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

by Griff Hosker

  Once they reached the top of the moors they made good time. When his men questioned the wisdom of running along the skyline he scornfully pointed eastwards. “If they can see us then we can see them for they are on horses. We will push on and cross the Dunum at the narrow place.”

  “Not Morbium then?”

  “No Jared for even if the Queen managed to cross against the Romans there we are too few in number now to attempt that bridge with a fort next to it. We need to join forces with the Queen. Once we cross the Dunum we will rest and I will send out scouts to make contact with the rest of the army.”

  Knowing that they only had thirty or so miles to travel gave them impetus and they half walked, half ran until, when evening fell they could go no more. They found themselves close to a conical shaped hill with a dell to the north. “Here we will rest for the night and travel again tomorrow. Jared take two men to the top of this hill; and watch for our pursuers. Kai, find us food.”

  Ownie needed time to think, to plan his strategy. He still wished to be the leader of the Brigante but, perhaps, the time was not right yet. When he met the Queen he would decide then if her plans had a chance of success, if not then he would sneak back to the high moors and wait there for the snows to melt and then see which way the wind was blowing.”

  “You have forty horses.”

  The Prefect looked at a stern faced Sergeant Cato. It was often said that Cato loved horses more than the men who rode them and Julius was beginning to understand that idea. “You mean forty horses that are fully fit?”

  “No, Sir, I mean there are forty horses which are available for gentle use. If they are pushed we will have less than twenty.” The sergeant softened his voice; it was as though talking to a child. When the Tribune had been Prefect then they had a leader who understood how to husband horses, how to care for them and protect them. The officers in the ala now saw them as a weapon to be honed and sharpened. The prefect was a good leader but he didn’t understand the fine line between being fit to walk and fit to fight. “We have raced these beasts from the Lands of the Lakes to Cataractonium to Eboracum to here without a rest or a stop. They have fought in more battles than I care to count and there is a limit to what they can do.” He raised himself upright and looked the Prefect straight in the eye. “You can use forty horses for a walking patrol and that is all. The rest need, grazing, attention and most of all care for at least seven days and then, after another week or so of walking patrol they will be able to function as you wish them to. If not Prefect the ala will become footsoldiers.”

  The Decurion Princeps hid his smile behind his hand. The Sergeant was the shortest trooper in the ala but at that moment he looked like a parent admonishing a small child. Salvius found himself agreeing with Cato and not just about the horses. The men and their equipment were a shambles. Armour needed repairs. Weapons needed replacing and sharpening and most of all the men needed feeding up.

  Julius felt all eyes upon him and he knew that he had started this whole debacle with his ridiculous quest for revenge. He had demanded justice for his dead brother but the horses and men of the ala had paid the price. Looking at the three officers and one sergeant he had left he could see that they were right. They would obey him if he ordered a chase but they would never trust him again. “Very well. In that case Salvius I need the fittest officer and the thirty fittest troopers to trail, at walking pace, the Brigante who have just headed north.”

  Grinning Salvius said, “Well the officer is easy; that would be me and I will find the rest of the troopers now Sir.”

  “And you Sergeant Cato. Don’t just stand there. Get the horses fed and cared for and Livius close your mouth, you look like a fish, and arrange with Atticus for a place to erect the tents. Apparently we are here for a week.”

  Salvius had no trouble locating their trail for some of the severely wounded had died along the way and been hastily buried beneath whatever stones and rocks had been available. Once they saw that the Brigante were heading for the high moors their task became so much easier. “Remember what the sergeant said lads, keep a gentle hand on your reins.” The fact that the men laughed showed that, despite what he had said they were still in good heart. He knew, in his own heart, that the loss of Macro, a deserter, had been the biggest blow to both morale and confidence. They would need to work hard over the winter to recover that morale. Thinking about the winter also made the Decurion Princeps acknowledge that when they managed to get their hands on some new recruits, unless Macro had been recaptured, then they would not have a training officer. Indeed even if Macro were returned to them it was unlikely that he would be allowed to continue as an officer. It was a great shame that a good officer could have his whole career ruined for one understandable infraction of the rules; the Parcae were indeed fickle.

  It was drawing on towards evening and yet Salvius was loath to camp. He would at least like to be over the moors. The thought of building a camp on such an exposed ridge went against all of his training. They dropped over a small hogback and found a dell. While the men were building the camp Salvius decided to satisfy his curiosity and explore a little. Later he was glad that he did for; off to their left in the lee of a conical shaped hill he could see half a dozen fires while on the top of the hill, silhouetted against the sky were two sentries. It could mean only one thing, Brigante. He had found them.

  Chapter 13

  The next morning as Ownie led his men north west to the shallow bend of the Dunum he little realised that, close behind and watching his every move, was Decurion Princeps Salvius Cilo and a turma of cavalry. It was easy to follow the large band of men who left a swathe of wide enough for a novice to track them behind. The river was narrow and easy to cross for the warband. Once they were across Ownie set about building a camp on the steep escarpment of the river; he had to admit that the Romans did have some good ideas and he did not want to be surprised. Salvius took the opportunity of sending a report of the situation back to the Prefect. It was obvious to the Decurion that the Brigante were going nowhere for the moment and as this fitted in with Sergeant Cato’s deSire for rest and recuperation he would happily wait until they moved.

  Ownie sent out his ten horsemen in an arc northwards to ascertain the whereabouts of his Queen. It would no harm for his warriors to rest; the encounter with the cavalry at Streonshal had proved at best, disquieting, and at worst terrifying for his men. He wondered how Parthalan had fared.

  His erstwhile rival had suffered even greater casualties and he would have been pleased to have only lost half his men for Parthalan had run into two cohorts of the Twentieth hurrying north to put down the Brigante rebellion. The experienced legion, which had fought Silures, Ordovices and every other tribe in Britannia made short work of the unruly and disorganised Brigante. Had they had cavalry there would have been no survivors but, as it was, enough Brigante returned north to tell the tale of the terror that was the legion and spread the word that rebellion was not as simple as their leaders had suggested. Those who escaped buried their swords and shields and became fervently dedicated farmers for they did not want to face the scything machine that was a Roman legion intent on revenge. Parthalan lay in a pile of bodies, unrecognised and remembered his dreams of glory shattered along with the hearts of his warriors who had flung themselves on the deadly blades of the Ninth legion.

  When his scouts returned Ownie discovered that his Queen had taken refuge on the coast in a secret settlement only threatened by rising tides and eroding beaches. He quickly left his camp and headed north east as quickly as he could. The Queen had an untouched warband; there was still hope in Ownie’s heart that they might just succeed and establish the Brigante as an independent tribe once more.

  The scout watching the Brigante reported back to his leader. Pausing only to send another messenger to the Prefect Cilo continued his pursuit. This land was unfamiliar to the Decurion Princeps and he rode warily. He was always within sight of the Brigante for they took a clear path to the coast along the
swampy muddy estuary of the Dunum. He was careful to scout for ambushes. The many wild birds nesting in the reeds and banks proved to be nuisance flying up in a cacophony of noise whenever he passed by their sanctuaries. His enemy seemed blissfully unaware of his pursuit and did not deviate an uncia from a straight line- almost Roman in their determination thought the Decurion Princeps.

  Ownie was amazed at the secret settlement and the way it was hidden from the rest of the world. He realised, as he was led around the edge of the woods, that it was precariously placed. Already the sea was lapping around the trunks of the trees some of which were already dying and he could see, beneath the relentless waves, the stumps of trees killed by the sea and taken out. The stone at the foot of the stockade also showed where the weed and water had started to encroach. This might be a secret and hidden settlement but within a few years it would be too small to contain even half the numbers it did but he could see that, at the moment, it served its purpose well.

  The Queen took the news and Ownie’s losses well. “But you killed many of the cavalry?”

  “At least half their horses were left on the field.”

  “Good for that is the one force which can hurt us.” Had she known of the Parthalan disaster she may have changed her views. “We will soon head north west and, even now, I am spreading my power in those lands. As soon as your men are rested we will join with Cruatha’s people and drive north.”

  Salvius was astounded when he saw the warband disappear into the forest. During the night his two best scouts skirted the wood and creeping close to its wooden walls, closely observed the settlement. They managed to see into the small town when the gates were open. The sight of so many buildings and, even worse, so many warriors was a shock. When they reported back Salvius could scarcely believe their report but he was forced to acknowledge that Queen Morwenna had a new base and probably as many warriors as had escaped from Eboracum. He wondered where she had discovered this cache of men. He awaited the Prefect’s message for it would have done little good to send a message the fifty miles south. He would wait. His messengers knew where he was and he was in a good position to observe. He had found a sand dune filled bay which looked towards the settlement. Just behind it was a headland which looked, at the moment to be unoccupied. When the Prefect arrived he would suggest placing a patrol there for they would be able to observe the settlement and follow should they leave northwards. All he had to do was wait. He smiled to himself, Cato was getting his own way. It was as if the Allfather loved horses as much as Cato and the Tribune.

  Twenty miles away in the rocky stronghold above the bend of the river Vedra, Maban and Anchorat were busily sowing the seeds both of discord and preparing the way for the arrival of their leader. Using Morwenna’s trick of pretending to be orphans following the Caledonii raid the insinuated themselves into the household of the headman Daire. They did this through the offices of his wife, Muirne. The kind woman felt sorry for the girls and when they saw the altar in her kitchen to the Mother they knew they had an ally. They explained to her that they had been acolytes of the sorceress on the island of Mona. She immediately took them in and risked the wrath of her husband so powerful was the attraction of having servants of the Mother in her home. As with all matriarch’s in this part of the world when it was an important matter, rather than a war or hunting, they could be more determined than any warrior.

  Each night after the meal they would explain to her the mysteries and power of the religion. Through her influence they met other similar minded women and, while the men sat in their hall drinking and telling tales of long dead heroes, the women of the stronghold were learning about the woman who would change their future and their lives. Muirne had not realised how much power she and the other women of the stronghold held. Maban showed them how to read the bones and foretell the future. Anchorat spent her time bemoaning the lack of control of the Romans who had promised safety but left them helpless. The nearby deserted fort of Vinovia was testimony to that neglect. After five days of their work the women of the stronghold were eagerly anticipating the arrival of Morwenna. The two acolytes had been deliberately vague about Morwenna’s precise arrival but the longer they spent with the women the more powerful this mysterious Queen became. Dun Holme would fall without a blow being struck when Morwenna finally arrived.

  The Prefect took his time riding north to Seton. There was no rush for the Decurion Princeps had said that the Queen was fortifying the settlement. Until the Legate had sufficient forces the campaign would be one of containment. The latest orders received by the ala were for them to report the whereabouts of the Brigante rebels. Once the Prefect had time to assess the situation he would send off turma to discover the rest of the rebels. The Ninth had destroyed one army; the ala badly damaged a second. That left Morwenna’s and the second which appeared to have disappeared mysteriously into the north west towards the Land of the Lakes.

  As with Salvius, the Prefect was surprised by the size and strength of this hitherto unknown town for it was a large place and well fortified. He could see why it was so large for its resources were ample. Unlike Streonshal with its high cliffs this town was on the beach and looked to have easy access for the many boats drawn up on the beach. “Well Salvius what is your assessment?”

  “She looks to have about two thousand warriors under her command. They have spent the time, so far, improving the defences and I assume that she will be using this as her new base.”

  “It looks likely. We are to scout at the moment. Your mounts have had a good rest, take Livius and his turma and scout west. We need to find the last band and report to the Legate. Once Eboracum has been repaired he will be heading north with the Ninth to, finally, crush this rebellion. Cassius and I will stay here and monitor the Queen.”

  “Who do we report to, you or the Legate?”

  “Both. He will need the bigger picture and I need to know if you are going to require help.”

  Shaking his head the Decurion Princeps complained, “That is a lot of riding just to give the same message twice.”

  “I know but, at the moment that is our role.”

  “Come on then Livius, mount your men we are going west again.”

  “Look on the bright side Salvius; at least we know that area well.”

  They took the northern bank of the Dunum. It gave them the opportunity of visiting Morbium. The Camp Prefect told them that no Brigante had passed the fort. “They must have headed further west Decurion Princeps.”

  “It makes sense. There would have been little point trying to cross the bridge they would have lost too many men. I suspect they have headed to the Land of the Lakes to cause mischief there. I cannot understand why we abandoned the fort at Glanibanta. It was perfectly placed to control movements over there. We are blind at the moment and I do not look forward to making the journey when the snows are upon us. Once we reach Brocauum we will separate. I will head north and you can head south.”

  The first signs of the rebel army occurred twenty miles from Morbium. They found a series of mounds and freshly turned earth marked by inverted spears and a small pile of stones. “Looks like some of their wounded died here.”

  “Or more likely they waited until here to bury their dead for they must have feared pursuit and this is almost at the heart of the northern Brigante land. They did not know which of the four warbands we would follow. “Turning to his men he shouted, “Keep a sharp eye out. Remember this is the country where Decurion Drusus and his turma were wiped out in an ambush. It is dangerous country.” The admonition and warning were gratefully received by the young troopers. The story of the slaughter had been told many times for it was the action which first brought the Prefect his phalerae. “Livius take half your turma and ride to the north, but keep close enough to see the rest of the troopers.”

  That night as they camped on the high moors the troopers were quite anxious. Having lost so many comrades in the past few months their confidence was not as high as it should have been. Ther
e was a large warband nearby and they had less than ninety men to deal with that force. The massacre at Cataractonium had been seen as measure of the skill of their enemy rather than the trick it actually was. ”The trouble is Salvius that Macros’ departure has had a huge effect on the men. He is more than a Decurion and training officer he is their talisman. To the troopers he is all that they might aspire to, the perfect warrior.”

  “I know Livius. As with you, he was the salvation of poor Galeo and me. He made us the warriors we are. I have forgotten how many lumps of clay he has moulded into fine warriors.”

  “And officers.”

  “True and we are living examples are we not? I do not doubt that he will return from the quest he is on, face his punishment and the men will, one more, have their talisman.”

  Livius looked at the Decurion Princeps doubtfully, “Would he not have to be punished by the Prefect?”

  “Obviously but there is not necessarily a set punishment for what he did. He escaped from his cell. He had already been stripped of office and was suspended so technically he did not refuse to obey an order.”

  “Isn’t that just playing with words?”

  “Yes but the Prefect feels badly about Macro and blames himself for his action. I am the last of the old Decurions now and I know that the old Julius would not have led us away from our patrol area to seek out this Modius if he had known the Caledonii were raiding. He always did everything by the book. That was strange behaviour for him.”