Hosker, G [Sword of Cartimandua 10] Roman Hawk (2 page)

As they assembled on the beach the chief summoned Orm and Sigurd. “Today you two will learn how to scout.  Go with Harald Larsson.  Watch and learn.  This voyage will be his last as a scout and the next time he will be a warrior.”

Eagerly they followed the youth who was only a little older than they but looked so assured. The bow he carried marked him as one of the few skilled archers in the tribe and the boys determined to learn its skills over the winter. The landing place was at the low point of the cliffs which were little more than a low grey scar across the green land and they swiftly headed south , up the sheep trail to the spongy turf at the top.  Harald loped easily along with the rhythms of one who can keep the pace up for miles. The two boys sucked in the pain and gritted their teeth as they hurried after the scout. They watched as his eyes scanned left and right and then, surprisingly, upwards.  Sigurd decided he would ask him later why he did that but as he only had enough breath to run he kept silent.

When Harald’s hand came up they stopped, grateful for the rest but tensely aware that there was danger nearby. As Harald crawled forwards up the slight slope they emulated him exactly. He edged his head slowly over the grassy bank and, as they joined him, they saw the collection of huts and sheds which marked the Brigante settlement. Below them the men hacked and chopped with axes and hammers at the rock of the cliff.  Small boys and women waited with reed baskets to take away the black gold they had discovered.  They were jet miners and, in this part of Britannia, were hewing the most valuable commodity the earth had, the black jet which was sought by kings, queens, witches and druids.

They slid back down the bank and Harald looked at the two boys. His scrutiny finally settled on Sigurd. “Run back to the warband and tell Chief Trygg that we have found the mines.” Eagerly Sigurd set off and Orm, for a brief moment, hoped that his friend would fall and he would have the honour of being the messenger. Harald must have seen the look for he smiled and said, “You will have the honour on the next scout.”

The fifty warriors waited below the skyline as Trygg and Snorri, without their helmets, peered over the sides to view the mines. “There are two paths one to the left and one to the right.  The miners will only see us for the bottom half.”

Trygg nodded, “You have done well and that is acceptable. Snorri, you take the right and I will take the left.”

The peaceful miners and their families were no match for the fierce warriors.  The men fought back bravely with their hammers and axes but it was to no avail.  They did have their victories, albeit small, and Harald Larsson, fell to an exe expertly hefted by the headman of the community who continued to fight against those who would deprive the people of their prosperity.  He fell to the blade of Chief Trygg Tryggvasson.  There was no honour in the blow for the miner, brave though he was had not been a warrior.  The headman’s death had not been in vain for it allowed many of women and children to escape the rapacious warriors eager for female flesh after a month at sea.

As the last miner was despatched they began to collect the valuable black ore.  Trygg saw Sigurd and Ormsson looking sadly at Harald’s body. “He is now in Valhalla and he is happy.  Do not grieve for him.  A warrior can ask no more than to die in combat with his sword in his hand.  You two are now the scouts of the warband.  Do not let me down.”

The two boys immediately forgot their dead mentor and swelled with pride.  They had taken the first steps to becoming a warrior.

Coriosopitum 122 A.D.

The Emperor Hadrian gazed north to the road, built by one of Agricola’s legions which cut like a gladius through the thick forests of northern Britannia.  In the six weeks since he had arrived he had seen how the weather in this part of the land could be as unpredictable as a woman’s mind. The weary auxiliaries trudging back to the fortress had not been building the wall.  They had not been aiding the Sixth Legion to construct the monumental structure which would serve as a reminder to the barbarians of the power of Rome whilst enabling taxes to be collected.  They were working alongside the Second Gallic Mixed cohort defending the legionaries from barbarian attack; no, the Batavian auxiliaries had been repairing the devastating damage from an autumn rainstorm which had seen six uncia of water fall in less than two days.  The wooden bridge, already damaged,  had been swept away along with some of the legionaries working on the wall.  It had made the river level rise so much, as water from the hills added to it, that it had flooded the two ditches which were intended as a deterrent to attack filling them with the mud and soil from the top of the wall.  Capricious and unpredictable Mother  Nature had undone the work of weeks.  Had the cult of the Mother known they would have ascribed it to the power of the Mother, but they were all on Manavia and Mona plotting and planning more mayhem,

Hadrian turned to Governor Falco and Legate Demetrius, the two men the Emperor had given the task of building the ninety mile frontier. “Perhaps the gods do not want a wall here eh Julius?”

Julius Demetrius had served in Britannia for many years and knew the frontier well. He shook his head.  “In all the time I have served here I have never known a storm like that one.  I did not think there was so much rain in the world. “It had trained for well over a week, night and day. “It is just fortunate that we had some stone in place or the whole of the soil section would have been washed away and we would have had to start from the beginning once again.”

The stone in question had been brought from Morbium to give a head start to the building program. The local quarries were closer but quarrying was difficult as the workers had to be protected from the constant attacks of the tribes.  While the attacks themselves did not cause many casualties the delay was slowing down the building work dramatically. The Legate knew that the only way to catch up, after the autumn rains, was to bring more stone the forty miles from Morbium and the Dunum valley.  “We will have to send to Morbium for more stone. At least there we can quarry in peace.”

The Emperor was not convinced.  In Dacia he had used a whole legion to protect his builders and stone workers and succeeded in a much more ambitious building programme. The problem in Britannia was that he was building the
limes
with but three cohorts rather than one legion for the rest of the province was not yet totally subjugated. The south and east were largely pacified but the west and the north needed a whole legion each just to hold on to what they had. “How long will it take to bring the stone up here?” He could not understand why they could not use the local quarries.

“The problem, sir, is that it is now coming on to the winter and the roads, good as they are, will become difficult to negotiate as the autumn and winter approach.  We need to bring as much as we can before the next moon.  We will need to commandeer every wagon and draught vehicle and  keep a constant line of wagons travelling up and down the road.”

“Then see to it Governor.”

Falco’s face fell at the size of the task. Julius smiled.  It was as though because the Emperor had ordered it then it would be so.  Julius knew that the Governor would have a difficult task ahead of him. “I think we need to use some of the cavalry to patrol the road.  Although Morbium is safer than the Stanegate, we know from the rising earlier in the year that there are raiders, renegades and bandits as well as potential rebels in the area.  Perhaps a couple of turmae of cavalry might deter any would be thieves.”

Hadrian frowned.  He knew from his discussions with the two Legates and the Centurion of the vexillation of the Sixth that the Second Sallustian Ala was vital to protect the legions working on the wall.  In the weeks since he had arrived, the Emperor had seen at first hand how they were able to successfully keep a screen of horseman between the workers and the barbarians. The tribesmen seemed to outnumber the horsemen considerably. It confirmed Julius Demetrius’ view that the barbarians respected and feared the cavalry. If almost a fifth of their complement were taken away would they be stretched too thinly?  On the other hand they needed the stone.  He realised that this short visit to Britannia would have to be extended.  He would only leave when there was a visible mark of his work on the landscape. “Very well Julius but only two turmae.”

“Don’t worry sir.  Two will more than suffice and they can also patrol as far as the coast.”

“In the name of the gods why? Surely the land to the east is pacified? I have seen no evidence of anything untoward yet.” Was this another problem for the Emperor? In Rome Britannia was regarded as a conquered province- patently it was not so.

Julius nodded at Pompeius Falco.  “As the Governor here will attest, we have had increasing raids from the lands adjacent to Germania. Now that the tribes have been subjugated there then the displaced tribes are seeking plunder in the adjacent territory.  There are tribes there who are raiding the east coast of Britannia for slaves and plunder. The previous Governor knew about it but did nothing. It is not raids as the Irish were, necessitating a cohort but it is having a debilitating effect on those who live on the coast.   The Classis Britannica is at full stretch in other parts of the province and we need more help.  If one turma goes to the coast and then returns to Morbium it will reassure the people and, hopefully deter the barbarians.”

“I have ordered the building of a series of signal stations around the coast but, until they are built…” The Governor knew that the building programme was secondary to the wall and would not be completed this year.

The Emperor Hadrian held up his hands.  “Enough! I know there are more problems here than Rome realises but we have to start somewhere. I intend to build a port south of this river close to its mouth.  The wall can then be anchored to that fort which, should, be almost impossible to take.  I will then order the building of some local ships to patrol the coast.” He looked at each of them in turn.  “Does that satisfy you?”

Grinning Julius said, “It does indeed sir but we will still need the turmae...”

“I give up.  Will you two join me in the bath house?  I feel the need to have a hot bath and massage.”

“Yes sir but first I will send a message to the Prefect of the Second Sallustian to warn him of our requirements.”

******

Livius looked up at Julius Longinus, the ala clerk, “Have the sentry bring me Decurions Marcus and Decius.” Grumbling that he was too old to be a messenger boy the inky fingered clerk walked the few paces to pass the terse message on. “Just think Julius, when we make a stone fort you will have warmth and a hot bath.”

“And when is that likely to be eh?” They both knew that their camp at Rocky Point was but temporary and a new stone one was planned but that was dependent upon the completion of the wall for their fort would be built on the wall and so far the legions were not making the progress they had hoped.”

“It is early days Julius.  By the spring we will be ready to lay the foundations.”

“If we are still here.  The barbarians are becoming even more cunning with their raids.”

Livius had to agree. Even though they had cleared the sides of the roads and the camps for thirty and sometimes even forty paces the barbarians were still causing casualties. The previous week a despatch rider had been discovered not one hundred paces from the camp with his tongue and genitalia severed and his entrails hanging out of a sliced stomach bleeding his life from him.  It had necessitated using half turma to protect the despatch riders which increased the load on the already overworked ala. “When will the new recruits and remounts arrive?”

Julius went to his lists and consulted them. “There should be some due to reach Morbium in the next few days and as for the horses, they are ready now.”

“Good then when our two decurions arrive we shall kill two birds with one stone.”

Longinus sniffed. “Huh.  I suppose that means that the only decurion who can fill Septimus’ pot adequately with decent meat will be leaving and that means porridge and bread for the winter.”

“Cheer up Julius, you know what a magician Septimus is; he will make it taste palatable.” Septimus had been a trooper until his skills as a cook had meant his promotion.  Livius knew that good food made the men happier and happier troopers performed better.

The old man was spared any further discussion by the arrival of Decurions Marcus and Decius.  As they stood before him Prefect Livius could not help but reflect on the changes wrought in the decurion he had known since birth.  In the last two years Decurion Marcus had held his dying step brother in his arms and had to bury his father. It was no wonder that, young man though he was, he was not yet thirty, his hair was showing flecks of grey and his face had a more careworn aspect than it had the previous year.  Perhaps it was the weight of the sword which hung from his baldric.  The Sword of Cartimandua was a powerful weapon but it exerted a huge influence on all around it. There was an aura about the blade which affected the bearer and his protectors.  More men had died defending the blade than was comfortable for the Prefect and yet, at crucial times, it had been the difference between victory and defeat. Indeed the Irish raiders led by Prince Faolan had one of their avowed objectives as the acquisition of the sword and that had nearly cost Marcus his life. Had the sword not been used then it might have resulted in an Irish victory.

Julius coughed discreetly and Livius smiled as he realised that the two young decurions had been awaiting his orders. “Sorry gentlemen.  It must be being in old Julius’ company which makes me act like an old man as well.”

“Old man indeed!” The clerk began writing out the orders which he knew would be needed in a few moments.

“As you know we require stone for the building of the wall and I am afraid that the local quarries are suffering too many attacks.  The Legate has decided that we will begin a non stop wagon train from Morbium to build up a supply of stone and cement to carry us through the winter. Your two turmae will be the escorts as you have more men.  In addition the Legate wants the north bank of the Dunum patrolling to try to stop these raiders from the sea.  That means that one of you will travel back up the road to Coriosopitum with the stone while the other rides to the coast and back.  You will then exchange roles.” He spread his arms apologetically. “I am trying to make the task less onerous and dull for you.”