by Griff Hosker
She noticed the angry young man standing behind the king and realised that he must be the younger brother Banquo. He might be someone she could use.
“I came because I want to know how to defeat the Romans but I am not yet convinced that I need an alliance with these Selgovae dogs.”
She put her fingers to his lips. “That is not the tone a king should adopt. At least not before he has discovered what we can offer.” She waved a hand around the hut which was large enough to sleep twenty men easily. “You have no need to have your men surrounding you as though you expect to be murdered. This is a place of peace and I guarantee that no harm will come to any within this hut. Please, bring in most of your men. Leave a token guard without.”
“Why should I?” he was aware that he sounded petulant. He could not think of a reason why he needed his men outside. He knew that one warrior lying across the door of the chamber would be an effective deterrent. He just did not like obeying someone else. He was, after all, king.
“Because I ask you. Tomorrow morning we will make our sacrifice. If it does not please you then you can leave but I promise you that the sacrifice will make you want to stay and to join the alliance of the free people against Rome.”
Her voice was calm and soothing and Ardal could not think of an argument. “Banquo, bring in all but two men.” He opened his mouth as though he would argue but Ardal waved a dismissive hand.
“Good. Now we shall have a feast tomorrow evening when the ceremony of alliance is over. There we will show you the weapons we have which will defeat the Romans. Until then please think about the reasons we are here.”
After she had gone and he and Banquo had time to talk he wondered at the power of this woman and her voice. He had heard that she was a witch and now he believed in the power of the woman. She had made him change his mind with just her presence.
“I do not know why you let her change your mind, brother.”
“In the same way that I do not know why you disobeyed my orders and attacked Uncle Ban.”
“He would not come from his fort.”
“Then you should have waited until he did. Now we have many of those who live close to Mercaut and Am Beal resent us for he was a popular man. We will have to work hard to make them loyal again. It is why we need to be here for you have now made the Romans our enemies.”
“They attacked me!”
His voice became harsh, “Remember I spoke with Angus of Am Beal. He spoke with the Romans and our cousin. I know that they came to the aid of Ban. It is you, my headstrong and wilful little brother, who have set us on this road to war so do not question my decisions.”
The next morning as dawn broke over a misty bay the kings were met by one of the priestesses Caronwyn had brought with her. They were led up a gentle path to a small plateau above the fort. There was a small pond there and the ground around was boggy. Briac and his kin were the first to arrive and they noticed that Caronwyn was already present, shrouded in a white cloak with a hooded priestess next to her. King Feanan stood nearby with a mighty warrior who held a war hammer in his hand. A path of rushes had been laid across the boggy ground. Briac was intrigued. He knew that a sacrifice was to be made but he knew not what type. He looked around for the animal which was to be slaughtered but he saw none.
The next to arrive was his cousin, Tadgh, of the Carvetii. He and his men stood next to Briac. Soon they were joined by the rest of the Novontae and they were just awaiting the arrival of the two warring tribes, the Votadini and the Selgovae. Briac could not help admiring the way that Caronwyn had managed things for the two kings and their warriors arrived at exactly the same time from opposite directions. King Tole and his men stood to the left of Briac while King Ardal stood to the right of Feanan’s men.
The mist still hung around giving the place an eerie and mystical atmosphere. Without a word being spoken all fell silent and Caronwyn threw off her cloak revealing that was naked beneath. In her hand she held a long and wicked looking blade. Briac could see that it had an engraved blade and that the hilt was covered in what looked to be bone and animal parts.
When Caronwyn spoke everyone jumped a little as her voice rang out across the misty bog. “We are gathered here today because the Mother has called us. She has been violated by the Roman wall which has cut her in two. We are here to join together to fight this insidious enemy and rid the land of this pernicious wall. We are here to join together the tribes who have fought against each other. The Mother knows that we must share our common blood. To do that blood must be shed and a sacrifice made.”
There was silence and then the hooded priestess threw off her cloak and revealed her naked body. This time there was an audible gasp for it was Radha, the former Queen of the Votadini. She had an emaciated body and a skin so thin that the veins and the bones could be clearly seen through it. She walked forwards, albeit slowly, and stood at the edge of the rush walkway next to Caronwyn.
“Today we sacrifice a Queen and a priestess of the cult of the Mother. Do you give yourself to the Mother willingly?”
“I do. I go to the Mother with joy in my heart for with my death will come victory and I will watch the Romans fall and the wall crumble from the Otherworld.”
Caronwyn kissed her and led her to the edge of the water. The warrior with the hammer followed her as did King Feanan. Caronwyn stepped back and said, “Go to the Mother and return to the earth.”
The warrior hit Radha on the back of the head. She fell to the ground. The warrior picked her up and King Feanan put his hands around her neck and slowly began to strangle her. Finally, with the two Novontae supporting her, Caronwyn slit Radha’s throat. The spurting blood told them all that she was still alive until that moment. The body was then lowered, reverently into the water. Almost as though it had been planned the mist evaporated and a weak sun appeared from the east. Caronwyn and the priestesses who stood around gave a joyful ululation which resounded around the hills.
Silence fell and Caronwyn said, “Radha’s sacrifice has been made. King Tole and King Ardal will you join hands in friendship?” It was an imperative rather than a question.
The air was filled with tension. Briac had no idea if they would do as Caronwyn had said. The naked priestess stood there with her arms outstretched. Slowly the two kings walked forward and each took one of her hands. She moved the hands together until the two kings were palm to palm. She took the knife she had used to sacrifice Radha and, with the blood still dripping, she put a slice in the palm of each of the kings’ hands. Pressing them together she said, “Now you are brothers. The feud is over and now we can go to war!”
The whole of the hillside erupted in cheers as the kings embraced. The alliance had been forged in blood and blood would flow; Roman blood.
Chapter 12
The Tungrian detachment who occupied Glanibanta enjoyed their life on the lake. There were just a few people who lived close by and they had been more than friendly towards them. During the harsh winter they had just endured the local fishermen and sheep herders had brought supplies to them. Centurion Julius Decius Duocus could not believe his good fortune. Next year would see his twenty five year enlistment end and he would take his stipend and open a tavern close to the fort. It was the only thing missing. He would enjoy the peaceful life on the long lake.
The sentry had summoned him just after dawn. He went to the Porta Decumana. “What is it, soldier?”
The auxiliary pointed to the other side of the ditch. “It looks like the locals are feeding us again.”
The centurion could not believe his eyes the locals were pushing carts and they looked to be laden with supplies. He frowned in suspicion. “What’s this about? Winter is over and we aren’t short of supplies.”
The auxiliary had been born in Britannia; he was not a Tungrian. “It could be the feast of Eostre. It is the custom to give away some of your own food to celebrate the spring and to guarantee a good harvest.” He shrugged, “They might get annoyed if we don’t take it.”
It made perfect sense to the centurion who looked down at the carcass of the freshly slaughtered lambs and anticipated the sweet succulent meat. As he descended the ladder he shouted. “Open the gate. Get the cooks out here.”
He stood and watched as the gates were opened. To his horror he was not greeted by a friendly crowd of villagers with food, instead he was faced by a band of warriors who had grabbed the spears and swords hidden in the carts by the lambs. Even as he pulled out his gladius and shouted, “Stand to!” he knew he would never open a tavern.
He slashed his gladius across the throat of the warrior whose spear had glanced off the centurion’s mail. His optio ran up with a maniple of men who had their shields all ready to protect their centurion. The ten men formed a line and began to move towards the advancing Brigante. Centurion Julius Decius saw warriors smashing the skulls of the surprised auxiliaries they had surrounded. Already half of the eighty man garrison was dead or dying. The spears of the auxiliaries began to force back the warriors. The centurion held out a kind of hope that they might be able to drive them back to the gate. He grabbed the spear head in his left hand and ripped upwards with his gladius. The Brigante fell screaming to the ground.
“Come on lads, keep pushing.”
The auxiliaries were now rhythmically stabbing with their spears and punching with their shields. Julius Decius began to believe that they had a chance. They were just ten paces from the gates and the warriors were not advancing as quickly as they had been. As the centurion looked he saw that there were just six of them left. He had no doubt that there were others behind him still fighting but he could not risk turning.
The Brigante had seen the danger of this handful of men. Four of them roared their challenge and they recklessly charged the shieldless centurion. Their long swords, made for Roman horsemen, had a longer reach than the centurion’s gladius. He blocked one with his sword and tried to grab a second with his hand. It cost him three fingers. One of the spathas slid through his mail links and scored a cut along his side. His helmet took the force of the last sword. He punched his bloody and maimed hand at the eyes of one warrior and ripped his gladius across his stomach. He now had room to move and he pulled his sword back to kill a third. As he did so the fourth warrior swung his spatha horizontally and it sliced into the neck to the centurion. His head rolled along the ground and his optio looked at his leader’s body in horror. While he had lived they had had a chance. Now they had none.
The last three Romans extracted a terrible price from the Brigante but eventually their hacked bodies showed that sheer numbers had won. Glanibanta had fallen.
The same thing happened at all the forts to the west of the Roaring Water. Roman power ceased for a large part of the frontier. The rebellion had begun.
The Camp Prefect at Eboracum was a gourmand. He enjoyed his food. When he had discovered the cook in the home of a Brigante noble he had moved heaven and earth to acquire his services. He knew that he had upset the noble when the man sold his home in Eboracum and moved west towards Mamucium. It did not worry the veteran. He had managed to acquire a fortune through lucrative deals and cheating local businessmen. He could afford the cook and, when his time was up and he retired to Gaul, then he would have the finest cook outside of the Emperor’s Palace.
Gaius Metellus Portus was not a stingy man. He enjoyed having his friends around him. To celebrate the birthday of one of the Tribunes of the VIth he organised a fine feast. He had some wine from a particularly attractive female merchant, Flavia Gemellus. He had been amazed at the low price she had charged. He suspected that she was trying to bribe him. He cared not. He was open to bribes anyway. The wine he sampled was so rich and full of body that he knew he could cut it with half water and his guests would not know.
When the day of the feast arrived the only officers not invited were the centurions; the Prefect was with the Governor in Camulodunum but all the others were there. Gaius Metellus Portus did not mind the expense he would make far more from the charges he would levy. The VIth would pay for the feast but it would be the legionaries who would suffer and not their officers.
The head cook came in to watch them eat their first course. It was a dish of fresh oysters served with a snail sauce. The taste was divine. The whole room applauded the cook, who took a small bow. “I promise you masters that you will not forget your next course. I have stuffed a swan with a goose, with a duck with a hen and finally with a partridge.”
The room erupted once more and Gaius Metellus Portus clapped his hands in glee. “I think, gentlemen, that now is the time for our first wine.” A slave brought in the white wine. He had cut it by half.
The taste was divine. He knew that the red one was even better. That would be served after the swan course. They chatted amiably. The VIth were happy to be away from the frontier in the relatively civilised town of Eboracum. Although it had been the men who had had to build the wall they had lost a number of officers to Selgovae attacks. Here they could sleep knowing they would wake up! It was not so up on the frontier.
The cook, modestly, did not appear when the swan, looking as though alive, arrived. The slave carved choice portions for the officers and they waited until they had been served before, at a nod from Gaius Metellus Portus, they all tucked in. The taste was exquisite. Gaius had very refined taste buds and his tongue and mind struggled to identify the subtle under taste which lingered on his lips. He swallowed and took a sip of the wine. He picked up another morsel and felt a savage pain in his stomach. Had he eaten too quickly? The pain became even more intense. It felt as though someone had reached into his stomach and was squeezing the life out of his insides. He looked and saw that every other officer was suffering the same. As the pain became so intense that he began to black out he realised that they had all been poisoned.
The second stage of the insurrection had begun. The Brigante cook, placed there by the rebel Brigante, slipped out of the city and took a boat downstream. There he would rejoin his master and fight the Romans.
When First Spear, Quintus Licinius Brocchus, was summoned he could not take in the scene. Every senior officer save the Prefect and the Legate were dead. He watched as a feral cat slipped in and leapt to the table. A legionary went to move it but Decius Veridius waved his hand to stop him. The cat began to eat the flesh of the swan. After two mouthfuls it let out a squeal and began to tear at its own stomach. It died moments later.
First Spear nodded, “It looks like the food was poisoned. Find the cooks and interrogate them. Burn all this food.”
The legionary looked sadly at the wine. “And the wine?”
“The stuff that has been opened, pour it away. We can’t take the chance that it was poisoned too.”
The legionary nodded and the centurion did not notice the sly look on his face. The man had seen two amphorae of red wine outside the dining room and they had not been opened. He and his barracks would enjoy that wine later. He would not be disobeying orders.
The cook was not found and despite the tortures inflicted on the rest of the kitchen staff no one could say where the cook had gone. Quintus Licinius Brocchus sent the messages first to the Legate on the wall and then to the Governor. The VIth was incapacitated.
The century managed to sneak the amphorae into their barracks unseen. It cost them a jug or two in bribes but it was worth it. They knew their limitations and they knew what they liked. They cut the wine two to one with water. It would last longer. Their actions saved many of them for the wine, too, had been poisoned. The backup plan in case the poisoned food did not work had succeeded. Stage three was in place and all over the northern half of the Roman Empire Flavia Gemellus’ expensive wine claimed high ranking Romans and influential tribal leaders. The Celtic affection for their wine would cost them dear.
First Spear Broccus was exhausted by the time he went to bed. He had to write more reports and send more messages in one day than in the last month. He had checked the gates of the fort and no one could get in or out.
The sentries had all been doubled and there was an armed guard on all of the food. He was taking no chances. All of the officers and senior officials might be dead but so long as he was in command then Eboracum would not fall. He had even taken the precaution of putting a sentry outside his quarters. He almost fell on to the bed and was asleep before his head hit the pillow.
Septimus Gaius Agrippa had ambitions. He would be an optio soon. The fact that First Spear had chosen him to guard his quarters was evidence of that. No Brigante warrior would get past him.
He heard First Spear snoring and smiled to himself. It sounded like a bull breaking wind. Suddenly he caught a whiff of perfume and his smile turned to a frown. One of the slaves appeared with a goblet of wine. She was a slave, that was clear but Septimus had never seen such an attractive one before. His eyes could not help but take in every uncia of her form.
He put his arm out. “Where do you think you are going?”
“It is for First Spear. He ordered it.”
“Well he is asleep so off you go.”
She looked disappointed and her eyes widened. If you do not trust me then you can give it to him.”
Septimus began to wonder if First Spear had ordered it. He did not wish to damage his chances by upsetting the centurion. “How do I know it isn’t poisoned?”
She lifted it to her full red lips and she drank a mouthful. “See. Taste it yourself.”
The legionary decided he would taste it and then, after he had sent her away, he would place it next to the sleeping centurion. That way he would have protected First Spear and yet not annoyed him. He took the goblet with his right hand. As he did so the razor sharp dagger was ripped across his throat. It happened so quickly that he felt nothing. The last thing he saw was the blood spurting and the slave girl grabbing the goblet before it fell from his lifeless fingers.
She was stronger than she looked and she lowered the body to the ground. After placing the goblet next to the body she slipped through the door as silently as a puff of wind. She saw the huge Roman lying on his back. He was snoring so loudly she could have marched in the room wearing caligae. She stepped closer. He had his left arm across his neck and appeared to be sleeping on his right. She could not cut his throat. She knew she had to kill him quickly and so she turned the blade and raised it. She would drive it through his eye and into his brain.