by Griff Hosker
Hero of Rome
Book 9
in
The Sword of Cartimandua series
By
Griff Hosker
Dedicated to two new readers, Barry and Gordon, I hope you continue to enjoy my Roman adventures. Thank you to all those who have supported me in the last two years, your comments are always welcome.
Published by Sword Books Ltd. 2012
Copyright © Griff Hosker First Edition
The author has asserted their moral right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.
All Rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, copied, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written consent of the copyright holder, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
Map of Northern Britannia in 122 A.D.
Prologue
Senator Julius Demetrius waited, patiently, outside the Principia of the First Germanica Legion fortress at Castra Vetera in Germania Inferior. Having been summoned by the Emperor Hadrian, Julius had ridden hard to reach this tenuously defended frontier of the Empire. The land he had ridden through had reminded the former cavalryman of his time in that other dangerous northern outpost, Britannia, but Germania appeared to be populated by far more forests. Every Roman soldier remembered the disaster of the Teutonberger forest and travelled through this dangerous land with every sense alert to danger. When he reached the fortress he noticed that the legionaries of the First Germanica had the hard lean look he had seen amongst the now disbanded Ninth legion; you could take a legionary and put him anywhere and he would look the same, tough and resilient. As he heard the clatter of hooves outside, the former senator saw a troop of auxiliary cavalry trot into the fortress. That was the difference between legionaries and auxiliaries, the auxiliaries always managed to look exotic, even when they wore standard Roman armour. Some had distinctive shields or weapons whilst others used a variety of saddle cloths but each had a standard which marked them distinctly on the battlefield. Now that he knew where he was being posted Julius was looking forward to returning to Britannia and seeing Livius and his latest ala.
The ancient clerk shuffled out of the office, his inky fingers absentmindedly marking his bald pate as he scratched it. “The Emperor will see you now.” The other waiting officers clambered forward but his stridently high voice squeaked, “All in good time gentlemen; the Emperor knows that you are waiting.”
After the noise and energy in the outer office, the interior felt remarkably calm. Hadrian was standing at a calfskin map pinned to the wall of the fortress office. Without turning Hadrian pointed his vine staff at the province of Britannia and said, “No matter what my so called advisers say about the precarious nature of this frontier it is nothing compared with the problems of Britannia. At least here we have a river as a natural barrier and an enemy which, thankfully, does not use boats.” He turned to clasp Julius’ forearm. “Good to see you old friend. How was the journey?”
“I should have come by boat; I think it would have been more comfortable.”
Hadrian laughed. “I know the older you get the harder the saddle appears and the more unforgiving the horses.” He unrolled a smaller calfskin map on the table. “Now we have little time to waste.” He pointed at the map. “Our protégé Lucius has done well. He had the intelligence to have his clerk draw a map of the region and the salient features. It seems to the Decurion Princeps, and I agree with him, that this strip of land north of the Stanegate would be perfect for our limes. There is a steep cliff to the north for much of it and there is a river at both its eastern and western extremities. I want you to go to Britannia and liaise with the new Governor, Quintus Pompeius Falco. I need the two of you to build me a line of defences from coast to coast.”
Julius leaned over the table to inspect the map. It had been some time since he had had cause to look at a map of the province he had served in as a young man. “As I recall that looks like the best site. “He pointed to a place further north on the map. “It is narrower here. It would require less fortifications. I recall that Agricola built some forts here.”
“Yes that would make life easier but the land north of the Stanegate is too unstable at the moment. From the reports I have received, the natives on both sides of the Stanegate are becoming restless, Governor Bradua did not perform as well as I would have hoped.” Bradua was the former Governor and Lucius had sent reports back to the Emperor reporting on his mistakes. “The two of you will have to build the defences and control the natives at the same time.” He looked intently at Julius. “I realise that I am not making your job any easier. As soon as we have secured this frontier I intend to visit the province and see at first hand what it is like.”
Julius shrugged. “We both know, Emperor, that the lot of the soldier is never easy.”
Hadrian slapped Julius on the back. “Good man! I knew I could rely on you. It is reassuring that I can give the task to two such sound and reliable men. By the way do you know Falco?”
Julius smiled, “Actually we were at military school together. I think I spent more time with him than my brother Scipio.”
“That is even better. Now then do you have any questions? I will be sailing to the province just as soon as this frontier is stable but I realise that the two of you will have to make decisions without direct reference to me.”
“Well I won’t have a problem working with Quintus but I know that the Prefects of the legions are sometimes a little prickly about their men. What authority will I have?”
Hadrian handed over a letter. “Here is your authority. You act in my name. I trust you Julius and know that the power will not be abused.” He peered curiously at Julius. “How do you intend to use the legions then?”
“It seems to me that, if the tribes are restless, it would be unwise to take a legion from a region further south for it would weaken our tenuous hold on the other Britannic frontiers; far better to use a vexillation from each of the legions and have them responsible for their own section of the frontier. There looks to be about ninety miles of frontier, which means thirty miles of building for each vexillation. They can build their own forts and the auxiliaries can protect them.”
“Good. I have ordered more auxiliary units to be dispatched to the north of the province. I assume that you and Falco will see to their deployment?”
“That will be a crucial deployment. It is a difficult frontier to police.”
“I know Julius which is why I am sending my two best Legates.”
Chapter 1
Faolan surveyed the seas to the east. For his tribe, the Ebdani, the wild waters were a constant source of speculation as well as a supply of slaves. The traders who ventured this far west told them tales of the Romani who had conquered the tribes of Albion. That was not the cause of their speculation for peoples had conquered and departed before, leaving little trace of their passing on the land but these, they were told were different; for they built in stone and they left their indelible mark upon the land. It was said that their homes were warmed by the earth in the winters and they could make water move uphill. Even the wise women of their tribe could not explain that phenomenon. They also made mighty weapons which was the cause of Faolan’s interest. He had risen through his clan to be the leader and now eyed the throne of the tribe with a hidden and secret desire. His cousin Corentine was the king and far too
powerful for him to be assaulted but if Faolan could obtain those weapons of the Romani then he might be able to seize the crown from his popular cousin. He had tried, in vain, to persuade his cousin to invade the rich, ripe lands of Britannia but Corentine worried that his neighbours, the Voluntii would use the opportunity to invade and steal their land while they were fleecing the now tamed Brigantes and Carvetii of the west. The land itself was important but more important was the holy site which they controlled; Si an Bhru was so old that even the tales about it were shrouded in mystery. It was also the largest stone building on the whole island. Whoever controlled the monument controlled the priests of the ancestors and they controlled the people.
“Lord?”
“What is it Loegaire?” His chief bodyguard and oathsworn warrior was far older than Faolan but devoted to his lord. The veteran Ebdani had fought all over Hibernia with Faolan’s father and now devoted his life to the service of the young prince.
“The day is ending.”
Faolan sighed, his men feared him but they also feared saying the wrong thing which meant it took all day to get a simple answer to a simple question. “And?”
“The High Priestess said that we were to arrive before the sun had set.”
Loegaire was a huge bull of a warrior and as loyal as they came but he had a mortal fear of witches and the priestesses of the Mother. Faolan doubted that they had as much power as they suggested and had only agreed to the meeting as a means improving his chances of kingship. “Fear not. We will reach the shrine in time. It is but a short way away. Come.”
The thirty warriors, the only mounted warriors in the Ebdani, kicked their short ponies to follow their leader over the spongy turf. They were all lightly armed and none wore armour for they were safe within their own lands. Faolan’s reputation as a puissant warrior meant that few would dare to raid their cattle or steal their women. It was one of the reasons Corentine allowed his obvious rival to live, he was insurance against anyone else taking his throne.
Sceanbh was old, even by the standards of the priests and druids of Mona from whence she had come, sixty years earlier having fled the Roman war machine. She had harboured a hatred for the Romans ever since. She had been frustrated for most of her life by warriors who preferred to war amongst themselves rather than taking on the might that was Rome. Her frustration had ended when the daughter of her fellow priestess Fainch had moved from Britannia to Manavia. Morwenna had used some of the Keltoi as her bodyguards and this had encouraged the old priestess to recruit more. She had identified Faolan as a tool she could use to foster an invasion of Britannia. Brynna, one of Morwenna’s daughters had brought messages from the island to Sceanbh, messages which had been calculated to induce Keltoi warriors to take up the challenge of fighting the Romans.
She watched the warriors as they trotted towards her. She was not offended that Faolan had chosen to delay his arrival, she was well aware of his attitude towards her and her priestesses; it mattered little. He was a tool with which she would gain her revenge on the Romans. She had chosen Faolan from the other leaders for his cunning and his aptitude with a blade. She needed a powerful warrior and he fitted the picture she had in her mind. She knew of his desire to be king and that would be the key to her manipulation of this erstwhile king. She watched Faolan leading his men and saw that he had all the qualities which would make men and women follow him. He was taller than most of his men and, to an old woman’s eyes, handsome. His dark beard and jet black hair framed a powerful face. But it was his eyes which were the most disturbing feature; they were a cold hard blue which both mesmerised and terrified all who peered into the translucent pools.
She knew that she had little time left before she joined her sisters with the Mother and so speed was of the essence. She entered the low passage way to the chamber she used as her home. She smiled as she saw the warriors with Faolan look fearfully at the ring of standing stones which surrounded the outside of the enormous rock lined tomb. She marvelled that men who feared no living creature could not face the dead. The lamp which burned in the chamber gave off an eerie yellow light and reflected on the pile of yellowing bones in the corner. Sceanbh had created the effect to inspire awe. Most men would refuse to enter this place of the dead and Faolan’s reaction would tell her much about the man she had chosen to be her champion. The bones were so old that millennia had passed since they were interred and the old women did not fear the dead.
The princeling’s face showed no emotion as he stooped to enter the small and claustrophobic chamber. Sceanbh gestured for him to sit on the stone which passed for a seat. She offered him neither food nor drink but held his gaze. Faolan had expected such a test and he stared back intently. The dead and their priests did not frighten him. Eventually, apparently satisfied, the old woman nodded. “You desire to be king.”
The bald statement was unexpected and Faolan, for once, was taken aback. He quickly recovered his composure and shrugged. “I am related to the king but he lives and I am a loyal warrior to my liege lord.”
“But you would be king and I can give you an opportunity to achieve your aim.”
Faolan suspected a trap but he could not see who had set it. Sceanbh was known to be unconcerned about worldly matters so the question remained; who was setting the trap, if this was a trap? He kept silent and watched, now with more interest, the emaciated skin and bones which stared back at him, rheumy blue eyes boring deeply into him. “The king grows fat and will not go to war. How will you become king?” There was no answer for Faolan knew that the old woman would get to the point eventually and he was a patient man. “Suppose you had a weapon of legend and suppose that you could attain glory; would that not enable you to become king?”
“A weapon? Where is there such a weapon of legend?” Faolan wracked his memory for the stories of mystical blades but he could not recall any.the many
The old woman smiled for she knew now that she had intrigued this would be king. “In Britannia, across the water there is the sword of the Brigantes, The Sword of Cartimandua.”
Faolan’s interest was piqued. He had indeed heard of the weapon and knew that it had won many a lost battle for the one who wielded it. All swords had powers, every warrior knew this but the sword of the Brigante was even older than the oldest weapon wielded by the many kings of Hibernia. It was said that it had travelled from the south, from the lands of the Gauls when the Celtic peoples who had lived there had conquered Albion and Hibernia. “I heard that the sword had been lost when the Queen disappeared.”
“No it still exists and is worn by a Roman.”
“Then how would I get my hands on such a weapon?”
“The lands of Roman Britannia are no longer secure. The Votadini defeated them and they have taken the vaunted legions back to Rome. It is a plum which is ripe for the picking. You would gain much honour and fame.” She smiled as she saw that her seed had been successfully planted.
Faolan’s face filled with suspicion as he wondered at the source of this remarkable intelligence. “How do you know this? You never leave the safety of this shrine.”
She laughed a cackling laugh which made Faolan shiver in the dark bone lined tomb. “I may not leave but others come and go. Believe me Faolan, warrior of the Ebdani, if you land in Britannia with enough warriors then there will be nought to stop you. Not only will you achieve the sword but slaves and gold, for the Romans and their puppets, the Brigante, are rich beyond belief.”
Faolan began to consider the prospect. There were many swords which would follow him in a quest to gain treasure. The slaves alone which could be captured would pay for the raid and make him rich. He also knew that the land of the Britons was a richer land than that of the Keltoi; the Romans had brought much prosperity. The thought came to him that, even if he did not gain the sword, he would gain enough riches to enlarge his army and enable him to take the throne by force. His eyes narrowed and he leaned forward. “I cannot believe that you are doing this because you wish to do me goo
d. What is in this for you?”
“You are wise Faolan. You see my mind. What I want from you is a promise. When you become king you will make Si an Bhru the centre of worship and study protected by your warriors and you will continue to raid and steal from Britannia until the Romans are driven from its shores.”
Faolan considered the offer. What did it matter to him if the priests and priestesses gained power, it would not affect him if he were king. As to the raids on Britannia, that was already an idea growing in the greedy mind of the Ebdani prince. “I will do so if you will endorse my raid as a war for the Mother.”
“I was right to choose you, Faolan, Prince of the Ebdani. It will be done and when you have enough warriors you can travel to Manavia where there is already an army of Keltoi warriors there, waiting to serve with you.”
Faolan looked at her in surprise. “You have already planned this?”
“The Mother, in her wisdom, has worked towards this since the Romans desecrated the holy groves of Mona.”
**********
Morwenna’s second daughter, Caronwyn had not only her mother’s hair and eyes but also the fierce determination to be revenged on those who had killed her Grandmother. While Brynna had been in Hibernia enlisting the help of the warriors there, she had been sent to the land of the Brigantes to foster dissent and rebellion. Morwenna knew, too well, that the land around the old capital of Brigantia, Stanwyck, was filled with staunchly pro-Roman Brigantes but, further south, there were those who resented the last fifty years of Roman rule and wanted a return to the time of Cartimandua when Rome had protected their borders but they had ruled their own land. Most hated was the tax demanded by Rome. The roads they had built brought prosperity but the trades of Mamucium and Eboracum did not like the fact that there were so many ways to take tax from them.