Hosker, G [Sword of Cartimandua 11] Roman Treachery

by Griff Hosker

  Livius turned to the signifier, “Recall!”

  The troopers on the flanks who had begun to charge towards the Votadini reined in and turned to form, a solid line again. Both sides hefted shields and weapons in preparation for the next assault.

  Metellus had had time to reorganise his two turmae and he led them along the dry valley, out of sight of the barbarians. When he felt they had travelled far enough east he ordered them into one line. “Marcus, take the left and now might be a good time for you to use the sword eh?”

  Both men knew the effect the sword could have and, allied to their sudden appearance on the barbarian flank they hoped it would make the Votadini flee. Drawing the sword, which glinted in the late afternoon sun, he held it aloft and shouted, “The Sword of Cartimandua.”The cry was taken up by the rest of the turmae.

  It was though a dam had been released as the fifty warriors urged their mounts up the valley’s slopes. The Votadini were so preoccupied with Livius and the ala that the sudden appearance of fifty screaming troopers took them by surprise and the two turmae crashed into the flank of the horse. The Sword of Cartimandua was a powerful sword and the first barbarian who tried to parry it found his own sword shattered in two and the decurion’s sword continued its arc to rip into his shoulder, severing it like a butcher with a carcass. The young Brigante recruits were desperate to copy their decurion and they fought with a fury which belied their lack of experience. Vibius kept as close as he could to his decurion, wanting to protect the back of the man who had saved the hostage. The four of them formed an improvised wedge which began to carve through the barbarians. Iucher was fighting like a man possessed. He was fighting to revenge a son he felt was already dead and his war axe severed limbs both of troopers and horses but the cavalry were driving inexorably forward and Briac, who had hovered close to the war chief, now raced forwards to grab his arm. “Come Iucher, let us withdraw to the forest and fight another day. We have killed many Romans this day.”

  His face contorted with rage the Votadini war chief snarled at Briac. “But not enough!”

  His bodyguards and oathsworn also added their voices. “He is right, great chief. We will join with the Selgovae and attack again.”

  With a roar of rage Iucher chopped his axe down to split the nearest trooper in two and then turned. “Come, my people, back to the forest.”

  With his bodyguard forming a shield wall the Votadini began to melt back up the hill towards the forest. Livius considered chasing them but they had but four hundred paces to go and his horses were already winded. “Sound recall!”

  Troopers reined in and looked around to see which of their comrades had gone to meet the Allfather. Marcus rode back to Felix who lay in the arms of the capsarius. The orderly looked up and smiled, “He is tough this one and that,” he pointed to Wolf, “is a fierce protector! He is bruised that is all.”

  Felix opened his eyes. “Sorry sir. They surprised me. They were upwind of me.”

  “You warned us and that saved us Felix. Next time we bring your mount eh?” Felix gave a wan smile and nodded.

  “See to the wounded and despatch the wounded barbarians. Gnaeus keep watch on the barbarians.”

  The spy had managed to avoid killing any of his barbarian comrades. He had seen Briac and knew that he was here. He could still operate his plan. He went around the bodies taking weapons from them and secreting them in his satchel. The Romans had been clever and almost tricked the barbarians into a trap. He would not underestimate them again. It was time to prove that there were still Brigante with heart who were willing to die for freedom.

  Julius Demetrius had spent the day at the new fort, Vercovicium, on the wall. The Governor’s orders had been quite clear, more forts like Cilurnum were needed and he and the engineers had been surveying a site close to the lake and the cliff. It would make a prefect fort for infantry and his engineers assured him that it would be almost impregnable. Julius was not certain; the barbarians had shown themselves to be remarkably resourceful hitherto. He and his legionary escort caught up with the ala as they travelled along the Stanegate back to their fort. Julius felt a pang of guilt as he saw the empty saddles and the depleted numbers. He still remembered when he had been the prefect of the ala and he felt every casualty as much as Livius.

  He joined Rufius who had formed the rearguard. “How did it go Rufius?”

  “They tried to ambush us but they lost many more men than we.”

  “And did anyone try to run?”

  “Not as far as we can tell. We will have a roll call when we return to the fort.”

  “It might be that we hold a parade tomorrow and ask young Vibia to identify her abductor.”

  “Why not tonight legate?”

  “I need to speak with her first and, besides, it is unfair on those brave men who have fought today and lost comrades.”

  “You are right. There is hardly a turma which has not lost numbers of brave men. What about the Sixth and the Gauls. Have they had an easier time?”

  “Yes, the Selgovae, it seems have retreated to lick their wounds but the days of the overwhelming victories are long gone. The tribes are learning how to fight us.”

  There was a downcast air over the fort as the men groomed their horses and prepared their evening meals. It seemed, to many, that they only had the full complement of troopers for a short time. Livius could detect their depression as he wandered the fort; praising a man here, joking with another there. “Let the quartermaster know if there are any deficiencies in your equipment.”

  “That will cheer old Publius up, sir. He’ll be even more miserable.”

  The Quartermaster was renowned for being a morose character. In fact he had a wicked sense of humour but he only shared that with his fellow officers. He kept a façade for the troopers but Livius knew he would be as distraught about the losses as any.

  When Livius met his officers he first checked up on their state of mind. There were many young decurion amongst his officers and the first time you lost men was always hard. “You all did well today. Let me know of any who deserve phalera.” He smiled as they all began at once. He held a hand up. “In writing please and give it to Julius.” He poured a beaker of wine, “To Marcus’ Horse!” They all joined in withy the toast and swallowed off the wine which the legate himself had provided.

  “I saw Briac today sir.”

  “Did you Marcus? I wondered if he had returned to Eboracum to cause more mischief.” He suddenly seemed to remember something. “Tomorrow I want to hold a parade and praise the men directly. The only turma on patrol will be Sextus so they do not need to come in armour and helmets.”

  Rufius, Metellus and Marcus exchanged glances. They hated being in the know when their fellows were not but they understood the need for secrecy. On the following day they would finally know the identity of the spy and all the need for subterfuge would be gone.

  The spy had finished his work quickly; his equipment was cleaned and placed on his bed, his horse was groomed- he was still the perfect trooper. He was still avoiding Vibia. With the Votadini daggers secreted about his person he made his way to the cells. He took with him a skin of wine. The cells were towards the river end of the fort and close to the bridge. They were in shadows and well away from everything but the stables. The corpse of the hanged man still swayed in the slight breeze and the sudden, jerky movements told the spy that the rats were feasting well. He knew that there were two Tungrian guards on the gate of the cells and one on the inside. He was a confident warrior and had devised a plan to eliminate both of the exterior guards. He poured a handful of wine onto his hands and spread it over his face. He took a mouthful and rolled it around his mouth before spitting it out. Satisfied with his appearance he staggered towards the cells singing a dirty ditty the soldiers sang as they rode.

  The two Tungrians nodded to each other, with a grin on each of their faces, as the trooper made his unsteady way towards them. “Are you lost trooper? No horses to shag here.”

&
nbsp; The spy laughed. “No I just wanted to stick this,” he held out a Votadini dagger, “into one of those bastards. My mate caught it today from another of the Votadini and I want payback!”

  “Much as we might want to we can’t let you in there.”

  “I know, here, have a drink?” He held out the wine skin.

  The Tungrians eyed it greedily. They glanced around to see if there were any officers about and then they put their spears in the door jamb. “Just a quick drink eh Gaius?”

  “It would be rude to refuse Julius.”

  As one Tungrian took the skin the spy slashed his blade across the throat of the other and then before the one with the skin could react he stabbed him in the neck. He was a strong man and he grabbed them both to lower them to the ground.

  The guard inside said, “What’s going on out there?”

  The spy disguised his voice, “It’s Gaius, and he’s taken a funny turn.”

  “If he’s been drinking again he is on a charge. I can smell it from in here.”

  The door opened and before the Tungrian could react the spy had pushed him backwards and stabbed him under his arm into his heart. He laid the bleeding corpse down. The keys to the cells were on a hook next to the sentry’s chair and he grabbed them. There was a small opening so that the guards could check on the prisoners. The spy peered in and said, “Stand back from the doors; I am here to rescue you.”

  He opened one door and two of the Votadini looked at him suspiciously. “Why should a Roman help us?”

  In answer the spy pointed at the corpse, “Because I am Brigante. Here,” he gave them the daggers he had collected from the battlefield. When they were all armed he addressed them. “The best way out will be over the walls. Watch out for traps in the bottom and the sentries on the bridge. You can swim the river. Stay away from the bridge it is heavily garrisoned. When you get to your camp tell my chief, Briac, that his man still fights for him but I need instructions.”

  “Thank you Brigante we will not forget this.”

  “I do not do it for you. I do it to hurt the Romans. Help me to hide the bodies in the cells.” When they had covered them with hay he said,”Now go, return to your forest, and I will return to my barracks so that they do not suspect me.”

  Iucher’s son took charge and the young Votadini hugged the walls of the fort. It was dark and there was no moon, it was as though the gods of this land were aiding them. Each of the young men was determined not to be captured again. Their hung comrade was a devastating reminder of the cruelty of the Romans. His spirit would wander lost around the river for all eternity. Above them, on the wall, the two Tungrian sentries were wrapping their cloaks around them a little tighter. Their own land was cold but here, in this northern outpost, the wind seemed to whistle from across the seas bringing icy blasts, even in summer. They could hear the revelry from the troopers celebrating their success. The Tungrians were a little envious. They might not have the risks of fighting the barbarians but they deserved a reward every bit as much as the over paid horse warriors. It was just unfair. The two cold sentries peered across the moors, rising before them and thence to the forests. That was where they knew the Votadini were. At least they had not drawn the bridge duty where the slippery barbarians could sneak in and slit a throat.

  Ironically the two Tungrians died as the handful of youths slipped up the steps and overpowered the two guards their life blood oozing down the steps to drip and pool close to the cell so recently vacated by the barbarians. The young men wasted no time slipping over the walls and dropping silently to the top of the ditch. Mindful of the Brigante’s words they peered into the bottom and saw the vicious stakes covered with faeces staring up at them. They were easily avoided and they slowly peered over the top of the ditch. They could hear the river bubbling away before them. Iucher’s son led them west, away from the bridge. He did not need to explain to them his reasons, he was the son of the wear chief but he knew that the current would take them towards the sea and that led under the bridge. He hoped they could all swim for any who could not and who drowned might inadvertently warn the Romans of their escape. To their left the wall rose and they could just make out the guards who were patrolling the walls. Finding a place where a bush still overhung the raging river he led them into the water. It was icy cold. The noise his any sound they might make, “Who cannot swim?” No one spoke. “Then in that case swim for that point over there.” He pointed to a willow which overhung the dark waters. “The ones who reach there first must help the others out.” They nodded their agreement and Iucher’s son, as befitted the son of a chief, slowly entered the water and began to swim across. He was a powerful youth and he reached it the other bank first. Heeding his own words he waited in the shallows with his arms out to grab the others who made it. The last youth, Sceagh, appeared to be struggling but the first three who had made it leapt into the water to pull him to safety. They saved his life but the sudden movement and splash in the water alerted the sharp eyed sentry. His strident cry told the youths that they had been seen. “Quick. Into the forest. Now we run!”

  The optio raced to the sentry whose shout had alerted them. He saw the movement at the other side of the river and saw the shadows scampering away. “Well done! Keep watch and I will find the centurion.”

  As soon as the duty centurion was summoned he took an instant decision. “Check all the walls optio and I will find the Camp Prefect.” The recent sneak attacks had made everyone nervous and the centurion was quite happy to risk censure rather than losing his life.

  When the optio found the two dead guards he knew that they had a problem. “Tell the centurion we have two dead guards.” Almost as an afterthought the optio remembered the Votadini prisoners. He went down the steps and when he reached the bottom his worst fears were realised; the dead guards and the open door told their own story. They had hostages no longer.

  Chapter15

  The Camp Prefect instantly ordered a check on every sentry. They had five dead from a half century; that was too high a number. While the centurion checked with the bridge guards the Camp Prefect reported to the legate and Livius. If he expected a reprimand he did not know Julius Demetrius. “Don’t feel badly about this Sextus, “he looked at Livius in surprise, “it is our fault for not sharing some information with you. There is a Brigante spy in the ala. The problem is we don’t know who.”

  Sextus Graccus was annoyed at the disclosure but he was out ranked not only because Julius was a legate but he was close friend of the Emperor. He gritted his teeth as he spoke, “Perhaps if we had been informed then there might be five Tungrians still alive and the hostages would still be incarcerated.”

  “You are right but we do not know who it is and there is little point lamenting what was done or was not done. It is in the past and cannot be remedied” His face became a mask of steel. “However we can rectify that now.” He turned to Livius. “I want every trooper on parade, and no helmets. I will bring the young lady and Julius with the muster.” To Sextus Graccus he added, “Tell your sentries no trooper is to be allowed out of the fort. No exceptions!”

  As soon as the spy heard that they all had to report to the yard for inspection without helmets he knew that the game was up. As his turma left the barracks grumbling the spy slipped towards the stables. One of his turma said, where you sloping off to?”

  “I left something in the stable, I won’t be long.” He raced to the cells and found that they had not removed the bodies from where they had left them; grabbing the helmet and shield of a dead Tungrian he donned both and took the dead guard’s spear. He slipped out of the gate and headed towards the bridge gate. The guards looked at him suspiciously as he approached.

  “Where are you going?”

  “The Camp Prefect said he needed more sentries on the far side of the bridge. The Votadini are about.” He shrugged, “Typical eh?”

  The two men nodded. “Aye well remember, don’t let any horsemen out.”

  He looked at them with a
realistically blank look, “Why not?”

  “No idea. Perhaps one of them was caught shagging that pretty piece they rescued.” He leered. “Worth a little punishment she is.”

  The spy strode across the bridge. He had got further than he had hoped but there would be an optio on the other side and he would be more difficult to trick. He marched purposefully along the bridge. There were eight men at the far end; they were always the most nervous of the sentries for they peered nightly into the forest. He stood to attention and faced the optio. “Sir, Camp Prefect Graccus sent me. He said there were some barbarians seen by the river.” He pointed up stream. “There.”

  “And just what does he want be to do about it?”

  The spy played dumb. “I dunno. I was just sent with a message. Can I go back now? They need me in the kitchens.”

  The optio grinned evilly, “No, sunshine, you can’t. Hey Knuckles you and Dopey here go down the river bank and see if there are any Votadini about.”

  The spy pretended to be outraged. “Sir! That’s not fair. I just brought the message.”

  The huge warrior called Knuckles grabbed him. “Come on little man. Let’s show you what real soldiers do!” He shook his head, “Kitchen helpers! Huh!”

  The gate was opened and the rest of the tent party held their spears in a defensive half circle as the two men left. As soon as they crossed the two ditches the gate was slammed shut and the men took their places on the wall. Knuckles led the way. “You watch the forest, kitchen boy, and I will look out for the barbarians.”

  The spy had to time it right. When he judged they were sufficiently far from the gate he suddenly stopped and said. “There, in the forest. I saw something.”

  “Don’t shit yourself. It is probably a deer.” As he passed the spy, the Brigante traitor dropped his spear and took out his sword. As the spear hit the ground Knuckles turned and the spy rammed his sword into his neck. He twisted the sword and the huge man fell to the ground. Pausing only to ditch the helmet and shield the spy ran into the forest as quickly as he could. They would soon search for their lost companion but by then he would be hidden in the depths Votadini territory.