Hosker, G [Sword of Cartimandua 03] Invasion- Caledonia (7 page)

Macro emerged from the water to see his four companions pulling Marcus along the rocky covered beach. He ran up to them, grabbed the decurion and unceremoniously slung him across his shoulders like a sack of grain. “We are in the shit now lads so let’s run! They know where we are.” They ran along the beach for there was a gentle path about six hundred paces down, it would be easier to ascend and it would prevent them being lit on the skyline. They could hear the noise of their pursuers as they splashed through the water.

“I hope Decius sent that turma!” gasped Gaius.

“We had better shout so they know where we are!” Numerius began to roar, “Romans! Romans ho!”

They had just reached the top of the slope when the first of the Ordovice caught them. Leaving Gaelwyn and Macro to race on the three troopers turned at the top of the slope and faced their enemies. The first four who climbed the slope had not even looked up for they were struggling up the sandy, rock, littered bank and the three blades chopped them down before they even knew the Romans had turned to face them. The ones below saw them and began hurling spears. Unarmoured the three troopers were vulnerable and when Numerius was hit in the shoulder Gaius shouted, “Run!” As Salvius supported his friend Gaius sliced his sword down on one attacker’s shoulder and, throwing his knife at a second took off after his companions. Glancing over his shoulder Gaius could see a horde of enemies; he was just contemplating turning to delay the inevitable by a few minutes and perhaps give his companions the chance to reach safety when he heard the sound of the buccina and the thunder of hooves. Even as he turned he heard Agrippa’s voice yell, “Down!” and he dropped just as the volley of javelins thudded into his pursuers who were barely paces from the lone Roman. He felt the horses jump over him and he raised himself to follow his companions. He found them already mounted on the spare horses brought by Agrippa. He was no sooner mounted than Agrippa returned, “Much as I would like to finish off these barbarians I think we need to get these two to the surgeon.”

“Thank you Agrippa.”

“Let us just call it a favour for Drusus.” Nodding Gaius thought back to the moment they discovered the slain and butchered bodies of Drusus and his men, Agrippa had been the only survivor. Marcus was right they were a band of brothers.

As Marcus was brought into the camp Agricola could not believe the cheers and roars from the troops, legionaries, infantry and cavalry alike. He looked at the Decurion Princeps weakly waving his arm at his fellow warriors and thought that this was the acclaim given to a gladiator or a general. Shaking his head he thought he could only dream of such feelings from fellow warriors. He had known that the camp was angry at the kidnap but he thought it was their professionalism that their walls had been breached; now he saw that it was more it had been anger that someone they respected, possibly loved had been stolen from them. He made an instant decision. He walked over to the dropping man barely sitting in the saddle and grasped his arm. As he did, a silence fell upon the whole conclave. Agricola looked around then said, “Welcome back to your men Prefect Maximunius.” It took a few moments for the words to sink in but when they did Agricola realised he had made the correct decision. The whole camp raised their cheers and roars to a new level. “Rest and your men will exercise their revenge on these savages and then we will talk.” He turned to the camp, “Tomorrow we wipe this pestilence from the land!” He was gratified that the cheer was as loud for him as for Marcus. He had mad the correct decision. When the island was taken he could leave for Gallia Aquitania.

The next day the whole force arrayed in battle order on the shoreline facing the holy and sacred isle. Every man was eager for combat. They knew they were outnumbered. They knew they would have to wade across the sea. They knew they would have to attack uphill but most importantly they knew they would win. The rescue of Marcus, the attack on the Ordovices near Wyddfa had all convinced them they would win. As they stared across the tiny gap from the isle their enemies gathered to repel them and they saw fear on the faces of their foes. The rescue of the decurion and the destruction of the wicker man had made them doubt that they could win. The grim faces of the Romans and the memory of Inir’s slaughter told them that they would lose.

On the isle Fainch and Gwynfor were doing their best to talk up their chances of winning but even Gryffydd was beginning to doubt that they could win. Had the gods deserted them? What had they done to upset the gods who had long protected this sacred land? “We can throw these dogs into the water! Look my warriors they are only a few in number! My bodyguard alone could destroy term!”

As Gwynfor extolled their chances his men began to doubt him even more. True they were only auxiliaries but it had been auxiliaries who had beaten them near Wyddfa and had affected the dramatic rescue. Gwynfor lied. They looked to the witch for magic. Fainch for the first time looked despondent; she looked as though for the first time in her life she contemplated defeat. Could the Roman army be stronger than her magic? She had tried everything she knew, every spell, every chant, every potion, and every prayer. Had the Mother forgotten her? She tried one last invocation. “Caer Gybi send your powers to throw back these invaders, these unbelievers destroy them and let your servant Gwynfor triumph again!” It was a desperate throw but it was enough to steel men’s hearts and they stood their ground as the two thousand warriors of Rome rolled over the water, rolled up the hill and rolled over the Ordovices who died where they stood, slaughtered as they faced an enemy who was intent on their destruction and they had no avenue of retreat available. Some took the only option they had; they hurled themselves into the sea; the water at least held a chance of life. The land was a butcher’s shop. It took half a morning but finally the warriors of the Ordovice, Gwynfor, and Gryffydd, all died on
on
the spare, sparse and sacred isle of Caer Gybi.

In the aftermath of the slaughter, as the Romans scoured the battlefield despatching any wounded foes, the decurions all searched for one thing, the body of the witch. The Batavians and legionaries busily salvaged weapons, coins and jewellery but, unless it was a woman then Marcus’ closest friends moved on. By the time they had combed the entire isle they had not found any women.

“Well she can’t just have disappeared.”

“She is a witch Decius.”

“Lentius she is a woman, she might be an evil bitch but she is still a woman. She is either hiding or she has escaped.”

Just then they heard the recall and they headed despondently back to camp. They all looked at Decius for they knew he would have to be the one to give the bad news to Marcus. The new prefect was still under the care of the surgeon for he had been in a much weakened state when he had been rescued. He had, however, made it clear to his decurions that the witch should be found and they scoured the isle searching every nook and cranny to no avail. It was as though she had disappeared into the bowels of the earth. Many of the troopers were especially grateful that they did not find her for they feared her more than any barbarian warrior. They feared her power and her magic.

The witch herself was hiding with the other five survivors of the massacre whilst some of her sisters had chosen a watery death from the steep cliffs to the north west of the island; Fainch had led the others by way of a twisting and precipitous path to a cave.  It was their last refuge and had been the hiding place for the Druids when the Romans first took the isle almost forty years earlier. “We will be safe for a while sisters and, when the Romans leave we will go back to the mainland and continue our work.” She could see downcast faces for the survivors were all younger than she. “This is a setback. We have obviously offended the Mother and we need to sacrifice to her. Had the Roman been sacrificed then we would have won and I blame myself for that. I should have sacrificed him sooner rather than waiting for the Romans to arrive. Be patient for we will triumph.”

“We will we go?”

“I will go north for there are still rebels in the land of the lakes.” As she named each tribe she pointed at each of the priestesses in turn. “You should go to the Silures. You, to the Dumnoni. You, the Belgae. You, the Dobunii and you the Dematae.” All of the tribes she had named were to the west and were still fighting the Romans; they were her best, although faint, hope of fermenting unrest to loosen the ever tightening grip of the Roman hydra.  She knew that the Canti, Regni, Iceni and Atrebates had all surrendered and would pose no threat. Even her journey, dangerous though it was, would probably end in failure for the Brigante were not strong enough to defeat the Romans. She would have to travel further north. She had met some of the leaders of the Caledonii and Pictii. They were still powerful enough to thwart the Romans and their land was like that around Wyddfa, it did not suit the Romans. She had noted how few legionaries this general had brought with him. The legions were difficult to defeat but these others, they were like the tribes themselves, one step away from being barbarians. They could be defeated. “Come sisters let us offer to the Mother and pray that she protects us as we work to rid the land of these Romans.”

The day after the isle had been cleared the general summoned his prefects. “We have completed the first part of the subjugation of this land. I will not be able to continue this part of the journey with you as I have to take up my post as Governor of Gallia Aquitania.  I have sent my reports and recommendations to Governor Cerialis and, until you hear from him then you will continue to follow these orders. Prefect Bassus and Sura you are to eradicate the Ordovices. That is your priority. From what we have seen they will not offer much opposition however as their homeland is on the far side of that mountain it may be difficult to find their rat holes.” He gestured through the leather tent wall to the distant peak of Wyddfa. “You will leave one cohort here Prefect Bassus to build a fort and make sure that the Druids never return. The legionary cohort will return to Deva. Prefect Sura you will leave a cohort at the new fort of Canovium to enable the legionaries there to return to Deva. Prefect Maximunius your cavalry have performed wonders, not least in their rescue of you. It seems that we should rename the Pannonians the Rescuers eh? First a Queen, then Batavians and now their Prefect. However they are ill suited to the terrain and I am mindful that it is difficult to replace horses. You will return with me to Deva, “he smiled, “a fitting escort. While we were travelling south I noticed that the land north of Deva was perfect cavalry country and close enough to the land of the lakes. I would like you to return to Glanibanta and rebuild the fort as a permanent fort. Find those Brigante rebels who fled there and destroy them.” He sat back in his chair and put his hands together in a thoughtful way and half closed his eyes. “I can see a time when we will have to move north and complete the subjugation of Britannia. I have already written to the Emperor with my ideas on how this could be completed. If you three can complete the tasks I have set then when the time comes we can use our bases here to launch an invasion of Caledonia. “The general was gratified to note that they not only nodded their agreement but from the grins across their faces they wholeheartedly endorsed the venture. “ Right I am sure we all have things to do but one last thing. Thank you.” As they nodded their gratitude and began to leave Agricola grabbed Marcus’ arm. “And you prefect are you ready to ride?”

“Yes sir. I am recovered.”

“It is a shame the witch escaped, “he paused, “or drowned. Perhaps you ought to forget her now eh?”

“I can never forget her and she did not drown.  I know not how I know I just feel it; she lives, for the moment; but do not worry sir my quest for revenge will not interfere with my duties.”

“I know prefect which is why you are now a prefect. Good. You know the thing I should have done was build a bridge to this damned island. We will either have to build rafts or risk a swim.”

Marcus laughed, “I think my lads are getting quite used to swimming.”

“Swimming it is then.”

Part Two

The Land of the Lakes

Chapter 6

North West of Eboracum

The war was long over and there were no Brigante warbands roving the country. The merchants had new markets as the Roman influence spread from the pottery in Petuaria, Isurium Brigantium and Derventio to the iron mines at Danum and lime workings at Morbium.  There were the new forts springing up to defend the hard won province.  The same merchants were aping the Romans they had met. They were building villas and baths bought with the new found wealth as Britannia emerged from the Iron Age into the Roman age.

The very prosperity brought with it the attendant dangers of prosperity, bandits, thieves and robbers. They were, in essence the same warbands which had fought the Romans but as the finest and noblest of these had died the ones who remained were, by their very nature, those who had survived and not fought to the end. They were the ones with the skills in warfare but not the aptitude. They were the ones who did not want to go back to their farms to eke out a living but they wanted to prey on those who did work hard and tried to better themselves. While the south of the province still had some order with many natives embracing Roman values and mores, a good road system and tax collections the north of the province had fewer influences, fewer roads and more opportunity for banditry.

Aed still called himself a rebel; he still felt himself to be a legitimate heir to Brigantia but in reality he was a bandit, a powerful one, but a bandit nonetheless. His lieutenant, the former auxiliary Modius ruled the circle that was the land of the lakes with an iron fist.  The mountains which surrounded the fine farmland meant that it was easy to defend against anything other than a legion or an ala. There was neither.  The nearest force was a cohort of infantry at Brocavum and another at Morbium. The legionary fortress at Eboracum might as well have been in Rome for all the influence it could exert. Aed had quickly discovered that he could raid with impunity during the summer and spring months when the merchants were talking advantage of the fine weather to move their goods to the new markets.  Lime, iron, pottery and tiles were in demand in the south and would fetch a higher price as there was so much building going on.  It was worth the risk and the roads from north to south made easy pickings for Aed who used a small force of mounted men under Modius to rob and kill the merchants bringing the contraband to a safe place. Aed could then transport the goods under heavy guard, to the very markets that had been their destination. He was becoming quite rich and quite powerful as other disenchanted bandits flocked to his banner. If a vexillation appeared from Eboracum he could quickly retire to his stronghold knowing that they did not have the resources to follow him. The legionaries would then go back to building the roads which in time would bring both security and order but as the spring grew into summer Aed’s empire was still growing.