Slaves of Fear: A Land Unconquered (17 page)

“Yes, a shame our enemies rarely wear uniforms or have busts made of their leaders,” Magnus concurred, with a trace of sarcasm. “But, I do understand it may be years before we finish off Caratacus’ insurrection. Ana knows this as well. She told me to return to her when I was no longer a soldier of Rome. This does make it a bit more urgent for me that we be done with the Catuvellauni prince. He cannot seem to comprehend that his people have been conquered.”

“Do any of these people really understand when they’ve been subjugated?” Tyranus asked. After a moment he added philosophically, “But then, would you or I?”

Winter’s cold embrace crippled Caratacus’ spirit. His demeanour had been one of gloom ever since their clash against the Romans. Even Eurgain could not break through her husband’s seemingly emotionless wall. His warriors now called the place of the ill-fated ambush ‘The Field of Sorrow’, in honour of their high king’s fallen son.

Perhaps most frustrating was his inability to exact any sort of revenge during the winter months. The Silures had long since dispersed. King Seisyll of Ordovices had made Caratacus his distinguished guest, but there was little his warriors could do before spring.

“I am honoured to have you within my walls,” Seisyll emphasised, as he and Caratacus stood atop the barricaded hill that served as the Ordovices capital. “Until such time as you can raise your own stronghold on the ashes of Roman ruins.”

“Their destruction cannot come soon enough,” Caratacus muttered. “They have twenty thousand men encamped along the western shores, yet there is little we can do until they are on the move.” He noted the look of concern on Seisyll’s face.

“I worry about our supposed allies,” the Ordovices king explained. “My people and the Silures have never been on the best of terms. In fact, we have fought more bloody wars against them than any other kingdom in these lands. It is you who brought us together against a common enemy. And I fear King Orin may not be able to control his warriors. Many of them would just as soon put a spear in my guts as they would a Roman.”

“The Silures are a proud people,” Caratacus said reassuringly, though even he was having doubts as to their commitment to the war against the empire. “They will fight, even if it is in their own way. When I next speak with Orin, I will stress the need for his warriors to continue harrying the imperial army, especially after they have left their winter quarters.”

“We will still need more fighters. The Demetae fled the Field of Sorrow without striking a single blow, and I suspect they may be waiting to strike a deal with the Romans. Our protectorates, the Deceangli, learned their lesson after we made an example of their cowardly chief. However, their total number of warriors is very few, no more than four or five thousand.”

Caratacus leaned against a tall pillar of the great hall and stared into the distance contemplatively. “We must gather what allies we have while making life a terrible misery for the Romans and those who would prostrate themselves at the feet of Caesar.”

Chapter XIV: Valley of Riches

Roman Encampment, near the mouth of the Dyfi River

15 March 49 A.D.

Entrance to an ancient gold mine at Dolaucothi

It was now the Ides of March, that fateful day when Julius Caesar was murdered on the steps of the senate. Governor Scapula and his legates had also returned. A sizeable entourage accompanied Governor Scapula and General Paulinus as they returned to the army’s camp. Among them Magnus recognized Queen Cartimandua’s courtier, Alaric. But it was the man walking beside the governor and legate that caught the centurion’s attention. He was half a head taller than even Paulinus, dressed in an earth coloured toga, with a tartan cloak over his left shoulder. His face was clean shaven, though he had a thick mop of curly black hair atop his head. A wide-bladed broadsword in an ornate scabbard was strapped to his hip.

“Gentlemen, may I present Amminus, son of Cunobeline,” Scapula said, introducing the man to his senior officers.

“Son of Cunobeline?” Tyranus asked. His eyes widened in realization. “By Victoria, he’s Caratacus’ brother!”

“An unfortunate circumstance of birth,” Amminus said. The corner of his mouth twisted up slightly. His Latin was flawless, and he exuded only a trace of an accent. “I have lived in exile these past eight years. The divine Emperor Claudius has been very kind to me, and his charity has left me with a moral debt to Rome. When I heard my vile brother returned to cause mischief, I felt compelled to offer my services to the empire.”

“For starters, you can tell us what your brother looks like,” the chief tribune spoke up. “For all we know, he could be dead already.”

“No, my brother is anything but dead. You must understand, Caratacus has a viper’s tongue that poisons the minds of even great kings. Were he dead, the alliance between the Ordovices and Silures would collapse. They are age-old enemies. That they have named him high king over their own rulers, tells us all we need to know about his powers of persuasion. But worry not, noble tribune, you shall have a detailed description of the serpent. I shall also accompany the governor and will be ready to identify him for your soldiers.”

“We depart in three days,” Scapula stated. “But before we pursue Caratacus, our newly won friends among the Demetae have promised to show us the way to a ‘treasure trove’, as they put it.”

“I know that of which they speak,” Amminus added. “I’ve never seen it personally but have heard talk, of a vast gold mine on the border of the Demetae and Silures kingdoms. Given the wealth exhibited by King Orin and his ilk, I suspect the rumours may prove true.”

Before the trek south could begin, the army had to travel several miles east, in order to find a viable fording point across the River Dyfi. They followed the coast, maintaining a robust advance guard of cavalry, with dispersed cohorts of light auxilia infantry scouring the woods on their flanks. The nimble troopers of these regiments were slowed considerably by the dense woods and undergrowth, the army even more so.

It took the better part of five days to make the fifty mile journey south. Having learned from his mistakes the previous year, Scapula divided his army into three divisions. Legio IX provided the bulwark for the northern column, along with several cohorts of auxilia infantry and one quarter of the cavalry. Legio XX led the centre column, with an equal number of auxilia infantry and cavalry in support. This left half the cavalry and roughly five thousand auxilia infantrymen to make up the southernmost column.

The legionary legates commanded their respective divisions with Governor Scapula accompanying the centre column. Commander Julianus was assigned to lead the auxilia division. They would be skirting the lands of the Demetae, and Scapula needed to ascertain their intentions. Would they offer their spears for Rome, attempt to remain neutral, or were they already under Caratacus’ control? The Romans had struggled to tell the various tribes apart, especially during the heat of battle, and could not tell a Demetae from an Ordovices. Only the Silures, with their dark, curly hair and olive skin stood out amongst the various tribes. None of them knew that Demetae warriors had, in fact, been with Caratacus during the last battle, but had balked and fled without taking any part in the fighting.

General Paetus’ division skirted a mountain range to the north. Governor Scapula and General Paulinus made their way through a large valley dotted with forests and grass fields. While most of Britannia was lush with vegetation, this was the greenest place Centurion Magnus could recall. He voiced his observation of the land.

“There’s some lavender, sir,” Optio Caelius pointed out.

“This is ideal grazing country for sheep and cattle,” the Norseman added. There were, indeed, scattered groups of sheep and various other animals; however, no people could be seen.

“The people knew we were coming,” Magnus remarked.

“They’ve gone into hiding.” his optio concurred.

Due to the openness of the terrain, Paulinus ordered the legion to advance in a series of cohort columns, with the baggage train kept towards the centre, guarded by two cohorts of auxilia infantry. The legion’s indigenous cavalry screened the flanks while auxilia horsemen scouted ahead. The governor and legionary command staff rode just behind the First Cohort, accompanied by Amminus. Alaric, who had thus far kept a distance from the exiled Catuvellauni prince, rode with General Paetus. Landon accompanied the auxilia division.

“If my intuition is correct,” Amminus said, “we are not far from ‘The Valley of Riches’.”

“How will we know?” Scapula was sceptical. “It’s not as if the Silures have gilded cities or anything remotely resembling civilization.”

“I think we’ll know when they decide to bid us welcome,” Paulinus conjectured.

This drew a knowing grin from Amminus.

“The mines are thought to be little more than a myth to many of the peoples in eastern and northern Britannia. The torques of gold worn by many of their warriors tell me it is no fable. The Silures may not be as well armed as your soldiers; however, one is much more likely to see swords and mail armour among them than any other tribe.”

Scapula pondered this for a moment then gave his assessment. “If they weren’t such an unorganized rabble, they could be a rich and powerful adversary.”

“They are already powerful,” Paulinus remarked. “But I agree, we should be thankful they haven’t used their potential wealth to field a well-equipped, professional army.”

“Some say the gold is cursed,” Amminus added. “This is nonsense. It is a matter of the mines being in close proximity to both Silures and Demetae lands. These hills and valleys have been the grave of many warriors who died trying to claim the treasures as their own.”

“My king, the Romans are near Dolaucothi,” a scout reported to King Orin.

While this caused much consternation amongst the elders and chief warriors, it was the opportunity he had been waiting for. His warlords had been in such constant dispute as to how to deal with the invaders, that it left him unable to marshal a sizeable force. If he could not control his own warriors, what hope was there to maintain the alliance with the Ordovices under Caratacus?

“Does their entire army approach?” he asked.

“No,” the man said, shaking his head. “We saw but one eagle standard and only a few thousand other troops.”

“Meaning they’ve divided their forces,” one of the elders noted.

Orin nodded. “They’ve learned their lessons from the previous year. Send scouts to find the remainder of their fighters. If one legion approaches the Valley of Riches, the rest cannot be far away.”

While glad for a chance to spill copious amounts of Roman blood, the king was feeling the constrictions of both time and distance. With his warriors still scattered to their homes and the imperial army fast approaching the precious mines, there was not enough time to rally his entire army to face them. Caratacus would have to be informed at once, though his army with King Seisyll was even further afield than the majority of the Silures warriors.

“Muster every fighter within twenty miles,” he ordered. “The mines must not fall into Roman hands!”

The Silures had been given a brief, unexpected reprieve, as Paulinus’ division unwittingly encamped only five miles from the mines. Had they known how close they were, and that the valley was only modestly defended, they may have launched their assault right away. As it was, the thick woods impeded their reconnaissance cavalry from scouting too far ahead. It was only when the late afternoon sun began to slowly dip into the west that reports came back, informing them the legendary mines were found.

“Well, bugger it,” Paulinus sighed with mild frustration. “We could have slaughtered the bastards and camped there tonight.”

“I left several of my men to keep an eye on the complex,” the scout section leader reported. “There was a lot of activity within. It appears they are mustering warriors from all over the region.”

“Which means they know we’re here,” Scapula muttered.

“We need to deploy pickets well ahead of the army,” Paulinus recommended. “Otherwise, these bastards may have a slew of surprises waiting for us.”

“I have to agree, General,” Amminus concurred. “The Silures are known for laying traps and ambushes. They will likely try to soften up your forces before they reach the mines.”

The scout had taken a long stick and drawn a crude sketch in the dirt. “It is a large complex, sirs,” he said. “There are plenty of stockades for slaves near the mine shafts, with what can best be described as a barracks for guards.”

“How many guards?” General Paulinus asked.

“It’s hard to say, sir. We got as close as we could, but they have pickets posted well beyond the compound. The woods on the surrounding hills are very thick. I would hazard several hundred warriors, at least, though they could soon be reinforced by an entire army.”

“I cannot see Caratacus leaving this place undefended,” Amminus remarked. “Even if he felt it unimportant, there is no way King Orin would let his greatest source of wealth fall into our hands without a fight.”

“A pity we didn’t bring any artillery,” Scapula grumbled.

“Do you want to drag onagers and ammunition wagons through this shit?” Paulinus countered. “We’d still be fifty miles from here if we’d tried bringing them with us.”

“Enough,” Scapula interrupted with irritation. He’d grown tired of his legates constantly undermining him, when they weren’t squabbling with each other. What troubled him more was that despite his age and position as governor-general of the province, he possessed neither the innate skill nor battle experience of either Paetus or Paulinus. He was compelled to rely on both men, and as often as not, their ideas for dealing with the insurrection varied greatly.