Authors: Paul Bannister
Arthur Imperator (2 page)
With
hard, straight roads, it is possible to make fast journeys. Famously, the emperor Titus once covered 500 miles in 24 hours to be at the bedside of his dying brother Drusus. Dispatch riders routinely cover 200 miles in ten hours, using relays of fresh horses. I had myself made a speedy circuit of Britain, using a three-horse
raeda
carriage to take me from south to north and back again when I needed to rally the chieftains against Maximian’s invasion force. That swift journey had paid great rewards, but the real use of such roads is for troop movements. The straight and smooth highways allow rapid-response cavalry and even infantry to cover long distances in short time, and to meet an invader before he can establish a firm foothold. In good conditions, lookouts in watch towers can light their beacons to send smoke by day or fire signals by night ahead of any raiders so that our pony soldiers can hold them at the beaches, until infantry arrive and hurl them back into the sea.
These
are tactics I learned from the Romans, who employed them on the Rhine frontier. They built a military road parallel to the river and stationed troops back from it, placed strategically so they could respond to any crossing. It is a tactic that calls for a few more forces, but lets them be used much more effectively than attempting to man the entire border with a single thin screen.
Chester
has other advantages as well as its central position at a crossroads for the British plains and the Welsh mountains. It is a major trading centre. In its distant hinterlands are wide wheat-growing areas that have fed the legions for centuries; the Dee river on which it stands is navigable and can be used as a highway, and the commanding fortress overlooks a fine tidal harbour at the head of a 20-mile estuary to the Hibernian Sea and the trade routes to Gaul and Iberia.
Chester’s
legions were not positioned there for trade, though. The garrison commands a choke point, a bottleneck battleground through which invaders must come, and is well placed for troops to push into the mountains of Wales where the tribes of small dark men had felt themselves inviolable for centuries.
I
mused about those mountains. Britain has three lots of highlands: the Pennines and north into Pictland, which is also called Pictavia; the southwest peninsula, and Wales. This last is bracketed inland by the estuaries of the Dee and the Severn, and whoever controls those two regions holds the keys to the kingdom, because military campaigns have to be carried out in lowlands, where armies can move. The Romans understood this and established their great camps at Chester and at Caerleon. Those two garrisons meant that the highlands where men could retreat in safety were separated from each other. The legions kept the rebels separated, and they could not provide aid to their fellows from one highland fastness or the other without challenging the legions of Caerleon or Chester.
With
this principle in mind, I had also restored the great fort of the ancients at Cadbury, now called Caros’ Camp, to further control the men of the southwest and to dominate the plains and rolling chalk downs of the south where I planned to breed my horses.
In
the northeast, the old colonial capital of Eboracum similarly acted as a garrison against the hillmen of the Pennines and Pictland. The essential key to peace is to keep insurgents separated. The Picts are still an ongoing nuisance, but are essentially raiders, not invaders. The Welsh gave incomers their troubles, and their nation’s steep terrain made fine protection for rebels who could escape before any major forces could trap them, but the Romans dealt with the problem by slicing a few military roads through their snowy mountains and dense forests. Then, when minor chieftains attempted to rally a national force behind them, the Romans isolated and captured the insurgents.
Four
times the legions had held mock coronations for Welsh insurgents who would be kings, but they had not coronated them with a crown of gold, or grass in the old Roman way. Instead, a circlet of iron heated in a smithy’s furnace until it glowed dull red had been clamped onto each rebel head, and the new, failed monarchs had died screaming as their scalps smoked and flared, their blood hissed on the hot iron and their brains cooked.
Those
terrible deaths inspired others to quiet, and in time, peace became the norm; by the time the Romans had gone and I had arrived even the once-wild mountain men could be seen walking in our markets, gaping at the goods on display, and it was considered safe for a woman with a small escort to travel to the most remote corners of the wind-blasted, craggy region.
Which
was what my Guinevia planned to do, and it was causing me an unease I could not explain. It should be a simple journey. In my mind’s eye, I see her leaving with her servant and four legionaries, riding out through the elmwood gates of the castrum waving her scarf and smiling up at me as I watch from the parapet. An ominous feeling clutches at my vitals, but I can see no rational reason for it. I once told her of my fears and forebodings, and she had smiled gently. “I must go to see Myrddin, he has much to teach me still, and I foresee nothing to fear, but I shall cast for an augury again.” I could not argue. She wanted to learn from her mentor more of his dark arts so that she could help me. Already, as an adept of the goddess Nicevenn, witch of the Wild Hunt, she can exercise magical powers before which I am just her waiting servant, not the scarred and bearded big soldier that others see.
But
I have things to do, and I paused my parapet-pacing to gather my thoughts. I must have been staring for some moments at one of the nervous sentries, for I saw he had paled and was rigidly at attention. He must have thought I was studying him and trembled. I am no friend to most. I am a soldier, and I have seen my comrades die, which takes away your softness. Few think of me as friend, which is a pity as I am not hostile, just hardened. I stared at the sentry a moment longer, then told him: “Send the tribune Allectus to me,” as I turned and limped into my administrative chamber, once again cursing the mouldering dead bones of the Saxon who chopped my foot. At least he died at my hand and in pain.
My
work chamber is a big, airy room with the Roman luxury of a hypocaust pumping steam heat through underfloor pipes so that even in winter chills, which are still some months away, it is a comfortable place. I have a fireplace and proper chimney for winter fires, and even a window made with small panes of greenish Italian glass, replaced where they have been broken with thin slices of horn, so that even on cold winter days, I have some daylight entering. Today the shutters are open and admit a breeze, which stirs the wool hangings that cloak the stone-chill of the walls. The place boasts windows that overlook the harbour, a long, polished
mensa
on which to spread my working papers, petitions, lists and decrees, and a handful of stools and chairs for my guests. I keep a military cot in one corner so that I can wrap myself in my red officer’s cloak and sleep if needed, while staying available at the heart of the garrison.
Allectus
stepped in, sketching a salute with a forearm across his chest. A tall man, though not as tall as I, he has a snakelike head, and eyes that constantly flicker watchfully. Physically, we could not differ much more. I am a bear-like person with a pelt of body hair, he is wolfish, smooth and spare. He seems electric with energy, nervous and pale, always hungry-looking. He is a man with ink-stained fingers and seems constantly to be carrying a bundle of scrolls. For several years, he has been my treasurer and has overseen my mints, coiners and strongboxes, and although I have not doubted his fiscal honesty, there is about him an uneasy element that warns my instincts to be wary.
For
all that, he has been my confidant and advisor. We together took the step of breaking away from Rome, knowing that a crucifix each and iron nails through the forearms to fasten us to it would be our reward if we failed, so we are partners in the business of creating and ruling an empire, even if I have that sense of unease about the man.
On
this day, I wanted a financial picture from him, as I need to know what expenditures I could make. I have conceived a strategy to strengthen the defences of my nation. “The Saxons are an increasing menace, Allectus,” I said, coming abruptly to the point. “They are swarming ashore in the south and east and although our coastal defences are enough to hold off the war bands, it’s hard to turn back the boatloads of peaceful settlers who sneak in, abandon ship and move inland to farm and forage. They are not yet a threat to our security, but if some Saxon warlord opts to seize and hold some of our land, he could have a sympathetic population already in place to help him do just that.”
“And,”
I added, “not all the settlers may intend to stay peaceful for long. The bold ones will soon enough realize they have increasing numbers, and they’ll push our people out of the best lands. We need to act.”
“That,
Lord, would mean turning back the settlers,” said Allectus. “It’s one thing to identify an invading force and meet it in arms, but we can’t build an impregnable wall along hundreds of miles of coastline.”
I
knew the situation, and considered a solution. Our wooden walls, the fleet that had protected us from the Romans’ invasion attempts, could not be expected to intercept and turn back every boatload of farmers and herdsmen. Nor could we line the cliffs and beaches with soldiery to turn them back at spear point. What we could do was to build a mobile force that could be quickly moved in to flood an area if needed, either to turn back invaders or keep settlers under control and pacified.
“Give
me money for horses,” I told Allectus. “I want to start breeding horse herds from those on the downs near Aquae Sulis, where the ancient stone dances are sited. We can start with that stock, breed into it with heavy horses, and in a few years we’ll have built a proper cavalry force we can deploy quickly, anywhere in our island.”
My
reasoning was that neither the Saxons who were landing on our southern and eastern shores nor the Celts and Hibernians who raided the west much used mounted troops. Their battle tactics are similar: surprise and bare-chested fighting madness to overwhelm their opponents in a short, sharp encounter. We need to meet their threats with a force capable of resisting the initial impetus, and to create a prolonged battle in which the lightly-armoured enemy simply cannot prevail.
We
need power, but we also need mobility to face threats arriving from all directions. Horses provide the mobility to move troops fast and far. A chariot-borne force is one possibility, but I’d used chariots and wheeled warriors against the disciplined Romans, and found that those lightweight fighting platforms had some serious disadvantages.
First,
the chariots are unreliable for long-distance travel. They might not arrive in time to be effective, or might not arrive at all if they were shaken apart on the roads. Next and most critically, the chariots can only operate properly in open grassland, and just a few dozen well-placed stakes or ditches can thwart their attacks. Horse soldiers, on the other hand, can travel long distances quickly and operate almost anywhere, and cavalry will always prevail against foot soldiers. In confrontations where the horses could be at a disadvantage, my pony warriors can simply dismount and fight on foot.
All
I have to do is create a horse-borne army. It could be held centrally and could be deployed almost anywhere in the island in a few days. With the chain of fortifications I am building along the Saxon Shore allied to the naval patrols and lines of signal towers that cover much of the rest of Britain, a heavy cavalry force could be Britain’s land-based shield.
“You’ll
need a lot of coin,” said Allectus. “It isn’t just the horses that cost money. Each cavalryman will need a mail shirt, lance, sword, scabbard, shield and helmet. He’ll need to be fed and housed, he’ll need at least three horses.” He tapped his teeth thoughtfully. I asked him again about our treasury.
He
told me much of what I already knew. The gold mine in southern Wales was producing well, the mints in Londinium and Colchester had created fat reserves of coin and we had a considerable amount captured from the Roman pay chests after their defeat at Dungeness just a few weeks before. “It would be good to have Rouen still,” he said wistfully. That, I thought sourly, was whistling in the wind. Maximian had taken our Gallic possessions, including that mint and some considerable bullion before he sacked Bononia and drove us out of Gaul. One day, I thought grimly, he’ll pay for it.
Allectus
was talking again. “If we had to buy horse stock to start a breeding programme, we could manage with what coin and bullion we have. We’d need more as the thing went along. Maybe we could tax the Saxon settlers?” I nodded. Maybe, too, we could mount raids on Gaul and take bullion, slaves and horses. I’d robbed the pirates of the Narrow Sea in the past, maybe it was time to turn my fleet to some lawful piracy, but first, it was time to call in my officers and commence building a cavalry force, among other things.
Allectus
checked the scroll he was carrying, and looked up. He told me that the donatives I had commanded had been struck. “The Colchester mint is busy producing some fine coinage, Lord,” he said. “I should have samples here in the next day or so.” I nodded. I had to go to Londinium to parade the Eagles and oversee some executions to impress upon the populace that Arthur Britannicus had met and conquered the might of Rome. The troops would cheer for their victory and the populace would join in, but there would be more enthusiasm when we handed out gold and silver pieces with my image and some suitable inscriptions: ‘Rome conquered,’ ‘Restorer of Britain,’ and, I liked this touch: ‘Arthur and his Brothers,’ above the likenesses of myself, Maximian and Diocletian.
The
people knew we’d driven off the Romans, they had a vague idea that things might get better now they were rid of the absentee landlords, but to see their new emperor alongside the two masters of Rome, even if it was only on a coin, would validate my standing as rightful emperor. It would be good to have that validation, as I planned to have the losing general, the rogue general, as we would announce him, publicly executed.
Constantius
Chlorus, Constantius the Pale, was that general. Not only was he married to the daughter of Maximian, Augustus Caesar of the West, but also he was the junior Caesar, too, third-highest official of the Roman Empire. In the weeks since we had butchered his invasion force on the shingle of Dungeness, and had chained Chlorus to the wall of his cell, I had daily been expecting a message from Maximian or his fellow Augustus, Diocletian offering ransom for the Caesar. None had come.
“They
must think we’ll just tamely send him home on his horse,” I mused to Allectus. “They will not believe we’d execute him, as they would execute us. Well, we have nothing to lose and a lot to gain when he’s dispatched. You have to behead a few, but only the right ones if you wish to make a statement. This will send a message to any possible British rebels and a shock wave through the Caesars’ palaces, all of them, Milan, Nicomedia, Antioch and Rome. They’ll be furious at the insult, but they’d cheerfully kill us anyway and a bold message might make them think again – if they lead an invasion that fails, they could be next. I’ll announce that I’m executing Chlorus as a rebel against Rome.”
Allectus
nodded. “That’s wise. You announce that Chlorus acted without permission of his Augustus, and they save face. They might even thank their new brother emperor for saving Rome’s colonia. Of course, should they ever get the chance, we’ll lose our heads, but that was long ago decided. I think they’ll publicly castigate poor old Chlorus because they’re too busy elsewhere. Just handling the Alemanni on the Rhine and Danube has them stretched. They won’t want to divert forces for another invasion attempt that could end up on the sea bed like the last one.”
A
slave poured for us from a flagon of Rhenish wine. “Here’s to a good parade, and better donatives,” I said. “Polish your best helmet,” I teased him, knowing he never wore armour. “We should be in Londinium in a week or so for Chlorus’ final performance. You want to look warlike for that. By the way, brace yourself.” He looked nervous. “It’s eels for dinner.”
