by Griff Hosker
Later, when the assembly had dispersed Julius called a meeting of the ship’s officers, the decurions and Hercules. “I propose that the wounded be taken by The Swan back to Eboracum. The Classis Britannica can return to its duties on the east and we will return the captives to their home.”
Cassius looked unhappy. “Could the captives not sail back in the biremes for the journey over land will be hard?”
Hercules sucked in his cheeks, “Bad luck to have a woman aboard, let alone a whole gaggle of ‘em.”
Although they smiled Julius could see that the two bireme captains agreed. It would be too crowded and, having sailed around this island, not as safe as the land journey.”
“We can make wagons. There are more horses here than we will need.”
“But Metellus, there are no roads. The wagons would not last more than a few miles. Remember there is no road to Stanwyck.”
Grinning slyly Metellus said, “No, but there is one to Luguvalium and thence along the Stanegate to Dere Street.”
Cassius put his hands up in exasperation. “Well that is even better then; let us take them to the frontier where the Selgovae are flexing their muscles.”
“Metellus is right, Decurion Princeps. This way we have protection all the way form Luguvalium to the fort Vindolanda and thence to Coriosopitum. I think that is an excellent suggestion.”
Still mumbling his complaints Cassius moaned, “It will take a week longer to do it that way.” He did not notice the smile exchanged between Metellus and the captive called Nanna.
******
By the time Faolan had managed to get a boat and sail to Itunocelum with the fifty warriors chosen by him and Caronwyn to find her mother’s head, the ala had been gone from the port for three days. The crosses still marked the ridge above the houses, the circling carrion feeders still flocking and squawking for the right to feast. The frightened villagers had not dared to touch the pile of ashes which marked Macro’s end and the queen’s skull still looked skywards. The ship’s captain sailed up and down the beach for a while as the warriors looked for a sign of an ambush.
Angus took the decision for his leader. “I will go ashore with ten men. If it is a trap, then be prepared to pick us up quickly.” He no longer trusted the Hibernian Prince since he had abandoned his men on the beach on their last visit. The captain took them to the jetty and Angus and his men sprang ashore, weapons ready. The only sounds were the carrion crows fighting over the bodies and the Manavian wedge moved towards the blackened patch of the beach. As soon as Angus saw the skull he knew that the Romans had, as he suspected left. “You eight, scout out the settlement, bring me the headman. Tuarch, tell his majesty that it is safe and I have found the Queen.”
The old warrior reached down to tenderly pick up the blackened skull. It was clearly Morwenna for not all of her hair had burnt and her features were still recognisable. He felt sad, like a father who has lost a daughter. For all her cruelty to others she had always shown kindness to Angus and he had been her bondsman for the last ten years. He still regretted that it had been Creagth who was watching over her and not him. Had he been the guard then he was convinced that she would still be alive. He would have to do something to make up for his error. Perhaps he would offer his services to Caronwyn for she was the double of her mother.
He was still gently cradling the skull when Faolan appeared at his side, his nose wrinkled in disgust at the sight and the smell. He looked at the knife with a puzzled expression on his face. “Why would they do that?”
“A sign for the afterlife showing what the Queen had done.” Angus pointed at the pile of ash. “This was the funeral pyre for the warrior who killed her and this,” he held up the skull,” was the trophy he had won. The knife represented the other one he killed, Brynna.”
The headman appeared between two of the warriors. He was shaking with fear. Seeing that Faolan was about to snap out something which might reduce the man to abject terror, Angus spoke quietly. “When did the Romans leave?”
“Yesterday after they had …” unable to say the words he pointed at the skull.
“And you did not move it because…”
The man fell to his knees. “Lord, we did not want you to think we did it! We were helpless, there were many Romans and we were afraid and besides that…”
“She was already dead. Stand for you have done no wrong. How did they leave?”
“Some went on the three ships and they built wagons for the women. They travelled east.”
“Good, now take your people and cut down our warriors. Then take the crosses and build them into a pyre. We will say goodbye to our dead now.” The man looked in fear at the dead bodies. “They cannot hurt you and their spirits will honour you for this kindness.” The man still hesitated and Angus said quietly, “If you do not take them down then their spirits will wander this shore forever. Do you want that?” Shaking his head the man ran away.
Faolan seemed disinterested in his men and was peering eastwards. “If they left yesterday we could catch them and recapture the prisoners.”
Angus looked at him with an expression which was a mixture of disgust and disbelief. “You were not able to fight these Romans off with a thousand men. What makes you think you can defeat them with fifty?”
Faolan bit back his reply. He had been insulted but he knew that he needed Angus. “At least Caronwyn will be happy for we have the head.”
Angus strode up the beach anxious to be away from this man he wanted to kill. “If you think she will be happy to receive this, then you are an even bigger fool than I took you for. I have better things to do with my time like burying brave warriors who were abandoned to their doom.”
******
Livius was not impressed by the Second Gallic Cohort. It was his first contact with a mixed cohort and he had expected to see a different version of his own ala but they seemed a very slovenly bunch. Perhaps his judgment was coloured and tainted, after his meeting with the Senior Decurion, Catuvolcus. It was obvious that he had become used to running the cohort in the short time since the Prefect’s death and bridled at the decision of the Governor to place him under the control of Livius. He was both surly and arrogant. Livius wondered if it was a sign of his advancing years that he did not like the fact that the man retained his Gallic name when the convention was to change to a Roman one once they enlisted. He also still affected all the accoutrements of a Gallic chief, with the long moustaches and hair, arms covered in bracelets. Livius still recalled the stories from Cassius about the pony tailed auxiliaries who had started a war and caused the deaths of his friends in the Ninth. Finally there was his insistence on the title of Decurion Princeps when he was, patently, still just a decurion. It had been that difference of opinion which had caused their first rift.
“When I am satisfied that you can perform as a Decurion Princeps then I will promote you and you will receive the appropriate pay. Until then you are just the senior decurion, my conduit to the other officers and if you do not like it I will appoint someone else.” Later Livius realised how pompous he had sounded but there was something about the man which brought it out in him. His counterpart in the cohort, Vibius Hostilius, seemed a much more reasonable man. Older than the decurion and shorter he looked every uncia a Centurion, and a Roman Centurion at that. He seemed happy to let the Decurion claim the title of Decurion Princeps for it did not impinge upon his world. He was in charge of the infantry element and that suited him. In fact he also did not get on with Catuvolcus which also brought Livius and Vibius closer together.
Livius had allowed the cohort to have a few days at Rocky Point to become used to the harsh conditions although the fort was rather overcrowded. He called a meeting of the eight decurions and six centurions to explain how they would be used.
“Welcome gentlemen and you have come at a very appropriate time.” It was at the first meeting that Livius detected the air of bored compliance, especially from the decurions. Perhaps he was used to the keen and hardworking decurions of h
is own ala. The centurions all had the fixed inscrutable stare which seemed to come with the vine staff. “The ala which is based here has been detached to put down a rebellion further south and until they return we will be the force which has to react to problems.” If he thought the cavalrymen would be impressed with his news he was wrong. The horse element will be based in four of the seven camps my ala built north of here. The infantry element will be based here at Rocky Point.” He pointed to the map on the wall at the four camps. “Our only eyes on the Selgovae and the Votadini will be the eight turmae. You will each need to patrol every day until the return of the ala.”
“And who will guard these camps while we are patrolling?”
The question was the moment that Livius knew he and Catuvolcus were not going to get along, it was not the question, which seemed very reasonable, it was the tone and the attitude which went with it.”
“You have thirty men in a turma, I would suggest that you leave six in the camp to guard it and prepare your food. When the ala returns then you will be in pairs in these camps and have more men available.”
“Pah! We have women to cook our food.”
“Not up here you don’t. There are no women other than the barbarians and, until the limes are built we avoid contact with them.”
The decurions all sat bolt up right, almost as a man. Catuvolcus stood, “But we always take slaves and they work for us.”
Smiling Livius gestured for him to sit. “Not here, not on this frontier.” He leaned forward, “It is the Legate’s order.”
“Where is this Legate? I will speak to him myself. We must have slaves, it is our right.”
“At the moment Legate Julius Demetrius is with the ala but he will be returning soon.” He lowered his voice and his eyes bored into those of the Gaul. “I will inform him of your unhappiness and I am sure he will wish to hear from you personally.”
The Gaul wondered at the relationship between the Legate and this Prefect but, in his experience, once you were away from the Prefect you could do as you liked.
Vibius spoke up, “And the infantry?”
“You have a far harder task. We have vexillations from three legions coming north to build the limes. One will be based at Coriosopitum and your job will be to protect them while they build.”
“And we will be based here.”
Livius spread his hands, “If you wish it, then yes but I am happy for you to build another fort closer to the workings if you think it necessary.”
Vibius nodded, satisfied, “We will walk to the workings each day for a while this will help us get a feel of the land, if it becomes necessary then we will build our own camp.”
“One last thing, we do not want to antagonise the tribes. We have too few men to deal with a full scale revolt. We watch and we defend. We do not attack.”
This was too much for Catuvolcus who, once again, stood up. “But we are warriors. Attack is what we do.”
“No, you are Roman soldiers and here, you obey orders, that is what you do and do not underestimate these tribes. They are effective at ambush and they know the land far better than you. Avoid the forests they are horse killers.”
When the officers left Livius turned to Julius the clerk. “Well how do you think that went?”
“I am pleased with the infantry cohort for it will give us better protection than the fort guards but I, for one, will be glad when the ala returns for I fear the horsemen will not follow your orders.”
Prophetically and sadly it proved to be true. Catuvolcus took his turma out on a patrol and headed north to the distant smoke they could see on the horizon. The twisting trail took them through the thick forests but they were lucky for they met no Votadini. Catuvolcus was keen, despite the admonitions of the Prefect, to acquire some women. They not only needed feeding they had other wants and desires which needed satisfying. The Prefect was safe in his fort miles away and the Gaul was certain that he could take some women, and, no doubt, plunder without the Prefect being any the wiser.
They came through a shallow valley and saw, in a clearing further up, a party of charcoal burners unfortunately men and boysHeedless of the warnings from Livius, they charged into the camp, confident that they could overcome their victims. Before they had even reached the camp they heard the strident notes of an animal horn but they continued their charge, spearing four men and scooping up two young boys who were, unceremoniously slung over saddles. Catuvolcus was no fool and he knew the horn would bring others. They had their pleasures for the night and he led his men back to the undefended fort.
As they joked along the trail, the two boys silenced with a sword pommel, they talked of the pleasures they would have with the boys before they ended their lives. They were Gallic horsemen, the finest riders in the western half of the Empire and no painted barbarian could catch them afoot.
The ambush when it came was simplicity itself. The forest warbands were dotted around the edge of the forests. Their summer had been a barren one for the Romans had kept away but their king had told them to keep up the waiting, it would pay dividends. So it proved on this early autumnal day as Catuvolcus and his turma trotted towards their camp. Two small warbands had converged to the trail they had identified as the point of entry. Ten of the men covered themselves in bracken and lay alarmingly close to the trail. Ten of the others had positioned themselves at the head of the trail while the other twenty waited for the last man to pass.
The Gauls had no idea they were being ambushed until the huge warrior charged the scout and, with a single blow decapitated the horse. As the rider plunged to the ground he was hacked to death by two younger warriors with short, Roman swords. When the trap closed behind them Catuvolcus knew that they were in trouble and yelled, “Charge through them!” An excellent rider he charged his mount at the axe man in the middle of the trail and, as he swung his axe the decurion hurled his javelin to spear him. At that moment the hidden barbarians leapt to their feet and dragged the hapless Gauls from their saddles. The ones with the two boys were the target of especial violence and they were captured alive.
By the time they emerged from the forest Catuvolcus had but eight men left and two of those were wounded. His second in command was dead and the standard had been captured. His men looked to him with terror filled eyes. They had never been so roughly handled before and two thirds of them were dead or captured. “I have had enough of this boys, let’s go to one of the other forts. We cannot defend one by ourselves.” The depleted turma made its way to the next fort along, the one formerly occupied by Marcus and Livius. The decurion in charge was shocked at the arrival of the turma but was grateful that he now had a quarter more defenders.
The next morning, when they awoke, the night sentries reported hearing strange noises emanating from close to the fort. As dawn broke they saw the grisly origin of the noises. One of the captured Gauls was nailed to a tree on the edge of the forest. He was naked and had been badly cut. Catuvolcus took ten men out in skirmish order, ready to race back to the safety of the fort at the first sign of another ambush. As they drew closer some of the troopers gagged for his penis and testicles had been hacked off and pushed into his mouth which had been roughly sewn closed to prevent him getting rid of them. They could see from his legs that he had been hamstrung but the wondered why he was standing on his toes. As they came within ten paces they could see that he was almost seated on a sharpened stake; if he lowered his feet he would be impaled.
“Cut him down but be careful.” The decurion did not think that the man could live but having had the opportunity to end his own life he had chosen to live; it was the least the Gaul could do.
Once freed they quickly took him to the fort where the capsarius cut the stitches from his lips and took out his genitalia. As his wounds were tended to the man tried to speak but they could see that his tongue had been cut out. The exertion proved too much and, with a sigh, the tortured trooper died.
******
As the column moved north Cassius had
to agree that it was a better way to travel for the roads were good and they moved at a brisk pace rather than the funereal one with tired captives. He was still worried about the Stanegate remembering the uneasy peace they had encountered. If the rest of the province was in turmoil then it stood to reason that the Votadini and Selgovae would use it to their advantage.
A newly philosophical Metellus merely shrugged at Cassius’ concerns. “Take it one day at a time. There is no point in worrying about what may happen. The road is safe until Luguvalium. There the Prefect will apprise us of the state of the road further on.”
“You have changed Metellus. That is sound advice, not that I am saying you did not give sound advice before, but you are different now. What has changed you?”
“Perhaps Macro’s death…”
Cassius looked at him shrewdly, “That has affected all of us and you as much as any but there is something else, a peace about you that was not there before.”
Metellus shrugged. “I feel the same but I think I worry less. Macro was like a son to us all and it does not do a man good to have his son die before him. Perhaps I am making my peace.”
“That I don’t believe but I will discover what it is, believe me.”
The fortress of Luguvalium was a welcome sight for it meant no camp building and some hot food. While the captives and troopers were made comfortable Julius and Cassius visited the Prefect.
“Am I glad to see you and I know that Prefect Livius will be as well.”
His tone suggested something serious. “What has happened?”
“The mixed cohort arrived and the cavalry decurion managed to get almost a whole turma massacred and make the Votadini rise up along the whole frontier. The Selgovae have joined them and it looks as though they are going to attack us in force soon.”
“You are saying that the Stanegate is not a safe route at the moment and we should wait?”
“Leave the captives here you mean? They cannot stay, for this is a war zone. You need to get them south as soon as you can.”