Blood of Rome Retribution (The Blood of Rome Chronicles Book 2)

  Copyright John Salter 2014

  First Edition

  The author has asserted their moral right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.

  All Rights are reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, copied, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written consent of the copyright holder, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  For My Family

  Previous Books by John Salter

  Blood of Rome Caratacus

  Prologue

  In AD 43, a vast Roman invasion fleet landed on the shores of Britannia intent on conquest. Many tribes on the huge island did not resist, some surrendered without even drawing a sword, one, however did not. It was led by a man named Caratacus.

  With his brother dead, he led the Catuvellauni in their resistance against the legions of Rome. During the first few days, two major battles took place at the Rivers Medway and Thames, where superior weaponry and tactics won the day for the invaders.

  Forced to abandon his tribal capitol Camoludunum against overwhelming odds, Caratacus led his warriors west to the mountains of the Silures, a fierce and warlike tribe, who joined the resistance, with him as their chieftain.

  Three years have passed and Caratacus has established a stronghold in the mountains and valleys from where he and his warriors launch deadly attacks upon those who have come to take his land, his people, and his life; for him surrender is not an option.

  The mighty Roman Empire that had conquered virtually all who stood before it, were now uncertain of victory as their march westward faltered on the misty, windswept and mystical island of Britannia. This is what happened next in the life of

  Caratacus of the Catuvellauni

  This is his story

  Blood of Rome

  Retribution

  Chapter One

  The two men sat in the coracle watching their fishing lines as the breeze and current gently lifted them up and down in the water. The weather had been mild over the winter months and was once again kind as the day’s sun reflected glistening light off the shimmering water. They had become like brothers over the past three years, living and fighting together through victories and defeats against a common enemy, resisting the men intent on bringing about their destruction. Today however, wasn’t a day for fighting, setting out before dawn, they had wanted to get an early start knowing that the fish would bite and hoping their haul would be good. Six large fish already lay at the side of the small boat, eyes unseeing, waiting to be smoked later.

  From a distance the small vessel was a mere speck on the water in the valley as it floated freely allowing the current to move it as was it’s want, this way and that, gently rising and falling. From the shore a war band of fifty warriors watched on, as their leaders fished, keeping guard and making sure they weren’t disturbed by unwelcome visitors. Caratacus wore a thin sleeveless green tunic with light woollen breeches; his dark blue and claret coloured woven cloak was folded over neatly in the base of the boat with his long sword at his side.

  Gone was his long hair of a few years before, taken by the lime he had applied so often before going to war against the foreign aggressors. His head was now clean shaven and shone with perspiration and a close cropped beard covered his face. He gave his line a gentle tug, but there was nothing there. The skin over his muscled arms was quickly browning again in the early spring sunshine as he sat enjoying the warmth and the company of his close friend and companion, his cousin Ardwen. Blue Celtic swirls and patterns were tattooed on both men’s arms reaching up to their shoulders and necks as was the fashion for the warriors of Albion. Ardwen still had a full head of hair that reached down to his shoulders and beyond, he wore only his beige breeches; so warm was the weather. His other clothing had been thrown in a heap next to his cousin’s cloak.

  “It’ll not last.” Ardwen announced, suddenly bringing Caratacus out of his day dream. He looked up at him knowing full well exactly what he meant.

  “What won’t last? What are you talking about?” He asked.

  “The peace,” Ardwen replied, “the peace won’t last,” He stared at Caratacus, “and you know it. We can sit here for weeks, a month maybe more but now the spring is here, they’ll come again.” Ardwen looked around at the water, “With winter over, our friends at Isca will be preparing to come and ruin our tranquillity once again it’s just a question of when.”

  Caratacus looked back at the fishing lines, “I’m sure you’re right, I wonder who they will send against us this time, one thing’s certain, it won’t be the great General Vespasian. I heard that after he returned to Rome he retired from the military and went to the country to lick his wounds but was called back to the Senate where he now builds his career as a politician. They will have many more competent generals to send into the hills to die, maybe one commanding the Second Augusta, although after the mauling we gave them, some of their men will be hesitant.”

  “I still can’t believe all the tribes in the east just rolled over and bent their knees, fucking cowards the lot of them.” Ardwen said hawking up phlegm and spitting it into the water, where it landed with a splash and then floated.

  “Steady on, we don’t want the fish diseased through the scrapings of your nose eh?” Caratacus said. “I don’t want to find that in my food either, I wouldn’t be in any condition to fight if I ended up swallowing that thing.”

  Ardwen smiled and looked to the tree covered shore. “Did you think they’d be here this long?” He asked.

  Caratacus followed his gaze, “Albion? I don’t know, I’ve never really thought about it too much. The tribes in the east seem to have allowed them to settle in, although we still hear reports of unrest from time to time. I think most of the chieftains are content to have a quiet life. Initially they were happy to take their gold and bribes but now they are the ones paying the price through taxes, slaves and having to give high quotas of their crops to feed the legions. I couldn’t have lived that way but I think some of the people were glad to see the back of us Catuvellauni to be honest.” He felt his line tug and go taught, he pulled quickly, smiling as he hauled in another thrashing fish. “I often think about Camoludunum and those we left behind. What must they think of us, of me for abandoning them?” He corrected himself.

  Ardwen removed the hook and put the still struggling fish with the others. “You didn’t abandon anybody if you remember. You left so that you could continue to fight. Anyway they could have come with you if they’d wanted to but they chose to stay there, so fuck them.” He looked at the fish again as its struggle slowed and finally it stopped its mouth wide as if still searching for breath. “The place won’t look the same anyway now or the people. It will be full of square stone buildings and that temple to Claudius that we heard they were building. That tells you something about the man! He actually thinks he’s a God or something, just like the others before him.”

  Caratacus put some more bait on his hook and threw the line back into the water. “He’s no God, that’s for sure. I’d like to see him take my sword through the stomach. That would prove he’s just a man. I’d thrust it in so far his ancestors would feel it. There wouldn’t be any divine intervention, just a dead fool.” He watched as Ardwen laughed and pulled in another fish.

  “Thank you fish, I couldn’t go back with less of your friends than this fellow here.” He counted the catch, “That will do for tod
ay won’t it? There are enough juicy ones here for a feast tonight after we’ve given them a little smoking.”

  Caratacus replied, “Yes I suppose your right.” Then he looked back at Ardwen.

  “What is it?” Ardwen asked, “What’s the matter?”

  “Do you remember some time ago, you said that I should give up my name because you thought it sounded too Roman?”

  “Yes I do remember, and yes it does. I think your parents must have been too influenced by all the trade with Rome or something, maybe all that wine went to their heads, so what about it, what are you saying?” He asked.

  “I think you were right. I don’t want to be known as Caratacus anymore, I want to cast it aside.” He looked to the shoreline where he could just about make out the war band baking in the sun. “When we get back to shore, my name will be Caradoc. That is the name of the man who will lead the fight for our people. Caratacus, we leave behind for the water to take.”

  Ardwen smiled, “Good it’s about time as well.” He picked up an oar from the floor of the small boat, “Right then, Caradoc it is, come on,” he nodded at the other oar, “time to row. You may have changed your name but that doesn’t mean that you can just lounge about and let everyone else do all the hard work does it?”

  They slowly made their way to the shore where they stepped out of the small boat and dragged it onto dry land. Ardwen handed the fish to one of the waiting men, who slid two thin sharpened wooden stakes through their heads and then strapped them to the side of his saddle for safe carriage back to the settlement. It would take a few hours to get back to the mountain hideout but the journey would be safe and uneventful. Although the Second Augusta had attempted to make a major incursion into their territory a few years before, they had not been seen since. Trapped and isolated, the men of Vespasian’s legion had sought refuge on a mountain top after their column was ambushed in the valleys below. The battle had raged on for days until the Twentieth Legion came to their aid and the Britons eventually withdrew. With a high casualty rate and men running out of ammunition for their bows, few javelins left and virtually no food, the Twentieth had arrived just in time as the Britons pushed for a complete and all out victory.

  The Catuvellauni and the Silures had withdrawn from the region almost entirely initially but on seeing the Roman army retreat all the way back to Isca Dumnoniorium, they had returned and had now established full control of the mountains and valleys to the far west of the country. At Isca Dumnoniorium, the Second Augusta were replenished of the men killed or so badly wounded that they were retired from the army altogether. Legionaries were taken from other legions in Britannia and within a few months, they were back to full strength, five thousand men. With small revolts occurring in the south west, they were kept busy enough and had not yet returned to challenge Caradoc. After two years those rebelling against the occupation in their region were put down and a fragile peace began.

  Work on the garrison at Isca Dumnoniorium had also continued and now where initially there had been a relatively small fort where soldiers had lived in tents, it had been replaced with wooden and concrete structures as more permanent buildings were erected. The new garrison town now dominated the land for miles around. A forty two acre site made Isca Dumnoniorium one of the largest Roman fortified installations in the country and slowly trade began to flourish. A permanent sea harbour had also been constructed a few miles from the garrison, where galleys and supply vessels could be seen off-loading supplies bound for the growing town and surrounding regions.

  Relationships with the local people had also developed as they began to see some of the benefits from the occupying force but a few were still yet to be convinced that they could live with the men who had come from afar bringing with them traders and even civilian settlers. There were still problems however, and every once in a while a dispute would end in violence between the indigenous populations and the new arrivals, but overall, life was beginning to settle into a routine.

  The same thing could be said of the mountainous region where Caradoc now found himself with the Silures. Tribes in the region had heard of his success against Vespasian’s legion and some had joined their growing number after they were given captured soldiers to use as slaves or as their people saw fit. Word had spread that the Roman’s had reached as far north as the southern lands of the Brigantes during the last campaigning season. Those who had not joined Caradoc now watched with interested eyes to see how this would affect him and his allies. If the rumours were true it meant that all those living in the west would effectively be cut off from the east and the north. If the abstainers chose to fight Caradoc knew full well that it could determine the overall outcome of the occupation. The question now however was on whose side would they fall if any. Consequently, he and Ardwen had spent a lot of time talking to the councils and elders of the other tribes, trying to win their swords in the event of a further Roman incursion.

  Caradoc also knew that having eyes and ears in Roman occupied land was vital not only to their survival but also in order that he could plan a strategy of attack. His intelligence network had already outlined where they had built new forts and had constructed roads as they spread their boot prints over the country. Not long after he had arrived in the mountains, he had sent out spies to live and work the land near all Roman military encampments and settlements. Crofters, carpenters, shepherds, butchers and ironsmiths were now deeply in-bedded so that he had a good understanding of the enemy, what they were doing and most vitally, what their intentions were.

  The lands to the south west had seen the occupiers build large stone buildings that he understood were called villas. These places were where important and influential Roman families lived, those who had followed their army intent on plunder and theft. Some were isolated and those that weren’t, only had small forts nearby for protection. Cavalry patrols monitored these areas, visiting these places fairly often but he knew they could not be at all places at all times. As they became more confident and assured of their safety, the villas began to spring up even further into the countryside, so the aid from the forts became less reliable and some were literally hours from help. Caradoc had asked his spies to provide him with drawn plans of these buildings and maps detailing their whereabouts. He had studied them carefully and knew they were tempting targets as he found various weak points. If he could attack and successfully destroy even a few of these places, other Romans would think twice before trying to settle there again and it would provoke their military into action, which is what he wanted.

  The previous years had given him time to reflect on his defeats and he had come to realise that unless he had overwhelming numbers and even then, changed his tactics, it would be foolish to face them again as he had at the Medway and Thames, when they had first arrived. A better strategy was called for and a different way of thinking and striking terror into the hearts of those who had come to enslave the people of Albion.

  With the war band mounted, they set off into the hills and rode towards one of their major settlements high in the hills, along narrow twisting paths and tracks.

  “So what of Dumnoc?” Asked Ardwen. “Have you heard when he intends to attack the villa we discussed?”

  “We’ll know soon enough but I’m sure it will be long after it’s actually happened and those who live there are all dead.” Caradoc answered as he swung his cloak over the rump of his horse. He had chosen his first target as autumn had begun the previous year. He had to temper the urge to attack as soon as he had identified a likely dwelling, and realised that waiting would be better and would cause more damage to the minds of others when it did occur. A slow trickle of attacks would soon turn into a tide; one that he hoped would force the intruders back. A high ranking civilian official was residing there with his family and slaves far to the south west of the country in the land of the Dumnonii. It was a large agricultural region and ran down to the toe of the map, south west of the River Exe. The Romans had already begun to become complacent as th
ey constructed their fine buildings with pictures on the floors and walls as they settled further and further away from any military assistance.

  Caradoc had been told that the occupiers intended to show the Britons that they were not the demons they had been described as and were willing to live amongst them with their families, side by side, working together, prospering. The civilian official who ‘owned’ this land was said to have come from Rome itself and was intent on constructing large vineyards on Dumnonii land, where the weather was warmer and the climate kinder. He lived there with his wife and three daughters, all thought to be under twelve years of age. The household consisted of ten slaves and fifty others who worked the land. They were overseen by what the Romans called freedmen. There were twelve all told and they wore swords at their sides but would be easily overcome by determined warrior’s intent on their destruction.

  “That’s good, the sooner we start spreading the poison of terror into them the better.” Ardwen replied. “What will Dumnoc and his people do afterwards, come north?” He asked.

  “I’ve told him to make sure they vanish back to their crofts and settlements and carry on as if nothing happened. They’ll wait until things are quiet and then strike again when the time is right. Three of the slaves at this particular villa have even said they want to help during the attack if they can, they want to join us; they will escort their families north afterwards.” Caradoc said.

  “What of the Roman children?” Ardwen asked.

  Caradoc looked at him with hard determined eyes, “I’ve told Dumnoc to take them if possible and have them brought here, they will make good slaves and their taking will horrify any other families who are trying to show that they are the same as us. If that is not possible, they are to have their throats cut and will burn with those who resist.”