Caratacus

Chapter Nineteen

As they entered the new gates of the fort, the Centurion of the watch acknowledged them from above and raised a hand in greeting. He was silhouetted against a bright blue winter’s day sky and they all had to squint as they looked up. Varro smiled more from the relief of being safe and in familiar surroundings than anything else. He looked forward to being comfortable and under cover and most importantly, to being warm again. He wouldn’t have exchanged his role for any other in the military but being exposed to the elements during a harsh winter and in a hostile environment, was not something he enjoyed. Even little things became a major problem and not just the cold; the damp and permanently wet clothes, food, even water when the frosts came, it wasn’t natural to be outside and isolated. He was eager to thaw out properly and to submerge himself in a hot bath, to have the wilds of Britannia scrubbed and scraped from his skin.

Unknown to Varro and unseen from the local village, further down the track at the edge of a small group of roundhouses, Sadgem watched from the side of a house where locals went about their daily business. No-one around them noticed the stranger or the man standing next to him, looking at the group of shabbily dressed riders as they entered the fort. Outsiders often came to the area to use the waterways or to trade and since the arrival of the Romans other visitors just came to satisfy their curiosity and to look upon them as they would at a rare or strange animal.

“I knew there was something different about that whore.” Sadgem said under his breath as he turned to the man beside him. It had been easy for them to follow the group unseen from the woods as they had trekked through the snow, leaving their foot and hoof prints behind to follow. The rest of his men were well outside the settlement a few miles away dispersed in a forest where they wouldn’t arouse suspicion or be seen. It was one thing for a couple of strangers to appear near a Roman encampment but a group of so many heavily armed men was a different matter altogether, unless of course they were their allies.

“It’s traitors like that who make places like this, possible.” He said waving an arm at the fortress. “We should have killed her when we had the chance.” His face was screwed up in hate. “Her day will come when she regrets this and any others who betray our lands to the invader.” He turned, “Let’s get out of here, the putrid stench of this place is making me want to vomit.” The two men untied their horses climbed aboard and kicked their animals into a gallop, no-one turned or noticed them leave.

Inside the fort Varro saw that the damaged buildings from the attack had been levelled and new ones had already been built to replace them or were under construction. Troops were digging and excavating areas for underground heating, it was apparent that Vespasian intended to keep a permanent presence here. The air was full of sawing and banging as other construction continued, it looked as if the attack of a few days before had actually encouraged a growth spurt inside the installation.

Soldiers wore just their white Second Augusta tunics as they worked, laughed and joked, it appeared that the assault by the Britons of a few days before had done little to damage morale. Armour and weapons were lined up nearby against the internal wall, in the event of another attack. He looked up and saw that the guard was still doubled on the high walls, the chance of the enemy striking again with such success was remote. When the better weather came, these soldiers and others would move out and seek those who caused such destruction and death.

The watch centurion climbed down a ladder and approached as Varro dismounted and the two men clasped arms in greeting, “Good to see you all present, how was it out there?” He asked.

“Freezing cold, wet and damp, the snow is a lot deeper further north than it is here and it made for hard going. My balls are like frozen plums and my feet will take days to thaw, as will my hands.” He answered stamping his boots and rubbing his hands together, half smiling as he removed his hood.

“I’ll escort you to Vespasian’s headquarters building, the new praetorian, it’s nearly finished already. In a couple of months this place won’t be recognisable. There are already plans to expand the fort to accommodate fresh troops, this place will be fucking huge.” He continued talking as they passed busy soldiers sawing, digging, mixing concrete, laughing and talking to each other.

“The wrecks in the river were sunk after we recovered any supplies from them and the water is virtually clear, some of the rotten hulls were swept along in the current of the river. I’m sure when its warmer weather in the spring what’s left will be dragged out. Until then we’re carting in goods from the south.” The centurion said happily chattering away, he turned to the others in the group, “You can go and get cleaned up, get warm and get some food inside you.” He pointed to a canteen area covered with a leather awning where a few cooks toiled over large bubbling pots preparing food for the hungry legionaries.

“I’d like Brenna to come with me,” Varro said, “if that’s alright? She can elaborate on specific details especially concerning the Silures we encountered.”

The centurion paused, thought for a second and then smiled, “Good yes, anything we know about them and their whereabouts will certainly help. Those goat fucking, sheep poking bastards will be getting seen to in a different way soon enough, with Roman iron.” He laughed to himself touching the hilt of his sword as he led them on. They walked along the path that ran along the centre of the fort that was to become the main street to the forum where on the other side, construction was already underway and large foundations were being dug.

“Our men can do most of the work but specialists have been brought in to survey the land and for more permanent structures in brick and stone. You should see the sand that has been brought in, cartloads of the stuff in rows over to the rear.” He pointed. “It won’t be long until we have decent baths, proper baths not those wooden fucking tubs and all the comforts of home, just you wait and see.” The centurion continued as he led him to the building beyond the digging, where Aulus Plautius no doubt waited. He exchanged a glance at Brenna raising an eyebrow the duty officer was obviously getting on his nerves.

The two officers returned salutes to the sentries that stood guard at the entrance to the large wooden structure, it was the focal point of all military and civil activity in the area. The high ceiling corridor was dimly lit by oil burners along the walls compared to outside and it took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust as Varro was led into a substantial room. Plautius was standing talking to a group of men dressed in togas, as they got closer he saw they were studying plans and designs of buildings, they waited.

The room was lavishly decorated in comparison to the Spartan accommodations of the ordinary soldier but that was to be expected. Windows allowed light through, stretched skins and large iron oil burners were scattered about here and there providing more light and warmth. Depictions of Rome were draped from the walls and pots containing burning incense helped freshen the air as two slaves stood waiting to receive orders. Dominating the walls, were the emblems of the Second Augusta, and a large white depiction of Pegasus stood out amongst the others.

“Good, good,” Plautius said to the men, “the sooner we have some permanence here the better, you can only live in tents and wood for so long, well done gentlemen. If you need any further assistance don’t hesitate to come and see me.” Dismissed, the men turned acknowledged the new arrivals with a nod and left the room. Plautius looked at the plans on the table and smiled clearly happy, he looked up.

“Ah Centurion Varro, back so soon?” he said, “Please come forward.” They walked closer to a large table that was covered in scrolls of varying sizes some were maps and others written orders, requests, supply, manning lists and the plans the men had been studying. Plautius turned to the duty centurion and asked him to locate Legate Vespasian and request his presence and thanked him, dismissed he saluted the governor and left.

“Well how did you find it out there, did you have any success in locating the Silures and their Catuvellauni friends?” he asked.

Varro looked at Brenna standing next to him and then back to Plautius, “We did sir but our task was gravely hindered by the weather. They have returned to the mountains of the north west, if I may?” He said indicating to the large cattle skin map that hung on the wall behind the desk.”

“Of course,” Plautius said standing, at that moment Vespasian arrived, he saluted and removed his helmet. “That was quick Legate,” he said, “you weren’t eaves dropping lurking about out there listening to my plans were you?” He joked laughing.

“I was just returning from checking on the delivery of the grain and food stuff sir. You’ll be pleased to know three galleys arrived this morning. We should have fresh food this evening, there’s meat and amphorae as well, enough to keep the men happy for a while. Once the ships have unloaded they’ll be ready to set sail on tomorrows tide. With regular supplies getting through, it will be one thing we don’t need to concern ourselves with.”

“Excellent, excellent,” he said, “Centurion Varro,” he turned and indicated the thawing soldier, “he will be most pleased I’m sure after spending the last few days tracking Caratacus and his Silures friends. I’m sure that you and your party will welcome a good feast later after a hot bath of course.”

“I can think of nothing better after we’ve thawed out properly and had some sleep sir.” He replied walking to the map pointing, “We got as far as here, when the weather closed in and made further travel virtually impossible.” He indicated a location south east of the river that separated the lands of the Dobunni and Silures. Plautius and Vespasian exchanged a curious look. It wasn’t where they had expected the patrol to go and walked closer to inspect the map. Realising that the two senior officers were clearly concerned Brenna broke into the conversation.

“It was here that we encountered a small group of twenty or more heavily armed Silures scouting the territory.” The officers looked to Varro concerned etched across their faces.

“Brenna,” Varro said as he turned to the Briton, “here was able to converse with them and they confirmed that the main army of Caratacus had retreated into the mountains of the south of their territory, here.” He pointed to the area concerned. “They said they were hunting for Romans but with such a small group they were probably just a rear-guard sent out to see if we were pursuing them in force.”

Vespasian approached the map and pointed to the location that concerned them most, the lands of the Silures. “It’s an area that will warrant at least half legion strength, maybe more I should imagine to go into if we want to pluck them from their perch. Those mountains, hills and valleys will make for difficult terrain not too dissimilar from Thrace where I campaigned not long after joining up. At least here we won’t have the sun burning our flesh to a crisp. However, at the moment it’s the opposite, with this blasted cold. It’s not a time for pursuing an elusive enemy buried like ticks on a hounds arse.” He turned to Varro. “What were conditions like underfoot Centurion?”

“Quite bad sir, at times we had to dismount and walk the horses through snow drifts, we wondered if we’d ever find our way back. Everything looked the same, white and we found it difficult to find our bearings. There were times when it was so white we couldn’t see any landmarks and the snow was so thick we couldn’t see more than twenty paces in front of our faces.” He answered.

“Mm,” Plautius murmured looking at the details of the map, “it’s as we suspected. They have returned to their mountain hideout and the country is virtually impassable between them and us with this weather. I’m not willing to lose any men through the cold and the winter pursuing an enemy that can wait until we are ready to engage them. Things will be different, a lot different come spring.” He turned to those gathered around the map.

“We’ll continue to concentrate on things here and wait until the weather improves before seeking them out. In the meantime we can send out light infantry to scout the local area but that’s all. No-one and I mean no-one, is to go beyond the two mile marker point.” He looked at those listening to him. “If they can see the bloody things that is.” He laughed.

“We can develop our relationship with the people of the land here, speak with their elders and show them that we’re here to help those allied to us.” He smiled, “Very good, thank you Centurion and Brenna,” he looked at the Briton, “this help has been invaluable once more. I’m to return to Camulodunum leaving the Legion to manage efforts here in a few days so I will say goodbye for now. Go and get yourselves cleaned up, warm and some decent food inside you.”

Varro saluted and he and Brenna left the two men to their plans, entering the darker corridor again he said, “That went better than I thought it would.” as they almost immediately walked out into the bright winter sunshine.

She said, “We were lucky to get back after our encounter with that Sadgem, if he had suspected that I was with Romans we would still be out there now, cut open and food for the wolves.” She looked at him. “I think that both Plautius and Vespasian knew full well that we could have achieved little more in the conditions. I’m sure they’re just glad to know that Caratacus hasn’t stayed south. It would have been a disaster if they had chosen to stay in the region, especially after what they will no doubt be regarding as a success against us. They are not stupid though and know they cannot fully rely on the local population to assist them. People are more concerned with surviving the winter than fighting, whoever the enemy may be. The Silures and the Catuvellauni are virtually as foreign in these lands as you remember.”

“I hadn’t thought of it that way.” He replied. “I suppose that my lands were the same once, many years ago divided by tribal boundaries. Even Rome was said to have been segregated by the seven hills that initially made up the city and look at it now.”

She smiled, “I hope to one day.”

He let his hand touch hers briefly, “That makes me happy, happier than you know, maybe one day we will see it together.” He led her away from the praetorian and to where he knew the baths were. There were numerous rooms containing large wooden baths served by slaves from Gaul. He knew it would be quiet at the moment as the men of the Second Augusta toiled working to build the camp. Later the rooms would be packed with men queuing to clean themselves.

They entered one of the many wooden structures set aside for bathing and removed their outing clothing and hung them on pegs on the walls. She followed him into another area where dozens of large wooden baths sat on sturdy looking iron legs. A slave approached and Varro asked him to bring hot water for two baths.

“Two baths?” Brenna asked looking at him disappointed.

He smirked as he started to remove the rest of his clothes, “The first is to wash the dirt and grime off our clothes, the second is for us to enjoy together.” He leaned forward and kissed her lips as the slave returned with another, carrying a large bucket of steaming water. They walked to the edge of the nearest bath and poured the hot contents into it, before they turned to walk away. Two more men appeared carrying another bucket. In minutes the bath was two feet deep, steaming and ready to use. He told the slaves he would call them when they were ready for the second bath to be filled.

Brenna removed her clothing as the slaves left, he took in her beauty and together they dipped their hands in the water testing its temperature, it was just right having cooled a little against the wood.

“Mm that feels good,” she gave him a smile and reached out holding onto him as she climbed in, “I want you to make me feel even better though.”

They splashed into the water gasping as the heat took their breath away, “I’m sure that can be arranged my lady.” He said as he reached out wrapping his arms around her.

Construction of the fort’s interior and the surrounding area continued unhindered by Caratacus throughout the winter and as the trees began to grow fresh green leaves and birdsong could be heard, the men of the Second Augusta prepared to face their enemies again. Training had intensified as the New Year was born and the sound of wooden training swords and men’s efforts to fight each other, echoed around the newly constructed buildings. The fort now covered a large area but it was small in comparison to the planned forty two acre site that would dominate the landscape for miles around.

Nevertheless, the Roman settlement was now a huge busy rectangle of buildings, shops, forges, sleeping quarters, training and parade grounds and there were even plans for a Temple to be built. Seeds were planted outside the forts walls with the local population in an attempt to close the gap between the two people. Any attack on them was also an attack on the local folk who had worked with their new Roman friends so hard to cultivate and grow them.

Patrols were sent further and further into previously unexplored territory, there were no signs of hostile activity, but where there were, they were put down. Surveyors were sent out to plan routes and roads, the river was cleared of the wreckage from the attack during the winter and supplies once again were brought directly to Isca as it was now known by most, shortening the settlements name.

Although the weather and conditions had improved there was still a cloud on the horizon in the form of Caratacus and he and his warriors were never far from the soldiers thoughts. Nothing had been seen of the Britons warlord since the attack, although rumours were a constant source of chatter amongst the locals. Relations were improving slowly between soldier and civilian however, as the first benefits of their crops came to fruition and local dignitaries were allowed access to the fort once more.

As a sign of their successful co-operation, Vespasian suggested that a feast be organised which Plautius had agreed to. Rows of tables were set out and both military and local dignitaries enjoyed a day and night of entertainment together. Plans were made and possibilities were discussed for Britons to join auxiliary cohorts as free men but not in Britannia, they would serve elsewhere, Hispania, Gaul or maybe even Italia itself. The Britons had proved they were proud and fierce warriors second to none, that the soldiers had faced in battle and so with professional training they would be invaluable serving next to the legions. Those plans would have to wait for the time being and days after the feast, Legate Titus Vespasian led a column of thousands of men northward in search of Caratacus.

Varro and his small party of scouts had left at first light, it had been decided that he would take Decimus and his men as well as Brenna and Tevelgus. They were ordered to ride ahead of the column but not to get more than a day ahead of the slower moving main body. The countryside had been transformed from a white rolling blanket to a lush green landscape. Shepherds herded their sheep with bleating new lambs as they crossed the land and rode through small settlements where the inhabitants stopped their daily chores to stare at the strangely dressed travellers.

Once in a while Brenna and her brother would ride ahead and ask the locals how they had faired through the winter and ask if they had sighted any armed men from the north, none had been seen. They were warned of the advancing army and told not to be afraid and as long as they weren’t hostile, they would be left alone to live in peace.

Most inhabitants weren’t actually particularly interested in their presence especially when they were told that they would be left alone and wouldn’t be hurt or have their livestock taken. They had enough to occupy their daily lives as things were, with crops, hunting and maintaining their homes, just surviving from day to day was a battle in itself.

On some occasions they would offer water which was plentiful as most villages were near rivers or streams and when they did, Varro and his men joined them. The Britons gazed at the men curiously as they were in shining chainmail, red cloaks and helmets. Most of them were invariably taller than their guests, excluding Tevelgus who stood taller than even most from Britannia. Small children looked at them in wide eyed fascination, some afraid, who ran away hiding in their homes and some laughing and pointing at their equipment and clothing.

No Briton showed them any hostility, they were actually hospitable and Varro couldn’t help wishing that they had found some of these places when they were frozen to the core during the winter and their foray into the wilds. He always carried a pouch of coins hung from his belt and as a sign of friendship, he gave them out before they left. The Britons especially the children looked upon them with glee as they saw the faces printed on them surrounded by strange marks they didn’t understand.

People who lived in isolated areas had probably never seen coins before and would depend on bartering if they wanted goods from others. Cattle, chickens, pigs, hares, crops and even ornaments fashioned from bronze or other metals were used to exchange property in the world where they lived. Varro knew that every time he encountered such people, their lives were about to change but he believed that it would be for the better.

He admired those who lived secluded, far outside settlements because they lived truly independently, sometimes in groups of roundhouses as small as two or three buildings, originally they must have been family settlements. They lived hard lives where their mortally was high with the young. Women especially were at risk during childbirth and many didn’t survive, it was a sad fact of life but also something else that would be improved in time.

On a few occasions they came across abandoned roundhouses, where signs of the previous occupants were still present. Crops were overgrown, growing wild nearby and overrunning boundaries, fencing and tracks on the ground. Maybe the occupants had tired of living their solitary lives and had moved to live with others, perhaps they had died during a raid from wounds received from different tribal regions. Inhabitants tended to live as far from borders as they could to avoid being the first victims when cross border clashes occurred, but raiding was still a way of life in some places.

As they travelled through the rich green countryside with birds twittering and singing in the trees all around them, it was hard to believe that a real danger lurked somewhere ahead. The first day was uneventful and before the daylight began to withdraw, the scouts returned to the main column where they found they had already halted. The daily routine was underway with trenches being dug, defences re-enforced with large wooden spikes that each eight man squad carried with their kit and tents were erected. After the marching camp was secure, food would be prepared and the exhausted troops would be allowed to relax, after checking their kit and cleaning their armour, all those except for the men detailed for sentry duty.

As they were in relatively unknown and possibly hostile territory, Vespasian ordered extra guards be posted inside the temporary structure and sentries outside each eight man tent. Guards patrolled the internal perimeter and static posts manned the embankments that had not been there, just the day before. He ordered that wolf mouths were to be half buried in the ground outside the palisade in the trench they had created and that caltrops be sprinkled liberally over the surface. They were sharpened thin twisted strands of iron that would pierce the feet of men or hooves of horses, should they get into the ditch. The men rotated their duties after the hour, allowing them all to get a decent night’s sleep so they were refreshed and ready for another days march.

The next morning, the men not on guard awoke to the patter of rain on their tents. The night had been uneventful and the daily routine of preparing for another hard days march was underway. Horses as well as men were fed and any mounts that had slight injuries or had gone lame from the day before were rested. They wouldn’t be ridden again until they were healed and would follow at the rear of the column. Replacements were found and the injured animals allowed to walk un-ridden tethered to a cart.

As the final preparations were made to advance, weapons were checked and tents secured on carts or mules as the case maybe for each squad. The last thing to be taken down as the men prepared to march were the sharpened wooden staves that had been embedded into the palisades. The Roman army had learned long ago that taking them out before the men were ready to move had cost lives and sometimes entire legions.

The next two days proved to be the same routine and there were no incidents or sightings of hostile forces. The men were trained to march, build an encampment, guard and sleep and take it down again the next day. On the fourth day however, as they began to prepare their defences for the night, in the distance were the hills and mountains that marked the territory of the Silures.

Vespasian had sent scouts out and knew that by midday the next day he and his men would be entering the lands that had adopted Caratacus as their leader. The atmosphere around some of the campfires that night was tense. It was the first time since they had set out from Isca Dumnoniorum that men looked out of the palisades with real concern on their faces. More men were detailed for sentry and picket duty and each tent party was ordered to have a two man guard outside.

The night passed by without event and in the dawn of a new day the men of the Second Augusta quietly prepared their kit and dismantled the camp. A few men who were in the minority were overly loud and went about their business telling their comrades how many Britons they intended to kill high in the mountains of the Silures. The more experienced amongst them knew it was probably just nerves or foolishness and that by nightfall they may have the answer to which, one thing was certain, from today they would have to have eyes everywhere.

Miles to the north, halfway to the summit of one of the mountains, the Britons watched the Roman camp in the distance. From their vantage point they couldn’t make out specific details but the large encampment was clearly visible on the landscape. The large dark rectangular mass had never been there before and once in a while the wind would carry the sound of a trumpet to them, faintly but distinguishable from everything else on the morning breeze.

They waited until they could see the first thin line of men leaving the safety of the temporary encampment, as they began to slowly move towards their position, weaving through the lowland countryside below.

“Let us prepare to receive our guests.” Caratacus said as he climbed onto his horse. He took one last glance at the enemy before kicking his horse and going further up the mountain.

By the time the legionaries felt the incline starting to burn their legs, the hills and mountains blocked out most of the sky before them. They had been ordered to wear their helmets and carry their shields for the first time on this expedition and they knew that an attack could occur at any moment.

Varro and his party scouted ahead but at all times were ordered to stay in sight of the leading column, Vespasian didn’t want to risk losing any men in a fool hardy manner so close to the enemy. Tracks and trails were evident everywhere and ran in many different directions, it was impossible to identify specific traces that would show any real evidence of the direction of Caratacus and his warriors.

The day wore on as the inclines got steeper and Vespasian was forced to call regular breaks for his men and animals to take on water and rest. He knew there was no point in being engaged in a battle with weary thirsty soldiers; it would be a recipe for disaster even before the first arrow took to the air or the first blow was struck.

Even though they were climbing higher and higher all the time, there were still paths and valleys through the hills and mountains. Varro stopped looking forward to the top of the next rise because there was always another beyond that one that and he wondered if the local people were actually part goat. They had seen no settlements or roundhouses since crossing the river that divided the lands of the Dobunni and the Silures, just the occasional deer that ran as soon as it sensed the advancing column. White dots broke up the green land ahead where sheep grazed in the distance, at least food wouldn’t be hard to find here. Higher and higher and further into the valley they marched until by midday Vespasian called another halt. He had chosen a relatively flat and open area that was surrounded by thick forest and called his senior officers together to discuss what he intended to do next.

Varro and his party it was decided, would for the first time since entering the valley and mountains, scout ahead and try and locate somewhere suitable to establish the army for the night. It was better to advance slowly and securely rather than at speed with little haste Vespasian had told them looking around the high peaks now surrounding them in every direction. It was suggested by one centurion that Varro take an entire cohort with him for safety but the Legate chose against it, deciding that a small group was less conspicuous and would be able to move more quickly in the event of an attack. He was to be back with the column well before nightfall, which would give the men time to establish a camp using the trees nearby if necessary.

The sky was grey and cloudy as he led his squad on horseback into unchartered territory. He moved at a slow pace knowing that to go around a corner at speed could mean certain death. It meant progress was time consuming which they could ill afford but he had no choice. The ground was littered with shale and rocks, so even if they wanted to move quickly it would be virtually impossible unless they wanted to risk a horse slipping and breaking a leg. He made sure that those following were strung out in single file on their own with at least ten feet in between each rider.

The track they were following was covered in shadow but the sun was now bright and looked warm on the mountain further up. With the shadow came the cooler air and Varro involuntarily shivered as he felt a slight breeze find its way under his tunic and chainmail, sweat trickled down his spine. He turned and saw eager expressions watching him from behind, eyes darted from him to beyond searching for any signs of movement. The hooves of the horses were quieter than usual due to their slow pace but every once in a while a hoof would strike a rock or a piece of shale and send it skipping over the ground bouncing and making noise that made them all cringe. The sound it caused echoed up around the natural walls that now seemed to envelope the scouts.

He turned forward again and slowed Staro's pace even more as he approached a sweeping corner. There were thick trees on the slopes on either side of the worn path covering the steep banks and making it impossible to see if anything lurked in the darkness beyond. He felt his heart beating stronger, faster, pulsing blood through his veins, it almost felt like his chest was about to explode.

From somewhere further around the corner he suddenly heard signs of movement. Something had moved, a rock or a piece of shale and he heard it bouncing over the broken surface. He swallowed and stopped his horse raising his right arm, indicating for those behind him to do the same. He didn’t dare turn around again but sat still in his saddle straining his ears moving his head from side to side listening and half closing his eyes in concentration as he sought out more information. The only thing he could hear now was his mounts tail swishing about behind him and his breathing.

“Shhhh boy.” He whispered and very slowly lifted his leg over Staro’s rump and climbed down in one swift movement. He risked a look backward now and saw Decimus waving his hand in an upwards motion asking him to get back in the saddle. Varro put his finger to his lips warning them to be quiet as he saw those behind Decimus leaning out to see what was happening up ahead, trying to see why they had stopped. He pulled his shield from the horse and stood still listening.

He slowly walked in front of Staro almost tip toeing trying not to make any sound on the littered surface and stood still raising his hand for him to stay where he was. The horse looked to the side at the long grass at the base of the trees and Varro nodded his head forward and down quickly in frustration frowning at his horse and raised his hand higher. Staro whipped his head up quickly and then back down again showing his disappointment at being told not to move and eat the grass. Varro didn’t truly know if that meant he understood what his master wanted from him or not and mentally tried to tell the horse to stay still, pleading in his own mind for him not to move or make a sound.

He turned slowly and faced the corner where the track vanished from view, almost in the same movement he took a step forward, crunch, the shale noisily moved together grating as his hobnail boot compressed it down with his weight. He brought his other foot forward and then listened hovering it above the ground before he gently laid it down, it grated slightly as it landed but it was barely audible. He didn’t dare turn to look around to see if his horse was still standing still, although for a second he thought he heard his tail swishing again.

Crunch!

He froze, eyes flashing from left to right bringing his shield higher and then stared at the bend in the path in front of him on the track. He felt for the hilt of his sword and slowly wrapped his fingers around the handle and pulled it slowly up trying to avoid the familiar rasp as it cleared the scabbard. Pulling it clear he took another step forward praying that his boot didn’t make too much noise, it didn’t this time, the contact was almost imperceptible with the stony surface. He took another and started to lean over to the right trying to see along the path round the bend.

Crunch!

He froze again and could now feel his heart pounding in his chest and a vein somewhere on his right temple pulsing so hard with pressure that he shook his head trying to clear it. Suddenly the single crunch was joined by another and then another. Something was definitely moving towards him building up speed, he crouched pointing his spatha lower, aiming its sharp tip at whatever was moving out of sight, his grip tight on the handle of the weapon. He saw a flicker of white and movement and then it came into full view. It was a lamb, a fat fluffy one. It stared at him and stood stock still as it took him in bleating loudly as if it was as shocked as he was.

He gasped, “You fucking fat furry woolly little bastard.” Varro almost shouted in relief smiling. He turned to the others and raised his shoulders laughing quietly and then heard something else, something violent. It was the sound of branches and leaves being struck by something heavy above him and on both sides and then like the sound of heavy rain, the arrows and spears began to fall.