Hosker, G [Sword of Cartimandua 10] Roman Hawk (32 page)

Trygg did not have many archers but the four he had were in the woods and the sentries had been targeted. The forty paces which separated them were not an obstacle and they were all sure that they could accurately hit their marks.  Trygg’s assault force was waiting for the first four men to drop and then they would race towards the walls while the archers finished off any who remained at the wooden ramparts. His men were rested and eager to fight a foe who had taken such strenuous efforts to deny them their prize. The light was not perfect but Trygg nodded and three men fell to the yard at the farmyard each one struck by a Tencteri arrow. One of the remaining guards managed to shout a warning before he too was plucked from the walls.  The last sentry held up his buckler which took the arrow and he hurled his spear at the men racing towards the gate. He had the satisfaction of seeing a warrior fall to the ground, impaled by the javelin.  He heard footsteps behind him and knew that the rest of the erstwhile garrison was arriving.

By the time they made the walls the damage was done and the fire party, nestled near to the gate were already setting fire to the brushwood they had brought.  They had kept the dry kindling and had brought spare flints. Within a few moments there were the first flickers of flames and, as the brushwood caught, the flames quickly spread. The water that the defenders had ready close to the gates could not stop the conflagration, but it did, at least slow it down. Decius and Drugi stood next to each other safely protected in the small tower which Decius had built adjacent to the main and solid gate; they exchanged a look which did not bode well for the others inside; the two men knew that they could not hold against an enemy with no gate to protect them. “We have lost too many men already.” Decius was shaken. The men who had fallen were not only friends and co-workers.  They had been good warriors.

“I know Roman.  All we can do now is to slow them down.  At least the cart will take longer to burn.”

Decius turned to shout an instruction to the women.  “Soak the cart in water and prepare yourselves.  They will break through. “

Frann looked petrified but Nanna and Ailis comforted her.  “We have been through worse than this sister.  We fight until there is no hope and then we fight a little longer.  We were given this life for a purpose and that was not to die at a barbarian’s hand.”

As Drugi shot an arrow through the shields, now at the edge of the wood he had the satisfaction of seeing a warrior fall. He aimed again and the warriors withdrew a little more into the safety of the woods. Drugi’s prowess with a bow was legendary.  Decius took heart and he aimed his bow looking for a chink in the shield wall. Ailis’ voice sounded through the crackling of the fire, “Drugi, sound Gaelwyn’s horn. Let them know that Brigante still fight here.”

Drugi took the bow from his neck and blew a mighty fanfare.  The Tencteri heard it and wondered how such a noise could come from within the farm for it sounded like the horn of a mighty army.  The defenders took heart and roared their defiance. Trygg turned to his men, “Are you warriors or women that you quake at a horn.  Look the gate is burning and we will be amongst them before dawn has broken. There is no answering horn, no-one is coming to save them.”

Decius and his men stood, alongside Drugi with bows drawn.  As soon as the flames died down then the barbarians would attack.  Decius had to admire the cunning of the raiders.  Had this been daylight then the pall of smoke would have alerted the garrison at Morbium.  The early dawn meant it was just a glow to the south, an early sunrise. Some of the barbarians were struck by arrows when they peered out to see if the gate had finally succumbed to the flames.  The archers on the walls were all experts and had a clear line of sight. Trygg roared out, “Stay behind your shields until I give the command!”

His men were eager and did not like this waiting.  They could now count those on the wall, as the first rays of the new day sparkled along the wooden stakes atop the rampart, and knew that they outnumbered the defenders by at least eight to one. The Tencteri would rip through them. Trygg watched as the flames grew higher, forcing the defenders from the towers and the gate to the two sides of the walls. When he saw, part of the top of the wall begin to burn, then he knewthat they would not have long to wait. He turned to the men around him, his face filled with the pride and the passion of a warrior leading his men into battle. He nodded to Snorri who grinned.  “We go in behind me! I want a shield wall with not a gap between us.  The flames cannot hurt us and, once we are through kill all but the slaves!” He looked at each of his handpicked warriors to see that they understood.

Gurt and his warriors were largely ignored.  Today was about the Tencteri and the warriors fulfilling their chief’s oath that he would retrieve the sword.  Today they would honour that oath. Straining like hounds on the leash they awaited Trygg’s command.  All of them would have run through the flames, such was their zeal but they waited for the command. Trygg saw more of the timbers collapse and he yelled, “Tencteri!”

Drugi knew what was coming and his first arrow took the warrior whose shield did not quite cover his leg.  The arrow plunged through he shin and as his shoulder dropped Drugi sent a second one though his neck. Other warriors began to flood from the trees eager to be part of this attack.  The defenders fired as fast as they could string their bows.  Decius shouted to four of his defenders to wait behind the cart. To Drugi he shouted. “You keep firing; when they are through I will take my men and fight them on foot.  Thank you for honouring us today.  Marcus would have been proud of you, you are a true warrior.”

Drugi just nodded, never taking his eyes off targets which were now increasing as Gurt’s warriors joined the others.  They were easier targets, with fewer shields and armour but Drugi knew that he was merely slowing the burst dam of humanity. Only a miracle could halt them. He risked a glance in the sky but the hawk was not there, had it deserted them?

The momentum of Trygg and his wedge burst through the gate but the cart behind the gate was a much more immovable barrier and they crashed into it. Two of Decius’ men plunged spears into the surprised faces of two of Trygg’s warriors. He knew that they needed momentum. “Back!”

The warband moved back a few paces from the gate, the air filled with the smell of blood, singed hair and burning timbers. “Behind me! Shield wall!”

They raced forwards again, their shields and bodies crashing into the cart, knocking it back ten paces and giving them space to flood around the side. As Trygg and Snorri prepared to fight the defenders they saw the grim faced warriors next to Brigante women, all of them with a weapon in their hand, determined to sell their lives dearly.  Frann’s face was a mask of hate and Trygg shouted, “Today you return to Hjarno-by and every one of my warriors will have you and I will cut out the heart of your Roman lover when I meet him man to man!”

Before they could race forward and carry out the grim threat they heard a wail behind them. Snorri glanced over his shoulder and saw to his horror, racing towards them in the cold bright rays of the new sun, over a hundred Roman horsemen led by the Roman slave, Marcus,  and wielding the Sword of Cartimandua. Gurt and his men had already been surprised by a volley of javelins and they were streaking eastwards, their dreams of conquest shattered and replaced with the hope of an escape to their ships.

Snorri grabbed Trygg by the shoulder, “We are surrounded! We must flee!”

Drugi yelled down to Decius, “It is your brother! Hold on!”

The defenders took heart from the news that they were reinforced and pushed hard against the warriors who had broken into the open space.  When Drugi added his marksmanship to the assault from in front they started to pull back.

Chief Trygg knew that it was all up for he had begun with under fifty warriors.  He was caught between two forces and they were many miles from safety.  “Fall back! To the river!” He had been thwarted again in his attempt to get the sword but they would not be leaving empty handed; there was a fine trading ship which would yield them a greater profit than any previous visit.

Marcus had headed for his home the moment he heard Drugi’s horn.  He knew that he might be reprimanded for throwing his young recruits into combat but the alternative was to lose more captives to the Tencteri and this time it would be his family.  He had been proud of their first volley which had thinned the ranks of the barbarians. He now had to control them.  He turned and yelled. “Recruits! Turma one and two reform and hold them.  Turma three and four follow me!” He dared not risk all the recruits and he knew that he could only control and manage two turmae. The other two would have to wait as a visual threat to the Tencteri.

The fifty recruits formed a solid barrier of men and horses and the retreating barbarians assiduously avoided the bristling spears and armoured horsemen.  Marcus was keen to ride down as many of those who had first fled before they got too far. “Use your javelins.  If any of them fall then two of you take them.  Don’t try to fight them one on one!” He had no idea how they would fare in hand to hand combat and he preferred them just to deter his enemies.

He hated to endanger his young men but he had to kill as many of the enemy as possible.  One of the barbarians halted before Marcus and swung axe at his horse’s head.  Marcus jinked to one side and threw the javelin into the man’s throat.  At three paces he could not miss. He drew the sword and impulsively shouted, “The Sword of Cartimandua!”

As Snorri and Trygg pushed their way through the burning gate they heard the shout and Trygg cursed the hawk which had protected the Roman.  “Take the men to the boat.  I will join you.” Chief Trygg had been given one last throw of the bones.  He could still win the blade and if he did not, at least try, then he would spend his days in regret.

Snorri knew what his chief intended but he could do nothing but obey.  He saluted and led his men off.  Chief Trygg ran down the trail and he bore a charmed life as the arrows and javelins hurled at him missed. He had seen the departing horses and he ran after them.  He was able to move almost as swiftly through the woods as the horses.  The recruits who had been ordered to hold the line watched impotently as the survivors could be seen barely thirty paces away.  They had been given their orders and they waited.

Sigurd and Ormsson had watched in horror as the attack had faltered and then crumbled, now they saw their leader running through the woods and they followed.  They might only be armed with a sling shot but if they could defend their chief then they would be warriors.

The woods were filled with the fleeing warriors and the young recruits elated by their apparent victory. Their inexperience was the undoing of some of them as they recklessly charged after the warriors they were surprised when some of them stopped, and whirling axes, struck their horses. The ones who had remembered Marcus’ lesson survived others were not so lucky and, as they lay winded were killed where they lay.

Marcus saw two more of his boys die and knew that enough was enough.  He had saved his family; he would not lose his men. “Recruits recall!” He repeated the call and was pleased when he heard others sound the same command. A buccina would have been quicker but at least his men stopped. He watched as the survivors of the Tencteri hurtled northwards towards the river.

“Roman that is my sword!”

Marcus wheeled his horse as he heard the familiar voice of Trygg of the Tencteri. The chief had a shield already burned at the edges and studded with arrows and a blade which dripped blood but in his eyes was a cold white anger.  Marcus was not in a merciful mood and he rode his horse straight at Trygg.  He hoped that he would not know what to do and this would be a swift but deadly encounter.  It was Sigurd whose slingshot did the most damage and it smacked into Marcus’ mount’s head making him rear away from the threat.  Marcus was thrown from his horse but he rolled away from the danger. Ormsson threw his slingshot and it cracked into Marcus’ helmet. Before Trygg could run the twenty paces to the recumbent decurion the recruits had seen the danger to their leader and were also racing to the scene.  Sigurd fell to a javelin in the chest, falling at his leader’s feet. Ormsson threw another missile at a horseman but missed and he too paid the price as a recruit took off his head.  Trygg could see that he was outnumbered and five recruits dismounted between him and Marcus’ body.  He swung his sword at the recruit who galloped towards him, making the young man veer to the side and then ran off through the woods to follow the last of his men.

Marcus was only stunned, and when he regained his senses he looked around the scene.  The sight of the two dead barbarian boys upset him and he applauded their courage.  He remembered when he and Macro had behaved in a similar, they had survived. “Where did the chief go?”

His men pointed north.  Marcus would dearly have loved to follow and finish off the raider but he knew that the blow and the fall had taken much from him.  They had done enough.  It would now be up to others to stop the Tencteri. “Back to the farm.  You have done well. I am proud of you.”

When the Romans had left the glade, it seemed somehow quiet and peaceful.  The two bodies looked ungainly, especially Ormsson for the head seemed to stareat its own body. Orm had been wounded in the leg and, having hidden to bind his wound was now heading north.  When he came to the glade and saw the body of his son, silent tears coursed down his bloodied cheeks. His son had died with honour whilst he still lived.  He took the two bodies and began to prepare a grave.  They would have honour together in death.

When Marcus reached the farm there was a collective cheer from both the defenders and the recruits. Ailis and Decius rushed to their son to embrace him. Decius whispered in his ear, “Thank you my brother.  I knew that you would come.”

Suddenly Frann’s authoritative voice rang out.  “He is wounded.  Let me see to him.” Ailis smiled his son had picked a good woman.

Marcus kissed her.  “Later my wife.” Turning to Decius he asked, “Does the Prefect know about the raiders?”