Hosker, G [Sword of Cartimandua 05] Revolt of the Red Witch by Griff Hosker

was.
     
    The Prefect was finding it hard going. His men were not just exhausted, they were demoralised and exhausted.  He had always known what a shadow Macro had cast, now he knew just how important the Decurion was and had been. No man voiced his disapproval of his actions but Julius could tell from the slight delay in following orders, from the veiled looks he received and the chilly response he got from any kind of humour; they blamed him for Macro’s desertion. Gazing northwards the Prefect hoped beyond all hope that Macro was still alive and able to help Marcus and Gaius. “Sir, scout returning.”
    The two scouts had been sent by Julius to investigate a small plume of smoke in the north west. He had hoped secretly, that it was a friend and he could ride in and find Macro and Gaius sharing a meal.  In his heart he knew that this would not be.
    “Sir it is a small band of warriors.”
    “What tribe?”
    “We were too far away to see Sir.”
    Not for the first time the Prefect regretted that he did not have Gaelwyn as a scout.  Had Gaelwyn been the scout he would have identified not only the tribe but the settlement in which they lived. “Very well.  We will ride in as though they are hostile. Cassius take two turmae and fan out east. We will approach from the west.”
    The gorse and undergrowth came up to the horse’s haunches and the troopers found it difficult to navigate an even line. “Keep together!” The warriors stood as the turmae surrounded the camp.  Julius could immediately see that they were Selgovae and the hairs on the back of his neck prickled.  The Selgovae were an untrustworthy bunch and even when they were pacified could still stab you in the back.
    The chief, for the Prefect could see the torc around his neck, stepped forward, his palms open in a sign of peace. “Welcome Romans rest and eat with us.”
    Even as his men began to relax the Prefect’s sword was coming from its scabbard, he had seen movement in the gorse and noticed that all the weapons of the tribesmen were handily placed. “It is a trap!” The trap was sprung and the hundreds of warriors hiding in the gorse rose up behind the troopers.  The warriors had the advantage and, as the ala tried to turn to fight their foes swords and axes were hamstringing the helpless horses. Julius’s sword was out and he took the chief’s head off in one blow. Turning he urged his horse towards four men surrounding his signifier. His blade sliced down the unarmoured back of one warrior cutting him open to his backbone. His horse trampled a second.  The third broke and the signifier killed the fourth. “Sound the retreat!” This was not a battle which could be won for they were outnumbered and surprised.  Julius needed to regroup his men and then attack the Selgovae on grounds of his choosing, not theirs.
    He and the aquilifer hacked their way through the warriors, other troopers falling in behind until suddenly there were no more warriors before him. He halted and said to the signifier, “Sound recall!” Although few would hear the call for the remnants of the turmae were with Julius, it would tell those further away that there were survivors. He glanced around and saw, to his dismay that there were less than sixty men in their saddles.  He had lost half his command in a few moments. The Selgovae were busy desecrating the dead and suddenly Julius was angry; the pent up frustration of the past weeks erupted. “Marcus’ Horse let’s show them what we can do! Charge!”
    The tiny line of troopers was a mere sixty men wide but this time they had the advantage of space in which to build up speed.  In addition the Selgovae had made the cardinal error of assuming they had won the battle when they had merely won the first encounter. The troopers were as angry and vengeful as Julius; each blow they struck was a blow for their dead and dying friends, and more importantly, for their lost hero Macro. The Selgovae fell to their blades as