Hosker, G [Sword of Cartimandua 05] Revolt of the Red Witch

by Griff Hosker

  He chose his moment well. It was just before the guards were due to be changed. It would give him a short time to escape but it meant that the guard would be tired. He broke out of his tethers for they had not used the chains ordered by the Prefect and although the rope was a good rope it was no match for the strength of mighty Macro. He retied them loosely. Pretending to be asleep the guard closed the door and stood outside the cell bored and cold. Macro opened the door silently, as he had planned. He grabbed the trooper with one hand around his mouth and dragged him into the room. Once inside he spun him around and hit him with his other mighty fist right on the point of his chin. He went down like a sack of apples. He took his helmet, sword, pugeo and shield and walked calmly from the room towards the stables. All the sentries were busy watching the perimeter; raiding barbarians had focussed their attention on the outside. He chose his own horse and, grabbing a water skin, he headed for the Porta Decumana. He mounted the horse and, with the cloak, wrapped tightly around his shoulders rode slowly up to the sentry on the gate. The trooper was tired and saw what he expected to see, a messenger with despatches. As he looked up for the pass he saw, with shock, that it was Macro. Before he could shout a warning Macro had kicked him in the head rendering him unconscious. He dismounted and opened the gate. The new guards would be coming soon so he just pushed the gate shut and walked his mount away from the fort. As soon as he heard the shout from the tower he mounted his horse and galloped quickly north.

  He skirted the fort and headed straight for Morbium. He was risking meeting the ala but, riding at night meant that they would likely be in camp anyway. Now that he was racing along the main road north he began to work out what he ought to do. He had no idea where his family was and he just hoped that by heading north he would meet up with Marcus and the others. He felt certain that Gaelwyn would be on their trail but that trail was almost five days old and very cold.

  Prefect Demetrius viewed the devastation that was Morbium. The auxiliaries from the raids north and the survivors had all made their way there and Julius worked out that he had a cohort to man it. “Come on men. Let us get these walls up.” It was imperative that the fort became defensible. Decurion Princeps Cilo had suggested a mobile barrier across the bridge. If the raiders returned then they would be slowed at least. For himself Julius was desperate to move north. To say he felt guilty about delaying his return because of some misguided view of honour was ridiculous. He had determined that, once he had secured the captives he would resign. As a patrician it was his right to do so and he would retire to Rome. He had let down his ala; he had let down Rome but worst of all he had let down his friends. The enemy might be three days up the road but he would pursue them and, when he returned Macro’s son to him he would resign with honour knowing he had done his best.

  Seonag arrived at Mona even as the hunters were creeping their way north. She had, with her purloined gold, secured passage with an unctuously bejewelled merchant taking jet to Deva. She found it ironical that she held, in her casket, more jet than the merchant had ever seen in his life. His pomposity had amused her as he told her of how he had cheated the villagers of their money as he gave them a much lower price for their jet. She almost laughed aloud when he confided in her that he hoped to sell much jet to the sisters, the worshippers of the Mother. She knew that, once she arrived in Mona, the sisters would want for neither gold nor jet.

  Morwenna greeted her like the log lost sister she was. The signs, the symbols, the secret handshakes were unnecessary as the old woman and the young woman greeted each other. They both knew instinctively who the other was. “Mother I bring you great treasure and great news.”

  “Sister I was looking for a sign and I see it in your eyes.”

  “The north is rebelling. The Caledonii have come south and have devastated the border.”

  “Calgathus?”

  “Mother I believe so.”

  “The Romans have moved all their troops south, to safer, richer lands. The Brigante are ready to rebel. They have suffered too many privations and raids. When their children are taken then they will act and the Caledonii have taken all the children.”

  Morwenna grabbed the old woman to her breasts and hugged her. “You do not know how long I have waited and this is the sign.”

  Seonag’s eyes filled with tears. “I am a sign?”

  “Sister you are the stone which begins the avalanche which sweeps the Romans from our land.”

  Macro did not head for Morbium for he knew he might run into the ala or at the very least the barrier that he thought they would have erected. Instead he headed east to where the Dunum was narrow and slow. He would swim his mount across and then head up the partly built road which went north. He needed to get around the raiders and their pursuers it he was to meet up with Gaelwyn and Gaius. Having languished in a cell for a few days he was not tired and his only concern was for his mount. To spare the beast he walked up the hills leading his horse; it was an old trick and he thanked Sergeant Cato for his horse wisdom.

  He was able to reflect, as he trudged up the hills, on his rash action. He had, almost certainly, ended his career in the ala and, quite possible he had signed his own death warrant. It was a rash act but in the cold light of day he knew that he would do it again. There came a time in a man’s life when some things became more important. He had had the glory he had sought when he joined the ala but, since the birth of his son and his betrayal by Morwenna he had had a different perspective. His son was his immortality and he needed protecting. Ailis was a wonderful foster mother and she would see that he was brought up as he should be to be a fine young man but Ailis too was in danger. He cursed the powers that be for leaving Britannia in such a perilous state. He had known that Roman politics was dangerous when the Tribune and Livius had been arrested on a trumped up charge and almost suffered an Imperial death. He resolved that, once he had rescued his son he would have no more to do with the world of Roman politics but would dedicate his life to bringing up his son. Mounting his horse he smiled wryly to himself, how he would escape punishment to be able to do so was beyond him. He looked up at the heavens and spoke to his dead friend Decius Flavius, “You always said I was better with my hands than my brain and you were right Decius but I have cast the dice and for good or ill this is my course.”

  The miles flew by and the big man lived from his energy. His child was in danger and nothing would stand in his way. The road and the terrain were so familiar to someone who had fought in this land for so many years. Riding was second nature to macro and he was able to ride and think at the same time. He thought not of his pain but of his son lost and alone; if the Allfather would let him change places with his son then he would do so in an instant. When his horse began to foam, as he approached Vinovia, he rested. He found a small steam where his exhausted mount could drink and then he took her up to a secluded dell where he slept the sleep of the dead; a sleep haunted by a tiny child crying for his father to rescue him.

  The Prefect and the ala had picked up the trail of the raiders and found the group led by Manus. Livius recognised the huge man from the crossing of the Dunum. “This is the band that raided the jet mines. They have no captives and they were not the ones who took Ailis.”

  “I know.”

  Livius looked questioningly at his leader who appeared to have aged in the past few days. “Then we can go around these and find Ailis.”

  “No Livius. I forgot my duty once before, I will not do so again. These men raided Roman land and they will pay the price.” He held his hand up to prevent further argument. “Besides we may get valuable information about the direction that Ailis’ captors took. We are now heading west and if they are meeting up with a larger band then we may have to stop our pursuit and return to the new border at Morbium.”

  Livius’ shoulders sank in resignation. He knew that the Prefect was right and the chances that the one thousand men of the ala could effect a rescue was dubious but his heart felt like lead at the thought of the lov
ely Ailis and the three boys being slaves in a Caledonian camp for the rest of their lives. He prayed to the Allfather that Marcus was having better fortune.

  Chapter 5

  Gaelwyn slipped back into their hidden camp. They were north of the abandoned fort of Blatobulgium in the land of the Novontae. Although it was some years since they had been in the area, when they followed Julius Agricola to glory, the land was still familiar. “They have scouts out. I think we take one and question him.”

  “Is that wise?”

  Gaelwyn shrugged, “We know not which direction they are taking and the further we are from home the harder it will be to get back.”

  Marcus nodded his agreement. “Let us leave the horses here then and proceed on foot.”

  The three men were well used to moving silently through the woods and the scouts were busy looking behind them for pursuit. Gaelwyn identified their target, a young boy of fifteen or so summers. To him it was exciting to be with the older warriors and the raid had made him believe that he to was a warrior and he made the cardinal error of moving out of the sight line of the next scout. When he stopped to relieve himself they pounced for he had left his spear propped against the tree and, rather than keeping watch, he looked down. Marcus swung the thick branch at his head and Gaelwyn and Gaius caught the unconscious boy.

  When he came to he was tied against a tree and there was a sword a hand span from his groin. “Right boy we need some information.” When he heard his own language he was confused for these were not Caledonii. From their hair they were Romans, or at least two were but from their clothes they looked to be bandits. “Whose clan are you?” He shook his head bravely and Gaelwyn shook his own grey and grizzled mane sadly. “We will get the information boy but if I have to use pain I will. Who is your leader?” Gaelwyn slapped him across the face.

  Spitting out blood the boy said, “It is Lulach and he will eat your hearts out Romans.”

  “That’s better now we know your clan. And where are you heading?”

  With tears in his eyes at his own betrayal he shook his head again. “First you will have to kill me Roman.”

  When Gaelwyn smiled his cruel smile the boy shuddered, “Oh you will die but it is how. Another question then. Is there a mother and three young boys amongst your captives?”

  His eyes lit up with the remembrance of the pretty and cheerful captive, “Oh Ail…”

  In horror he realised he had confirmed what they wished to know and he shut his mouth as tight as a beached clam. The knife sliced through the boy’s ear as though it were butter. Gaius’ hand over the boy’s mouth stopped the cry. Still he would not speak and it took three fingers before he relented and told Gaelwyn all that he needed to know. As Gaius put the sword in the boy’s damaged hand Gaelwyn slit his throat saying, as the blade slipped in, “You were a brave boy, go to the Allfather with honour.”

  After they had roughly hidden the body some way from the trail they considered their options. “We need to rescue them before they get to the land of the Selgovae for there we have no allies.”

  “True but it will be difficult to get by the column in this narrow valley. We shall to trail them until we can find a way ahead.”

  The Prefect was determined that the patrol would boast some success. He knew they would have to return soon to Morbium, their horses were exhausted and they had run out of supplies. He was equally certain that he did not want to lose men unnecessarily. The Decurion Princeps took half the ala to ambush the rebels when they ran from the attack of the remainder of the ala. “Decurion, if we can I would like prisoners if only to find out who they are and where they are going. This is the first of many raids and we need to be prepared.”

  The ambush was prepared in the unique style of Marcus’ Horse. Half the turmae were dismounted and spread out in a half circle whilst the mounted portion was a few paces behind. As soon as the barbarians began to flee in their direction they hurled their javelins and fired their bows. It was a slaughter for most of the Caledonii were watching behind them for any pursuit and trying to avoid the obstacles in the woods. When they suddenly tripped over the bodies of those first to flee they saw the line of armoured horsemen behind the wall of steel. Many chose to prostrate themselves on the ground and take whatever mercy was on offer. Manus was one of those. He had decided that he could always escape whilst on the road but there was no chance to escape the horse warriors who heavily outnumbered them.

  “Tie them up and let us get back to Morbium. We have done all that we can here.”

  The troopers looked at their Decurions. They all knew of the abduction and, despite the short rations and exhausted horses, were all prepared to keep going until they found Ailis and the boys. Decurion Pontius, the most outspoken of the officers voiced his concern. “What about the bairns and Ailis? Aren’t we going after them?”

  “No we are not. This is a huge warband. We have picked off the minnows but do you think that, if we managed to surprise them, they would not kill the captives?” Each trooper dropped his head for they knew he spoke the truth and yet they could not leave those children as captives. “And what of the rest of the province? What of the land which has not been raided? Who is there to protect it? You saw the garrison we passed as we rode north. We are the only defence for the province and we are a thin defence at best. As much as I want to rescue Ailis, and by all the gods I do! I cannot jeopardise everything we have won so dearly.” His shoulders sagged and his voice broke a little. “If the Parcae allow then Gaius and his comrades will do what a thousand men cannot. When you pray to the Allfather ask him to watch over our comrades.”

  Macro had slept in a small dell not far from Coriosopitum. He had not seen any sign of either raiders or Romans. As he left the dell and came to the fort he looked at the tracks; they had all gone west. He decided he would have to risk the road. He discarded his helmet and rolled his cloak up. He had to look like a deserter, which of course he was, or a mercenary. For the first time in his life he regretted being such a larger than life character that people remembered. Every battle in which he had fought had been a backdrop for his heroics and he knew that friend and foe alike remembered him. The beard he was growing could not disguise the shoulders and his size but they might make an enemy think he had deserted.

  He found the field of battle where the ala had destroyed Manus’ band. As he gingerly inspected the bodies he could tell that it was the ala which had destroyed them. He recognised the arrows and the design of the javelins. He could see no evidence of small feet and he deduced that this band had had no captives with them. From the tracks he could see that the ala had moved south; that decided him. Now there were only four warriors who could rescue his family and he was one of them. The sooner he found the other three the better. The trail of the main warband cut a huge swathe through the landscape. Gaelwyn would have to be blind not to deduce the direction. He needed to find a way to observe the barbarians and find Ailis without the enemy finding him. He rode a parallel course to the band. When it was nightfall he would move closer to the camp and spy upon them. He was confident that he could dispose of any scout or guard whom he met.

  He rode along the ridge way skirting in and out of the trees. It was not an easy route but it afforded him a clear view of the narrow valley that he knew both his friends and his prey would be taking. When he saw the spiral of smoke in the distance he almost shouted with joy. Such a column of smoke meant a large camp; his friends would never advertise themselves so clearly. With luck it would be the barbarians. He gently nudged his weary mount down the hillside his route clearly marked by the smoke. Within the hour he would know if his son was there and within a couple of hours he might have saved his son.

  Gaelwyn the hunter had finally seen Ailis. Gaius had to be restrained for his immediate reaction was to run to her. “No Gaius, let us watch. We know where she is kept and the children. We can spend a day or two watching how they guard her and then we can work out how to rescue them all.”

  Over the n
ext two days, as the ponderous column of raiders and captives crept ever northward they saw how difficult a rescue might be. The captives were tethered together and four guards surrounded them during the night. “Just too many of them. We could take three guards but with four one would see us and then the alarm would be sounded.”

  “We will have to try and negotiate then Marcus.”

  “It will have to be me who goes, Gaius, for the boy recognised you two as Romans, even in these clothes and with your beards and many of these warriors would have fought you in the Caledonii wars.”

  “Very well we will try your way.”

  The next day Gaelwyn rode into the camp from the north, trailing their spare horse. He had left his comrades south of the camp and he arrived just as the Caledonii were preparing their food. The guards were alert but did not appear to be worried. The leader of the warband was one of Lulach’s cousins, Ael. He was a powerful warrior who ruled the band with a fist of iron. The scar which ran down his cheek was the result of a wound at Mons Graupius and, as a result, he hated all things Roman. His guards brought the mounted stranger to him.

  “Welcome to my camp stranger. You are not Caledonii.” It was a statement not a question and Gaelwyn knew that his answer would determine if he lived or died. He sensed some of the younger warriors, bored with escorting plunder and captives, itching for a fight.