Caratacus

Chapter Three

When they awoke just before sunrise the next day, a damp dew covered the ground all around them and now they were wet and cold, silver thin spider’s webs adorned everything from men and equipment alike and birds sang a chirpy dawn chorus all around their makeshift camp. The sun was just beginning to rise as the black of night retreated but it would be a while before it burned away the chill of the night completely. A mist covered the lowlands making it impossible to define any detail except for the tops of trees in the distance.

“Jupiter’s balls it’s cold.” Quintus was heard exclaiming from the confines of his makeshift bed as he brushed down his damp clothing, he wasn’t talking to anyone in particular, just remarking at his own displeasure and muttering to himself.

“Germania was freezing, Gaul was cold and now we find ourselves on the dampest most remote island that Rome could find, at the furthest tip of the empire. Why couldn’t we have gone east where at least we could have browned our skin under the rays of the sun and baked our balls by the sea all day?” He continued to ramble on as others began to emerge from their own blankets and cloaks grinning.

“Syria would have been nice, we wouldn’t have frozen our cocks off there but no, we had to come here to this giant forest and…..” He looked around and saw the mist below, “Oh wonderful, just look at that.” He said pointing, “There could be all manner of hairy bastards hiding down there waiting to greet us when we get down, hundreds of them, thousands even and we wouldn’t have the first fucking clue they were there.”

“It will soon heat up Quintus,” Decimus said, “in no time at all you’ll be jumping into streams with naked local women, who will help warm your blood. Now stop your whining.”

Quintus shivered at the prospect of cold water and threw aside his course blanket, kneeling he began to roll it up ready to move but it didn’t stop him from complaining.

“Water, streams, you have to be pulling my incredibly long foreskin my friend. If I jumped into a stream right now I’d die and you would be responsible, miserable bloody place. I can’t wait to see the locals actually I bet they’re covered in natural fur to keep warm, it’s bound to be growing out of their skin.”

Quintus’ ranting at least cheered the others up as they packed away their gear and stowed it on the horses and in no time at all they were ready to move off, breakfast would have to wait, a fact that gave Quintus more to moan about. They would move from their resting place before eating, putting a few miles between them and the overnight camp. Varro informed them that he wanted to scout the area where they had seen the fires the night before. Once that was done they would split up with Quintus and his men to returning the column. The rest of the Second Augusta was probably already preparing to move but would be having a hearty breakfast before breaking camp. They made sure there was no evidence of last night’s fire and gave their mounts a little food, they could go without breakfast but their means of transportation could not. Already the mist was beginning to clear as Varro slowly led the way down off the high ground. Once more they began to see that small wooded areas littered the land, with a large covering of forest to the right, the sea and rolling coastline to their left.

“We’ll make for that cluster of trees over there.” Varro said pointing, “Quintus take you’re men and follow the line of the sea, we’ll take the northern route and move along the tree line of the forest. If you make any enemy contact or suddenly come across any hairy arse Britons your unsure of and you find yourself outnumbered, you are to withdraw to here, where we’ll meet you and the same applies for us. We don’t know how these people will react, so be safe. Remember we’re here to watch, observe and report back, not to get involved in a fight.”

Quintus acknowledged the order and indicated for his men to follow his lead. Gone was the moaning man, returned was the professional soldier. Slowly they turned their horses to follow his lead and began to descend the hillock.

“Optio,” Varro said to Veranius, “Lets see who’s out there shall we?”

He began to move further down the hill, their party some yards behind the first, at the base of the mound, he turned left and Quintus and his men went right. The sun was slowly beginning to warm them now and Varro felt a little better than he had when he had woken just before first light. It was always an unusual feeling being so far forward, without the comfortable feeling of the quick response and safety of the rest of the legion nearby.

Initially Varro had found it hard to adapt to the duties of the unit, never quite knowing who or what lay ahead or behind. He had spent many a restless night often preferring to volunteer for guard duty rather than sleeping or trying to sleep before he got use to it. In time, he had been promoted to Optio and now he commanded his own unit and while he slept soundly, others volunteered to stay awake on guard.

He had come to realise that whatever was written in the stars or was bound to be in his destiny he couldn’t change it. It was futile to fret and worry over what he could not affect or ultimately change, so he would continue to use his skill and initiative and hopefully stay alive being careful to avoid overwhelming odds. If it was his time to leave this life then that was how it was meant to be.

He was more than aware of the responsibility regarding his men and their lives, he would be loyal to the death with them and he expected the same in return, nothing more nothing less. Politics and scheming by high ranking officers was all too apparent in the army and he wouldn’t abide it with his soldiers, if an individual had something to say he would listen and respect their opinions and views. It didn’t of course mean he would take any notice of it however and the men respected that. He wouldn’t stand for any political wrangling or men prepared to step on others to advance their own careers.

They had once had a Senators son in their ranks whose ambition was clearly more dangerous than the enemy, because of his eagerness to please the Legate and the legions tribunes. His father had insisted he join the ranks of the army as a legionary and not a thin stripe tribune, as punishment for his arrogance and bad nature. Varro had made sure he was removed from the unit within a week after he tried to volunteer them for a mission that could have killed them all, they never saw him again. He didn’t always act on his men’s advice or words but he did listen, he always listened. He knew he wasn’t infallible and had more respect for his fellow soldiers than other officers or men wearing Senatorial robes. If they had something of value to say and it was better than his initial course of action, he was humble enough to change his mind. Too many in the army were ignorant and arrogant as they tried to advance themselves and he had seen them all too often pay the price for that with their lives. He lived for the day not some future that may never come.

The sun was now visible and the mist had all but evaporated except for a few clumps here and there. As he led his men out towards the line of trees that marked the edge of the forest, he scanned ahead expecting to see horses and men emerge quicker than they could react and pin them down, it wasn’t long before his suspicions were confirmed. Somewhere in the distance, the corner of his eye caught movement to the right. He saw fleeting movement, slight and slow but movement nevertheless. At a distance of about five hundred yards he saw a human figure move back into the cover of the thick trees. As soon as his eyes were on him or her, they’d vanished but not before Varro saw the spear that they carried, confirming it was a person.

Outwardly he gave no indication that he had seen the man or woman but he adjusted the path of Staro slightly away from the trees and to at least two range lengths of a spears throw from the cover of them. He moved his right hand to his back and held it at the base of his spine clenching his fist, Veranius saw it and without a word, all the men were aware of the danger somewhere ahead on the right.

“How far? Veranius asked quietly.

“About five hundred paces, a lone man I think armed with a javelin, all I saw was a figure but he’s carrying a spear for certain and as soon as I saw him he slid back into the trees.” He looked to the right where an entire army could be hidden and they wouldn’t know it. Quintus was out of sight now, having gone around the other side of the hill where they had spent the night. It would be sometime before they met up at the trees Varro had indicated was to be their rendezvous point.

“Well we are here to see what’s here, I suppose.” He turned in his saddle smiling at Veranius who had a look of mild unease etched over his face as he then checked the location of his pilums.

“Come on lets flush out this fowl.” Varro said as he gently nudged Staro with his heels and the horse moved forward slowly into a canter, ears sharp and straight as if sensing something wasn’t quite right, his head nodding up and down. When they were level with the point where the man had vanished, Varro brought them to a halt, to anyone watching they made it look as if they had just stopped and were getting off their horses for a stretch but inside their senses were straining.

“Marcus,” Varro said, as the soldier came forward, “you’re our fastest runner aren’t you?” He smiled knowing that Marcus would react as expected.

“Yes sir, no-one has beaten me in the legion yet,” he beamed proudly. Marcus was one of the most competitive men Varro had ever known. It didn’t matter if he was growing seeds or looking after the legions dogs, he had to be better, grow more or make the dogs more obedient, run faster and be stronger. He was a good man who was as straight and honest as the flight of an arrow and could be relied upon no matter what the situation. Here he was far from Rome, the only one amongst them actually from the capitol, he had spent three years in the army and was an expert rider and knew how to treat most ailments and injuries that the animals picked up; an altogether invaluable member of the squad.

“I want you to walk casually towards those trees but don’t make it obvious that you’re looking to see what’s there, make it look like you’re going to take a piss or something.” Varro turned, “Lucius,” he said looking at the other soldier, “I want you to hold the reins of his horse in case he has to run back and be ready to ride.”

“Understood.” He acknowledged taking the reins from Marcus who began to walk forwards and started to adjust his tunic. He had taken no more than ten feet when violent loud movement disturbed the bushes at the base of a tree. The tip of a wooden spear tipped with iron appeared and was hurled towards the advancing Marcus, the throwers arm disappeared back into the bushes as quickly as it had appeared. Marcus didn’t panic but quickly moved to the left avoiding the lance as it flew harmlessly past him at arm’s length and landed, embedding itself into the ground its end vibrating as its deadly sharpened spike skewered the soil.

He crouched and began to move slowly backwards watching the foliage. He had left his oval shield on his horse hanging from one of the pommels, believing that to have taken it with him would have meant arousing suspicion, a decision he was now beginning to regret. He turned to check where the others were and the expression on Varro’s face told him to get back quickly. As he turned to run he was aware of more movement behind him as men emerged from the trees.

In seconds he was leaping up and vaulting into his saddle, snatching the reigns from Lucius and turning his horse ready to move, he was aware the others hadn’t started to gallop away, he turned the horse and saw why. Twelve men dressed in strange primitive clothing that was draped around their legs as well as their upper bodies were standing staring at the Romans. They carried small round shields and some were holding long swords as well as spears.

Some of them had limed hair that looked dirty and stiff and stood on end, a few wore it tied up at the back and most had straggly unkempt beards, blue streaks marked their faces, they were obviously tribal warriors, the first Britons they had seen. As the two opposing sides stared at each other with fascination, fear and a growing anticipation of what was to come, a silence seemed to descend over the area and the air became still.

These were the Britons, the inhabitants of this strange land, their faces looked rough and weather beaten even more so than the sailors that had brought Varro and his men here on their ships from Gaul. Some held their swords in their right hands, whilst others had them in the left, Varro presumed that this meant that they didn’t form disciplined lines in battle as they themselves did but instead probably fought as individuals and not as a cohesive group. They had been told that tribes would traditionally send their best warriors to fight in single combat to decide disputes. This was something the Romans could use to their advantage because they wouldn’t make such an effective force together. Some of the swords looked to be made of bronze and Varro knew they wouldn’t be as strong as the iron that made their own weapons, three or more had newer iron weapons. Nevertheless, the bronze swords could still cut a man in half as some of the Gaul’s swords had. They each carried two spears attached to their backs by unseen fixtures except for one, the man that had tried to kill Marcus or had tried to scare him at least.

The odds were clearly in favour of the Britons who had an advantage of more than two to one and the expressions on their faces showed that they weren’t happy to find these strange looking men in their territory. They had clearly never seen men like these before, wearing shining metal armour around their heads and bodies, the Britons eyes searched their bodies and equipment taking in every detail.

The legionaries knew that when the warring tribes weren’t killing, maiming, raping each other or raiding their neighbour’s lands, only a delicate peace existed, normally to prevent more deaths to individual groups who had sustained large casualties already. If they killed their own neighbours when they intruded onto their lands, they wouldn’t react kindly to men from a distant country stepping foot on their soil either. As Varro considered a tactical retreat and began to look around slowly, he wondered if these men were alone, a hunting party maybe or were there more of them hidden in the darkness and shadows of the trees? He couldn’t tell from this distance but he knew that without Quintus and his men, he couldn’t risk a direct assault even though they had horses, were better equipped and most certainly better trained.

The last thing he could afford was a wounded horse or rider, just one dead mount or worse a wounded one, could mean death for the rider or a slow dangerous ride in retreat with the horseless riders being carried by another and no doubt being picked off as they lagged behind.

Without any sign or warning, the men who had been standing still in front of them for what seemed like an age moved backwards and in an instant disappeared back into the foliage as one. The disciplined soldiers to a man risked looking at each other in bewilderment, it would have been preferable if the Briton’s had charged them screaming and slashing with their weapons. An eerie silence seemed to rob the air of noise, more acute than anything Varro had experienced before. Instinctively he began to move backwards followed his by his men backing up behind him.

As they turned their horses in preparation to move away, screaming suddenly erupted from the rear, shattering the eerie silence. Varro glanced around and saw the ranks of blue faced men had at least trebled in size.

“Go!” He screamed to his men as spears were launched towards them rising into the air. “Quickly move now.”

The soldiers automatically ducked down as flat as they could over their mounts and kicked at them, their horses charged forward rapidly in response, spears landed in front of them flying over their heads, at their sides and one struck Marcus’ horse as it kicked out and veered violently to the left into Varro and Staro. He couldn’t see where exactly it had struck but could see it waving around as the horse galloped forward as Marcus fought for control. He had no time to think about that now because they had to get free of the deadly avalanche.

As the small group moved out of range of the airborne bombardment, the attackers howled and ran forward, collecting their spears and hurling them into the air again. Varro led his men clear of their range and then turned when he felt it was safe. He saw the tribesmen, now at least forty strong, standing shaking their spears at the Romans. One of them walked clear of the group and held his sword aloft, to a man the rest stopped howling and gesturing with their weapons.

“So much for these barbarians being an undisciplined rabble then because that to me was deliberate and practised I’d say.” Veranius remarked.

“Marcus, are you injured?” He asked. Marcus jumped from his own horse and went to its flank. The spear was embedded in its back, he carefully examined it and an expression of relief and then frustration flooded over his face, relief, because the long weapon was stuck in his bedding roll and frustration, because he wanted to return the compliment to the thrower of the spear.

He pulled it clear and turned the weapon in his hand, it was lighter than a pilum but just as deadly in the right hands. He ran towards the Britons taking ten paces and hurled the spear back. Marcus was a strong man and the lance arced into the air and then fell. It landed in front of the horde harmlessly sinking into the ground with a thud. Not one of the blue streaked faces had flinched or moved a muscle as the spear was thrown and landed mere feet from them. The sound of hooves suddenly came from somewhere behind, Marcus turned, “Quintus.” The other joined them.

“Problems sir?” He asked Varro.

“Nothing we couldn’t handle, just.” He replied relief all over his face. “Come on let’s get out of here.” He led them away from the warriors who were now slipping back into the forest once more.

When they were clear of further attack Varro turned to Quintus, “I want you to ride back to the column and make your report. Make sure you mark this place on your map and the settlement we saw, we’ll take a look at that. We’ll ride along the coast until tomorrow and find somewhere to wait for you, I’ll light straw flares if you don’t find us, as long as the area is clear look for cover near the coastline. May the gods be with you my friend, I have a feeling we may all need them soon enough.” They clasped wrists.

“And may they be with you sir, I think you may need them more than us.” Quintus replied looking back to the trees.

“Come on.” He ordered as he commanded his horse forward, automatically his men followed and Varro and his men were alone again. “Two days in and we’ve already met the locals and surprisingly they’re not that pleased to see us.” He said leading them further from the trees and away from danger.

“When the column gets here that rabble will pay for that.” Marcus said looking back at his bed roll.

“In time my friend,” Varro cautioned, “but in the meantime let’s see what else we can find.”

Later they had ridden back to the coast where the sea breeze was cool and refreshing in the salt air as they walked along the cliff tops. The white chalk of the landing area had been replaced by rock and sea birds were nesting and hunting in the waters below.

“Before we move on and get further away from here, I want to see what’s in the village that we saw illuminated last night.” Varro said and added, “I know we need to get clear of here quickly so we’ll just take a brief look.”

They skirted the cliff moving slowly and turned inland nearing noon. Progress was slow anyway because of the terrain but they had to be cautious in case any friends of the tribesmen were nearby. With only a few of them in their party now, they wouldn’t stand a chance if they were ambushed and trapped. They avoided confined areas and places that would make good ambush points, nearing noon as they continued away from the sea, they could see tracks had been established in the grassland areas. Marcus said that he could smell smoke and soon enough small plumes were seen as they rose up into the blue sky over the trees in the distance, many plumes of smoke. Reaching the wooded area that was a natural barrier between their position and the village they dismounted.

“We’ll leave the horses here.” Varro said. “Marcus, you stay with them but if there are any problems get to us as soon as possible. The rest of you follow me.”

He led them through the trees along a path, knowing there was a possibility of running into locals but there were no other routes, thick un-passable bushes and gorse lined the worn track on either side so they now had no other choice if they were to see what lay beyond. Before long they could hear faint voices and laughter, they slowed their pace crouching, swords were quietly drawn.

Varro looked through the thicket and saw movement and indicated for the others to stop, he peered through the thick branches. Large round brown huts with straw roofs dotted the settlement at irregular intervals, it looked like the walls were made from packed mud and straw, fires were burning drying animal skins that were hung nearby. Children ran chasing a small dog who was barking happily at its pursuers wagging its tail.

Decimus drew level with his commander, “Anything useful?” He asked.

Varro continued to watch the village, “Shhh, keep your voice down, it looks like a bunch of natives that’s all, nothing worthy of a military target but good intelligence none the less.”

“What’s that?” Veranius asked pointing with his sword to the far left side of the roundhouses. Situated at the edge of the area he was pointing towards was a much larger hut and beyond that was a large human figure.

“It looks like they’ve made a large structure of a man out of wood, branches, sticks and twine, must be some pagan ritual probably.” Lucius said peering through the leaves. Studying its strange formation he said, “It must be high though because that hut is twice the size of those nearer to us and they’re taller than a man themselves. That straw effigy stands twice as high as the larger hut.”

“It’s probably a straw god or something.” Varro added. “They’re are known to worship the sun, stars and moon so why not something that looks over their village and provides some form of cover as well?”

Two figures cloaked in black could be seen at the base of the effigy, kneeling down. “Look they must be some of their druids, holy people, they’re praying aren’t they?” Decimus pointed out.

The soldiers watched as the two figures raised and lowered their arms praying and worshiping to some unseen entity.

“It’s said they hold positions of great significance within their people and can even influence tribal leaders.” Varro said.

“Fucking arse bandits more like, imagine that? People led by mystics and fools?” Decimus added. “We’ll rule this land within the year if this is anything to go by!”

Varro counted the huts, making a mental note for later. “The village couldn’t have been here that long because it’s not on the map, they’ve probably set up here because of the fishing in the sea,” he pointed out a river beyond the effigy, “fresh water and there’s probably good hunting in these woodlands near where we saw our blue friends earlier.”

“How many men do you see in the village?” Veranius asked. Varro counted the two men they presumed were druids and then he realised no more.

“Our blue warriors must be from this village then. They’re the men of this settlement. That means they won’t be back for some time unless they have horses and I doubt that.” Varro said. “Anyone care for a closer look?”

“Is that wise sir? Veranius asked. “We can’t see who is in those other huts if anyone and there are lots of them. If there are only three in each hut, we would be badly outnumbered we could be walking straight into a trap.”

Varro thought about what he had just said and reluctantly replied, “Yes you’re right.” He surveyed the surrounding ground. “See that rise over there?” He pointed beyond the straw man where a grass bank beyond the river rose to a height of about a hundred feet.

“I say we get the horses and move round,” he indicated with his left arm in a sweeping movement, “cross the river and hold up in the trees above. We can observe the huts from there and see if our blue friends return. If they do, our legion will be paying them a visit during the next few days.”

Returning to Marcus they explained the situation in whispers and moved off cautiously crossing the river that actually turned out to be a large stream, they could still see the top of the straw man and the settlement clearly. Marcus frowned as he looked back as they led the horses on foot through the water. Decimus dragged his water sack through the stream almost filling it, reaching the other side Varro checked to make sure the druids couldn’t see them and walked left further away from the settlement and then came up finally reaching the cover of the trees. The slope flattened out and they secured the horses on the far side of the plateau, where they immediately started to eat the long lush fresh grass.

“Let’s get some food while we can but no fires or cooking.” Varro instructed as he removed his helmet. “Veranius, make sure the horses are watered, I want them ready to move at a moment’s notice.”

The men settled down and ate a small meal from their rations of salted pork, the three days rations they carried always came in handy as hunting could never guarantee a successful result and so the men were always prepared. The meat was tasty and provided all the nutrients they required.

“Do you remember that banquet we attended in Ravenna with the Falernian opimian wine?” Veranius said. “They had fillet of hake, boiled mussels, milk fed snails, and the suckling pig! Oh that was gorgeous, that little bastard, I asked the cooks how they did it and got the recipe, mmm, peppers, lovage, caraway, celery seeds, asafoetida essence with wine passum, olive oil and corn flour. It was heavenly the gods couldn’t have prepared it any better.”

The others chuckled quietly. Veranius was a man who loved his food probably more than the soft flesh of a woman’s belly. He and Decimus would compete to see who could prepare the best dish for the others while they were out in the field and Veranius usually won because he had a knack of being able to remember long lists of ingredients which he either found or if he couldn’t, he would find something similar.

“Careful my friend or you’ll start to drool if you carry on and the Briton’s will slip on it as it drips down the slope and discover us.” Varro said. “That was a marvellous feast though I remember eating until I thought my stomach would burst and then they brought out baskets of peppered sweet cake and I ate even more. I took some with me and had it the next day it was so good. I think I nearly split my arse when it all came out again.”

Their Legate had organised the feast before they had begun their march to Gaul from Germania to take on the large barbarian men in the west. He had told them they needed feeding up because the enemy were a head taller than them and generally much wider. They continued to eat their dry rations quietly whilst retelling their stories of the feast as they waited for night to fall.

They finished the small meal still feeling a little hungry but knew it would pass in time and the meat would give them enough energy until night time or the next day if necessary. The two druids had returned to the base of the effigy and could be heard excitedly mumbling to each other about something.

“What do you say Veranius, I think we should pay our new hosts a visit and see what’s going on here. There aren’t any more men in the village at the moment that I can see and we should be okay with these two robed fools and a load of women to contend with, what do you think?” Varro had never been overly patient.

“Alright if you say so but let’s not get too far away from the horses.” Veranius replied looking along the river, as the two men moved along the water using the bushes as cover, they saw that the druids seemed distracted by something off in the distance behind them. Varro and Veranius maintained their positions and watched as blue painted men appeared through a tree line beyond the two waiting figures.

A struggle was going on inside the group and as the warriors approached the druids a young boy was thrown forward onto the ground at their feet. He struggled to get up but the tip of a spear from one of the Britons persuaded him not to move or to try and run. Rough, loud words clearly ordered him to remain still.

The older of the two druids said something unheard by the watching men, to the boy and then appeared to be inspecting him. Holding his jaw, he moved the boys head from side to side and then raised his arms. Satisfied, the druid said something to the barbarians guarding the youth and he was dragged towards the large wooden structure towering over them. The boy screamed now and attempted to struggle free but it was useless, he was dragged off his feet by the heavier and stronger men. Another tribesman ran forward and opened a door at the base of the wooden structure and the boy was bodily hurled inside. He shouted and screamed more but his pleas were ignored, the door was bound secure using vines.

“What in the name of all that’s holy is going on here?” Veranius asked.

Varro watched as the hunters spoke to the two druids, “I don’t know my friend but I think we’ll find out eh?”

The sun was beginning to sink on the horizon and a red tinge marked the clouds with a sign of another warm day again in the morning. One warrior was left to guard the boy in the wooden prison as the others returned to the main village and their huts.

“Come on.” Varro ordered as the two soldiers slowly left their cover, the guard was now sat with his back against the effigy facing the huts. The footsteps of the two Romans in the water, was masked by the sound of the stream as water trickled over stones as they approached the far bank. The boy continued to scream and cry but was ignored by his guard. Varro drew his dagger quietly as he came upon the Briton who was totally unaware of him, he looked up at the captured child, the boy inside the wooden prison was watching him as his eyes grew enormous taking in what was occurring before him, his sobs ceasing. Suddenly Varro reached forward and grabbed the long hair of the blue faced guard, ripping his head backwards and striking downwards with one deep and deadly blow with the other.

His blade slid unopposed into the Britons throat, his victim barely had time to raise his arms in surprise before his blood was drained from him as Varro sliced through the large vein of his neck. Veranius almost slipped on the bloody surface as he walked and untied the rope securing the boy in his prison. He had anticipated a struggle with the lad but he was clearly glad to be leaving his temporary prison and smiled beaming as he jumped clear. Whatever the locals had in store for him, it couldn’t have been good especially for him to put his trust in these oddly dressed strangers. Quietly they re-crossed the river and disappeared from view, taking the boy with them.

Some miles away from the village the Romans dismounted from their horses, the boy had ridden with Varro until they were clear of the Britons. It was now almost dark and owls could be heard calling to each other in the trees as the stars began to emerge in the night sky.

“What was happening back there boy, why did they put you in that wooden man?” Varro asked. The boy frowned and when he replied it was in words that the Romans did not understand. “Of course he doesn’t understand us like we don’t understand him.” Veranius said.

“Mm thank you Senator.” Varro said sarcastically, returning his attention to the boy he said, “What were they doing to you, are you a thief?”

The boy mumbled something in reply but again it was unintelligible. He grabbed Varro by the hand and dragged him, pointing furiously in the direction of some hills in the distance. It was the opposite way from which they had come to get to the village.

“I think he’s trying to tell us he’s from another place and was brought here against his will.” Varro said watching the boy.

Veranius wasn’t too sure, “He could be lying, he’s probably a thief like you said and was being punished by his tribe, that’s why he wants to get away and go to the hills. These barbarians are all the same, they’re dumb goat fuckers if you ask me.”

Just then a shrill scream interrupted them, followed by hellish cries of pain. It came from the village and the boy’s face showed complete terror.

“Lucius, I want you with me, come on, we’re going to find out what that was, Veranius take charge here, don’t let the boy out of your sight.”

“Sir.” Was all Veranius said in return as Varro and Lucius galloped away.

Moments later the two men had dismounted, tied their horses up and were now cautiously making their way through the bushes to the edge of the water, they found themselves once more on the far side of the river bank opposite the settlement. Every now and again they could hear screams and it was obvious they were actually coming from the other side of the water. As they emerged through the trees crouching by the water’s edge they could see that the blue painted warriors had another boy in their clutches and appeared to be questioning him. They retreated backward a few steps to where they could see but not be seen. One of the warriors was holding him by the arm whilst shouting questions at him and pointing into the distance, the other had a long sword over a fire.

Whenever he gave them an answer they didn’t seem to like he was burned with the sword, its tip heated in the flames of the fire. They had stripped his upper clothing off, the remains of which were now rags around his waist. Swollen hot welts could be seen easily from their hiding place as the Britons continued to question the boy, who in turn screamed in agony whenever the hot sword came close to his skin.

“I wish I had my bow,” Lucius whispered watching, eyes glaring. “I’d pierce that blue bastards eyeballs for him, see how he likes a bit of pain.”

Varro scowled as he watched, “Mm, that would be nice but I don’t think it would help that youngster there unless we killed all of them and with just two of us that isn’t going to happen.

“What could they want from a boy? How old would you say he is thirteen, fourteen maybe?” Lucius asked Varro.

“Something like that I should imagine.” A deafening scream shattered the otherwise peaceful night as the red hot sword once again pierced the boy’s skin, this time on his right shoulder. He collapsed onto the sandy surface by the river’s edge, his skin glistening with sweat.

The druid said something and two of the Britons picked the boy up and dragged him to the wooden cage. One opened the door as the other dragged his unconscious body up and spilled it into the wooden form. Chanting began from the druids and the assembled painted warriors as women emerged from their roundhouses carrying flaming torches. As they approached the men, they joined in with the chanting, it seemed to stir the boy as his head moved from side to side as if drunk and an arm was raised.

Varro and Lucius watched from their hiding place in the bushes at the side of the river, their eyes glinting in the reflection of the lit torches as wafts of burning kindling reached them now. As the boy stirred from his wooden prison, the women gathered sticks and brush and began piling them under the wooden man. The boy was fully conscious again now and began screaming for mercy. His behaviour and gestures were getting more frantic but the two Romans couldn’t hear him as his voice was drowned out by other chanting Britons.

“What in gods bones are they doing sir?” Lucius asked his commander, “Surely they’re not going to do what I think they are?”

Varro watched almost transfixed by the horror playing out before his eyes. “I wish we could do something Lucius but we would most likely end up in the same place if we intervened. There’s nothing we can do for him, all we can do in time, is ensure that it never happens again.”

As the brushwood grew under the confined boy his expression changed, his cries for mercy were exchanged for cries of anger. He was cursing his captures now and reaching through the wooden bars. He stopped at one point when his injured shoulder touched the wood and he grimaced. He leant back and began pulling at the wooden bars, jerking his head backwards with effort.

When the branches, sticks and brushwood had reached the actual base of the wooden man, the women withdrew and the chanting reached a crescendo and then abruptly stopped. The boy continued to shout and hurl what Varro concluded were insults at the people who were gathered around him but finally he stopped and was quiet. As an eerie silence enveloped the area the older druid spoke out, his harsh guttural language totally unrecognisable. He spoke for some time during which he pointed up at the sky and then down at the earth, to the trees and to the water flowing by in the river. At the end of his speech the silence took over once more as the priest bowed his head.

The boy began to fidget and move around the cage once again shouting towards the druid who pointed towards the base of the wooden man. The women walked forward with expressionless faces their eyes staring at the boy. He jumped up and began to pull at the wooden struts again, screaming and shouting, wild panic now apparent in his young voice.

The druid shouted another command and the women stopped, without another word they bent down and dropped their torches onto the gathered wood. The boy stopped stock still and looked down as initially nothing happened and the woman retreated. Then a wisp of smoke grew and was followed by another, the boy went berserk, trying to climb higher into the cage that had become his death pen. The gathered Britons did nothing except watch as the horrific drama played out before them.

“For the god’s sake sir, they’re burning the poor lad to death.” Lucius withdrew his sword.

“We can’t do anything Lucius put your fucking sword away that’s an order.” He emphasised the point glaring at Lucius as if to say, ‘one wrong move and you’ll regret it soldier’. His subordinate slammed his weapon back up to the hilt.

“Come on my friend, we don’t need to see this play out, the boys as good as dead already. I promise you though we’ll take vengeance on those animals, I swear it.”

As Varro led the way back to their tethered horses the boy’s screams began to fade and finally stopped. “Hopefully the smoke knocked him out before he could burn but they will pay for what they’ve done.”