Hosker, G [Sword of Cartimandua 03] Invasion- Caledonia Read online

  “Roman!” He looked around for the owner of the voice. When he looked down, an action which increased the pain in his head he saw that his wicker coffin, for so he thought it was, was on a wooden platform at the edge of the cliff and there before him was his nemesis, his enemy, Fainch the witch. He did not know what he had expected but he was disturbed to find that he was oddly attracted to her and, despite the pain he was in, felt his loins stirring. She was older than he had expected and there were flecks of grey dotted in her hair but, as she stared at him, had had to admit that she had a power. Her violet eyes, or were they blue, seemed to exude a power which bored into his brain. “Do you know where you are Roman?”

  He tried to speak but he was dry and he had to cough. The witch stared at him, a grim grin like a savage slit in her face, enjoying his discomfort and pain. “I assume this is a sacrifice to the god Tanasis and I am to be burned alive.”

  She seemed surprised and annoyed for she had hoped to shock and frighten this Roman who had thwarted so many of her plans. “You know our ways Roman but I forget you had a bitch whelp you a pup did you not?”

  If she was hoping to anger him she failed for his anger was a cold vengeful anger which was stored up inside him, powerful and patient. Ignoring her comment he continued, “If you hope to hear me beg for my life you will be disappointed for in my death I will join my wife and child. You will be making me happy. And when I am dead my men will come and kill you. You will be crucified. ”

  Her face showed more than a hint of irritation but she had expected nothing less of this man. That was a good thing for her warriors would see it as an even more powerful sacrifice, a warrior who was fearless. “How you die is immaterial but I shall enjoy the anguish it causes your men when they arrive to see you burn!” Suddenly she was gone.

  That was their idea. They were trying to demoralise his men and the rest of the Romans. Marcus smiled grimly. They would be thwarted for his troopers would fight even harder to revenge themselves on those who had killed him. He idly wondered as he closed his eyes for a moment, what would happen to his sword. He was glad that they had not taken it and he wondered which of his men would claim the honour of wielding it. Perhaps Macro as the ala champion would want it but Marcus knew who he wanted to be the new owner, Gaius. Gaius had become the son who had died. He had replaced the young Ulpius and become Marcus’ hope for the future. He still regretted having to watch the innocent Gaius being flogged on the whim of an arrogant young patrician and he had sworn then to make it up to the fine young decurion that Gaius had grown into. Yes Gaius would do the sword justice and give it honour.

  Even as Marcus contemplated death and his reunion with Macha and Ulpius his men were already moving noiselessly along the shoreline. They were not moving swiftly for there were many rocks and inlets but those obstacles ensured that they arrived unseen behind a rock outcrop. Gaelwyn was in command, regardless of Gaius’ rank, and he signed for them to wait as he slipped into the water and, like an eel, disappeared beneath the waves.

  “He scares me he does. Look at that you can’t see him. How does he do that?”

  “The same way, Macro that you are able to hurl a slingshot so accurately and I am not. It is one of Gaelwyn’s skills; be glad for today they may save Marcus’ life.” Gaius had been particularly troubled by the kidnap for he blamed himself. He had the tent next to Marcus and, had he not been drinking and carousing he might have heard the kidnappers and prevented this tragedy. He vowed he would never allow drink to interfere with his duties again.

  It seemed an age that Gaelwyn was away but Gaius could tell from the sun’s movement in the sky that it was a short time. When he returned dripping and breathing heavily he led them away from their rocky outcrop to a place where they could talk. Gaius could tell from the expression on the scout’s face that his news was not good and he braced himself for the worst.

  “He is on the cliff across the water,” he paused, “in a wicker cage. He is to be burned alive.”

  Macro had not been expecting that, in reality this was beyond Macro’s comprehension but the thought of Marcus being burned alive evoked a gasp of shock. “The bastards let’s…”

  Gaius grabbed his young friend’s arm. “Let us hear what our friend has to say.” Turning to Gaelwyn he said, “What can we do? Can he be rescued?” None of the party was privy to the plans of Fainch and they had no idea that she would wait until the whole army appeared before igniting the unfortunate prisoner, as far as they were concerned speed was of the essence and delay would mean death for the decurion.

  “We could approach under the water, climb the cliffs, for they are not steep, and release him.”

  “Well let’s go then.”

  Gaelwyn restrained Macro this time with a paternal smile on his grizzled old face.”Be patient. We will have to wait until dark.”

  Gaius asked the question which was on everyone’s minds. “When do they normally burn these… things?”

  After a pause Gaelwyn said, ominously, “After dark.”

  The looks on the faces of the four troopers was the same, dismay, despondency and dejection. They were ready to rescue but they might be too late. “There’s nought we can do until dusk. Let us rest.” Gaius looked at them all. “We will rescue Marcus, or die trying.”

  Back at the camp Agricola had finished his briefing with Decius and the prefects. “We will arrive before dawn. I want every man in position before the first hint of the sun appears.” Decius knew that every man in the camp would go without sleep all night if necessary for the barbarians had violated their camp. Even the sentries who had been flogged felt the same. They wanted to avenge their shame. “Our scout has not reported back yet. That means that either they are dead or they are trying to affect a rescue, “he looked pointedly at Decius, “against orders. Perhaps they are using that turma of cavalry which left for a patrol this morning. However we cannot let that change our decision. The Decurion Princeps will either survive or he will not, it is no longer in our hands. However the fate of the island and Wales is. We will ensure that every person on that island is destroyed and obliterated from history. When we have finished with this pestilential hole then we will return to the heartland of these Ordovices and kill every single man woman and child. Every animal will be killed and every dwelling burned. Nothing of the Ordovice will remain. The people of these lands will find out what happens when you kill and kidnap Roman soldiers. They will pay with their land and their lives.”

  Fainch was becoming increasingly concerned when the Roman army did not appear. She had expected a swift reaction as there had been when Inir had destroyed their cavalry. She had counted on a swift response to this challenge. She had thought they would come charging across the island and attack. That was why the wicker effigy had been placed on the eastern side of the island ready to be burned. The only positive side to their delay was that the Roman prisoner was in agony with bound arms and legs and a day and a half without water. By the time the Roman army came and they burned him he would be begging for death. There was satisfaction in that.

  Chapter 5

  Gaelwyn gathered the auxiliaries around him in a small circle. “We could walk through the water, for it is shallow, but I do not wish us to be seen by scouts and sentries. We will slide through the water as fish, making no sound. The sound of the surf should hide any sounds you might make. Once on the other side we will need to move as animals on all fours. There is some soil at the foot of the cliffs; when we get there rub it on your faces and arms to darken your skin. The moon will soon rise and white skin will stand out.” He had already told them to discard their armour leaving them only with a sword, knife and, in Marco’s case, a slingshot. “I will go around the back and release the ropes which hold the decurion in place. You and you, “he pointed at Gaius and Macro will make sure no-one is near, kill any sentries silently. You two, “he pointed at Salvius and Numerius,” will help me to carry him down to the water.”

  “Good plan. Remember we have one cha
nce and once only. Macro and I will wait at the top of the cliff until we see you in the water. Our lives are not important but we must rescue the Decurion Princeps.” Macro nodded his agreement but in his head he knew that they could fill any warrior who even came close.

  The water seemed icy as they slipped into it although it was relatively warm. The five men spread out like an arrowhead with Gaelwyn as the point. Keeping their heads beneath the waves they occasionally lifted their mouths out for air, when they did so they glance up at the cliffs where they could see the sentries peering across the water to the island of Mona. They were not looking down. For the first time Gaius thought that their plan might have a chance.

  Gaelwyn’s raised hand halted them as they lay in the shallows barely breathing. On his signal they scampered to the gorse lined patch beyond the beach. Above them they could see the platform built over the cliff and Gaius realised that it hid them from prying eyes. Of course once they left its security then they would be vulnerable but it gave them an edge. They each grabbed handfuls of soil and spread them over the bare, wet patches of flesh which helped spread the mud like paint. Soon they were darkened shadows, wraiths. Gaelwyn gestured for them to do the same to their blades to prevent them gleaming in the light which was just beginning to glint from a rising moon.

  Taking a breath they all stepped out from the gorse bush and began to ascend the slope. They took their time, securing foot and hand holds before moving on. Gaelwyn caught Macro’s attention and signalled the sentries talking to their right. There were none to the left. Macro nodded and, taking Gaius’ arm led him in that direction. As Gaelwyn and the other two slipped around the back of the wicker cage Macro and Gaius edged slowly towards the two sentries. As long as they stayed together the would-be rescuers had a problem. They needed them apart for then Macro could take one with a slingshot whilst Gaius could slit the other’s throat. After what seemed an age one of them lowered his breeks, telling the two Romans he was about to urinate. His companion wandered a few yards away more to avoid being splashed than any thoughts of discretion. They both had their backs to the troopers and rather than risk a falling body they both rushed and each grabbed a sentry, their hands clasped over their victim’s mouth. The other hand held a razor sharp knife which sliced effortlessly through the throats of the doomed sentries. As their warm, dark life blood oozed from their bodies the Romans laid them gently on the ground. They dared not roll them down the bank in case there was a splash. Immediately on guard they scanned the encampment. The tribesmen seemed remarkably close but the Romans were hidden, as they squatted by a row of thick gorse which disguised them.

  Gaelwyn saw the sentries fall and he rose up to sever the rope which held the wicker effigy together. Within moments he had cut a hole big enough to get the decurion out. The two troopers joined him and they all cut through the bonds. Gaelwyn held his hand over Marcus’ mouth as he felt the soldier stir, “Friends,” he whispered and Marcus gave a faint nod. Gaelwyn supported the man’s body as the two troopers made short work of the bonds. The weight of the body suddenly increased as the support was removed and the extra weight almost made Gaelwyn drop him and it was only the lightning reactions of Salvius that prevented a disaster for Marcus, who had taken neither water nor food for a day and a half had no strength of his own. The three men manhandled the unresponsive body towards the slope down the side furthest away from the dead sentries. Gaelwyn kept his eyes on Macro and Gaius; when he saw that they had seen him the three men moved more quickly. Gaius and Macro moved swiftly down the slope listening for any alarm. At the water’s edge they turned Marcus on his back and Gaius was delighted when he saw his mentor open his eyes and smile. Macro squatted in the shallows, slingshot at the ready while the other four half dragged, half towed the decurion back to safety. When they were halfway across the narrow straits Macro started across slithering backwards through the salty surf. He was halfway across when he heard the shout of alarm as the bodies were found at the base of the tower. The man who found them made the mistake of running to the edge of the platform to attempt to see where the killers were where he was silhouetted and Macro’s slingshot ended his life. Although it only delayed the pursuit any delay might give them time to escape and time was not on their side.

  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.