by Griff Hosker
“No my young friend you must still go to meet her otherwise she will come looking for you and I would have us leave this night. Once we know the outcome and the feast begins then you go to the stables, if I know Morag then she will follow you. I will get our weapons from the hut and meet you at our mounts. We should be able to make the coast within the hour and, once there, either take a ship, or head south.”
“Sounds good to me.”
Now as they listened to the conclave they heard the words of Darach spoken by the King. They obviously impressed all, for Tole and the other kings nodded as he made each powerful point. Even Morwenna looked to approve and Radha sat with eyes, once more adoring her man. Lugubelenus noticed and it pleased him, he had begun to worry that he was losing his queen. He had been concerned by the fact that she had distanced herself from him. His world was, once again, the perfect sphere. Wit his new adviser, Darach, and his wife, once again by his side, who knew what heights they could scale; they had defeated the Ninth now there were only auxiliaries to face them. The whole of the Northern half of Britannia was behind him. The only major tribe not present was the Brigante and. With the Queen of the Brigante with him then they would soon follow once they crossed the Dunum.
The King held up his hands to silence the cheering, and animated audience. “Friends, fellow Kings, Chiefs can I formerly ask that you confirm the conclave and its decisions. We will invade Roman Britannia in the spring, attacking their three major forts at the same time!” The cheer and the roar even took the two Romans by surprise. “And further that the three columns will be led by myself, King Tole of the Selgovae, and King Burdach of the Dumnonii?”
There was an equally loud, drunken cheer. Metellus, soberly, reflected that they could have voted his horse as a general and they would have accepted it. He kept his eyes on the Queen Morwenna. She had looked self satisfied throughout. She had the look of a snake which had just polished off a satisfying meal and was enjoying the digestion. Metellus wondered how long Lugubelenus would survive if the attack was successful? Looking at the young King Tole of the Selgovae, he could see someone who would not be willing to be subservient to a king, not many years his senior. When he made his report to Livius it would be a positive report. Things looked grim and dark but there was hope. Having attended the conclave he knew that the alliances were fragile and old enmities could be exploited. He remembered reading how Agricola had saved many men’s lives through effective hostage taking and diplomacy. That could work again. All he had to do was to return to Livius and make his report. Metellus looked at Macro their faces alight with the joy of knowing that they had the plan of the King of the Votadini. It would still not be easy but, by moving cohorts from Morbium and the other forts in the hinterland they could plug the gap at Coriosopitum. The troops from further south could be marched north to help stem the tide of this barbarian invasion.
He spoke quietly to Macro. “Time to make good our escape. You fetch the horses and I will fetch the weapons. We have done all that was asked of us and now we can return to safety”
* * * * * *
Wolf was exhausted after his long ride north. Having the shits had helped neither his disposition nor his comfort. He had persevered, as he knew that it was important information. If the supplies from the south could be stopped then the fort would be ripe for attacking sooner rather than later. He eased himself in the saddle as he saw the lights of the oppidum in the distance. Within an hour he would be safely ensconced in the fort, he could make his report and then get drunk!
Macro slipped silently towards their horses in the stables. He gave the correct password to the guards and entered. He found their horses and gave each one a handful of grain. They would need all their energy to escape this frozen fort deep in their enemy’s heartland. He slipped the saddles on to the two horses and tied the third by a short halter. It was unlikely that they would need it for supplies but he knew from past experience that a horse could go lame and they would need a spare. He wondered what plan Metellus had to get them out of the stable area. He realised that he had come to rely on Metellus totally. If he were left alone to make these decisions what would he do? He came to the only conclusion he could, slit the sentry’s throat.
He suddenly heard a conversation at the guard post. Had Metellus arrived? When Morag slipped in he knew that he would have to think quickly. “Morag you are early!”
She rushed up and, embracing him, kissed him full on the lips. “I saw you slip away and knew that you were making the time for us to be together.” She suddenly saw the horses in his hands. “Where are you going?”
For the first time Macro had to react and think creatively. “The reason I slipped away was that Darach received a message. Our father is sick and we must return to our home in the islands. He has gone to collect our traps and then we can return home.” Macro was rather pleased with himself. The story sounded plausible and explained why Metellus was not there with them.
“Oh my love I am sorry. This is a disaster! When will I see you again?”
“We are but an island away and do not forget with your father at the wars I will be able to see you more easily.”
She squealed with delight and kissed him again. There was a noise behind him and Macro was certain that it would be Metellus. He looked into Morag’s eyes and said, passionately, “I will see you again soon my love!”
Suddenly he heard a snarling and familiar voice, “Roman dog! A spy!” Wolf’s sword was out in an instant. Macro’s arms were still around Morag and the sentry and his companion came in looking confused. Wolf snarled at them. “This is a Roman. He is a sergeant in the auxiliary cavalry. Raise the alarm!”
The sentry began hollering and banging on his shield and Macro just hoped that Metellus had made good his escape for he was now surrounded by a sea of spears and soon he would face Morwenna, the Red Witch. When that happened, the young man knew that he was in for a world of pain. He would never return home now and he would end his days tortured in this barbaric outpost of the civilised world.
Chapter 19
Angus was pleased with his ambush. He and Quintus had arranged their fifty men into two groups. Over the last few days he had come to trust the wily Quintus who told him how the Roman cavalry worked. They had discussed how the two turmae would escort the wagons with their supplies. “They will split their men to ensure that each wagon has at least six men around it. Their prime objective will be to protect the supplies and that is their weakness. One party attacks the head and the other the rear. They should be able to deal with the men there as they will outnumber them. That will leave little pockets of men to sweep up.“
Angus had like the plan and he had taken the head of the column whilst Quintus the rear. Quintus had estimated that the column would be almost two hundred paces long and they hid accordingly. The key would be to attack as soon as the column passed the respective warriors. They had no way of knowing how long the column would take to reach them but they were patient. The men would be tired when they did arrive and would be easy meat for men who had been resting for three days. Once they had stolen the supplies they could return home; as Quintus had said, by destroying two turmae they were making a serious dent in the forces Rome could array against them.
Quintus was enjoying his new role as a leader. For years he had followed the likes of Wolf, The Fist and Aelius; he had lived in their shadows, following orders. Now he was respected, and listened to. It was a position he enjoyed; who knew he might become a valued chief. The entire plan had been his and Angus had respected it. He knew that it would be a hard fight, fifty barbarians against almost sixty troopers but he knew the way the ala worked. They would be tired and distracted by the wagons and the Votadini had the element of surprise. Many of the troopers in the two turmae were recruits, and they would run. Quintus remembered his first action, much less daunting than this one, and he had almost wet himself and fled. Had a decurion not been behind him he would have done so. These recruits had nothing to fight for and t
hey were led by two young men. The only warrior with experience was Metellus and Angus knew to take him out first, then the rest would fall. The hardest part was the waiting. Angus was hidden two hundred paces up the road and the forest seemed very dark and very threatening. Suddenly his scout ran up. “They are coming.”
“Good. Run and tell Angus that they approach. The rest of you hide in the forest until we see the back markers.” They could smell the horses before they could see them. The trees made it hard to make out details and Quintus hoped that Angus would have no difficulty in identifying Metellus. His slingers were ready as were his three archers. If they could have good strikes then they would soon outnumber his former comrades. Quintus became aware that he had not heard wagons; perhaps they had brought mules. He held his hand up to hold his men and slithered forward to get a better view. To his horror there were neither wagons nor mules. The turmae were in a solid column in lines of four and he could see that the rearmost ranks were almost level with his ambush. He froze on the icy ground and the column had passed. He had to do something. He crabbed his way back and signalled his men to attack. He hoped that the front of the column had reached Angus or he, and his band, could be in serious trouble.
Quintus had shown his lack of military strategy. His archers and slingers were to the left of the path and the ala had their shields slung on their left side. As the three arrows and ten stones clattered against shields and helmets only one trooper was stunned and fell to the ground. Sextus was the rearmost trooper and he yelled, “Ambush!”
At the front Marcus heard the shout and immediately halted the column, each man readied himself for whatever onslaught would appear. Angus had no option and he had to launch his attack.”Sound the buccina!” Marcus had no way of knowing how many men were attacking and any help from the fort would be welcome.
Angus had not made Quintus’ error and some of his missiles found targets, the troopers crashing to the ground struck by arrows and lead stones. Angus, desperately, sought out the Metellus he had been told was the leader. He could not see him but he suddenly had to defend himself as a young warrior hurled himself at him yelling, “Cartimandua!” In his hand was a sword which seemed too large to be borne by one man.
With terrifying speed the columns of four formed into a cunei, a wedge behind the leader, an arrow of blades which was aimed at the heart of the attackers and Angus saw sixteen men with spears pointed directly at him. He watched in horror as the two men next to him plunged to the ground with javelins sticking from their bodies. The scything sword cut down another two. The Votadini had made the mistake of fighting on foot to enable them to be more accurate with their missiles. It was to prove their undoing as Angus’ command were ruthlessly slaughtered by oath brothers desperately protecting their leader. Angus stood bravely ready to face his enemies and determined to take as many with him to the Allfather, as he could. He watched the young warrior with the mighty sword make straight for him and he hefted his war axe above his head. He would kill this young fool at any rate. Warriors always worry about their left, even when they don’t have a shield and Angus was no exception. The huge barbarian watched as the horse was aimed at his left side and he anticipated the strike swinging his axe in a long and deadly arc. Marcus smiled to himself, his enemy had made a cardinal error and with a twitch of his knees, his responsive horse jinked to Angus’ right, the Votadini axe hitting fresh air. Marcus struck the Sword of Cartimandua where the body joins the head and both were separated by the razor sharp blade.
At the rear Quintus had taken fewer casualties, as Sextus had not managed to form his men into an organised body. “Turn! Turn and face them. The sergeant has the front. Protect yourselves.”
The delay allowed some of the Votadini to realise that discretion was the better part of valour and to begin to slink off. It happened just as Sextus saw Quintus. “Traitor! Deserter!”
It was too much for Quintus who took to his heels and raced through the slippery forest to his horse. The rest of his remaining men followed their erstwhile leader as he fled the field. Mounting his horse Quintus was horrified to hear an answering buccina from the valley where the forts were. The ala had been alerted and a turma sent out. He knew he had to cross the river as soon as he could and he kicked his horse north west towards the message island which was his only escape route. He was in a race against his pursuers and the prize was life. As he crested the rise he risked a glance behind him and saw the mounts of the armoured troopers struggling up the slope after him. Others were finishing off his men but he cared not. He was on the downhill section and they would not catch him for he had no armour and he had a fine mount. As he cleared the trees he could see the fort and he saw two columns of riders leave, one headed up the road whilst the other seemed drawn to him and headed to cut him off. He kicked hard; if he were recaptured then he would be crucified, he had to win the race to the island. His hopes rose when he saw the column spread out in an attempt to cut him off. They were struggling to keep up their speed so close to the river which was muddy and cloying, sucking the hooves into the river bank. Soon there were only two riders who were close enough to him and Quintus tucked his head low to maximise the speed of his escape. He looked ahead and saw the island less than half a mile away. Once on the other side, he would lose them easily in the deep and dark forests. Risking a glance under his arm he saw that there was but one rider pursuing him, a decurion. He hoped it was not Rufius or Cassius for he feared both men. He hoped it was a newly promoted man who might fear the old bully. As he struck the water he looked over his shoulder and saw, to his relief that it was Aelius Spartianus, he was saved; he would live. That momentary relaxation cost him his life as Aelius’ javelin struck his unprotected and unarmoured back. He crashed into the water; his life blood seeping into the Tinea.
Lying there, his life slipping away in the icy waters of the river, Quintus looked up at his old friend and muttered , “Why?”
“Couldn’t risk you being caught and giving me away. At least you weren’t crucified.” The ironic smile showed Quintus just what his former leader thought of him. The last sight the deserter had was the rest of the turma riding to join their decurion and patting him on the back.
When the last of the raiders had been killed Marcus ordered recall and the troopers, tired but exulted, rode up to form lines along the body littered road. They had fought in their first encounter and they had won. Every face, included the wounded, was beaming with pleasure as Marcus rode down the ranks to count them. Sextus, a gash across his face, rode down the other side and Marcus approached his chosen man. “I make it five troopers dead.”
“Me too sir and about ten with a wound of some kind.” He self consciously touched the open wound and looked down at the blood on his hand.
“You did well Sextus.”
The chosen man shook his head angrily. “No I did not sir. I didn’t react quickly enough. Poor Marius and Decius might have been alive if I hadn’t frozen. We need to train for those situations.”
“In which case it is my fault as the man responsible for training you. This was your first action and I am proud of you, “he raised his voice, “I am proud of all of you. Our first action and we won.”
The turmae smiled at each other and then Sextus shouted, “Oath brothers of the sword ha!”
The rest of the turmae took it up as Cassius and his turma arrived. The adjutant was smiling despite the dead bodies. “Oath brothers eh? I haven’t heard that in a long time.” He could see that they were embarrassed and changed the subject. “Well done Marcus you and your young recruits performed well. I believe the last one died over there. Let us get back to the fort and you can get your wounded seen to.” He gestured to his chosen man, “Appius take them all back.”
The two friends waited on the ride while the three turmae trotted back to the fort. Cassius waited until they were out of earshot and then said, “They knew you were coming. This was a well planned ambush. “
“You are right sir. Had we had wagon
s then we would have been cut to pieces.”
“Either we have not patrolled well enough or we have a traitor.” Cassius led them back to the fort. “We will be short handed for a while, Livius took Rufius and a turma in ‘The Swan’; they are sailing to be close to Traprain Law in case Macro and Metellus need some help.”
Marcus shook his head. “I doubt that they are two of the most resourceful men I have met. They are probably on their way home even as we speak.”
Cassius could see Aelius Spartianus waiting for them at the bridge. “I wonder what he wants? Probably a pat on the back for doing his duty.”
Aelius was, however, in a humble mood. “Well done sergeant you did well.” He pointed at the backs of the turmae entering the fort. “Your men were singing your praises, how you took their leader’s head with a back stroke. Good sword work indeed.”
Marcus replied modestly, “I didn’t have time to think. The training took over.”
“Did you catch the one who tried to make it to the river?”
“Yes sir, he is dead.” Aelius paused dramatically, “It was Quintus sir, the deserter.”
“Now what, in the Allfather’s name, was he doing with the Votadini? I don’t like this, gentlemen. Officer’s call when we return.”
Marcus checked in the hospital to ensure that his men were being treated. He had to pull rank on Sextus and tell the capsarius to see to him first. “Can’t have a potential officer dying of such a wound. Have the men use the Batavians baths in half turma, Sextus. They have earned it.” The bath house was outside the Batavian fort and close to the river. The Prefect had been quite happy for them to use it as it fostered good rapport between the two forces and the Prefect knew that in any attack from the north then Coriosopitum would be the frontline. This had changed from being a war zone to a battle zone.