John Salter - Retribution

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 today 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.