by Griff Hosker
The war chief of the Carvetii knew that his warriors would sacrifice themselves for the honour of killing the mighty Alerix but he had the Queen to catch. He signalled to his archers; within less than a minute the two warriors were mortally wounded and covered in arrows, even so they had the strength to raise their swords and shout “Cartimandua” before dying.
After a mile or so of hard riding Ulpius slowed to a walk. He turned to Lentius. “Wait here. When they come, ride and let me know. Wait until your horse is ready to ride. That will be time enough.”
He rode next to the Queen. “There has been no pursuit. Your warriors died well.”
“They were oathsworn. It was their duty to die. They will be reunited and live forever.” Ulpius nodded. His own people had a similar belief. There was no finer end for a warrior than to die honourably with a blade in his hand.
Ulpius nodded towards the Queen’s sword which he could see in her chariot. “I have never seen so fine a blade. It is a noble weapon.”
It has been handed down for five generations and came with us from over the water. They say it is an ancient blade with magic and protects its bearer.”
“Do you believe that?”
“None of my ancestors died with it in their hand. It was old age or treachery which killed them all. It is always close to my hand.”
“Does it have a name as most powerful weapons do?”
“It is called Sax Lacus in our tongue. Sword of the lake.”
“I am happy that you have such a weapon.” He smiled sardonically. “It will make my job much easier.”
She caught his eye as she murmured.”I am happy too Roman.” The Queen felt feelings well up in her for this warrior, this man. She glanced at Vellocatus who was a fine and strong youth but she knew that if she ever bedded the Roman it would be a more satisfying experience.
Despite its fine sounding name the reality of the sword was somewhat different from the legend. It had been made by the Celts in the land called Gaul before it was conquered by the Romans. It was made by the finest swordsmsith who used his own blood in its casting. When the Romans had conquered Gaul one of the last warrior chieftains to leave took the sword with him and went to the land of the Iceni in Britannia. Being a belligerent warrior he fought and argued with his hosts and decided to travel north with a few retainers to seek a new kingdom. It was in the land of the Brigante in the valley of two lakes when the legend really began. The uncle of Cartimandua’s ancestor was hunting with a few warriors when he came across the sword and the unpleasant Celt. They fought hand to hand and the Brigante won. However his victory was short lived for the retainers shot arrows in to the Celts until they were all dead. The only one to see where the sword fell was the great, great grandfather of Cartimandua’s father. He waited until the following day, waded out and retrieved it from below the surface. It was fortunate for him that other warriors of the Brigante were passing the lake as he emerged with the sword in his hand. Although he had been the outsider to inherit the kingdom the superstitious Brigante felt this was an omen and he was pronounced king. The legend of a sword from the lake calling to him came from his own mind. His great, great, great granddaughter inherited all of his guile, cunning and adaptability.
Drusus and Metellus had seen the movement of the Queen’s bodyguards and, unsure if that was an enemy they had ridden away to the south. Fortunately for them they were hidden from their pursuers by a line of trees and the curve of the hill so it was that they unwittingly led the Carvetii into the ambush and caused more casualties than if they had not been followed. Hearing the scream of battle they were able to surmise that it had been a Brigante ambush.
“We can rest the horses a little now Metellus. I am not sure we are still following the line of march of Ulpius.” His leader had told him to rejoin him but their detour had taken them away from the trail taken by the auxiliaries. Drusus knew that they had to make a choice or die.
Metellus shaded his eyes against the sky. “I think Eboracum is in that direction. He pointed southwest. If we continue in this line we will either see the rest of the turma over there or reach Eboracum. And I don’t fancy going back in that direction.” He gestured over his shoulder.
“No you are right there. It is as good a plan as any.” Having made a decision the two cavalrymen felt more contented. As troopers they were normally detached from the main army and both had learned years before that, unlike the legions with their massed ranks and security in numbers, they had to think in the saddle and use their wits. They walked their horses over the flat plain between two low hills giving the winded mounts some time to recover for who knew when they would need to gallop again. They were beginning to believe they would reach Eboracum, as they crested the low hill to the south. The sight which met them made them both clutch at their sacred amulets murmuring for the Allfather to protect his sons. Before them was a whole warband of Carvetii. Drusus estimated that they were about the same number as an ala, five hundred. Metellus who had the sharpest eyes shouted, “That is Venutius!”
They had no choice and they galloped as hard as they could to the north for that was away from their enemy and towards their few friends.
The light was beginning to dip behind the hills in the distant West when he heard the hoof beats of Lentius’ horse. “No pursuit decurion. They have either gone a different way or given up.”
“Excellent.” For the first time Ulpius believed they might make it. The horses could smell the river and were eagerly riding towards it. That meant that they were so close to Eboracum and the safety of the legion that they could have walked there in the time it takes for the sun to set on a spring evening. The last barrier was the river, not as mighty this far north of Eboracum but difficult to cross with a chariot. They were almost at the river when Marcus shouted the alarm; he was riding five hundred paces to the south of the much diminished band when he saw the movement of mounted men galloping over the rise.
“It is Drusus and Metellus.” As soon as they heard the alarm every man took his javelin out and checked the strapping on his oval shield.
Ulpius could see his men riding for all they were worth. The fronts of their horses were covered in sweat and they were almost out on their hooves. Drusus was shouting long before he was close. “It is a trap.” He pointed behind him. “The Carvetii.”
Venutius roared his pleasure when he saw how pitifully few the Romans were. They would not be able to escape him and he would have the bitch Cartimandua to parade before her subjects a visible sign that he, Venutius, was the rightful king of the Brigante and the Carvetii. The Vellocatus boy would be castrated alive and then left for the crows, ravens and magpies. He drew his sword. “Kill the Romans but I want the Queen and her boy alive!”
Ulpius could now see how clever and devious Venutius had been. The scouts hadn’t been chasing; they were the stopper in the bottle, the hound driving the stag on to the spears. The Carvetii leader had known where they would take the Queen and had ridden north east not north west. His men and horses would be fresher; not that that would be an issue for he outnumbered the Romans by at least ten to one. Behind Drusus he could see the Carvetii army. There were chariots, horses and foot soldiers. Their enemy intended to cut them off and prevent them from reaching the safety of Eboracum. He made up his mind quickly. The river twisted and turned southward to Eboracum. “Right lads we are heading down there towards the river. The queen can use the chariot as a boat and float down to Eboracum. We’ll buy her time. Let’s go.” He secretly hoped that the current would take them to the other shore and they would be safe from the arrows and slings of their attackers but at least the river was a safer option.
They rode hard. They were riding towards the enemy but also getting closer to the river. When they reached the banks they dismounted and the auxilia began to strip the chariot of all that was heavy. Ulpius looked over to the approaching barbarians. It would be a close run thing and he feared that he and his men would have to sacrifice themselves in order to secure
the Queen’s escape. Decius shouted, “Ready sir.”
“Lower it into the river, gently we don’t want it breaking up or floating away. “They began to lower the wooden chariot into the water.
“I am not going.” The queen’s words told the Romans that they would not be able to persuade her. Their ride, the sacrifice of the bodyguards, the deaths of the auxiliaries had all been in vain. They would be slaughtered and without any command the troopers turned to face the enemy now less than two thousand paces away.
“But your majesty.”
“I cannot swim.” She smiled an engaging smile that helped to harden their resolve. “Besides decurion as long as I hold the sword I cannot die.”
He nodded, he had already assumed he was going to die but he had been prepared to die so that the queen might live. If this tough old queen wanted to join him, sword in hand, then he could understand it. At least they would take a good number of the enemy with them. “Shields!” The men locked their shields into a wall. They were not as solid as legionary shields but they were better than nought. Ulpius gazed at the approaching horde and then his men, their advantage was their shields, their armour and, most importantly, their discipline; typically, they were bare chested and only a few had any kind of helmet, there were also few shields. That would give the Romans the edge for when they threw their javelins each one would take out an enemy and that would slow up those behind. They would still die but they would take many of the Carvetii with them. It was not in his nature to give up hope; as long as he had a weapon and his men around him Ulpius Felix would always believe he could not only survive but win. “Remember who we are. Remember we fight for each other and remember these bastards only want one prisoner and she has tits!” The men laughed at the irreverence as did the queen who admired the way her rescuer was undaunted by his imminent death. The only one who looked upset was Vellocatus who glared at Ulpius’ back.
The enemy were less than a five hundred paces away when the Romans heard the unmistakeable sound of buccinas. It was the ala! Had they arrived too late? They were unable to see their friends in the gloom but they could see by the way the enemy horse swerved to their right where they were coming from. “Right you useless buggers. Die hard and some of us might live. Those are our brothers coming to help us. Don’t let me down! If I die first I’ll kick your arses when you get to Elysium.”
They laughed at the gallows’s humour. “Caltrops. The men in the front row suddenly hurled the many pointed pieces of metal towards the enemy chariots. The ponies were unshod and the caltrops would cause serious damage. The Romans knew their efficacy having encountered them in Batavia- they knew what would happen to this solid line of horses. Their narrow frontage helped and, as the first ponies reared, bucked and tried to turn. The whole of the enemy vanguard was thrown into confusion. Ponies tried to veer away only to hit other chariots or more caltrops. They reared, tossed and threw their riders and chariots into each other. The entire vanguard was stopped and hurled into complete confusion. Taking advantage of the hiatus Ulpius roared, “Javelins!” The first volley flew over the heads of the first rank and totally disrupted the whole attack. As they prepared to launch their second volley some of those who had fallen from the chariots began to hurl axes and spears. “Javelins.” The second volley took out some of those who had survived. As they unsheathed their swords Ulpius had a quick look to see their casualties. One of his men had taken a hit to the throat from an axe thrown from a charging tribesman and was bleeding to death. One or two had had cuts but it was Vellocatus and Cartimandua who had taken the most damage. Vellocatus was lying with a spear embedded deep in his stomach-a death wound. Cartimandua was holding her right arm, a javelin pinning it to the ground. He had no chance to help her for a huge warrior leapt over the chariots screaming and waving a two handed broadaxe. He only had time to react. He threw his shield to the left and dived to the right. They faced each other both recognising that they fought an experienced warrior. Ulpius kept his eyes on his opponent’s face looking for the movement of his eyes which would tell him how he would fight. He saw his enemies eyes flick towards his sword and even as the axe sliced down Ulpius thrust the boss of his shield as the weapon. The blade slid off the metal and Ulpius thrust towards the warrior’s face. He was too wily to be taken so early and he merely stepped back almost laughing. Ulpius was unconcerned; he had seen how the man reacted. Next time it would end. He swung his sword at the Brigante knowing that he was opening up his left side. His opponent saw the opening and smashed down at the shield. He hit with incredible force and Ulpius turned slightly so that the warrior carried on forward and when his momentum opened up his left side Ulpius stabbed upwards finding a vital organ almost immediately. He had no time for satisfaction as he sensed someone coming from his right. He instinctively struck backhanded and felt the blade sink into soft flesh. He turned and saw that he had caught the man fought bare chested and his blade had cut both the tops of his arms and the top of his chest; not death wounds. He finished the man off by cutting his throat. He looked up and saw Marcus without a shield trying to fight two men with his sword and the broken end of a javelin. Ulpius charged one of them men and almost decapitated him with his sword. Marcus ended the life of his companion with a javelin he picked from a dead body and slid it into the unprotected throat of the assailant.
Drusus and Metellus were fighting as a pair each one watching out for the other. Close by the Brigante scout Osgar was using his sling to mighty effect; to their front was a wedge of Carvetii. The leader fought without any upper body armour save for a golden torc, a blue painted face and a winged helmet. Even as he came towards him Drusus couldn’t help musing on this belief from the Brigante that painting your face gave you magical protection. Osgar took aim with his sling only to be stabbed by a spear from his side. Drusus knew immediately that he was in danger and he turned his shield to his left. As he did so the war chief charged forward, his warriors alongside. Drusus took the thrust of the axe on his sword; he was struck on the head by an axe thrown by one of the warriors. His helmet saved his life but he was knocked down. He would have died there and then but Metellus hacked down on the neck of the warrior striking a vital vein. Before Drusus could thank his companion two warriors sliced and hacked into Metellus unprotected side and his lifeless body fell onto Drusus whose world drifted into blackness.
Marcus and Lentius saw Metellus and Drusus go down and charged into the side of the Carvetii formation. They were enraged and the enemy group was slaughtered as they continued to hack at the lifeless body of the huge auxiliary. With no enemies to their front Lentius and Marcus dragged Drusus away from his dead comrade. They did not know if he was dead or alive but they could see that Metellus had joined the Allfather.
Venutius was becoming angry that this tiny handful of Roman warriors was thwarting his attempt at ending the Queen’s life. The crashed and ruined chariots were a barrier around the beleaguered Romans; his warriors were being picked off before they could get to the enemy. The auxiliaries were using their bows with great accuracy to pick off the warriors as they tried to climb over the barrier. With little of no armour each arrow took out a warrior who in turn became part of an even bigger barrier. He turned to his bodyguards; he would take his elite and kill these upstarts. “Form on me! Wedge!” Before he could advance he heard the strident sound of a buccina. Romans! He looked in the direction of the river, towards the south and saw a mass of men. It was the garrison of Eboracum.
One of his scouts, bleeding from an arrow wound rode up. “It is the Roman cavalry; they have destroyed Calga and his men. They will be here in a heartbeat we must flee or die.”
Cursing his luck Venutius realised he would have to withdraw; he clutched at his sacred charm, given to him by a witch in the hope that its power would help him to survive. Unwittingly the Romans had copied his plan; the Queen and her rescuers were pinning the warband and they were being attacked in the flank. If it was just the cavalry then he might be able to defeat them but i
f it was the legion…There was still time. He might have lost the battle but this was but the opening of a campaign which would see the end of Cartimandua and the eviction of the Roman infestation from his lands. “Withdraw!” His standard bearer waved it in a circular fashion, the signal to retreat. Those warriors who could see it began to withdraw but those facing the two Roman forces kept fighting the bloodlust filling their heads.
There were barely a handful of his auxiliaries left and Ulpius looked up expecting the end. He could see the bodies of his men, some seeping their life into the ground others barely alive but all hope of life leaving their eyes. His horizon was filled with enemies; as the arrows diminished in numbers so more of them made it over the barrier where Ulpius stood like a bronze statue, he hacked and chopped those who stumbled and fell across the sea of bodies and they sank to the ground. He heard a call which brought his fading hopes alive it was the buccina! The enemies before him unexpectedly thinned behind the warrior he despatched with his spatha and he saw, with grim delight, that the enemy to his front were dead or dying and he suddenly saw troopers from his ala were charging and pursuing the rest as they fled the field. The rout was complete as the Romans outnumbered the fleeing tribesmen who would be slaughtered if they faced the fresh Roman troops. He turned quickly to Cartimandua who was lying ashen faced in a pool of blood. “You fight well decurion. My poor Vellocatus will fight no more.” She gently touched the still, silent face of her lover.