Hosker, G [Sword of Cartimandua 05] Revolt of the Red Witch (2 page)

Seonag was the wise woman of the village.  Nestled in a little dell close to the sea moors the prosperous little village made a good living mining the much sought after jet.  Prized by both royalty and mystics its value exceeded that of gold.  In the last three years they had had sold much to traders from the area around the holy mountain of Wyddfa. Seonag had her own theory about this but she kept her counsel for she was the last of the priestesses left in this part of the world. In her heart she knew her sisters were once again rising to take back the power they had once possessed. Despite being a widow, her husband having died young in Venutius’ first rising, she was not poor for her medicines and wise words were much sought after by the people of the village and nearby valleys. She had remained hidden when all the others of her sect had died or returned to Mona. She felt that the Mother still had a role for her to play.

Despite her age she was the one who sensed when the band of Caledonii raiders was close by.  She was afraid neither of them nor of death.  She had outlived all those with whom she grew up and she knew she still had a power over men. She went to her secret place and took out her magic amulet made of intricately carved pieces of jet cunningly shaped into ravens and crows. She walked out into the daylight prepared to meet whoever came.

Manus, as his name suggested, was a big warrior; he was one of the biggest warriors in Caledonia. At his birth his prodigious size had given him his name as soon as he emerged screaming into the world.  He had loyally served Lulach for many years as a bodyguard and had earned the right to choose his own warband. Once they had crossed the Dunum he had made straight for this village despite its proximity to Cataractonium.  He was gambling that the dreaded ala would be elsewhere but he had visited the place to buy jet many years earlier and he knew of high and steep paths which would enable him to escape pursuit should they stumble upon him.

He and his men rose like wraiths from the tree line.  The village was totally surrounded and the fifteen or so men unarmed.  They were slaughtered where they stood. “Round up the women and the children kill the old.  You eight go and gather the jet it will be in that hut over there then burn the houses and huts.”

Just then he noticed Seonag who just stood like a rock, her old piercing eyes taking in the murder and mayhem around her.  One of his men was walking up to her, his sax already ready drawn. “Hold!”

“But you said to kill the old and this one is older than the rocks, and as ugly.”

Manus backhanded the shocked warrior to the ground. “You are a fool Lugh! Do you not see she is a holy woman! Would you bring the curse of the Mother on to us? I am sorry mother we mean you no harm.”

“I know.  Take not all of the jet for the sisters will need some.”

Nodding he shouted to his men.  “Bring the jet to me.”

When the slaves were tethered and the jet packed on to the two small horses used in the village Manus handed over a large quantity of jet. “Thank you.  The Mother will watch over you.”

The warband headed north at a steady lope heading for the river crossing.  Manus was already thinking about the three villages he had skirted whilst heading south.  He had lost no men so far and he could gather more plunder there.

Decurion Livius Lucullus had grown up since he had languished in a cell awaiting the whim of an Emperor.  Having faced death at close hand he was a far more mature leader than his age would suggest. He had spent much time with Tribune Marcus Aurelius Maximunius and picked up not only wisdom but intimate knowledge of how the ala could and should be used in Britannia. As a native of the island and a relative of the last king, Cunobelinus, he was passionate about protecting its people.  His turmae trusted his judgement implicitly. His scout had reported the smoke as they were descending from the eastern moors heading back to Cataractonium. He sensed that his men were ready to return to barracks and a little comfort after a week in the saddle but he knew that it was his duty to find out what had caused the pall of black smoke on the horizon.  He wondered if the Prefect and the Decurion Princeps felt the same.  He also knew he would have to investigate.

They rode warily into the still burning village.  They saw some bodies near the road and an old woman laying others into a hole in the ground. “Let us help you mother.”

“Thank you.  I am too old for this.”

“When did they leave?”

“They came just after dawn and they did not stay long.  We were a small village and it did not take them long.”

“Caledonii?” She nodded, there was little point denying it although she did not want to help the Romans if she could avoid it. “Which way did they go?” She waved a hand in the vague direction of north. “Thank you.  Would you like my men to escort you to the fort?”

“Thank you for your offer but I have a journey to make and it will be my last.” The young Decurion thought that this was a journey to die and he nodded sadly, sympathising with the woman who was the last of her village. But Seonag had no intention of relinquishing her hold on life until she had delivered her precious cargo to the sisters who had re-invested Mona.  Her journey was not one of death but of rebirth. She would rejoin the community on Mona.  Her life was far from over. Perhaps this was the last task she would perform for the Mother.

“May the gods watch over you.”

“She will.”

His men had finished burying the bodies and they awaited his orders. Decurion Cassius chewed idly on a liquorice root he had taken from his bag. “Will they head for Morbium do you think?”

“Possibly but there is a garrison there.”

“There was a garrison there.”

“True but I think we will follow their trail for a while.  If Morbium is their destination then the Prefect will intercept them, for that is his patrol area no we will follow them for I feel they will head for the Dunum and the narrow place.”

“The water there can be deep.”

“I know but in high summer it is often low, especially at low tide and there are bluffs on the other side to afford protection. It is but two extra days in the saddle.  I think it is worth it.”

Cassius sniffed.  “Just means the turmae of the Decurion Princeps will have first choice of food and we will be left with scraps. They will get back to the fort before we do.”

Livius laughed.  “Always thinking of your stomach.”

“If I don’t then who will?”

As the troopers rode away the old woman waited in the village.  When she saw that they were out of sight she gathered her possessions together.  She was leaving the settlement and leaving forever.  Before she left she needed to make sure she had enough money to support her on her journey west.  She went to the headman’s hut and moved away the dead ashes from the fire. Taking a mattock she scraped away until she struck wood.  The villager’s money and valuables had been hidden there in case of such a raid.  She felt neither guilt nor remorse in taking the wealth of the village for the inhabitants were either dead or enslaved and the money would do them no good.  She would be able to pay for herself to be transported on a merchant’s wagon leaving Eboracum for Deva and once there it was but a short journey to Mona and her sisters.

Decurion Princeps Cilo was a very contented leader.  As a trooper he had incurred the wrath of a martinet Decurion and almost been dismissed from the ala.  If it were not for the weapon’s trainer, Decurion Macro and the then Prefect, he would have had to do something else other than this job that he loved. He, like the whole ala, loved Decurion Macro for both his skill as a warrior and his genial good humour; he was great fun to be around. Decurion Macro did not resent the fact that one of his protégés had been promoted above him he preferred to be weapon’s trainer and to be given all the dangerous jobs.  His turma were all as madcap as he was and were both feared and respected by the rest of the ala.  Macro also had a son to think about and that was more than enough responsibility for him.

The Decurion Princeps had brought his quartet of turmae further north than he would normally because he had heard of bandits and raiders operating west of Cataractonium.  The burnt out villages and dead Brigante were a clear trail to follow.  Decurion Macro had been more than happy to take his turma north west to find the trail of the raider. He thought it might also bring him along the line of the Prefect’s patrol. He just liked the freedom of ranging far and wide and,, hopefully, finding an enemy to fight. The only nagging doubt in his mind was that two thirds of the ala were being dragged north west leaving only Livius and his four turmae to protect the rest.  Cilo reminded himself that Livius was well over to the east.  The central vale was devoid of cavalry, it was unprotected. He shook his head, angry with the Imperial penny pinchers who begrudged paying for more troops for the far flung Province of Britannia. As long as the gold, copper, tin and grain left the shores they were content. Perhaps the new Emperor, Nerva, might be different but the Decurion Princeps had heard that the new Emperor was having difficulties in Rome with rivals so it was likely they would have to make do with what they had.

The trooper from Macro’s turma came galloping up.  “Decurion’s compliments Sir and we have found the trail of the bandits.  They are about five miles across the moors.”

“Right column of twos.” Perhaps their luck was about to change and they were actually going to catch these elusive bandits. But at the back of Cilo’s mind was the thought that they may be a Caledonii warband trying to draw the ala away.

“Modius!” Without bothering to answer the shout  the giant glared around. “Roman cavalry, to the south.”

“Did they see you?” The downward glance told the leader all he needed to know. “Shit!” He had one patrol to the east and now there was another one to the south.  “How far away?”

“Three or four miles.”

“Damn!” That meant they could be with him in less than thirty minutes. “Ditch everything that is too heavy and double time.  We have cavalry after us.  If we can make the waterfall we stand a chance.  If not then we die. Anyone left behind….” The unspoken reality was that they would die. 

There was no loyalty in this band. For a big man who was aging, Modius could move swiftly.  He had no need to discard anything as the only plunder he carried was the gold he had taken.  The ten men who formed his bodyguard had also done the same.  Soon the eleven men were pulling away from their weaker comrades.  As the path began to climb towards the falls the gap became even greater.  Half way up Modius paused behind a straggly thin elder to survey the horizon.  He could see the cavalry now; it was a turma and even from that distance he recognised the enormous figure of Decurion Macro.  He remembered him from his days in the ala.  He was surprised that the big man was still alive; he had always been volunteering and Modius had convinced himself that he would be dead by now. The turma was within four hundred paces of the rearmost men and, further away Modius could see the rest of the ala. Perhaps the tail enders would hold up the pursuit but he determined to make the most of the gap.  “Run you whoresons! Run!”

Decurion Princeps Cilo could just see figures climbing the precipitous path adjoining the waterfall.  If they managed to cross it then they would gain a lead.  “Trooper.  Ride north east.  Find the Prefect tell him we think we are on the trail of bandits.  He will know what to do.” As the trooper galloped off Cilo felt confident that they could catch and destroy most of the raiders but it irked him that some might get away.

A small party of the bandits had decided that they were too exhausted to climb the steep rocky path, in addition to which these fifty had been loath to leave their hard earned loot behind. The large lump of a warrior who fancied himself leader should anything happen to Modius took charge of the rabble who remained. “There’s only twenty or so we can have these.” They turned and faced the approaching cavalry with weapons at the ready. They had an eclectic mixture of weapons from spears and axes to swords and bows.

Macro had already ascertained what they were going to do; it is what he would have done. He would have to dismount at the bottom of the falls and pursue on foot. He glanced over his shoulder and, in the distance; he could see the red plumes of his comrades.  That decided him he would destroy these and then pursue the rest up the path.  “Thin them out with arrows but be quick we want to catch the others.”

His men grinned; this was why they loved their leader, it was either death or glory with Macro, there was no halfway. Their arrows did indeed thin them out and when they hit them with their horses and swords the survivors threw their weapons away and prostrated themselves on the ground. “You four guard them until the Decurion Princeps arrives. The rest of you follow me on foot. When the others have taken over the guarding of the prisoners you four take the horses around the bluff and meet us at the top of the waterfall.”

The shell shocked survivors huddled in the midst of their slaughtered comrades.  Any thought of escape had ended with the first flurry of arrows. Macro glanced up.  The bandits were spread out in a long line negotiating the treacherous and slippery path which wound up the steep sides. The pursuers had barely gone twenty paces when they saw how treacherous it was as a bandit fell screaming to a bone crushing death amongst the rocks at the bottom of the falls which waited like some huge predator with its sharp and jagged teeth bared.

Modius had reached the top of the falls.  One of his men started to cross. “No not here they will find our trail too easily.  It will take them some time to get to us. We go upstream and then cross.”

The first few bandits encountered by Macro proved to be no problem.  They did not know he was behind and he was able to cut them down as they struggled to escape, concentrating on the foot and hand holds on the treacherously wet rocks. The screams of the dying finally pierced the stormy thunder of the falls and three of them turned to face the foe who stalked them up this rocky ladder of death.  They had spears and the advantage of height. With any other turma it might have gone ill for the leader but Macro’s men raced to fight and protect their leader, and they climbed perilously close to the edge of the falls, to give support to their enigmatic Decurion. Scrambling up the falls with three men together slowed up their pursuit but ensured that all that they caught died.