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

by Griff Hosker

  “I am of the Brigante oh chief.”

  “What brings you to this land so far away from your homeland? Do you seek your family?”

  Gaelwyn could see that this chief was perceptive and no fool; he shook his head. “I seek slaves for my master.” He waved his hand expansively in the direction of the captives who were some distance away. “I see that you have a rich haul. Would you consider selling some to me? I can pay a good price and save you having to take them further north.”

  Shaking his head Ael spat out a fatty piece of meat. “No my lord, Lulach, has determined that we sell none until he has inspected them.”

  “This is a difficult toad you take. I could take some off your hands and make your journey easier. I have much money.”

  “Did I not make myself clear Brigante? I said that my lord has said that we sell none until he has seen the worth of them. I do not betray my lord.”

  Gaelwyn knew he had offended the honour of the man and decided that he would get nowhere. “I am sorry chief and I will continue my journey. If I am unsuccessful in my endeavours where will the sale of these captives be held?”

  Slightly mollified Ael pointed vaguely north. “If you come, at the time of the burning of the bones, north of the Clota then my lord will sell those whom he does not wish to keep.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Will you not share our camp?”

  “Thank you for your hospitality but it is not yet dark and I can journey further south.”

  As he rode by the captives he surreptitiously glanced towards them, hoping to catch Ailis’ eye. He had almost given up hope when he saw her walking from the stream carrying a jug of water, guarded by a bored young warrior. Neither Ailis nor Gaelwyn showed recognition but their eyes locked for an instant and, suddenly, Ailis had hope, if Gaelwyn were there then her husband could not be far away.

  Gaelwyn was well aware of the six warriors trailing him. When he had mentioned money he had noticed their shared smiles. He must have looked like an easy target, an old man, alone and far away from his homeland. It would have seemed like easy pickings. Rather than heading straight for Marcus and Gaius he led his would be robbers further down the trail. He made sure that he made plenty of noise for he wished to alert Marcus and Gaius. He knew them well enough to know that they would watch his back. With luck their arrows could take two of the six and they could defeat four barbarians, especially four who thought they were robbing an old man. He slowly eased his sword from its scabbard as he felt them closing in on him.

  The six young warriors had not told Ael what they intended, indeed they hoped he would not find out for they would keep the old man’s gold for themselves. Their clan was from the far north and they were not of Lulach and Ael’s people; they felt no dishonour in trying to watch out for their own. Lulach might reward them when he sold the slaves but this way they could return to their village richer. They spread out in a half circle; they had come far enough from the camp to avoid detection. They drew their swords and prepared to attack the helpless old man from behind. As their horses were urged forward two of them were plucked from their backs by the arrows of Marcus and Gaius. Suddenly the hunted had become the hunter and they saw, with horror, their victim turn and charge towards them with a long sword in his hand. Two of them tried to turn but found themselves facing two other warriors equally armed. As Gaelwyn attacked the leader, the last member of the group decided that discretion was the better part of valour and headed off to the side. The three men fighting Gaelwyn and the others were no match for the experienced fighters and soon died. “After him!” Gaelwyn yelled as the final survivor hurtled through the woods.

  Gaius had the best horse and he set off on what he knew would be a hopeless pursuit; the warrior had too much of a start. His target glanced over his shoulder to gauge the distance and Gaius saw, annoyance and frustration, the grin on his face as he saw that Gaius would never catch him. It was a shocked when he looked up only to see a huge warrior slicing with a wickedly long spatha towards his head. The look of shock was still on his face as his lifeless skull rolled gently through the trees.

  “Macro!”

  “As usual I am here just in time!”

  After they had stripped and hidden the bodies the four comrades took the captured horses up into the trees well away from the trail and the scene of the ambush. Macro stood grinning like a naughty boy caught stealing apples. Marcus looked him and then embraced him. “It is good to see you but I know there will be a story behind this.” He waved a hand at the unkempt look.

  “Wait until we have food before we begin this tale.”

  “Good idea Gaelwyn for it is two days since I ate.”

  Later as they sat, hidden in a small dell many miles from the barbarian camp, Macro told them his story. “We found Modius and killed him in the Land of the Lakes but it meant that, when we arrived at Cataractonium the raiders had left and were many miles away in pursuit. I asked to follow you but the Prefect threw me in a cell. He took the ala out to follow the raiders and I escaped.”

  Marcus shook his head. “That was foolish, old friend for you have given yourself the death sentence.”

  “I know but when we have found my son then I will leave this land and we will build a new life. I have thought to going across the water to find that Irish king, Tuanthal. He liked me and I could train his troops.”

  “But you have thrown everything away and the king may be dead, that was some time ago.”

  Gaius shook his head, “No Marcus; you are wrong. I would have done exactly as our young hot headed friend did although I might have hidden my intentions more effectively so that I did not get thrown into a cell.”

  Macro laughed. “Decius always said I acted first and thought later.”

  “I am not sure that Decius ever credited you with actually thinking.”

  “Besides which we have yet to recapture these captives Tribune. Let us catch the horse before we talk of riding him.”

  “Wise words Gaelwyn.”

  “Do we go tonight or tomorrow night to rescue them?”

  Gaelwyn and the others exchanged looks. “Neither Macro. We could have gone tomorrow night, for with four of us we could have affected a rescue but the six warriors we killed will be missed and they will be wary for they will remember the Brigante warrior who tried to buy captives. There will be more guards tomorrow.”

  Gaius’ shoulders lumped in resignation. “So they are lost?”

  “Not so. I have yet to tell of my visit to the camp. First I saw Ailis and she saw me; she has hope now for I saw it in her eyes. Secondly they will not be sold until the burning of the bones.”

  Macro looked at Gaelwyn as though he spoke a foreign language. “Burning of the bones?”

  “When the crops and harvests are gathered in they kill any animals which they cannot keep over the winter and the preserve the meat. The bones which are left are burned with leaves and dead wood to spread on the land and bring forth better crops. Lulach will use the captives before he sells them and he will know their worth. This Lulach is a clever man; he is not the usual mindless barbarian.”

  “So we have time then?”

  “Yes and now we have more horses. With four of us we have a better number to overcome any guards and we can wait for them to become less vigilant and then rescue them.”

  Gaelwyn held up a warning finger, “They will now be watching for us along the trail. We will need to move far ahead of them.”

  Marcus had been quiet for some time. “I have been thinking on Macro’s words. He said the Irish king. Remember when we met him, we travelled up the west side of this island and we came to the Clota. We know that is where they are going.”

  “But why the west?”

  “This valley is narrow all the way to the Clota and we could be spied more easily besides the Classis Britannica still patrols on this side of the land. If we were to signal one of the ships it might mean we could escape a little easier.”

  Gaius looked doubtful.
Macro nodded, “I like it and the land is easier on that coast and as I recall the Novontae was friendly towards us.”

  “They were then who know now.”

  Gaelwyn stood up. “It is decided. We head for the sea.” Gaius looked as though he was going to argue but a quick look from Marcus reminded him of their earlier conversation.

  “Well at least we have made a decision.”

  Far to the south Morwenna gathered her sisters together. Aodh stood behind her uninvited but wanting to know why she had called the conclave. “Sisters Seonag has brought us a sign.” The old woman brimmed with joy at her fame. “It is now time for us to go back into the world of men and bring the word of rebellion to their ears. The precious stone our sister brought is also a sign for now we have our symbol to carry with us, the symbol of the black bird of death. We go to the north and make the Brigante, the Carvetii and the Novontae see that the rule of the Romans is over. We now have gold to buy horses and make the journey quickly.” She walked over to Seonag and touched her hand. “Sister I would ask that you raise my girls and the acolytes until I return.”

  With tears of joy in her eyes the old woman kissed the hand of the young witch. “It is my honour to do so.”

  “I am not only your leader but, through my father Aed I am a Brigante princess. We will use that to inspire the people of the north.”

  With a cacophony of screams, screeches and squeals the sisters embraced and kissed each other. Aodh stood to the side feeling as though he was in a different world. He was the outsider in this world of women but as long as he could be close to Morwenna, the woman he worshipped, then he would happily live in that world and pick up the odd crumb of affection.

  Decurion Princeps Cilo had seen many more sides to Prefect Julius Demetrius over the past weeks. When they returned with the prisoners he saw a Prefect angrier than he had ever seen him. The blazing row he had with the Camp Prefect could be heard all over Cataractonium and when he eventually came out, red faced, no-one dared to approach him. He slammed into his office and the Decurion Princeps took a deep breath. Someone had to go and talk to the Prefect. Macro, Gaius and Marcus were all closer to the Prefect but it was their absence, and Macro’s escape which had angered him He decided he would wait for a short while before he broached the lion’s den.

  Inside his office Julius held his head in his hands. All of this was his fault. Had he not followed Modius, against ever precept he had held then, perhaps, Ailis might not have been captured and, certainly, Macro would not have gone off as a deserter. He could not believe he had handled it so badly. He had ranted and railed at a good man, the Camp Prefect, when it was not his fault that Macro had escaped. In his heart Julius had known that the big man would escape, in fact, it was hard to see how he would not escape. He took his sword from its scabbard. Perhaps the best thing, the noble thing, the honourable thing would be to take the sword and end his own life. Just then there was a knock at his door. “Yes.”

  The door opened and Decurion Princeps Cilo stood there looking apprehensive. “Sir? If I could have a word?”

  Julius was about to shout at him when he remembered that none of this was anyone else’s fault but his own. The only person he should be taking it out on was himself. “Yes, come in Salvius.”

  Once he was in the room he was not certain where to start but once he saw the pain in his commander’s eyes he knew what he had to do. “Sir, begging your pardon but you are not being yourself.”

  Julius looked up, surprised both at the comments and the apparent impertinence. “Go on Decurion Princeps.”

  “You cannot change the past. Whatever happened it doesn’t matter now. What matters is how we deal with this. I think that you blame yourself because Macro went off after his wife. You have to post him as a deserter and that makes you unhappy because you think you drove him to it.” Salvius stepped back because he thought he had overstepped the mark. In his mind he had expected the Prefect to interrupt him and stop him but he hadn’t and Cilo had just spoken what was in his head.

  Surprisingly the Prefect smiled slightly, “Go on Salvius. Perhaps you are gaining second sight for those were my thoughts.”

  Sighing, the Decurion Princeps continued, “Well Sir if we don’t post him as a deserter he isn’t one is he?”

  “I don’t follow.”

  “He could be on a scouting expedition, or compassionate leave or any other mission ordered by his Prefect.”

  “Yes but the guards, the Camp Prefect…”

  “Sir the guards are the young troopers trained by Macro; they love the man. They would not say a word and believe me the Camp Prefect would not want to see Macro punished for something every soldier in the fort would have done.”

  “That’s fine as far as it goes and Macro might not be punished where does it leave us?”

  “It’s like I said Sir. You think too much, beg pardon and you shouldn’t. Let’s get back to doing what we do best, being the best ala in Britannia. Before we knew Macro had gone we were going to base the ala at Morbium and make the province quieter. We should do that.”

  “That leaves south of the Dunum without a military presence.”

  “The Brigante are quiet enough Sir. If we can stop the raids and the captives being taken they will all be happier.”

  “Very well give the orders and Salvius?”

  “Sir?”

  “Thank you?”

  “You’re welcome and if you don’t mind me saying so it is what Decius Flavius would have done.”

  Chapter 6

  The hard part of the journey to the coast was the first part. They left in the late part of the night but even so Ael had sent searchers out to find either his lost warriors or those who had killed his men. Macro and Gaelwyn had spent some hours before they left laying deadfalls and traps to slow up their pursuit. They had to cross a thick forest and rising, rocky uplands. “If they catch us here we are dead men for they can go quicker on foot than we can with this string of horses.”

  They heard, from the valley below the sounds of pain as warriors set off the traps while in the distance they could see the column of captives and raiders sinuously snaking northwards. Macro’s heart sank as he realised they were going further from his son, not closer.

  “Sometimes Macro you have to take a step back to take two steps forwards. Marcus’ plan is the best we have; it is the only one we have.”

  “But I feel so angry Gaius. That young child amongst the barbarians.”

  “Gaelwyn observed them from a distance and they did not look to be suffering. My Ailis is a good woman and our people are good people they will not let harm come to our children.”

  “I am sorry Gaius I should have realised that this is worse for you than it is for me. You have two children and your wife.”

  “Numbers do not increase the loss Macro. Your one child will hurt you as much as the three that I have lost. The Allfather has protected them so far and brought you to aid us. I am more hopeful now that this quest will end happily.”

  “I hope so.”

  “Did you mean what you said about Ireland?”

  Shrugging he said philosophically, “King Tuanthal, if he was a king, seemed to like me and he did ask us to go over with him to train up his warriors. If he is still alive then I think that the training and the tactics of the ala could make his kingdom secure. After all General Agricola believed he could conquer it with just auxiliaries.”

  “Yes but it is ten years since we met him, anything could have happened.”

  “My son and I will take our chances. Even if I have to take on a champion I think I can beat any man alive in single combat.” He said the words without any boasting, it was a matter of fact and Gaius had to agree that Macro could beat any warrior that Gaius had ever met or seen, Roman or barbarian.

  Once they reached the bleak and windswept top of the hilly forest Gaelwyn allowed them to slow the pace. Marcus was always amazed at the mental map which Gaelwyn carried with him. It had been ten years since they
had been in the land of the Novontae and yet it seemed as familiar to the old scout as his own farm. Marcus was not worried about Gaelwyn and his plan, he would get them to the place where Ailis and the children were being held but he could not see how they could rescue the captives and escape with their lives. It would take an extraordinary set of circumstances for them to manage, what seemed a Herculean feat. If the fleet was off the coast that might just give them the edge they were seeking. As he looked up at the sky he also worried about the weather. They had another month to get to the Clota but in that time the weather could and would worsen.

  Three days later, when they finally dropped down to the coast and they could see the grey choppy sea, their hopes began to rise. They could see the sails of ships out at sea; none of them looked Roman but a ship of any type might be useful, even an Irish raider. “We still have all our gold and silver, we could buy a boat or pay a captain to take us.”

  Gaelwyn, the landsman, looked sceptical but he held his counsel about the wisdom of trusting to ships. “We still need to find their camp. I will push on with these two, Tribune, if you are determined to try to get a boat.”

  As much as he hated to be parted from his comrades, Marcus could see the wisdom in the old man’s words. “Very well. I will meet you where the Clota meets the sea in ten days. That should give you time to locate their camp.”

  “May the Allfather be with you.”

  Morwenna and Aodh used some of the gold brought by Seonag to buy horses. They took with them two of Morwenna’s witches as an entourage. “I intend to let the Brigante people know that their queen has returned. As such I need to have a presence.”

  “How will they know that you are indeed Aed’s daughter?”

  “We go first to the cave in which I was brought up. Hidden beneath a large stone is the torc which belong to Venutius and then to Aed. Once my warriors see that they will know who I am.” She glared darkly at some hidden point in the west. “Would that I had the Sword of Cartimandua that the horse warrior carries for with that I could unite not only the Brigante but every tribe in Britannia. When we have raised the people we will visit the Roman and retake what is rightfully mine.” Although a bright sunny, day, Aodh shivered at the ice and the unspoken threat in her words.