Retribution

Chapter Three

It took a few seconds for the soldier’s words to sink in, but Varro still felt dizzy. “Are you alright sir?” He asked standing looking at his centurion with concern over his face.

“What erm yes, yes I am.” He lied. “Of course, where is she now this Brenna?” Varro asked trying to think clearly, trying to clear the fog from his mind.

“They’re taking their horses to the stables but the woman Brenna is waiting to speak to you sir.” The legionary replied.

Varro’s heart pounded so loudly, he thought that it would burst, he was filled with so many emotions all at once but one came to the fore, hatred.

“Thank you, dismissed.” Varro said frowning, watching the soldier leave. He felt for the hilt of his sword, grasping it reassuringly.

‘Why would she come here of all places?’ he thought. His head began to clear, he left the room but his stomach was churning, images of her plunging her blade into Decimus and taking his life ran through his mind as his anger rose. Walking outside the guardroom he saw a soldier walking past, he saluted the centurion. Varro nodded in response not returning the salute, he was too focused on finding Brenna and then he saw her.

“Hello Centurion Varro.” She said half smiling. “You can’t believe how glad I am that I’ve found you.” Before he could say or do anything in response she continued walking closer.

“I was trapped with the Silures when Decimus and I tried to find the Twentieth Legion.” Her face dropped. “All these years I’ve had to live with them pretending to be Catuvellauni. I didn’t know if you’d survived. I remember seeing your columns marching out of the mountains, I thought you’d come back and defeat them but you never returned and I was stuck, I had to pretend to be one of them.” Her expression looked sincere enough, the thought flashed through Varro but how can you tell if a snake will strike? She continued, “I got away as soon as I could about six months after the battle but they found me and took me back.” She stopped talking and stared at him, eyes pleading for understanding, she appeared genuine.

“What happened to you and Decimus?” He asked. His memory flooded with the image of seeing the head of his friend on a pole and her words of a few years before filled his head as she had spoken of killing Decimus and of having to sleep with him.

“That’s what I need to talk to you about.” Her eyes filled with tears. “Can we go inside?” She looked at the doorway where he had left the building a few seconds before. He frowned staring into her dark eyes.

“No we can’t.” He didn’t know what to say, he had never seen her look as weak as she did now. Her words of a few years before struck him again like blows to the head. He had got separated from the rest of his group with just Brenna and Decimus. Her brother had died with an arrow strike to the head. He had told Brenna and Decimus to try and work their way north and to find the Twentieth. He had decided to stay and to try and get back to the survivors of the Second Augusta, who were under siege on a mountain peak from Caratacus and thousands of warriors. He had stumbled across a camp fire in the dark where from the safety of trees, he had heard Brenna speak of her betrayal and had seen the head of Decimus, severed from his body and impaled. She had told the men around the fire that she was Catuvellauni and had taken the life of the soldier, a man she had pretended to help.

Varro almost swayed as waves of nausea hit him. “Civilians, even those working with us, are not authorised to go into any official areas unless for a specific task and even then, they must be escorted.” His mind was numb. What could she say? He should arrest her and throw her in the garrison jail, kill her where she stood? He didn’t.

“I finish my duty at sunrise, I’ll find you. Then you can tell me about how my friend died and why you have been missing for so many years.” He said turning back towards the door as if she were a stranger. “I trusted you Brenna, as did my men.” He paused looking at the ground, “I need to think.”

She walked closer reaching out for his hand but he moved away. “I will tell you everything. I know that you probably think I’m a traitor but I’m not I swear it, you have to believe me please, it’s the only thing that’s kept me alive all these years.”

He turned back and stared into her dark tear filled eyes. “If I don’t, you will die here today.” He walked back into the guardroom leaving her standing there with tears rolling down her face.

***

The occupants of the villa didn’t put up any resistance as the Britons crashed into their home and were quickly overwhelmed within seconds. The slaves were freed, the freedmen were killed, their service to Rome seen as a betrayal. Claudio Vertuna and his family were dragged outside wearing their bed clothes. Vertuna attempted to struggle at one point and suffered a blow to the head from the side of a shield, he collapsed to the ground. His head bled freely, his wife screamed and his children cried as they cowered around him. He was given a choice for him and his wife, die where they stood or be taken north with their children. They all cried and screamed louder. He chose to live and be taken north for an unknown fate. Vertuna’s wound was wrapped with cloth and the family’s hands bound behind their backs. Dumnoc ordered that the horses be taken from the stable, they would carry the family north with five of his men and the slaves who would go with them. Surprisingly the slaves showed little hatred to their former owners and actually tried to reassure them as they helped them up onto the horses.

“Fire the buildings.” Dumnoc ordered looking around at the villa.

Varro left the guardroom at sunrise and looked around for Brenna. At first he didn’t see her, but as he walked she moved away from a stable block and slowly came towards him.

“This had better be good.” He said, she didn’t reply. “We’ll go to the stalls, they’ll be open but it will be quiet for a while and we can talk.” She nodded and followed him.

“Morning Centurion Varro.” The fat man wearing a dirty looking apron said as they approached. “And who is this fine looking young lady with you?”

Varro turned and looked at Brenna, “Morning Fiscus,” he said, “this is an acquaintance of mine from a few years ago. We used to be good friends.”

“Well welcome good friend, do you have a name lady?” Fiscus asked.

“I am Brenna.” She replied sheepishly, her head dropping to the ground.

“Well any friend of young Centurion Varro here is a friend of mine, what would you like? It’s just warm wine for the time being I’m afraid. I was a little late opening up, it was a late night.” Fiscus said rubbing his head and smiling.

“Watered wine will be fine thank you.” Varro said.

“Take a seat please. I’ll bring your drinks over.” He waved a hand at the empty seating area under a large canvas sheet. “As you can see, you have plenty of choice.”

Varro guided Brenna through the chairs and tables and took a seat where Fiscus and his ears wouldn’t be able to hear their conversation. “Well?” He said.

Brenna took her seat and put her head in her hands and began talking. She told him that after they had split up, she and Decimus had come across a camp fire. She had told him to wait on the track with the horses whilst she went to see who they were and what they were doing. She had thought it strange that they were in what looked to be the middle of nowhere especially when the Romans were under siege on the mountain. They were the males from a large family group, they had explained, who were on their way to join Caratacus but after getting lost they had decided to camp for the night. As darkness fell the sound of battle was carried to them through the valleys, but they knew that could have meant an hour away or a full day, as the sound was carried so far on the wind. “That was when I appeared out of the dark,” she continued, “they offered me food and the warmth of their fire. I had intended to slip away as they slept and to find Decimus but then he just appeared from nowhere, I couldn’t believe it. Straight away the men knew he was a Roman soldier there was nothing else I could do.” She began to sob. Varro stared at her until she went on.

She got herself together and continued. “The men had wanted to torture him before taking his life but I told them that I would deal with it.” She tried to dry her eyes. “I got up before the men could and walked quickly to Decimus. I knew we couldn’t outrun the men because they had horses and my mind raced because I knew that whatever happened, Decimus would die one way or another. If the men had got to him, he would have been butchered.” She sobbed again, tears now rolling freely down her dirty face.

“I walked straight up to him and took his life, as quickly as I possibly could. I killed him Varro and if that means that I have to pay for that with my own life now, then so be it.” She said. “We were alone and walked straight into a situation we weren’t going to get out of. As it was we would have both died, they would have killed us both and only the gods know what they would have done to me before they sent me from the world. I was a Briton wandering around the mountains in the company of a Roman soldier. Do you know what that means? Do you know what my people do to such people?” She stared down at the table looking completely lost. “I know what I did was wrong but could see no other choice.” She sat sobbing as Fiscus appeared with their drinks.

“Are you alright lady?” He asked.

“Leave us.” Varro said harshly without hesitation, it wasn’t a request. Fiscus looked at the centurion, nodded and quickly made his way back to the stall.

Brenna waited until Fiscus was back behind his bar before continuing. “Why do you think it’s taken me so long to be able to face you? I nearly stayed with them because I was so afraid of how you would react when I told you” She looked up at his face.

“I was there.” Varro said.

“What? What do you mean you were there?” She asked confused.

“I heard everything you said.” He paused. “I wandered around for a long time and lost my bearings. After what seemed like an age, I saw a campfire and crept through the trees until I was close enough to hear the conversation.”

Her mind raced as she thought back to that night, to thoughts she had banished from her mind until now. He saw her thinking, he continued. “Imagine my relief at finding you and then the horror as I heard your words as you described that you had prostituted yourself to me, lied, and lived amongst us.” He paused rubbing his head. “I couldn’t believe what I was hearing, I felt like everything was a corrupt diseased lie. I wanted to run into the camp and start hacking away at you and those you were with, I nearly did. I was so close to throwing my own life away but then I stopped myself. I looked around the tree and saw the head of Decimus, my friend on a fucking stick Brenna with you and them laughing and joking about how you had killed him. I decided then that I would wait and that if somehow I lived through the hell of that place, I would take vengeance on you and everyone else that stood against us.” His eyes were cold. “And here you are, right in front of me.”

“If that’s how you truly feel then kill me now.” She raised her head and turned to the right revealing her neck. “Put an end to this living nightmare I have suffered since that night. If you feel that way, I don’t want to live anymore.” Tears continued to roll freely down her face though her words were calm. She had accepted whatever fate Varro had decided for her.

“I should report your return to the Legate.” He said coldly.

She hesitated and then asked, “Did you tell them what happened, did you tell them that I killed Decimus?”

“I should have, I should have told them everything.” He took a large gulp of wine. “But I couldn’t,” he said. “I was going to, you have no idea, but I couldn’t.”

She reached out to touch his hand on the table but he withdrew it. A silence fell between them. “Why didn’t you tell them?” She finally asked.

He grimaced. “How would it look if I had told them? They would think me a fool, a fool taken in by a woman because she had opened her legs for me.” She didn’t look hurt by his words, she was too numb. “It wasn’t because of some misguided love for you if that’s what you’re thinking. It was to save my own reputation. They would have destroyed me maybe even had me crucified for being such an utter cunt.” He finished his drink. “Fiscus,” he shouted, “more wine, no water this time.”

“Yes sir and for the lady?” He asked.

“She hasn’t touched hers yet.” He told him, his eyes still fixed on Brenna.

“So what do you want to do?” She asked.

He shook his head. “How should I know? I thought you had died long ago or were fucking some hairy arsed barbarian bastard, I never thought I’d see you again.” He put his head in his hands. “I don’t know what to do. Do you have any idea what you were beginning to mean to me? I never thought I’d find someone like you here of all places and yet I did. I’ve never felt like I did with you, I’ve never experienced such warmth such….”

“Love?” She asked. He said nothing. “I felt it too.” she said. “But I never told you. I told Tevelgus of course and at first he wasn’t too happy that I loved a Roman but as he got to know you he came to accept it and that meant so much to me. I even talked of going to see your country and he asked if he could come and visit.” She reached out again, this time he didn’t pull his hand away.” She sobbed. “My brother died fighting for you, not for Rome or the Emperor, but you Varro and your men. That’s how much he had come to respect you and he paid for it with his life.” She squeezed his hand. “Would I have let that happen if we were really on the side of the enemy? Would we have put ourselves in a position where there was even a chance of that happening? We helped you, we fought side by side. I freed you when you were captured, remember? Are these the actions of a traitor?”

For the first time since he had seen her, his face relaxed and the hard expression evaporated, did she see tears in his eyes now? His fingers caressed hers. “I want to believe you but my head is in a thousand broken pieces. I don’t know what to think anymore.”

“Are you still thinking of killing me?” She asked her face suddenly neutral.

“I didn’t want to kill you Brenna, I never did,” he paused, “that’s a lie,” he said, “of course I did but you know what I mean? What would you have thought if things had been the other way around?” He asked.

She pulled his hand towards her mouth and kissed his fingers. “I would have run into the camp swinging my blade if things had been reversed. If it had been me behind the tree with the head of my brother on a spike and I had heard you say what I had said, I would have killed you first without hesitation.”

“So you see my problem?” He asked.

“Well you haven’t killed me, yet” she paused, “and that’s a good thing isn’t it? You could always decide to chop me into little pieces later.” She tried to smile.

“Don’t make light of this Brenna.” He warned her.

“I’m sorry.” She said. “Where are your quarters? You must be tired if you have been awake all night.”

He looked over to the direction of his barracks. “I wasn’t awake all night, I had some sleep. I couldn’t sleep now anyway, it’s the last thing on my mind.”

“We could just rest together then, I need a hot bath. You don’t know how much I’ve craved a proper hot bath instead of a cold stream or small amounts of hot water to wash in from bowls.” She smiled and for the first time he returned it.

“We can get a bath but not together.” He said. She looked hurt.

“I’ll settle for that, for now.” She replied.

Dumnoc didn’t have to work too hard to find his next target but he did have to wait for things to settle down after his first attack. The Romans surprisingly had not sought retribution but rumours were rife about what had happened to the occupants of the villa and Vertuna’s family. All that remained of the building and compound was a burned out husk, within days an auxiliary cohort was sent to demolish it entirely. Perhaps the governor was attempting to keep the matter quiet and had decided that discretion was better than seeking revenge.

Three weeks after the abduction of Vertuna, his wife and children, Dumnoc had begun travelling further south to find another site that would be suitable for attack. The spring days were already getting warmer as he rode past the track to a farm where another villa stood. There were slaves, Britons working in the fields but they didn’t raise their heads as he went by. He was aware of the freedmen watching over them, staring at him but he didn’t catch their gaze as he didn’t want to attract attention.

The building lay in a long sweeping valley where the crops would have shelter from the wind and the householder, one Vanutius Friscus, was said to enjoy working his slaves hard. A local settlement of five roundhouses had been destroyed because they just happened to be on the land that Friscus had chosen to take as his own. Because the Britons had objected, they were driven away, homeless. Friscus didn’t have any children but lived with his wife, a skinny beady eyed woman with a large nose and bigger ambitions for her husband to rise up the social ladder.

When Dumnoc was free of the watching eyes, he looked again at the long straight path lined with thin trees leading to the villa. It was larger than his previous target but the layout was virtually the same. He glanced back towards the men and women working in the fields and saw one of the freedmen lash out at a young man with a whip.

“You dumb bastard.” He heard the overseer shout, hitting the young man across the face. “Don’t you know anything about crops?” He raised the whip again as his victim cowered. “If you put them in the ground like that, we’ll have nothing to see for all our hard work, or is that what you intend?”

“Please sir,” An older man begged approaching the freedman, “my son has not worked in the fields before, he knows nothing of this.” He opened his hands to the ground.

“Get back to your own line,” the guard shouted, “or you’ll get this across your face as well.” He raised the whip again and the father backed away. He looked over at Dumnoc now stationary, he had stopped his horse to watch the incident.

“Be on your way, this doesn’t concern you.” He shouted. Dumnoc smiled briefly and bowed his head, his eyes cold and nodded. He saw the guard was a thickset rotund man with a long dirty looking grey beard. His brown tunic was drenched with sweat and he had a deep scar running down through his right eyebrow and onto his cheek. Five other freedmen stopped what they were doing, their attention caught by the shouting. He clicked at his horse nudging it gently with his thighs and turned moving away. He heard more shouting behind him as he carried on along the track.

“How wrong you are.” He said to himself smiling. “How wrong you are.”

Later that night, he watched the villa from the side of the valley now in total darkness. He had made sure that the rest of his people were hidden away over the brow of the rise. Because of the last attack, he had decided to bring fewer warriors this time as he didn’t want to risk falling upon a Roman patrol with what would have been a suspicious number of riders. Even then to avoid suspicion, they had slipped away from their settlements after dark and only in two’s and three’s. He had watched the compound from the same position for the last two nights to make sure of their routine. He didn’t want to be caught out knowing that it would mean death for him and his warriors. He was surprised that no guards patrolled the grounds or walls, which he found strange considering the attack further north only a few weeks before. After waiting for a considerable time after the last light was extinguished, he got up and went to where the others waited.

As he led his small war band down the slope of the hill, he waved an arm to Drustan who split off with his seven raiders so they could approach the villa from the other side. As he didn’t have the luxury of a lot of people this time, he had decided not to have any archers covering the building. He stopped at the end of the long straight track leading to the large wooden gates and paused to listen and watch in the gloom. There was no movement or discernible noise except for those associated with the night. He walked forward again, his boots crunching on the gravel surface. He moved off to the left and went along the grass at the side.

The walled villa was painted a similar colour to all the others he had seen and stood out against the dark night as they got closer. He turned every now and again to make sure his people were close behind, they were. Getting to the wall, they fanned out along its length then he heard a horse whinny from inside the stable and then a bang. It sounded as if the horse had kicked the door of its stable. He put a finger to his mouth warning the others to be quiet and waited for it to settle down again. Maybe the horse had heard or sensed them moving along the wall. When it was quiet he nodded to the man nearest him, then turned his back to the wall and crouched interlocking his fingers, Drustan stepped up and was pushed upwards onto the top of the wall. He heard a soft padding sound as he landed on the other side. Again he waited in case anyone had been disturbed inside.

After a short time he saw Drustan through the gap in the two gates as he struggled to lift the securing bar. It made a slight grating sound as he lifted it clear from its brackets and the gates opened. He led his warriors inside. His people spread out, covering the doors and windows where Friscus and his wife slept. They were in a room next to the freedmen, so they were close by in case of an emergency, but it wouldn’t help them this night. Because he had fewer numbers he had decided previously not to cover the doors where the Britons quarters were, assuming they wouldn’t cause them problems.

As war cries split the night and warriors forced their way inside the buildings, axes and swords smashing wood, Dumnoc heard shouting and screaming from inside followed by the sound of clashing swords. Shock and surprise however, had once again ensured that they quickly overpowered all those inside the villa. He discovered that scar face was the one who had tried to put up some resistance but was quickly knocked unconscious and dragged outside, the rest of his men were slaughtered in their beds. The slaves disturbed from their sleep by the attack stumbled outside and congregated together, milling about talking excitedly. Vanutius Friscus and his wife were taken to the middle of the large courtyard where scar face lay on the ground. Friscus, eyes wide looked about in horror physically shaking. His wife stared at their captors, defiance over her features.

“Bring some water from the well.” Dumnoc ordered one of his men. He nodded quickly returning with a large wooden bucket that Dumnoc threw over scar face. He coughed and spluttered regaining consciousness, muttering and cursing, looking around.

“You,” he turned, “father of the boy.” Dumnoc pointed to the man who had come to the aid of his son, he stepped forward. Dumnoc pointed at the bloated and soaked freedman on the ground. “This man struck your son with a whip for no reason, now he can take his revenge.”

The father replied, “My son is here but he is only sixteen summers old,” he beckoned for him to leave his mother’s side, “I don’t know if he will want to or if I would want a man’s life on his conscience, even if it is the life of an animal like him.” The son stepped forward, brutal red lines of dry blood across his face. His father spoke to him quietly and his eyes widened, he rubbed at his face.

“He says he doesn’t want this man’s life.” The father said. Dumnoc looked perplexed, “If he doesn’t take action, I will.”

The father looked at him his stare hardening, he stepped forward, “I didn’t say that I wouldn’t, this swine,” he said pointing to the man on the ground, “has hurt many of us not just my son and deserves to pay for what he has done but then so does she.” He pointed to Vanutius Friscus and the woman beside him. “That creature he calls a wife.”

Friscus and his wife clearly couldn’t understand what he said as he wasn’t speaking Latin, but they could see the venom of his words and knew that the future didn’t bode well for them.

“They could have treated us well, with some dignity but because our fate had determined that we were to be their slaves, they treated us like animals.” The father continued, “We were fed on fat and gristle, the only bread we ever had was hard and often blue as it rotted.” He looked back at Dumnoc. “That scar faced pig even helped himself to the young girls when he chose and raped them all except for the ugly one over there.” He nodded to a girl who shrunk away behind her mother, her face covered in a red birth mark, her mouth distorted. “I will take revenge on this animal for all he has done, if I may?”

Dumnoc smiled, “You may.” He turned his sword and offered him the hilt, which he accepted. The man on the ground began squealing and crying, begging.

“He,” said the freedman, squirming on the stones, pointing to Friscus and his wife, “made us treat them that way.” No-one responded. The father of the young man approached the pathetic figure and raised the sword. The freedman covered his head and curled into a ball. The sword swung down and sliced into his arm covering his head almost severing it completely from the rest of the limb, the man wailed, blood gushed out of the wound. Some of those watching turned away. He tried to raise his arm again over his head but the limb hung down at an awkward angle, he screamed as blood dripped freely onto his face. The father scythed down again and the edge of the blade cut deep into his victim’s forehead with a wet hard crack. The eyes went wide in shock as his executioner tried to remove the blade, but it was stuck. He pulled on the handle and the man’s head was yanked towards him, more blood spilled from the open wound, his arm at an odd angle. The blade was pulled free followed by a gush of dark blood. As he began to gurgle and his eyes rolled into the back of his head, the sword came down again one final time and almost cut his head off completely. The sharp blade cut through his neck severing arteries and spraying blood out onto those who watched, one former slave was sick at the sight of it. The man on the ground fell silent.

The father turned to Dumnoc, now spattered with blood, “Thank you my friend, whoever you are.” He held the red stained sword out.

Dumnoc smiled again, “I am a warrior of Caradoc,” he said, “Dumnoc is my given name, Dumnoc of the Catuvellauni.” He turned. “You have two left.” He said pointing to the two Romans. Friscus was now crying freely and had urinated on himself, warm piss evident on his bedclothes. His wife still stood defiant, hatred in her eyes.

“Maybe another would like the honour.” The father said turning the sword around and pointing the hilt towards those who were still watching, people he had lived and suffered with in slavery. Most shook their heads, horror on their faces but a woman stepped forward as someone else behind her vomited.

“I will take the wife.” She said. She walked forward accepting the handle of the sword. “My baby girl died because she wouldn’t feed us properly and when she got ill, because we didn’t have enough food, she refused to let me take her to the nearest fort for help.”

She walked straight up to the Roman female and swung the large sword with two hands. The tip of the blade struck her on the left temple, slicing through bone and removing an eye. She staggered sideways screaming and fell to the ground grabbing at her head and face. The top of her nose was hanging loose over her mouth where the blade had sliced down through flesh. The former slave now attacked her in a frenzy hacking and stabbing, groaning with effort as she took vengeance for her daughter’s death. The wife of Friscus had been reduced to a bloody mass of lacerated flesh and shattered bone in seconds. She was dead.

“Another.” The female Briton said panting and staggering towards those who had witnessed her wrath. She held out the sword, her face and arms splattered with blood, a man stepped forward.

“My wife,” he said looking at Friscus, “has made sure your whores soul is in the underworld, where she will exist forever in turmoil for what she has done to us.” He took a step towards Friscus. “I will take your life now so you can be together in your suffering for all time.” He took hold of the sword as Friscus collapsed onto the blood soaked ground crying and wailing. The Briton walked quickly towards him and took one almighty swing with the large blade and cut his head in half from the top down to his neck, he died instantly. Pink blooded grey brain cut neatly in two halves was now visible to those who watched as the sound of vomiting was heard again.

Dumnoc surveyed the scene of shattered and broken bodies before him, “Good but I would have taken a few slices of flesh from him first.” He said. Turning he spoke to those standing around the walls.

“You are now all free to go where you wish. Our lands here are occupied but you will find sanctuary with Caradoc in the land of the Silures to the north. You can take the wagons and horses from here,” He pointed towards the stable, “or you can try and find your families, it’s up to you.”

Some of those listening were still sobbing after what they had just witnessed. “If you stay in these lands and the Romans identify you from here, we will not be able to protect you. I cannot afford to let any of my people go with you if you go north so you will have to travel alone. I will give you a few moments to gather your belongings if you have any, then the building will be torched and we will leave.”

The father of the young man stepped forward and held out his hand, Dumnoc took his wrist. “Thank you Dumnoc of the Catuvellauni, we will never forget what you have done for us this night. You have given us another chance of life, how can we ever repay you?”

“Payment is neither asked for or required my friend. Now gather your things quickly and leave this place. I recommend you travel north and make haste.” Dumnoc replied.

The man tuned and spoke to the former slaves. “You all know me and my family, like you, we have suffered at this place under them,” his eyes flicked to the bloodied mass of destroyed corpses. “My family and I will travel north to seek this Caradoc in the lands of the Silures as Dumnoc has said. I know the paths and have been there before as I used to trade with them. You are all welcome to join us if you wish; if not then I bid you a safe journey wherever you go. Think quickly and carefully because the Romans will not like what has happened here this night.”

He walked to his wife and son and then they went to find their belongings. Hushed conversations took place amongst all the others, who quickly followed them.

As Dumnoc’s warriors lit torches a short time later, the former slaves left the villa on wagons and horses. They had all decided to look for a new life with Caradoc in the mountains. The buildings of the villa were searched one last time and anything of value was taken. The villa was then set on fire and abandoned.