by Griff Hosker
“You do yourself a disservice old friend. Neither the Governor nor the Legate could have expected you to do more.”
Cassius shook his head. “It shows that we need better planning and support.”
“How do you mean?”
“If we had had more arrows and javelins then we could have whittled them down. They had no missile weapons. We might have been able to stop them earlier.”
“You may be right but that is the future. You did… we did well here and we should be proud.”
“I am proud but I am also sad for the losses we suffered.” He pointed to the tomb erected by Metellus and his men, the pile of stones topped by a solitary shield and javelin.
Chapter 13
The horses of the two turmae were flecked with sweat and the poor beasts were labouring when Spurius halted the column above the small port of Itunocelum. To call it a port was a little grandiose for it was little more than a fishing village with a jetty, a jetty constructed under the watchful eyes of the druids of Manavia to act as a supply base for their sanctuary. It was built upon an estuary and the port was on the northern bank. The estuary was wide enough for ships to turn around and Spurius could see that it had been well chosen. Spurius could see that they had arrived before Faolan could escape but unfortunately there were other barbarians there along with captives. Spurius assumed that they were the ones who had fled first. Whoever they were it meant that he could do nothing for they were behind the solid walls and wooden ramparts of the town. It would take ballistae and scorpions to breach them. From the small number of ships the decurion could see that not all of the barbarians could easily be extracted in the near future which gave him more time.
The younger officer, Graccus, turned to his superior. “What do we do now sir?”
“Good question.” He scanned the land around. “I think I will leave a couple of scouts to watch the port here and then the rest of us will head back to help Metellus deal with the rest of the barbarians.”
“Perhaps the rest of the ala will be there?”
“Perhaps but I have learned never to count on anything before the event,” he grinned, a disconcerting sight as he had lost many of his teeth over the years, “it saves disappointment.”
******
“We sent for the ships as soon as we arrived, Prince.”
“Then why are they not here?” It was a rhetorical question and Conan made no attempt to answer it. “Let us make the best of a bad job. Strengthen the defences and then feed the men. They have had short rations long enough.” He looked again at the empty harbour. “There are no boats here?”
“The fishing fleet was at sea and I sent Angus’ man in that. I hope he made it, it didn’t look very seaworthy.” Faolan shrugged, the man’s survival was irrelevant so long as he sent for his ships. “Damn that witch. She should have had boats waiting for us. If she has played me false…”
“I think not lord for we have not been away as long as she might have expected. We had great success.” He waved a hand around the huddled captives and captured gold.”
“But I did not get the sword!”
“You might yet,” Conan stroked his beard. “One of the captives heard my men talk of it and she boasted of its powers. She said that the man who wielded it lived in the farm we destroyed and she knew he would come for you.”
Faolan snorted, “I will believe it when I see it but at least I have the gold to buy my throne and depose my cousin. This time next year we will have conquered the whole island.”
While Loegaire whooped his agreement Conan was not sure. He had not seen enough skill from his leader to warrant such a claim. The auxiliaries they had met had proved more than a match for Conan’s men and he did not doubt, for a moment, the courage and the skill of his men but their enemy had had something they had not, discipline.
At the high pass that very discipline was in evidence as Cassius and the ala worked long after exhaustion had set in. Food was collected, shelters built, defences enlarged and watch kept on the enemy. Cassius and Rufius were amused by the attentions of the strong minded Nanna who fussed and fretted around Metellus, much to his embarrassment. Even Sextus, the capsarius found the strength to smile as, for the tenth time, she checked his bandage.
“I think our old friend has an admirer Cassius.”
“Now don’t tease Rufius, I think they make a lovely couple.”
Snorting her displeasure Nanna stormed off to see to a couple of the younger captives who were crying. “You two are shameless. She is just a kind woman. If it were not for her strength we might not have recaptured them, think on that.”
“We are only having a little fun Metellus. In truth we have had little to laugh about lately for this has not gone the way we hoped.”
Metellus’ face became serious. “There are more captives on the way to Itunocelum. I sent Spurius after them but I am not sure he will have been in a position to do anything.”
“This is just like all those years ago when we chased the Witch Queen and her men.”
Cassius’ face darkened at the memory and at the name of Morwenna for she cast a shadow over the ala, even more so since the attempt on Macro’s life. “I know Rufius. If only we had a naval base on this coast we could close the door on her.” He looked eastwards, as though to Rome. “Perhaps this new Emperor will get round to it when he has built his frontier.”
Metellus looked incredulous. “Built the frontier? We will be old men before that is done. Besides would it have stopped this? I think not.” He looked around at the camp. “This would make a perfect site for a fort. A couple of centuries of auxiliaries here and a cohort at Glanibanta would make sure this never happens again.”
Cassius looked, seemingly for the first time at the flattened area almost at the top of the pass. Metellus was correct although it would have to be built from stone as the ground was solid rock. He inclined his head as he visualised the structure. That would make it even stronger. “I will mention it to Julius the next time we see him. he appears to have the ear of the Emperor.”
Metellus nodded his head at Macro who was still walking around with an angry sulky look upon his face. “What is the matter with our young decurion?”
“He wanted to fight the Irish leader by himself. He is angry… well he is just angry, Gaius dying, you know?”
“Marcus was his son but he is not angry.”
The three of them looked to where Marcus was laughing and joking with his troopers as they built up a wall. Rufius lowered his voice although with the noise of the work in the camp they could not be overheard. “Marcus is Gaius’ son and is very much like his father whereas Macro is the son of Macro, and, remember how unpredictable he could be?”
There was a pause and Metellus spoke the unspoken words, “And his mother was not Ailis but Morwenna. There is no dark side to Ailis but Morwenna…”
“Keep an eye on him will you, Metellus? You, of all people know him best. And let us get our people some rest for tomorrow we need to dislodge these barbarians and then try to save the other captives.”
The barbarians under the wily Angus had not been idle. They were all tired but they had not been ordered to build up their defences for Angus had no intention of staying there to be destroyed piecemeal. He had his men find the bodies of those slain earlier, Creagth’s men. At first they were reluctant to do so but Angus explained his idea and they eventually agreed. The dead were placed, with weapons showing along the defences. The six of seven badly wounded warriors who would normally have been given a merciful death were left to sacrifice themselves when the Romans made their inevitable assault. They were all happy to be given the chance of a glorious death and a verse in the song which would be composed of their last stand. As soon as the preparations were completed, and as the Romans slept, the warband slipped silently away. The Roman sentries saw nothing for the pass went down hill after the barbarian barrier and they saw the warriors still, apparently, on guard. They saw what they expected to see.
; It was a weary Roman force which awoke the next morning in the half light of early dawn. The first rays were peeking from behind them, illuminating the barbarian’s stone barrier whilst leaving them in the dark. It was sharp eyed Rufius who saw that something was amiss. “Metellus. Look at those barbarians. They look to be in the same position they were last night.”
Metellus peered over. “Perhaps they have found a comfortable spot or,” he peered closer, “perhaps they are asleep.” He turned to the sentries. “Have you heard anything?”
The sentry looked worried as though he had done something wrong but the reassuring nod from Metellus gave him the answer. “We heard them talking in the night. I think we even heard them laughing, which we found strange.”
Rufius saw one guard, at least, moving. “But not all of them. Still it may be something.”
They quickly woke Cassius and the other decurions. “Some of them are asleep. We still have arrows. If we shoot the ones we can see are awake then we can rush them.”
Macro spoke up. “But we will have to be swift for the sun is rising.”
“Metellus get your archers, Rufius wake the turmae. We use Marcus, Macro, Antoninus and Rufius’ men to storm their wall. When you have breached it we will all fall upon them. With the Allfather’s help we may surprise them.”
With no horses to prepare, the men were ready in moments and they waited, crouched in the hollow before their wall. As Cassius dropped his sword twenty arrows flew true and the assault party silently sped across the open ground, each man dreading the sound of alarm which would precede the spears and death. Macro was the first to leap over the wall and as he landed his sword was ready to dispose of any attacker. Instead he found a badly wounded man, lying with his back to the rock face, his comrades at the wall slain by arrows.
“We have cheated you Roman as you cheated us by not having the courage to fight us man to man. They have left for you are not worthy enemies.”
Macro was about to plunge his sword into the man when he was restrained by Marcus. “Let the Decurion Princeps ask him questions first and then you can kill him.” Macro’s eyes narrowed in anger but he nodded his head.
As soon as Cassius saw the scene he understood the barbarian mind. “They have outwitted us and have had the whole night. They will now be in Itunocelum.”
The barbarian coughed up some blood. “Angus has more wits than you Romans.”
Cassius wandered over to the man. “You are a brave warrior waiting here to die, making us believe that your comrades were still here.”
“Aye we spent the night telling the tale we will never hear but our families will and the saga of the wounded warriors will be told around camp fires long after you are dead, Roman.”
“And you deserve the honour. We are warriors and we salute you.”
“Pah! You are not warriors. Warriors do not hide behind arrows they face a man and look him in the eyes.”
Macro hissed, “Believe me I shall look you in the eye when I finish you off.”
Cassius restrained Macro with his arm. “But you will not share in the plunder and captives this Faolan has taken.”
“It matters not for my brothers are with him and when the captives are sold on Manavia they will have my share and they will join Faolan as he becomes king of the Ebdani.”
Cassius nodded; satisfied that he had all the information he was going to get from the brave barbarian. “Go to the Allfather and your comrades.” He took his arm from Macro who plunged his sword downwards into the raider’s neck. “Metellus you stay here with your turma and the wounded to guard the captives. Send a rider north to Luguvalium with a message for the Prefect. Tell him what has transpired. Send another to Eboracum with the same message. We will go to Itunocelum and see if we are in time.”
Rufius’ frowned, “I am worried about Spurius and Graccus. They should have returned by now or else they will be caught between over a thousand barbarians.”
“That is on my mind too but there is little that we can do about that. Let us worry about getting there speedily.”
The ala quickly mounted and trotted down the pass. The sight before them was a shock for those who had not travelled the road before. The land was green and verdant with farmsteads and small settlements dotted around. Had they not been under the protection of the druids it would have been a ruin from slave raiders and other predators but the wise priests had decided that a compliant population was better than a dead one and they managed to get information and trade from the crafty people who lived there. The Roman bureaucracy was too far away to affect them for good or ill and they managed the best they could. They were the last free remnants of the Carvetii and they had never been friends of Rome.
They found the remnants of the two turmae when they were halfway along the road. Forty troopers were gathered around a pile of bodies, tending to their wounded. Cassius saw that Graccus was wounded but of Spurius he could not see a sign. He turned to Antoninus. Take your turma and form a picket line down the trail. Capsarii, help the wounded.”
Cassius and Rufius dismounted and went to Graccus. “You met the warband?”
Graccus had a bad wound to his left arm which made his face contort with pain as the capsarius tended to it but his eyes flashed anger as he replied. “Aye. We were heading for the pass when we came upon them. They had made not a sound and the noise of our mounts disguised any sound they did make, it was a well planned ambush. They were upon us before we knew it. Spurius was killed instantly. I led the survivors up to that knoll,” he pointed to the only high point they could see, “but they didn’t follow. I was going to trail them when we had seen to the wounded.” He shrugged, “We could have done little for they outnumbered us.”
“You did well Decurion Graccus. When your men have had their wounds tended form the rearguard.”
With Antoninus at the point they trotted forwards. Every trooper knew that there was a warband ahead and their prey had proved to be both elusive and crafty; an ambush was likely. As they crested the ridge above the port they saw that they were going to be too late. Lying next to the jetty and in the small estuary there were many ships of all sizes and they could see them being boarded, some were already pulling away, out to sea. As soon as Cassius was informed he knew they had one throw of the dice left. “Ride as hard as you can column of fours.”
With less than two miles to go there was little point in saving their horses and they galloped quickly down the inclined trail. As they rode Cassius considered his options. They might not be able to stop the embarkation but they would at least make the Hibernians remember their visit to Britannia and he still had a vain hope that they might save some of the captives. Metellus had done well but the majority of captives were still in the hands of the slavers. He suddenly turned to Rufius, “When you were taken off the shore by Hercules, what were the problems you encountered?”
Rufius looked puzzled and then Cassius’ intention became clear. “It is slow moving in water and you cannot turn easily. Also ships and boats do not move as swiftly as horses and we can do much damage whilst they are close to shore.”
“Good. As soon as we can I will form lines and we will charge those who have not embarked, you take every man with a bow and kill as many in the sea as you can. The one advantage we have is that whoever is their rearguard will be outnumbered by us. If we can stop any of the captives being taken…”
Both Rufius and Cassius knew that it was unlikely that they would capture any captives for they were worth far more than the warrior’s lives. They, and their plunder, would have been the first to be embarked but, until the ala saw the captives sail away they would do all in their power to stop them.
Macro was close to the front and he was determined to kill as many of the chiefs as possible. He had a mad idea that he could actually board the ship and kill all on board. He had inherited from his father, not only a rare skill with all weapons, but also a total belief in his own skill compared with any other warrior. The idea of being defeated by a
foe, no matter how numerous, never entered his head; there was no man yet born who could kill him.
Faolan had made sure, once the fleet arrived, that he was the first on board, along with the gold and the captives. He left Loegaire to supervise the embarkation. He was delighted when the rearguard led by Angus tramped into the port. He had worried that he would have to buy additional soldiers for his attempt on the throne. He had been pleased with the way his warriors had performed. They had acquitted themselves well against the Romans and he knew that, with lessons learned, they would sweep through his own island. He would pay for mercenary archers having seen, at first hand, the devastation they could inflict. He would also make sure that his bodyguard, at least, had armour. As he stood at the stern of the large trader he was feeling happy. The only cloud on the horizon was Idwal whom Morwenna had sent to supervise the embarkation. The two warriors had taken an instant dislike to each other on the occasion of their first meeting and, not for the first time, Faolan was glad that it had been Angus who had accompanied him on his raid into Britannia. Unfortunately the Manavian warrior was in Itunocelum paying off the chiefs there to ensure their continued support for Morwenna, and Faolan would have to suffer that particular cloud.
Suddenly all his pleasure was shattered when he heard the wail which went up from the outskirts of the town. He could see, from the elevated stern, the Roman standard which told him that his pursuers had finally caught up with him. He roared out, “Angus, Loegaire, get the men aboard now! I want to lose no more men.”
Loegaire looked at the string of horses which were about to be boarded. “What about these? They are too valuable to leave.”
“Leave them! The warriors are more valuable.” Thankful that he had boarded the captives first he turned to the captain, “Are we ready to sail?”
The captain shook his head. “We have to raise the anchor and hoist the sail and besides you still have men we could board.”