Retribution

Chapter Fifteen

Varro was covered in a fine sheen of sweat by the time Lita reached them. Brenna and Grattius looked up as she came forward through the undergrowth followed by a group of strangers, it was clear they were locals. They were dressed in heavy hooded skins, lean faces peering at the prone figure of Varro.

“I told them about our friend and they say we can go to their village, it’s not far from here,” She knelt down and felt Varro’s brow, “he can get shelter and warmth there and be properly looked after, he can’t stay here.”

The newcomers came forward and studied the centurion lying prone on the ground, wrapped in blankets and then looked at Grattius. In unison they frowned because although Grattius was dressed in a similar fashion to them, his hair was cut short, instantly the atmosphere changed.

“Romani?” One of the males said, Brenna stood up.

“We’re here to find Caratacus,” she said turning to the optio, Grattius looked furious, clearly thinking that she was about to reveal the nature of why they were there, he was right. “This man,” she went on pointing at Varro, “and his companion here, have a very important message for Caratacus. It is of the greatest importance that we find him but this one is too ill to travel.” She knelt down again and touched the sleeping centurion’s brow. “He has a fever,” Varro murmured something but it was unintelligible, “see.” She showed her palm and it was covered in sweat. “They are not here to hurt you,” she looked at their suspicious faces, “they are here to try and help, to stop the trouble between your people and those of Rome.”

The man who had spoken stepped forward, hand inside his fur, he spoke to Lita in his tongue, her language, but Brenna didn’t understand although she heard the word Roman or Romani mentioned a few times as the man looked from Lita to Varro and occasionally to Grattius. The others behind him listened intently, while the optio fidgeted, eyes fixed on the man’s covered hand. At one point the conversation got heated and it was clear that Lita was arguing their case, why they had brought Romans to their land. The Silures’ head cocked to one side taking in the information repeatedly and then he would ask questions and look back at the others who had come with him. Eventually he seemed satisfied by the answers given.

Lita spoke to Brenna and Grattius, “He says we are lucky that we found him, if I’d gone to the next settlement, we would all be dead by now as they hate the Romans there. He said his family are tired of the fighting, young men going away, some not returning, he wants an end to the war but does not know how Caradoc will react. He does not go by the name Caratacus anymore because it is too Roman, he said. He has agreed to take us in while Varro is ill and in the meantime will send one of his sons to find their leader. He says that we must do everything he asks or we’ll find ourselves in grave danger along with his family and he won’t risk that.”

“Tell him he has my thanks and that we’ll do everything he tells us to do, we aren’t here to cause trouble to him or his family.” Brenna said. Lita spoke to him again and although he looked far from happy about the situation, he nodded his agreement. He then spoke to the males behind him, who could have been his sons Grattius thought. They then stepped forward and lifted Varro up and began carrying him the way they had come. He was carried to the waiting horses and draped onto one face down. Grattius nodded at them and was allowed to climb up onto the horse. He would ride him to wherever they were going. He felt hopeless and silently cursed the gods for finding himself in this situation.

They rode slowly for a while, the Britons on their own mounts, heads covered against the rain. After a while they began to follow a winding stream and in time came to a group of roundhouses nestled on a bend near the water’s edge. The man, clearly the leader of the group or possibly their father, spoke to Lita who told Brenna that this was their home. She smiled in response but the man just looked at her and raised his eyebrows, a determined look in his eye.

“Don’t worry, we are here to help.” She said. Lita translated her words but he just turned and rode on.

After a heated discussion with a woman the visitors decided must be the wife of the leader, Varro was taken from the horse and into the nearest house. Inside it was warm, in the centre was a fire with an A frame, a large pot hanging from it. Towards one side of the large room there were beds raised off the ground on relatively well carved wooden foundations, there was a wooden frame near them where bows hung, a few swords and cooking pots on the floor. On a rudimentary table there were clothes and on another vegetables; carrots, onions, lentils and barley. The man spoke and Lita translated his words.

“He says we are welcome to stay here,” she raised her hands to the roof where there was a hole allowing the smoke to escape, “he has another roundhouse next to this one where his son lives,” she looked at a young man of about twenty summers, “he says if our being here helps to stop his son from fighting, the hardship of a few days will be worthwhile.” He spoke again.

“He says that they have medicine that will help the soldier, herbs, they will prepare some and bring them here. In the meantime we,” She looked at Grattius, “are all to stay here. We are not to go outside, to do so could be dangerous. Whilst we are his guests we are to abide with his wishes and rules at all times.”

“We got that already thank you.” Grattius said taking off his soaking over garment. The Briton came forward and took it from him and walked to the tables, he leant down and picked up a few poles from behind and quickly put them together, Grattius smiled, “A clothes frame, who’d have thought it?”

The Briton laid the garment over the frame and dragged it towards the fire and gestured for the females to remove their clothes. He spoke to Lita.

“He says we can use these clothes on the table, or the blankets while our own dry.” Lita said. The man then turned and left the roundhouse talking to Lita as he did so. “He’ll bring the medicine once it’s been prepared.”

“Well I for one am desperate to get out of these clothes, I don’t know about you two?” Grattius said removing layers of clothing and placing them on the wooden frame the Briton had erected. Brenna and Lita exchanged looks and began to undress, “That’s right ladies, get them off or you’ll be next just like the centurion here.” He stripped down to his loin cloth and looked around, “Ugh even these are soaked, ah well.” He said and whipped them off, placing them with the other wet clothes. He then walked straight to the fire and began rubbing his hands. Brenna and Lita smiled at each other admiring his white bottom.

“Enjoying the view I hope ladies?” He asked without turning, “Don’t worry I’m sure we’ll all get to know each other quite intimately, all living in here together, no need for shyness eh?”

The women stripped down, dropped their wet garments and quickly fetched blankets from the table where the other clothes were located and wrapped them around themselves before placing the wet clothes on the frame to dry.

“Don’t get your hopes up Optio Grattius and don’t expect anything else to be raised either.” Brenna said joining him by the fire and looking down at his groin, Lita smiled approvingly.

“So where do I take a piss?” Grattius asked, “Surely you people don’t do your business in your homes?”

“Of course we don’t.” Lita replied, “There will be a place nearby, if it was the summer you would have already found it or your nose would have, be thankful its winter.”

“I don’t know how they’ll react if we go wandering off.” Brenna put in, “You heard what he said about others seeing us.”

Grattius picked up a blanket off the table and wrapped it around himself and then looked at the clothing the Briton had referred to and bent forward to sniff it, “Smells fresh enough I suppose.”

“We aren’t quite as barbaric as you imagined then?” Lita asked.

Grattius pursed his lips and looked around the interior of the roundhouse, “No, not really.” Lita frowned, he continued, “I’m not being insulting but we moved on from living in huts a long time ago that’s all, I didn’t mean to offend you, again.”

“Don’t worry we’re not so easily offended.” Brenna said smiling. She turned and looked at Varro who was still asleep. “I hope he’ll be alright, I knew it was stupid for him to leave the Garrison so soon after being ill.”

Grattius walked to his friend and knelt down, “He’s tough, he’ll be fine, just needs some rest to get it out of his system.”

At that moment the Briton returned with a wizened old woman, they were both carrying pots, the male spoke to Lita.

“He’s brought some food for us and the old woman has some herbs, he says she’s a healer.” Lita translated as she watched the woman go to Varro and usher Grattius away with a wave of her hand, as she muttered something totally unintelligible. She touched his brow and then put a hand inside the blankets feeling his torso. She turned and spoke to the male.

“She says he has the fever chill and will need to be kept warm for a few days and drink plenty of the brew she’ll make.” Lita said as the old woman went back to the pot she had left on the table and began grinding its contents.

“What’s in it?” Grattius asked.

Lita asked her but she shook her head, “She says she can’t tell you, the ingredients are for healers not for outsiders.”

“Mm okay,” he said, “can you ask your man here where we are to perform our bodily functions.”

Lita spoke to the man who turned and left the roundhouse, he returned a short while later with a large bucket that he placed near the door skin.

“You have got to be kidding me.” Grattius said, “I’m not taking a…..well you know what I mean, in front of you two, it’s not right.”

“We’ll put something up to hide your modesty, don’t worry.” Brenna said, “How do you think we feel?”

Grattius muttered to himself clearly unhappy and then walked to the bed next to Varro’s and sat down, “Ah well, may as well make myself comfortable I suppose.” He looked at the old man, “So what did he bring in his pot?”

Brenna looked inside, “The ingredients for a chicken stew by the looks of it.” She smiled at their host, “Thank you.” He nodded and left.

Once the old woman had finished grinding her herbs she spoke to Lita and told her how to prepare the potion that they were to feed to Varro, she then looked at them all in turn, smiled briefly and left the roundhouse.

“I’ll sort a cover out for the, you know what.” Lita said as she made preparations to hang a cover from the slanting roof near the door. Brenna put the stew pot into the iron frame above the fire and began stirring the contents with a wooden ladle. She looked over at Grattius who was now lying down flat on his back with his hands over his eyes.

“Don’t worry we won’t be here too long Optio, in a few days as soon as he’s well enough, we’ll be on our way.” Brenna said.

“We have to make sure he’s actually recovered this time though, there’s no point in us leaving to find Caradoc and him collapsing again.” Lita said. “Does he always get this ill?” She asked Grattius.

“I’ve never known him to be ill before, not like this anyway.” He said, “Coughs and colds you know, the usual but never to be knocked off his feet. He’s as fit as any of them in the legion and stronger than most, must’ve just got this one bad I suppose.”

“I’ll see if I can get some of this inside him.” Lita said staring into the pot of ground herbs. She poured some water in and began heating it over the fire and removed it just as it started to bubble.

“Smells like cow shit that stuff.” Grattius remarked now covering his nose. “I prefer the smell of the stew.”

“I’m sure it will help,” Lita said, “healers usually know what they’re doing with such things.” She placed the pot on a low table. “I’ll let it cool down and then try and wake him.”

“Don’t you think you should just let him sleep?” Grattius asked, there was silence, no reply. He removed his hands from his face. “What?” He asked, “I’m just saying that while he’s asleep, shouldn’t we let him be, it’s supposed to be the body’s way of healing itself after all.”

“She said we need to get him to drink some of this as soon as possible, even if it means waking him.” Lita said, “So that’s what we’ll do.”

Grattius looked over, “Alright,” he sat up, “come on then I’ll hold him up, better cool it down with some cold water though first hadn’t you?”

“The hotter the better she said, it’s not bubbled completely so it should be alright now. Come on then lift him up.” Lita replied.

Between the three of them they managed to prop Varro up, he looked pale and his skin was clammy, cold, although he still had sweat on his brow. He tried to open his eyes aware that they were doing something but then closed them again.

“Come on Varro you need to help us to help you.” Brenna said pushing the damp hair from his forehead. Lita poured some of the green fluid into a wooden cup and placed the edge near his lips under his nose, it wrinkled.

“Told you it smelt like shit didn’t I? Even he thinks it does and he’s asleep.” Grattius said propping his centurion up, “Come on wakey wakey, just for a moment.” Grattius said as bleary eyes opened a little. “That’s it now open your mouth and take a sip, its medicine and it’ll help to make you feel better.”

His lips parted a little and Lita tipped the cup but as soon as he tasted its contents his head shot back and he screwed his face up and began coughing.

“I hope they’re not trying to poison him.” Grattius said.

“Don’t be so stupid, if they’d wanted us dead, we would be already.” Brenna said.

“Mm I suppose,” Grattius replied, “right come on then Centurion, let’s have you.”

With a lot of patience and repeated attempts and despite Varro’s condition and his obvious disgust at the contents of the cup, they eventually got him to drink it all. Lita put the pot containing the rest of the brew on the table.

“We’ll give him some more before we go to sleep.” She said.

Brenna finished cooking the chicken stew and then found them some wooden bowls near the frame holding the bows and they ate their meal in relative comfort in a warm roundhouse.

Grattius stirred in his sleep, he was enjoying a dream, or so he thought. His mind’s eye showed him wrapped in warm furs, on a relatively comfortable bed inside the roundhouse where they had sought refuge. To the side of him were the forms of two sleeping females and beyond them, slept Varro. He drifted through images, all of them lit by the flickering light of the fire, occasionally a slight crackle broke the near silence and then he felt movement. Felt, or dreamt, he wasn’t sure but he knew it wasn’t threatening as the fur blanket was pulled aside covering his body. He felt warm, almost hot flesh against his own and hands touched his thighs, moving upward. The sensation felt real but he was always having vivid dreams.

“Shhhh….” He heard and rolled his head and began to open his eyes. It was darker than his imagination had made the interior of the house and almost immediately he smelt smoke from the fire. He focused and saw the shape of a female body and watched as she wrapped the fur blanket around her shoulders and lifted herself over his legs and almost squatted on his groin.

“Don’t speak,” Lita said, her hands moving over his swelling manhood, “We don’t want to wake them.” Her head darted to the still sleeping bodies of Brenna and Varro as Grattius began to struggle.

“What the…..” He managed before she clamped a hand over his mouth.

“I said be quiet,” She leant forward, eyes wide, “or I’ll go back to my own bed.”

He stopped struggling and allowed himself to fall back onto the bed, a half smile on his face, “Not a word or a gasp or even a sigh, understand?” Lita said as she lowered herself onto him, he nodded his understanding.

A bang from somewhere suddenly woke Grattius and he sat up. He looked around, Lita was back in her bed, had he dreamed last night’s events he wondered? He could see dawn’s light through the side of the door skin and lay down again.

Bang. A voice shouted something from outside but it was in a language he didn’t understand, it sounded like the same as Lita and the old man had spoken the day before. She sat up as did Brenna.

“They want us outside.” Lita said, “And they know your Roman.”

Grattius swept his legs over the side of the bed, “Of course they know, are they stupid?” He walked to the door and peered through the small gap between the frame and the door skin. Looking outside he could see a group of some ten Britons, some on foot, or sat on horses, most carried flaming torches. All of them had their attention focused on the roundhouse. They were armed with swords and axes.

“Shit,” he said, “it must be the bastards from that place nearby.” He turned back and saw Lita and Brenna quickly dressing, throwing their clothes on “The others must have told them we were here.”

The voice shouted again, “He says come out now or we’ll set the place on fire.” Lita said securing a belt. “We don’t know that, maybe we were seen with them.”

“Throw me that tunic.” Grattius said to Brenna.

“What are you going to do?” She asked.

“We can’t stay in here, we’ll burn.” He replied, “I’ll go out and talk to them, give you time to get away.” He pointed to the rear of the house, “Cut your way out.”

“And what of Varro?” Brenna asked, “I’m not leaving him.”

“And how are you supposed to talk to them, you can’t understand a word they’re saying?” Lita asked.

“Mm didn’t think of that.” He replied as he quickly threw the tunic on.

“We go out together or not at all.” Brenna said walking towards the door, “How many are there?”

Grattius peered through the gap again, “At least ten that I can see, maybe more elsewhere.”

“Come on, we face this together.” Brenna said and swung the door skin aside, the other two followed. She squinted as she walked into the pale light as the flames of the torches were bright. The man, the shouter, spoke again from his horse, the look of disdain evident for all to see.

“He says we are to die, you first,” Lita said looking at Grattius, “and then Brenna and I after they have raped us for bringing you to their land.”

“Fuck me! I haven’t even eaten breakfast yet.” Grattius replied looking round and smirking at the two women.

“This is no time for humour Roman, they mean to kill us.” Lita said.

The leader of the group, who had been shouting, got down from his horse and pulled a huge sword from his scabbard, the others crept forward, he spoke again, spitting out the words.

“And just as I thought things were improving after last night.” Grattius said turning to Lita, Brenna frowned. The Briton got closer and hefted the sword above his head and quickly approached Grattius and then the world changed.

Valerius was woken that morning by the dawn trumpet call, he opened his eyes and sat up in bed and felt for his boots on the cold floor.

“Who in hades was doing all that snoring last night?” He said rubbing his face and yawning, “It kept waking me up, three times it happened. If it hadn’t been so cold I’d have got up and given them a kick”

“It was Pollo again, same as usual, he’s always doing it. We could use him instead of the trumpet to wake us all up in the morning.” Vescus said throwing his blankets aside, “Eventually you’ll get used to it like the rest of us and after a few months it won’t bother you anymore.”

Valerius raised his eyebrows, “After a few months, I’ll be dead from exhaustion if I don’t get any decent sleep. Can’t we do something, peg his nose? Cut it off?”

“It’s the wine,” Vescus said, “if he has wine, he snores and last night he had wine.”

Pollo stumbled out of bed on the other side of the room, “Ah morning.” He said searching for his boots, “I thought I heard the morning horn.” He fumbled about and picked up a few things from a small table at the side of his bed and walked towards the door that led to the latrines, “Sleep well?” He asked Valerius as he walked by, who just shook his head in response.

After the morning ritual of the latrines where they sat talking about the day ahead and then cleaning themselves, they dressed and prepared for the new day and ate some breakfast. Valerius pulled his boots up around his shins they were essentially made from one piece of leather with hobnails on the sole. He wrapped the leather thongs around his leg and tied them off securing his boots in place. Picking up his cingulum a small metal apron, he placed it round his waist, belt like, and secured it in place. It was an essential piece of armour that covered a legionary’s groin, a place no soldier would want to be stabbed. Hefting his lorica segmentata, segmented armour, up off the ground where it had spent the night, he placed it over his shoulders and fastened the buckles at the front. Then he pulled down on his tunic as the fabric had a tendency to overlap underneath and become uncomfortable.

“What are we doing today, anyone know?” He asked as those around him put their own uniforms on.

“I heard it was a forced march, out and back, twelve miles each way.” Vescus said.

“Rampart building I heard.” Another voice shouted from somewhere at the back of the barrack block, “Practising for when we start campaigning again in the spring.”

“Fuck me how many times do we have to do the same thing?” Pollo said, “I’ll have blisters on the end of my cock if this carries on. It’s actually easier in spring because we’re out there doing it.”

“The newer lads need the practise I suppose.” Valerius said. A couple of the younger faces reddened and looked away.

“Practise,” Pollo said, “my wrinkly sack,” he turned and spoke to one of the new lads, “how many marches did you do during your basic training?”

“Lost count Pollo,” he replied looking up, “towards the end we were out every day virtually, quick marching n’all, full kit too.”

“And how many marching camps did you build?” Pollo asked.

“Put it this way, if we went out, we built,” he scratched his head, “no idea to be honest, must’ve been over thirty I say.”

“Do you see what I mean?” Pollo said, “I wonder how many miles we will have marched and how many camps we’ll have built by the time our service is up?” He looked at the faces staring back at him, “Hundreds I’d say.” He sat back down on his mattress, “Maybe I’ll just stay in bed today instead, could do with a day off.” Valerius smiled as the door to their barracks was flung open.

“Right you shower of shit,” it was Optio Crispus, he was standing in the doorway looking as pristine as ever, the white plume on his helmet shaking as he shouted, “outside. Stop blathering and playing with each other’s cocks and get yourselves outside, double time.” The men scrambled for pieces of kit and headed towards the door.

“Forgotten something have we?” He shouted, faces reddening, they stopped, some skidding to a halt. “Entrenching tools, axes, spades….” He paused, “In fact bring it all, you idle lot.” He looked around at the men now picking up extra pieces of kit, “I think you’ll need them unless of course you want to use your dicks to dig up soil,” he looked at Pollo adding, “and no Legionary Pollo, that wasn’t an excuse for you to tell us about that shrivelled up maggot you call a cock and how you’ve used it to build garrisons before.” His beady eyes stared through Pollo, “Come on, outside the lot of you, we’re going to show the second cohort how we’re not only quicker but can build better, bigger ramparts.” His eyes flashed from soldier to soldier, “Love it don’t you, you bastards?” He smiled, “I almost wish I was a mere mortal again and could dig with you but someone’s got to show you how to do it eh Pollo?”

“Yes Optio although I think that most of us know by now.” He said.

Crispus feinted being surprised, “Well thank you General Gaius Julius Fucking Caesar,” he pursed his lips together, “Tell you what Pollo, why don’t you spend the day playing with yourself in that fart filled, greasy bed of yours and we’ll go out and hammer the second eh?”

“Tha……..” Pollo began.

“Get your stinking carcass outside onto that parade square right now Pollo and the rest of you.” He walked further into the room. “Move it, come on quickly or you’ll find my boot wedged so far up your tight little arseholes, you won’t be able to shit for weeks.” The men of the first cohort ran past the optio and out into the morning drizzle, equipment clanging and banging against each other. Crispus followed quickly behind.

“Behold,” he said raising his arms to the heavens, “what a glorious day for digging. Come on, form up quickly.”

As they formed their lines the legionaries of the second cohort were being screamed at by their equally cheerful optio a few feet away, it was going to be a long hard day.

Just as it was beginning to get dark and the light was starting to fade, the palisades that the men of the first and second cohorts had built were non-existent. All their hard efforts were now reduced to compacted mud where they had destroyed their work on the orders of their optios. As was befitting of their status, the first cohort had completed their rampart before the men of the second and had been the first to reduce it to rubble and then to put the soil back into the earth afterwards, Crispus was a happy man. The soldiers of the first and second cohorts stood breathing heavily, saturated in sweat and covered in mud.

“Well done men,” Crispus shouted addressing both sections, “especially the first cohort.” He lowered his voice slightly, “Now I know that this can become mind numbingly boring and tedious, but we do it for a reason.” He examined the sweating faces before him, “If we’re out there in the field and have had a nice long walk through the rolling hills and enemy territory, we need to be able to build a marching camp and build it very quickly in order for you to rest your pretty heads. This will enable you to rise the next day, weary I know, but you’ll still be alive and then you’ll be able to butcher the enemy, so there is a good reason for this.” The men stood almost to attention were beginning to sway. “Now when I give the order to dismiss, you are to return to your barracks, clean your kit, wash yourselves in the bathhouse and the wines on me and my fellow optio here.” For the first time that day the first and second cohorts smiled in unison. “And no fucking fighting because if we get called out to sort you lot out, I’ll make you all sorry. Any men caught fighting will have their balls burnt on a brazier in the morning. Do you understand?”

After a few chuckles there was a chorus of, “Yes Optio Crispus.” It boomed around the parade square.

“Right good lads now get out of my sight the lot of you, first and second cohorts, dismissed.”

They fell out and wearily headed towards their adjoining barrack blocks, bits of mud still falling from shovels, axes and spades. Behind them the parade ground was level again, the soil compacted flat. It was a routine that would go on for months and tomorrow it would be the turn of another two cohorts to construct a rampart from the earth, at least the soil wouldn’t be hard as it had been for the first and second.

Before Grattius was aware of what was occurring, it had happened, and all he had time to do was flinch and flinch again. One second he had been standing waiting for the sword to fall, not believing that his life was to end on some stupid errand, killed by an uneducated barbarian pig and then the cracks began.

He watched transfixed, unsure what was happening at first as he heard a crack and the eyes of the Briton with the sword held high, rolled into the back of his head. He began to fall, straight down as the first impact was followed by others, crack, crack. Before he hit the ground, Grattius saw there were four arrows buried deep into his back. Looking up he saw that his comrades shared his fate as they too were felled by arrows ripping into their flesh. Heads and bodies were pierced by sharp barbs and in mere moments it was over, the threat was gone. Grattius scoured the trees but saw nothing, he turned back to Brenna and Lita who were obviously as surprised as he was by their escape from death but silence surrounded them. He strained his ears listening but all he could hear was the falling rain.

“Who are you? What do you want?” He shouted searching the trees around the houses, nothing moved except the wet leaves then a voice called out.

“You are fortunate that we got here when we did Roman, or you and your women would be dead by now.” A heavily accented voice shouted from somewhere beyond the leaves and bushes.

“Who are you?” Grattius shouted backing up slightly.

“His women?” Brenna whispered. “I’ll carve a steak from that man’s flesh.”

The leaves parted, “I am Caradoc”

A tall Briton walked forward through the low branches. Grattius stared at him as others appeared holding bows. The Briton was not as he had imagined him, he was bald, his head glistening in the rain and handsome, a well-defined strong jaw, visible cheek bones and a muscular frame under his clothing. He wore a dark red hooded cloak over black furs.

“The elder’s son found me and told me that you were here, we travelled through the night and it looks like it’s a good thing we did.” He looked around at the bodies, one man was still alive and moaned, “Some tale about preventing a war, some plan you have come to tell me about.”

A man with him stepped forward and thrust his sword into the injured man’s neck. He squirmed and gurgled, pinned to the ground.

“Finish him Ardwen, quickly.” Caradoc commanded. Ardwen pulled his large sword free and hacked down at the stricken man’s neck. One blow was enough to kill him but not enough to remove the head completely.

“Sinew and bone,” Caradoc said, “It’s surprising how difficult it is to remove a man’s head.”

Ardwen arched down again and the head rolled free, dead eyes staring at nothing from the mud, “Yes, but if you keep trying,” He said smiling, “You can achieve anything.”