Hosker, G [Sword of Cartimandua 09] Hero of Rome

by Griff Hosker

“Every decurion’s face showed the same expression and made the same plea, ‘not me, please not me’.

  “I will put you out of your misery. It will, I am afraid, have to be you Graccus. Your wounds make it impossible for you to move quickly.” Seeing the wisdom of the decision but cursing the barbarian who deprived him of the task, he nodded. “Gather your men together but do not tell them anything. We do not know yet who we can trust in this nest of vipers. We will tell them when we are on board. As with Decurion Graccus bring no-one who is wounded. Make sure your men all have sound equipment for this will be the most difficult task the ala has ever performed.”

  There were one hundred and fifty troopers aboard the three ships. Cassius, Decius and Calgus boarded one of the biremes whilst Rufius, Antoninus and Lucius boarded the second. They all had the largest turmae and the Swan was the one at the greatest risk and Julius, sensibly, decided not to put the largest force aboard her. Marcus, Macro and Drusus joined the Legate aboard the cramped trader. They would not have the luxury of being able to walk around the open deck as their companions for they were sailing into the heart of the druidic domain whilst the biremes would remain hidden from view.

  The port to which they were heading was on the north eastern shore of the island. The sullen villagers at Itunocelum had been questioned about the geography and the currents around the remote island. When Julius pointed out that he was leaving troops in their town with orders to kill the headman should they not return then they became sulkily cooperative. They had told the Legate that there were three main settlements; one in the west, one in the south east and the main one in a large bay at the north eastern end of the island. They also found out that it was close to the druidic centre and Morwenna making it doubly dangerous. Cassius had tried to persuade Julius not to give Macro the opportunity to desert and gain revenge upon his mother but Julius was confident that, having been promised by Macro that he had no such intentions he would be better placed aboard the Swan. Cassius had to agree that Macro and Marcus were excellent Explorates and if they needed someone to sneak ashore and scout out the lie of the land they were the best two but Macro’s behaviour of late had led Cassius to doubt the boy who had changed in the last two years.

  All of that was forgotten as the two biremes heaved to north of the island to await the return of the Swan with news of the location of the slave pens. The small ship suddenly felt very lonely to the Legate as he went below decks to the dark and somewhat pungent heart of the ship. The three decurions and the one turma were huddled together in the cramped space. They had no concept of place and speed just the rise and fall of the boat in the northerly swells. The troopers of the turma had all emptied their stomachs and the smell of the vomit was adding to the general smell of decay. The Legate hoped that they would have recovered by the time they went ashore or they would be useless for the task in hand. Everything now depended upon the old man who was now steering the ship.

  Up on deck, glad to be away from the smells which occasionally wafted to him, Hercules was going over in his head the story he and Julius had concocted. He called over Furax. “Now have you got this story straight?”

  Furax sighed, for the first time since joining the legate and the captain, Furax would be using his old skills of the Lupanar, deception and trickery. “Of course. We were going to the land of the Pictii to buy slaves when we were hit by a storm and driven south. We went to Itunocelum to buy spares for the ship but they had none and they told us of Manavia.” He spread his hands like a market magician who has just deceived his audience.

  “Well done but don’t get cocky. This is a dangerous game we play.” He shouted so that all the crew could hear. “No-one goes ashore but me and the lad and no-one, get that, no-one comes aboard. If they realise we have Romans aboard we are all doomed.”

  The crew needed no further urging and they all made the sign against evil. The Red Witch’s reputation terrified them all. Furax was the only one who was curious about this woman. He had heard so much from everyone and they all seemed to fear and respect her in the same breath. He wondered what she was really like.

  “Land ho!”

  “Right boys this is it, lower the mainsail, we’ll take her in on the foresail. Be ready to luff when we see the lie of the land.”

  When Hercules saw the island it reminded him of Capreae but bigger. There was a large hill as at Capreae, too small to be called a mountain, in the middle which seemed to divide it up. He could see the cluster of buildings around the small wooden jetty and then a ribbon of dwellings leading up to a natural mound where there was a palisade suggesting a fortress or citadel of some kind. He made a note of all this to relay to the senator. There appeared to be a large number of ships and boats of all shapes and sizes. Hercules presumed this was the fleet which had rescued the raiders. He just hoped that they had left the vicinity of the port; they might just want to ask some awkward questions and, even worse, wish to board.

  Judging the distance and the wind was a skill which Hercules had acquired over many years and Furax watched in admiration as the old man looked at the sail, the wake and the land to decide the most opportune time to give his orders. “Lower sail!” The sailors quickly furled the foresail and the ship visibly slowed. She still had seaway and gently turned to touch the jetty. As she moved away from the wooden jetty the sailors threw coils of ropes over the side to act as buffers whilst two of the nimbler crew men leapt to the mooring posts with the two main hawsers in their hand. The Swan was securely tied to the jetty within moments of arrival and the usual hangers on nodded their approval.

  If this had been a Roman port then some wizened official would have scurried up with a list of demands and taxes. Hercules wondered what the equivalent was here. His curiosity was soon satisfied as two druids, identifiable by their uncut hair and beards and the garlands of herbs and mistletoe around their necks walked up to the ship, assessing its worth as they did so. “Well judged captain. Many others would have damaged both their ship and our jetty. We are two of the leaders of the village. May we ask your business?”

  Although politely put there was an air of a threat about their words and Hercules noticed the small gang of armed men who were within twenty paces. “We were heading for a port north of the Roman frontier to pick up some slaves when we hit a bad storm which drove us all the way to Itunocelum. We had hoped to buy some spares there for many of our ropes were damaged and the foremast weakened. They had none but they told us that you might be able to supply our needs.”

  The answer seemed to satisfy the druids but the second one asked. “Did you see Romans there?”

  “No but the villagers told us that the Romans had been there and there had been a battle of sorts. We did see crosses on the hillside.” The Senator had impressed upon Hercules to keep as close to the truth as he could. “I was just glad we had missed them.” He tapped his nose. “The Romans and I don’t always see eye to eye. They want too much tax.”

  Now fully satisfied the hint of a smile appeared on the two men’s faces. “Then you are welcome here. We charge no taxes merely berthing fees. It is one gold piece for every seven days berthing.”

  “But I only need one day and then I will be off again!” Hercules managed to put the expected indignation into his voice. It was an exorbitant fee but the Senator was paying.

  Openly grinning now the first druid said. “Those are our terms. And we expect payment up front.” He held out his hand. They might be religious men but Hercules could see that they were business men as well. He tossed the coin down which they bit to test it. “Now you are welcome and you will find what you need in the settlement and if you want slaves then we have a new batch just in. They will be put up for auction with the new moon. Do you wish to view them?”

  This was working out even better than they had planned. “Well if it will save me a trip,” he turned to Furax and winked, “Shall we go and view the slaves then?”

  “Oh yes grandfather!” Furax played the part well.

  As
they left the ship Hercules said, to the two druids but loudly enough for the armed gang to hear, “No-one allowed on board. Understand me. I think one gold piece should guarantee privacy.”

  The two druids looked at each other, the point having been well made, they nodded to the armed gang who slouched off, disappointed that they would have no fun that day.

  Below decks the Legate’s party breathed a collective sigh of relief. They were safe, at least for the time being. They now had to wait in the increasingly stuffy and smelly hold, helpless to affect the course of action and securely in the hands of an old man and a young boy.

  Furax was really enjoying the day. The port was different to anything he had ever seen. It was the first place outside of the Roman world and everything was made of wood. There were no roads merely tracks which the boy assumed would become a muddy morass once the rains came. He wondered how wheeled vehicles would get up the slope they were climbing to, what they both assumed, would be the slave pens. Hercules was also interested but he was becoming worried when he saw the number of guards and armed warriors who seemed to be camped around the lower hillsides. Evidence of the recent conflict could be seen as druids attended to the wounds of the warriors. He could now see where the pens were for there was a plateau below the fort. It looked as though the guards and the ramparts would have a direct view of the insides of the pens. Hercules was glad that the problem was the Senator’s and not his.

  When they reached the pens Furax and Hercules initiated part two of the plan. “Grandfather, can I have a look around?”

  “Yes but don’t get lost and don’t get into trouble.” As the boy raced away Hercules said, sadly to the druids. “His mother and father were killed when the Romans invaded his village. He hid amongst the dead.” The look the druids exchanged told Hercules that they had bought the story.

  “A fine set of slaves are they not? Mainly Brigante, women and children but we have some men slaves as well. The Brigante are fresh meat but we have others who have been captives for longer. They are kept on another part of the island. They will be brought here for the sale. These are just the new ones. What is it you seek?”

  Hercules pointed at the women and children who sat abjectly well away from the men. “The prices in Aquitania are too high. It is a peaceful province and we need wars to make slaves. I am hoping for bargains and a quick profit. We need house servants and children who can be specifically trained to perform particular tasks. When did you say the auction will be?”

  “The new moon.”

  “Good for I will have the chance to sail north and look at these Pictii slaves.” He wrinkled his nose. “The trouble with the Pictii are the tattoos. Many fine homes will not entertain them but they are cheap and they are plentiful. Well thank you for your help. When I find the boy we will buy the masts and ropes and set sail on the morning tide.”

  Furax’s job was to check the defences of the fortress. He wandered up the steep trail. He noticed that it turned sharply right and he knew enough from talking to the troopers that this was a good defensive strategy as it allowed arrows to be poured at the side of an attacking force. He saw that there were only two towers by the gate but they were manned. He quickly counted twenty sentries. One of the guards noticed his interest and wandered over. “What do you want then young ‘un?”

  “I have never seen a fort before. Are all the guards as tough as you?”

  The guard took the flattery as genuine praise and puffed his chest up. “I am one of the tougher ones believe me. Where are you from?”

  Furax pointed innocently down to the harbour. “That ship there. We are getting spares but we have to leave soon. I would love to look inside the fort.”

  “Sorry son. There is a big meeting going on in there, Princes, Druids, Chiefs, there are even some Roman deserters in there.”

  Furax glanced through the open gate and his heart almost rose into his mouth. “Oh maybe next time. Thank you for being so kind sir.”

  “No problem son.” As Furax raced away to rejoin Hercules the guard turned to his companion. “What a polite young lad. Makes me almost want to have a son myself.”

  His companion sniffed. “More like you fancy a fuck you horny old bastard!”

  “Ah there you are grandson, where have you been?”

  “Exploring!” Furax then added under his breath, “We need to get out of here fast!”

  Hercules trusted the boy enough to believe him. As they passed by the ship’s chandlers Hercules went in and made a couple of unnecessary purchases for the ship in case the druids checked up on them and then the two of them made it back to the ship as quickly as possible. As they went on board Hercules turned to the first mate. “Get ready for sea we may need to leave in a hurry. Furax saw something.”

  Once in the hold Furax explained what he had seen. “I saw some of the men who were in the ala. The deserters who fled.”

  Julius looked doubtful. “How can you be sure? It was some time ago.” He peered at the boy to see if this was some story he had told to impress them.

  “The guard said that they had Roman deserters meeting with the Prince and the Witch and when I looked in I recognised one; the big one who didn’t like anyone at the fort and was always frowning. He had a funny name like, the hand or…”

  “The Fist!”

  “Yes that is it, The Fist. I saw him.”

  “Well that complicates things. Did he see you Furax?”

  “No I saw him from the side and then I ran away.”

  “Well we are in the clear then. We just stay on board.”

  “Not quite so easy Macro. If the druids start talking about a ship and a young lad then The Fist might remember Furax.”

  There was a silence as they all considered what the options were. “If we leave too early it will look suspicious.”

  “I have told the crew to be ready to leave quickly. The trouble is the tide won’t be perfect until the morning. We could get out tonight but it would look strange. No ship would risk unknown waters at night.”

  “We will have to bluff it out then but be ready to cast off if anyone approaches the ship.” Julius looked around. “I am just not certain that I can stay cooped up here all night.”

  Hercules smiled, “As soon as it is dark you and your men can sneak up on deck and sleep in the open. To be honest you are all stinking my ship out.”

  One of the troopers said indignantly, “We are stinking it out! I have been in better smelling latrines!”

  Chapter 15

  The council which was meeting was more of a war cabinet than anything else. Faolan, Angus and Creagth were reporting the success of their raid whilst, at the same time, The Fist and his men were asking for sanctuary on the island. Morwenna and the three senior druids had convened the meeting as it seemed everyone would have something to contribute. Morwenna was not as disappointed as Faolan that the raid had not resulted in more destruction. She had learned in the years of her long battle with Rome that small victories could sometimes result in better outcomes rather than one cataclysmic slaughter. In her experience Rome had an inexhaustible supply of men from her vast Empire and her aim was to make Britannia untenable and not worth the effort to save. The problem, as Morwenna had come to realise, was that it was a rich province. The wheat which they farmed in the southern half of the province was a supplement to the sometimes problematic Egyptian harvest; the copper and tin further south was also invaluable for a nation so reliant on weapons of war. The gold of Wyddfa was also a very attractive lure. It was in the north where the Romans lacked riches and that was Morwenna’s hope. If she could make the loss of Roman lives too expensive then they might move south with a line from Deva to Lindum and she could return as Queen of the Brigantes.

  She looked again at the motley and disparate group of men gathered before her. The plainly dressed Roman deserters led by the huge brute called, The Fist, and she could see why he was called that were in complete contrast to the gaudily arrayed warriors around Faolan. For the first tim
e she had access to someone who knew the Roman war machine. When she had fought alongside Decius Sallustius it had not been the same for he knew of Roman Britannia but he had never served in the army and that was the subtle difference. The Mother had, once again, delivered to her all the elements which would contribute to Rome’s downfall. This time she had to harness them all effectively and not waste the good fortune which had come her way.

  Faolan’s sulky face showed his feelings quite clearly and Morwenna thought that he needed someone to guide him to help him become a great leader. That was not her but she wondered about her daughters. Angus had told her that Faolan was not one of the normal Hibernians who were totally immersed in honour and glory; she now knew that this Prince was more political than any she had met. That could be used but he would need to mask his feelings more. She knew from whence came his impatience; he had expected to be the centre of attention and the arrival of the deserters had detracted from that. She would have to take charge and energise the gathering or risk losing the support of all of the players who were gathered before her.

  “We have introduced ourselves and we can now move on to the next, most important discussion, where do we go from here?”

  Faolan leapt to his feet. “I do not see why we have to discuss my business and the business of my people with a Roman, and a Roman deserter at that!”

  If he hoped to rile The Fist into action he failed for the ex-trooper sat with an impassive face drinking the wine before him. “Prince Faolan we are here to discuss the island business. This Roman wishes to settle amongst us and receive sanctuary. That is important and there is a price.” The Fist’s hooded eyes flickered as they took in her statement. Here it was the huge fee he would have to pay for safety. “The price may not be gold, although gold is always welcome, but knowledge, information and advice.” When the Roman visibly relaxed Morwenna knew that she had read him right. “You, Prince Faolan, wish to return home to take from your cousin your lands and become king. Is that not so?”