“They were alerted and called to arms but they haven’t left. They are just standing watching the flames.” He reported.
Dumnoc smiled, “Good,” he said, “now let’s move on the larger fort.”
The majority of the stolen weapons were loaded onto wagons and driven away, they would be buried so they could be used later; some were taken by the warriors who ran towards the next target. Dumnoc urged calm in his people as they jogged through the dark night, the flames of the fort behind them casting shadows everywhere, acrid smoke getting lighter.
The warriors stopped inside the cover of the trees looking up at Station Deventia. From this distance they knew the defenders wouldn’t risk wasting their ammunition as they didn’t have a clear target. The helmeted silhouettes of the soldiers on the walls stood around stationary, waiting for the attack they must have known was coming.
“Begin the preparations we discussed earlier.” Dumnoc ordered to those around him, a group of men ran back further into the trees. “We have as long as it takes so there’s no hurry. Their garrison at Isca Dumnoniorium won’t even know there’s anything wrong until their patrol doesn’t return tomorrow and by then it will be too late. Then they’ll wait another day before sending more of their legionaries out to find them.” He said to no-one in particular. Within a short time he heard the reassuring crack of axes begin as they struck tree trunks in preparation for the next phase of his attack. It was his most ambitious plan so far and knew that if he could destroy both forts, and kill all those within, it would send out a message of hope to the repressed population of Britons not only on the peninsula but across the island as a whole.
Chapter Five
As Caradoc sank into the well filled straw mattress and drifted into a deep sleep, his mind’s eye took him away from the present and far away into the past. To happier, safer times, when he still went by the name Caratacus or Cara as his friends and family called him. He felt different in this world, younger, fresh and unburdened by responsibility, almost carefree. At fourteen years of age, when his chores permitted, he was able to roam the tribal lands with his brothers and play, hunt and fish, talk to girls and explore the world around him. Tog and Ad, his brothers, were always close by in those days, as the three boys discovered the land around them and the people who shared it. For the first time in their lives there was no conflict with other tribes. King Cunobelin, their father, had sought treaties with surrounding lands and even strengthened ties with Rome with trade flowing freely to the far off empire in the east.
The three boys had left their roundhouse earlier that day armed with little more than water skins, bows and daggers, intent once more on exploring and hunting. They wore simple short sleeved beige tunics and crisscrossed blue and black coloured leggings, their sandals secured by leather straps wrapped around their lower legs. When they had set out early after breakfast, Cara had noticed for the first time that year, a slight chill on his exposed skin and wondered if they needed more clothing, but the day’s sun had soon warmed them, and he felt more comfortable in no time.
His siblings were a little older than him but not by much, although physically he was shorter by half a foot. Ad and Tog were almost men now, they had begun to change, Tog the largest of the three boys had developed muscular arms and facial hair, his voice was deeper, whereas Ad was taller, thinner and wore his fair hair short in the style of the traders from the east. Tog’s longer style was more common and drawn together at the back, tied into a pony tail that drifted down between his shoulder blades. Cara often wondered how his brothers were so different from each other, with him sat in the middle, although as personalities went, he was much closer to Tog. He often prayed to the gods that he would be closer to him in strength as well as appearance, but for now no matter what he did his arms remained sinewy. He rubbed at his chin as they rode along wishing to feel bristles but only found the short soft fluff that had started to appear recently, how he wished he were a man.
“Don’t worry brother,” Ad said guessing his thoughts, “you’ll be cursed soon enough with a manly beard and find yourself wishing you weren’t believe me.”
He frowned but before he could reply Ad continued, “I prefer to have a clean face although,” he said cupping his chin, “it hurts sometimes scraping it off every other day.” He raised his head and looked around at both brothers as if to emphasise the point. “Father would have to shave every day he says, so he keeps a beard but I doubt I ever will it’s so much cleaner like this.”
“That’s fine, as long as you want to look like a twelve year old girl.” Tog said grinning, “Not very, what’s the term, warrior-like, though is it?” He smiled at Cara. “Imagine facing an enemy like that, they’d just laugh at you.”
Ad smiled, “Well it’s a good thing we’re all different.” He said, “I like a smooth face,” he added as he felt his own again, “you wouldn’t want a hairy girl would you?” He said to no-one in particular.
“And there was me beginning to think you didn’t like girls at all.” Tog said as he led them down the track towards the outskirts of the next village. “With the affection you show for the Romans, I thought you might want to marry one of them, men n’all!” He chuckled as he steered his horse along the track.
Ad smiled again, “Oh dear brother, we are in a funny mood today aren’t we? We can actually learn a great deal from our friends across the water.”
Cara looked at Ad, he was tired of this conversation. Why did everything always come down to this where his elder brother was concerned?
“But they aren’t from across the water are they?” Cara asked. “They came from further away to the east, Rome. A great stone city and they slaughtered half of Gaul to get there. Do you really think they’ll be happy with that and won’t attack us next?”
Ad laughed, “Oh Cara, don’t worry about such nonsense. Why would they want to hurt us anyway? We’re friends, Father even trades with them, wine, livestock, gold and sometimes slaves. I’ve even heard that there’s talk of warriors joining their legions.”
“Ugh,” Tog said turning, “where did you hear that? Why would our people want to join them in their wars, we have enough to be getting on with here, surviving is enough and besides that, we need our warriors here.”
“Father told me that the barbarians to the north of Gaul were rebelling again and that they’d had to send more legions to the area, they’re looking to recruit more auxiliaries from Albion.” Ad replied. “Being the sons of a king, we would be officers of course.” He looked at his brothers, “Well you two could anyway. I wouldn’t want to be a soldier, I’m sure my talents would lie elsewhere.”
“Don’t you mean Britannia?” Tog said.
“What, erm,” Ad hesitated, “well that’s just their name for Albion in their language.”
“Is it?” Tog replied, “Is it really? Surely such close friends should at least call our land by the name that we call it, the name it has always been known as.”