Claudius by Douglas Jackson Read Free Book Online Page A

Togodumnus, you will . . .’
    It took two hours of hard bargaining before he had his way, but that was to be expected. He was dealing with proud men not in the habit of accepting orders, even from other kings. Epedos had been easier to persuade than he expected, willing to accept his tribe’s role in slowing the Roman advance and avoiding casualties. Caratacus knew the Atrebate leader would have difficulty restraining his men. The British approach to war was victory or death. To order a warrior to attack his enemy then vanish into the trees was like asking a bear to pin down its prey but not tear out its throat. It went against every instinct.
    After everyone had gone, he sat with Nuada close to the fire, discussing what was said, and, perhaps more important, what was not said.
    ‘There are not enough of them, not nearly enough. To stop the Romans we need every warrior south of the Tyne. The Silures and the Ordovici I can understand refusing my invitation, they have no reason to love us, but the Durotriges? Does Scarach believe he can sit behind the walls of that giant fortress of his until they go away? And the Coreltauvi? Do they think the Romans will ignore them because a wall of Catuvellauni dead lies between?’
    ‘And the Brigantes,’ Nuada said quietly. The Brigantes were the most numerous of the British tribes and held the mountainous north. With the Brigantes at his side Caratacus would have swooped on the Roman columns with the confidence of a hunting eagle.
    ‘Yes,’ he acknowledged, ‘the Brigantes. Why did she not heed my summons?’
    Nuada ignored the question, although he knew the answer well enough. ‘Will Adminius fight?’
    ‘No,’ Caratacus said decisively. ‘But even though I would give my right hand for the warriors he leads, it suits my purpose. Better to have him watching us bleed from the nearest hill than in the middle of my battle line less than a spear’s throw from my back. However, Adminius is not the only one with doubts. I had a sense of men hiding behind their smiles.’
    ‘Our scouts tell of groups of warriors riding hard by night,’ Nuada said. ‘Of meetings held where they would not be held by honest men. Wherever these men go the clay that binds us weakens and crumbles a little more.’
    ‘Then tell our scouts to bring me the heads of these spies, or better still bring me one alive so we can discuss the nature of their meetings and who attended them.’
    ‘The goddess Epona has been kind to them. The horses they mount are speedier and hardier than our British ponies. They allow our scouts to come close, then harness the wind to sweep them beyond our reach.’
    ‘Then we must ambush them,’ Caratacus said patiently, as if to an elderly relative. ‘Find some hidden place and set a trap.’
    Nuada raised one eyebrow, but otherwise showed no offence. ‘It appears they know the tracks and the forest ways as well as any of our people,’ he replied, with equal patience. ‘Almost as if they were our people.’
    A shadow fell over Caratacus’s face. It was not unexpected, but when he thought of his countrymen collaborating with the invaders he could feel the hot coals of a fire smouldering in his belly.
    ‘Adminius?’ Nuada said.
    ‘I don’t think so. Not yet. He cannot openly oppose us until he has convinced his tribe we cannot win. He can question what we do, but he dare not act. It is not our enemies I fear, but our friends.’
    Nuada opened his mouth to reply, but before he could speak a travel-stained figure burst into the meeting room.
    ‘Lord, forgive me,’ the man gasped, going down on one knee. Caratacus recognized Ballan, his chief scout, but he had never seen the man so agitated.
    ‘What is it, Ballan?’ he demanded, struggling to keep his voice calm. ‘What brings you to me in such haste that you feel the need to break every convention of the meeting house? Are the Romans upon us?’
    ‘No, lord.’ Ballan looked up self-consciously. ‘They are still