Hosker, G [Sword of Cartimandua 01] The Sword of Cartimandua

by Griff Hosker

  “Tell me of this Yule festival. What do you savages eat?”

  “Any of the chickens or geese which will not live through the winter.”

  “What special foods?”

  “There is a pudding made of the last of the summer fruits, the old meat which we can no longer eat, some spices, when we can get them, and they are soaked in the wine made from the elder tree.”

  “And does everyone eat?”

  “It is considered a dishonour not to eat,” the Briton was shocked at the lack of etiquette from the Roman. Everyone knew that to eat the pudding brought good fortune for the following year. Why would people not wish to have good fortune?

  He dismissed her with a wave. Here was his chance the alcohol and the spices would mask the taste. It was one dish they would all eat. He cared not if Lenta and Macha also died. He just wanted Ulpius to die and he was being paid to kill Cartimandua. He would have to try to keep the tribune away from the food but if he died then he died. Cresens would not risk all to save an alliance that so far had brought him little.

  He strode over to the kitchen are with the newly arrived spices from Rome. The cook was pleased to see him, as he knew he would be. Cresens for his part was fulsome in his praise for the cook.

  “Thank you Gaius. If it were not for these magic ingredients I would struggle to make the swill they call food here edible.”

  “Just so Julius, just so. And what are we making here?”

  “This is the pudding the Brigante like to eat. The queen has asked me to make a special one for her and she has given me this.” He held up a bottle of the spirit distilled from the elder wine, a rare libation reserved for special occasions. “Here,” he looked around guiltily, “try some.”

  Cresens felt his throat burn with a warm sensation. The taste continued after he had swallowed. “A rare drink indeed. Will you put it all in there?”

  The cook leered at the quartermaster. “I feel sure I will have a little left for use to share.”

  “Is the pudding finished then?”

  “Almost. I have tasted it and it is now ready for the liquid.”

  “You do not taste after the wine has been added?”

  “There is no point it would only taste of the drink.” There was an almighty crash behind him and the cook turned to beat the slave who had dropped the dishes. Cresens took his opportunity. He poured the phial of poison over the pudding. By the time the cook had turned around the liquid had soaked into the other ingredients.

  As he left Cresens almost did a dance of joy; the queen and Ulpius would die in the next three days and when next boats arrived in the spring he would return to Rome a very rich man. He needed now to ingratiate himself with the tribune and governor to make his return to Rome even easier.

  Ulpius and his lover were oblivious to their impending danger; as was their normal practice they lay in each other’s arms forgetful of their responsibilities of people and troopers and only mindful of each other. They indulged in the trivialities which had been absent from their lives for so long. They talked of names for the child, their plans for his future and how they would live together. Both were aware of the impracticalities but the queen was certain they could be overcome.

  “If needs be I will buy you out of Rome’s service but I am sure, as with Flavius Gerantium, the Emperor will allow to serve me.” She gave a flirtatious giggle. “Not necessarily as he did but serve me you shall.”

  He raised himself on one elbow. “What of Marcus and your sister? Will they enjoy life as we have?”

  “I am sure something will be arranged. What is the point of being a queen if you can’t make things happen? We might be a client ally of Rome but, until Rome has conquered all of these lands she will need all the allies she can get. I realised that long ago. I saw how Togadunum and Caractactus were destroyed, wafted aside by your legions. If they could not stand, the most powerful tribe then we had no chance. Boudicca proved that when she tried to take them on. Some people may resent what I have done but my people still prosper, my people still have their homes and customs and they still have their own ruler.”

  “And still a beautiful ruler.”

  She reached up and pulled him towards her. “If that is your way of saying you are ready again well so am I.”

  Chapter 11

  Eboracum

  Considering it was supposed to be the depths of winter, the feast of Yule arrived with a bright sunny day. To the Brigante it was a good day, although the Romans found it far too cold for their taste. The governor had decreed that only essential guards need be on duty whilst the rest could enjoy the feast, He was annoyed that the queen had declined his invitation to join him for the feast and rumour had it that she was to dine with some barbarian cavalrymen. His decision to send them off was a wise one. He picked at his olives and looked around at the senior officers gather around him. He yearned to be in Rome, to be surrounded by beauty and baths not this primitive, cold and unappealing hole. He wondered if he should have insisted that she attend but then thought better of it. He could have his special pleasures with his special friends in private.

  Gaius Cresens was pleased that the tribune was not invited but distraught that the governor was also not to be invited. Fainch would not be happy and Cresens knew that she had information from inside the fort other than his own. He determined to leave sooner rather than later.

  That view was not shared by the two auxiliaries for Marcus and Ulpius were being waited on by the queen’s slaves and eating food far richer than they were used to. In deference to her Roman guests the queen had arranged for some Roman delicacies such as roast dormouse, the sauce liquamen and pickled eel. In truth they had never eaten such food but they devoured it in honour to the queen. The wine was honeyed and less watered down. By the time they had finished the prima mensa they were almost full.

  “Before we have, as you Romans would say, the secunda mensa, our Brigante pudding I have a gift.” She signalled to a slave who disappeared into her chambers. “It is the custom at this time of year to give gifts to those we regard as special. As you, Ulpius Felix, have served us so well.” Lenta and Macha giggled until silenced by a stern look from their elder sister. “And as you are shortly to help me to recover my lands I would like you to have, until our son is born,” Ulpius noted that no-one seemed surprised at this news including Marcus, he would have to have words with his decurion,” my sword. The sword of the Brigante, the sword of Cartimandua.” The servant presented the sword reverently to the queen who first kissed it and the presented it, hilt first to Ulpius who stood opened mouthed.

  “I cannot take this my queen. It is the sword of your people.”

  “It is the sword of my family first and you are now part of our family. You will guard it better than I ready to give to our son and you will use it to help me regain my lands, the lands of my people.”

  “I take it my queen and I swear that I will not dishonour this holy weapon and I will use it for you, your people and your land.” He grasped the hilt and slid the weapon from its scabbard. In the candlelight it appeared to glow with a life of its own. It was as though its maker had put part of his life in the weapon. Without even testing it he could see how sharp it was. Marcus came over to admire it.

  “While the men admire my sword we will do honour to our pudding.”

  The slaves brought out the steaming, gleaming bejewelled dish. The slaves put portions on the platters. Macha and Lenta topped up the warrior’s drinks and so it was that the queen was the one to eat the poisoned dessert. “My love, hurry and eat yours for it is so delicious that I will devour this and finish yours.”

  “I forgot that you are eating for two. Fear not I will match you mouthful for mouthful.” Sliding the sword back into its scabbard he sat and picked up his bowl. He was just about to take his first mouthful when he was stopped by the sight of Cartimandua reaching up to her throat and retching. Macha and Lenta ran to their mistress whose face had taken on a most unhealthy blue colour. Her eyes rolled
back in her head as she continued gagging and vomiting.

  “I...” the queen looked at Ulpius and tried to say some last words but the rest of the sentence died along with the light in her eyes and the life in her body. Ulpius held her in his arms and looked plaintively at the two Brigante. Death on a battlefield was something he was accustomed to but he could not even begin to fathom what had just happened. He had had the most perfect night of his life and he was as happy as a warrior could be and then the Allfather had taken half his life away on a whim.

  Macha put her ear to the queen’s chest and shook her head. “She is dead.”

  “But how?” questioned Ulpius who could barely speak.

  Lenta looked at the body and the dish lying on the floor. “I have seen this kind of death before. It is from poison, a quick acting poison. She can only have taken it moments ago.”

  “But we all ate the same food, drank the same drink how?” Marcus could not believe what he was witnessing. The evening had gone from celebration to disaster in a heartbeat.

  “It must have been the pudding!” Lenta looked the dessert as though it would bite her.

  “But how…”

  Ulpius changed from a man in shock to a warrior enraged; it was not he Allfather but someone, some person who wished the Queen dead. The idea suddenly rushed into his sharp mind, the poison had been meant for them all...“Never mind that we must tell the governor. There is a murderer loose in the camp. This food was prepared in the camp kitchens others could be poisoned. This could be the plot of Venutius.” The warrior in Ulpius took over. He would mourn later. He would grieve later. He would get his revenge, later. He called to her bodyguards who were stood outside the door. “Guard the queen, let no one touch the body and let no-one in.” They looked at each other, the queen’s body finally they saw the queen’s sword in his hand and nodded assent.

  Ulpius and Marcus moved swiftly through the camp to the quarters of Marcus Bolanus. He was busy feasting with the tribune and other senior officers. Bolanus saw him at the door and murmured something to the prefect who rose to speak to Ulpius.

  “The governor is not happy about having his meal disturbed.”

  Ulpius look directly at his leader. “The queen has been murdered. Poisoned!”

  “Poisoned but...are you certain?”

  “We all ate the same food except for the dessert. The queen began to eat it and she died.” Ulpius stared at his leader who seemed unable to function. “The food was prepared in the kitchens here. Your food may also be poisoned. There is an assassin loose.”

  Finally comprehending, Flavinius raced back to speak to Bolanus. If the situation were not so tragic and serious Ulpius might have laughed for the first thing the governor did was to spit out his food. He signalled the decurion princeps. “Come. Speak. Are you certain the queen is dead?”

  “She is dead. I have seen enough corpses in my time to know when one is dead. We must secure the camp, governor, there is an assassin in the camp.”

  “Do not presume to tell me what to do decurion princeps. I am aware of my duties.” He turned to the prefect. “Have the gates locked no-one in or out.” The prefect left taking Marcus with him. “How was she poisoned?”

  Once again Ulpius went through the events in the queen’s quarters. “The pudding was not prepared by the queen; she gave the recipe to the cook.”

  Bolanus nodded, enlightenment illuminating his face. “You,” he pointed to a centurion fetch the cook and his assistants now, here.” The man scurried out calling to his men who were nearby. Outside they could hear men shouting orders and the noise of arms and movement. “What of the queen?”

  “Her sisters and her guards are watching over her.”

  Bolanus looked down at the sword in the decurion princeps’ hand. “Is that not the queen’s sword?”

  “Aye she gave it to me just before she died and I will use it kill the man who ordered this.”

  “That is for me to decide.”

  Ulpius looked coldly at the man who seemed to take delight in petty victories. Regardless of what the governor said he would end Venutius’ life. He knew who had ordered this murder. The ones with blood on their hands would die but he would have his revenge. At this moment he could not mourn. The fact that his heart had been ripped from his body, his future shattered like a glass bauble and all meaning in his life gone did not stop him from hardening his resolve and putting aside all thoughts of tears and the rending of clothes. There would be a time for mourning, for thinking of his lost love and lost, unborn child, but that time would come when her killers were dead, by his hand and by the very sword which she had bequeathed him, the sword of Cartimandua.

  Even before he heard that he had failed to kill his enemy Cresens was already fleeing the port of Eboracum. He was outside the camp when he heard the commotion from within. He smiled with malicious joy; his enemy would already be dead but before he celebrated too much he would make himself scarce. They would seek out the cook and whilst the cook had not seen him put the poison in the pudding he might remember his visit. He had decided that he would leave. Eboracum was too dangerous a place to be between the witch and the governor his life might soon be risked. He would take a trip to Petuaria and check up on the uniforms which should have arrived there. That would give him a good seven days away from the questions and he would also be in a good position for flight. He went to his quarters and the first thing he did was to get his saddlebags containing his ill-gotten gains. He did not intend to be parted from the wealth he had garnered. He had converted most of the gold and silver into precious gems which were smaller and easier to transport. He struggled to fasten the leather cuirass about him but he did not trust anyone. Just as he would slip a dagger into man’s ribs whilst sleeping so too would most of the cut throats he would be travelling with; he would take no chances. He covered the leather with a tunic. He also took his bearskin; it would be a long cold ride. As much as he wanted to take guards with him he had to be invisible. He had to ravel the dark roads where only thieves and robbers ventured. He could not relax until he had left the island behind and then he would become the rich man he had always wanted to be. No-one saw the portly quartermaster leave, no-one that is save Fainch who smiled to herself as she had known what he would do. She would find him when she needed to.

  The trader he boarded was heading south to Regulbium. From there he could disappear into the cess pit that was Londinium. The captain of the trader suspected that Cresens was fleeing and had charged an appropriately large fee. He smiled to himself; when he returned he would earn another rewards for informing on the fat quartermaster.

  The guards herded the terrified cooks and kitchen assistants into the governor’s quarters. Bolanus had already ordered the brazier and irons to be made ready for the torturers who were readying their implements. The terrified cook fell to his knees before the governor. He had not the first idea of why they had been summoned. Perhaps the food had not been to the new governor’s liking? Whatever the reason the cook felt helpless.

  “Was it you prepared the queen’s pudding for her feast?”

  “It was sir. She gave me the recipe and I made it. I made two for I wanted to try it myself first and taste it.”

  “Would it surprise you to know then that the queen was poisoned by your pudding?”

  “But I ate the other one and my cooks did as well.” He waved a vague arm towards his cooks who cursed him for including them in his guilt.

  “So if you did not put the poison in the pudding then which of these did?”

  The assembled throng quailed as his gaze fell upon them. There was a cacophony of noise as they all screamed their innocence. “Take these men away and question them all one by one. I will ask the questions here.”

  The guards led out the terrified men while the white faced cook stared in horror at the irons. “But I am innocent.”

  “I will be the judge of that.” He turned to Ulpius. “Go guard the queen’s body and ask her sisters about the Brigant
e arrangements for death.”

  Ulpius was glad to leave for the face of the cook had told him he was innocent. He would be tortured and, hopefully, the name of the real killer would emerge but it mattered not to Ulpius who knew the man he would have to kill, Venutius.

  Although the cooks were tortured none of them could add any further information. The chief cook, Julius, had suffered more than his helpers and he had already lost an eye and an ear when he finally remembered something. “The only other visitor when we were preparing the food was the quartermaster, Gaius Cresens but he was in for a short time.”

  “Why did you suddenly remember him?”

  “He asked me what I was making and he gave me some spirit to put in the dish.”

  “Did you put that spirit in your own as well?”

  “Yes I think so.”

  Bolanus held his hand up and the punishment ceased; this was a new name and the man clearly had no further information. “Send for the quartermaster. Take this one away while we decide if he is telling the truth.”

  As he sat in his chair sipping some warmed wine and water he debated upon his course of action. It would not look good for him in Rome if it was discovered that the queen had been killed in his camp. The majority of the legionaries in the camp only knew that there had been an attempt on the life of the queen. He could dispose of the cooks easily, his senior officers owed their loyalty to him, and his problem lay with the bodyguards, her sisters and the auxiliaries. When he did divine his strategy he did not know if it was the wine or his natural brilliance which gave him the solution. The queen’s sisters said that she had to be buried near one of the secret holy places in the hills to the west. He would kill all the birds with one stone. The auxiliaries would escort the Brigante to the holy place and then continue to create a new base in the west. Either the winter or the Carvetii would destroy them and the queen’s death would appear to be an accident of war. The auxiliaries’ foray would distract Venutius who would not want five hundred Romans harassing his supply lines. The remainder of the Roman army would be able to advance on his stronghold and defeat him. It was a winning plan and he smiled to himself at his own genius. The tribune did not know that the plan had been his all along. He needed every witness of the debacle away. If he could have engineered it then Flavius would have gone with them. When the dust had settled and the vexillation massacred the death of the Queen would be forgotten, the treasure would be his and Brigantia would be Roman without a native ruler. Saenius Augustinius could then be blamed for the disaster that would ensue when the vexillation and the last of the Brigante royal family died at the hands of Venutius. The plan had a beauty about it which appealed to the convoluted mind of Marcus Bolanus. The order to march away was signed by Saenius Augustinius; the governor’s hands were clean.