by Griff Hosker
There were four cloaked bodies lying on the ground by the time Metellus and the patrol returned. He looked up at Cicero. “Are they all accounted for?” The ala never left a dead man on the battlefield. Cicero nodded. “Right Decurion, lead the patrol back to the fort. Put the bodies on the spare mounts.”
Lepidus said, “Sir, we don’t have enough.”
“Well put two on a mount. It isn’t as though we are going far is it?” He realised that he had snapped his answer and Lepidus was only reporting. “Sorry Lepidus. You are right and it is not your fault.”
Lepidus smiled, Metellus was a good officer most would not have worried that they had offended their men with a thoughtless comment but Metellus was a thinker and his men liked that.
“Make sure the barbarian does not bleed to death as we have some questions for him.”
The men left to guard the camp had done an effective job and the ditches were littered with crudely fashioned lillia and the gate was in place. They looked in shock as the battered remains of turma thirteen arrived. The senior trooper in the fort took charge and immediately stoked the fire under the bubbling cauldron. The broth which was for their evening meal would now be used as medicine for those who were wounded. Metellus nodded his approval as he rode through the gate. “Decurion make sure there are sentries and be alert; this may have been a scouting party or it could be a warband. We will find out. Lepidus, bring the barbarian here.”
The warrior was dragged by two of the biggest men in the turma. His hands were tied but he kept trying to bite and kick them with his good leg. Lepidus smacked the flat of his sword against the warrior’s teeth smashing them and making his mouth a bloody mess. Metellus gestured for him to be spread eagled on the wheel of the cart they had used to bring their tents. Once he was satisfied that the man could not move he took out his sword. “You are going to die, you know that already Selgovae. It is the manner of your death which is in your hands. I can give you a swift warrior’s death if you cooperate but if not I will make sure that, in the after life, you have neither eyes to see nor hands to hold a weapon and your enemies will be able to pleasure themselves with you for all eternity. Will you answer my questions?”
The answer was a bloody mouthful of teeth and gore spat at Metellus who, fortunately was out of range. Cicero had given the sentries their orders and was standing behind Metellus wondering how this experienced officer would deal with the prisoner. “Ah I see we have an honourable barbarian.” He walked over to the freshly stoked fire and brought out a brand which he held in his left hand. Without preamble he walked up to the barbarian and hacked off the fingers and thumb of his left hand with a swift slash of his blade. He then thrust the burning brand to cauterize the wound. The barbarian was tough and did not utter a sound but the facial muscles showed the agony he was suffering.
“Now you can still wield a sword but that will change unless I get an answer to my questions.” He waited while the prisoner sullenly stared at him. “Are you a scout or part of a warband?” There was no reply. “Before I slice off your whole right hand I will ask a different question. How many men were with you?”
The question seemed harmless to the troopers and they wondered if the decurion was losing it but the warrior coughed and said, “Three handfuls.”
Cicero looked at Metellus with a confused expression. “Fifteen men.” To Lepidus he said, “Find out how many bodies we left in the woods.” When Lepidus went to ask the men who had accompanied Metellus the decurion put the brand back into the fire and the barbarian seemed to sigh with relief. “So you were a scouting party and what were you to do once you had seen us?”
The barbarian looked confused. The loss of blood was making him light headed and he had given them some information. He could not work out if giving more information would make his crime worse. He did not want to wander the afterlife unable to defend himself. He had killed many men and some of them were not killed in battle. He shrugged, “The king asked me to return to Caerlaverock when you were found.”
Metellus had found out more than he had hoped. “The king knew we were here?”
The barbarian laughed, “One of your little forts was found and destroyed by my brother. He knows you are here and he is coming for you.”
Metellus nodded and walked behind the barbarian. He put the point of the sword to the neck of the wounded warrior and said, as he sank it into the jugular, “Go to the Allfather. Well it seems that we have not escaped notice for long.”
“What did he mean little fort?”
Metellus waved his arm around the camp. “A little fort, one such as ours. Some of our comrades have not been as lucky as we.” Putting his arm around Cicero he led him out of the camp through the gate. “Cicero you will be a good officer but today you got your men killed. Your men trusted you and they followed you when they knew it was a mistake. You have all of their lives in your hand. Why did you disobey my orders?”
Cicero looked almost tearful. “When Aelius was shot I just wanted the men who had done that. I didn’t think.”
“That is the trouble with being an officer. You always have to think. You will be in a similar situation again, of that I have no doubt. I hope that next time you are able to think before you act for if not then your turma will suffer.” He looked west. “I am going to report this to the Decurion Princeps. Until I return you are in charge. Burn the barbarian outside the camp. We will honour our dead tonight when I return. Keep a good watch. I will not be long.”
Cicero looked amazed. “You trust me? After that?”
Metellus smiled grimly, “If we were all punished after we made a mistake there would be no one to command the ala. Do not dwell on it but learn from it.”
Cassius was disturbed by Metellus’ report. “I don’t like this. Which of the patrols was hit? Tomorrow I want you to ride east and see if Marcus and Lucius have suffered any assaults. Pass the news along to them and they can send the news to the Prefect, although he may already know.” He looked carefully at Metellus. “Cicero?”
“Made a mistake, we have all done it. I don’t think he will do it again but I have to say sir that this country is a bastard for horses. You are better off on foot.”
“I know. The sooner the mixed cohort gets here the better.”
Chapter 5
The meeting between The Fist and the one who would be prince of the Brigantes went well for both parties. The Fist had grown tired of his lonely existence out in the forests preying on lonely travellers and the offer of a paid job as a military adviser suited him. He also saw the opportunity to become even richer by selling the weapons he and his crew had stolen from the trader who had suddenly found himself boarded just ten miles from Eboracum. The burning boat did nothing to suggest anything other than a robbery, especially as the crew’s bodies, when washed ashore had all had their throats slit. The Fist cared not, as long as they couldn’t be identified.
For Gaius’ part he was very impressed with this knotted and scarred mountain of a warrior. He already had a vision of the men with The Fist forming his bodyguard and making him invincible. “So what do I call you?”
The Fist grinned and the look was disconcerting as a couple of teeth were missing. “I think General will suit.”
Gaius was less than happy with that but, as the ultimate prize was the crown it was a small price to pay. “Very well, General and how about your rates of pay?”
The ex-trooper frowned. He had not thought this through. Had Aelius Spartianus been there he would have known the price immediately. He gave himself time to think. “First things first. You will continue to buy your weapons from us at the price stated?”
Gaius nodded irritably. “Of course! As many weapons as you can get your hands on.”
“You have a big army then?” The Fist was intrigued about the force involved.
“We have a thousand training at the moment but I have hopes that the number will increase.”
“In that case we will continue to supply you with arms and I
will take half of the booty and plunder we capture from the Romans, including slaves.” He wondered if he had gone too far with such an outrageous demand.
Gaius shrugged. “I am not interested in plunder or slaves. All I want is the crown of the Brigante and to be able to rule this land of my father.” Gaius had easily believed his own lie that he was the rightful heir to the throne. All of the other young men in the newly formed army had bought into the fantasy as well. The Fist regretted not asking for all of the plunder but this was his first solo deal and he was pleased with the result.
“Excellent. We have a deal.” He looked curiously at Gaius. “How will you keep this army a secret? A thousand men are hard enough to hide but more than that will be impossible.”
Gaius tapped the side of his nose. “There are many forests north of Eboracum, far beyond the few Roman roads and soldiers. We have cleared a large training ground. We could hide ten thousand men there if we had them.”
The deal was becoming sweeter by the minute. The deserter would no longer be alone and he would have a thousand men to order around. Aelius Spartianus would be proud of him.
******
Faolan had finally crossed the high part of this land. He had expected more settlements but his guide had explained that they were isolated. On reflection that had suited the Irish prince for it meant they had captured many slaves and much livestock. He had already sent large quantities back to Manavia where Morwenna had promised him that she would act as broker and sell it. Loegaire had suggested that she might cheat him but Faolan had pointed out that all the gold they had collected was not to be brokered or shared. In anticipation of a rapid retreat he had sent fifty warriors to the high pass to build a barrier should they find themselves pursued, he wanted to be able to escape from this island with as much gold as possible. This was an easy war but, once they neared Eboracum he knew it would become more difficult.
One night, as they camped less than thirty miles from Morbium, Faolan held a meeting with Angus and Loegaire. He had come to trust this warrior of Manavia for he spoke the truth and was not afraid of arguing with the Irish prince. Faolan knew it was what he needed. “The sword we seek is close to Morbium. Morwenna said it was in a fortified farm.”
“Aye I know the place.” Angus glanced over at Faolan. “It is close enough to the fort to have reinforcements over there in less than half a day.”
“How many men at Morbium?”
“Probably a cohort.” Faolan had a blank look. “About a thousand men.”
Faolan did the calculation in his head. He did not have enough men yet to take on that number. So far the rebels who would flock to his banner had been noticeably absent. “If we caused trouble south of Morbium would they send troops then?”
Angus chewed on a piece of mutton bone as he debated the answer. “They wouldn’t send a thousand. They have to defend the river so they would probably send five hundred men but then they would send men north from Cataractonium and Eboracum.”
“Which are much further away?”
“Aye, considerably.”
Faolan was a risk taker; he knew that if he could draw five hundred men into an ambush he would gain a considerably large cache of weapons and it would leave him free to rampage and plunder at will. He already had a large amount of gold and precious objects; the province was, indeed, as rich as he had been led to believe. “Which is the largest force we could come against?”
Angus was intrigued by the Irishman’s questions. He was a planner and that was no bad thing. “There are no legions within a hundred miles so it would be either an ala of cavalry and there’s only one or a cohort of infantry. Either way it is about a thousand men.”
“That’s it! Unless they pool their soldiers we will outnumber any force that can be sent to attack us unless they empty their forts in which case they would lay themselves open for further attack. Which is the biggest settlement south of Morbium?”
“Easy. That would be Stanwyck, the old capital. The Romans took down the defences but the people moved back around it. It is a very prosperous town. Good cattle country and the people are happy because Morbium is half a day away which affords them protection.”
“Then we head for Stanwyck. I want to reach there towards dusk. That way they will be busy eating and if we fire their homes then it will be seen from Morbium.”
“And they will send soldiers to reach it by morning.” Angus nodded admiringly. “Good plan. It might just work.”
“And then I can head for this fortified villa and claim my sword.”
******
Julius Longinus hummed his way around the Principia. He hated to be disorganised and disrupted. He also preferred order; now that the Decurion Princeps had been promoted to Prefect he had order in his world again. He could check lists, stores, and standing orders instantly without waiting for the officer in charge to return from a patrol. As he entered the office Livius was thinking the exact opposite. He hated being confined to the wooden oblong that was the fort. Like Cassius, when he had had to suffer all the clerical work, he hated lists and ordering supplies. Julius and the Quartermaster managed to do much of the tedious work but the Prefect still needed to authorise everything and now he had the problem of two of his forts and patrols being attacked. They would need more remounts and he would have to organise some recruits. At least the eighty guards who had arrived earlier in the day had relieved him of one headache. He had feared an attack on the vulnerable Rocky Point. With just ten men to guard it they would have struggled. Unlike the smaller forts Rocky Point had many of the characteristics of a major fort, supplies for a year, a water supply and most importantly as far as the troopers were concerned, a safe underground room in which to keep their savings.
He sighed as he entered. “What joyous work have you for me this morning Julius?”
The clerk ignored the sarcasm. The Roman Empire could not survive without clerks and clerical work. “You need to request more weapons. Many were taken in that first attack and we require twenty recruits.” His tone became accusing. “We still haven’t replaced those eight deserters.”
“I know I will do it now.”
The clerk pushed over a request already written out. “Just put your seal there.”
“You know Julius my life would be much easier if I gave you the seal. Sort of cut out the middleman.”
For the first time Livius realised that he had shocked the clerk. “Don’t even jest about such matters! Why, that it is tantamount to treason! I have never heard such a suggestion. Take the seal indeed!” He thrust a document wallet at him. “Here are the latest despatches from Eboracum.”
Smiling at the old man’s outrage Livius began opening and reading the documents. “It looks as though the first legionary vexillation has reached Eboracum. The Governor says they will be heading for Coriosopitum in the next few days.” He put the document to one side and began to read the next. He suddenly sat bold upright. “This can’t be good.” He stood and went to the map on the wall.
“More bad news Prefect?”
“Potentially disastrous. The Prefect at Luguvalium reports that the garrison at Glanibanta has been slaughtered. It appears there is an army loose in the land of the lakes. He wants me to help.”
Julius came over to the map. “Those four turmae are the closest.”
“Yes Julius but it begs the question who is it? Who is rampaging this close to our forts? An army that could destroy a fort and a garrison could not have slipped past Luguvalium nor us which means it has come either from the west or the south. The south is unlikely as the vexillation from Deva is on its way north which leaves the west and that can mean only one thing.” Julius looked expectantly at the Prefect. “Morwenna, the Witch Queen, is up to her tricks again.” He looked at the dispositions on the map. “Write out an order for Cassius to take the four western turmae to investigate the fort and a second one warning Marcus that he is now the westernmost outpost, he is the new flank. This would be a bad time for those in the east t
o raid our shores for we would be hard pushed to stop them.”
Julius looked at the map closely. “We are very thinly stretched Prefect.”
“Yes Julius we may yet have to put you on a horse.”
“The day that happens I shall pack my bags and head back to Aquae Sulis!”
******
Stanwyck, of all the Brigantes settlements, had flourished well under the benevolence of Roman rule. They were close to the main road and their goods had a ready market in Eboracum. The garrison at Morbium meant that they were rarely raided and the elders had become complacent. The gate on the palisade was rarely closed and there was no town watch during the hours of darkness. Indeed many of the more affluent inhabitants had taken to building fine stone villas away from the noise and stench of the busy town. The only security they had was the twenty or so ex-soldiers who had chosen Stanwyck as their retirement home and had small farms just outside the palisaded walls, far from the more expensive homes.
When Faolan’s men fell upon the town in the early hours of the morning, it was as though wolves had been allowed into the sheep pen. Faolan’s orders had been clear; his men were to slaughter all the men and old people but to capture the children and women as slaves. He knew he had enough men to outnumber the townspeople and he had threatened the leaders of the smaller warbands he was using with death if any potential slaves were killed. Faolan was already calculating that he could soon return home. He could make enough with this one raid to buy Hibernia for his scouts had told him that there were hundreds of women and children in the town. He realised that he did not have to risk failure by attacking the heavily fortified fortress of Eboracum. Sceanbh had been correct, Britannia was indeed a rich heifer waiting to be milked. He could return as many times as it took to replenish his finances. His losses had been negligible and his successes, incredible.