Roman - The Fall of Britannia (43 page)

‘
Gwenno,’ he said, ‘you look exhausted.’

The girl didn’t
answer.

‘
Here, eat something,’ he continued, offering her a strip of
dried beef.

‘
I’m
not hungry,’ she said.

‘
You
can’t go on like this, Gwenno,’ said Gwydion. ‘I know you are
upset, but what is done, is done. You have to think of yourself now
and be strong. We haven’t gone through all this to give up
now.’

‘
What’s the point, Gwydion?’ she asked. ‘Erwyn is dead, Hammer
is forced to serve a tyrant, your mother mutilated, and as for
mine, she betrayed her own family to whore herself with a murderer.
Why should I go on when I have nothing to live for?’

‘
We
have each other,’ said Gwydion. ‘I know it’s hard at the moment,
but it will soon get better. Once we pass into the lands of the
Silures we can take it easy and perhaps join up with a friendly
clan.’

‘
Is
there such a thing with the Silures?’ she asked with a
sneer.

‘
There may be clans in the south that do not follow the ways
of the warrior,’ said Gwydion. ‘We can talk to them and ask for
shelter. We are young, strong, and we would prove a valuable asset
to any clan. If we can convince them we come in peace and have
something to offer, then I think there is every chance.’

‘
How
far away are we?’ asked the girl.

‘
Half a day,’ said Gwydion, ‘but we are stuck here until
tomorrow. The horses are weak and need to feed, as do you.’ He
offered her the meat again.

‘
What about you?’ she asked.

‘
I
have already eaten,’ he lied, ‘this is your share.’

She took the
last of the meat and started to chew, surprised at how hungry she
actually was.

Gwydion
unwrapped his bundle and sorted out his equipment. He had two
quivers of arrows left along with his bow, knife and sword. He
hoped he didn’t have to use them over the next few days, but wasn’t
optimistic. He gazed in the direction Prydain had taken, his brow
creasing in concern. The Roman had been gone for over an hour, far
longer than had been expected.

‘
I’ll be back in a while,’ he said to Gwenno.

‘
Where are you going?’

‘
To
find the Roman,’ he said. ‘We need as much forage as possible for
the next few days. While I’m there I’ll refill the water
pouch.’

‘
Don’t be long,’ she answered and pulled her blanket closer
around her. Night was falling and there was a chill in the
air.

It didn’t take
Gwydion long to find the trail and he paused at the forest edge,
looking for any sign of the Roman. His eyes fell on something half
hidden in the undergrowth and he approached cautiously.

A nosebag lay
discarded in the scrub and Gwydion recognised the unmistakeable
signs of a struggle. He searched the surrounding area and to his
horror, came across the bodies of two recently killed men. Neither
was Prydain, but any thoughts that the Roman had escaped the
conflict faded when he saw signs of countless horses that had been
in the area. Gwydion came to the conclusion that either his body
lay further afield, or he had been taken prisoner by the
horsemen.

He glimpsed
something in the grass and bent to pick up a vicious looking knife
with a curved blade. Its design was unfamiliar to him and he tucked
it into his belt before returning to the temporary camp via a
circuitous route, careful to avoid leaving any trail back to their
hiding place.

When he arrived,
Gwenno was fast asleep and Gwydion decided to stay awake for the
rest of the night to guard her against any revisit of the unknown
warriors. He knew he had to change his plans. They couldn’t
realistically continue south, for if the unknown attackers were
Silures, it was obvious that they weren’t welcome and he didn’t
want to place Gwenno in any more danger. He would let her sleep
tonight and tomorrow he would explain, but he knew deep down, their
chances of survival were minimal.

He watched the
darkness creep into the forest until finally, with his overtired
body giving in to the demands of exhaustion, his breathing slowed
and he fell into a deep sleep.

----

The following
morning, the first thing to reach into Gwydion’s consciousness was
the birdsong echoing around the forest. He shuddered as his body
registered the coldness of the dew on his skin and his mind
struggled to comprehend the strange sound that interrupted the
birds. It was familiar, but out of place, and he tried to focus on
its origin. It sounded like the bark of a fox or a cough. Yes that
was it, a throaty cough. He hoped Gwenno hadn’t caught a chill, but
he quickly dismissed that idea for it was far too deep for a
female; it was obviously a man’s cough.

A second later
as the implications dawned, his eyes flew open and he reached for
the sword he had left at his side hours earlier, but his hand fell
on nothing but space where his weapon had lay. The point of a spear
hovered inches from his chest held by the looming figure of an
unknown warrior. For a second, he contemplated knocking the spear
aside and taking his chances with the man, but soon realised the
futility of the idea when he saw at least a dozen more men standing
guard. Across the clearing, Gwenno was gagged and tied to a tree.
Gwydion stared around the camp and cursed himself for falling
asleep, realising that if these men were Silures or Druid warriors,
then his incompetence had probably cost them their
lives.

‘
Gwenno, are you all right?’ he asked.

She nodded her
head. The spear holder lifted his weapon, the blood stained point
tilting Gwydion’s chin upwards, forcing him to look at the
man.

‘
Shut your mouth,’ he snarled.

‘
Who
are you?’ asked Gwydion. ‘Have you been sent by the Druids, because
if you have, surely you can see it is too late? The Romans are
already here and no amount of sacrifice will make any
difference.’

‘
What do you know of the Romans?’ asked the warrior suddenly
interested.

‘
I
know they defeated Caratacus at the Medway,’ he said, ‘and if they
can do that, the life of one girl won’t make any difference one way
or another. Why don’t you let her go? I will take her
place.’

‘
Hold your tongue,’ snapped the warrior. ‘You fret like a
woman. We are not of the Druids.’

Gwydion breathed
a sigh of relief.

‘
Who
are you then?’ he asked. ‘You are obviously not
Silures.’

‘
If
I was, your head would already adorn my saddle, but I am interested
about what you know of the Romans. Who told you about
Medway?’

‘
I
was there,’ said Gwydion, ‘I saw it with my own eyes.’

‘
You
are not of the Catuvellauni!’

‘
I
am Deceangli,’ answered Gwydion.

‘
There were no Deceangli at Medway.’

‘
I
accompanied Idwal as one of his guard and to translate for
Caratacus,’ explained Gwydion.

The warrior
withdrew his spear slightly.

‘
Stand up!’ he ordered. ‘There is someone who you should meet.
If you tell the truth, your life may be spared, however if you lie,
the crows will be pecking at your eyes within the hour. Bring the
girl,’ he barked and marched Gwydion out of the camp toward the
road at spear point, closely followed by the rest of the armed
party.

They emerged
near the base of a hill and Gwydion was astonished to see several
hundred men dispersed across the slope, talking in subdued tones
within their small groups. The prisoners were marched toward a
ragged tent situated in the centre of the small army.

‘
Wait here!’ said the warrior and ducked inside. Gwenno was
brought up besides Gwydion, her gag now removed and her bonds
cut.

‘
Who
are they?’ she asked nervously.

‘
I
don’t know,’ answered Gwydion, ‘though they speak the
Catuvellaunian tongue.’

‘
Have they been sent by the Druids?’

‘
I
don’t think so,’ he answered, ‘this group is far too big to have
been sent after two runaways.’

‘
Where is Prydain?’ she asked suddenly noticing his
absence.

‘
I’m
not sure,’ said Gwydion, ‘I’m hoping these people may be able to
give us some answers.’

Gwenno’s face
fell, but before her concern could develop, the warrior emerged
from the tent, closely followed by a giant bearded man. He walked
slowly up to Gwydion and stared at him for several
moments.

‘
Do
I know you?’ he asked. ‘Your face is familiar to me.’

‘
I
was with Idwal prior to the battle of Medway,’ said Gwydion. ‘I had
cause to speak to you once.’

‘
Who
is he?’ interrupted Gwenno.

The bearded man
turned to the girl.

‘
Allow me to introduce myself, pretty one,’ he said. ‘My name
is Caratacus, King of the Catuvellauni.’

----

Chapter 41

Remus and Mateus
rode side by side as they led the column further west. The
Centurion had forced the pace all day, stopping for five minutes
every hour to allow the men to drink and catch their breath. Their
armour was heavy and not designed to be worn for long periods of
marching. That was what the following mule train was for, but this
was unknown territory and neither Mateus nor Remus wanted to take
any risks with the Silures.

The rolling
landscape was thick with broad-leafed forestry interspersed with
manmade clearings, obviously formed for the grazing of cattle, but
strangely unoccupied by man or beast. They neared a stream and
called a halt to enable the men to refill their water
skins.

The ground was
muddied and trampled near the water, a sign that animals often
drank at this point. Remus dismounted and allowed his horse to
drink his fill from the cool stream. Mateus removed his helmet and
dipped it into the water before pouring it over his head, gasping
at its refreshing coolness.

Remus crouched
and put his fingers into a cowpat before looking up
thoughtfully.

‘
That’s disgusting,’ said Mateus looking down at the squatting
Centurion.

‘
Cow
shit,’ said Remus simply.

‘
So
what?’ asked Mateus.

‘
Still fresh, yet no cattle to be seen.’

‘
Perhaps they wandered off?’

‘
It’s still warm,’ said Remus standing up and wading into the
stream to wash his hands. ‘They were here less than an hour ago and
cows don’t move that fast unless they are a being driven by
men’

‘
They can’t be that far away,’ said Mateus. ‘Perhaps, we
should pursue them; we could do with fresh meat.’

‘
I
think not,’ said Remus. ‘What worries me more is that if these
herdsmen knew we were coming, then who else knows?’ He looked
around at the surrounding hills. ‘My guess is that we have been
watched since we crossed the river this morning.’

‘
This concerns you?’

‘
Not
unduly, it would take quite an army to take on a full Cohort, and
armies take a while to assemble. We should be gone long before
anyone can assemble the sort of strength needed to cause us any
problems.’

‘
Riders coming!’ called one of the sentries and everyone
reached for their weapons.

Remus stepped
forward and peered at the dust trail being kicked up by the fast
approaching horses.

‘
It’s two of the scouts.’ said Remus, ‘and they look as if
they are in a hurry.’ The horses reined in before him. One of the
scouts dismounted and saluted him

‘
Hail, Remus,’ he said, ‘we have important news for the
Tribune.’

‘
Report,’ answered Remus simply.

‘
Sire, there is a large band of barbarians encamped on the
other side of the hills to the front.’

‘
Do
they know we are here?’

‘
No,
Sire,’ answered the scout. ‘Their route follows the road we seek
and takes them south.’

‘
Then it is of no concern of ours,’ he said. ‘Keep an eye on
them but we will allow them to pass. We have more important things
to do.’

‘
Sire, there is something important you should know,’ said the
scout. ‘The group is led by Caratacus himself.’

‘
Caratacus,’ gasped Mateus, ‘you must be mistaken; he faces
Plautius in the east.’

‘
It
would seem Plautius was victorious and routed the Britons at
Medway,’ said the scout, ‘Caratacus flees south to seek refuge with
the southern tribes.’

‘
How
do you know this?’ interrupted Remus.

‘
While he was hunting, we took one of them as prisoner,’ said
the scout, ‘he told us everything.’

‘
You
are sure of this?’ snapped Mateus.

‘
Why
would he lie? We did not suspect they were led by Caratacus, he
volunteered the information as he thought it would save his
life.’