by Kevin Ashman
‘Hail, Scipio,’ said Severus, ‘Your mission was successful I see.’
‘Of course!’ said the scout Centurion, ‘Though, you lot took your bloody time. What kept you?’
‘We are here now,’ said Severus, ‘The fleet unloads behind me. What of the enemy?’
‘A couple of thousand strong back in the forest,’ said Scipio, ‘Mainly foot soldiers and some cavalry but nothing worth worrying about. What’s the plan?’
‘First two cohorts will advance before dawn,’ said Severus. ‘We will stand guard while the rest of the legion builds a defensive position. Are there any sentries between us and that river?’
‘All guards in this valley have gone to meet their gods,’ said Scipio. ‘Their arrogance meant that they thought their precious island was easy to defend and that they were safe on top of their cliffs.’
‘You’ve been busy,’ said Severus, ‘Do you need anything?’
‘We could do with some hot food but apart from that we are fine.’
‘Can you take us to the river edge before you stand down?’ asked Severus.
‘No problem,’ answered Scipio, ‘I’ll send two men with you.’
He crawled back to his men with the instructions before leading the rest of the group through the friendly lines and down to the beachhead to get some hard-earned rest. The two nominated scouts beckoned Severus forward and word was passed back until well over a thousand heavily armed men followed Severus into the darkness.
Dawn saw two cohorts of Roman soldiers lined up along the riverbank in a deep defensive formation. Behind them stood hundreds of archers and slingers, shivering in the cold morning. A mile behind them, thousands more were hard at work, building the defensive position.
Severus and Remus stood at the front of their Century staring at the hill in the distance, fully expecting an enemy force to confront them at any time. To one side the two scouts lay curled up at the base of a tree, fast asleep after their exhausting mission over the last few days.
Remus walked over, his red cloak clinging to his armour in the morning drizzle and stared down at the snoring figure. He frowned as he recognised one of them and he placed his boot on the soldier’s shoulder, shoving it forcibly to wake him up. The scout sat up, instantly alert and ready to defend himself. The two stared at each other before Remus broke the silence.
‘Hello, slave-boy,’ he said, ‘It seems that our paths cross again.’
Prydain stared up at him in silence, his heart racing at the sight of the man who had left him to die on a field in Gaul. He stood up and adjusted his cape.
‘Our fate is no longer linked, Optio,’ said Prydain, ‘You won, and I have moved on. You can take your bigotry elsewhere.’
‘Shame,’ said Remus, ‘I was just beginning to enjoy myself.’
Prydain stooped to wake his sleeping comrade.
‘Come on,’ he said, ‘Let’s get back to the unit.’
As they walked away, Remus called out.
‘Our paths will cross again, slave-boy,’ he shouted, ‘I sense it in my bones!’
Prydain span around and reached for his Pugio but before he could draw it from his scabbard, the point of Remus’s Gladius was already at his throat.
‘Careful, slave-boy,’ he sneered, ‘It can get very confusing in the dark when on campaign. I could easily mistake you for a barbarian in that black garb.’
His Gladius hooked under the thong around Prydain’s neck and pulled it upwards, revealing the leather pendant he had seen on the first day of the recruit’s training many months ago.’
‘Still wearing mummy’s bauble I see, perhaps you should go back to her.’
‘She is dead,’ snarled Prydain, ‘Killed in the arena by bigots such as you.’
‘Shame,’ said Remus, ‘Still, probably for the best I expect.’
Prydain lurched forward but was pulled away by his comrade. Deciding this was a fight he could not win, he turned and strode away over the damp grass, making his way back to the legion’s lines.
As he went, a memory came flooding back to Remus.
‘By the gods, he said to himself, ‘It can’t be.’
Chapter 17
On the other side of Britannia, Gwenno walked barefoot through the forest enjoying the feel of the dew between her toes. The village was only just stirring but Gwenno had been awake for hours, and had watched the sunrise over the vast oak forest that covered the island. To the north, a smaller island dominated by a solitary hill shimmered in the haze. It was a holy place where the main clan of the Druids were based, not only as a spiritual separation from the other tribes, but also to control the flow of Gaelic gold from Ireland to be traded across Britannia, Gaul and beyond.
Willow had explained that though there was only a river separating the holy island from Mona, it was guarded jealously by Druid warriors, and only those who had undertaken a lifetime of learning and dedication were allowed to live in that special place.
As she walked, she became aware that she was entering a part of the wood she hadn’t been to before, and, though comfortable she could find her way back, hesitated for a moment as she looked down the well-trodden path in front of her. It was flanked by two rows of standing stones, each covered by strange designs and diagrams. Finally, she made a decision and continued down the track until it opened out into a clearing, cut into the in the depths of the forest.
She hesitated at the edge, staring in fascination at the sight before her. The clearing was surrounded by more standing stones, surrounding a magnificent hut at the centre. Its roof swept down to the ground and the daubed walls were covered with the now familiar Celtic imagery.
Gwenno realised it was probably a religious place and that she should would probably get into trouble for being there, so was about to leave when the muffled sound of chanting floated across the clearing. The rhythm was not unlike the poems she had been learning with Lapwing and intrigued, she drew closer to the hut to see if she could hear any more.
The chanting became clearer, though she couldn’t understand the words as they were in the ancient language, one that she had heard the Druids use on occasion. She crept around the side of the hut, listening to the strange mantra in fascination, but stopped suddenly as she recognised one word. Her name!
It was too much of a coincidence and Gwenno sidled to the doorway to see if she could see anything. The heavy door was made of split logs braced horizontally with three similar boards, and, though hinged with thick leather hinges, dragged on the ground due to its age and weight. This was lucky for Gwenno as the bottom of the door had gathered a small pile of soil between its closing edge and the frame, leaving a gap a hand’s width wide between them. She placed her face against the gap and peered into the gloom.
At first, she couldn’t see was happening but soon made out the silhouettes of several hooded men forming a circle within the hut. She stared in fascination at the secretive ceremony unfolding before her.
The inside flickered with the light of burning torches, seemingly dancing to the rhythm of the chanting from the circle of men. At the centre of the circle a stone table was the only fixture and was surrounded by a small moat formed by the stream running through the hut.
The chanting stopped and the room fell into silence. A gap appeared in the circle and two people approached the stone altar. One was a man dressed in a black cape and carrying an oaken staff, the other was obviously a masked young girl, dressed in a hooded blue cape. The girl approached the altar and turned to sit on the edge while the black gowned man recited some strange words, and, after dipping his staff into the spring, anointed her head with water. The girl unfastened the ties about her neck and allowing the garment to fall back onto the stone, lay back with her legs still on the floor.
Gwenno stifled a gasp as she realised that apart from the eye mask, the young girl was now naked. Her pale flesh was lit by the flickering of the surrounding lamps, and she lay back in submission for the violation that would surely follow. The man disrob
ed and stood naked before the girl and Gwenno stifled a gasp as she recognised Lapwing, her instructor, his aged white hair falling down the back of his ancient scrawny body.
Gwenno realised what was about to happen and despite her revulsion, her fascination compelled her to stay where she was and witness the sordid scene. The circle of men started to chant again, and, as Lapwing approached, the girl lifted her legs to accommodate the violation. The old man paused until finally, the chanting reached a crescendo This was the moment Lapwing was waiting for and he thrust himself into the recumbent girl shouting her name with a mixture of triumph, ceremony and lust.
Gwenno turned away and stood with her back to the outside wall of the hut both confused and scared, wondering what that poor girl who shared her name had done to deserve such a fate. It was pointless running for help, for the very fact that Lapwing was a part of the ceremony suggested that the others were probably the other Druids of the village. She had no one to turn to for help and Gwenno wept quietly for the girl.
Finally Gwenno wiped her eyes and thought about the whole situation. It was not just the name they shared, she also had a blue cape, almost exactly like the one the girl was wearing. She had burned the hem on the fire a few weeks ago and Willow had taken it away for mending. A thought slowly occurred to her, and she returned to the crack in the doorway to check her suspicions.
Once again her eyes took a few seconds to accustom to the gloom but eventually they made out the scene. The chanting had restarted, and she could see the scrawny profile of the old man, thrusting himself over and over again into the young girl’s body.
Gwenno became even more confused by the girl’s involvement in the sick ritual. Far from being upset or scared, she actually seemed to be enjoying the attention, her body moving in unison with the old man and her moans of pleasure audible above the chanting. Gwenno realised that far from being exploited, the girl was a willing and enthusiastic participant, playing a full role in the sordid union.
Gwenno realised that, as the girl was not being held against her will, it was pointless taking any more risks and was about to leave until the victim turned her head slightly in her direction. As their gaze met, the girl’s horrified eyes widened in recognition and Gwenno’s hand flew to her mouth to stop herself crying out. Despite the darkness of the hut, and the eye mask, the features were unmistakeable. It was Willow!
Gwenno turned away from the sight, gulping draughts of fresh morning air as the full realisation hit home. The chanting stopped and she heard Willow’s raised voice arguing with Lapwing. Gwenno ran back into the woods, trying to make sense of everything. The sordid sex, the chanting, the old men, it all could have been just a sick sex ceremony but it was the final detail that sickened her the most.
Willow had become a close friend, one that she trusted more than anyone in this strange place, but, not only was Willow taking a willing part in this sick ritual, she had also stolen Gwenno’s cape and was pretending to be her.
Gwenno ran as fast as she could back to the village, sobbing as she went, and bursting through the door of the hut before throwing her few possessions into her woven bag. Willow followed her in, stopping just inside the doorway.
‘Oh, miss,’ she cried ‘I am so sorry, you wasn’t supposed to see that.’
‘Get away from me!’ screamed Gwenno, ‘You.... you..... whore!’
‘You don’t understand,’ cried Willow.
‘I understand what I saw and it was revolting. Now get out of my sight while I pack.’
‘What do you mean pack? Where do you think you are going?’
‘Anywhere away from you,’ cried Gwenno. ‘I thought we were friends.’
‘But I am your friend.’
‘You are nothing to me,’ said Gwenno ‘Now get out.’
‘I am not a whore!’ said Willow quietly.
‘Not a whore?’ laughed Gwenno, wiping tears from her eyes, ‘Don’t lie to me, Willow, I saw everything. You even wore my clothes to look like me!’
‘But you don’t understand…’ started Willow before she was interrupted.
‘I don’t want to understand,’ shouted Gwenno, ‘I’ve had enough of this place. You go back to your boyfriends if you want to, I am going home.’
‘But I did it for you!’ screamed Willow.
Gwenno stopped and stared at her in disbelief.
‘For me?’ she said, ‘Don’t try to blame me for your lust, you were enjoying yourself at the hands of that old man.’
‘Miss, please, just let me explain,’ cried Willow, the tears running freely down her face, ‘They do what they do to me so you can remain pure.’
‘What?’ gasped Gwenno.
‘You are the chosen one, miss,’ continued Willow wiping her eyes, ‘And you have to stay pure but men are weak and the Druids are but men.’
‘What are you saying, Willow?’ asked Gwenno.
‘You are very beautiful, miss,’ said Willow, ‘And every man lusts after you, but your virginity is sacred. That is why I am here. My role is to become your shadow, to absorb your aura, so during the ceremonies and rituals I can become you and satisfy the lusts of mere mortals. By doing so, I keep you safe and pure.’
‘I don’t believe you!’ stuttered Gwenno.
‘But it is true, ever since you came here, that has been my role, to look after you in every way possible, even this one!’
‘But you were enjoying it!’ gasped Gwenno, ‘If what you say is true why did you take pleasure in what those men were doing to you?’
Willow’s head looked down in shame.
‘I cannot control the way my body reacts, miss. It is true the feelings take control of me but I am a mere woman. I do not seek their company, but, when I am summoned I have no option. I am owned by the Druids and pander to their whims. This is my role and such is my fate.’
‘Are you lying to me, Willow? Because if you are...’
‘I am telling the truth,’ interrupted the young girl quietly, wiping her eyes with part of the cape.
‘Oh, Willow, I didn’t realise......’
‘Why would you? I had no intention of telling you and if you hadn’t have come to the clearing then you would never have known.’
‘But why?’ asked Gwenno, throwing her bag down in frustration. ‘Why is it so important that I stay pure? In fact, what’s to stop me going out there right now and dragging the first man I see into my bed? I’m fed up of this so called purity, it’s caused me nothing but heartache and I’ve got a good mind to do just that and end this nonsense.’
‘You can’t,’ said Willow quietly.
‘Why not?’ snapped Gwenno, ‘Was it not you who said I was beautiful and all men are weak? What man would say no?’
‘All of them!’
‘Why?’
‘Because only the pure can speak to the gods,’ said Willow, her head held down.
A silence fell between them as the information sunk in.
‘What do you mean speak to the gods?’ asked Gwenno, ‘No one can speak to the gods, they are in the otherworld.’
The young girl continued to stare downward in silence.
‘Willow,’ said Gwenno in frustration, stepping forward to shake the girls shoulder, ‘What do you know, tell me?’
‘Oh, miss I am so sorry,’ sobbed Willow looking up, ‘I know I should have told you, but I have been warned on pain of death to keep my silence.’
‘About what, Willow?’ asked Gwenno.
‘About your true fate,’ wept Willow, her shoulders shuddering in uncontrollable emotion.
Chapter 18
Since leaving the hospital Prydain had undergone intensive training. The scouts were primarily a mounted unit and tasked with finding out the lay of the land in front of a legion’s advance. They were responsible for gathering information about enemy locations, strengths and tactics and were experts in subterfuge, survival and horsemanship. They were also expected to be skilled in the art of murder.
Most of the scouts were accomp
lished hunters or horsemen back home, and, although they had been taught soldiering in the ranks of the legions, had either requested the move or had been recruited after some particular skill had been noticed by those in charge. They kept their distance from the rest of the legion and undertook their special training in secrecy and isolation.
This mission had been different and had been a chance to have a huge impact on the historic invasion. Prydain and a hundred other scouts had crossed the channel under the cover of darkness and landed fifty miles down the Britannic coast on a rainy moonless night. They carried only hand weapons, biscuit rations and waterproof cloaks, and, as soon as they landed, had disappeared into the undergrowth of the island. It was a tactical masterstroke by Plautius and the success of their mission meant that three legions landed unopposed on the shores of Britannia. By the time the defending tribes became aware of the threat it was too late, and tens of thousands of heavily armed men already had a foothold in three different locations, safe behind rapidly expanding defensive stockades.
That had been over two weeks ago and the fortress had since assumed massive proportions as the auxiliaries joined the legions. Having established a safe beachhead the Ninth Hispana reinforced the position and cleared the ground for miles around, dealing with minor skirmishes from stubborn locals. As soon as the ground had been secured, the Fourteenth Germina landed and marched through the Hispana’s position to establish a fortress ten miles inland, securing any crops or stock animals on the way.
Smaller fortresses were quickly established up and down the coast protecting their flanks, linking up with the two other legions that had landed on the same momentous night.
At last the order had come to move inland and the invasion force marched into unknown territory. Tens of thousands of heavily armed Legionaries, in full battle dress, led cohorts of lighter armed auxiliaries through the broad leaved forests, forming several columns, each over ten miles long.
Engineers travelled with their cart mounted Ballistae, ready to be called forward should they encounter any serious resistance and every Century carried a Scorpio, a smaller but still powerful form of the crossbow that could be operated by one man to propel up to four darts a minute with extreme accuracy over a hundred paces.
