Hosker, G [Sword of Cartimandua 05] Revolt of the Red Witch (20 page)

Gaelwyn released his mounts one by one as they tired and flagged as he rode them hard. Glancing over his shoulder he could see that the hunters were gaining ground.  He had two mounts still tied to his own and they contained the cloaks of Gaius and Marcus. He ripped them from the backs of the horses and threw them in the air. Letting one of the horses go he took the other one towards the tree line. As he had expected the loose horse ran away from Gaelwyn towards the sea at the same time the cloaks fluttered to the ground before the pursuing horses making them check and veer to the side.  A small gap opened and the furious Caledonii whipped their horses, angry with themselves for following the horse towards the sea.  The man they were chasing would go into the woods to evade them.  Gradually against a darkening sky Gaelwyn edged towards the sea.  He avoided moving from side to side and aimed for a point in the distance. He removed his own cloak and lay flat on his mount’s back.  In the darkness it was hard to see which horse had a rider. Throwing his own cloak in the air he kicked the spare horse so that it reared and traced away from the pain towards the woods.  Gaelwyn went straight into the sea galloping as hard as his horse could manage.  As expected the warriors chased the spare ignoring what they perceived to be another loose horse.  They could not comprehend that anyone would go towards the sea where they would be easily caught. The loose horse stopped quite quickly and the warriors drew their swords ready to kill the elusive warrior.  When they saw the horse had no rider they looked back to the sea where they could dimly see Gaelwyn and his mount both swimming strongly away from the shore. Shaking their heads in disbelief they headed towards the icy water. He would have to return to land some time and they could move faster on the sand than he could in the water.  Lulach would be pleased; they had one of the raiders at least.

The water seemed like ice to Gaelwyn piercing his flesh with needles of pain. He lay on the back of his horse, his body as close to the surface as he could manage and his hands gripped the mane as tightly as he could; he had lied to the others, he could not swim..  Although he was not moved swiftly the current and the tide were taking him to see. He had done his part and he hoped that the others had done theirs.  Whatever happened, events were in the hands of the Allfather now. He felt his feet turn to stone, the cold permeating up through his body making him feel strangely sleepy and his horse began to weaken as the water deepened and the currents strengthened. He peered through salt encrusted eyes out to sea but all he could spy was a black and stormy sky with whitecaps growing increasingly larger. Quite calmly he reflected that this was a strange way for a warrior from the high country to die swept out to sea but he had done his duty and his honour was intact.  When he met the Allfather he would be able to hold his head up.

“Gaelwyn!”

He heard the voice but where was it coming from? He looked towards the horizon but could see nothing.  Perhaps he was dreaming or perhaps he this was death and he was dead already not knowing the moment.

“Gaelwyn! You soft old bugger! Behind you!”

Turning he saw that he had swum so far out to sea that the beat was behind him. He jerked his horse’s head around and it began to swim towards the boat. He was more exhausted than he knew and it took all the efforts of Marcus and Gaius to pull him aboard.  As the boat slipped by Marcus smacked the horse on its rump, “Keep swimming noble beast and you will reach the shore.” The wild, white eyes of the horse showed its terror but it was swimming in the right direction and, without the dead weight that was Gaelwyn, was moving more quickly.

“What were you doing you old fool?  Trying to swim to Ireland?”

“Hah! It is not impossible for a warrior such as me eh Macro?” The sudden silence made the old man open his eyes and glance around the huddled group sheltering in the bottom of the boat. Nodding he looked heavenward, “So he has gone to the Allfather. Was it a noble death?”

“You have never seen one as noble or as glorious.” As the boat tacked south to safety Gaius told the tale of Macro’s last stand to Gaelwyn and Decius sat with open eyes hearing for the first time the famous story which would be passed down and told around fires in the land of the Brigante until it became a legend, disbelieved by many but cherished by true warriors everywhere.

Ownie headed north when he left Streonshal. He knew Morwenna was less likely to have encountered Romans; until he reorganised and gathered more men he did not want to meet any.  He would be hard pushed to fight off a single turma of cavalry. He pushed his men harder than they had ever been pushed before. He felt sure that they still outnumbered the Romans but, in the open, his men were no match for them. For the first time since the revolt had started he was regretting joining and throwing in with the witch who had used such plausible and persuasive arguments.  The enemy were not as easy to defeat as he had thought.  The initial victory had been gained by deception; it was not a trick which could be tried twice. The Romans were masters of the battlefield.

Once they reached the top of the moors they made good time.  When his men questioned the wisdom of running along the skyline he scornfully pointed eastwards.  “If they can see us then we can see them for they are on horses.  We will push on and cross the Dunum at the narrow place.”

“Not Morbium then?”

“No Jared for even if the Queen managed to cross against the Romans there we are too few in number now to attempt that bridge with a fort next to it.  We need to join forces with the Queen.  Once we cross the Dunum we will rest and I will send out scouts to make contact with the rest of the army.”

Knowing that they only had thirty or so miles to travel gave them impetus and they half walked, half ran until, when evening fell they could go no more. They found themselves close to a conical shaped hill with a dell to the north.  “Here we will rest for the night and travel again tomorrow.  Jared take two men to the top of this hill; and watch for our pursuers. Kai, find us food.”

Ownie needed time to think, to plan his strategy.  He still wished to be the leader of the Brigante but, perhaps, the time was not right yet. When he met the Queen he would decide then if her plans had a chance of success, if not then he would sneak back to the high moors and wait there for the snows to melt and then see which way the wind was blowing.”

“You have forty horses.”

The Prefect looked at a stern faced Sergeant Cato.  It was often said that Cato loved horses more than the men who rode them and Julius was beginning to understand that idea. “You mean forty horses that are fully fit?”

“No, Sir, I mean there are forty horses which are available for gentle use.  If they are pushed we will have less than twenty.” The sergeant softened his voice; it was as though talking to a child.  When the Tribune had been Prefect then they had a leader who understood how to husband horses, how to care for them and protect them. The officers in the ala now saw them as a weapon to be honed and sharpened.  The prefect was a good leader but he didn’t understand the fine line between being fit to walk and fit to fight. “We have raced these beasts from the Lands of the Lakes to Cataractonium to Eboracum to here without a rest or a stop.  They have fought in more battles than I care to count and there is a limit to what they can do.” He raised himself upright and looked the Prefect straight in the eye. “You can use forty horses for a walking patrol and that is all.  The rest need, grazing, attention and most of all care for at least seven days and then, after another week or so of walking patrol they will be able to function as you wish them to. If not Prefect the ala will become footsoldiers.”

The Decurion Princeps hid his smile behind his hand.  The Sergeant was the shortest trooper in the ala but at that moment he looked like a parent admonishing a small child. Salvius found himself agreeing with Cato and not just about the horses.  The men and their equipment were a shambles.  Armour needed repairs.  Weapons needed replacing and sharpening and most of all the men needed feeding up.

Julius felt all eyes upon him and he knew that he had started this whole debacle with his ridiculous quest for revenge.  He had demanded justice for his dead brother but the horses and men of the ala had paid the price.  Looking at the three officers and one sergeant he had left he could see that they were right.  They would obey him if he ordered a chase but they would never trust him again. “Very well. In that case Salvius I need the fittest officer and the thirty fittest troopers to trail, at walking pace, the Brigante who have just headed north.”

Grinning Salvius said, “Well the officer is easy; that would be me and I will find the rest of the troopers now Sir.”

“And you Sergeant Cato.  Don’t just stand there. Get the horses fed and cared for and Livius close your mouth, you look like a fish, and arrange with Atticus for a place to erect the tents.  Apparently we are here for a week.”

Salvius had no trouble locating their trail for some of the severely wounded had died along the way and been hastily buried beneath whatever stones and rocks had been available. Once they saw that the Brigante were heading for the high moors their task became so much easier. “Remember what the sergeant said lads, keep a gentle hand on your reins.”  The fact that the men laughed showed that, despite what he had said they were still in good heart.  He knew, in his own heart, that the loss of Macro, a deserter, had been the biggest blow to both morale and confidence.  They would need to work hard over the winter to recover that morale.  Thinking about the winter also made the Decurion Princeps acknowledge that when they managed to get their hands on some new recruits, unless Macro had been recaptured, then they would not have a training officer.  Indeed even if Macro were returned to them it was unlikely that he would be allowed to continue as an officer.  It was a great shame that a good officer could have his whole career ruined for one understandable infraction of the rules; the Parcae were indeed fickle.

It was drawing on towards evening and yet Salvius was loath to camp.  He would at least like to be over the moors.  The thought of building a camp on such an exposed ridge went against all of his training. They dropped over a small hogback and found a dell.  While the men were building the camp Salvius decided to satisfy his curiosity and explore a little.  Later he was glad that he did for; off to their left in the lee of a conical shaped hill he could see half a dozen fires while on the top of the hill, silhouetted against the sky were two sentries. It could mean only one thing, Brigante.  He had found them.

Chapter 13

The next morning as Ownie led his men north west to the shallow bend of the Dunum he little realised that, close behind and watching his every move, was Decurion Princeps Salvius Cilo and a turma of cavalry.  It was easy to follow the large band of men who left a swathe of wide enough for a novice to track them behind.  The river was narrow and easy to cross for the warband. Once they were across Ownie set about building a camp on the steep escarpment of the river; he had to admit that the Romans did have some good ideas and he did not want to be surprised.  Salvius took the opportunity of sending a report of the situation back to the Prefect.  It was obvious to the Decurion that the Brigante were going nowhere for the moment and as this fitted in with Sergeant Cato’s deSire for rest and recuperation he would happily wait until they moved.

Ownie sent out his ten horsemen in an arc northwards to ascertain the whereabouts of his Queen.  It would no harm for his warriors to rest; the encounter with the cavalry at Streonshal had proved at best, disquieting, and at worst terrifying for his men. He wondered how Parthalan had fared.

His erstwhile rival had suffered even greater casualties and he would have been pleased to have only lost half his men for Parthalan had run into two cohorts of the Twentieth hurrying north to put down the Brigante rebellion. The experienced legion, which had fought Silures, Ordovices and every other tribe in Britannia made short work of the unruly and disorganised Brigante.  Had they had cavalry there would have been no survivors but, as it was, enough Brigante returned north to tell the tale of the terror that was the legion and spread the word that rebellion was not as simple as their leaders had suggested.  Those who escaped buried their swords and shields and became fervently dedicated farmers for they did not want to face the scything machine that was a Roman legion intent on revenge. Parthalan lay in a pile of bodies, unrecognised and remembered his dreams of glory shattered along with the hearts of his warriors who had flung themselves on the deadly blades of the Ninth legion.

When his scouts returned Ownie discovered that his Queen had taken refuge on the coast in a secret settlement only threatened by rising tides and eroding beaches. He quickly left his camp and headed north east as quickly as he could. The Queen had an untouched warband; there was still hope in Ownie’s heart that they might just succeed and establish the Brigante as an independent tribe once more.

The scout watching the Brigante reported back to his leader. Pausing only to send another messenger to the Prefect Cilo continued his pursuit.  This land was unfamiliar to the Decurion Princeps and he rode warily.  He was always within sight of the Brigante for they took a clear path to the coast along the swampy muddy estuary of the Dunum. He was careful to scout for ambushes.  The many wild birds nesting in the reeds and banks proved to be nuisance flying up in a cacophony of noise whenever he passed by their sanctuaries. His enemy seemed blissfully unaware of his pursuit and did not deviate an uncia from a straight line- almost Roman in their determination thought the Decurion Princeps.

Ownie was amazed at the secret settlement and the way it was hidden from the rest of the world.  He realised, as he was led around the edge of the woods, that it was precariously placed.  Already the sea was lapping around the trunks of the trees some of which were already dying and he could see, beneath the relentless waves, the stumps of trees killed by the sea and taken out.  The stone at the foot of the stockade also showed where the weed and water had started to encroach. This might be a secret and hidden settlement but within a few years it would be too small to contain even half the numbers it did but he could see that, at the moment, it served its purpose well.