Hosker, G [Sword of Cartimandua 11] Roman Treachery (34 page)

Livius had moments to come up with a plan.  He knew that Marcus would not sit idly by and watch the attack. That meant he had six turmae to try to halt ten times that number. “Wheel left! We are going to charge them! Follow the Wolf!” With the Wolf Standard to the fore the two hundred men galloped uphill to the charging Brigante. Livius held his javelin overhand and, aiming at a chief with a torc he hurled it; striking the man and pinning him to the hillside.  His second javelin he held like a long sword and he stabbed left and right at every Brigante who crossed his path. Although they killed many, more evaded the charge and carried on relentlessly down the hill.  The ala was also taking casualties.  Scaeva had advised well and axes hacked into horse’s legs allowing others to stab and kill the riders.

Marcus had managed to reunite his turma.  He had been saved from surprise by Felix who had seen the horde moments before they would have seen him.  It had allowed him to send a message to the general but it had left Cassius and half the turma in the path of the horde.  Marcus had led his fifteen men around the hill and they managed to save Cassius and five others before they too were killed by the warband like the rest of Cassius’ patrol. He looked down the hill and saw the vain attempt of the prefect to halt the charge.  It was like a grandstand view.  He saw the Sixth Legion punching their way through the tribes and the Dacians preparing to receive the bulk of the warband.  Metellus and his turmae were also charging the Brigante.  There was only one thing Marcus could do, use the Sword of Cartimandua and charge the enemy.

“Form one line.  Draw swords” There was a hissing sound as all the blades were held aloft.  “Today the Sword of Cartimandua goes to war. The Sword of Cartimandua!”

As he had expected the oath was taken up by the turma and some of the Brigante looked around. Marcus kicked his horse on and they plunged down the hill side at a suicidally fast pace. With Cassius on his left he leaned forwards, the shining sword sparkling in his hand.  He sliced down one side of his mount and then swung on the left.  Soon he was in the rhythm and men were falling to the razor sharp blade.  He risked a glance up and saw that the ala was now engaged in hand to hand combat and the Dacians, although reinforced by their comrades were struggling to hold their line.  The battle was no longer a wide one, it was the width of this turma as Marcus and the men of the Second Turma, Marcus’ Horse had a magnificent charge into two thousand Brigante.

Suddenly one warrior, braver than the rest, turned and stabbed his spear into the ground in front of Marcus’ mount. Horse and rider were catapulted into the air. Marcus relaxed and rolled his shoulder. Although the wind was knocked out of him he rolled and came up on his feet just as a huge warrior with a double handed war axe roared up to him swinging the powerful weapon. He must have expected Marcus to panic but instead he half turned his body and slid the blade under one arm and out of the other side.  The warrior died with a surprised expression on his face. Marcus had no time for self congratulation as another three warriors turned to fight him. The practice, all those years ago with his step brother, came to his aid.  He parried one with his shield, stabbed a second with his sword and spun around to stab the third in the back. The first warrior was lying on the floor and Marcus jabbed the sharp edge of the shield onto his windpipe.

Momentarily alone he looked down at the battlefield.  The Dacians had held and the Syrians were emptying their quivers into the ranks packed before the eastern warriors. In the main battle the Sixth Legion was still surrounded but there were far fewer barbarians than there had been. Just then an arrow flew down the hill over Marcus’ head.  Marcus looked and saw the Brigante fall to the ground, his head pierced by Felix’s arrow. Wolf held a horse’s reins in his teeth. “I thought you might need a horse sir.”

“Thank you Felix.  I owe you and Wolf one.”

“Are we wining sir?” There was a bemused expression on the boy’s face; this was his first battle.

“Not yet but we will.” He threw himself into the saddle and saw the knot of troopers surrounded by the Brigante. It was Livius and Metellus and they too were unhorsed. “The Sword of Cartimandua!” roared from his lips. He covered the hundred and fifty paces quickly and, leaning forwards stabbed one warrior in the back and then allowed his new mount to crash through three others. His sword flashed death and another warrior fell with his throat slashed.  Just then an axe took his horse in the neck and once again Marcus found himself afoot but this time the leather strap on his shield broke and he found that he was without a shield.

“Now I shall have the mighty sword which belongs to my people and a new day will dawn for the Brigante people.”

“Scaeva!” The deserter faced him.  He had a Roman shield and a sword but on his head he had a cavalry mask hiding his features; it mattered not, Marcus knew his voice. “You will die today traitor and you will die by the sword.”

“Let’s see how you do against a warrior with armour and shield! Especially as you have no shield yourself.” He slashed forwards with his spatha and Marcus barely had time to deflect the blow.  Sparks flew as metal struck metal.  At the same time Scaeva punched with the boss of his shield and Marcus felt ribs crack as he fell to the ground. He barely had time to roll away from the sword which stabbed down and scored his mail shirt. He remembered that Scaeva had been a good swordsman and he had made the final of the ala tournament on year.  This would not be easy.

As they circled around each other Marcus found it hard to fight a man whose eyes were hidden by a mask and then he suddenly relaxed.  He knew how he would win.  He fought easier with the confidence of knowledge.  As Scaeva swung in again Marcus merely spun away so the Scaeva struck empty space.  He then continued around and slashed across the back of the deserter’s armour.  The mail stopped total penetration but a tendril of blood and an angry shout told him that he had struck and hurt the spy.  Marcus then spun the other way as Scaeva tried to turn.  The turn left a slight gap and Marcus stabbed forwards.  The sword sliced across the bare shield arm and blood gushed from it.  Marcus dropped to his knees as the deserter tried to take off his head and, as he did so he stabbed forwards connecting with Scaeva’s thigh.  Marcus stepped back and to his left.

Suddenly Scaeva ripped the cavalry mask from his face. “Tricks! Is that all you have decurion?  Tricks?”

“Not tricks traitor, skill.” He dipped his left shoulder and, weakened by the loss of blood Scaeva tried to turn an already weakened leg. He did not make the turn and the Sword of Cartimandua plunged into the throat of the Brigante rebel and he fell dead at Marcus’ feet.

Cassius reined up next to Marcus as Felix and Wolf joined them.  “I tried to get to you.” He pointed at the bodies around them, “but I was held up.” He looked down at Scaeva’s body.”Why did he wear the mask?”

“Don’t you remember Cassius, he won it as a prize at the games we had. I guess he thought it would make him more frightening.  Instead it restricted his vision.  Those things aren’t meant to be used in battle.” He suddenly remembered Livius and Metellus.  “The prefect…”

“They are safe.” He pointed to where the remains of the ala were reforming. “And as soon as the legate can reorganise the Dacians it will be all over.” He shook his head.  “It is a shame those Syrians ran out of arrows.  They could have killed them all on their own.”

There were pitifully few horses left for the unhorsed troopers but they found one for Marcus and he joined Livius and Metellus.  Both men had been wounded. “We saw your reckless charge.  Reminded me of Macro!”

“As did your combat with Scaeva.  Now if Briac is among the dead then we will have done a good day’s work and the losses would have been worth it.”

An aide galloped up, “Sir the legate’s compliments and could you and your ala be ready to purse the enemy.  It looks like they are going to break.”

“Yes.  Tell the legate we will do out best.”

Metellus shook his head.  “We have not a chance in a thousand.  They will just climb the hills and find the rockiest way back to the north.”

“I know but we can make their life difficult can we not and remember the more we kill now the fewer we chase through the winter.”

“Don’t you believe it.  They have nothing better to do all winter; they will be breeding like rabbits.  Fifteen years from now you will be fighting their sons.”

They hunted the survivors for fifteen days.  The ala, much depleted, was split into pairs and the thirty odd troopers scoured the land. Marcus and Felix led their men through the land of the Brigante but they never managed to find Briac who disappeared.  They returned, wearily, to the fort at Cilurnum to find Rufius and the others already there and tending to armour and weapons in need of repair and horses and men requiring tending.

Livius, now recovered from his sword thrust greeted Marcus.  “Did you find Briac?”

There was little hope in voice for he knew that, if he had, then Marcus would have had him tethered to his horse.  “No sir.  It is my fault.  Felix found one small band of five men who split off from the main warband and headed over the high pass near Glanibanta to the coast.  I did not have enough men to follow and I kept after the main band.  I suspect he was with the small group.”

“You did well Marcus. The fifty you recaptured were all good fighters and your action means they have fewer warriors available for their next rebellion.”

“You think they will rebel again?”

“I am certain of it.  They came very close this time.  Had your turma not stumbled upon the ambush then they would have had complete surprise and the army would have been routed.  We defeated them, but it was a close run thing. We failed to capture Iucher and Randal.  They will be north of the wall again, plotting their next incursion.  But,” he smiled and patted Marcus on the shoulder, “at least they will not have the deserter to aid them.”

“Speaking of deserters what about Vibius?”

“Rufius slew him but his sister escaped and I do not think that one will have forgotten us.”

“Why did they hate us so much?”

Livius was quiet; he had spent many nights pondering the same problem.  His dreams had been filled with Vibia’s face and finally, waking cold and shaking with fear he had seen the connection. “I think they were the children of Aula and Decius.”

“Your brother?”

“Yes Marcus, my brother.  Their ages would coincide with the time Aula and Decius were together, after she left my uncle.  It all came together when Rufius mentioned where they hid before leaving Britannia; it was the spot their father had taken the gold to Gaul.  I can only assume he hid some there.”

“Which means she now has the money to help her pay for her revenge?”

“Yes Marcus but at least we know what she looks like.  For my part I have no wish to kill my last living relative.  I hope that she takes the money and lives well, far from here.”

“But you do not think that she will.”

“No Marcus, she has inherited too much from my brother and his woman.  There is hate in her heart and only my death will rid her of it.”

Epilogue

Appius Serjanus had his wish.  The Governor, Aulus Nepos, had accede to his request and he had been given a turma of auxiliaries, newly arrived in the province, and a cohort of foot to explore the possibility of extracting copper and gold from the land of the lakes.  He had learned his lesson; the military way was not for him but he had seen that he could fool Aulus Nepos who cared only for glorious monuments to himself.  So long as Appius sent favourable reports on a regular basis he would not care what Appius was up to. The decurion and centurion he had with him were not the men of Marcus’ Horse and he had them in the palm of his hand. He gave them an easy time and ingratiated himself well into their company.  They thought him a rich fool and he happily played that part. It would not be long before his family reaped the rewards of his enterprise.

The tiny fishing boat bobbed about on the water.  Briac had barely escaped Britannia with his life and he knew that his own tribal land was too hot for him. There were too many people who knew him and sought him.  Marcus’ Horse had long memories. Stealing the boat and killing the fishermen had been easy and he now approached the island of Manavia. He hoped that the cult which had flourished there, the cult of the mother, still existed somewhere on the remote island which was still free from Roman rule.  Although the Romans had invaded the citadel and destroyed the defences, he knew that this was no Mona, this was bigger and he had heard that there still existed a small group of women who worked their magic against Rome. As his boat approached the beach close to the burned out settlement he was desperate to find them and unite them in a crusade against Rome. He had not given up; his plans had been delayed.  He and the other chiefs had come very close to causing an upset.  He had seen the way to defeat the Romans and he would return, stronger than ever.

Londinium had been rebuilt since the slaughter of Boudicca and the people there, saw themselves as the new centre of Britannia, outstripping the old capital of Camulodunum. This time they had built a mighty wall to surround the city in the unlikely event that the natives, once again, became restless and violent.  The procurator welcomed new settlers to his burgeoning town.  He especially appreciated those who had money, for the citizens had to pay healthy taxes for the privilege of living in such a fine, new city.  Vibia Dives, now Flavia Gemellus, fitted very well into the procurator’s plans. She had arrived with her servant and money enough to have a town house built which dwarfed the others which were already there. She was the envy of the best society who were desperate to be part of her circle. She proved to be a kind and witty dinner companion who entertained well and showed favour to those others in the city who were the movers and shakers of the putative commercial centre.  She even began a successful business importing amphorae of wine from Gaul, a new source, which was proving popular and cheaper than the better wine sent all the way from Italy and Spain..  Soon her warehouses along the river were packed with goods sent to every part of the province.  The procurator used her as an example to all the other business men of what they should be doing especially when she began to employ her own, well trained guards to protect her warehouses.  As she had told the procurator, they would be available to the city should trouble need to be quelled.  Yes Flavia Gemellus was a paragon of business acumen and an ideal citizen.