Retribution

Chapter Thirteen

As Grattius threw his sword on the bed of their rented room later that evening, he wasn’t a happy man, “This will be the death of us you know?” He said to Varro who was unclasping his own weapon. “Even if by some miracle we can make it as far as the mountains, they’ll strip our flesh and feed us to the crows and Caratacus will eat what’s left.” He stared at his centurion, fury in his eyes, “I’d rather eat shit straight from a pig’s arse than be involved in this madness.”

Varro slumped onto his own bed, “And what would you have me do? Tell the Governor of the Roman Province of Britannia we’re not going?”

Grattius growled, “Better that than to be made into hats by the Silures warriors, gods above and below and all around, of all the things to be volunteered for, this is just madness.” He unclipped the harness on his belt holding his dagger and hurled it into the corner of the room. “I may as well take that and start carving away right now,” he looked at his thigh, “here this is probably a good place to start, plenty of meat.”

Varro smiled, “The gods haven’t been kind to us today my friend, but what can we do apart from accept our lot?”

“It’s not today I’m worried about, it’s being surrounded by thousands of hairy bastards in the future that worries me.” Grattius replied. “Is it too late to transfer back to the infantry do you think?” He asked with a sarcastic grimace on his face.

“Come on, let’s get tidied up and enjoy our last night in a civilised place, I’m paying.” Varro answered, removing his chainmail and walking to the water bowl on a table by the small window. “We’ll have some hot food and a few gallons of wine, perhaps it will help to take away the pain.”

They found a table downstairs in a corner and ordered a hot stew with plenty of wine to help wash it down. The place was just starting to fill up with traders, legionaries and a few locals, a large fire was roaring away nearby keeping the place warm.

“So do you think there’s any chance, any chance at all that Brenna and her friend will get us through this in one piece?” Grattius asked his centurion.

Varro took a swig of his wine, it was a little sour and one eye blinked shut as he swallowed, “Hardly the good stuff is it?” He said and shivered. “I don’t know and to be honest I don’t even know how much I trust her anymore after what happened.” He took another mouthful and pulled a face. “Don’t have much choice.”

“First sign of anything that even remotely makes me believe she’s going to remove my head and I’ll skewer her and her friend.” Grattius said taking a drink, “Mm not bad.” Varro frowned as his optio tipped his cup back and emptied its contents in one. “Not the worst drop of juice I’ve had.” He said and then let out a loud belch which prompted someone on the next table to turn around with a look on their face of utter disgust. “Oh and you don’t get wind I suppose?” Grattius said staring at the man who was clearly a civilian, “Here, have this one as well.” He added as he leant forward and belched even louder. “Mind your own business,” He said, “or there’ll be trouble.” The civilian turned away, muttering to his companions.

“Here,” Grattius said, “that’s an idea.” He leaned towards Varro, “We could beat the living life out of a few civilians and get locked up for a bit, that would put a stop to this stupid business eh? He poured another drink. “A few months in the stockade would be preferable to that don’t you think?”

“Mm I’m sure it would and what else would we get, busted back to legionary and sent into the mountains anyway, probably in the front ranks,” Varro replied trying some more wine, “no thank you, I’ll take my chances with Brenna first. I’m not throwing my career away anyway and it would be cowardice.”

“Who’s to know? Would you tell anyone?” He looked at Varro, “Thought not.”

“Bringing the army into disrepute, beating up civilians, the Legate would do to us what Caratacus is likely to do,” he took a drink, “this gets better,” his eye only shut a little this time. “We have to just accept what we’ve been ordered to do and get on with it my friend and besides, just think of all the tales we’ll be able to tell afterwards.”

“What with no bollocks, my head on a pole, arms and legs removed and eaten by goats, oh yes I’ll look forward to that.” Grattius said an ironic look on his face.

At that moment a girl came over carrying a large tray with two big steaming bowls on it and four bread loaves. The two soldiers moved their wine cups and flasks out of the way and she put them down.

“Will there be anything else?” She asked in good Latin.

“How about you later?” Grattius said.

“If you want whores, you go down the road and round the corner, third building on the left.” She said, “I’m here because my father owns this place not to get pox from the likes of you and your riddled maggot.”

“Ugh charming,” Grattius said dishing out two of the small loaves to Varro, “at least we know where to go later eh?”

“Erm I don’t think so, not me anyway,” Varro said, “I’m going to get this inside me,” he nodded at the stew, “attempt to drink some more of this until the shock of today begins to fade and my vision blurs and then I’m going to get some sleep. We don’t know when we’ll get another chance.”

Grattius ripped one of his loaves apart, dunked it into his stew and said, “Even more reason to wet your whistle, might never get the chance again after tonight.” He plunged the stew soaked bread into his mouth, “Mm good,” he said, as he took two chews and swallowed, “probably won’t have a whistle to wet in a few days anyway.”

Varro was woken up early the next morning just as daylight began to light up the room through the wooden shutters covering the window. At first he didn’t know where he was, then he realised he’d drunk far too much the night before and turned over intending to go back to sleep, and then he heard Grattius straining. He opened his eyes to find a naked optio sat on a pot against the wall.

“Oh good! What a sight first thing.” He muttered and closed his eyes again.

“You should have come last night, you missed out there. Really classy some of those girls were, knew what they were doing n’all, if you get my meaning….” Grattius said as his words were cut off by a large blast of wind.

Varro buried his face in the pillow, “Why me?” but it didn’t stop the sound, akin to thunder, from preventing him from going back to sleep again, not that Grattius would stop talking.

“Should’ve asked the Governor to let us grow our hair and beards for a few weeks, you know, help us blend in with the stinkies.” He said.

Varro spoke into his pillow, “I think you’ll do just fine as you are.”

After a breakfast of bread and cheese, they went to the stable where they had arranged to meet up with Brenna and Lita, the two women were already there.

“Rough night gentlemen?” Brenna asked.

“For some more than others.” Varro replied walking to Staro and patting his neck. “Hello boy,” he said, “I hope they’ve been looking after you?” Staro’s big dark eyes looked at him as he nudged his chest.

“You’ll need a change of clothing.” Lita said.

“What?” Grattius replied rubbing his head.

“Unless of course you don’t want to even make it over the border, it’s up to you but I would advise a change of clothing, something more local.”

“She’s right,” Varro said, “we’ll get a change of clothing at Isca before we make the final leg of the journey.”

“Mm,” Grattius muttered, “and final it’ll probably be.” He said as he lifted his saddle cloth. “Are you sure it’s not too late to go back to the infantry?”

Varro smiled, “Quite sure Optio Grattius, now let’s get out of here before I change my mind.”

It took a while to prepare the horses for travel, Brenna and Lita had indigenous animals, they were slightly shorter and stockier than the Roman mounts but were known to be hardy. As the first rays of sunshine began to burn away the slight frost on the ground they set off, heading west.

Caradoc examined the shield he held and turned it over, it was rectangular in shape, virtually as large as a Roman shield and bowed inwards slightly at the edges. It was lined with brass and in the centre on the side that would face the enemy, was a large bulbous shield boss, he smiled.

“How much protection do they offer?” He asked of the carpenter and smithy, both had helped create them. Behind the two was a cart laden with other examples.

“They can stop stabs and blows and prevent arrows, their javelins too for a time.” He said. “The problem will be making more, I can’t produce them quickly, I have to find the right wood, bind it, the metal smith,” he pointed to the man next to him with a dirty face, “here has to create the edging or they’ll just splinter and be worthless.”

Ardwen walked over to the cart and examined the pile of shields and picked one up. He drew his sword and placed the shield on the ground, “Let’s see shall we?” He said and struck the boss with a mighty blow sending sparks flying into the air. The tip of the sword slid to the wood in the same movement and embedded itself. “Mm impressive but how are they after a few blows, in a real battle?”

“We’ll see shall we?” Caradoc said pulling his sword free of its scabbard and hefting the shield he held.

“Oh right, like that is it?” Ardwen frowned and then smiled. “Come on then mighty King of the Catuvellauni, let’s see what they can do shall we?”

The two warriors crouched and approached each other, “I don’t want you holding back.” Caradoc said, “This is to be a proper test.”

Without answering Ardwen rushed forward screaming and brought his weapon to bear in an overhead arc, Caradoc just had time to raise his shield properly as his opponent brought his sword down wildly. The blade bit into the edging made of bronze as Caradoc moved to the left and pulled his shield away, there was slight damage but nothing more.

“My turn.” He said not giving Ardwen any more notice as a flurry of blows struck the Silurian’s shield forcing him backward. Caradoc’s long sword pounded against the wood repeatedly, the weapon becoming a blur, fast blows striking again and again as splinters of wood flew all around but the shield held. Ardwen jinked to the right and brought his weapon up.

“Now mine.” He said, stabbing with one hand whilst peeping out from behind the shield and advancing, the point struck Caradoc’s defensive barrier again and again but still it held. Caradoc moved forward, bending low and punched out, he could feel the impact of his cousin’s sword as he struck the point of the sword, metal against metal as blade struck boss, again Ardwen was forced backward.

“Our swords are heavy to be held with one hand like this.” He said peering over his shield, “Now I know why those Roman bastards use those children’s weapons they carry.” He laughed as Caradoc lunged again, his entire weight behind the blow as he knocked Ardwen to the ground.

“Enough, enough,” he said, “for now anyway.” And got to his feet, both men examined the shields. They were slightly battered but had held up considerably well.

“I want you to begin making more right away.” Caradoc said breathing harder than he had before, “I will send you young men who you will teach, old men too, who are too old to fight. Our warriors are brave but they stand no chance against an army trained to fight behind shields like these. If it means cutting down an entire forest then so be it, we have to have better protection.” He turned to Ardwen. “We also need to train the men and women to fight with them, sword in one hand and a shield in the other. With the winter coming we’ll have a few months to prepare, they’ll be tucked up behind their walls until spring at the earliest, so we have time to organise.” He said nodding in an easterly direction. “I want the better warriors trained first and then they can train the others, not the play fighting they’re used to, and we need more archers and slingers.” Ardwen looked pleased with his plans, “We can do this cousin, I’m certain of it.”

“And who will we find to train them?” Ardwen asked.

“We have soldiers as prisoners still, the ones we took off the mountains when the mighty Second Augusta came, they will help us or die.” Caradoc said.

“That’s if the druids haven’t sacrificed them all.” Ardwen replied.

“They haven’t,” he paused and stared at Ardwen, “I told them to stop when I heard what they were doing the stupid fools, there are over a hundred of them still alive on Mona and more are captured every day.”

Ardwen stared at his cousin but Caradoc continued before he could say anything. “They are too valuable to just slaughter, these men aren’t just soldiers. They can build things, create things, they can make tools and they can train our people. We let them live, we feed them and make sure they’re looked after and they will help us.”

Ardwen didn’t look happy. “Shields and training it is then but a lot of the men won’t be happy cowering behind shields you know, it’s not our way.” He said.

“And would they be happier left to rot or thrown into the ground dead at the hands of the legions?” He looked from Ardwen to the carpenter and smith, “Many lives depend on your crafting skills, make them quickly but make them well. While you teach others and make more you can show riders what trees you want and they can look for them so you two aren’t wasting your time scouring the woods and forests.” He looked back to Ardwen and then addressed them again. “I cannot tell you how important this is, but know it will be as vital as the crops we grow, the animals we raise and the air we breathe. You must give this task everything you have, do you understand?”

Both men nodded.

“I want to know straight away if you encounter any problems,” he thought for a moment, “if you can’t get the right wood or the stone for smelting or if someone isn’t working properly and doing as you say, if you need charcoal, whatever it is, you come to me or better, send a messenger so you can keep working. Is that clear?”

The men nodded again.

“Good, then be about your task and good luck.” Caradoc said dismissing the craftsmen. He turned to Ardwen, “Send a messenger to Mona and tell them that I want all the prisoners sent here.”

“They won’t be too pleased about that.” Ardwen replied.

“Then ask them which of them will stop the Romans when they come across the mountains again in spring. Who of them will fight and kill the invaders? They will have to co-operate or they may as well just throw themselves into the sea and be done with it. We are fighting for our very survival and if the druids don’t do as I ask, then I shall visit them and wipe them from the face of the earth myself.” Caradoc said angrily.

“We can’t say that,” Ardwen replied, “they may not have been as important to you where you come from Caradoc, but to speak in such a way would only bring destruction on all we are trying to do.”

“How?” Caradoc asked, “How will they bring destruction to us?” He raised his sword, “With these? I don’t think so. Will they call their gods from the underworld or the heavens to strike me down?” He smiled, “It’s a chance I’m willing to take because if they don’t do as I ask, we’re all doomed anyway.” He replaced his sword and began to walk away, “Get it done Ardwen. I want those soldiers back here within three days.”

Grattius and Varro led the way west with Brenna and Lita slightly behind them, “I suppose I’ve got the blonde one then?” The optio asked, “Seeing as you’re in love with Raven hair.”

“What?” Varro asked turning his head.

“Blondie, I said, I suppose I’m left with the blond one.”

Varro turned around and looked at Lita, “What makes you think she’ll be interested?”

Grattius looked hurt, “Ugh,” he almost choked out, “stands to reason doesn’t it.”

The centurion looked confused, Grattius continued, “She’s helping us, must be a reason which more than likely means she wants a bit of Roman steel inside her.”

Varro scowled, “I don’t think the two necessarily go together but you can always give it a try if you like, just don’t come running to me if she turns feral on you.”

Grattius glanced backwards at Lita and smiled, she returned a glare, “Mm maybe you’re right.” He said, “So what about you and the beautiful Brenna then? She’s a bit small for me mind you. I prefer ‘em a bit taller, you know longer legs.”

“That’s good to know, I’ll bear that in mind once we’re in the mountains and leave the longer legged ones to you, they’ll catch you quicker.” Varro said.

“Oh, you had to do it didn’t you? Now you’ve reminded me of where we’re going.” He closed an eye and looked up trying to find the sun through the grey cloud. “It might be my last chance to get close to a woman then.”

I wouldn’t say that,” Varro replied, “if we get captured and tortured, they’ll get close to you alright.”

Grattius contorted his face, “I don’t mean like that.” He looked up again, “Anyway we’d better start looking for somewhere to camp for the night before we lose the light.”

Varro looked around, “Mm well at least you’re right about that.” He said, “The next good place we find will do, sheltered and covered if possible.”

They rode on slowly for a while along the track they’d been following until they came to a small outpost where messengers exchanged horses and rested for the night. It was manned by an optio and three soldiers but there was no space available, the optio suggested that they could use the tents at the rear of the small building or the stable. The stables were full of horses and smelt quite badly, so they went and had a look at the tents. They were packed with dry goods, barrels, spare equipment, saddles and bridles but there was enough space in both to lie down, just, as long as you didn’t mind being cosy.

“Gods breath, that does it.” Grattius said, “Lita and I will take this one,” he said pointing, “and you and Brenna can share the other.” He turned to the others smiling, eyebrows raised. Lita’s expression was that of utter rage.

“If you think I’m going to lie with you, you stinking excuse of a man, you’ve got another thing coming, I’d rather mate with a dog.” She spat.

“Mm,” he murmured turning to look at Varro, “Looks like you and I are stuck with each other then, Centurion.”

“So it would seem.” Varro replied, “Come on let’s get the horses settled and get some food sorted out. There’s bound to be rations inside the post, maybe some relatively fresh wine as well, not that vinegar we had in Londinium.”

“Fussy for a soldier aren’t you Centurion?” Grattius said.

“Not really Optio,” he said emphasising the others rank, I just have a discerning taste.” Varro caught Brenna’s eye as he said it and saw what he thought was a faint smile cross her lips.

“Will they have baths?” She asked.

“Doubtful, very doubtful,” Varro said, “Although they could have a tub or something to squeeze into if you’re lucky.”

“Anything would do, just to get the dirt off from the ride today.” She said. It was the first time she had spoken since they had left earlier that day, the first time she had spoken to him anyway and somehow it made him feel better.

“Come on then let’s get sorted out.” Grattius said leaving the tent, “horses first as always.”

Optio Vidus, the outpost’s temporary commander turned out to be a veteran from Hispania. He was around thirty years of age and had spent most of his adult life in the army, twelve years. The same height as Varro with a slightly darker complexion, the only other noticeable difference was the almost white grey hair around his ears. Varro looked around the small interior of the outpost and spoke to Vidus.

“Thank you for the hospitality, we’d have spent a night under the stars if we hadn’t found you.” He said. In reality the outpost was little more than a stone hut, albeit a large one. Inside there was space for five cots, three for those stationed there and two for soldiers, predominantly messengers passing through, they were currently occupied by sleeping men. With nine people inside there was virtually no room to move around, to one side in a corner there were two tables with small tools around them.

“We’re just about to start the evening meal if you’d like to join us?” Vidus asked, “It won’t be much but here,” he waved at a legionary preparing food, “is a very good cook and we get fresh rations every three days, so there’s plenty to go around.”

Varro smiled, “That would be most welcome, thank you,” Varro said pointing at the stools, “We’ll take a seat over here out of the way.”

“Please help yourselves.” Vidus said, “Who are the females, Britons I presume?” He asked.

Brenna and Lita turned but Varro answered before they could say anything, “Yes allies, they’ve worked closely with us for a while now, a number of years.” He lied in Lita’s case, “and can speak our language very well.” He warned just in case the optio said something derogatory.

Vidus motioned towards the stools, “Well you’re all welcome, please take a seat while Helco works some magic.”

They did as they were asked and whilst they chatted quietly about their mission Vidus brought some wine over as the smell of freshly cooked bread wafted around the room. Vidus saw their faces light up.

“We may be in the middle of nowhere but there’s always a place for fresh bread.” All legionaries were well versed in bread making and it had become an essential ingredient of their daily food intake, often supplementing their rations. “We only have a small oven but it can make a few little loaves at a time.” Vidus remarked as Helco chopped some onions whilst humming and then threw some vegetables into a pot. “It won’t be long.” He took a stool and sat down next to Varro. “So where are you headed?” He asked.

“Back to Isca.” Varro lied, “We’re taking Brenna and Lita there as they know the lay of the land. They’re going to be helping the scouts as we prepare to move west when the campaigning season begins again.” He took a sip of his wine, “Mm that’s better than the last drop I had back in Londinium.”

Grattius gave him a frown, “I’ll just check on the horses quickly.” He said standing up and draining his cup and walking to the door, “That smells good my friend.” He added to Helco nodding at the bubbling pot, the legionary smiled and sprinkled some herbs into the food he was preparing, “I’m starving.” He was heard saying as he closed the door.

Soon after Grattius returned, they were joined by the messengers who had been woken up for their supper and they enjoyed the meal prepared by Helco. They talked of their experiences in Britannia both good and bad and even Lita lightened up and joined in the conversation. They talked of their fears and expectations and compared some of the island to northern Gaul, which Brenna and Lita found intriguing, having never been there. Afterwards Varro’s group thanked the outpost’s men once more for their hospitality and made their way outside.

“Just going for a piss,” Grattius said disappearing into the dark as Lita went directly to the tent she was to share with Brenna that evening. Varro smiled at her and turned to their tent.

“Wait,” Brenna said to the centurion. “Is everything alright between us?” She asked.

He smiled, “Of course,” he said, knowing it wasn’t actually the truth, “we’re fine.”

“I hope so,” she moved closer looking around to make sure nobody was watching and took his hand, “I wish I was sleeping with you tonight, I miss you.”

He felt a warm rush glide through his body and his heart quicken, he looked down at her as she raised herself up onto her toes, her dark eyes getting closer and kissed him tenderly on the lips. He responded in kind feeling her warm soft lips against his own as he felt her tongue flick into his mouth.

“Right, now that’s out of the way, it’s time for some sleep,” Grattius disturbed the moment and they quickly moved apart, “pissed like a stallion then.” He said seeing Brenna and Varro, he pointed, “No farting and snoring tonight either Centurion, I need a good night’s sleep.”

Varro pursed his lips and glowered at the optio as he walked past them, threw the tent flap aside and vanished from sight.

“What do you mean they said no?” Caradoc asked the messenger who had returned from Mona.

“They said you can’t have the survivors, they’re to be sacrificed, all of them.” The man said. He was dirty from his ride and clearly fearful of relaying the message he had been told to give.

Caradoc turned to Ardwen, “Saddle the horses and gather as many men as you can quickly.”

“What do you intend to do cousin?” Ardwen asked.

Caradoc began walking towards where the horses were, “It’s time the druids were told that they can’t just kill when they like, who they like and for whatever reason they like.” Caradoc replied. “Those Romans can help us, their knowledge is essential, surely they can see that?”

“They want the favour of the gods Caradoc it’s always been this way.” Ardwen said.

Caradoc stopped, “And just where have the gods got us so far, remind me? Surrounded on all sides, pinned in from the north, east and the south, that’s where Ardwen. Will they suddenly find favour in us if they kill all those men and sweep all the legions into the sea? I don’t think they will, now do as I ask.”

Ardwen watched Caradoc walk away and turned to the messenger, “Very well cousin but I don’t think this is a good idea. Get some rest.” He said to the man who had brought the reply as he ran off to gather some warriors.

It took the best part of the rest of the day to get to the channel between the mainland and Mona and night time was approaching as the fifty riders slid from their mounts.

“We’ll cross at first light.” Caradoc said looking at the small boats on the shoreline. He could see light from fires on the large island as a cold breeze hit his face.

“Do you think this will achieve anything?” Ardwen asked. “They don’t take kindly to being told what to do.”

Caradoc removed a rug from his horse as it began to chew the grass at its feet and tied the reins to a branch. “Do you suppose I care what they think? Those men that ‘we’ captured can help us and if that means them living then I’m certain they will co-operate, surely that is more important than sacrificing them for nothing.”

Ardwen tied his own horse up as the warriors with them made their own preparations for an uncomfortable night on the water’s edge. “I’ll support you whatever they say Caradoc, but I don’t know if this is a good idea,” he turned and looked at Mona, “that place is very strange, sacred they say. They won’t take kindly to us turning up like this and that’s before you even say a word.”

Caradoc knelt down and unfurled his blanket, “I’ll bear that in mind.” He said and got down, covered himself and said no more.

In the morning he was woken by rain hitting his face, he pulled the blanket up over him and turned over, he lay there for a while thinking about the day ahead.

“Come on then,” He heard Ardwen say, “let’s get this over with.”

He rolled and sat up, “Get the men in the boats.” He said, a dark look on his face. It took a while to get all fifty warriors onto Mona, and they were greeted by a druid who mumbled something about this being an intrusion. After an argument about Caradoc and his men carrying weapons, which the druid lost, they marched inland. By midmorning they came to the first settlements as shocked faces met them. Ardwen guided them to the edge of what he called the Sacred Groves where a large group of druids were waiting for them. News of their arrival, it seemed, had gone before them, a druid dressed in a dark garb stepped forward.

“What is the meaning of this intrusion?” He asked his head partially covered with a hood. Caradoc looked at the man whom he estimated to be easily sixty plus years of age. His robe was full length obscuring his feet. He held his hands together at the front.

“I sent a messenger to get the Roman prisoners, you refused.” Caradoc said his voice harsh, he knew that the tribes revered these men and that he should ordinarily show them some respect, but he had decided to take a hard line with them.

“Those that still live, are to die,” the druid said, “you cannot change this, to do so would anger the gods.” He added opening his hands and putting them to the side of his body as if he were conversing with something unseen.

“Those men can help us against their legions, I want them released,” he stepped forward, “now.”

The druid smiled, “I’m afraid that’s quite impossible Caradoc.” The smile turned to a sneer, “Come, I will show you.”

Caradoc didn’t know what he meant and followed the druid as he turned with the others but kept his distance, his men behind him. Just as the rain stopped falling and the sun appeared through the clouds, they came to a small dip in the path they had been following, beyond he could make out the tops of trees.

“Not far now.” The druid said wearing the same sneer on his face. They entered the wood with silver trees and light branches and continued walking until a clearing came into view. Caradoc could see what appeared to be lined tree stumps ahead.

“All will become clear.” The druid said.

Entering the clearing Caradoc saw that there was a huge circle of neatly cut tree stumps with a stone block at the centre. The wood had outer and inner layers, too many to count, some were taller than others and then he saw that there were bodies slumped at the base of most.

“As you can see we have splayed the invaders and most are already dead, those that are not will soon be so. The others, well most were burnt to death as is our custom but splaying is like their habit of nailing a man to a cross.”

Caradoc didn’t want to know the answer to the question of what this meant but as he got closer, he saw for himself. The druids had cut into the prisoners along the back of their hands, up their arms and had peeled the flesh back to the shoulders. The men had then been tied by their own flesh to the wood facing outward, nails embedded into the dying skin to secure them. He felt bile rise in his mouth as his face contorted in disgust at the sight before him.

“It works quite well,” the druid continued, “the pain they endure is like nothing on earth and sometimes they survive for days.” He pointed, “This one for example.” He walked closer to a corpse his head slumped forward, skin white, strips of flesh tied to the rear, congealed blood formed around his mouth. “Lasted three whole days before he went, quite unusual but he was a very strong individual.” He looked at Caradoc and pushed back his hood, “So you see King Caradoc,” the sneer returned, “it is not possible for you to have them, they are all dead, to a man. Those who weren’t executed straight away were splayed after your messenger left.”

Later, when he had tried to explain his reaction to the druid earlier to Ardwen, all he could say was that it was like being taken over by something. Without thinking he had removed his dagger from the belt at his side and thrust it upward into the druids lower chin, piercing the skin instantly and driving the blade up into his skull through tongue and brain. He had stood there with blood pouring onto his arm and turned to the other druids now standing in shock all around them, pivoting with the dead man’s eyes staring at him he shouted.

“You will all, all of you to a man share his fate and worse,” he spat out, “if I find that you have done this or anything like it again.” He raised his arm and then hurled the dead man to the ground, other druids backed away as the body bounced and rolled.

“He was our leader, our high priest.” One man stepped forward, Caradoc recognised him.

“I know you. We met soon after the Romans landed.” He said.

“Yes we did and I warned you of what was to come.” The druid said.

“You didn’t see this did you?” Caradoc asked, anger flaring as he looked at the dead attached to trees all around them. “We are fighting for our very survival and this,” he waved at the corpses struggling to find the words, “this will not help. No more.” He pointed the blood soaked blade at the hooded faces. “The Romans will be the last of your concerns if I hear this has happened again.” He wiped the blade on his cloak, its sharp edge easily slicing through the thick woollen material.

“From this day forward if there are any prisoners brought here, even one, I want to know about it. If I’m not told but find out, I will return with hundreds of warriors and cover the ground with your bloodied and tortured corpses and leave you for the birds to eat. Do you understand?” He said clenching his teeth as he walked towards the druids, who hurriedly nodded their understanding.