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

by Griff Hosker

  Coming to his senses he shouted, “Sound retreat!”

  The buccina horn drew back the ala from their charge. There were empty saddles and dead horses but the attack on the Roman left had been defeated.

  The Legate could see from the small knoll on which he was standing that the Brigante attack had broken down. They had pulled back when the cavalry charged, the name Marcus’ Horse inspiring fear. He turned to an aide. “Order First Spear to return to the reserve and tell the Tungrian Centurion to resume his position.”To a second aide he said, “Tell the Tribune to realign his artillery, the fog is clearing and he should be able to hit their rear ranks.”

  The Morbium garrison had been pushed so far back that they were almost next to the Legate. He walked over to the one remaining Centurion who was bleeding from a deep wound on his arm, a capsarius bandaging it. The Centurion tried to come to attention and almost pushed the medic out of the way.

  “Sorry about that Sir.”

  “Nonsense Centurion your men fought well but were heavily outnumbered. Do let that man see to your wound. The last thing I need is for you to be incapacitated. What I want you to do is place your men at the foot of the hill and woods to protect the artillery. The third cohort has moved across to cover where you were stationed. “

  “Yes Sir we will do.”

  On the other side of the field the retreating men might well have melted off the field like the fog which was rapidly thinning but for the wall of women placed there, cunningly, by Morwenna. She knew that the men would not run away whilst their women remained. Aodh came up to her, his bloodied blade showing that he had been in action that morning. “Ownie and his men have been destroyed.” The fog had prevented any of the Brigante leaders witnessing the desertion of the chief and all thought he had had an honourable end. “Those artillery units will start to kill us soon.”

  “Is there nothing we can do to stop them?” Morwenna understood numbers in battles and tricks but strategies and forces on the actual battlefield were beyond her, Luigsech had not taught her that.

  Aodh scanned the field looking for anything which might be effective. Cavalry would have been perfect but he had none. The Romans had sited their machines well and they were protected by trees and a slope. Suddenly his eyes lit upon the one weapon which might help him. “There is one thing.” He ran to the wagons where there were fifty boys of various ages idling and watching their fathers and brothers dying. “You lads. Have you got your slingshots with you?” His answer was a forest of arms holding aloft the weapons they used every day to kill rabbits and rats. They could barely speak for they were being addressed by the Queen’s own champion. “Good. I want you to kill as many of those men with the machines on the hill as you can. Are you up for it?” The high pitched roar prefaced a race across the open ground towards the hill. Their small stature meant that they were still hidden by the last of the low lying fog.

  As soon as they were within range they began to hurl their stones at a prodigious rate. The artillerymen found themselves being struck by the stones which were being used very accurately. Casualties began to mount. Arms were broken, men were knocked unconscious and soldiers began to die.

  The garrison Centurion saw the danger. “Right lads. Let’s chase these little buggers away.”

  The command was easy, the action less so. The boys merely changed their target and the auxiliary shields were not as effective as those of the legionaries for they covered less of the body. Stones cracked into legs and exposed arms, the crack of the bones showing the result and once shields dropped then the stones found more vulnerable parts. When his men began to fall from head wounds the Centurion wisely called them back.

  Aodh smile with satisfaction. Fifty boys had done what a warband in their hundreds could not; they had negated the most powerful of the Roman weapons. Morwenna nodded her thanks and pointed her arm forward signalling the renewal of the attack. She had seen how close they had come to breaking the line for the Romans had had to use their reserves. Aodh had seen the weak part of the line, the Tungrians and he, personally, led forward the attack on the Roman right.

  The Legate saw the unruly mob race swiftly across the open ground unchallenged for there were no weapons which could be brought to bear, as long as the bolt throwers were neutralised. There was however a flaw in the Brigante plan for the attack was veering away from the legions as the Brigante warriors tried to get close to what they saw as the weaker force, the auxiliaries; in doing so their flank was more exposed. “The Ninth will advance forward.” As the Legate drew his gladius he turned to an aide, “Ask the Prefect to rid us of those boys.”

  The line was echeloned with the Third Cohort the furthest forward. Slightly overlapping and behind was the second and finally, on the right, was the First Cohort slightly behind and overlapping. This meant that most of the Brigante had to withstand and attack from a Roman line three deep but in three crucial places it was six deep and a six deep formation of Roman legionaries was a rock to break any heart.

  The Tungrian line began to sag but the First Spear still smarted over their earlier withdrawal and would not brook any such weakness during this attack. “We will hold them! Stab and slash! Look for weaknesses.” He was a like a beacon in the middle of the line. No matter how many warriors eager for the glory of killing a Centurion and taking the standard threw themselves at him he beat them back.

  On the flanks of the Brigante the Roman legionaries did what did best they hacked their way through an army largely devoid of armour and shields. No matter how bravely the warriors on the right fought, the heavily armoured and disciplined Romans were too numerous and the horde became a long narrow beast.

  Julius did not like the order but he understood it. The battle hung in the balance. The barbarians still heavily outnumbered the Romans and the artillery needed to be brought into play. The only way that would happen was if those boys were eliminated. As much as he disliked it he would do it. “Right men. We rid the field of those boys. And remember they can kill just as effectively as a warrior.” He led his men swiftly down the slope. Titus waved at them as they passed. The artillerymen, now depleted in number, were busy aiming the remaining bolt throwers at the warriors massing for their attack.

  At the bottom of the hill the garrison opened ranks to allow the horses through. To the boys this was a great game. They were able to pelt adults with impunity and no-one could do anything about it. When they saw the men on horses appear they gave a cheer for it was a bigger and therefore easier target. The feeling lasted for the length of time it took to put a fresh stone in their sling for the line leapt forward and, to their horror, the boys saw the wall of long swords aiming for them. Only one or two had the courage to throw their stones and they were the first to die. The horsemen only had a small target to aim at and leaning forward they sliced down, their blades chopping savagely through tiny necks to end young lives swiftly. Those who turned to look screamed as they saw the blood spouting and spurting from their dying and dead friends.

  The first to react to the horror were the women, some of them the mothers of the youngsters now spilling their blood on the green battlefield. They raced forward to protect their children but the boys were at least fifty paces away and they were being relentlessly slaughtered by the troopers who hated their appointed task and carried out the offensive orders through gritted teeth. The last boy managed to fall at his mother’s feet only to have the life trampled out of him by the trooper’s battle hardened horse and for his mother to be impaled upon the sword already aiming for the child.

  Seeing the horror of the bodies and the wall of women Julius called, “Retreat!”

  The call was too late for the trooper who had killed the last boy and his mother. The cavalryman, from the Ninth, was pulled from his horse by an enraged mob of women who ripped at his eyes and hair, his arms and legs. Within moments he had been torn limb from limb and his wild eyed horse ran aimlessly around the field its nostrils red with blood and terror in its eyes.


  By the time the ala had reformed Julius had regained some of his composure but the sight of the women tearing at the dying trooper had made him almost vomit. He had, until that moment, ignored the women as a threat. He had thought they would be an encumbrance; now he knew the danger that they posed. “Station yourselves behind the garrison I am going to see the Legate.”

  He saw the Legate behind the Ninth and headed straight for him. “Sir?”

  “Yes Prefect, well done for those two charges. What is it?”

  “I think you need to beware the women. I know they do not look like a threat but I just watched them tear a man into pieces.”

  “Thank you for the warning. How many would you say are left?”

  “They still heavily outnumber us but I do not think they will stand if they suffer another loss. Their leader is a woman at the rear. Brigante fight better when led from the front by a warrior.”

  “I thought so myself. I think now is the time for the attack. Sound the advance. Prefect, keep your eye on that Queen of theirs I do not want her to escape. Follow her when she flees and let me know where you will be and I will bring the Ninth there to finally corner her.”

  “Sir.” Riding back to his men he could see that the Tribune had now managed to start to fire the bolt throwers effectively and, even though there were less of them, they were more effective now and the Optios were aiming them to cause the maximum casualties. The women and warriors had grabbed shields to protect themselves but that action only prevented them from killing larger numbers. Even a shield was no match for a bolt.

  The legionaries in the front line stood still as the second and third came through them. The warriors were now faced by fresh soldiers who were keen to show their courage. In contrast those of the Brigante had been fighting all morning and were tired. With fatigue came carelessness and suddenly the front line of the Brigante collapsed. While the front line stood still the second, freshest line moved forward and hit the Brigante even harder with fresher legionaries. This last assault was too much and the whole of the Brigante line collapsed, racing back to their lines, ready to flee the battlefield.

  Morwenna had seen the collapse and made her plans accordingly. If the men would not fight voluntarily they would be forced to fight. As they raced swiftly back they were faced by a solid line of very determined women and they found an impenetrable barrier. They had no option but to turn and face their tormentors again. The only thing now in their favour was the fact that the lines of women pushed against them making the wall of steel stronger.

  When the two lines met there was no relief for either. The outnumbered but more skilful legionaries hacked and chopped their way through warriors reluctantly forced to fight. Every time the front line of the Romans became tired they would interchange with the other two lines of fresher troops. The auxiliaries could now use their second and third lines to hurl javelins into the mêlée. The only respite the Brigante found was that the bolt throwers could no longer fire for fear of hitting their own men. The battle had been raging for some hours and even the legionaries were becoming tired. There came a tipping point when the warriors could no longer lift their arms and they began to fall and clog the feet of the legionaries. The Legate was in the third row and when he saw that point he yelled, “Melee!” and the legionaries broke up the shield line to fight as individuals. The effect was instantaneous and more Brigante began to fall, as they did gaps appeared in the sides and those barbarians who could see daylight began to disappear as quickly as they could. Soon there were very few warriors and the legionaries and auxiliaries found themselves facing a wall of women. They stopped. It was a situation they had never faced. Had they won? They knew not and looked at their officers for orders. In that instant the women decided both their own fate and legionary’s action; they charged. A screaming mob of angry eyed and ferocious women raced towards the legionaries with death on their faces. The death of the boys and the desertion by their men had enraged them beyond belief. The words of the sorceress still rang in their ears and they know that this was their time; this was the time of the Mother.

  The Legate watched in horror as the first women tore, literally into his men who were standing awaiting orders. The first to react were the Centurions who roared, almost simultaneously. “Shield wall!” Immediately the men disengaged, stepped back and formed a wall of wood and steel. It did not halt the women’s attack but slowed it down and prevented more casualties for they were just hitting towards the Romans and most blows struck shields or helmets.

  The voice of the Legate, cold and chill rang across the field, “Kill them!”

  The Ninth knew how to obey orders and they went into action almost mechanically. To them the women were just another enemy they had been told to destroy and they did it with ruthless efficiency. Even though there were hundreds of women they were no match for the Roman killing machine and soon the field was littered with the dead and dying.

  The Legate looked around as he heard the hooves of the cavalry racing behind him. “The Queen Sir! She is escaping!”

  Chapter 17

  Julius had been watching the Queen and her guards whilst the attack was developing. He had glanced to the right to check on the fate of the Tungrians and when he turned back the Queen, her bodyguards and her entourage were gone. He yelled to his men, “Follow me!” and raced towards the battle line. After telling the Legate of the problem he scanned the skyline. He could see nothing but the tree line. “Spread out and find the trail. We must catch her before she can do more damage.” He cursed himself for his lack of discipline. The Queen was the priority and now he had lost her.

  The line of troopers each took a twenty pace wide piece of land and walked forward steadily. Some of the troopers kept glancing over their shoulders for, two hundred paces away the women and the remaining warriors were still locked in a deadly, although ultimately doomed, resistance to the Roman war machine. Suddenly a trooper on the right called over. “Here Sir!”

  The whole line swept into a column of twos behind Julius and the trooper. The trail clearly led west along the edge of the tree line. “She is heading west. You,” he pointed at a legionary trooper, “Report to the Legate and return with all the troopers who are left.” The Legate had kept ten legionary cavalrymen to use as messengers. Julius hoped that he would realise that his need outweighed that of the Legate. If the Queen escaped this time she could stir up trouble in the relatively quiet west. She could not have had that much of a start and the Prefect unconsciously slowed down. This was a cunning opponent. She had outwitted them before. The men with her were also not the mindless warriors one sometimes met. There could be an ambush. “Watch out for tricks and ambushes; anything out of the ordinary.”

  He looked at the trees to the right and smiled to himself. He would be the first to discover a trap for his shield was on his left side. An enemy would always attack the unprotected side whenever possible. It was that thought which made him look to his right where he saw, with some shock a beard face peering at him from not thirty paces away. Even as he was turning and pulling his sword from his scabbard he yelled, “Ambush!” and raced into the woods. His reaction saved his life for the barbarian was unable to throw the spear which was aimed at the Prefect. The men of the ala reacted quicker than the legionary cavalry and two of them fell to the ground with arrows sticking from their throats.

  Julius’ sword point caught the bearded warrior in the middle of his stomach and he rolled over the back of his horse to die a slow and painful death as he fell to the ground and tried to stuff his intestines back into the savage wound. In the trees it was more difficult to discern enemies. Julius appreciated the skill of his enemy. The attack would tire out the pursuers and give the queen more time to escape. Had he more men he could have left some to deal with the ambush and continue the pursuit. His last hope as he sought his next opponent was that Cassius would have his wits about him and he would find her.

  Aodh had left his smaller, more wily warriors in the woods and their or
ders were clear, ambush and then retreat, draw them deeper into the woods. When Julius found the woods thickening he knew he had to continue his pursuit. “Marcus’ Horse! Back to the trail!” He heard with a relieved satisfaction, the sound being repeated in the woods. Even so it was still some time before the remaining members gathered. The extra troopers from the Legate had arrived and he gathered them together. “I don’t think there will be any more ambushes but watch for any deviations from the trail. This queen is cunning and we have to catch her. Rather than chasing after her along this trail we will ride the road and try to get ahead of her. We will ride to Brocauum and meet with the Decurion Cilo.” He turned to the two troopers who were wounded. “You two get to the capsarius and then tell the Legate that the Prefect will meet him at Brocauum.”

  The Legate was impressed with the resilience of the women on the battlefield. He could not know the promises made by Morwenna, promises of everlasting life in the afterlife with the Mother but he could see that they were delaying the end of the barbarian army. They fought with a fanaticism which the Legate had rarely seen in men and never in women. When he called upon them to surrender they responded with missiles, curses and bared breasts. Shaking his head he turned to the Tungrian Centurion. “We waste no more men. Finish them with javelins.” The last few did not wait for the javelins but hurled themselves at the legionaries who had no choice but to kill them.