Caratacus

Chapter Seven

Varro and his small group of reconnaissance riders rode out again the next morning. They almost expected to round a corner and find thousands of Britons waiting for them but today it was not to be. The enemy were crawling away somewhere and licking their wounds after the devastating defeat the day before. Every now and again they would come across a hurriedly dug small burial mound where they had buried corpses which showed they were in a hurry as they normally burnt their warriors on funeral pyres. Some of the mounds they found were bigger than others where presumably more than one body was buried. The Romans were curious as to how the Britons had continued to move so quickly and bury their dead but eventually they stopped finding them so the subject became irrelevant.

The Britons were not difficult to track and were clearly making no attempt to disguise the route they were taking. When the sun was high in the sky overhead Varro and his small party had caught up with them, initially they stayed back out of sight and observed them from a safe distance. Stragglers walked along on foot a few hundred feet behind the rear of the main body. Carts, horses, chariots and even the walking warriors carried the wounded slowly moving along the route others walked heads bowed in the main, with little or no conversation taking place.

Some three hundred feet or so distant following at walking pace, Varro studied the Britons who had been so alive and vibrant the day before, but now looked crushed and devoid of life. He felt no sympathy however, not because he was uncaring but because if he allowed thoughts such as those to enter his head, they would eat away at him and he knew he couldn’t allow that. They were after all, the enemy, an enemy that had to been destroyed or beaten so badly that they gave up fighting and never drew a sword against Rome again.

He estimated that they were now half a day’s walk from Brenna’s settlement and wondered how her people would greet their defeated countrymen and women. Would they be welcomed with open arms, their dead mourned, their injured healed or would they be turned away to protect their own people from the wrath of the invaders. There was no doubting that the war party would overwhelm the settlement if it so desired even in its ragged state and he didn’t want Brenna or her people harmed if he could avoid it. They did their best to stay hidden and out of sight as they followed and once or twice a rider would track back and they would have to retreat some distance in order not to be seen.

“We’ll go round them and warn Brenna’s people of their approach. Caratacus could well do anything after yesterday and I wouldn’t want anyone that didn’t agree with him to get in their way especially Brenna and her people.” Varro said after a while.

They moved to the left angling away from the rear of the defeated enemy and began cantering up a slight rise and away around the Britons out of sight. The day was warm with a slight breeze, a good day for riding even if it was under pressure.

By late afternoon they approached familiar paths worn by years of feet, hooves and carts passing through them. The air was still as they rounded a slight bend and entered a clearing. The settlement looked quiet, no dogs or children were busy playing, no animals in the small pens and no people could be seen.

“It looks like they’ve already heard the news.” Veranius remarked as he brought his horse to a halt. Varro looked around at the silent roundhouses, almost eerie with no souls present. Suddenly from nowhere and without any warning arrows thudded into the ground and trees behind them, to a man they turned and retreated further into cover.

“Where the fuck did they come from?” Marcus said from under the canopy of a tree.

“Anyone see how many of them there were?” Varro asked.

“Had to have been at least ten,” Veranius remarked, “the good news is that they weren’t close enough to throw spears.”

“No-one got hit did they?” Varro said checking his horse, they were all uninjured. “We’ve got a choice, we can either try to find them and see how many of them there are or we can get out of here.”

“Sir,” Marcus cut in, “we can scout around them.” He said gesturing with his arm the direction he suggested to the left. Varro nodded in acknowledgement and they began to move away up a gradual rise on the forest floor. Some moments later they began to hear horses and carts. Moving carefully through the trees above their quarry the first of the Britons came into view. They were clearly wary of their surroundings as they were looking up into the trees canopy and the foliage as they walked.

“It has to be the main body of the enemy force. We must have bumped into the stragglers back there.” Varro said as they continued to watch the Britons. “Come on let’s get out of here.” He turned Staro quietly and moved off, the others following.

Varro opened his eyes slowly, vague memories stumbled through his thoughts. He sensed before he saw and felt that he was being restrained, arms outstretched, wrists tied as well as feet. As his eyes slowly focused, shouting became audible as if he were emerging from water, who was it, where were they? He was dizzy and his head hurt from somewhere near the left temple. He tried to shake off the dullness but it made his head thump even more, with sharp stabbing pains. More noise, voices shouting, faces, blurred faces came into view, unfocused. He closed his eyes tightly as if that would help him focus but it was to no avail. He heard screams from nearby. He turned to the left and could make out other figures standing with their backs against trees like him, he was on his feet, facing outward.

“Varro.” A voice, a familiar voice called to him. Suddenly he was struck by something hard, it rocked his head back against the tree trunk he now realised he was tied to as his senses became sharp once more through a fog of pain.

“Varro!”

The voice called again. He opened his eyes to see a sea of faces before him. Faces daubed in blue streaks, swirls and stripes, limed hair sticking out, taunting and mocking. Two of his men were tied up against a tree to the left. Veranius and Decimus were as bruised as he was and were standing watching the barbarians before them, the Britons spoke in an unknown language, their voices rough and harsh, guttural.

“Thank Mars you’re alive. I thought they’d killed you for sure.” Veranius said, spitting blood from his mouth and wincing. A Briton, female, stepped forward and bent down looking at the blood. She stepped into it merging it with the soil with her foot. Varro looked at her muscular frame, her arms daubed with the blue war paint, bare legs and breasts, her crotch and lower legs the only areas that were covered.

Seeing he had regained consciousness she walked over to him and muttered something but he didn’t understand a word she said, her breath was rank as she spat words into his face. She grabbed at his balls, squeezing them and laughing as did others gathered nearby. He realised that he was stripped naked, his clothing and armour nowhere to be seen, what the fuck had happened? She waved a sharp knife in the other hand whilst squeezing and pulling on his testicles with the other.

They had heard rumours of Britons stripping men of their flesh when they were captured, their genitals cut from them and sewn into their mouths, tongues cut out, ears and noses cut off, burned and eaten before them. It was a fate worse than death being captured by these primitive bastards but that was where they found themselves, they here and they’re worst nightmare was realised. The women were said to be more terrifying than the men, taking revenge for the deaths of their families and loved ones. Women warriors whose hatred and scorn was taken out on the men who had wounded and killed their own, were now given the chance to take blood for blood.

Varro saw men watching in the background sat on a raised bank, he and his men were being used for entertainment. They were not delirious with pleasure as the women seemed to be but sat there just watching with something akin to sympathy etched across their faces. They chewed on stripped pieces of meat and chatted with each other as the entertainment continued.

“The others, where are they?” Varro called out.

“They managed to escape when they ambushed us.” Veranius said struggling against the rope binding him to the tree. The female saw him and walked over, spitting in his face. Veranius returned the gesture and was punched squarely on the nose, it crunched under the impact. Before he could register the pain another blow pounded into his face, followed by another with the flat of her palm. The female withdrew her hand, her palm already blood spattered with red snot and blood. Veranius gagged trying to breathe through his shattered nose, snorting out blood quickly to try and clear his airway.

“I hope they rode back to get help because if they didn’t we’re going to go to our gods here this night.” Varro said watching the woman as she walked over to Decimus. She grabbed his manhood and stretched it, gathering in his balls as well she removed her knife from a belt and placed it against his organs. His head jerked back as he tried to move away from her blade, she laughed, letting go as his head dropped in relief. They would tease their prey before they mutilated them it seemed.

“Stay the fuck away from us you dirty fucking diseased cunt.” Shouted Veranius. Instantly the woman turned her attention to him.

“Veranius, keep your fucking mouth shut unless you want that dirty cunt to cut your cock off and eat it raw before your dying eyes.” His commander ordered.

“They’re going to kill us anyway so why delay it sir?” He looked at the Briton before him almost pleading in his eyes for a quick death as she ran the sharpened blade down his chest opening a long slicing cut.

The previously vanished memories of the ambush began to return to Varro in flashes, the attack that had come without warning and that had brought them to this point. They had been guiding their horses through a twisting trail through shaded woods when the Britons had struck. Had they been pushed into taking this route by the bowmen or had it been a coincidence, Varro didn’t know. What he did know was that once the ambush was sprung, within seconds he and his men were captured or fleeing for their lives. They suddenly found themselves surrounded at the front and both sides. As they tried to turn quickly in the confined space, more Britons cut off the rear. Marcus and Lucius charged their horses at the linking line of barbarians and half jumped their animals through the gathering horde.

Marcus’ mounts front hooves clipped the forehead of a screaming enemy, knocking him out cold instantly, even before he hit the ground. Mud flew into the air from the animals feet as the ambush tightened its grip. The horse carrying Lucius romped into the gap created by the falling native and the two galloped away. Wooden clubs were wielded by the screaming warriors as they aimed for the heads and arms of the remaining riders whilst others behind them held large spears. As Varro realised the intention was capture and not kill, a blow to the head took him from the frenzied world he had found himself in.

Veranius spat the contents of his bleeding mouth at the female as she shrieked into his face pressing the knife into his stomach, her own now covered in his blood and spittle.

“Noooooo!” Shouted Varro as his second in command braced himself. He managed a half turn to his commander as the blade pierced his flesh entering his body with ease as she leaned on the handle. Sweat glistened from the Romans head as the knife sunk deeper and he howled in agony. Varro was aware of the face of Decimus behind his wounded friend but didn’t focus to look at him. Veranius could do nothing except scream. As the knife reached the hilt, the woman let go of the handle and let it stay where it had sank to and she spat at Veranius.

“Fucking cunt, you fucking whore.” He shouted his voice still strong, his head dropping, eyes looking at the blade embedded in his stomach.

“Hold on Veranius, just hold on. Don’t do anything else to intimidate her or she’ll have your fucking balls off as well.” Varro shouted almost pleading, the woman looked at him as he said it and placed her hand on the knife handle again.

“Leave him alone you fucking whore.” The Roman commander shouted staring into her black eyes. She smirked and pushed down on the handle, its blade ripping up into the stomach and chest of Veranius as he let out an unearthly cry of agony. Varro thrust himself forwards and backwards furiously against the tree trying to break free, the top even shaking slightly with this effort and rage. The woman laughed and then slowly withdrew the blade. Veranius tried to scream again, his face contorted, head jerking backwards and hitting the trunk but no words came from him. Varro wasn’t sure if he had lost consciousness through his head cracking the tree or the pain being inflicted upon him as his head fell forward. Whichever it was, it didn’t seem to matter now as Veranius slumped forward his body limp, he was lost to the blackness.

“You fucking coward. You fucking coward! Untie me and I’ll show you what pain is, you fucking vile cock sucking whore.” Varro challenged.

Veranius’s eyes flickered back to life as his head slowly rose back up. Varro tried to get the woman’s attention but she had already seen him and had turned her focus back to his second in command. Varro was aware of a commotion from somewhere behind the ranks of watching Britons who were now screaming and almost delirious for more blood but he wasn’t focusing on that, he was screaming at the woman. She turned and sneered at him baring her teeth, lowering her arms and leering at him, leaning forward.

She raised her hand holding the knife and pointed it at him, he held his breath expecting to feel the cold metal stained with his friend’s blood enter his own flesh. She walked towards him, staring into his eyes, repeating words like some sort of incantation.

“Fucking whore, you fucking whore.” Veranius managed weakly as she suddenly turned focusing all her attention on him again. The crowds frenzy grew wild as without warning she stabbed downwards and his eyes bulged. Varro couldn’t see what she had done as she bent down near his waist, her victim suddenly white with shock. All Varro could see was a sawing motion as her arm moved forward and backwards very slowly.

Veranius slipped into unconsciousness again, his head slumping forward, blood dripped from his open mouth. The crowd went wild with delirium as the armed woman stood up straight, her blade in one hand and bloodied flesh, organs in the other. Varro strained to see what it was. Then shock hit him with a sudden realisation. She had cut off his manhood and testicles, no matter what happened next, he knew his friend was dead.

He stood there imprisoned watching as she displayed the severed organs to the baying crowd, splashing blood onto their faces and dripping it onto her own and into her laughing open mouth. When they had all had their fill she held them over a fire and then let them drop, sizzling and spitting as they landed. Varro knew there was now nothing to be gained from shouting or struggling any further not that it would have helped the situation before. He decided that whatever happened next, it was the will of the gods that was if they were even at this forsaken place.

The woman wiped her bloodied blade on the material around her waist and smiled as she approached Decimus. The horror engrained on his face was only matched by the psychopathic joy across the faces of the watching crowd. She stood directly in front of him and examined his lower body, smiling at his genitals. She shouted something that clearly amused the crowd and they laughed and balled in appreciation of her words. She leaned forward and grabbed the soldier behind his neck, pulled his head forward and then kissed him. She licked his face as he tried to push his head backwards as her other hand moved between his legs and explored.

As she withdrew from her bizarre act, Decimus suddenly whipped his head forward, his forehead crunching into the woman’s face, catching her on the bridge of the nose. She staggered back, her nose shattered clutching at her face, blood flowing freely from her broken ruptured nose and she fell to the ground. The crowd went quiet.

“Fuck you whore.” Decimus said as he spat at her prone body. Varro knew that they were both dead in the hands of these animals and didn’t blame him for what he had done. What difference would it make if they were to die like their friend? Just then Varro heard a murmur from Veranius as blood flowed and dripped from the black hole of the wound she had created. Varro hoped his friend wouldn’t awake to see what she had done to him, he knew he would prefer to die rather than see how she had disfigured him before he went to the next world.

As the barbarian female struggled to her feet holding her nose and mouth, someone pushed their way through the now quiet crowd who were watching the scene before them. Another female voice called out and the torturer turned.

Varro was struck dumb as he saw it was Brenna.

The two women exchanged angry words, the attacker pointing at Veranius. Varro allowed a brief spike of hope to enter his being as the two women argued.

However, Brenna looked over smiling at the unconscious soldier. She grabbed the other woman’s knife and approached Veranius. Varro didn’t know if she even knew he was there, surely she would recognise him and his men even in this awful condition. His shock was complete as she pushed the head of Veranius back and then slashed downwards across his neck, cutting open the veins within. Blood literally gushed out spraying the ground some feet from the tied Roman, splashing Brenna and the other woman, the watching crowd went wild with excitement. Brenna barked orders at those gathered and they went silent. She walked to Decimus and stood staring at him.

“Don’t you fucking dare, no please don’t.” Varro pleaded. Brenna looked over to him, an unknowing expression sneering at him, lips curled back like a wolf about to pounce, he didn’t recognise this person. This wasn’t the woman he had spent time with that night, she showed no sign of acknowledging him or human emotion. She was different, remote, she was native, feral, a Briton. She turned and walked around to the rear of the tree holding Decimus in place and cut the rope freeing him, he fell forward and onto the ground. Other women ran towards him but Brenna shouted at them holding out the knife, her words harsh, they stopped before getting to the Roman who was now rubbing at his wrists where the ropes had dug into them. She walked to Varro and did the same, cutting him free. What was she doing, was she freeing them only to have the crowd, rip them apart, his exhaustion almost made him not care.

She shouted for someone unseen as Tevelgus appeared through the gathered mob, he was leading three horses. Brenna pointed at the animals and Varro recognised Staro as he stamped his front hoof as he saw his master. She indicated for the two men to get onto the animals which they did struggling after their recent experience. Their hands were tied to the pommels of the saddles. The crowd parted slowly as they moved through them, some spat as they went by.

Varro looked down at the woman with the broken and bleeding nose as she tried to shout one last insult, her attempt snuffed out as blood spattered through her mouth and nose as she began to cough and choke. He didn’t try to respond as Brenna shouted something at her and kicked her horse into a canter, parting the crowd fully.

Sometime later when darkness had fallen and they were some distance from the place of torture, Brenna reminded the two soldiers not to speak, not to say a word as they had done so far. They hadn’t uttered a sentence since their release so severe was the shock of the incident and Brenna didn’t want anything that may be taken the wrong way, to be overheard by any listening ears. Varro now dared to believe they would live through this horror, although he felt really guilty because his friend had died so appallingly. The image of the whore cutting into him kept returning no matter what he tried to do to rid himself of the memory.

Brenna had taken his life but had she done so in pity or to reinforce the trust of the others? Were they now being led to a worse fate? He didn’t know and from his current position, tied on the horses, he didn’t have any other choice than to go along with whatever Brenna planned.

They were in a group of about twenty Britons, some of whom he recognised from the night at Brenna’s settlement but none gave a clue as to the outcome of this journey. After a bone jarring ride and when they were far away from the other Britons, Brenna said something to the others in the group and they came to a halt.

“You were lucky we found you when we did.” Tevelgus said dismounting his horse carrying his axe. “They were planning on skinning you both alive and wearing your flesh in battle.”

Varro stared at the brother of Brenna in shock. “How did you find us? How did you make them release us?” He asked.

“We found you by the will of your own gods Varro,” Brenna said getting off her own horse, “we very nearly didn’t find you at all, at the last turn of the river, we were going to go in the opposite direction. Then we heard shouting, their joy at your torture, it brought us to you. Tevelgus is right about them skinning you but first you would have begged for death. That woman’s man was killed by your army she is left to look after three children alone.”

“You killed Veranius.” He said looking into her eyes, the coldness he saw in her was still present.

“Would you have preferred that he died slowly of his wounds, ruined by that woman’s knife?” She looked at him with eyebrows raised.

“He could not have lived with such injuries and even if your gods had let him, what would he have been? She would have cut more flesh from his body and then when there was nothing left to mutilate, it would have been your turn or your friend here.” She pointed.

“Have you ever seen a person skinned when they still live Varro? It isn’t something I would wish on my worst enemy.”

Varro didn’t answer, he couldn’t. He knew she was right. Veranius was dead and had been sent to his death in a most vile and corrupt way and there was nothing he could have done to change it. He would though he vowed if given the opportunity, take revenge on those responsible.

“Why did that thing listen to you back there? She was about to kill Decimus and me as well. I can’t believe she allowed you to stop it, why?” He asked.

Tevelgus who was gathering firewood nearby answered the question. “If they had not listened to their rightful heir, they would have been tied to the trees in your place Varro. They would have suffered an even worse fate believe me.” He threw two pairs of rough material trousers at the two soldiers he had pulled from a bag on his horse.

Varro looked at Brenna, who stared back at him raising an eyebrow. “Your soldiers massacred thousands of our people, not just my own but others from different tribes fighting under the banner of the Catuvellauni. You cannot expect them to not take their revenge.”

“Wait, wait I’m confused, you’re an heir to a tribe?” Said Varro, his face was lined in anguish and confusion as he paced between the horses, realising he was still naked, he pulled on the rough pants quickly.

“So why have you helped us? You could have let them kill us right then and there.” He paused, confused.

“You’re a Princess then?” He repeated, “I knew there was something about you.” He almost smiled, but the situation didn’t allow it. “You can help put an end to this then, you can stop the killing.”

“Princess?” Brenna said, “I don’t know this word. My people are warriors, if they are not fighting amongst themselves they are fighting with their neighbours, if they are not fighting with their neighbours they will fight with family. Now you have come from across the great water from Gaul, they will fight you as they have united, and intend to push you back into the water as they did before.”

“Before, do you mean all those years ago when Caesar marched his legions across your land?” Varro asked.

“Yes when your greatest ever warrior was defeated and sent home, then as now, the tribes are uniting. Caratacus and his brother Togodumnus are intending to defeat the Romans as the Britons did before. Then your Caesar brought a great army contained in over eight hundred vessels to our shores. He had great success but was eventually stopped, made to retreat and returned empty handed to Rome through Gaul. Roman heads decorated the villages for decades, did you know that?

Weapons were displayed as battle honours. He came with many, many men, over forty thousand warriors who raped and burned our houses but for the first time here they tasted a great defeat and faced even more warriors, better warriors and warriors who were prepared to die for their land and families. Now your great Vespasian has brought even more men maybe thousands more to our shores, our spies tell us and even so success is not guaranteed.” She paused letting her words sink in.

Varro sat on a fallen log. “So I ask again, if you believe that Caratacus will do the same, why did you help us when you could have let us die back there?”

She watched as her brother gathered more wood for the fire. “We have to somehow stop this spread of violence if we as a people are ever going to progress. I have heard tell of your huge settlements made of stone, teachings by Greeks, buildings with pools of warm water in them, houses with warmth in the dark of winter, water flowing from rivers and mountain streams to your cities on great stone structures and a council that rules the whole empire. It is clear you are more aware of the world in which we live and so can help my people achieve that too.”

Varro looked up, “So why don’t you order them to put down their weapons, return to their villages, their settlements and it will all stop if you do, you will lose many more thousands of lives if they continue to fight. This time Rome will not turn around and go home, the emperor Claudius wants a triumph, and Britannia will be the victory that gives him that triumph. He has said that he will personally set foot on your soil when that victory is complete, it will be a great honour for your people as well as my own.”

Her stare hardened again, “You see Varro that’s where I become confused, why would such an enlightened people want more? Why do you think that it would be an honour for us to have your Emperor here? Why do you want to enslave our people, take our gold and leave your home to achieve that? There is one thing here for your soldiers and that’s death, nothing more, nothing less. The tribes will not allow you to walk in welcomed with open arms. I have to,” she looked at Tevelgus pausing, “we have to do what we can to prevent bloodshed from both sides. Don’t you think it’s worth it Varro?”

Varro looked at Brenna and for the first time saw the woman he had been with just a few nights before as she really was, a caring loving, intelligent leader and a beautiful woman. A memory of her warm skin and touch made him flush, “I’m just a soldier, you are asking the wrong person. I just follow the orders my General gives me. I am nothing more than an extension of his words, one of his many swords.”

Brenna smiled at him warming his heart, “If you were simply a tool of your magnificent General Varro, I would not have risked my life and that of my brother to save you. My people would have tied us to trees next to you if they had known of our intentions today, leaders or not.”

“So what did you say to that whore who killed my friend in such a dishonourable and barbaric way?”

“I told them that you would be the highlight of the festivities tonight and that you and your friend Decimus here would pay dearly for the massacre your General created. If I had said anything less they wouldn’t have hesitated in killing you both immediately I’m sure.” She touched his leg reassuringly. Tevelgus had managed to light the fire and warm flames began to take away the nights chill.

“I can’t get the image of what she did to Veranius out of my head.” Varro said holding his head in his hands, “He didn’t deserve to die like that, no-none deserves to die like that.” He looked at Decimus who was clearly having the same thoughts.

“Nobody deserves to die like that not even a pig, you are right.” Brenna replied. “But you have come from a different land and you don’t understand our ways or customs. Our men fight with long swords and spears they do not hide behind shields or cover themselves in armour. They could but they believe it is more honourable to fight like true warriors not cowering behind shields. Only some high born cover themselves in such armour and use shields but that is because of their importance to their people.”

He looked at her staring into her dark eyes, “I can assure you we do not hide behind shields because we are cowardly. We have come here to conquer and to do that we use the best tactics, weapons and equipment we have available. It would be pure stupidity to fight in the way your people do. There is no honour in that, throwing your best warriors onto spears, where is the sense?” Varro responded, seeing that he had struck a chord with her and she didn’t like it. “Anyway, I’m not here to discuss tactics with you. If you’re opposed to Rome, why did you save us?”

“Varro, if my people can live in peace, are not abused as slaves or taken from our land, why should I resist? Sadly I cannot stop nor will I stop those who believe you are wrong to come here, to impose your will. I know that if we are left in peace and become part of your great empire, we will flourish and grow, we would become great allies to Rome.

The Emperor has already told us that we will become client kingdoms, which means we will still rule our people but will be overseen by the Empire. This is not a bad thing because it will in time bring peace and prosperity to my people but first we have to go through all this.” She emphasised her point by indicating with a wave of her arm.

Varro thought about her words, “So no matter what happens you win, I mean you with the way you think about all of this. If your tribes push us into the sea again, you retain your rule, if Rome wins, you become client kingdoms and so you will be happy?”

“What would you do in my place Varro? If you ruled this land or part of this land, would you fight or allow the invaders to have their way if they promised peace and legitimate rule?” She asked.

“I don’t know but what I do know is that we are where we are and we are who we are. Our destinies are decided by others and I am merely a soldier playing my part. That is all I can do for now and all I will do until a better opportunity presents itself or I complete my service.”

“Twenty five years is a long time Varro,” He raised an eyebrow, clearly she knew quite a lot about a soldier’s life, she continued, “by that time maybe we will know who has won the fight for my land but I doubt it. In the meantime we have to live as best as we can.” She leaned forward and kissed him gently taking him by surprise. He returned the kiss briefly before the image of Veranius blood spattered body entered his mind’s eye again and the horrific death he had suffered.

“I want the woman that killed Veranius,” he said, “I want to take her life and make her suffer before she goes from this world.”

“Shhhh.” She tried to calm him. “Tevelgus will prepare food and tomorrow you can return to your army if you wish, then you can find her and take her life.”

They ate their food in near silence, pork cooked over the fire. It tasted good and was washed down by some brew the Britons had brought with them. Varro was grateful to Brenna as was Decimus especially considering the alternative. Both of them could have been dead when the first stars appeared in the night’s sky or worse, cut to pieces and still breathing. Their bodies cut, torn and broken and probably either thrown to the dogs or burned.

As he tried to sleep that night, wrapped in a rough blanket near the fire, images of the day kept returning to him. He could feel the ropes cutting into his wrists and the restraints around his lower legs. That was nothing however, compared to the death that his friend had suffered. They had all known the risks they were taking before they had even set foot on the ships to come to this strange land but nothing in previous campaigns had prepared him for the torture that day.

Varro didn’t know what disturbed him more, what had happened to his friend or what would have happened to he and Decimus had Brenna and Tevelgus not rescued them. He had felt that there was something special about Brenna but would never have guessed that she was a leader of her people. As he lay there staring up at the sky, he started to feel the signs of tiredness as his eyes began to feel heavy and for the first time he thought that he would sleep that night.

Lucius and Marcus had watched helplessly as their comrades were dragged through a jeering crowd. They knew they were so close to being with them when the ambush was sprung but had just escaped. They had ridden like demons, only slowing down when they realised they weren’t being followed. Catching their breath and after letting horses rest, they had skirted back and round to the ambush point. Following a track up a slope, they could hear the cheers followed by screams of joy from the Britons celebrating the capture of the three men. Fifty paces from the top of an outcrop they tied their horses to branches and slowly edged forward, the noise below getting louder.

From the vantage point they saw the three soldiers kicked and punched to the ground, stripped of their armour and clothing and dragged to a small clearing. A local chieftain pushed himself through the gathered throng and shouted orders then retreated as did the other males, leaving the females with the soldiers.

“What the fuck are those whores doing? What should we do Lucius, we can’t just leave them.” Marcus whispered edging closer to the lip of the outcrop. Lucius looked down at the scene below and then back at Marcus, “And what should we do Marcus? What would you have us do? We barely escaped with our lives ourselves. There are two of us and there are probably hundreds of them, we wouldn’t stand a chance, they’d rip us apart. The best thing we can do is get back to the Legion and report this as soon as possible, get help.”

However as they continued to watch the developing scene play out, their friends were stripped naked and backed up to three trees where their hands were tied behind their backs and their feet at ground level. A woman stepped forward shrieking and shouting, motioning to the heavens with her arms outstretched. Marcus could see that she held a knife as she approached Varro. If Marcus had a bow, he could have taken her down from here. He estimated they were only two hundred paces from the men now helpless below. He didn’t want to watch but he didn’t want to turn his back on the three men either. He clutched his hands repeatedly sweat pouring from his forehead and almost every pore of his body.

“Come on Marcus, I can’t watch this.” Lucius said getting to his feet.

“I’m not leaving them. They might just tie them up for the night and that would give us a chance to get down there and release them.” Marcus said unsheathing his spatha, it wasn’t of any practical purpose but it made him feel a little more secure. Lucius walked back to the horses as Marcus continued watching. As the horror continued in the small clearing he saw that the men had left the three soldiers to the fate of the women totally and knew that that was probably a bad thing. Standing behind the females they stood watching, still and impassive as the women built to frenzy in front of them goading and jeering each other on, eventually some sat down as if they were about to watch a normal form of entertainment.

Marcus watched as his friends were tormented. The leading female approached Veranius and gestured at him and the others. Winding up the women around her, she built them into a crescendo and finally slowly thrust the knife into his stomach. The gathered women went wild, he saw Varro furiously struggling to free himself but to no avail. Marcus desperately wanted to close his eyes but he watched disbelievingly as the woman cut the genitals from Veranius’s ravaged body and threw them into a fire.

His head jerked back automatically in response as he saw his friends own head fall forward and hang limply, gouts of blood flowing and spurting from his wounds spasmodically. Marcus finally closed his eyes and wished and prayed for them all to be somewhere else other than this barbaric land. He swore vengeance on the woman and many others and if it were physically possible, he would help make it happen.

Then the woman approached Varro, Marcus saw that there was a disturbance from somewhere towards the back of the baying mob. He could see riders talking to the men, gesturing towards the torture that was taking place. Within seconds the riders had dismounted and were pushing their way through the crowds, seemingly oblivious to their complaints and shouts.

Marcus blinked as he recognised Brenna and Tevelgus.

“Lucius,” he turned to see where he was, speaking in a low voice, “Lucius get your fucking arse here now, its Brenna and Tevelgus.” He got to where Marcus lay just as Varro and Decimus were cut free.

“What the fuck happened to Veranius?” He asked.

“That fucking cunny that Tevelgus is talking with cut his fucking balls off after stabbing him, he must be dead now.” He replied.

Lucius gulped down almost choking on his own breath but strained his eyes watching as Brenna walked to Veranius, pushed his unconscious head back and then cut deeply into the artery of his neck.

“Oh my gods that fucking bitch.” He whispered the words out. The two men watched as the surviving Romans were cut free entirely and escorted to horses, bungled up and then rode away.

“Where do you think they’re taking them?” Lucius asked.

“I don’t know but I know one thing,” he replied staring at the torturer, “that fucker won’t ever kill another Roman soldier ever again, come on.”

Later a chill had fallen over the valley where the Britons had tortured their friends, camp fires still flickered below with bodies lying nearby. Nothing moved except the occasional dog wandering around scavenging scraps and leftovers from their meals. An owl hooted somewhere in the distance its call echoing across the small valley.

Slowly Marcus led Lucius down the slope, their swords sheathed their daggers in hand as they moved lower careful not to step on anything that might break or snap and alert the sleeping enemy. Marcus had a rough idea where his prey slept as he got close to the first fire its flames disturbing his vision. They moved very slowly now crouched low, stepping through and round some snoring bodies.

“There!” Marcus whispered pointing. She lay wrapped around a child, two others were close by.

“How the fuck are we going to get her? The bitch is wrapped around that little bastard.” He indicated whispering with his dagger.

“Pull the child away Lucius.” Marcus instructed.

“You are fucking crazy, you’ll get us both killed.” Lucius said kneeling down and gently grabbing the child wrists and pulling her away. Marcus got into position around the head of the sleeping barbarian woman and pressed his dagger against her throat. Her eyes opened with a start just as he hit her, knocking her out cold instantly. A few bodies stirred briefly with the sound of the impact but none woke properly. Marcus picked up the head and shoulders whilst Lucius grabbed her feet. Together they left the sleeping bodies behind as quickly as they could, the child was still sleeping, she would never see her mother alive again.

At a safe distance Marcus threw his end of the unconscious woman to the floor, her body span round as Lucius maintained a grip of her ankles, her head colliding with the ground roughly.

“Let go.” He said to Lucius, whilst getting some rope.

“What are you going to do?” Marcus didn’t answer as he secured her to a tree. When he was satisfied she couldn’t move he said, “I vowed vengeance on this cunt and that’s what I’ll have.” He glared at Lucius and he knew that he wouldn’t argue. Secured and tied with her back to the tree, Marcus cut her clothing off as she began to stir.

“Where shall we start Lucius?” He said grabbing at her breasts, her nipples hard in the cold night air. Her eyes opened fully as she licked her lips, still bloody from the punch Marcus had delivered. Realisation dawned as she looked at her captures armour and uniforms, she tried to cry out but Marcus grabbed her mouth with his hand and squeezed tightly, his knuckles going white with the pressure. Her eyes bulged not in fear but in pain, defiance etched all over them. Her dark eyes stared out at him with a mixture of terror and hatred.

“She’s a feisty fucker this cunny stinking whore eh my friend?” Marcus cut the remaining clothes from her exposing her body totally.

“Just empty the blood from her throat Marcus, we’ll gain nothing from torturing her.” Lucius said as he walked back to the horses.

“And where would the fun be in that Lucius? This fucking cunt killed our second in command. Not only killed him but ruined his body as well, cutting his cock and balls off in the process. Now correct me if I’m wrong but that deserves a little more than a quick death in seconds as her blood vacates her stinking carcass. No my friend this fuck stick is going to pay for her journey into the afterlife.”

Lucius didn’t reply but tended to the horses. “She’s quite an attractive bush here Lucius.” Marcus said pointing to the woman’s crotch with his knife, “It’s a pity there are no balls to slice off though eh? Never mind I’m sure I can think of something similar, eh my beauty.” Her eyes widened as if she understood her fate.

As he said it he brought his dagger up unseen, grabbed her left ear and sliced through from the top instantly cutting down but not fully. She tried to scream as he ripped it clear of her head and threw it straight to the ground.

“Meat?” He offered Lucius. “We could start a fire and have fresh meat for breakfast.” He gestured to his mouth as the woman’s muffled cries died in the material he wrapped around her mouth.

Before Lucius could gather his thoughts, Marcus had reached up and cut the other ear from her, her head thrashing furiously in a vain attempt to stop him or evade the inevitable, it landed close to the first as he discarded it. Mixed with pain and terror her eyes now showed fury as well as pain.

Lucius looked away. “You see Lucius these Britons will eventually learn that they are inferior to Romans and any act to defy us will pay a heavy price, especially if they torture our men. We’ll take at least five for each one they take and eventually even they will learn.”

As he said it he thrust upward and cut directly into the left breast. Blood covered the knife immediately and the right hand and arm of Marcus but not as much as the female bore on her stomach and legs, they were covered by dark red running blood. She continually closed and opened her eyes, her muffled cries dying in the gagging cloth.

“Now if I were a Briton, I would probably cut her breasts from her body and pull them over her head before watching her bleed to death. It’s lucky for her we are not as primitive as them though eh Lucius? Although we should have brought that child and she could have watched as we cut it to pieces as well. Shame we didn’t think of that eh my friend? You,” he pointed at the woman as he began to laugh, “are very lucky we are a civilised unlike you.”

Unexpectedly Marcus took three quick steps back towards her, dipped his body slightly and then thrust upwards with his right arm leading with the tip of the knife. It penetrated and entered her body easily directly below and between her breasts. He stepped closer as her eyes went hazy and dull and then rolled upward into the back of her head. He thrust more upwards embedding the weapon deeper, his feet gaining purchase on the dusty surface. He worked the knife inside her rib cage, cutting through organs, tissue and sinew as he sliced and mashed the woman to death.

When he was finished Marcus picked up her torn clothing from the ground and wiped her blood from the dagger. He felt no particular satisfaction at the action he had taken but his friend had been avenged and so his conscience was clear.

“Cut the fucker down Lucius, at least you can do that I’m sure.” He looked at his comrade not even attempting to hide his contempt. Marcus felt that he had allowed him alone to carry the burden of vengeance. Lucius did as he was instructed, he understood the anger in Marcus and shared it but cared for no more blood that night and wasn’t prepared to violate a prisoner even though he had helped to make her one and was therefore ultimately as guilty as Marcus for the nature of her death.

Marcus crouched near a small stream and washed the blood from his hands and arms. “Let’s get out of here and back to the Legion, we’ve got to try and free Varro from that other murdering bitch.” They untied the horses, jumped onto them and rode into the night.

Quintus led his own small reconnaissance force further away from the Legion and into the open space appearing before them. The sun had been high in the sky when they had departed the fortified lines of the encampment. It was originally intended to be used for just one night as usual but instead it had now been for many and had become more solidified in its defences. Not quite permanent but not a structure that would be ripped up and abandoned like most all the same. Vespasian had decided instead that this was as good a spot as any to build a fortress of a more permanent nature and so the building had begun the day before in earnest. A century of men would be left to defend the structure which would be much smaller yet better defended using deep revetments, higher walls and watch towers than the larger temporary emplacement.

The Roman war machine knew that it was pointless to march into an area, dominate the ground and destroy the enemy just to walk away without holding the territory they had taken. They had learned to fortify specific areas especially where resistance was strong and their enemies were many. At such places they had mile forts, garrisons built on the edge of the empire, the frontier. They were manned by hardened soldiers used to remote areas and desolate places, men who knew their presence itself would bring attack.

Auxiliaries normally helped make up the numbers in such places and were usually made up of men who were not from the local vicinity. Here however, some of those men were actually Britons who were yet to be drafted into the auxiliary legions properly as most of their neighbouring tribes were yet to be conquered. Those who had agreed to join the Empire, as client Kingdoms were yet to expose themselves to the tribes still fighting Rome. This fact and reduction in numbers gave Vespasian a problem he could ill afford, leaving a full century of battle ready men behind exposed, which meant he was a large quantity of fighters down. An entire century and twenty cavalry were to be left at the new fort from where they would scout the local lands. The Britons were to provide support and knowledge of the area.

Servius had been treated by the medicus, doctor after receiving an arrow wound to the upper thigh during the battle a few days before. The injury had been clean and had missed any vital arteries or bone and the medic had assured him there would be no internal bleeding or permanent damage. Padded and strapped up now, every step his horse took was a jolting reminder of the injury but he was glad to be away from the Legion and in the fresh open air of the countryside.

The arrow had somehow flown further and higher than those around it landing within the confines of the well fortified and guarded position, where the reserve cavalry units were waiting to be deployed if necessary. It had sunk into his leg without warning unseen like a burning spike instantly sinking into his flesh. Fortunately its power was dwindling when it fell to the earth and Servius wasn’t pinned to his horse as some had been later, nor was his bone shattered.

After reporting to General Vespasian, Quintus and his men had been ordered to link up with Varro who had left the day before. They had been instructed to track the Britons and if possible locate an area ahead of their progress that would be ideal for an ambush and killing ground, in effect, an area where Caratacus and his army would meet their demise and be destroyed. Quintus had given his second in command Servius, the opportunity of staying behind and healing properly but he wouldn’t hear of it and was eager to return to active duty as soon as possible.

By noon Quintus had led his men further west, they had stayed within cover wherever possible and now stopped to let the horses feed and get some water at a stream and the men some food. They had found the water where the banks were sandy and only high in a few places so it was ideal for the horses and for the men to relax for a while. Quintus stretched removing his sword and walked into the crystal clear water still wearing his boots, it was cold on his skin.

“Ahhh!” He sighed and then continued walking further in as he said to no-one in particular, “you should try this,” His men were already biting into food or drinking from their water sacks. “We’ll take a few moments then keep going.”

A sudden burst of movement somewhere further up the stream had the men rushing and diving for their weapons, Servius grabbed his spears and took up a stance ready to throw as horses and riders quickly came into view. They were Britons, confirmed by the appearance of chariots behind the single horses. Scrambling out of the water Quintus slid his spatha from its sheath, there was no time to get on the horses and get away. Servius ran forward, limping slightly and hurled his pilum into the air, ripping his arm forward up and over with almost unnatural speed, the weapon flew towards the enemy.

“Stop. Stop.” A voice called out in his own tongue from somewhere within the group now advancing on them with terrifying speed.

“Fuck!” Shouted Quintus as he watched the spear, cut the air through the riders, it thumped into a tree behind them, buried inches deep.

“Quintus, it’s me Varro, stand down.” Shouted one of the riders somewhere towards the rear as the horses got closer and began to come to a halt spraying sand up at the waiting men who were standing swords ready.

“Gods teeth Varro what happened to you where’s your armour, your uniform and weapons?” Quintus saw that he and Decimus were dressed like locals. “Where are the others, where’s Veranius, Marcus and Lucius?”

Varro jumped from his horse splashing water and saw that Quintus was stood with his weapon pointing at Tevelgus.

“Stand down they’re friends.” He grabbed the spatha and lowered it. Quintus satisfied that these Britons were no threat sheathed his sword as did the others. Servius limped back to his horse and returned his second javelin.

“I’m glad you’re throwing hasn’t improved any.” Varro said with a smile. Servius pointed to the leg wound, “You’re lucky I’m wounded commander, it slowed me down and made my throw less accurate. If I hadn’t been punctured by an arrow a few days ago, your blood or that of your friends would be mingling with the water in the stream.”

Varro smirked and clapped Servius on the shoulder, “I for one am glad of your injury my friend. After the few days we’ve just been through, the last thing I need is a Roman spear through my belly.” Quintus looked at the centurion his expression questioning.

“My friend, and yours Veranius, has gone to the next world.” Varro felt anguish and sadness as he spoke these words, it still didn’t seem real. Quintus couldn’t believe the words and literally staggered back a few feet with their force.

“What? How, how did it happen? It can’t be true, he survived years campaigning through Gaul, survived the Germanic tribes and black forests, what happened?”

“I’m afraid it’s true Quintus, we were ambushed, captured and tortured. Veranius died before Brenna and her brother Tevelgus could come to our aid. Quintus looked at the large barbarian and the female they were quite striking for locals and not the normal barbarian pig faced bastards he had been unfortunate enough to come into close contact with before. He knew these Britons like most others were descended from Celtic tribes that came from the mountains near Rome and now called themselves Britons. These however looked bigger, stronger and better looking than the usual limed faced primitives he’d seen before.

“I am Tevelgus and this is my sister Brenna we are of the Cantiaci.” The large male announced with a thick accent leaping from his horse. Quintus saw he stood at least a head taller than Varro and was just as wide. Most Britons like all barbarians were taller than their Roman counterparts but thin and bug ugly but this fellow was especially large in all areas. His sister was remarkably stunning and both had darker hair and skin than most he was familiar with.

“Our tribe rule this land by the sea but many of our people have been persuaded to carry the sword and spear to your forces by Caratacus.” She said to Quintus her Latin good but heavily accented. Her bare arms were well muscled and Quintus assumed she had been trained as a warrior as most females in this strange and foreboding land.

“If you rule this land why can’t you control your people?” Quintus asked walking to the stream and cupping his hands to gather water to splash his onto face.

“People are led here in this land but they cannot be ruled or bent like bronze Quintus.” She replied taking in his uniform.

“They saved us from a baying mob Quintus, if they could have stopped the others I’m sure they would have. If it wasn’t for them Decimus and I would have been put to death as well. You can trust them my friend as I do believe me.”

Quintus seemed to relax a little and took in how the Britons were dressed and their weapons. Tevelgus and Brenna must have been quite high ranking as they both carried long swords and small round shields, he knew most only used the spear as a primary weapon. Tevelgus’s sword handle glistened with colourful stones and Quintus saw detailed inscriptions engraved into the handle but could not decipher the meaning.

The other Britons he noticed although large of build carried the customary spears but no swords. They eyed Quintus with suspicion as he did them. They wore no garments on their upper bodies, their muscles defined by sweat and the blue war paint they extracted from local plants called woad. The Britons believed that by dying their hair with lime it not only protected them as the hair itself became very stiff and hard and therefore negated the need for a helmet but it was also a sign of respect for Epona their horse Goddess. Their belief was that when their hair was limed they looked like they had a flowing main of a horse. The drawback from such tradition was that the chemical within the liquid of the plant eventually made their hair fall out and it never grew back.

Bald warriors were looked upon with respect and merely applied woad to their scalps as well as their arms and upper bodies. They were deemed to have served their time as warriors but most remained active and had generally risen through the ranks of local tribes.

Tevelgus and Brenna however, had full heads of hair and with the lime they appeared even larger. Quintus tried not to stare at Brenna’s rounded breasts that she or someone else had covered in swirling woad curves, they accentuated her figure even more and they were already more than appealing he thought. She like her brother and the others wore long pants down to their ankles and leather sandals over their feet, almost Roman like in their appearance.

“We’re ordered to scout Caratacus and find a suitable place for ambush. The General wants his army destroyed as soon as possible.” Quintus reported to Varro.

“I’m certain he does,” he replied, “but it won’t be easy. Now that he’s had his teeth smashed he won’t make the same mistake again if he can help it. He hasn’t ruled his own tribe with his brother for these years without being tactically aware of that I’m sure.”

Quintus studied one of the Britons chariots, the workmanship was quite remarkable. Pictures of horses had been carved into the wood and intricate Celtic designs decorated the wheels, swirling in concentric interlocking patterns.

“We stopped using chariots a long time ago Tevelgus.” Quintus remarked. “Why do you still use them?”

Tevelgus walked to the horses at the front of the chariots and unhooked them leading them to the water. “Some of my people worship the horse Goddess Epona, she is said to give the warriors power and speed. The people cannot show their love for the Goddess without a chariot on which to carve their pictures.” He pointed out the detailed carvings. “With a chariot you have the power of two animals not just one and with a chariot you can carry more than one warrior into battle. In here,” he indicated to the chariot itself, “two or more warriors can travel as well as those on the backs of the horses themselves. From these positions, spears can be thrown at the enemy before they are engaged on foot and many spears can be carried not just two.” He pointed to his horse. “Men can be moved to positions around an area of conflict very quickly and sometimes can even prevent it altogether if the enemy sees that they are at a tactical disadvantage.” The big Briton smiled. “We can also carry more food and water, so you see, our chariots are very useful.”

“It makes you wonder why we don’t use them still if they’re so valuable.” Quintus said still admiring the artwork on the side of the chariot.

“We don’t use them because we don’t need them.” Varro said. “But that’s only because we have the manpower to get round it. Our cavalry make up the speed in battle, our columns make up the numbers tenfold on the battlefield and our wagons and horses, mules and oxen carry the other equipment needed. It comes down to what you have I suppose and what you’re used to having, I can see advantages to both. Besides I trust Staro here,” he said giving his horse a pat on the nose, “if he was rigged up to another horse, I don’t know how he would behave.”

Tevelgus said, “Our horses are trained from an early age to pull the chariots. Children are given small versions to break them in when they are young so they are used to them at a very early age.” He saw Quintus admiring the art work on the wood of the chariot. He pointed to the swirling patterns carved into the wood. “They are never-ending circles that represent life, a very important symbol for us.”

As the group settled down to rest, Varro and Quintus decided on a plan of action. Varro and Decimus had to get new equipment and they could only find that with the Legion and hopefully at the same time they would find Marcus and Lucius. Quintus and his men would scout forward and try to find a good ambush point for Caratacus.

Brenna brought them food and together the two groups rested while the horses paddled in the stream and fed on the lush, rich grass at the side of the water.

“Caratacus was still heading west when we last saw him and his army. In another two or three day’s he will be at the Regini land far to the west.” Brenna began, “I cannot say how the Regini will react. They may try to repel Caratacus or they may join with him. He could double his strength in a matter of days and I’m sure he will have already sent riders ahead to talk to them. You could be facing far more warriors than you or your General ever expected very soon.”

“That maybe the case but I’m sure he knows what he’s doing. In Gaul we faced five to one enemies, sometimes six and still we were victorious. It maybe that Vespasian would actually welcome an alliance between Caratacus and other tribal leaders. They would be bolder with greater numbers and throw themselves at the shields and spears of the Legions with greater abandon. Your warriors have the bravery of any we have ever faced in battle but their bravery is also their downfall, their tactics are old and not well thought out. Hurling the bravest man at a pointed sharpened blade is foolhardy at best and stupid at worst and a tragic waste of life. I wish I had ten Legions of Britons, trained and schooled in our ways, with them I could conquer the entire world.”

Brenna regarded him with an expression approaching disdain, it was the first time he had experienced such a feeling, “Why war Varro, why killing? Is there not a different way for such an enlightened people like yours to exist and co-exist with others? Can’t there be another way for those who have taken so much from the Greeks?”

Varro regarded her with an expression she had never seen before and responded angrily, “The Greeks are nothing more than subservient boy fuckers Brenna. They like nothing more than to shag twelve year olds and then stare at the night sky. The only true warriors that place ever spawned were Spartans and look what Greece did to them after they had saved them from invading Saracens.”

She stared at him, “Whilst I’m not sure of their sexual preferences Varro and nor do I know what their country did to them eventually, I did not mean anything detrimental to you or yours. I merely wish to exist in peace and for those around me to do so.”

“Your naivety surprises me sometimes Brenna. With so many warring tribes even in your own country I’m amazed that you’re still alive.” He checked the war axe that Tevelgus had given him. He continued, “I’m sorry too it’s hard to have a different opinion of others when all you have known is war. There are people out there that will slit your throat without even blinking and take your animals and children and use them as they choose. I would love to live in this world you see believe me, we all would but that’s another reason why we do what we do. One day our children or our children’s children will live in that world and all this death will have been worthwhile.”

She smiled, “When that day comes, we will have all reached a level where we deserve to live in peace. I just hope your right and that the day you speak of comes soon.”

The group rested and ate together before moving off in separate directions, Quintus to the west with his men scouting for Caratacus and a possible ambush site and Varro towards the safety of the second Legion and replacement weapons and armour. Varro realised that it had actually been tranquil near the stream with the relaxing trickle of the water and the sound of birds in the trees and surrounding area and wondered when he would feel like that again.