Hosker, G [Sword of Cartimandua 10] Roman Hawk (5 page)

Marcus dismounted and signalled to the other two to do the same.  They tied their horses to a tree and then, with bows drawn began to work their way from tree to tree through the woods down to the waterline. As was their practice, Marcus took the lead with the other two troopers on his left and right rear.  It was effective and normally yielded results. This time it was both their undoing and the salvation of Marcus. The six scouts had heard the horses and hidden behind and up in the trees.  One of the younger warriors, Halfdan, had climbed up into the branches to afford a better view and signalled to his five companions when he saw the three Romans descending the slope. He held up three fingers which was all the information that they needed.

The first that Marcus knew of the ambush was when Halfdan launched himself from the tree to land squarely on the decurions’ shoulders.  The horseman pitched forward and, although his armour and helmet saved him from serious injury, the bole of the tree striking him squarely on the temple, rendered him unconscious. The two troopers who followed were not so fortunate for the five scouts made short work of them and they died where they stood, hacked by sword and axe. Halfdan turned Marcus’ body over and, seeing the sword in the scabbard withdrew it. The others gasped at its beauty and as the young warrior turned it over in his hand he marvelled at its balance.  He grinned at the others and, taking it in two hands raised it above his head to deliver the coup de grace to the Roman decurion.

“Stop!” Trygg’s voice boomed out in the woods.  Striding up to the surprised scout Trygg took the sword from him.  “This is the sword of a chief Halfdan.  I claim this as mine.” He noticed the crestfallen look on the man’s face. “I shall reward you when we get home.” He glanced down at the unconscious Roman, “ And this looks to be one of their leaders.  We will take him with us.  Secure him and make sure he does not escape.  Take their arms and armour; see if they have any gold or silver upon them and let us go. You may take your pick of their weapons.  If there are three Romans here there will be others close by.”

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As soon as Gnaeus saw the ravaged and ransacked settlement he knew that Marcus had been correct and there were raiders loose on the river.  His men soon reported back to him that no-one was left alive in the village. The warmth of the bodies and the remnants of meals told Gnaeus that this attack had been recent. “Back to the decurion and the rest of the patrol.  We may yet be able to catch them.”

The tethered horses at the top of the bank gave Gnaeus pause for thought.  He heard hoof beats thundering along the path and his patrol immediately drew their weapons.  It was with some relief that they saw it was the other patrol.

“There are raiders, Gnaeus. Those at Eabrycg say they saw long ships rowing up the river.”

Gnaeus felt his heart sink to his feet.  There had been no ships at the ravaged village which meant the raiders were here!  ”They have sacked Oegels-Dun. The decurion is down there somewhere.  Be careful and keep your eyes peeled.”

The eight troopers spread out in a half circle; Gnaeus followed the trail left by his comrades. The crows, already picking at the dead bodies of the two dead Romans, flew noisily away as they approached. It was obvious that the two troopers were dead but Gnaeus suddenly realised there was no sign of the decurion. 

“Spread out and find the decurion. Marius, come with me.” Kicking his horse on, he led Marius down to the river.  They were just in time to see the five ships as they began to pull away from the shore. He glanced around for the sign of Marcus’ body and he wondered where they had left it. With sudden clarity Gnaeus saw the unconscious decurion being hauled unceremoniously up the side of the last ship and even worse, he saw a tall warrior wielding the Sword of Cartimandua; the distinctive handle reflecting the light from its jewel encrusted pommel.  As an oath brother Gnaeus realised that he and his brethren had failed.  “Marius, take one of the men and bring the dead troopers to Eabrycg tell the rest to follow me.  It will be a fruitless chase but I will trail these raiders until they reach the sea.  Mayhap there will be a ship from the Classis Britannica at the mouth or they may put in again and we might yet save him.” Marius’ expression told Gnaeus that he was being overly optimistic but they both knew there was no other choice. They had to do all in their power to save the decurion.

******

Trygg Tryggvasson sat at the stern holding the newly acquired blade.  He kept turning it over in his hand as he watched the Roman cavalry staring intently at him. He had not come across horses much before and, certainly, never in battle.  They intrigued him for these warriors easily kept pace with the ships as they tacked and turned down the twisting Dunum.  Perhaps he might investigate how to use them once he returned home.  The tribes who ravaged his lands and had killed many of his tribe did not use horses.  If he could, somehow, begin to use them then who knew what he and his emerging tribe might achieve?

He looked again at the blade.  It was not Roman.  That he could see quite clearly for they had other Roman blades captured in other raids. They were much shorter and broader.  This was a long elegant blade with red, green and almost black jewels on the pommel. The grip was not only well made but well used.  It was a blade which told a story, that he knew.  He had spared the Roman’s life because he wanted to know the story of the blade. If he was going to use it to lead his people in battle then he had to know who had made it and how he could invoke the spirit of the blade and its maker. It did not do to offend a magical blade.  Some swords had spells and incantations attached to them; he would not use this blade until he knew from whence it came.

His eyes drifted to the unconscious form at his feet. They had been lucky to capture the warrior that was as certain as the tide and the sun; anyone who owned a blade such as this would be a worthy opponent in a fight and Trygg almost regretted not having the opportunity to win the blade through combat.  He would use the Roman to help his tribe to become even greater for he knew that the Romans had some power which enabled them to claim such vast tracts of land.  To the north of the Tencteri was cold and inhospitable and to the south was the Roman Empire. He would learn how they had managed to achieve that feat.  The Norns had determined that this warrior should live and Trygg had learned long ago not to upset the Gods and their minions.

“Open water and breakers ahead!”

As the motion of the ship became more noticeable Trygg stood to look at the land on both sides which was flat, wide and filled with mud flats. He and his men had escaped the Romans. The Norns’ plan was unseen by Trygg but he had his own plan now. The warrior would breed him some slaves and teach them about horses, His helmet and armour showed that he was a chief amongst the Romans, although Trygg thought him to be a little young; he would enjoy discovering his story. He turned to raise his sword in salute to the Roman cavalry which had halted at the line of sand dunes. They too were warriors and faithful to their chief.  Trygg admired that and it spoke well of the man at his feet.  If his men valued him so much that they went, literally, to the ends of the earth, then he was a man worth speaking with. The leader of the Roman horsemen raised his own arm in salute.  This time the raiders had won but Trygg knew it could have ended differently, Odin had been with them and they would give thanks and sacrifice at their feast when they returned to Hjarno-by. As a lonely hawk hovered above them Trygg raised his eyes and, shielding them with his hand, looked at the aerial hunter they tried to emulate.  It was a sign from Odin that they were being watched. Its keening cry sounded high above the lapping waves on the boat as it bade farewell to the raiders.

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Gnaeus knew that he had to visit the farm of Ailis and Marcus’ brother, Decius, but he did not know how he would tell them his devastating news. Honour demanded that he do his duty but he also had the loyalty of an oath bother to consider. However, Ailis was like a grandmother to the young troopers and, having had so much tragedy lately, how would she take this devastating blow? His troopers had been silent as they rode back along the Dunum. They all felt the same shame that they had not protected the decurion; the fact that they had obeyed his orders was irrelevant, they had failed to fulfil their oath and would now have to redeem themselves.

“He is alive then?”

Gnaeus was astounded at the calmness of Ailis. “In truth I know not but he was taken aboard the raider’s ship and their leader has his sword.”

Ailis nodded and closed her eyes.  Her son was not dead, that she knew. Decius too appeared calm. “When the boats left did you see anything strange or untoward?”

Gnaeus looked confused; these were not the questions he was expecting. “The ships sailed out of the Dunum.  The leader raised the Sword of Cartimandua, and we returned here.”

“And nothing else?” Ailis’ keen eyes bored into Gnaeus.

Desperately the young trooper tried to recall the images from the ship’s departure to remember anything which appeared different. “There was a hawk hovering above that is all.”

Ailis and Decius hugged each other. “Then all will be well for Macro watches over his brother still.”

Suddenly Gnaeus remembered the moment the decurion had died and the hawk had first appeared.  He had been so upset and concerned with his own role in the decurion’s loss that he had forgotten the dying oath of his former decurion.  Ailis was right; all would be well and, for the first time in half a day Gnaeus found himself smiling. The spirit that had been Gnaeus decurion now floated on the winds and hunted where he would; Marcus would have a protector; all they now needed was hope that he could be returned, alive.

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The dangers of the frontier had been brought home to the Emperor Hadrian when a party of Votadini had ambushed them close to the construction site of the new wall. Although the turma protecting the Emperor had driven them off Julius had decided that they would increase the escort for the Emperor when he next inspected the progress of the wall. The two turmae of auxiliaries and the Praetorian escort made a formidable sight as they inspected the first section of the wall which had been completed with stone facing. Although the top was, as yet unfinished, it was now faced with stone and there were regular and well made stone steps to reach the top. It could be defended now and was a visual and imposing statement to the barbarians that Rome had made their mark in the land. To the Roman builders it was a clear boundary, to the barbarians it was an insult to the land it scarred.

“It is a good choice for defending this line Julius.” The Emperor looked at the legionaries who were busily working away like a colony of ants.  The auxiliaries, under Prefect Vibius, had taken to dividing their forces between building and guarding their lines to speed up the process. The Emperor nodded to the Prefect who was labouring away with his men. “This  strategy seems to work.  When I visit the other vexillations I will encourage the practice.  It will make construction a little quicker.”

“You are leaving this section then sir?”

“Yes Julius.  We will call in at Rocky Point to say farewell to the Prefect and I will join Governor Falco in the east. I want you to stay here and make sure the work carries on at the same speed.”

Julius looked at the skies doubtfully; once again rain clouds filled the air and there appeared to be the threat of more rain. “In winter sir, the cement will not set in the cold. We cannot expect the same progress that we have made so far. And remember sir, here the days are much shorter.  When it comes to the winter solstice the sun will begin to set almost as soon as it has risen.”

Hadrian had come to realise that Britannia was totally different from Italy; they actually had winter in this northern outpost with frosts and snows, thick ice and fogs so thick that a man could not see the hand before him. It was as though the gods had made a different land here in the wild northern outlands. “I know Julius but when it is too cold for cement and digging the men can line the top with stone ready for the cement.  We will let neither the barbarians nor the weather slow us down.”

Julius felt proud to be a Roman, even the barbarians had to admire the spirit of Rome and its doughty warriors toiled despite the weather and despite the attacks of the barbarians. Whilst the tribes would be hunkered down for the winter the Roman machine carried on grinding away. The soldiers on the wall would not stop for the snow, ice and cold; they would build and patrol regardless of the weather. He knew the Emperor was correct, the sooner they finished the wall the safer the frontier would be and it made sense to keep the legionaries busy; if they were not working they would be gambling and more likely to get into trouble. If they were working they would be too tired to do anything but eat and sleep.  At least the auxiliaries were kept constantly busy patrolling and scouting.

The large party of mounted and armed men headed west to Rocky Point. As they entered the gates, bristling with sentries, Julius sensed something was amiss.  The normally cheerful troopers looked down in the mouth.  There was an air of despondency he had not seen before. He wondered if they had not managed to go hunting and augment their diet.  The Second Sallustian Ala ate well and that usually kept their spirits up. It was normally a pleasure to come to this outpost and the Emperor himself had valued the time he had spent amongst the cheerful and industrious horsemen; this day it was though there had been a death. As they dismounted Hadrian turned to Julius. “I will join you in a moment, I just want to say farewell to the cook here.”

Julius smiled.  The trooper who had become the cook for the ala was a magician with the food and the Emperor, whilst not a gourmand enjoyed the meals and had taken every opportunity to join the ala to eat with them.  As he had admitted to the Legate, he liked the atmosphere in the camp where there was an air of optimism and camaraderie he wished other troops and forts could emulate. He strode towards the kitchen area and, to anyone watching who did not know he was the Emperor, he would have appeared as just another officer going about his duties.