“Is that wise? Ardwen asked. “They will want retribution.”
“Should we concern ourselves with what they want or what they may do? It is for us Ardwen to take retribution, they are the ones who betrayed us. Catuvellauni heads stare out at people on the outskirts of Camoludunum on poles as we speak. If we are afraid to attack these people because of what they may or may not do, we will never rid ourselves of them.” Caradoc replied. “We will attack them when we can, where we can and as often as we can and we will not concern ourselves with their thoughts except one, fear. We will make fear eat away at them, until it is the only thought they have until they are gone. Remember my friend, we did not start this war and it was not us who invaded their lands, butchered their people and broke treaties, stopping trade that had been carried out for generations. We just wanted to be left alone, to live in peace but they wanted more, they wanted it all, everything. They have brought this upon themselves and we must make sure our hearts are black when dealing with them, whoever they are, no matter how old.”
Ardwen pressed his lips together but did not answer or make another comment as they rode on. He knew Caradoc was right but wished things were different, they all did. By late afternoon they had reached the first roundhouse of the settlement as they emerged from the trees blanketing the valley they had climbed. Five dwellings were surrounded by twined fencing in a family group, beyond that was another and more as they rode on. There were many such ringed habitations sprawling along the valley, all linked by fencing and gates. Children ran out to greet them as dogs barked and wagged their tails excitedly as they saw the men approach.
Riding along the perimeter, Caradoc said, “We’ll have to start building a defensive wall around the outskirts of the settlement. I’m sure that once the Romans start to bleed again, they’ll come looking for those responsible and we have to be ready. I don’t want them walking straight in like they did at home.” As they entered the fence line through a large open gate, he jumped from his horse and handed the reins to a young man who came running forward. He led the horse to an area where others were corralled, chewing grass under the spring sunshine.
“We’ll make a start on the walls tomorrow.” Ardwen said. “We’ll build ramparts two men high, maybe three and as straight as we can, it will make them harder to climb.” He handed his horse to the young man. “It will also help keep that biting wind out in winter, although we’ll lose the view.” He nodded towards the valley laid out below them. Caradoc followed his gaze and looked down the tree line; it truly was a peaceful and beautiful place. Only the track disturbed the thick trees but it soon vanished below the green leaves as it wound its way snake like down the valley. It would be a difficult place to attack, with its natural defences of mountains and valleys but Caradoc knew the enemy were organised and determined, professional fighters. He didn’t want to leave anything to chance. “Make the walls three men high.” He said. Ardwen nodded.
They had discussed their plans at council meetings with the chieftains and elders and knew that they would have advanced warning of any future Roman intrusions into their territory. Men, women and children had already agreed to help build the walls that would surround the roundhouses as it was acknowledged that the way things were the enemy would simply walk straight in.
“Come, let’s get some of that brew you’re so fond of and relax while those fish smoke and become extra tasty.” He said to Ardwen. “Let’s talk of these problems no more for the day.”
Ardwen smiled, “Good idea.”
***
As darkness began to fall many miles to the south, Dumnoc was lying down under the cover of a large oak tree and watched as the slaves began returning to the villa, after their days toil in the fields. He counted them off as they trudged back after a day digging and tilling soil, preparing the ground for yet another row of young trees for their master’s vines. When the last of them was inside and the large gated doors were closed behind them, he nodded to Drustan, who turned and went to where the others waited.
Dumnoc had been watching the villa on and off for a few weeks, so carefree were the occupiers who lived there. They had never noticed the solitary figure who would ride past nor had they paid him any attention, he was just another traveller on the dusty roads in this rural area. They had no suspicion of his intentions. Over two years before, he and some of his war band had gradually travelled south and taken occupations in and around garrisons and marching forts, some even working for Roman families providing them with food or had trained them how to hunt in the land they had come to. Others became shepherds or tanners, smiths, anything so that they could blend in unseen. They, the Romans, had no clue that some of the men and women they believed to be of the Domnonii tribe were actually Catuvellauni intent on revenge.
From watching the villa he knew what time they awoke, where the slaves and the freedmen went during their daily routine, when they tended the small rows of trees or dug new land, where they worked and what time they returned to the villa late at night. He knew what resistance he could expect from those who resided inside and suspected which of the slaves he could trust and those that would help when the attack came. Some had been openly badly treated, beaten and even whipped while he watched on, waiting for an opportunity to strike.
He had waited a long time for this moment, this opportunity to take the lives of those who had more than likely celebrated when his people had died a few years before, and had looked on eagerly wanting to take their land. His own family, two sons and his wife, had been wiped out during the battle at the river Medway and now as he waited for complete darkness, he felt his heart begin to surge and slowly pound as blood coursed through his veins as his battle rage grew.
Smoke billowed out of the villa’s two chimneys and rose into the darkening sky as the occupants prepared fires to cook food after a hard day working, the slaves at least he thought. The compound was a large pale rectangle from this distance, with an open space in the centre. The slave’s quarters were to the south, adjoining them at a sharp right angle was another wall, behind which the horses were stabled. Attached to that block was another long straight wall that contained the gates and then came the part of the building where the occupiers lived with their household slaves in a small building beyond.
His mind showed him images of how the structure would look in the morning, burnt and ruined, with corpses lying outside, dark blood staining dead bodies. He felt no sympathy for what was to come or those whose lives he would take, just hatred, cold, black hatred, even the young would die if it came to that. He watched and waited until the last candle was extinguished from behind the window skins and then waited again. When after a while all was quiet, he searched the building with his eyes one final time to make sure no guards had been posted, there were none, how arrogant and at ease were these fools? He stood up, stretched his aching limbs and then joined his warriors beyond the bank, a short distance away where they waited.
“Is it time?” Drustan asked. Dumnoc placed a hand on his friends shoulder and smiled. “It is my friend.”
Some considerable miles further north-east at Isca Dumnoniorum, Centurion Varro secured his cloak with a brooch bearing the Second Augusta insignia engraved on it. It was usually positioned over his right shoulder when he was out in the field and held his deep red cloak in place away from his sword arm. Today it was above his sternum over the centre of his chest as he wasn’t expecting to fight within the heavily fortified garrison. He checked the leather laces of his boots, pulling them tight and then left his bunk. He was the officer of the watch and found himself once again going out to check the men who stood guard on the garrison’s walled perimeter. He would be glad when the campaigning season started again and he could leave the walls behind and the duties that he found himself performing. Like all other soldiers and officers, when they weren’t engaged in active duty, the routine of military life took over, guarding, maintaining equipment, drilling, training and more training. After a while it became monotonous but it was necessary as he well knew.