Hosker, G [Sword of Cartimandua 01] The Sword of Cartimandua (7 page)

The enemy were less than a five hundred paces away when the Romans heard the unmistakeable sound of buccinas. It was the ala! Had they arrived too late? They were unable to see their friends in the gloom but they could see by the way the enemy horse swerved to their right where they were coming from. “Right you useless buggers. Die hard and some of us might live. Those are our brothers coming to help us. Don’t let me down! If I die first I’ll kick your arses when you get to Elysium.”

They laughed at the gallows’s humour. “Caltrops. The men in the front row suddenly hurled the many pointed pieces of metal towards the enemy chariots. The ponies were unshod and the caltrops would cause serious damage. The Romans knew their efficacy having encountered them in Batavia- they knew what would happen to this solid line of horses. Their narrow frontage helped and, as the first ponies reared, bucked and tried to turn. The whole of the enemy vanguard was thrown into confusion. Ponies tried to veer away only to hit other chariots or more caltrops. They reared, tossed and threw their riders and chariots into each other.  The entire vanguard was stopped and hurled into complete confusion. Taking advantage of the hiatus Ulpius roared, “Javelins!” The first volley flew over the heads of the first rank and totally disrupted the whole attack. As they prepared to launch their second volley some of those who had fallen from the chariots began to hurl axes and spears. “Javelins.” The second volley took out some of those who had survived. As they unsheathed their swords Ulpius had a quick look to see their casualties. One of his men had taken a hit to the throat from an axe thrown from a charging tribesman and was bleeding to death. One or two had had cuts but it was Vellocatus and Cartimandua who had taken the most damage. Vellocatus was lying with a spear embedded deep in his stomach-a death wound. Cartimandua was holding her right arm, a javelin pinning it to the ground. He had no chance to help her for a huge warrior leapt over the chariots screaming and waving a two handed broadaxe. He only had time to react. He threw his shield to the left and dived to the right. They faced each other both recognising that they fought an experienced warrior. Ulpius kept his eyes on his opponent’s face looking for the movement of his eyes which would tell him how he would fight. He saw his enemies eyes flick towards his sword and even as the axe sliced down Ulpius thrust the boss of his shield as the weapon. The blade slid off the metal and Ulpius thrust towards the warrior’s face. He was too wily to be taken so early and he merely stepped back almost laughing. Ulpius was unconcerned; he had seen how the man reacted. Next time it would end. He swung his sword at the Brigante knowing that he was opening up his left side. His opponent saw the opening and smashed down at the shield. He hit with incredible force and Ulpius turned slightly so that the warrior carried on forward and when his momentum opened up his left side Ulpius stabbed upwards finding a vital organ almost immediately. He had no time for satisfaction as he sensed someone coming from his right. He instinctively struck backhanded and felt the blade sink into soft flesh. He turned and saw that he had caught the man fought bare chested and his blade had cut both the tops of his arms and the top of his chest; not death wounds. He finished the man off by cutting his throat. He looked up and saw Marcus without a shield trying to fight two men with his sword and the broken end of a javelin.  Ulpius charged one of them men and almost decapitated him with his sword. Marcus ended the life of his companion with a javelin he picked from a dead body and slid it into the unprotected throat of the assailant.

Drusus and Metellus were fighting as a pair each one watching out for the other. Close by the Brigante scout Osgar was using his sling to mighty effect; to their front was a wedge of Carvetii. The leader fought without any upper body armour save for a golden torc, a blue painted face and a winged helmet. Even as he came towards him Drusus couldn’t help musing on this belief from the Brigante that painting your face gave you magical protection. Osgar took aim with his sling only to be stabbed by a spear from his side.  Drusus knew immediately that he was in danger and he turned his shield to his left. As he did so the war chief charged forward, his warriors alongside. Drusus took the thrust of the axe on his sword; he was struck on the head by an axe thrown by one of the warriors. His helmet saved his life but he was knocked down. He would have died there and then but Metellus hacked down on the neck of the warrior striking a vital vein. Before Drusus could thank his companion two warriors sliced and hacked into Metellus unprotected side and his lifeless body fell onto Drusus whose world drifted into blackness.

Marcus and Lentius saw Metellus and Drusus go down and charged into the side of the Carvetii formation. They were enraged and the enemy group was slaughtered as they continued to hack at the lifeless body of the huge auxiliary. With no enemies to their front Lentius and Marcus dragged Drusus away from his dead comrade.  They did not know if he was dead or alive but they could see that Metellus had joined the Allfather.

Venutius was becoming angry that this tiny handful of Roman warriors was thwarting his attempt at ending the Queen’s life. The crashed and ruined chariots were a barrier around the beleaguered Romans; his warriors were being picked off before they could get to the enemy.  The auxiliaries were using their bows with great accuracy to pick off the warriors as they tried to climb over the barrier. With little of no armour each arrow took out a warrior who in turn became part of an even bigger barrier. He turned to his bodyguards; he would take his elite and kill these upstarts. “Form on me! Wedge!”  Before he could advance he heard the strident sound of a buccina. Romans! He looked in the direction of the river, towards the south and saw a mass of men. It was the garrison of Eboracum.

One of his scouts, bleeding from an arrow wound rode up. “It is the Roman cavalry; they have destroyed Calga and his men. They will be here in a heartbeat we must flee or die.”

Cursing his luck Venutius realised he would have to withdraw; he clutched at his sacred charm, given to him by a witch in the hope that its power would help him to survive. Unwittingly the Romans had copied his plan; the Queen and her rescuers were pinning the warband and they were being attacked in the flank. If it was just the cavalry then he might be able to defeat them but if it was the legion…There was still time. He might have lost the battle but this was but the opening of a campaign which would see the end of Cartimandua and the eviction of the Roman infestation from his lands. “Withdraw!” His standard bearer waved it in a circular fashion, the signal to retreat. Those warriors who could see it began to withdraw but those facing the two Roman forces kept fighting the bloodlust filling their heads.

There were barely a handful of his auxiliaries left and Ulpius looked up expecting the end. He could see the bodies of his men, some seeping their life into the ground others barely alive but all hope of life leaving their eyes. His horizon was filled with enemies; as the arrows diminished in numbers so more of them made it over the barrier where Ulpius stood like a bronze statue, he hacked and chopped those who stumbled and fell across the sea of bodies and they sank to the ground. He heard a call which brought his fading hopes alive it was the buccina! The enemies before him unexpectedly thinned behind the warrior he despatched with his spatha and he saw, with grim delight, that the enemy to his front were dead or dying and he suddenly saw troopers from his ala were charging and pursuing the rest as they fled the field. The rout was complete as the Romans outnumbered the fleeing tribesmen who would be slaughtered if they faced the fresh Roman troops. He turned quickly to Cartimandua who was lying ashen faced in a pool of blood. “You fight well decurion. My poor Vellocatus will fight no more.” She gently touched the still, silent face of her lover.

Speaking quietly, almost to himself Ulpius said, “Nor will you majesty for I fear for your sword arm. This may hurt my lady but I must stop the blood or you will die.” She nodded and, closing her eyes turned her head to the side. Using both arms he pulled the crude javelin from her arm. He tightly wrapped his neckerchief around the arm to stem the bleeding. “You are brave my queen.  I have known warriors who would have been screaming like pigs.”

“You have saved my life Roman and I will repay the debt. Take my sword until I can hold it again. Guard it as well as you guarded me for I have never seen a warrior like you. You defeated the best of the Carvetii this day. Brigantia owes you a great debt for you have prevented Venutius from killing the rightful queen.” With that her eyes closed and drifted off into unconsciousness. As Ulpius gripped the hilt of the magnificent weapon he felt as though it was alive; it felt like an extension of his arm. Ass soon as he touched it he knew he would find it very hard to return it. The balance and feel seemed to make it sing and, as he ran his hands over the Celtic inscription, he felt himself back in the world of warriors from which he had come. It truly was a blade from the old time and the barbarian in Ulpius thrilled at the thought of using it.

Chapter 4

Eboracum

Vellocatus hung on for a few days. He occasionally recovered consciousness but the legionary surgeon held out no hope for him.  The Queen fared better although she too drifted into unconsciousness on more than one occasion. The Greek doctor in the fort was a clever man who knew he had to save the life of the Queen or suffer the consequences of his Roman masters being unhappy. As Ulpius remarked to the tribune and surgeon the enemy were prone to smearing faeces and poison on to their weapons. As soon as he knew that the doctor was able to find the right remedy to cure the angry wound on the Queen’s arm.

A day after she arrived in the fort she sent for the tribune Saenius Augustinius. “The soldier who rescued me, what is his rank?”

“He is a decurion majesty. Why did he do anything to offend you? If so I will have him spread across a wheel.”

“Silence! He served both Rome and me well. I would have him promoted.” She paused as a look of incredulity crept across the tribune’s face. “You can do this can’t you? Or should I send for the governor?”

“No majesty I can do as you wish.” The tribune was a politician and he ignored the implied command and changed it to a wish. He didn’t see why the ugly barbarian should be promoted but he would make political capital out of it. It would endear the Queen and the barbarian to him. They would be in his debt. “I will see to it immediately.”

Making her tone gentler she mollified the tribune a little. “As my ex-husband has stirred up my loyal subjects against me and brought in his Carvetii dogs I would like to invite Rome to make my lands safer.”

The queen’s statement suddenly made Saenius see that he had the chance to make political capital out of the situation. The Queen was inviting Rome to take over Brigantia. It would cease to be an ally kingdom and become a vassal kingdom. She had to be protected and Venutius had to be destroyed. He calmed himself to meet with the prefect. He needed to pander to the queen and any sensibilities the prefect might have would be ignored. Leaving the Queen’s quarters he summoned a guard over. “Tell the prefect I wish to speak with him.”

By the time Flavius Bellatoris arrived the prefect had maps and reports spread across his table and he had regained his composure. “What do you think of the decurion, Felix, the one who rescued the Queen?”

“He is a good warrior and leader.  The men love him.”

“Promote him.”

Flavius looked nonplussed. “Promote him but to which post? He is already senior decurion the next promotion would be decurio princeps in command of the ala.”

The tribune looked flustered; he did not understand the workings of the auxiliary. He preferred the organisation and order of the legion. “Well then just do that.”

“With respect sir there are two decurio princeps already in command of the alae.”

This was a problem. One could not just dismiss a decurio princeps.”Are they both good?” The pause told Saenius all he needed. “One of them is not. Can we dismiss him? Give him land? A pension?”

“Gaius Cresens has not the required years to qualify for land or a pension on the other hand he is not,” the rough tribune struggled to find the right words; “perhaps the best man to lead the ala.” Flavius himself wished the corpulent cavalryman removed but it galled him that he was being ordered to do so by an outsider; someone recently arrived from Rome without the first idea of what it meant to live, fight and die on the wild frontier.

“Well,” said the prefect impatiently, “what can we do with him?”

“As yet we have no quartermaster at the fort. We will need someone who is senior and understands the army to be in command. It would be a better pay grade so I assume he will do it.”

“Then do it. Dismiss.”

As the prefect left his headquarters, the tribune began to write the report to the Governor; the report that might just make his political career. He was giving the largest tribal area in Britannia to Rome. Perhaps this would be his escape back to Rome!

The turma had suffered. There were ten auxiliaries, including Ulpius who were fit for duty and all of those had scars and minor wounds. Osgar and Metellus had gone to the gods but Marcus, Lentius, Drusus and Gaius had survived. The prefect, Flavius Bellatoris summoned Ulpius to his office the day after the enemy were vanquished. “So you old goat. You decided for the first time in your miserable life to be a hero.” Flavius was an even older grizzled veteran. He made Ulpius at thirty five look like a young man. He had seen service in Batavia and on the Rhine under Caligula and Claudius. He was known as the toughest cavalryman to fight for Rome but he protected his ala like a father. Ulpius was silent although a slight smile played about his lips. “A good thing that you did. The queen might act like a Pompeian tart and about as popular amongst her people as the Egyptian clap but she is still the queen and had that bastard killed her he would have been king and Mars himself would have struggled to contain the North. He might still be king to many of the Brigante but at least, with the queen behind these walls, we have a figurehead.  It was fortunate for you that I was the one who received your message. The tribune likes the protection of these wooden walls. He does not want to venture anywhere where the locals might whip off his balls. ” He spread his hand out expansively to the vague south.” Bolanus is struggling with the Second Augusta to put down the Silures and the Ninth is still not up to strength. All that trouble in Rome has stretched us a little.  We could do with a couple more legions and then the job would be finished. Good job Ulpius.” He reached over and gripped Ulpius’ forearm in the soldier’s grip.  “As a reward the tribune,” he managed to turn the word into a sneer, “Saenius Augustinius, has asked that I promote you.” Ulpius was still silent. “Speak you sneaky bastard.”