Decurion Marcus Aurelius, the warrior who wields the Sword of Cartimandua arrives home to find his world devastated by losses he cannot comprehend. He is sent north to the land of the Votadini where he becomes embroiled in an insurrection which threatens to destroy every fort north of the Roman Wall. When he is given command of a turma in the Ala Petriana he has to forge another weapon to fight the barbarians. The novel is filled with intrigue, conspiracy and battle. It culminates in a savage encounter deep in the forests of Kielder where the Sword of Cartimandua has, once more, to save Rome.
My first book, when I first started writing, all those years ago was the Sword of Cartimandua. Book 100 is the last in the series, Roman Courage. It was a hard book to write for I had to tie in the Sword series with the Saxon Dawn series. The style is also different from my more recent books. It took longer than most of my books but I am pleased with it.
2017 has been a good year for me. You have all been very supportive of me and 99% of the comments I have received have been positive. It is a delight to check my emails in the morning and find what I consider friends, commenting with my books. Rest assured that I will continue to write so long as the ideas come. I will be 68 in January but the writing makes me feel like a 21 year old. Thank you to all my readers for making me feel that way.
Excerpt
The Romans passed Randel and his men. Randel did not need to look at his men. They would attack as soon as he stood and raced towards the Romans. He carried no shield and he wore no helmet. None of his tribe did. He had a sword in one hand and a long dagger in the other. They would be more than enough. Randel had a chest like an oak tree and his arms were so strong that he could lift any of his warriors above his head. He was also fast. He could outrun most men.
Looking up the road Randel saw that the Romans were almost level with the stone marker. Randel knew where Baradh and the men lay hidden but he could not see them. Suddenly there was a shout and Baradh led his warriors from hiding. Randel was already on his feet and running towards the road. The leather shoes he wore were not like the ones worn by the Romans. They were not studded with iron. He was silent. He felt, rather than heard his eager warriors rise behind him. Their movement was like a sigh. Ahead he saw the Romans moving into a defensive formation. A scream told him that one of the men his brother was leading had died. It was one of the Romans pulling the carts who alerted them to their danger. He saw Randel and the sixty men behind him and, even as he shouted a warning, it was too late.
Randel was fast and his long dagger tore into the Roman’s throat. Without waiting for the others Randel hacked his sword across the neck of another Roman. He did not have the best blade nor the sharpest edge. It did not matter for the blow was so powerful that it broke the Roman’s neck. His men were amongst the Romans. The Roman auxiliaries had spears and they had shields but they were facing Baradh and his men. It was not a battle, it was butchery. Even when some turned to face the new threat and presented shields, it was to no avail. The barbarians were inside the shield wall and they outnumbered the Romans. Randel dropped to one knee and used his sword and dagger to hamstring two Romans. As they fell other warriors slit their throats. It was all over faster than Randel could believe. There had been sixty Romans and now there were sixty corpses.
Randel looked up and saw his brother. He raised his sword, “Aieee! Victory!”
His brother, bloody but unwounded, raised his own sword and shouted, “Aieee! Victory!”
The men from Tadgh’s clan had paid the largest price. Twenty of them lay dead but the survivors were exultant. They took the heads and the manhoods from the dead Romans.
Randel turned to his men, “Strip the bodies. We have mail and we have weapons. Now we can take the fort!”
He had a plan. It was basic and it was simple. They would take the mail, weapons and helmets from the dead. Sixty of his men would don the Roman war gear. They would wait until it was almost dark and then run towards the gate pursued by the rest. They would now be a much smaller number. Baradh knew a few of the Roman words and he would wear the uniform of the leader. He would shout for them to open the gate. Even if the garrison was suspicious and kept the gates closed, they would not use their deadly weapons which threw the long man-sized bolts. They would wait to speak with their comrades. It was those long bolts which had slaughtered many of Tadgh’s people.
Randel donned the clothes of the man carrying the bird. The wolf’s skin would hide Randel’s long hair. That was another reason for the timing of the assault. His clan favoured long hair. The Romans cropped theirs. The leather vest felt tight against his skin and the mail he donned did not feel right. It smelled of blood. He had no time to clean it. The metal which hung down between his legs also felt strange. The helmet was a tight fit. He was loath to discard his sword and so he jammed it in the belt behind his back. The Roman’s sword might have been sharper but his own sword had been handed down from father to son since before the time of the Romans. The sun was fading when all were ready.
He turned to the ones dressed in Roman war gear, “Remember we run as the Romans run. We run in lines of fours. Keep together. Those who are supposed to be attacking us do not risk yourselves. Make sure you are far enough behind us that you cannot be hit by their bolts and their javelins. Keep screaming insults at the Romans. The more noise you make the more of you they will think there are.”
He turned and Baradh raised his spear and they began to move. Randel glanced around. His men were not marching in time, as the Romans had done. How did they do that? It would not matter for when they neared the fort they would be running. They spied the burning torches in the dark before they saw the fort. They glowed in the sky to the sword side. They marked the position of the fort.
Randel said, “Run!”
They began to run. The slapping of their feet on the stones sounded loud. Some of his men had taken the hobnailed sandals worn by the Romans. They made an even louder noise as they ran. As the fort came into sight they heard the sound of a Roman horn. That was to be expected. Each time visitors were seen the Romans sounded it. Randel admired the Roman forts. They were solid. He and his brother had visited a few. They were identical. With towers over the gates and at the corners they were a formidable bastion. As they ran he saw the deadly bolt throwers and their crew at the towers. He had seen a body transfixed by one of those. The hole through the dead man had been as big as Randel’s fist! Behind the fake Romans, those chasing were screaming loudly and lewdly!
A Roman voice shouted something. Even Baradh could not make out the words but his brother shouted in reply, “Open the gates!”
