Hosker, G [Sword of Cartimandua 10] Roman Hawk (10 page)

“Thank you for today Roman.  Every day I learn more about you and about myself.”

Marcus had been called upon to give others a lesson with the rudius. Snorri had eventually learned a grudging respect for the Roman after he had nearly had both wrists broken. The one warrior Marcus wanted to fight, and to hurt, Lars the rapist, never came near the lessons, making his hatred of Marcus obvious to all.

One morning, when the snow was lying crisply on the ground, Frann and Marcus were led to the jetty. “Come Roman.  We are going to the mainland to meet Drugi.”

Marcus could feel the excitement coursing through his body.  Although it was an icily cold morning he felt expectantly hot.  He had not forgotten his plan to escape but, as he needed to take Frann with him, he wanted a safe and secure plan. This took him back to his Explorate days.  Observation and deduction were key skills taught to him when he was young. All the training from Gaelwyn and Rufius would be used as he harnessed every sense and skill he possessed. He had already worked out that it would be easier for them to leave from the west coast of the mainland for that would be a shorter journey but he had no concept of how the land to the west of their island lay. He was also excited because Drugi was getting horses for them and that, too, was a major part of his escape plane.  Once on the back of a horse Marcus felt that he had no equal.  The only flaw would be Frann for if she was with child it would make flight difficult, almost impossible and he had no idea of her skills, if any, as a rider. He could only hope that, coming from the northern horse country, she had been familiar with horses.

Trygg had only brought a handful of men with him and Snorri was not amongst them. Marcus took that to be a sign that Snorri was not as suspicious of him as he had been for the warrior had been a little friendlier since the Roman had been teaching them how to fight Roman style. The boat they boarded at the jetty was tiny in comparison to the long dragon ship which had brought them from Britannia. There were six oars and then just enough room for Trygg and Marcus.  Frann was left at the jetty.  Marcus knew that his improved language skills meant that she did not need to come and he also suspected that, as it was the first time he had left the island refuge, they were ensuring he could not flee, at least not with Frann.

As Trygg steered the small boat west Marcus was able to examine the fjord in more detail. It was a perfect place to defend for their two islands effectively blocked a swift entrance and exit.  A rope could easily be used to block all three channels as they were not wide although he assumed there must be a deep channel for the ships to use. He now understood why the defences were so small; they did not need to withstand a siege or a frontal attack, if a huge force came they could easily retreat to the citadel and harass any attacking ships from the islands.  He would have to leave across the mainland and he peered west to view the land. The harbour they were heading for was at the end of a smaller fjord and he could see, just above the jetty a walled citadel with much more prominent defences.  It reminded him of the stronghold in Manavia but this one was much closer to the harbour.  He would not see many hills and the land was flatter than Britannia.  What he did notice, however, was the number of trees.  It was as heavily forested as north of the Stanegate.  That in itself was useful.

Trygg had noticed how the Roman was using his eyes and taking everything in.  He would have to be careful with this horseman of Rome for he had shown much intelligence in the time he had been there.  Already Trygg had learned much from his captive but the chief of the Tencteri was no fool, the warrior staring at the land would escape if he could.  Trygg had hoped to tie him to him through loyalty and he had not given up on that but he felt certain that the Roman had already tied himself to the Brigante slave and that would act as an anchor; he would not be able to leave quickly. The trip to the mainland was not only to look at the horses which his slave, Drugi, had acquired it was also a test for Snorri and twenty warriors had been sent over the previous day in case the Roman tried to escape.

“This is Orsen, our citadel.  It is new, Roman and I would be grateful if you would look at its defences to see how they may be improved.” The chief pointed to the south.  “The Suebi attack us constantly. This is why we built our stronghold so that we could have a toehold on the mainland. When we have seen the horses we will walk the walls.”

“I will help you for you do not fight Romans but when I return to my people you should be aware Chief Trygg that I will know of your weaknesses.”

Trygg laughed.  He liked this young Roman and his honesty.  “I think we are safe then Roman for, unless you are like the hawk and can fly, you will end your days on Hjarno.”

As Trygg tacked the boat towards the jetty Marcus noticed an enormous man standing at the end of the jetty.  He was not only tall he was broad but the most noticeable thing about him was the total lack of hair on his head and his bald pate seemed to gleam like a beacon in the morning light. “Who or what  is that?”

“That, my young Roman, is another special slave, that is Drugi who comes from further east than a man can travel in a month but he is the best man I know to both hunt and to care for animals.  That is Drugi the Hunter. He comes from the land of the Wends.”

Chapter 6

Drugi had been captured, not by the Tencteri but by slavers from further east.  He came from the land far to the east, at the end of the dark sea and close to the land of the ice; he came from the land of the Wends themselves a fierce nomadic people who lived by following the herds which crossed their land. He had been sold from one seller to the next until he was brought to the slave markets and bought by a captain who needed a nimble boy.  Drugi proved not to be that boy for he was a boy of the land and he had proved a poor sailor.  When the captain had pulled in to Hjarno-by he had been more than glad to trade the young slave of ten summers for a barrel of dried herring. Trygg had seen something in the boy which he liked. As the boy grew, his prodigious size became a real talking point in the village not only because he seemed to grow daily but also his skills as someone who could work with animals which soon marked him out. He was able to control even the wildest dog and control the most truculent pig. He could train hunting birds and he could trap any animal which walked. Even before they had built their port Trygg would take Drugi with his warriors to go hunting on the mainland.  One of the reasons Trygg had built his fortress was to afford Drugi more opportunity to hunt for his warriors grew to crave the delicacies he hunted.  The slave’s aversion to the sea, the kindness shown by Trygg and his relative freedom all meant that Drugi behaved very much as a freeman would and did not miss what he had only experienced for the first three or four years of his life.

The huge bull of a man easily caught the rope thrown by one of the rowers and he held the boat steady with his enormous hands.  As Trygg stepped ashore he bowed slightly to the Chief of the tribe but Marcus noticed that his eyes took in everything and appraised Marcus quickly and effectively.  The huge slave intrigued Marcus who could not see any guards.  Why did the man not escape? It worried him slightly for it suggested that escape, even on the mainland side, was impossible.

“Drugi.  You have the horses?”

“Yes Chief Trygg.  I apologise for the time it took but I had to hunt deep in the forest and one of the ones I collected was wilder than any beast I had seen before.” He glanced mischievously at Marcus.  “Is this the one who would ride?”

“Yes Drugi this is Marcus, the horseman of Rome.”

Drugi scrutinised Marcus up and down and appeared to examine every uncia of him.  Marcus felt exposed and embarrassed.  “I could take my clothes off if you want to see if I have a tail!”

Drugi laughed.  “I have never seen a Roman before.  You do not look different.  How have your people conquered most of the world?”

Marcus relaxed a little as he realised there had been no malice in the examination, merely curiosity. “I was born close to the coast on the island called Britannia.  I was not born in Rome.  Rome is not a people, it is an idea.”

Trygg nodded.  “That is interesting Roman, we will talk more, later.  Now come, Drugi, I wish to go hunting with you once we have seen how this Roman rides.”

Marcus could not help glancing up at the walls of the citadel as they passed.  His curiosity was piqued. It would be a valuable exercise for his mind to see how to improve the defences, especially when he returned to Rocky Point to report to the Legate.  Even as he thought it the decurion wondered just when that would be for it seemed a long way off but he was still an officer in the Auxilia of the Imperial Roman Army and until he ceased breathing, he would continue to behave as one.

“I have built a fence to keep the horses contained. It is close to the walls.”

“Have you built a shelter for them?”

Drugi looked around in surprise at Marcus’ question. “A shelter?  But they are wild animals. They are not cows or pigs.”

Marcus smiled. “The pigs you keep were wild; you hunted them did you not? Now you have pigs that are domesticated and peaceful.  If a horse is kept like a wild animal it will behave as a wild horse.  If you wish to ride them then they must be trained and treated as any domestic beast.”

Drugi looked again at the Roman.  It had made sense.  He had enjoyed capturing the horses for he had not done so before.  It had taken him many days to track them and then lay the traps.  Sadly two had died in his traps and he had had to change the way he hunted them.  Drugi was not a cruel man and loved animals but he would hunt and kill them easily understanding that Mother Earth and Odin put them there for the benefit of man.  He always invoked the spirits and the gods of the woods before he hunted and he was always rewarded but it was good to learn something new.  He would talk more with this Roman.

Marcus heard the horses whinny as they approached and he felt his heart race as his blood coursed more quickly through his body.  For the first time in weeks he was close to a horse again. The hunter had done well.  There were three small ponies, a mare and a stallion.  He could see that the stallion was wild as it paced around the sturdily built enclosure.  Drugi had made it high enough so that it could not escape but it would take some controlling.  Marcus glanced at the slave and noticed the questioning look on the man’s face.  He did not think that Marcus would be able to ride him. Marcus had a secret, he had been taught about horses by the best, Sergeant Cato, and he would need every trick he had ever been taught to ride this one but he knew, in his heart, that he would be able to do so.

He turned to the chief who was looking somewhat fearfully at the beast. “You will need saddles if your men are to ride them.”

“Saddles?”

“Yes, like seats for the back of the horses and you need reins, something to control them.” He looked around and found a length of rope.  As his hand went to Drugi’s belt to get the knife which was stuck in it, the six bodyguards’ hands went to their weapons but Trygg held up his hand to restrain them.  Marcus sliced a hunk off the rope and returned the blade to the smiling Drugi.  The Roman was interesting, he had not known how close to death he had been. Marcus was, in fact, not in the land of the Tencteri, he was back on Cato’s stud farm.  He was thinking the problem of managing a horse through and no-one else existed.  He was Marcus Aurelius, the horse trainer of the Second Sallustian again.

As he approached the corral he began to fashion the rope reins as he had been taught years ago.  The movements were second nature and he was not even conscious of their performance.  He did not notice the amusement on the faces of the men watching him as the stallion snorted and stamped angrily in the enclosure. The first thing he did, once his reins were fashioned was to climb on the top rail and sit there just two paces from the horse.  The black beast looked at him, nostrils flaring and forefeet stamping. He began humming a song Gaelwyn had taught him as a child and as he did he slid over closer to the horse. He was close enough to touch the animal but he did not.  He laid the rope reins, still held in his right hand, over the mane of the horse and it shook it off. Marcus repeated the action a number of times, patiently until it tired of its action and sniffed the rope which was closest to Marcus’ hand. He slid a little closer so that the horse could, if it so chose, bite him. Despite his confidence, Marcus was ready to roll backwards off the rail in an instant. He began to talk to the horse using the Brigante words taught to him by Gaelwyn. “You are a fine animal and a noble beast. You do me honour by allowing me so close.” He held out his hand to the black stallion.  It moved its head back but Marcus left his hand where it was and the horse, eventually, sniffed it and seemed to accept it. “When I ride you I will not own you. We will be as one, part of the Great Spirit and we will be greater together than we are apart.” He slid off the rail to stand close to the horse.  His left hand stroked the mane whilst his right hand remained on its muzzle. He put his mouth close to the horse’s nostrils and breathed into them. “I give you my breath so that you know who I am.  I give you my words that we might become friends. I give you my heart as I take yours.”

Drugi looked on in amazement.  He had never seen anyone do what the Roman had done. “This one is special Chief Trygg.  I was sure the horse would bite him the moment he could.”

“I know faithful hunter.  I saw the mark of the gods in his eyes.”

They watched as Marcus slid the reins over the mouth of the horse and then he untied its halter from the rail.  Drugi and Trygg held their breath at this moment in time, frozen still in the chill air of the Uiteland morning.  Marcus’ breath and the stallions were steaming in the icy air but the horse’s hooves were not moving, for the first time since they had approached.  Holding on to the reins in one hand and clutching a hank of mane in the other the Roman decurion slid effortlessly on to the back of the horse. The horse bucked but years of experience and superb balance enabled Marcus to stay on and he leaned forward to speak to the horse. “I am not a heavy burden and when you have eaten of the treats I will prepare for you then you will become the mightiest horse in the land. Now we will ride.” As he kicked his heels in to the flanks of the horse he said, “Walk!”