Blood of Rome: Caratacus (The Blood of Rome Chronicles Book 1)

by John Salter

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “Problems sir?” He asked Varro.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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