Hosker, G [Sword of Cartimandua 10] Roman Hawk (8 page)

She inspected the beaker when he had drunk and then said.  “Good.  For you must not become ill.  My name is Frann. I know you, for my home was on the road from Morbium to Eboracum and I saw you and your men as you patrolled the road. I recognised the Sword of Cartimandua when the chief brandished it.  I was captured in a raid five summers ago when I had seen but ten springs. My father spoke well of you and your family for he had served with your father. He taught me how to speak as a Roman for he was proud to serve with Marcus’ Horse and my mother was Brigante.”

Marcus knew the answer to his question before he asked it but he went ahead anyway. “And your family where are they now?”

“My father was killed in the raid defending us. My mother suffered a blow to the head and did not survive the crossing.  My sister lived until last year.” She looked for the question which she had thought he would ask and when he did not, answered it anyway.  “She was older than I and…” She drank some of the honeyed milk from her own beaker.

“Why did you say that I should not become ill?  What is it to you?”

“I was taken as a slave as you were but have you not noticed that you are the only man in this hall?”

Marcus looked around again and saw that even the boys who were in the hall were less than ten summers old. “I wondered but then I did not know what the chief wanted of me.  Now I do.”

“The older women work the fields, preserve the fish and tend the halls.  The boys look after the animals and the girls… we are there to be used by the men.  My sister became ill after she was taken too many times last year and she bled.  That is how many of the girls die.  There are few of us who become grown women.” She shrugged, “At least I have seen none in my seven summers in this place. As long as you live I am safe for the chief has said I am not to be taken until he has learned all he can from you.”

There was a silence as Marcus took that information in. It slowly sank in that he now had a responsibility to the girl.  He could not escape without taking her for he would not allow her to be raped to death like her sister. The Parcae had woven their spells well. “So that is how you were chosen to be with me because you spoke the language.”

She nodded, “As soon as I saw you I felt hope soar in my heart.” She leaned in to him. “Can I tell you something?” Marcus nodded, intrigued by this resourceful young woman, for she was no longer a child, or even a girl. “I knew you would come for yesterday when I was picking seaweed on the beach I heard a bird and when I looked up I saw a hawk such as we have on the Dunum and he was circling above me.  When I saw the bird I knew that someone would come.  As soon as you arrived I told the shaman that I could speak your words and I was chosen.” She smiled, a cheeky smile, which suddenly made her look her age. “I made sure I beat the other girls to offer those services and I give thanks to the hawk.”

Marcus closed his eyes and nodded. “Now I know that the Allfather is looking over us and this has all been intended.” The girl looked at him curiously. “My brother died last year and he took a death oath to protect me.  As his spirit left this earth we saw a hawk and I heard it as I was taken over the sea. The hawk is my brother’s spirit and now I have hope.”

“I am glad that you were brought here for now I too have hope.” She pulled the bearskin over them. “If you want to take me…” Marcus recoiled. The girl looked appalled. “Am I too ugly?  I can…”

Marcus shook his head. “No you are beautiful.  You are lovely but you are not an object to be used. There may come a time when we…there will, come a time but we will choose the time and the place because we wish it to happen and it will not be a coupling in a barn with others listening and watching.”

She moved her head back to look more closely at him. “You have never had a woman have you?”

Marcus thought that it was a good thing that it was dark for he felt himself reddening. “That does not matter. You father served with my father; I do not think that either of them would want me to take you here in this hall.”

She shrugged and snuggled in next to him. “If you change your mind… but we will need to be close for it is very cold in the night here and we need each other’s warmth.” As she cuddled in to him Marcus wondered if he had been too hasty with his words for he felt a stirring in his loins he had not felt before but he then thought back to his mother, Ailis, and how she had been a slave used by others and how his father had waitied until they could be married and Metellus, his mentor, had also waited with Nanna the other Brigante slave. He sighed as he heard the gentle breathing of the sleeping girl; he had been brought up too well with too much honour.

The next day and the ones which followed were a pleasant interlude for the Roman decurion. Trygg had had warm clothes provided for Marcus and insisted that the girl spend every waking hour teaching him their language. It was on the third day that Marcus noticed a sadness which seemed to hang about the girl.  “What is the matter Frann? Am I not learning quickly enough?” Marcus had been really trying to learn the language, partly to please Frann but also so that he would know what the barbarians were saying.

There was a wry smile on the old face of the young girl.  “You are learning too well for once you can speak to them why would they need me for you?  I would go back to being…”

Marcus was horrified.  He had not thought it through.  “I will learn slowly then, so that I can never speak their words and will always need you.”

“That would not work. They would blame me and there are other girls. Lars would love that to happen and then he could get his hands on me.”

“Lars?”

She gestured subtly with her head to a huge bear of a man who lurched past.  Marcus had noticed him giving them both queer looks.  He had a huge scar running down his face, through a whitened dead eye, and finishing near his mouth giving a strange lopsided grin making look like a simpleton.  It was a frightening appearance. “My father did that to him when they attacked us, before he killed my father.  He was the one who killed my sister and he swore he would do the same to me.”

“I will tell this chief that if he does not let you stay with me I will not tell him what he wants to know.”

“But they would then torture you.”

“That would be preferable to what he would do to you.”

“You would do that for me?”

“I would.” Marcus sounded defiant but he wondered how long he would hold out.  He hoped it would be until his death but he was not certain.

“Thank you for that but it would do no good for they would just torture me to get you to talk.” She kissed him on the cheek, “And I know that you would.”

With a sinking heart Marcus could see no way out of the dilemma. At the same time a thought wormed its way into his consciousness. If the Allfather had saved him so far and the Parcae brought him together with Frann then it must be for a purpose. He needed to hold fast and keep faith.  He was convinced that they would both escape this trap.  Then just as quickly as the hope rushed into him it was taken away as he remembered the other deity who liked to play with men’s minds, suppose Morwenna and the Mother were toying with him and giving him false hope. Suppose they had brought him here to take away not only the sword and his freedom but the bright young girl who had leapt into his life.

Chapter 5

Marcus stood before Trygg in the main hall.  The only other people who were there were Frann, Snorri and a young shaman, Karl Sigambrisson. Frann stood just behind Marcus and Trygg addressed her over Marcus’ head. “Let us see what you have taught this young Roman, slave.”

“She has taught words Chief Trygg.” The words sounded awkward and he still did not have all the words he needed but Trygg was impressed.

“You have all our words Roman?”

“Not yet. Have some.”

Trygg nodded. “Then you stay slave in case he does not understand. Tell me Roman how do you ride the horse?”

Marcus looked up at the chief as though he had not understood and the chief repeated his question. “I understand words but not meaning.  I sit on back of horse and ride.”

Trygg looked amazed. “You do not fall off?”

“When I first learn yes but then becomes easy.”

“How old were you when you learned?” Marcus had not learned numbers yet so he held up three fingers. “That is young.” The Chief looked to be running the idea through his head. “So our sons could learn?” He pointed to the two boys who were standing close to the Chief.  They looked to be about ten or twelve years old. Marcus nodded. “And could we? The warriors, could we learn?” Marcus did not have the words but he rocked his hand back and forth suggesting that it was a possibility. “We will get some horses and we will see.”

The chief turned to Snorri. “Send for Drugi and have him capture some horses for us.” Marcus understood all the words but he kept his face impassive.  If they had horses then they had the chance to escape. Despite what Frann had said about the German tribe would were between them and the Empire, Marcus spied a kind of hope and that was enough.

Trygg turned again to Marcus. “Now Roman how do you Romans fight?”

For the first time since he had arrived at Hjarno-by, Marcus grinned. “We fight well.  Better than Tencteri.” He had wanted to say barbarian but he did not know the word.

“Brave talk from a slave who was captured so easily.”

“There were few of us.  I have fought others like Tencteri and I have never lost. I have led my men against,” he held up his two hands, “that times the number of our men and we won.”

Trygg could detect from the voice that this was not bravado.  He was coming to understand how this warrior had had such a fine weapon.  He was a warrior and now, it seemed, a mighty leader. “You Romans, do you fight in lines?”

Marcus had a problem.  He did not know how much they knew and he did not want to give them information which might result in Roman deaths.  On the other hand if they thought he was lying or hiding something then it would go badly for the two of them. Having seen the numbers of the Tencteri and the weaponry he did not think that an insight into Roman tactics would help them.  Besides other tribes knew the Roman way of war and still lost.

“Foot soldiers fight together,” he pulled Frann next to him so that their shoulders touched, “this close. Men on horses, “he moved her arm’s length away, “this far.”

Trygg smiled.  He liked this young Roman. “You were a horseman?”

“I am a horseman.”

Trygg stood and walked down to Marcus.  He was taller than Marcus and about the same breadth.  Not for the first time Marcus thought of Macro.  He would have been both taller and broader than the chief.  They would have liked each other for Marcus did not dislike this chief.  He had not been unkind and he could see a thoughtful, albeit barbaric side to the blond haired giant.

Trygg wanted to see into Marcus’ eyes, to see the lie if it were there. “Would you fight for Tencteri?”

The question took the shaman, Frann and Marcus by surprise. “Against Romans?” Marcus asked the question to allow the time to think of an appropriate and acceptable answer.

“No not against Romans, against the enemies of Tencteri.”

“Germans?” Trygg nodded. Marcus could see no dishonour in fighting the enemies of Rome, especially as it would afford him more opportunities to flee. “Then yes!”

Trygg clasped him by the forearm.  “Good, I like you Roman and I will enjoy fighting alongside you.  When we have horses we will talk again.” He looked down at Frann.  “You have done well.” The two Brigante braced themselves for the words they were dreading that she had finished her task. “You will continue to look after him until,” he patted her stomach, “until the baby you will grow is too big.”

Marcus left the hall stunned.  He had been asked to fight for the barbarians and to produce a child. He could almost hear old Gaelwyn laughing at the irony.

******

First Spear Vibius felt strangely relieved when it began to snow. Although the work on the wall did not halt it meant that the barbarians were less likely to attack for the snow meant the auxiliaries returned to their guard duty rather than helping the legionaries with the construction. He left his senior centurion in charge and rode to Rocky Point.  He had had little chance to speak with Livius since Marcus had been abducted. It was a fear all soldiers had; it was one thing to die on a battlefield, or to be wounded, for in both cases your comrades could honour you or look after you but to be a prisoner meant you were alone and if you died your body would be discarded like yesterday’s rubbish and your spirit would wander for eternity looking for a place to settle. Vibius shivered with the thought.

Although the sentry at the gate recognised the Gaul he checked the password and halted him.  Prefect Sallustius could be a martinet when it came to security. As he rode through the gate Vibius, like Julius Demetrius before him, noticed the gloomy and dispirited atmosphere. The sentry outside the Principia stamped his feet together, rapped his spear on the wooden floor and shouted, “First Spear Second Gallic Cohort.”

“Come in Vibius.”

When First Spear saw Livius he was taken aback.  In the few weeks since Marcus’ abduction the Prefect had aged considerably.  The few flecks of grey were now a sea and the increased numbers of lines on his face reflected his tormented mental state.

“Sit down.  It is good to see you.  How goes the wall?” Livius managed a wan smile, so forced that it shocked Vibius even more.

“Fuck the wall sir. What has happened here?  The place is like a cemetery with the dead still walking. This isn’t the Second Sallustian any more.”

Livius looked up, seemingly surprised that the question had been asked. “But did you not hear Vibius? Marcus has been taken by raiders from the east.”

“Much as I like the boy, and I do, he is just one man.  He is not the whole ala is he? By all the furies in Hades he might not even be dead! Have you thought of that?”

Livius’ face fell as though he had been slapped. “Not dead?” Over in the corner of the office Julius Longinus looked up, a slight smile on his face. He had wanted to talk to the Prefect as the Gaul had done but their relationship was a different one.  This might be just the conversation to stir some life into the Prefect and the ala.