Hosker, G [Sword of Cartimandua 11] Roman Treachery (32 page)

The sail dropped and the boat nudged closer to the bank.  Vibius picked up one of the bags and stepped into the shallows; they came up top his waist. He saw that there were two crew on board but, most importantly, he saw the smiling face of his sister.

The old man on the tiller said, “I thought you said a box?”

“It is three bags.  Here is the first.”

As soon as he handed it over and it thudded to the thwarts the old man said.  “Are they all as heavy as that?” Vibius ignored him and went back for the second.  “If they are then the servant stays.  They are too fucking heavy.” There was a truculent tone in the old man’s voice.

He did not notice the evil look flash across Vibia’s face nor did he see her slip the dagger to Arden and give a slight nod. “Wait until they are all aboard Old One and then make your decision.”

When the second one thudded down he began to become quite agitated.  “No, get the thief off now or leave your brother.”

As he made his way back Vibius noticed with some alarm that the noise from the boat was loud enough to be heard in the Roman camp and, equally worrying, dawn was breaking.  He hurried back to the boat and slung the last bags over.  This time the boat sank a little deeper into the water.

As Vibius began to pull himself up the Old One tried to push him back.  “No I said just one.  Either the boy stays or your brother. “

He was now shouting and Vibius could see movement at the Roman camp. He looked at Vibia.  “The ala, they are over there!”

She nodded and said to Arden, “Now!” The two of them stabbed simultaneously with their daggers.  Even had he been expecting it he could have done little but, with a strangled scream he fell with a huge splash into the river. “Quick, get the sail set and I will help him aboard.” The boat bobbed dangerously close to the river and threatened to be swamped but, miraculously it settled with no damage done.

Arden might have been a thief but he was quick thinking and he had the sail hoisted in two tugs of the sheets.  The wind caught it and they began to move, with the current and the slight breeze, down stream. Vibia hauled Vibius on board but, even as he slumped to the bottom he spluttered, “Keep to the right bank.  There are Romans there!”

In the Roman camp the sentries had woken Rufius when they heard the commotion. They had witnessed the murder and the body of the sailor drifted by, the crimson trail marking its passage. By the time Rufius had reached the riverbank the boat was level with them and he could see both Vibia and Vibius. “To arms! It is the deserter and the murderer! To horse!”

Vibius struggled to the stern where he grabbed the tiller.  The boat dipped and the side almost dipped below the river level, once again threatening to swamp it.  “The two of you! Stay in the middle or we’ll be in the water. You… boy… whatever your name is.  Keep the sail trimmed or whatever sailors do with it.” Vibius did not want to spill the content of the boat with escape so close.

Vibius kept as low as he could, almost crouching below the side of the boat.  He had to keep looking up to check that they were not going to hit the bank. “Vibia, watch the bow and tell me if we are going to strike anything.”

The troopers quickly mounted, “Flavius, take ten men and cross the river. I want them either taken, or dead!” Flavius marked off his men and they plunged into the river.  “The rest of you follow me.  Have your bows ready!”

To Rufius’ dismay the boat began to pick up speed as both the wind and the current helped it to speed across the water. He strung an arrow to his bow and tried a ranging shot.  The arrow arced and struck the water ahead of the boat. “Loose arrows!” The rest of the turma were neither as accurate nor as strong as Rufius but two arrows struck the boat while others fell on either side. Glancing across the river he saw that Flavius and his men had reached the other side but were further behind.  He saw Vibius, for he could now see him clearly, turn and see Flavius. The tiller went over and the boat headed for the middle of the river which brought him closer to Rufius and his men. Unfortunately the boat was now moving faster than the horses could travel and they were escaping. “Keep loosing arrows! We may get lucky!” Rufius took out another arrow and this time aimed carefully, if he could hit Vibius on the tiller then they might have a chance. He held his breath and loosed.  The arrow arc high; the rest of the turmae were peppering the boat and sails but none had struck .  Rufius’ arrow plunged down and struck Vibius in the neck. As his life blood erupted over the boat the arrow pinned his body to the side of the boat and it carried on down the middle of the river which now entered a straight phase. They were escaping.  Even as they watched the boat sped beyond arrow range, even that of Rufius.

On the boat Vibia was watching ahead and she suddenly saw that they were in the middle with no obstacles before them.  The sail stopped her seeing her brother and she crawled back to speak with him. As soon as she ducked under the sail she saw that he was dead.  His glassy eyes stared at her and seemed to mock them both. Arden had been too busy trimming the sails to see the tragedy unfold. Vibia saw Rufius and his bow and she looked to heaven.  “Brother I swear I will have revenge, not only on Livius our uncle but on Rufius who took your life.” She went to the stern and snapped the feathers from the arrow then she snapped the arrow in two and said, “Forgive me brother but I need to be able to steer.” She gently moved the corpse into the middle of the boat and then said to Arden.  “Keep a sharp lookout.  We are heading for the sea!”

If Arden was shocked by her words he said nothing as he had looked into the green eyes and felt himself frightened beyond belief.  He had left one lonely life on the street and who knew where he would end up; one thing was certain, he was now the slave to Vibia, daughter of Aula and Decius, and she was a killer. Vibia stared over her shoulder at the troopers who had, once again, thwarted her in her plans.

Rufius had seen his arrow strike the deserter and knew that he had killed him.  It did not make Rufius feel any happier about allowing Vibia to escape. He saw her leaning over the stern of the boat and felt those eyes boring into him. She was a dangerous woman and he would not underestimate her. He had tried to capture or kill both and he had not succeeded.  He was left with a bad taste in his mouth as he ordered his turmae back to camp.  They would destroy the camp and return to Eboracum. Their job was half finished only.

The Governor did not seem bothered by the escape of the murderess; he was still worrying about the possible uprising of the Brigante.  He had already summoned reinforcements from the south and, when Rufius reported, he still demanded that the two turmae seek the Brigante rebels.

Rufius knew that it was a waste of time but he saw a way to allow the rest of the army to remain on the frontier. “Governor Nepos, I will take my turmae on patrol and sweep further out each day.  If we do not find the rebels within three days then there is no immediate danger to the fort and the vale.”

Quintus looked at the map.  The land of the Brigante was huge.  It was the largest tribal area in Britannia.  What the decurion said made sense. “Very well but I want you back here in four days to report and then you can go further out.”

Rufius sighed, “It was a waste of time but at least the other fourteen turmae would not be wasting their time. “And if I might put your mind at rest Governor; the Brigante have never managed to capture a fortress like Eboracum.  The best they ever managed was a sneak attack on a marching camp and even then the cohort killed more of them than they lost.  If you use ballistae on the walls then you will be safe within this fortress.”

Both Appius and the Governor took some solace from the decurion’s words. Neither were warriors and Rufius left their company desperate for fresh air and troopers who knew how to fight and to die.

Briac and his Brigante were already well to the north of the Dunum.  They had slipped northwards in warbands of a hundred warriors. Between Vinovia, in the east, and Bravoniacum, in the west, lay forty miles of rough and open country through which the Brigante had flooded. Warriors had travelled from the furthest corners of the land of the Brigante.  Every young warrior eager to prove himself a man had left his farm, his village, his family to join the army of Briac.  Briac’s promised a final defeat for the Romans and the young wanted to be part of it.  The fathers and uncles; the older ones did not join the exodus for they remembered the previous uprisings which had seen the Brigante suffer. Their meeting point was south of the Stanegate and north of the wall Scaeva and the chiefs planned their attack to coincide with the arrival of the hidden army.

Meanwhile, Iucher and Randal, had been slowly feeding their men across the turf wall at the western side of the wall.  The auxiliaries were still in a state of shock following the earlier raids and were fearful of the dark beyond the wall. The land to the south of the Stanegate now had many warbands waiting in eager anticipation of the attacks.  The two chiefs wanted as many men south of the wall when the attack started while the remainder of their armies lurked close to the gap, ready to rampage across the land once the soldiers marched to meet the new threat on the Stanegate. The priests of the tribes had made offerings to the gods for aid against the invader and they gods had smiled on them. The autumn rains began early, the Stanegate was passable but the new military road and the construction site became a sticky morass which sucked caligae into its depths and armour rusted as you watched.  It was a miserable time for auxiliaries and legionaries alike.

Iucher and Randal took it as a sign that the mother and the gods were on their side.  Patrols beyond the road ceased as the horsemen of the ala huddled beneath their cloaks trying to keep dry, an impossible task.  The barbarians benefited from shelters they threw up, invisible to the Romans, who found it hard to peer through the rain which appeared to come down continuously and not only downwards but sideways too!

Livius and the other officers were also depressed when news of Gnaeus’ death reached them.  He had been popular with all of the ala but Marcus felt particularly close to him, having mentored and coached him to reach his elevated rank and now he was murdered, killed by the woman who had fooled them all. What galled Marcus was that he had risked his young troopers to rescue her. At the back of it all was the knowledge that Vibius, too, had deceived them.  Scanlan viewed it philosophically, the incident was Nemesis but Aneurin took it as a personal slight.  He had been, for a time, the closest to Vibius and felt he was a friend.  The news which reached them from Eboracum made Aneurin, the youngest of the troopers, doubt everything in his world. Marcus saw the young Brigante drift deeper into depression.

“Cassius what can we do about Aneurin?  He is not the trooper he was.”

“He’ll snap out of it, trust me.”

“No Cassius, we cannot afford to ignore these things.  Good troopers are hard to come by and Aneurin has the making of a good one.”

Cassius was a plain speaking soldier.  All this talk of feelings and emotions was beyond him but it was Marcus Gaius Aurelius who had asked him and he had to think of something.  “I’ll ask Scanlan to have a word.  He seems to get on with the lad and is a bit more sensible, if you know what I mean.”

Scanlan appreciated the task he had been given, it showed him what his officers thought of him and Scanlan aimed to be a decurion some time. He too had noticed Aneurin and his moods; he rode next to him as yet another wave of rain drove in from the east. “Filthy this weather eh Aneurin?”

His dull flat voice told Scanlan his mood.  “The whole place is filthy.  I don’t know why we hang on to it.  What is the point?”

Scanlan looked askance at Aneurin. His tone became sharper. “I do not believe you Aneurin. Do you hate your family so much? Do you hate the decurion?”

His mouth opened and he looked briefly like a fish taken from a river trying to gulp in air.  “No! Of course not! What a horrible thing to say! I would do anything for the decurion and the sword! And I love my family!”

“Well that is the point isn’t it?  If we weren’t here defending this bit of land, which, I agree, is filthy and apiece of shit not worth dying for but,” he paused and pointed to the south, “down there are our people and the decurion’s people live and work.  They are living in peace and do you know why?  Because we are willing to fight to keep the barbarians at bay.  I, for one, am happy to be fighting here for that means my family is safe and my land is free from war.”

There was a silence for the slop of the hooves in the puddles and the whoosh of the sleet filled wind. Scanlan glanced at Aneurin.  He could almost see the thought processes at work. The grin returned, for the first time since Vibius had left. “You are right! Sorry Scanlan. What was I thinking?”

“That is your trouble Aneurin you think too much, don’t.  It does you no good in the end.  Just follow orders and you will be fine but I think you need to apologise to the decurion.  He has been worried about you.”

“Me! I didn’t know he even saw me.”

“There you go again.  Of course he does.  He watches us all.  That sword he carries is more than a powerful weapon it is a symbol of the Brigante and that, old son, is you and me!”

The messenger reached Scaeva and the chiefs at dusk on a day where the sun had barely lightened the day.  “Chief Briac is in position and is ready.”

Scaeva had now become the unofficial leader of the group.  All of his predictions and plans had borne fruit and it saved Iucher and Randal from arguing over trivialities. “Tomorrow morning we attack the Romans on the length of this wall.  Remember, when they respond we must do as they expect us to and flee south. Briac is waiting at the narrow valley near the Allyn River. The Romans will follow you and when you turn at the head of the valley they will think they have you.  That is when Briac will launch his attack from the hills.” He looked sternly at each of them.  He had only been a trooper for a couple of years but he had taken on all the discipline of the Romans, something the tribes did not have. “They must obey orders or we are lost!”