Hosker, G [Sword of Cartimandua 04] Roman Retreat (5 page)

“Shut up! Do you want every blue arsed warrior here.” Turning to the trooper he asked, “How many?”

“I think there are over two hundred sir… I didn’t count.”

“That’s alright lad.  You have done well.”

“Yes,” added Marcus, “and how did we fare?”

“Didn’t lose many sir.  We caught them unawares.”

“Good. As an experienced trooper take you place at the rear of these recruits.” Swelling with pride the trooper galloped swiftly to his place. “Well that is the best news I have heard in a while.”

“I know but it does give us a problem. If they reach the ambush before we do they will be massacred. They are tired, wounded and hungry.”

“Let’s not waste time then.  I’ll take my men up on to the ridge to the west and try to skirt the end of their line. When they attack you I will send the trooper back to Decius and then attack their right flank.”

“Sounds good to me but Marcus be careful.”

“You know you sound more like Decius every day.”

Macro found the ambush and like Marcus recognised its strategic value.  He sent a trooper back with the information and then rode the rest of his turma to the top of the hills to the east of the ambush.  He drew his men around him. “I realise that we are just one turma, and a depleted turma but we are my turma.” His men grinned when they heard the pride in his voice. “I am not going to risk us needlessly but there are two vexillations of our friends coming from two directions here.  Whichever arrives first will be attacked by those animals down there.  When they do I intend to attack this flank and try to draw them off. I am telling you this so that each of can carry out those orders should I perish.” The shock on their faces made him smile; to his men he was indestructible. “We hit them and retreat, hit them and retreat until our horses are too exhausted then we annoy them with arrows, rocks, anything to buy time. After that, we die. Clear?”

“Yes sir.”

“Good then let’s eat while we wait.  I am starving.”

Lulach was shocked when over a thousand Batavians filled the valley.  Where were his scouts? “To arms.  The Romans come.  Let us greet them.”

The barbarians had been waiting for the battle all morning but they were not prepared for the battle.  They had not had time to work themselves up into a battle frenzy.  The Batavians stood in three lines with archers in a fourth line; they stood calmly and patiently. Lulach raised his war axe and with a roar of, “Charge!” led the two warbands across the open land.  As he raced he hoped that his men would remember that they had to fall back to enable his men to fall on the enemy flanks.

Prefect Strabo stood in the first line calmly chewing on the remains of a wild boar his men had caught. Inside he was a mass of conflicting emotions but to his men he seemed calmness personified.  When the barbarians were two hundred paces away he threw the bone to the ground and shouted, “Archers prepare!” Fifty paces later he yelled, “Loose!” The five hundred arrows stopped the front line in their tracks and the second wave hurdled the dead and dying bodies. They were travelling so quickly that the next salvo of arrows fell behind them and they hit the front line of the auxiliaries like a rock thundering down a mountain. The two lines were locked in a deadly struggle. The narrowness of the valley meant that it was man on man with quarter neither sought nor given.  As soon as Lulach saw that they were all engaged he yell, “Back!” and albeit reluctantly the centre moved inexorably back.  The front two lines of the Batavians were drawn forward and a perplexed Prefect Strabo wondered at this. Barbarians normally fought and hit until they won or they were dead.  They never retreated and they never pulled back. If his mind had not been so focussed on his lost cohort he might have halted but he knew he had to find them.

Unknown to each other there were two cavalry forces on the flanks about to carry out the same action. Both Marcus and Macro could see, from their vantage point, Lulach’s strategy.  The Batavians were forcing their way forward but in doing so they were being outflanked.  Marcus remembered discussing such a battle with Julius; the battle of Cannae when the Carthaginians destroyed many Roman legions. This time there were cavalry behind the flanks.  Turning to his raw recruits Marcus addressed them. “We are going to charge their flank. You have never fought before in a battle.  Give no mercy.  If you see a back then stab it.  If you see an unprotected limb then go for it. If you see a comrade about to be attacked unsighted then protect him. Hit them and then withdraw and we will continue to do so. Now let us ride.”

Macro saw the Prefect’s attack although he did not know it was the prefect. It was the perfect moment for him to charge. “Right lads, change of plan.  One volley then charge in with javelins then withdraw and pepper them with arrows.  Should be easy, they have their backs to us.”

Lulach was ecstatic for his plan was working.  Not only were his men falling back as planned but they were also killing more of the Romans than he had hoped.  As the Batavians moved forward into the wider part of the valley they spread out more allowing the superior barbarian numbers to come into play. Prefect Strabo found himself fighting three warriors. Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he spied the cavalry charging down the left flank and he heard a roar from the right as Macro hit. It gave him all the encouragement he needed. Roaring, “Halt and hold.” He killed one man as the auxiliary next to him stabbed upwards to kill the second. Using his shield the prefect broke the nose and jaw of the third warrior and then disembowelled him in one swift movement. “Thank you soldier.  I owe you a drink.”

With no immediate enemies to his front Prefect Strabo scanned the battlefield. The two small cavalry charges had halted the encirclement but they were pin pricks only and the barbarians would soon reform. “Archers! Volley!” The arrows began to fall upon the Caledonii but those at the front had shields and the effect was less than Strabo had hoped. He was contemplating ordering a retreat to the narrow neck when he heard the most beautiful sound he had ever heard, a cavalry buccina. He could see beyond the rear ranks of the Caledonii, Marcus’ Horse thundering forward. “Hold them! Hold them! We will yet win!”

The fighting became increasing furious.  Despite the respite from the charge of five hundred cavalry the Roman forces were still heavily outnumbered. The factor which swung the day in the favour of the Romans was the Caledonii choice of battlefield.  The open valley allowed Marcus horse to move at will, avoiding the cumbersome axes and throwing missiles at unprotected bodies.  Eventually however the horses became blown and the barbarians stood in a shield wall, still to numerous to invite surrender.  It was then that Centurion Vestrus marched his depleted cohort to join the dismounted warriors of Marcus Horse and shrink the circle of steel until all that remained were the bloodied mangled bodies of Roman and Caledonii. Centurion Vestrus saluted a bleeding Prefect Strabo and said,”First Cohort reporting for duty. Sir!”

Chapter 4

High in the hills in the land of the Carvetii there was cave cunningly carved into the hillside cleverly disguised by an elder bush.  For the past four years an old woman and her charge had lived there. Inside it was spacious and warm with all that the two had ever needed and it was where the old one, Luigsech, the last of the Mona witches had taught Morwenna her thirteen year old charge. She had cared for the child since she had been weaned and she had hidden her high in the hills of the land of the lakes here after the fall of Mona and the destruction of the sacred groves by Agricola and his legions.  The child’s mother was long dead and had only been with the child for the first two years of her life but the old witch, Luigsech had taught the girl of the power which her mother had held and the legacy she had left her daughter. Now Morwenna was a woman and the teaching would be intensified for the old one knew that her days were numbered and she would not see another spring.  The thought of shedding the mortal body did not worry her for she knew that she would join her sisters.  She was also proud that she, the last of the Mona witches had been entrusted with the upbringing of the daughter of the greatest Mona witch, Fainch and soon her daughter would wreak revenge on those who had killed her mother.

“Come here and sit by me whilst I tend to your hair.”

“Yes mother.”

The old woman paused as she brushed the auburn hair. “You know that I am not your mother.”

“I know.” The voice was that of the young girl not the woman she had become.

“It is of your mother I speak for she was a great Druid and a great leader.  She fought the Roman invader longer after the rest had died or given up.  She died not knowing that she had achieved her aim and defeated the Roman horde.”

“My mother defeated the Romans? How? She was but a woman.”

“Your mother was more than a woman; as you are my child. She was a powerful witch.  She consorted with kings and great warriors.  You are the fruit of a liaison between your mother and the man who ruled this land, King Aed.”

“Was it he who defeated the Romans?  With my mother?”

“No he was but a stone sent down the hill.  Your mother pushed many stones down the hill but she was murdered before she could see the avalanche she had started.”

“She was murdered?”

“Aye and we know the Roman who ordered it.”

The young girl’s eyes became hard and her voice cold. “Then he shall die at my hands.”

“He is a difficult man to kill for your mother had him in her grasp and he escaped. She tried to kill him three times and each time she failed.  This warrior has powerful gods on his side do not underestimate him. But I have cast the runes and seen the future and he comes to us.  Soon we will begin the training.  When the moon’s bleeding has ceased then I will give you all the knowledge I possess for at the dawning of the year I will have passed over and you will be alone.”

“I will obey you. But what did my mother do?”

“She did what no man had done, not Caractacus, not Venutius not even the mighty Cunebolin; she united the tribes against the Romans and even though the mighty Rome had conquered most of this land the tribes are pushing the Romans back and soon, with your power and your mind, the land will belong, once again, to the tribes. Remember child the charm you wear about your neck is the sign that you are the daughter of Fainch.  It will allow you to meet and speak with kings such as Calgathus. Hide it from all others but use it if anyone tests your loyalty.”

Morwenna looked at the piece of jet she had worn since birth. It had become so familiar that she had never looked at it.  She now did so and saw that it was a cleverly carved raven and its eye was a tiny green stone the colour of her eye and its head was more of a blood red black than true black.”

“Your mother wore that when she spoke with kings and they know of it.  Guard it with your life for it may save your life.”

And now we must finish your training.  We serve the Mother. When I am dead and you are alone you must continue to speak with the dead as I will teach you.  The there will come a time when you will return to Mona and gather around you more women who wish to serve the Mother.”

“How will I know them? Will they wear charms as I do?”

“No, child, for you are the only one with the powerful charm.  But they will know the charm and they will see you.  When you meet a woman look in the eyes.  You will see through the eyes into the soul.  Touch the hands for when you touch one of the sisters you will know by the touch.  Like so.” Holding out her hands the old woman gently touched Morwenna’s palm.  “That is the sign but they will recognise you for your mother’s fame spread throughout the land amongst the sisters.”

Far to the north the Romans were mopping up after the battle. Many Caledonii had fled north towards Calgathus and his main army, the rest were being despatched or piled in burial heaps ready for the burning. Marcus, Decius, Prefect Strabo and Centurion Vestrus gathered to discuss their next move.

“I have less than two cohorts left Prefect Maximunius.”

“And I have barely four hundred effective riders.”

Decius coughed, “With due respect sirs we have had our arses kicked. We cannot do anything up here.  We are as far north as any Roman and this wasn’t the main force. We,” he gestured towards Marius,” interrogated a prisoner back at the fort and he couldn’t wait to tell us how Calgathus was building a huge army to come south and drive the Romans into the sea. Even allowing for exaggeration this was not the main army.  This was the small force to prepare the way.  I say let’s get back south. If I was making the decision I would take us all the way back to Morbium.”

Marius smiled.  He and Decius had become friends during the retreat south.  They had found they had shared many similar experiences. “The decurion is right. This land is too hostile.”

“I agree but I suspect both the Governor and the Emperor might disagree. I think we will head back to the Tava.  We have a good line of forts there and now that we know what to expect we can fortify them and make them stronger.”

“I agree Furius but I want a better road from the south.  We could have been here much sooner with artillery if we had had roads.”

“And sir?”

“Yes Decius?”

“We must recruit more men. Is it right that we are the only cavalry in the north?” The two prefects nodded. “ Well unless we get the numbers in the ala up to full strength then the barbarians can surround and attack any fort at will and, with due respect to the infantry, any fort can be taken given enough time.”

“Blunt as ever Decius but as usual correct,” Prefect Strabo patted the tough cavalryman on the shoulder. “Let us head down the trail. Prefect will your ala act as rearguard?”

“Aye and vanguard too.”

Governor Sallustius Lucullus was not a happy man.  He had been excited when appointed to be Governor of the land once ruled by his father King Cunobelinus but his excitement had been soured as the Emperor Domitian stripped the land of troops and money to fund his Dacian adventure. It was as though Britannia was irrelevant.  The writing had been on the tablet when the mercurial Agricola had been summoned back to Rome before he could gain even more glory. Perhaps he remembered how his father had become Emperor and was ensuring that he would not be replaced.  The latest report was even worse.  There had been a catastrophe on the northern borders; three Roman forts destroyed and over fifteen hundred irreplaceable auxiliaries killed. He stroked his chin thoughtfully. He had the beginnings of an idea. “Septimus!”