Roman Courage, page 12
part #13 of Sword of Cartimandua Series
He could see that the Prefect had not really understood what he said but the camp was built on the ruins of the old fort. Marcus stood his sentry duty with the turma. Two turmae stood watch at any one time. When it was the Twentieth and Twenty First turma’s turn it meant they had three officers. Decurion Stolo was nervous. This was his first sentry duty in hostile territory.
“Servius, do you want some advice?”
“Do you think I need it?” He was defensive.
Marcus sighed. He had his work cut out. “You are as nervous as a house cat. If you are nervous then you can’t use your best weapons.”
“What are they?”
“Eyes, ears and most importantly, nose.”
“Nose?”
“We can also be smelled from a long way away. It is the horse leather and horse sweat. Add to that the acetum and a barbarian can smell us a mile away. They smell too. Barbarians smell differently to us. The first thing you do is sniff the air. Smell each side of the camp. Try to identify what you can smell. When you look then listen. Keep your head still and, while you listen for sounds which are there and shouldn’t be or noises which are noticeably absent then look for shadows which move. They shouldn’t.”
“That sounds like a great deal to think about.”
“It is but remember, you have the responsibility of guarding your comrades who sleep. If you get it wrong, then they die.”
As they approached the fort Marcus saw that First Spear Sejanus was still improving the defences. All signs of the battle had now gone but he had his men making more traps for the ditch and obstacles between the two ditches. The Votadini had managed to get to the second ditch far too easily. The crucified bodies remained where they had been planted. The birds and the rats had got to them. Marcus had no doubt that First Spear would have them taken down soon. The point had been made.
Prefect Glabrio rode next to Marcus as they approached the fort. He had with him Decurion Princeps Pera. “Where would you have us build the fort then?”
Marcus pointed north. “Where the road begins to turn you can see a piece of flatter, higher ground to the west of that bush line. There my scout, Felix, is sitting atop it on his horse.”
The Prefect turned, “Your scout?”
“To speak correctly he is the scout of Marcus’ Horse but as his skill would be wasted in Wales the Prefect attached him to me before he left. I sent him two days ago to ensure that it was as I remembered it.”
The Prefect nodded and mumbled, “Resourceful.” He turned in the saddle, “Come Decurion Princeps let us see if our liaison offer has done well.”
As they trotted up the road Marcus looked around. If it were not here then it would have to be close to the river and that would mean flooding. Autumn rains could turn the small river into a torrent overnight. Felix and Wolf diplomatically headed away from the approaching officers. The Prefect rode all around it. Marcus had remembered well. It was flat and the floods made by the dam had made the soil easier to work. It was as close to perfect as possible. It was also large enough to accommodate the nine hundred strong herd of horses that they needed.
“Very good, Decurion. Decurion Princeps, begin the construction. Decurion Aurelius, you can introduce me to the commander of the fort.”
The Prefect was going to ride down the road. Marcus said, “Sir, the stream is not wide, we can jump it.”
The Prefect shook his head, “If you think I am going to risk the ignominy of falling from my horse in front of a cohort of Lingones then you are mistaken. However, I am more than willing for you to try.”
It was a challenge and Marcus accepted. He dug his heels in and Raven took off. Marcus did not break stride and his horse sailed over. Marcus heard a cheer as the Twentieth Turma watched him.
He reined in next to First Spear, “You showing off, Decurion?”
“I offered the Prefect the chance to do it and he declined. I am sorry about this First Spear. You will have more than eight hundred men and horses for neighbours.”
“I am not complaining. It will keep the Votadini from us. What is he like, this Prefect?”
“He doesn’t want to be here.”
Sejanus laughed, “None of us do.” First Spear stood to attention as the Prefect dismounted. “Sir, welcome to Bremenium. My officers and I would be delighted if you and your Decurion Princeps would dine with us this evening. It is nothing special but we do have fresh bread.” He gestured with his left hand, “And we do have a bath house. It is not the biggest but it does have hot water.”
That convinced the Prefect. Marcus had not been able to enjoy the facility when he had been there. He had been too busy fighting. Conveniently it lay to the north of both forts next to the small stream. “Most kind. Decurion be so good as to send over Decurion Princeps Pera. This fort is more civilised than I first thought.”
I nodded my thanks to First Spear. He had made my life easier.
Chapter 9
Even as the Prefect was entered the hot room in the bath house a council of chiefs was meeting at Traprain Law under the stern gaze of King Clutha. Agnathus and Randel had taken days to reach the north. The lack of horses and their wounds slowed them. Four men died on the journey. Riders found them and told them of the assembly. When Agnathus walked in he was surprised to see his son sitting close by the King. Randel’s eyes narrowed. It was more than surprise which he felt. It was raw anger and hatred. All the way north he had brooded about the death of his brother and the capture of his wife. His home was destroyed and, for some reason, Randel blamed Creagh. He knew it was irrational. Creagh had just taken a handful of men from the battle but it was the dishonour which rankled. Now he saw the man sitting close by the King. It was unfair.
Agnathus saw that they were the last to arrive. The other senior chiefs were already there. When he had met with Góra, Witan and the others it had been a closed meeting. The chiefs there had all been unhappy with King Clutha. Now the rest of the tribe’s chiefs were there and Agnathus realised that they were in the majority. He wondered about his son’s part in this. What was he doing here?
“You are the last to arrive, Agnathus and Randel. Sit that we may begin our council of war.”
They sat between Góra and Witan.
“We now have a war against the Romans. It was not a war I chose.” The King jabbed a finger at Randel. “It was Tadgh, Randel and Baradh who began it. Two have paid with their lives. We need to consider if there is a punishment due to the third.”
Randel’s hand went to his Roman sword. It was under the table and Agnathus gripped it. He hissed, quietly, “Peace. Think with your head and not your heart.”
Randel nodded and placed both hands on the table.
Vinicius stood. He had been at the council at Din Guardi, “King Clutha, Randel and his brother, aided by Chief Agnathus have destroyed two Roman forts. They came within a heartbeat of a third. Chief Randel deserves praise and not condemnation.”
“What retribution will it bring forth? My father told me of the legions who marched north and laid waste to our land. The Romans have built a wall and left us alone. We have poked the sleeping dog. It will bite.”
Drest was a chief from the north of the land of the Votadini. “I support you King Clutha but I agree with Vinicius. Randel has shown the Romans that we can fight and we can win. There is but one fort left. If we could take that then our land would be free from the boot of the Romans. They have built a wall. Let them keep the land to the south. Their forts show that they still have ambitions to rule us. Are we free or are we subservient to Rome?”
Men spoke to their neighbours and Agnathus saw a chance. He had thought they were in the minority but it was not necessarily true. He spoke. “King Clutha, when we fought many Selgovae and Brigante joined us. Surely, we can be the tribe who leads this revolt. We can become greater as a result of this.”
This time even more chiefs agreed with Agnathus. King Clutha frowned and then looked at Creagh. “Chief Agnathus your son has come to me and told me of your ambition to be King of the Votadini.” There was a ripple of conversation and outrage around the room. The outrage was that a son had betrayed his father. “Do you deny it?”
Agnathus shrugged, “You believe a man who deserted the warriors he led to battle and fled to you. Why should anyone believe a word he says? He is no longer my son.”
Creagh leapt to his feet, “I told King Clutha when I first reached him that I was not your son.” Randel noticed a strange smile on his face. “As we are both agreed on the matter then there is nothing more to be said.”
A strange silence fell over the meeting. Randel had not yet spoken. He chose that moment to do so, “Is this a council of war or a place for men to speak of petty grievances> I have lost my family in this revolt and for me it is not over. I would be War Chief of the tribe. I believe that I have earned the right. I tell every chief here that Randel will continue to fight the Romans until the last breath has left his body.”
This time there was no doubt that Randel had the full support of almost every chief. Yet Creagh continued to smile. Agnathus stood too and looked at Randel. Agnathus put his hand on the young chief’s shoulder. Randel sat. Agnathus was known to be a wise chief. When he spoke then men listened. “You are High King of the Votadini. None here threatens that position but it seems to me that almost everyone here wishes Randel to be War Chief of the Votadini.” Every eye was on King Clutha. “Is there any who oppose Randel as War Chief?”
Surprisingly, even Creagh remained seated.
King Clutha spoke, “You all think I am old and weak. Just because I have no children you conspire against me. Know this, I have spent my life making the land of the Votadini safe from our enemies. When I go to the Otherworld I will continue to do so.” He jabbed a finger at Agnathus, “But you, Agnathus the snake, will never be King. I announce here, tonight, in this sacred hall, that my heir will be Creagh. I have adopted him as my son. I presented him to the priests two days since and he has been anointed. He is now Prince Creagh. If Chief Randel is War Chief then he serves Prince Creagh!”
The announcement was greeted with disbelief. Randel had got his way but it was for nothing. If he failed then Creagh would have won and if he won then Creagh would reap the rewards. He had been outwitted.
As the hall erupted Agnathus turned to Randel. “My son is as slippery as an eel. He has no honour but this changes nothing. You are War Chief now.”
Randel nodded, “Aye but this is not the time for war. Warriors will need to provide for their families and with so many warriors dead it will be a hard winter.”
Agnathus shook his head, “I am not talking of the whole tribe. We brought with us forty men whose families are either dead or hostage. I now have no family. We will not farm this winter. You are War Chief. Can we not make war on the Romans when the snow lies hard upon the ground? Can we not be as the wolf and use stealth to hurt our foes? What we need we take from the Romans. And there will be others without families. There will be young warriors who seek to follow you.”
Agnathus was right. Randel nodded, “They may have stopped my home from being a fortress but, in winter, it is still a refuge. The forest to the sunset side of the road can be a home for many warriors. It is still a place of safety for men. We will do this.”
“Then while you plan the war I will speak with others. My son thinks he has outwitted us. We will show him that there are more in the tribe who do not want him than support him.”
The Prefect showed that he knew how to organize. Two thirds of the ala were tasked with building the marching fort. He left Decurion Princeps Pera in charge and as soon as the wagons arrived they were able to erect the buildings. They would, perforce, be rudimentary but they would give shelter from the elements. Pera divided his men in two so that one half erected the walls and gates while the other worked on the stables and barracks.
The Prefect led the other eight turmae and he had Marcus show him the surrounding area. They rode, first, as far north as they could. The thick forests which threatened to engulf the road showed the Prefect that they were not in cavalry country. As they returned south the Prefect questioned Marcus, “Do people live there? Surely there cannot be many.”
“The Votadini are not like the Romans, sir, nor even the Brigante. Apart from the coast they do not live in large settlements. The valleys here are steep and narrow. What might constitute a town further south will be spread up a valley. Some will even eke out a living in the forest. It teems with game.” Marcus turned in his saddle. He waved at the turmae behind him. “That is why the Legate sent an ala. A single turma can control a whole valley. There will be no hill fort to subdue nor walls to breach. A single turma will outnumber the warriors in any settlement they find.”
“Then how did they manage to destroy two forts? That is unheard of.”
“They have a good War Chief and he did have a hill fort. It is now thrown down but he is still at large. Until we have him we will have no peace.”
“But we have his family as hostage.”
“That will not matter to him. It is a blood feud now. We slew his brother and destroyed his home.”
“Surely we destroyed their army. Who can he lead?”
They were approaching the forts. “The land of the Votadini stretches south to the wall. To the north? On our ride today, we barely made inroads into their territory.”
“Tomorrow I would see this hill fort.”
The next day when they went to Otarbrunna Marcus sent Felix to ride around the hill fort in case anyone fled at their approach. The Prefect did not question Marcus’ decision. He was beginning to understand that his liaison officer knew his business. Otarbrunna was not deserted. Marcus had not expected it to be. The ramparts, however, were undefended and no one had attempted to repair the gates. What the survivors of the clan had done was to repair their huts and to begin to rebuild their lives. As they rode up the valley Marcus saw that there was not a single man of warrior age. There were the old and the lame but most of those who toiled were women or children. With summer coming to an end they were working urgently. Even in a normal year winter was hard. With no men to hunt for them this would be even harder. There would be deaths.
As they entered the hill fort smoke rose from a building and Marcus heard the unmistakeable sounds of metal being worked. He saw that it meant nothing to the Prefect who merely looked at the wrecked defences.
“I can see that this might have been hard to take but the VIth did an effective job of rendering it indefensible.”
There were more people in the centre of the fort than Marcus had expected. When it had been razed, any animals they had found had been taken. Marcus now saw goats, cows even a family of pigs. There were fowl too. A cohort of legionaries did not approach quickly and they had taken their animals to safety. Had the ala been there then they would have had nothing to begin their rebuilding.
As they reached the centre Marcus saw the source of the smoke and the banging. There was a blacksmith. He was one armed. His left arm was a stump. Two boys looked to be doing the work of his left arm. His right arm was like a young oak. He was the youngest man Marcus had seen. He looked to be about thirty summers old. He was coming into his prime. When they reined in Marcus saw that the wound had not been inflicted in the recent battle. The scars had healed but they were still visible. Marcus looked at the man’s face. His eyes burned with hatred as hot as the fire his boys fanned.
The Prefect said, “Ask him where is this Chief Randel.”
Marcus knew that it was pointless but he did as he was ordered. “Smith, my Prefect would know where is your Chief Randel?”
Judicael hated the Romans but he was no fool. The other warriors had fled as soon as the Romans had approached but, with his one arm, it was thought that Judicael would not be seen as a threat. It would be foolish to annoy the Romans. He also recognised that the Roman officer who spoke to him knew his language. As he glanced at his weapons he saw that this one did not carry a Roman sword but one with a decorated pommel and hilt. This was the Brigante who carried the Sword of Cartimandua. He was known to be a clever man. Judicael decided to be as honest as he could be without giving away too much. The word was that Chief Randel was on his way south, but in secret.
“After the battle, lord, he left and headed north. We think he went to King Clutha’s court.”
Marcus could tell that this was partly the truth. However, the man’s eyes had not held his. He was hiding something. “The man says he has gone to the King. He has a home in the far north of the land.”
The Prefect nodded, “What is he making? Swords?”
Marcus had already worked out what the smith was making, “No sir. They have no need of swords for they captured more than a hundred from the dead Lingones. He is making animal traps. With so many warriors dead they will have to trap animals for food. There are mainly women and children here.”
“No warriors then.”
“Oh yes, sir, there were warriors. They will have fled when we arrived. Felix will tell us how many there were.”
The Prefect led the turmae around the hill fort. It was a statement of power. Over two hundred horsemen told the Votadini that the ala was back. Felix met them at the end of the valley as they returned. Marcus nodded for him to report to the Prefect.
“There were eighteen men who might be warriors, sir. They headed into the forest as you approached. They were watching you as you rode around the fort.”
“Eighteen eh? Not enough to worry about.”
Marcus warned, “Yes sir but Chief Randel is at large. If he can convince the King to give him more men then they might be enough to worry about.”
“Then the sooner the fort is built the better. That way we can send out twice the number of men. I can see what you mean about a turma operating alone. Tomorrow we will ride to Alavna and then the coast. By the time we return Decurion Princeps Pera might have my quarters ready.”
The next day, as they approached Alavna Marcus realised that despite his mistakes, Centurion Ambustus had done an effective job of destroying the fort. Romans could rebuild but the Votadini would never have the skills to do so. The Prefect shook his head. The Legate had told all of his prefects of the disaster. “What possessed the man to destroy the fort. Surely it was more dangerous to be out in the wild.”
