The Spear of Crom Read online

  Also by Tim Hodkinson

  The Whale Road Chronicles

  Odin’s Game

  The Raven Banner

  The Wolf Hunt

  The Serpent King

  The Bear’s Blade

  The Knight Templar Richard Savage Series

  Lions of the Grail

  The Waste Land

  THE SPEAR OF CROM

  Tim Hodkinson

  An Aries book

  www.headofzeus.com

  First published in the UK in 2013 by Acett Enterprises

  This revised edition first published in the UK in 2022 by Head of Zeus Ltd, part of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc

  Copyright © Tim Hodkinson, 2013, 2022

  The moral right of Tim Hodkinson to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act of 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  ISBN (PBO): 9781801105392

  ISBN (E): 9781801105378

  Cover design: Ben Prior

  Head of Zeus Ltd

  First Floor East 5–8

  Hardwick Street

  London EC1R 4RG

  WWW.HEADOFZEUS.COM

  Contents

  Welcome Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  Glossary

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  About the Author

  An Invitation from the Publisher

  To Trudy, Emily, Clara and Alice

  Mag Slecht

  Here used to stand a lofty idol, that caused many a fight,

  Its name was the Crom Cruach; it caused every tribe to live

  without peace.

  He was their god, old wizened Crom, hidden by many mists.

  And for the folk who believed in him, the eternal Kingdom of Heaven shall never be theirs.

  For Him they ingloriously slew their hapless firstborn babies,

  with much wailing and peril, and poured their blood round Crom

  Cruach

  From The Metrical Dindsenchas, the old Irish Lore of places

  Glossary

  Ala – Roman cavalry. The word means ‘wing’ in Latin. In the imperial era, the cavalry were elite units made up of auxiliaries (from the Latin word auxilia, ‘help’), people from the Roman provinces who were free but did not hold Roman citizenship, something that was required to be a legionary. The Latin word ala (plural alae) gave us the modern term allies.

  Brittunculi – ‘Nasty little brits’. It seems this derogatory term was used for the natives by Roman soldiers stationed in Britain. The term was recently discovered by archaeologists working on the Vindolanda tablets, a hoard of first- and second-century Roman military documents discovered near Hadrian’s Wall in the North of England.

  Cohort – A tactical unit of a Roman legion. About 480 men. A maniple was a smaller unit, about 120 men.

  Cornu – (plural cornua). A long brass horn curled into the shape of the letter ‘G’. Along with the other brass horn, the buccina, cornua were used by the Roman army for signalling and relaying orders during battle.

  Decurion – An officer in the ala. Commander of a turma.

  Dobunni – An ancient British tribe whose kingdom covered roughly what is now the English counties of North Somerset, Bristol and Gloucestershire and at times also parts of Oxfordshire, Wiltshire, Worcestershire and Warwickshire. Their capital acquired the Roman name of Corinium Dobunnorum (Cirencester). This is the name given to their capital in this book because it is Roman characters who refer to it. The hill fort (oppidum) that appears in this story is now called Bagendon. Its actual name is lost to history.

  Duplicarius – A non-commissioned officer, second in command of a turma. The name means ‘double pay’, reflecting the higher salary of the duplicarius.

  Erin/Hibernia – Ancient Ireland. The Roman name, Hibernia, supposedly reflects their opinion of the weather there (the Latin word hibernus can be translated as ‘wintry’). The Romans also sometimes called Ireland Scotia, ‘land of the Scoti’ (Scots).

  Fetial – A type of Roman priest. Fetials advised the senate on foreign affairs and international treaties and made formal proclamations of war. They also carried out the functions of ambassadors. The College of Fetiales was a legal body, the guild to which fetial priests belonged. They were devoted to Jupiter as the patron of good faith.

  Finnabair – Finnabair appears in the ancient Irish epic, the Táin Bó Cúailnge. Her name could mean ‘white phantom’ and is the Gaelic equivalent of the Welsh name Gwenhwyfar (Guinevere).

  Hasta – a long, heavy lance used by the Roman cavalry

  Legate – Legatus, commander of a Roman legion.

  Optio – An officer in the Roman legion, roughly equivalent to a modern-day lieutenant.

  Pilum – The standard javelin carried by roman legionaries. The pilum (plural pila) was around 2 metres long overall, consisting of an iron shank about 60 cm long with a pyramidal head, its base connected to a wooden shaft.

  Praefect – Commander of an ala regiment.

  Silures – A war-like ancient British tribe whose kingdom occupied a large part of what is modern-day South Wales, as well as parts of Gloucestershire and Herefordshire in modern England. The Silures were a thorn in the side of the Romans, waging constant war against the invaders and even defeating the Second Legion in battle. It is a tribute to their indomitable character that the Roman historian Tacitus (Agricola’s son-in-law and biographer) wrote of the Silures: non atrocitate, non clementia mutabatur – they were ‘changed neither by cruelty nor by clemency’.

  Torc – From Latin ‘to twist’. The broad twisted rope of gold worn around the neck by Celts to denote noble rank. Torcs were also awarded by the Roman army for bravery.

  Tribunus laticlavius – One of the six tribunes who commanded a Roman legion. Essentially second in command to the legate, the title laticlavius means ‘broad-striped’, reflecting the broad purple
stripe that this tribune bore on his paludamentum – the scarlet cloak that was part of the uniform and denoted his rank as part of the senatorial class in Roman society.

  Trinovantes – The Trinovantes were a tribe from Eastern Britain. Their territory was north of the Thames estuary in what is now Essex and Suffolk, including land now in Greater London. To the north of them were Boudicca’s tribe, the Iceni, and the Trinovantes were partners in the rebellion led by her. The capital of the Trinovantes (and first target of Boudicca) was Camulodunum (modern Colchester), one proposed site of the legendary Camelot.

  Turma – A unit of the ala. A troop of around thirty mounted warriors.

  1

  AD 59, Roman Province of Britannia

  The cavalry trooper never saw it coming.

  He had just removed his helmet to wipe the incessant rain from his face when the stone whistled out of the trees. It struck him squarely on the right cheekbone, shattering it with a crack like someone snapping a dry twig. The trooper gave a brief cry of shock and pain as he tumbled from his horse, both hands clutching his face. A bright red splash of blood sprayed the trooper riding on his left.

  Fergus MacAmergin cursed. They were not yet half a mile away from camp and already they were under attack.

  ‘Stone thrower, sir,’ one of the other troopers shouted. ‘Slingshot. It came from the trees.’

  Fergus rode beside Viridovix, his fellow officer in the Ala Augusta Gallorum – the August Gaulish Cavalry. As usual, the big Gaul had been mocking the accent Fergus spoke Latin with when the slinger had struck.

  Decurion Sedullus, the new commander of Fergus’s squad, swung his horse around and galloped in the direction of the fallen cavalryman.

  A short distance to their right was a wood. A couple of British tribesmen stood at the edge of the trees. The bright warpaint that covered their almost naked bodies was starting to streak in the heavy rain. They whooped and jumped up and down, their glee at taking a Roman cavalry trooper down evident.

  ‘Those bastard Brittunculi are lethal with slingshots,’ Fergus said.

  ‘Here we are, riding beside the Legio XIV, the most advanced army in the world,’ Viridovix said through clenched teeth. He turned his head and spat to the side of his horse. ‘We’ve the best equipment in the world and these savages cause casualties on us with shepherds’ weapons!’

  ‘Sometimes men have to fight with whatever they’ve got when someone bigger stomps all over their land,’ Fergus said. ‘If that’s the contents of their farm store, then so be it.’

  Viridovix shot a sideways glance at his friend.

  ‘Don’t get me wrong,’ Fergus said. ‘I’d still gut the bastards if I got my hands on them.’

  He turned in the saddle.

  ‘Keep in line,’ Fergus barked to the troopers of his turma, Turma X, the thirty-man troop he led. ‘Slingshots are a nuisance, not a threat. They’re just a wasp stinging a bull.’

  To his satisfaction, Fergus saw his men had kept their discipline. Not one had broken ranks.

  The sound of approaching hooves in the soft ground made him turn around again. Sedullus the decurion was galloping back towards them.

  ‘Turma Ten: wheel right,’ he said.

  Fergus’s jaw dropped open. Then he dug in his spurs and goaded his Hispanic horse towards Sedullus.

  ‘Sir, you’re not planning to chase them are you?’ he said. ‘It’s almost certainly a trap. They want us to chase them so they can lead us into an ambush.’

  Sedullus’s blue eyes blazed with fury. ‘Are you questioning my orders, Duplicarius?’ he said. ‘Do you suggest we let this rabble wound our men with impunity and do nothing about it? In Gaul they say Hibernians are cowards. Now I see it might be true.’

  Fergus glared at his commander. ‘We are no cowards,’ he said, his voice a low growl.

  For a second Fergus and the younger Gaul locked eyes. Then Fergus swung his horse around to join his own troopers.

  ‘Right, men: we’re going to teach these savages a lesson,’ Sedullus said, shouting so all the troopers heard him. ‘Forward!’

  The tenth troop of the Ala Gallorum crouched, their lances under their right arms, dug in their spurs and charged.

  They rode in formation: Sedullus in the lead followed by Fergus, then the troopers formed into three rows of ten riders each behind them. Each trooper was clad in chain mail, a gleaming bronze helmet encased his head and most of his face was hidden behind the helmet’s tightly strapped metal cheek guards. Unlike the legionaries of Legio XIV who marched behind them with their heavy, rectangular shields, each cavalryman bore an oval shield, light enough to hold on one arm while also holding his horse’s reins. Two throwing javelins sat in a quiver slung across his back. Couched under his right arm was a long, heavy lance: the hasta.

  The Britons seemed undaunted by this intimidating sight. The two tribesmen stood their ground, taunting the approaching horsemen with jeers and obscene gestures. At the last minute they turned and fled into the woods.

  ‘After them,’ Sedullus said, his voice a high-pitched squeal, spit flying from his lips. ‘Hunt them down!’

  The tribesmen disappeared down a narrow track that led through closely packed ash and alder trees. Fergus followed Sedullus after them, trying to shake off the uneasy feeling that it was not the natives who were being hunted.

  As the troopers arrived at the treeline they were forced to slow down to negotiate the branches and undergrowth. Thorns tore at their cloaks and pricked the horses’ flanks as the cavalry forced its way through the thick vegetation. Spears caught in branches and their visibility was cut to the distance of the immediate surroundings. In moments their perfect formation became a confused mess.

  ‘Keep going. Force your way through,’ Sedullus shouted.

  The cavalry troopers impelled their protesting mounts onward, struggling further into the densely packed undergrowth. The troopers were all over the place and Fergus found himself in front of the others. Then he broke through into a wide clearing.

  Fergus reined his horse abruptly to a halt, looking around him. The clearing was quiet and seemed empty but every nerve in his body felt like it was stretched to the point of snapping. His ears strained for any sound but all he could hear was the panting of his horse and the pounding of his heart.

  The rest of the troop burst into the clearing after him.

  ‘What are you doing, Duplicarius?’ Sedullus said as he arrived with him. ‘Push on, man. They’re getting away!’

  Before Fergus could respond, a hail of spears and stones came from all sides at once.

  Two troopers cried out and fell from their horses, transfixed through the chest by spear shafts.

  ‘It’s a trap,’ Fergus shouted as he wheeled his horse. ‘Go back!’

  Tribesmen were pouring out of the trees from all sides. A trooper cried out in terror as he was dragged from his horse and disappeared beneath a crowd of frenzied Britons.

  Fergus urged his horse forward towards the fallen man. His lance hit the naked back of a Briton who was crouching over the fallen trooper. The iron head powered right through the tribesman’s body, the razor-sharp point erupting from his chest in a spray of bright crimson. choking him as he toppled forward, his weight twisting the shaft of the lance. With a crack the shaft of Fergus’s hasta shattered into three pieces. He dropped the useless stump.

  He kicked his heels and his horse’s hooves trampled another Briton into the ground. Fergus ripped his spatha from the scabbard on his right hip.

  ‘Get off him,’ he shouted.

  In his anger and excitement he momentarily forgot his Latin and yelled out in his native tongue. The British all looked up in shock, surprised at hearing a Roman cavalryman shouting in a Celtic language very like their own. Fergus brought the long cavalry sword swooping down. The heavy blade whooshed through the air and connected with the side of a tribesman’s head. It skidded down onto his neck, opening up a horrible wound and releasing a gush of blood. The man tried to s
cream, but all that came out was a gurgle from his severed throat as he collapsed onto the forest floor.

  His remaining companions, seeing half their number killed in as many seconds, decided to leave their victim and sprinted off as fast as they could back into the forest.

  With dismay Fergus recognised the fallen Roman trooper was Valetiacus, an old mate from basic training. He was already dead. In the short time they had had their hands on him, the Britons had slit his throat and stabbed him under the armpits and anywhere else they could slide a blade beneath his body protection.

  Fergus looked around. The forest clearing was in chaos. Two more of his troop were down and at least five Britons. The remaining troopers were milling frantically round and round, stabbing this way and that at the natives swarming around them. Sedullus’s face was a mask of confusion.

  Another trooper fell, skewered through the guts by a British spear. If they did not do something soon they would all be massacred.

  Fergus grabbed the little bone whistle that hung on a leather thong around his neck. Hoping the sound would travel through the trees to the rest of the cavalry, he put it to his lips and blew three short, sharp blasts: the alarm signal. He then gave two short blasts and one longer one – the signal to regroup.

  The beleaguered troopers responded and began forcing their way into the centre of the clearing.

  ‘Circle ranks,’ Fergus said, kicking his horse’s flanks. He set off riding around the clearing in a left-hand direction. The other horsemen fell in behind him and soon they formed a ring around the perimeter.

  Several Britons cried in dismay as they found themselves trapped inside the circle. Moments later they were dead, killed by cavalry hastas. With the inner danger removed, the riders now rode at a controlled trot, their mounts nose to tail, each man’s shield to the outside to protect him from the tribesmen around their circle. They were now unable to get in amongst the troopers to cause more havoc.

  Fergus knew he had won the Tenth Turma a temporary respite, but they had to get out of the woods. While they remained in the clearing the cavalry formation could hold an attack at bay, but they could not keep riding in a circle all day. Once they tried to go back through the dense bushes and trees, they would have to break ranks and in the close confines of the undergrowth the tribesmen would once more be able to pick the troopers off one by one.