collect their men. They had counted on a night at the villa of Marcus and Cato.

  The afternoon was a dull and dismal affair. The weather had changed to become over cast and threatened rain. The men were weary after three days which had tested their fitness and they had been found to be lacking. As they lined up on the gyrus they were all armed with their rudius, a wooden sword and their small training buckler. Livius knew that the wooden rudius could strike as painful a blow as an edged weapon. The Fist and the remaining men of Spartianus’ club were standing together, eagerly awaiting the opportunity to inflict punishment on some hapless trooper. Aelius was also grinning confidently. He might not be the best horseman nor the hardest working trooper, but he could fight, not always fairly but normally successfully. With Rufius away, Livius was left with just four Decurions which suited his plan perfectly.

  He stood before them. “You have worked hard men and we are all pleased with you. This afternoon however we begin the real work. I know you can ride but can you fight? Pair yourselves off with someone of equal stature.” No-one wanted to be paired off with neither The Fist nor any of his cronies and there was a rush to find someone less aggressive. Soon there were just nine men left, the five Spartiani and four unlucky troopers who looked decidedly unhappy. Metellus went over to pair off the four troopers and The Fist was left with an evil grin on his face. He had counted on the fact that no-one would wish to fight him and he would be left with a decurion and he would inflict crippling punishment. Livius too had counted on that fact. “As an incentive, men, the most successful amongst you will be appointed weapon trainer for the ala.” The Fist looked over at Spartianus and punched his buckler with his wood sword. “Now it would be unfair to pair one of you with a decurion but fortunately Trooper Culleo has just returned form his hunting expedition and I am sure that he will pair off with you trooper. The rest of you, begin!”

  Soon there was a clack and crash of wood on wood and the occasional cry as someone received a blow. As each contest finished Cassius moved the successful combatants to one side of the gyrus. Metellus was not sure if Livius and Macro had planned it that way but as the last combat ended he emerged with wooden rudius and buckler. Although he had grown over the years he was not yet fully grown and The Fist towered over him. The difference was that Macro had not an ounce of fat on him. He was lean and well muscled. He trained every day, lifting weights and honing his skills; The Fist was big but there was more fat and flab than muscle. He grinned at the young trooper and then murmured, “Well there is no fucker to protect you here and I will give you a world of pain.” Macro looked at him, his steely eyes despisin
g someone who would deliberately hurt a comrade. It hardened his resolve to defeat the ala bully.

  Livius began to wonder had he made the right decision. Cassius had assured him that no-one could defeat Macro but the evil looking trooper looked like he could chew him up and spit him out. Macro looked calm with a half grin playing on his lips. He glanced over at Livius and raised the rudius in salute.

  The two men warily moved around the circle made by the winners and the losers now combined to enjoy this exhibition; bets and wagers were already being exchanged. Suddenly The Fist dived in pummelling a flurry of blows at Macro and his buckler; all were easily deflected by the sword and skill of Macro. The Fist looked a little disconcerted. That combination of blows had normally ended other similar contests for him. He tried it again and once more Macro calmly defeated every attack. Macro noticed, with some satisfaction, the sweat on The Fist’s top lip and forehead. He could see that the exertions were making the unfit bully breath heavily. The third attack was despatched with as much ease as the first two. Macro knew that he was fitter than the older man; he also knew that he was a better swordsman. He had been taught that the best will always win. The Fist looked around in desperation, catching the eye of his superior, Aelius, the look pleaded for help. He launched into another attack trying to beat back the young, accomplished warrior. Suddenly a rock was rolled from the crowd and Macro’s foot turned on it and he fell. In an instant The Fist hacked down, deliberately, at Macro’s knee; there was a crack and everyone could see that the boy was injured. There was roar of anger from the crowd and Cassius raced forward to end the contest. Livius shook his head. Metellus and Rufius appeared on either side of Aelius Spartianus for it was obvious to the officers who had thrown the rock.

  Macro was at a severe disadvantage; movement had been his secret weapon and now he found himself to be struggling to keep pace with an opponent who knew he was going to win. He had no option, he had to go for the win or the man who would be the weapon trainer, the same rank as his father, would be a cheat and a bully. He watched as The Fist glanced around to his mentor to nod. Macro seized his chance; he charged in, his wooden rudius a blur of blows. He struck The Fist’s shield and then his sword and then his knee. As his opponent favoured one side Macro went in the other and hit the rudius into The Fist’s stomach with such force that the breath left his heaving, sweating body body. As he stood like a fish out of water, trying to gulp in air Macro smashed his rudius ruthlessly on the side of the warrior’s head, rendering him unconscious. He fell like a tree chopped by an axe and lay in a heap. The capsarii strolled in to see if he was still alive. They did not seem bothered either way.