Hosker, G [Sword of Cartimandua 12] Roman Wall (4 page)

Prefect Livius was vaguely disturbed.  The tribes both north and south of the wall had been quiet of late.  That was never a good sign. They did not accept the Roman imposition of order nor did they approve of the buildings the Romans erected.  To them it was an abomination.  It destroyed the Mother that was their Earth.  They would fight until there were no men left to fight. They were up to something. He had his turma out each day and they were given clear instructions to report back any sign that the tribes were planning something. So far they had not seen anything of merit. That did not mean that the tribes were subservient.  He knew that revolt was being fermented just below the surface.

As he headed towards Coriosopitum, the largest fort north of Eboracum, and a meeting with the Legate, Julius Demetrius, he wondered if they would ever succeed in conquering the land north of the wall.  He had met the Emperor and knew that the wall was just a stage in the advancement of the Empire. It allowed the clerks to collect taxes and stopped both slave and cattle raids. It had cost many lives already and it was still unfinished. When the eastern wars were over they would move north again.

“Ah, Livius, is the northern patrol back yet?”

Livius shook his head.  “No sir.  But it is young Marcus so I am not worried.” He had sensed some anxiety in the Legate’s voice.  “Is anything wrong, sir?”

“No, but since we lost those Thracians last year I have been keeping a check on patrols and there seems to be a pattern to all this. They have stopped attacking anything larger than a turma or a half century.”

“We have been sending out single turmae and none have been attacked.”

Julius smiled.  “Your Ala is Marcus’ Horse.  They still have a reputation. The trouble is that when we send out a century or two turmae it restricts us. We have too few men to patrol a larger area.  I want to know what they are up to.  The land to the south of the wall has been quiet and north feels to me as though something is brewing.”

The legate waved to a seat and Livius sat. “I agree.  I have a nagging feeling at the back of my neck too.  What about the other Prefects?  Have they anything to report?”

“The trouble is that they are happy that they are not losing any men.  The wall, to them, means security.”

Livius snorted.  “We both know, sir, it is not. Forts like this one and Vercovicium are the only defence we have.  And, of course, the VI
^th
.” The VI
^th
legion was putting the finishing touches to the wall and its defences.  They were a powerful force and more than a match for any barbarian army.

“And it seems likely that they will be pulled back to Eboracum soon or perhaps withdrawn to Germania.”

“Surely not, sir.  That would just leave three legions for the whole of Britannia.”

“The feeling is that Britannia is now conquered and can be controlled by the auxilia. That was always the view of Agricola you know.”

“I know but there are still too many armed warriors for my liking.” He decided to bring up an idea which he had had in his head for some time. “Sir, I would like to arm the troopers with a long spear.  The javelins are fine but once you have thrown them then the barbarians can throw them back.  They have begun to lie on the ground when we charge.  They know our horses won’t stand on them and we have no weapons long enough to reach them when we have discharged our javelins.”

“Good idea.  Put in a requisition and I will get them for you.  How are the new helmets working out?”

The ala had been recently sent the newer helmets with a small metal peak.  It afforded more protection from blows to the head and was a better helmet in every way.  Livius had been unhappy that the rest of the auxilia in Britannia had had the improved helmets for ten years while they had had to wait for them. “They are good sir.  I just wish we had had them sooner.”

“I know.  Come on, let’s go and watch for your patrol.” He chuckled.  “When I was Prefect I was always desperate to be either with my men or else I was waiting, anxiously, for them to return.”

“And I am the same sir.”

As they approached the northern gate, they saw the Decurion Princeps, Metellus, already watching the road to the north. The Batavian sentries were giving him enough space to pace up and down.  Metellus was not a man to cross.

He saluted as they approached.  “Any sign of our patrol yet?”

“No sir, but Marcus was going as far north as he could.” He smiled ruefully, “He is worried that we are not keeping a close enough watch on the Selgovae.”

Livius rubbed his chin.  “I think he is trying to be two men, himself and Macro.  He works twice as hard as any other officer; me included.”

“I know.  I thought becoming a father would have settled him.”

“No sir.  Duty is more important to Marcus than anything.  If you sliced into him you would see Marcus’ Horse running through his veins. Besides, Drugi and Felix more than make up for him in his absence.  They are like a grandfather and big brother.  Those boys could not have better protectors and teachers.”

One of the sentries shouted, “Patrol approaching, sir.”

The three of them all breathed a collective sigh of relief when the thirty two troopers hove into view. The fact that there were prisoners was a bonus. “Well, let us go and greet the successful decurion.”

Marcus dismounted and led his turma on foot through the gate.  It was part of his regime and it helped the horses to cool down quicker. When his troop saw the three senior officers they stiffened to attention.

“Gnaeus, take the prisoners to the cells and then see to the horses.”

“Sir.” Gnaeus took Raven’s reins.

As Decius passed Marcus took the Thracian shield and proffered it to the Prefect. “We took this from a dead Selgovae.  It is from the Thracians who disappeared.”

Julius nodded.  “It seems they are bold enough to attack Marcus’ Horse now. How many were there?”

“About sixty sir.  It was a good ambush but we managed to avoid walking into it.”

Livius shook his head, “Do not disparage yourself; it means that another turma might be headless corpses and the Selgovae might be celebrating their success.”

As they strolled through the fort towards the bath house by the river Julius asked. “Prefect, do you wish to double the numbers of your patrols?”

“No sir. This will put my men on their mettle.”

“Sir, if we had scouts like Felix with us then this sort of thing might be avoided.”

“Are you sure that you wish him to rejoin us?  I thought he was looking after your boys.”

“Drugi can manage that.”

“Then send for him.” Livius looked at Metellus.  “I daresay you will be sending another missive to your wife soon. It can go with that letter.”

Metellus nodded.  Communication with their homes was vital but sometimes messages went astray and the messengers’ bodies were a savage reminder that even the land south of the wall could be dangerous. “It might be useful sir, for someone to return to the valley and find out what the Brigante are up to. They have been remarkably quiet.”

“I know.  Are you suggesting yourself or Marcus for that? I know that your families would appreciate it.”

“No sir.  Marcus and I are needed here and it needs someone who is not as well known.  I was thinking of Rufius.”

Rufius had been an Explorate along with Metellus.  He was a superb tracker and had the ability to blend into a settlement and be unseen. “A good choice.  Brief him and write your letters. Autumn will be here soon and I would like to be prepared.  This will be our first winter with a finished wall.  I cannot believe that the Selgovae will let us enjoy peace.”

“Surely the presence of the VI
^th
will deter them sir.”

“I have just heard from the legate, Metellus, that they are to be withdrawn to Eboracum for the winter.  It will be just us, the Tungrians and the Batavians.”

Chapter 3

Rufius’ hopes of a speedy journey south were thwarted when the legate decided that Julius Longinus, the ala clerk, and Titus Posthumous, the Quartermaster should go to Eboracum and arrange for the shipment of spears and other urgently needed supplies. Metellus’ Chosen Man, Gaius Paulus, led the half turma escort.  Rufius knew he could be at Marcus’ home within four or five hours if he travelled alone but they were forced to travel at the speed of the wagon. They would take all day to reach Morbium and the crossing of the Dunum. Rufius was anxious to reach the farm as soon as possible.  He would be going into the Brigante heartland and he needed to establish himself for his journey undercover.

Julius Longinus was just unhappy about the journey itself.  “At my age I should not have to endure the privations of the roads; no matter how well built.”

The Legate had been insistent and Rufius suspected that Julius would be doing some secret work for the Legate whilst in Eboracum.  Julius Longinus was a very astute man who could not only read, he could read people too. Not all of the Roman officials in Eboracum had the best interests of the Province at heart.

Looking on the positive side Rufius realised that the delay would allow his beard to grow a little more.  Although many Brigante now affected the clean shaven look of the Roman army far more wore a beard.  Rufius would just need a few days to acquire enough growth to pass unnoticed amongst the Brigante.

It felt strange to be back in the guise of an Explorate again.  He did not wear the armour and uniform of a cavalryman; instead he wore breeches, a tunic and a cloak. The sword at his waist was not standard issue; he had acquired it during his travels in Gaul. It was attention to details such as that which sometimes made the difference between survival and discovery.

He rode next to Chosen Man Gaius.  He had served with him and liked the young warrior. He had a background like Rufius.  He had joined in Britannia.  He was an Atrebate but, like Rufius, he was now Roman through and through.

“Decurion Atrebeus, I do not know why we need a sixteen man escort.  These lands have been quiet for many years.”

Although Rufius secretly agreed with Gaius he was an officer and he put forward the argument Livius had used with him. “The tribes may not be in revolt but there are still bandits and deserters who would seize the opportunity to steal the horses and the wagon if we had a smaller escort.”

“Perhaps but they would have to be desperate bandits to take on Marcus’ Horse.”

“They attacked Decurion Aurelius the other day and he had a full turma.”

Gaius dismissed that argument. “They were Selgovae and they are all as mad as a fish! The Brigante are a cowed people. I will bet you ten sestercii that the only trouble we will have will be old Julius moaning.”

Rufius laughed.  Julius’ was known as a grumpy old man; well liked but irascible. “You are on.”

The southern road from the wall was well maintained. Just five miles from the fort they passed a working party of Tungrians who were cutting back the new growth of trees which had sprung up over the last year. The reassuring wave from the optio made them all feel happier. It was a tedious journey for the cavalrymen who normally travelled at least three times faster than the slow wagon.

They halted for food and to rest the horses at the hill surrounded by the Vedra Fluvius.  It was still just a wooden bridge which spanned the fast flowing river and Rufius wondered how long it would be before it was made a more solid and permanent structure.  Julius Longinus showed his knowledge and military acumen when he identified the features which would make this a good site for a fort.

Gaius asked, “Why is there not one here already?”

“That was General Agricola’s decision. He destroyed the tribes around here so swiftly and was so keen to come to grips with the Picts that he did not bother. And he built Vinovia; that eliminated the need for a fort here. Now that we have the wall it is unnecessary.  Still, it would be an impregnable fort.”

Rufius smiled at the old man’s mind.  Rufius had passed by this site for many years and had not even dreamed that it might be used as a fort. Now that it was explained Rufius began to question why it had not been made into one.  As he mounted his horse to continue the journey he answered himself; the land of the Brigante was at peace.

The bandits under Carac hid in the woods which lined the hated Roman roads. The roads were an affront to the gods and to the Mother Earth herself. They did not call themselves bandits.  They thought that they were fighting for the freedom of their land. In their minds they were heroes. They were a band of Brigante who had refused to follow the orders of Chief Briac.  They would not bow to the will of a man who was not pure Brigante.  His father had been half Carvetii. Carac had been disappointed when just thirty of the warriors followed him.  Perhaps if he had left flagrantly and blatantly under the eyes of Briac there might have been more.  That might have been seen as a challenge but Carac, and those who followed him, left in the dead of night. The ones who remained felt that there was no honour in this.

It had been some months since they had left the village and their pickings had been slim.  They had waylaid a few solitary wagons and riders but the Romans who had patrolled this road had been too numerous to attack.  His men, he knew were restless. This was not the glorious revolt they had anticipated.  They had dreamed of fighting hand to hand with the Romans and defeating them. He worried that soon they would drift back to their villages and he would be left alone.

Now Carac spied a kind of hope. His youngest warrior had been scouting to the north and he had seen the wagon with the handful of horses guarding it.  The swiftly moving scout had taken a short cut through the forest to reach their camp. Carac was animated as he spoke with his men.  For the first time they outnumbered the Romans.

“Today, my brothers, we have a chance to rid the land of some Romans. They are coming down this road and we will attack them and destroy them here.”

One of the older warriors, Scanlan, was sceptical.  He was already thinking of returning to their village. “These are horsemen, Carac.  What if they are Marcus’ Horse?”