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

by Griff Hosker

  “Next ten, winkle them out!”

  The next ten troopers took off, lashing their mounts into the forest from whence the attack had come. Their speed took Moray’s men by surprise and they ran swiftly through the woods confident that they could out run the horses which had to twist and turn through the trees. One warrior slipped to be speared like a salmon as he lay prostrate on the ground. Eagerly the troopers looked for new targets when they heard the disappointing notes of the recall.

  Cassius rode to the head of the column as the scouts returned. “Casualties?”

  “A couple of troopers and their mounts were hit by sling shots but nothing that will stop us.”

  “I think this will be the pattern for a while. They will make these quick attacks to keep us on the edge. I will relieve you in an hour.”

  “We are doing alright sir.” The young decurion sounded offended

  “I know Lucius and I do not doubt your ability but we need you to be totally alert and we have other turmae.”

  So, as dawn broke and the new day arrived, the pattern was set. Barbarians would attack, sometimes from the north and sometimes from the south, once from both sides of the road, using hit and run. Each time they injured troopers although none seriously but each time the column was slowed up and, unknown to the ala, King Tole and his retinue drew closer and closer.

  Chapter 20

  The King himself came with the two hundred warriors he had available. Others were making their way from further afield. Once he knew that the famous ala was isolated he knew he had to risk an attack, despite the disparity in numbers. The additional incentive was the large number of slaves they could capture. It was rumoured that they had been snatched from the Witch Queen herself and King Tole knew that he could gain much credit by taking them from the Romans.

  Moray bowed when the king arrived. “You have done well my chief and slowed them down.”

  Moray scowled in the direction of the Stanegate. “But it has cost me four warriors and we have yet to kill one of theirs.”

  “Patience Moray, for soon they will bleed their life blood on this stone trail which they have built. He turned to his men, pointing at one of his lieutenants. “Take one hundred men and ride ahead of the column; hide in the woods to the south of their road close by the deep lake, when you hear my horn, then attack.” The men jogged off quickly. “Moray, you and your men wait here. When the last men are passing then attack them.”

  “How long for?” Moray knew that his band was becoming smaller by the mile.

  “Until they move and then keep harrying them. Do not risk your men but you will be able to kill some for your slingshots will begin to tell. I want them looking over their shoulders.” Moray nodded and led his men back through the woods. Tole turned to the rest of the warband, ten of whom were mounted. “We will get to the lake and use the high ground. Today we take Roman heads.”

  Rufius was at the point when the major attack began. His men were pelted by stones and badly thrown spears from the rocks to his left and he wheeled his men to face the new enemy. Even as he moved forward Rufius noticed that this was a heavier attack and there were more missiles coming his way. His archers, all five of them, were already notching arrows and seeking targets. They brought down three warriors who erroneously thought that they were well hidden. Suddenly a horn sound in front of Rufius and he wondered what it prefaced; nothing good, of that he was certain. “Fall back!”

  Just as his men began to back their horses to the head of the column he heard a roar and the trooper next to him crashed to the ground with a throwing axe embedded in his back. They were being attacked on two sides. His men were falling from their mounts as the two warbands closed in on the vanguard. He looked around, desperately, for support and saw that the wagons had closed up on him. On the left side Metellus was racing forwards with his turma whilst on the southern side he heard the roar of “The Sword!” and knew that Marcus and his double turma was on the way.

  Rufius spied hope. “Defend yourselves, help is on the way!” Warriors had closed with the ala and were hacking their swords at the legs of their mounts. Troopers thrust their javelins at the men on foot in a desperate attempt to save their mounts. Once on the floor other Selgovae raced in to finish off the dismounted and vulnerable troopers. Enraged Rufius rode his mount at the three warriors who were surrounding a wounded trooper, his sword slashed down, savagely splitting open the head of one, his mount trampled a second and his shield punched the third in the head rendering him unconscious. The grateful trooper grabbed the pommel horn of Rufius’ saddle as his horse backed away from the enemy.

  Marcus’ voice rang out, “Rufius fall back and we will cover you!”

  Rufius yelled, “Fall back!” as Marcus’ men hurled their javelins to slow down the advancing barbarians. Suddenly the tribesmen disappeared back into the woods and the rocks.

  Cassius rode up, blood streaming from a wound on his arm. “They have attacked the rear and a wagon is isolated. Metellus, you and Rufius hold them here. Marcus, take your turma and retrieve the wagon.”

  Marcus’ men rode down the column. As he did so Marcus noticed that the Legate had ordered the men to dismount and defend the captives with their shields. From the dense woods and rocks a barrage of stones, arrows and missiles rained down on the wagons hence the need for protection. Approaching the solitary last isolated wagon Marcus could see that there were only ten or so troopers left to defend it. He saw Decurion Graccus lying in the open space between the lonely wagon and the rest, a spear in his dead chest. One of the troopers, lying under the penultimate wagon , tried to run to help the beleaguered troopers but was cut down before he got there.

  Marcus’ mind was working overtime and he shouted to his men. “We can’t clear the north of the road; let’s relieve the pressure to the south. The Sword!”

  With a collective roar of defiance from the whole turma of troopers, they wheeled from column into two open lines and crashed ferociously into the woods heedless of the missiles heading their way. The confident Selgovae were stunned when the troopers, fired up by a campaign of ambushes and shield walls, hacked and slashed at the unarmoured bodies of these barbarians who had strayed within the length of a sword. When twenty lay dead the rest decided that discretion was needed and they fled. Marcus knew they had no time to pursue; the wagon was still under threat from the northern side. “Back to the column!”

  When they reached the trail they saw that it was hand to hand combat amongst the surviving wagon guards and there were but five troopers still on their feet. One of the women, Marcus knew her as Nanna, was wielding an axe as she swept it before her to keep the tribesmen from mounting the wagon and making off with it.

  “Charge!” The troopers galloped at the wagon and Marcus reared his horse to fell one warrior who had hold of Nanna’s legs and was trying to pull her over the side. He leapt from his horse and stabbed a half naked, heavily tattooed warrior in his back. As he punched another one in the face with his shield, he saw that the rest had fled.

  Nanna leaned over, “Well done but next time could you get here a little quicker! I did not fancy a stay amongst the Hibernians and these barbarians are just as unpleasant.”

  Laughing Marcus shouted, “Sorry my dear, I’ll do better next time. Back to the wagon, put the wounded inside. Ten of you, form the rearguard, ten get on this side and ten on the other. The rest ride with me.”

  One of Marcus’ men who had been unhorsed took the reins of the last wagon and it gradually closed the gap to the rest of the column. A cheer rippled down the line as they saw the rescue unfold.

  Marcus led his small group of troopers through the rearguard. “We are going to be an extra rearguard. We don’t wait for them to attack we look for them and attack them first so keep your eyes peeled!”

  Tole was relieved when another fifty warriors jogged through the woods from the north. “Take these men to the rocks which are closest to the road.” Tole pointed to a knoll which rose close to the Stanegate
. Behind it, the cliff rose steeply; it was a perfect place from which to launch an attack on a column already weakened by the gnat like bites of the barbarians. They trotted off and Tole gathered around him a hundred warriors. “We will cross the road and attack from the woods to the south when the head of the column is halted and we will hit the soft middle.” He pointed at the turma of Marcus which was just passing their hiding place. “They have placed their best troops at the rear, that is good. Let them watch for the attack which will not come.”

  Cassius decided to lead at the front. Although wounded it was not fair on his decurions to ask them to endure and blunt all the barbarian assaults. The easy road was proving anything but easy. The wagons were moving faster than they would have done over the land but the horses were not draught horses and they were going slower than a man could walk. Just when his spirits were at their lowest and he was considering making a fortress of the wagons, a trooper yelled, “Rider coming in!”

  Every trooper’s hand went to his weapons as he anticipated another barbarian attack but was relieved when the young despatch rider from Rocky Point reined in his lathered horse. “Sir, message from the Prefect. He received your message and he is coming to get you. He has a cohort of Gauls with him.”

  “When did he leave?”

  “He will be a couple of hours behind me sir, they were on foot.”

  “Good. Ride down the line until you see the Legate and report to him.” There was some hope then. He turned and shouted to those around him, “The Prefect is coming! Pass it on!” The news spread down the column and the resolve of the defenders, which had been weakened by the attacks now hardened. Cassius glanced ahead. Once they had reached the knoll which was ahead they would have a difficult stretch of the road to negotiate for it was a mile or two where the road passed closest to good ambush sites. The Decurion Princeps was torn between going slower so that the relief column would be able to aid them and going faster to reach the relief column quicker. The decision was taken from him as the arrow flew from the knoll and struck him in his thigh. He grimaced but held on to his reins.

  Sextus was in the first wagon, tending to the wounded and he leapt from the moving vehicle and helped Cassius to the ground. He turned to the troopers who were nearby. “Help me get the Decurion Princeps to the wagon!”

  Although well meaning the decision was a disastrous one for the whole column halted just as the men on the knoll attacked. As the dismounted troopers struggled to help Cassius to the wagon, the remainder formed a thin shield wall to protect their vulnerable comrades on the ground. At the same time they all heard the wail from the middle of the line of wagons as King Tole led his warriors to attack the centre of the column. Amidst it all they heard the voice of the Legate shout, “Dismount and fight on foot!” The column was totally surrounded and under heavy attack from Selgovae who had the advantage of both numbers and cover.

  ******

  Livius and Vibius were discovering that the barbarians were not the only dangers in the northern woods. They were being eaten alive by midges. Little red blotches erupted all over their bodies as the greedy bloodsuckers feasted on fresh flesh. Livius kept them moving through the woods anxious to reach the wagons quickly but keen to avoid detection. They had left the road an hour since when Livius deemed that they were close enough for Selgovae scouts.

  Vibius suddenly looked at Livius and held up his hand. The auxiliaries halted and they listened. In the distance they could hear the clamour of iron on metal and the screams of death. Vibius turned. “Right lads, somewhere up ahead, is a column of Brigante women and some barbarian bastards who want their way with them. Let’s show them that the Gauls are here! Open order, half centuries.” Without waiting to see his order carried out the two officers led their men forwards quickly through the woods. Now that they were no longer in column they moved much more quickly.

  Suddenly some horses appeared from the woods to the front, before Vibius could order a defensive position Livius restrained him. “It’s our men.”

  The heaving troopers saluted Livius. “Sir they have the wagons trapped, about a mile up the trail. They are held up by some warriors in the rocks and they are being attacked on this side by a large warband.” The trooper looked pained. “They are suffering sir. Things don’t look good.”

  “Take the scouts and dislodge the men from the rocks.” They turned and crossed the road. “Right Vibius we have a mile. Can we get there in time?”

  “Piece of piss sir! Come on ladies, let’s kill some fucking barbarians.”

  This time they set off at a healthy jog, and, even though they were not in one line, they all retained the same rhythm of well trained soldiers. Livius and Vibius led them deeper into the woods to enable them to have a broader front for their superior numbers. Livius saw a lightening ahead and knew that they were close. He was relieved to see the rear of the barbarians as they pressed closer to the wagons. The Gauls hit them silently which proved more effective than sounding a charge for the first thirty warriors fell without knowing why as they waited their turn for battle at the rear of the line. The half centuries opened to full centuries and gradually overlapped the Selgovae lines.

  The deception could not last longer and it was King Tole, sat upon his horse at the front of the onslaught who, turning to urge his men on, saw the waves of Romans slaughtering his men. They were outnumbered and were between the wagons and the swords, there was but one option, retreat. “Fall back! We are surrounded!” The men turned and, seeing the Romans charging fled west.

  “After them!” Vibius led his victorious auxiliaries through the forests following the speeding Selgovae. Livius turned his horse to go to the aid of the column.

  Marcus was frustrated at the rear. His men could hear the conflict ahead but they were the rearguard and no-one was there for them to fight. He was sensible enough to realise that, the minute he left his post then the barbarians would attack the vulnerable rear and, despite his misgivings, he kept to his post. In the end it proved to be vital as the warband fled south and west, gradually out running the armoured auxiliaries. The first of the Selgovae to emerge were the men on horses led by King Tole and Marcus led his turma straight at him. “The Sword!”

  King Tole was stunned as the line of steel rode straight at him. His nine bodyguards edged ahead of him to form a protective phalanx of bodies around their anointed king. Marcus deflected the first warrior’s sword on his shield and slashed the sword across the neck of the warrior, his headless corpse riding ghoulishly into the woods. King Tole suddenly found himself facing the mighty Sword of Cartimandua; the king was a brave man but there seemed something almost palpably magical about the weapon which sliced towards his head. He held his shield above his helmet only to have it shattered by the blow from the blade. His momentum carried him through the line and he kicked his horse on. Marcus spun his mount and launched himself after the king. Tole hunched down and kicked on. Marcus’ horse had charged a number of times already and was slowing. “Come on! One last spurt!” Marcus, the horse whisperer nuzzled its mane with his sword hand. Up above a hunting hawk shrieked and Marcus horse leapt forward and took him within a sword’s length of King Tole. He slashed down with his blade, it slid from the armoured shoulder down the slide of the king to cut his leg open to the bone. The last effort was all that Marcus mount could manage and King Tole and the last of his warriors escaped. Marcus reined his mount in. “Well done!” Glancing up at the hawk still circling above he said, “And thank you my brother!”

  ******

  Catuvolcus was not enjoying his night time sentry duty and he was seething with resentment. In their past incarnation, in Germania, they had enjoyed the luxury of a fort and simple patrols. This night time work was just that, hard work. He had been angered by the sudden arrival of the centurion from the Sixth, Quintus Broccus who had been there to ensure that he did have some protection.

  The veteran had assessed Catuvolcus the moment he had seen him. Prefect Livius was an example of the new br
eed of auxilia, adaptive and yet conforming to the disciplines of the army. Catuvolcus was the old fashioned auxilia, clinging to their idiosyncratic dress rather than the efficient uniform and arms of the Roman army. That attitude transmitted itself to tactics and Quintus worried that the Gauls might take it into their heads to charge off after a hare!

  “Glad to see you Decurion. The Prefect told me you had the picket duty. Have you seen anything?”

  “There is nothing to see. These barbarians are safe in their huts while we freeze in this forsaken land.”

  “Such is the lot of the Roman Army on the frontier.” Against his better judgement Quintus offered an olive branch. “When dawn breaks, if you would like to come to our camp we will have some hot food for you.”

  “Bread and porridge? Thank you for the offer but we will forage ourselves.”

  It was an ungracious answer but at least the centurion had made the offer. “Do not stray too close to the barbarians. We want peace here while we build.” The Gaul did not say a word but his expression told Quintus that the Decurion cared little for the peace of the Sixth. Quintus left without a goodbye. If they wanted such coldness then so be it. The Sixth could manage just as well alone.

  The night darkened and it grew colder. His line of pickets began chuntering and mumbling to themselves. Catuvolcus sympathised with each and every moan. As the moon rose and the temperature dropped even more their spirits sank even lower. One of the outlying guards came in to speak to Catuvolcus, a greedy and lascivious look on his face. “There is a hut in the woods. They have a fire and they have food.”

  Remembering the debacle at the charcoal burners Catuvolcus was cautious. “Any sign of warriors?”

  “None. I scouted around for half a mile.”

  His second in command leaned over, “We could say we heard the noise of warriors and had to investigate. If this is a lonely hut then no-one will know.”