Twenty men accompanied the warrior king; three mounted, the rest on foot, and all heavily armed. Caratacus dismounted his horse, handing his great axe to one of his men before embracing Venutius.
“You are most welcome, noble friend and ally!” Venutius said enthusiastically.
The queen was more reserved, but still cordial in her remarks. “We do welcome you, Caratacus of the Catuvellauni,” she said. “A feast has been prepared in honor of your visit.”
“It is I who am honored,” Caratacus said with a formal bow before the three entered the queen’s great hall. The other men who had come on horseback were Catuvellauni nobles who Caratacus had installed as vassals within Atrebates, and they also accompanied their king into the great hall. The remaining warriors were sent to rallying square, where warriors gathered when summoned by the queen. Here they would enjoy their own feast with those who they hoped would soon join them in the coming fight.
“What news have you of the Romans?” Venutius asked, cutting to the chase as he and Caratacus sat across from each other at the longest table. Cartimandua sat at the head and listened to the two men while she ate and drank in silence. While her consort was very gruff and often times belligerent in his speech, she was far more measured and languid in her responses.
“They are coming,” Caratacus confirmed with a nod as he took a bite of roasted beef, quaffing it down with a long pull of ale. “Not this year, though. My brother guesses they will come either next spring or early summer.”
“I had heard of movements of large bodies of Roman troops on the mainland,” Venutius said. “Are we certain they will not invade our shores this season?”
“Togodumnus and a number of our best scouts have been scouring the landscape,” the Catuvellauni king replied. “There is a massive shift happening within their empire. And while there are Roman soldiers congregating around the settlements on the coast of Belgica, their numbers are too few to constitute an invasion force at this time. They did, however, spot the standards of four legions posted in a camp outside Gesoriacum.”
“A leaders’ reconnaissance,” Venutius observed.
Caratacus nodded in reply.
“As you know,” he continued, “Verica of the Atrebates fled to Rome like a whipped dog after we annexed his lands. I had even offered to make him my chief warlord for the region! He could have essentially kept his lands without a drop of blood being spilled, and all I asked for in return was a reasonable tribute and acknowledgment as his king. He refused, and I was forced to put down his warriors and burn his hall to the ground.”
“A senseless loss of life that he could have avoided,” Venutius asserted.
Cartimandua stared hard at him. She found her husband’s flattery nauseating, yet she still maintained her silence.
“And if successful, the Romans will demand far more of him than you, my noble friend.”
“And that is why I have come to you,” Caratacus said. “Your kingdom is large and the number of warriors you can call up vast. My brother is seeking out our worthiest friends and allies to stand with him against Rome. I decided to come to Brigantes personally.”
“Even if we joined you,” Cartimandua finally spoke up, “the combined numbers of your warriors and mine would not be enough to repel a full-scale invasion from the Romans.”
Venutius cringed at his wife’s emphasis on the fact that their nation’s warriors fell under her command and not his.
“The kingdoms of this land are divided, with many bloody rivalries going back centuries. Who’s to say any of them will stand with you?”
“I can unite them,” Caratacus emphasized. “No doubt a few of the weaker nations will bow like frightened children before the invaders. Their numbers are so few that we can do without cowards who pose as warriors. I already have pledged an alliance with the Silures2, who have promised me every fighting man they have to expel the Romans.”
“A strong ally to have,” Venutius observed.
The Silures were indeed one of the most warlike and feared tribes in all of Britannia, with a reputation of being willing to fight to the death rather than capitulate.
“And they will willingly fall under yours or your brother’s command?” the queen asked, her tone implying a rhetorical question that did not need answering.
“They will fight,” Caratacus restated.
Cartimandua continued to eat in silence for most of the evening, listening intently as her husband and the king talked of smashing the Romans and driving them into the sea before they could even claim a single scrap of Britannia. But unlike Venutius, who was already overstepping his authority by all but promising to send warriors to Caratacus, she knew the political situation within the isle was far more complex. This Catuvellauni warrior was no doubt very charismatic and would most certainly forge a sizeable alliance from many of the kingdoms. However, she also knew that while warlike tribes such as the Silures would prove strong allies, others would offer only tepid support that would be unreliable at best. And there were others who would either attempt to remain neutral or, perhaps, even welcome the invaders. Certainly the conquered Atrebates would be amongst these, as well as the Cantiaci, whose lands were on the southeast coast. The channel of the sea was narrowest between their lands and the Roman Empire.
“Thank you, Caratacus,” Cartimandua spoke up, interrupting the men. “We have much to discuss and will let you know our intentions in due course. Meantime you will remain as my guests this evening.”
“But your husband has assured me that the Brigantes will aid us,” the king said, his face twisted in puzzlement.
“A premature assurance, and one that was not his to give.”
The words clearly angered her consort, who looked down and scowled in frustration.
“But I promise you that we will bring your request to our council and then render our decision after we determine what is best for our people.”
Caratacus snorted and rose to his feet, making ready to leave. “I should have known,” he said with a trace of contempt in his voice. “King Breogan was a lapdog to the Romans, yet I had hoped his daughter was of braver stock.”
“You will have our answer in due time,” Cartimandua persisted, keeping her voice calm. “Insult my father again and you will no longer be counted among the friends of the Brigantes.”
Her words bit into her husband, though Caratacus appeared unaffected.
“Apologies,” he said. “I only hope that when the time comes, the Brigantes will recognize who their true friends are.” He then nodded to Venutius and promptly exited the hall.
“What have you done?” Venutius snapped as soon as his friend was out of earshot. “You would deny our people a chance at martial glory whilst making an enemy of one of my closest friends? We risk war with Caratacus after he deals with the Romans!”
“And what do we risk if we do join him?” Cartimandua replied smoothly. “Even if Caratacus is able to raise up half this isle to fight the Romans, does he think they’ll all willingly subjugate themselves to his command? In all of Britannia, every king and war chief’s bravery is only matched by his ego. He may be able to rally masses to fight, but he will not be able to control them. And just how long does he think he can keep such a force in the field? The Romans can simply wait them out, if they wish, and then overwhelm each tribe individually at their leisure.”
Venutius spat on the ground in contempt. “Caratacus is right. I thought I had married a warrior queen, not a Roman boot-licker!”
“You forget yourself, husband.” Cartimandua’s eyes narrowed, her patience waning. “It is I who rules Brigantes, not you, and it is I who is responsible for the welfare of our people. Never forget your place or attempt to undermine me in front of guests ever again; else I’ll divorce you and cast you out of my house!”