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

by Griff Hosker

  “I know but this is more important. You trust these warriors?”

  “Of course and they are sworn to protect you.”

  “Then there is not a problem. I agree that the journey for a large group would b fraught with danger but one determined warrior such as you should have no difficulty and, as I am sure that during the winter we will end up having to eat some of these beasts you can bring more horses and warriors when you return after the snows.”

  Pol and his remaining few warriors had spent a more comfortable night than they had expected for there were still some shelters left from the time of the fort. The camp and the fort had been dismantled but the shelters and huts erected for the slaves had been left. They had even had warm food for one of their number was a fine fisherman and able to catch their meal. Pol would have been happy but for the fire and the watchtower. When they had approached the old fort in the darkness they had seen immediately that it had been abandoned but who was in the tower? As dawn had broken they had seen the thin spiral of smoke dark against the snowy hillside. It worried Pol for it made no sense. If the Romans had returned in numbers then they would have fortified the fort. He regretted not investigating the previous night; he made a decision. Aodh would have to come down the trail to meet them and it would make sense if they could eliminate whoever was at the tower. He shouted, “Mount up we will ride back up the trail and meet with Aodh. But be on your guard for I intend to see just who is there at the tower.”

  The seventeen men quickly mounted their tired mounts. Pol knew that many of the horses would have to be killed soon for they were almost lame. He glanced at the warriors; they were in a poor state too. A lack of food, constant combat and some wounds meant that they were not the fine fighting force they had been in the heady, successful days of summer and the destruction of Cataractonium.

  As he led the ala from the tower Julius detailed Cassius and his turma to follow the river to the old fort. “We will travel down the trail. These are the only two routes that she can have taken. I know the snow will have hidden tracks which is why we need to be careful.”

  The snow helped their stealth for the soft snow, which was quite deep in places, masked the noise of their hooves. Cassius, in the river, had no such problem for the river was so fast flowing that it made a crashing sound as the fresh water tumbled over rocks and stones. In his heart Julius was convinced that, having established a lead, the wily Queen would have hastened south as soon as the dawn broke. It was with some surprise that he saw the scout in the river, some way ahead, raise his arm, and Cassius draw his sword. He waved the turma into a line and, drawing his own sword, moved forward slowly all his senses alert to danger.

  The Brigante scout was tired and he was worried about his horse which seemed to be favouring its foreleg. He was watching for danger to his horse rather than the Romans as Pol had suggested. He paid for his error with his life as the javelin plucked him from his saddle. Suddenly the small group of warriors found themselves assaulted on all sides by the Roman cavalry. They fought bravely enough but they were outnumbered by troopers, who were refreshed and rested who had eaten and were eager to revenge themselves upon the hated sorceress.

  Julius shouted, “I want prisoners. Do not kill them all!”

  Pol was a wily warrior and had placed himself in the middle just in case they were ambushed. In the event there was little he could do to avoid the ambush but he was determined to save himself. He saw the turma in the river which ruled out an escape west and so he headed his horse east, towards the trees and the ridge. There was one luckless trooper in his way and he made the mistake of slicing with his spatha at Pol’s head. A small man anyway he was able to duck beneath the blade and he jabbed the spear into the trooper’s chest. The head went deeply in and was ripped from Pol’s hand. When he saw the gap he kicked his horse on and he found himself free of the fray.

  Livius had despatched his opponent and, seeing the warrior fleeing, raced after him. Livius was proud of his horse, Night Star, for he had trained it, under Sergeant Cato’s tuition, to respond to his body without the need for reins. Kicking forward, he released the reins and took his javelin from its scabbard. Night Star loved to run and he was soon catching the horse which was tiring. Drawing back his arm he threw the javelin at the struggling beast. Pol looked over his shoulder as he saw Livius and he jinked his horse to the right. The javelin carried on its course but instead of hitting the horse it plunged into Pol’s leg and ripped into the tired mount. The beast reared in pain and Pol was thrown to the ground. Livius was upon him in a moment and he quickly disarmed the wounded man.

  One of Livius’ troopers rode up. “You alright Sir?”

  “Yes Aulus, fetch the horse and we’ll take our prisoner back.”

  When they rode up Livius saw that the only prisoner they had was his own and that only six enemy horses had survived the brief but savage encounter. Even as he approached the turmae he could see that they had only lost one man, the trooper killed by Pol, in his escape attempt.

  “Well done Livius. Will he live?”

  “Just a spear to the leg, Sir.”

  “Capsarius. Bandage the warrior’s leg. Salvius take your turma to the fort and find the Queen.” Turning to the wounded warrior he said, “Where is the Queen?”

  In answer the wounded warrior spat. “Do you want me to loosen his tongue Prefect?”

  “No Livius. We will wait for Salvius and then return to Gaelwyn. He is far more persuasive than we.” At the mention of Gaelwyn’s name Pol showed fear for the first time and Julius smiled. “You know Gaelwyn eh? Well he is here and he hates your Queen and more than that he hates traitorous rebels. You can talk now or talk later but talk you will.” The Brigante paused and then shook his head but Julius noted that e did not look as confident.

  By the time Salvius returned the turmae were ready to ride. “No sign of her Sir. It looks like these were the only ones who were there. No tracks, apart from theirs could be seen and none leading south or west or east Sir.” He saw the disappointment on Julius’ face. “She may have slipped away in the night Sir. There was no way we could watch everywhere.”

  “I know Salvius. We will take this one back to the tower and find out.”

  The closer they were to the tower the more apprehensive Pol became. He could smell the wood smoke and he knew that soon he would be interrogated by a Brigante. He prayed to the Allfather that he would not betray his Queen and his comrades who he knew were somewhere nearby. He suddenly had the thought that Aodh had deliberately not told him of the secret place for just such an occasion. It, strangely, made him feel better for it meant that Aodh knew that any warrior has a breaking point and he thought that his meant might betray them. It also made him even more determined to resist whatever torture they threw his way. He would die with his honour intact.

  Julius threw the wounded man to the ground in front of Gaelwyn, Gaius and Marcus. “He will not tell us where the Queen is to be found.”

  Without looking up Gaelwyn said, “Ailis take the boys to the river to collect some water. Gaius will come for you when we have finished here and are ready to leave.”

  Ailis looked sympathetically at the wounded warrior and the icy look on Gaelwyn’s face and was about to object when she remembered how Decius had died and the fate that they had nearly suffered. “Come on boys we have a job to do.”

  Gaelwyn did not say a word. He just placed the spear head in the embers of the fire. Pol’s eyes were wide with fear. The ala had dismounted and were standing around in a circle, intrigued about the methods Gaelwyn would employ. When the head was glowing bright red he said to the capsarius, “Take off his bandage.” Everyone seemed to be holding his breath. The capsarius looked for a moment as though he was going to object but a quick look at the Prefect ensured that he performed the task.

  “I am not going to ask a question yet, at the same time, I am going to help you. Capsarius hold his shoulders. Livius hold his legs.”When the man could not struggle Gaelwyn threw
a piece of wood at the Prefect. “If you would put this between his teeth Prefect we wouldn’t want him biting his tongue off would we?” When Pol had the wood between his teeth, his eyes wide with terror wondering what Gaelwyn was going to do, Gaelwyn took the spear from the fire. “Your leg is bleeding, quite badly and the capsarius there will have to keep tightening the bandage. It might become infected and you might lose the leg and we don’t want that so I will save both your leg and you. I will seal the wound with this red hot blade and prevent the poison from taking your leg. Had I wine I could give you that for the pain but I have not and so my friend you will have to suffer this. I am sorry for the pain I am about to inflict.” He suddenly put the flat head of the spear on to the wound. Immediately there was the smell of burning hair and flesh. Pol tried, in vain, to lift himself against the weight of the three men and his eyes rolled back into his head with the pain. “You can thank me later for saving your leg. Livius remove his breeks.” Livius pulled the soiled and bloodied breeks revealing the warrior’s genitals. “Prefect you may remove the wood now for we need him to speak.”

  The Prefect was impressed by the calm quality of Gaelwyn’s voice which seemed to make it even more chilling. There was no threat and no anger just a quiet cold determination.

  Pol suddenly pleaded, “Please, please!.”

  “Please what? Stop? But all I have done is to save your leg.”

  “Do not hurt me! Please!” The warrior was almost whimpering with both the pain of the leg and the anticipation of… he knew not what.

  “In saving your leg I had to cause some pain. Isn’t that better, to suffer a little pain and survive than suffer with great pain? Now I will put the blade back into the fire because it is not hot enough and I will tell you what I will do next.” The blade hissed into the fire. “The leg has been repaired but I notice that you have two testicles there which I am sure you do not need but I don’t want the wound to become infected therefore I will cut them off with the hot blade. It will seal the wound and prevent the wound from becoming poisoned. Am I not a kind man Brigante?”

  “Please! No!”

  Gaelwyn withdrew the spear and slowly moved it up the healthy leg of the warrior. Pol could feel the heat from the blade and, when he looked at Gaelwyn, he could see that the Brigante scout was being careful not to touch the leg, almost as though he was being kind. The closer it came to his testicles the more he struggled but he was firmly held. “I would not struggle for I am an old man and my hands are stiffer these days than they were. If I slip then you may lose more than your testicles. Now do hold still for I am almost there.”

  Pol could feel the heat and he could suddenly smell the burning as the blade touched and singed the hairs at the top of his leg. “I will tell all! Please stop! I will tell all that I know!”

  Plunging the spear head hissing into the yellow stained snow between Pol’s legs, Gaelwyn stood up. “He’s all yours Prefect.”

  Looking at the scout with even greater respect Julius said, “Livius give the man his breeks and you,” he pointed at Pol, “ speak!”

  Pol could not get the words out quickly enough. “The Queen and Aodh sent us ahead last night to the fort. They were to join us today and meet us at the fort. They had somewhere they were going to hide but I do not know where it is. Believe me!”

  “Who is with the queen?”

  “There is Aodh and her two servants and eight warriors. The rest are dead.” His sobs and the puddle of urine told Julius that he was probably telling the truth.

  “Sounds right to me Prefect. And with this snow they could be anywhere.”

  “You are right Marcus. She is a cunning opponent. Tie his arms and mount him on his horse.” Julius idly kicked snow into the fire and looked around at the hills. Suddenly he roared, “Morwenna this is not over! We will find you! I swear by all that I hold dear! Gaelwyn, go with Livius and scout around the lake. See if you can find tracks. We will head back to Brocauum. Do not waste time looking for her but join us for I fear she is well hidden by now. I hope to be with the Legate by dark.”

  “Aye. I will look but the snow makes tracking almost impossible. She could be anywhere.”

  “The bitch is probably watching us even now.”

  “In that case Gaius she heard my oath and she knows I will find her.”

  Chapter 20

  The Legate had been at Brocauum for three days when the snows which had fallen with such force on the ala unleashed their power on the Carvetii stronghold. There were no deep valleys and high mountains to channel the snow and it swept across the moor land unchecked driving the snow into banks as high as a man. “I hope the Prefect has found some shelter from this storm Titus.”

  “He struck me Sir, as a resourceful man.”

  “Indeed and so young too.” He warmed his hands on the glowing brazier and became more business like. “We have how many captives?”

  “There are twenty here and almost two hundred at Morbium.”

  “They will fetch a fine price.” Titus looked askance at the Legate. “No not here. Prices are far too low. No I shall send them to Rome. Some of these warriors will make gladiators and the rest all have strong backs, perfect for the mines. The Emperor prefers Celts to Dacians. Those from Dacia have to be constantly chained and watched. The Celts soon accept our ways. Now about the leaders. The Prefect said that there were leaders here. Do you recognise any?”

  Titus became embarrassed; it was only in the battle around Morbium that he had bothered to look at the enemy. Until then he had been safely ensconced behind walls. “No Sir.”

  He was relieved to hear the Legate agree, “No me neither. The Prefect and his men were the closest to them we will await his return.”

  “If he does return Sir. There may be more rebels in the hills.”

  “I daresay these auxiliaries know the land and the people. They have, after all, been here a lot longer than we have.”

  “The settlement is a little crowded Sir.”

  “I know and the cohort from the Ninth feels a trifle superfluous, after all it is the Tungrians I shall be leaving here as a garrison. I think the Ninth want to get back to Eboracum before the winter settles in.”

  “You have decided then Sir?”

  “Yes Morbium is all very well for the eastern side of the north but we need something in the middle to show we have not left. Luguvalium can be supplied and reinforced by sea as can Morbium but here it is exposed. We need a whole cohort here, perhaps more. It may be that I station the Prefect’s cavalry here.”

  “They are much depleted Sir. Has Rome mentioned reinforcements and replacements?”

  “I think the Emperor is still busy with the funeral games for the Emperor Domitian but the slaves should encourage the Imperial book-keepers to be a little more generous eh? And now we await the return of our horse.”

  The next evening the Legate heard the shout from the main gates. “Cavalry approaching!”

  By the time the Legate and Tribune had arrived at the entrance the weary, snow driven travellers were dismounting, their exhaustion evident. “Children and a woman!”

  “Is that the Queen Legate?”

  Laughing at the awe in Titus’ voice Appius said, “No I remember seeing her on the field at Eboracum, she was a red head. I believe this is the family which was abducted by the Caledonii. We may have an interesting and diverting tale this evening. Welcome Prefect.”

  “Sir!”

  “No Queen then?”

  “No Sir, sorry Sir.”

  “No that was not a criticism. Come to the headman’s home I have commandeered it and bring the er, well the rest of your party.”

  Once they were in the warmth Julius introduced everyone. “This is the Legate, Appius Mocius Camillus. This is the former Prefect Marcus Aurelius Maximunius, the Brigante scout Gaelwyn, Former Decurion Princeps Gaius Metellus Aurelius and his wife Ailis. The three boys are their children and the son of Decurion Macro.”

  “Sit sit. Annius bring some blankets an
d warm drinks, we cannot have people freezing to death in this forsaken piece of the Empire.” Soon they were all warmer and the children lay, asleep at their mother’s feet. The Legate smiled; he had never had time for a family but the sight of the boys and the mother made him wish that, perhaps he had done so. “So Tribune,“ Marcus started at the use of his former title. “Yes Tribune I recognised the name. There are not many leaders who are so renowned that they have an ala named after them. I am indeed honoured to meet you. So you managed to rescue the family,” his sweeping arm expansively took in the small group.

  “Yes Sir. We had to travel all the way to Caledonia but we succeeded. There are still many Brigante captives there.”

  “I know. I know. I am afraid that a reprisal raid to rescue them is out of the question for the moment. All we can do is to hold on to what we have and hold on by out fingertips at that.”

  “We could not have managed it without the heroic sacrifice of Decurion Macro, “Marcus gestured at the sleeping Young Decius, “the boy’s father. I believe he deserves an honour for his action.”

  The Legate put his fingers together and held them under his chin. “Uhm. Would this be the same Decurion who assaulted a sentry and broke out of Cataractonium by any chance?”

  “Sir Decurion Macro was not arrested. He was placed in the cells for his own protection. He was upset because his son had been kidnapped. I don’t think the sentry actually complained.”

  “A little lame Prefect but… so this Decurion Macro did not desert then?”

  “No Sir.”

  “Was he on some sort of mission? Perhaps ordered by his Prefect?” The Legate had no wish for a controversy to spoil what had become a great victory. He had served long enough to know that the events following the assault were far more important than the act itself.

  “That is it exactly Sir.”

  “Good well in that case we can arrange for a decoration which will, of course, mean a small stipend for his son. Now about the Queen.”