Hosker, G [Sword of Cartimandua 10] Roman Hawk (30 page)

Aed was angry and that anger gave his feet and legs extra energy.  He had watched, with his mother, when the raiders had come the last time and he knew what they did to women. He knew what they would be doing to his mother and he wanted to run back and stop them but he had promised his mother and he would live and he would warn everyone of their danger.  The trail suddenly dropped ten paces down a steep bank.  Already slippery with the mud he barely controlled his descent as he half ran and half slid down the slope.  As he ran on he did not know that he had just made the path a deadly slide of shiny mud.

Ormsson was proud that he would be the one to capture the boy who he had seen was but a little younger than he.  He was not gaining on him yet but he knew that he would.  When he came to the slippery bank he kept running.  His feet were swept from under him and he went into the air to crash on his back. The gnarled knob on the tree trunk smacked into the back of his head and, for a few moments he lay there, blacked out. When he came to he gingerly stood and came down the bank holding onto the branches and bushes to the side.  He set off once more in pursuit but the energy had been knocked from his legs by his fall.

As night began to fall Aed began to believe he had escaped.  He had seen no lights of any buildings and he knew he had to find somewhere to rest.  They would be following down the path and he took a bold decision, he would cross the river. They could not follow him across water. He made his way down the bank to the river.  Many trees and branches had been washed along in the floodwaters and were caught up at the bank.  There was still enough light to see across the river and, selecting a broken branch big enough to move and, hopefully, support his weight he pushed out into the icy waters.  The chill took his breath away and the current began to carry him downstream, towards his pursuers. He kicked hard and the tree began to drift across the river.  His leg action directed the floating lifeline and he suddenly felt mud beneath his feet.  He scrambled up the bank and rolled into the bush which afforded him a hiding place.  He watched the path on the opposite bank and saw his pursuer, now just a single boy who ran along the path.  Aed held his breath as the boy paused where he had plunged off the path but then relaxed as he carried on. He waited a few moments and then, leaving his lair headed south, away from the river.

Snorri and his two scouts looked shamefaced when they reported that a boy had escaped them. Sigurd’s face showed the marks of the blow but he would not boast of it as it came from a woman. Trygg’s face hid the anger he felt but it would do no good to berate his scouts in front of the others.  It was but a boy and they had achieved much already.  The valley was now ripe for their plunder; the sleepy settlements would soon feel the wrath of the men from the east.

Chapter 17

The raiders found the small farmhouse soon after they gave up the search for the boy. The palisade which they found was to keep their animals enclosed rather than intruders out.  The extended family of the grandmother, son, wife and five children made a good living close to the river. The regular flooding of their river side field fertilised the earth and it yielded a healthy crop.  They had managed to keep alive many of their animals through the harsh winter and the farmer was already anticipating an increase in their numbers.  Sadly all that ended when the hungry and tired warriors exploded into the quiet of their hut. Trygg left his men to it and he wandered to view the land to the west.  Inside the females, regardless of age were all ravaged and then killed.  The males all died mercifully quickly. Even as Trygg watched the sunset and the river snaking along westward to its source high in the hills, vaguely visible in the distance, the animals were being slaughtered to provide sustenance for the victorious easterners.

Gurt joined Trygg, “We have had a successful day.  Are all your raids as successful?”

“I think that in all my visits to this land I have lost but ten warriors.  I plan well and my men know what they are doing.” In another man Trygg’s words would have sounded boastful but Gurt had come to realise that this chief was very careful and he was learning a great deal.

“Snorri tells me that this is new territory for you.”

“Aye. “He pointed to the river glistening red in the setting sun.  “But the river flows from the west, you can see it shining in the distance.  If we follow it up then we can make our escape easily.”

“The ships could get as far as this place easily.”

“True and tomorrow we will send some warriors back to bring up another two ships but remember that the men we use to bring the boats cannot fight and we do not know yet who or how many  we face.”

Behind them his warriors had lit a fire and the smell of roasting meat began to fill the air.  Gurt glanced at the numbers of warriors.  Perhaps Trygg was being over cautious.  To his eye they had plenty of men and the opposition thus far had been pathetic; one boatload could have taken both villages. He sniffed the air appreciatively.  This might be a land to visit regularly, without his allies.  Now that he had one visit he would no longer need the Tencteri.

******

The recruits found muscles they had never used before as they stiffly climbed out of their tents. Many sported healthy blue bruises, marks of honour from their falls and their blows. The crisply frozen ground cracked underfoot as they began to saddle their horses. Marcus was already in the gyrus mounted and surveying the young recruits as they struggled to mount.

When they were all before him in their temporary turmae the decurion addressed them.  “Yesterday we learned to charge, halt and withdraw; all necessary and useful skills. Today we learn vital skills.” He took a javelin in his right hand galloped hard at the man sized target erected at the far end.  He rode to within thirty paces, hurled the missile and spun around to return to the awestruck recruits.  He did not need to turn around to see that he had hit the target, it had only been thirty paces and it had been not been a difficult throw.  He had wanted his men to have an attainable target and he hoped that they would all achieve some success to give them confidence.

“The vital skill we will learn is to charge, throw and retreat. Firstly we will just charge in turn and throw.  Once we have achieved the feat of hitting the target every time we will learn how to do it effectively”

One recruit raised his hand. “Sir, don’t we use swords?”

“Good question and yes we do but the enemy you will be fighting will always outnumber us, they are, generally skilful swordsmen and we need to whittle them down and demoralise them before it comes to swordplay.  When we ride we have three javelins each. Two of them are to throw in controlled volleys, the third you use as an offensive weapon; you stab down with it like a spear.  Only when you have used that do you draw your blade.” The recruit with the question started to raise his hand again, “The javelin gives us an advantage as it is longer than the swords of our enemies.  By the time we use the sword we would hope that they would be ready to flee. When you chase a routed barbarian warband your sword comes in to its own.  The only way they can escape is by lying on the ground and, eventually, we will train your horses to trample men lying prone. That is for the future.  Each turma has ten targets each. I will be watching.”

Inevitably some of the more enthusiastic riders fell off as they attempted to emulate Marcus.  Others totally missed the target but the ones who were successful were spotted by Marcus who made a mental note of them; they were the potential leaders. By the noon time break their horses were ready for a rest and after their bread and the remains of the previous day’s ham and cheese Marcus lined them up again.

“Before we attempt this manoeuvre on horseback we will practise it on foot.” He walked up to two of the more successful troopers from turma one.  “What are your names?”

“Marius sir.”

“Livius sir.”

“You two will be the acting chosen men of this turma. Marius stand here and Livius behind him.” He turned to the rest of the turma.  “Form two lines alongside your chosen men.”  When they were ready the rest of the recruits watched in eager anticipation at this strange looking drill. “Right turma one you are going to trot forwards, when I have given the command to throw then you will turn to your left and form a line behind the other line which will advance.” They looked confused.  Marcus laughed.  “You will find it much easier with the commands. Just listen and obey.” Livius and Marius nodded. “Turma one, trot, Marius’ rank throw and turn, Livius throw and turn.”

Surprisingly they all managed to turn the right way and many of the javelins actually fell close to the targets. “You have now completed a manoeuvre which always brings us victory.  Now later, when the horses are rested we will do this on horseback. Not as easy on a horse but you will learn. In battle of course we just say front rank throw and we don’t say turn.  You will all do that yourselves, instinctively. Now turma two; let’s see how well you do.”

By the end of a tiring afternoon Marcus was pleased with their progress and they could all perform the charge and volley.  The Legate would be pleased.  He would be able to return to Rocky Point in eight days with four well trained turmae.

******

The warband set off before dawn.  Eight men had returned for the ships and the depleted raiders trotted down the path.  By noon they had reached signs of life, there was a large village atop a small mound.  The smoke which drifted from its huts identified its occupation by large numbers of villagers.  The river looped around the settlement giving it a sense of security which was not justified.  Trygg sent Snorri around one side whilst he and Gurt approached from the front gate. The peaceful villagers were all going about their daily business.  Even in the incursions from the north by the Caledonii and the Hibernian raids they had escaped notice as they were tucked away in a quiet part of the valley, far enough from the roads and trails to be ignored. They felt immune to attack.  Trygg was about to change that.  He had ordered Snorri to take some prisoners.  What he needed, this far from familiar territory, was intelligence.  He had no intention of blundering into a Roman fort and he felt certain that one would be close by. Once again the assault proved remarkably easy and followed the same pattern as the others.  The difference this time was they had four prisoners, one woman, one old man and two young men. Snorri brought them to Trygg bound and petrified.

His time with Marcus and Frann had given Trygg enough of the language for him to question the prisoners.  As Gurt heard him he resolved to learn to speak languages for he saw that it brought knowledge and power.

Trygg took a stick and drew the river in the muddy soil. He made a mark. “We are here.”He made another mark, “Here is the sea.” He handed the stick to one of the young men. “Where are Romans?”

In answer the young man spat in Trygg’s face.  His warriors began to surge forwards but Trygg held up his hand. He took out his knife and cut the cord holding the young man’s breeks up.  They fell to the floor revealing thin white legs and a trickle of urine running down them.  In one motion Trygg took his knife and sliced off the man’s manhood.  He screamed and fell to the floor, bleeding heavily, although not mortally, from the wound.

Trygg gave the stick to the second man, the bloodied knife still in his hand.  “Where are the Romans?”

The young man looked from the old man to the woman, panic spreading over his face.  Trygg gave a cruel smile and moved the blade towards the man. The terrified Brigante quickly put a cross quite close to the river. “That’s better.” He looked at the cross.  If the man was telling the truth then they were on the same side of the river as the Roman fort.  The problem was he didn’t know the scale of the man’s cross. “How far to Romans?”

The man shook his head, the terror apparent and Trygg realised he would not have the same concept of distance.  “How long to walk there?”

The man looked to the west and then back. “You leave now and you will be there when the sun is high.”

That was too close for comfort.  They would need to cross the river.  He turned to the old man and gave him the stick. “Where is the place of the Sword?” The old man shrugged.  “Where is the Sword of Cartimandua?” The old man shrugged again and Trygg moved towards him threateningly with the knife.

The old man laughed.  “You are going to kill me anyway so why should I tell you anything?”

Trygg nodded and walked to the girl.  He ripped down and her tunic came off, ripped along the back.  She stood there naked, shivering in the cold and trying to cover herself with her bound hands. “There is dying old man and there is dying painfully.  Where is the Sword?” The old man stood defiantly but less sure.  Trygg walked to the woman and held her breast in his hand he moved the blade towards the thin white skin and the old man shouted, “No! Just kill us and leave.  The sword is across the river, south of the Roman fort.” Trygg looked at the girl and she nodded. The young man also nodded. “Thank you.  Now kill them.”

While his men ransacked the village Trygg called Snorri and Gurt to his side. “It is fortunate that we came here or we would have blundered into the Romans.  We need to cross the river here.”

Gurt looked at the dark waters which were flowing strongly to the sea. “How?  Do we walk on water?”

“No Gurt, we pull down the palisade and use it to make a temporary bridge.”

“The river will wash it away.”

“Eventually but not before we have crossed.  We will put it there.” He pointed to a narrow part of the river close to the bend where the river slowed.

Snorri quickly organised the men and they pulled down the palisade, keeping it as intact as possible.  They knew that they would have to be quick and all the warriors gathered on the bank as they threw the four sides of the village walls into the black water.  One of the walls actually breached the river and caught on some branches on the other side. Trygg roared for his men to cross and, one by one they ran across the four temporary bridges.  Some of them fell in the river but they were close enough to the bank by then to wade across. The chief of the Tencteri was pleased.  He was within a few hours of his destination and he would soon have the sword and be back aboard his ships heading home.