by K. M. Ashman
‘Your point is well made,’ said Ocelus, ‘but this is different. Many years ago Caratacus wiped out his clan for a crime he did not commit. His wife and children were burned alive in front of his eyes, before he was set upon by Caratacus’s men and his body thrown from a cliff. Somehow, he survived and swore to avenge their death. Heed his teaching carefully and you will never go hungry. By the time he has finished, you will move like a ghost and know the country better than one who was born here.’
‘He doesn’t say much,’ said Cassus.
‘He can’t, they tore out his tongue,’ said Ocelus.
Before Cassus could say anything more, Ocelus continued.
‘Finally, that man there is Titus.’
‘And what is his role?’ asked Cassus.
‘To kick your arse,’ interrupted Titus without looking up.
‘Titus is an ex-Gladiator who won the Rudis,’ said Ocelus, referring to the wooden sword of freedom awarded to those who had excelled in the arena. ‘Unfortunately he couldn’t handle freedom and killed three fully armed men in a fight in Rome before he was sentenced to death by the magistrate. I saw him fight and bought his freedom.’
‘So he is your slave,’ said Cassus, staring defiantly at Titus.
‘There are no slaves here,’ said Ocelus, ‘all are free to leave whenever they require, including you.’
‘I can just walk away?’
‘You can. We want nobody here who doesn’t wish to be here.’
‘What about those other men I saw outside?’ asked Cassus.
‘They are recruits like you,’ said Ocelus, ‘though further into their training. Many are called, few are successful.’
‘And what does this training consist of?’ asked Cassus.
‘We will teach you how to live like a Briton,’ said Ocelus, ‘and though there will be weapons training, the main aim is to make you fit in as a native and keep you hidden from those who would challenge you.’
‘Then why the weapon training?’ asked Cassus. ‘I can use a Gladius better than any man.’
‘The natives of these lands don’t use the Gladius,’ said Ocelus, ‘their weapons of choice are broadsword, axe and club. By the time we are finished you will be able in all three, but only enough to pass as a local. Should you have to rely on those skills to defend yourself against an attack, then you will have failed for the whole thrust of this place is to avoid conflict. Here you will learn to fit in and to be accepted by the natives as one of their own. The whole point is to become one of them and to hide before their very eyes. Knowledge is power, Cassus and the Legions need to know what their enemy intends to do almost before the enemy knows themselves. I understand you have some knowledge of living with the Britons.’
‘I do,’ said Cassus, ‘and spent a year amongst them. I also know their tongue.’
‘Which tribe?’
‘Catuvellauni.’
‘Then that is the identity you shall take,’ said Ocelus. ‘We will nurture that image and turn you into a Catuvellaunian warrior. Now eat and then I suggest you get some rest. The next few months will be the hardest you have ever known.’
‘What about guards?’ asked Cassus.
‘We need no guards here,’ said Ocelus, ‘the natives won’t come within ten miles of this place. A trait we encourage with our, shall we say, decorations.’
‘The corpses,’ said Cassus.
Ocelus nodded and continued with his meal. Finally he stood up and gathered his things.
‘You can use any of the huts you see fit,’ he said, ‘make of it as you will for we provide nothing but instruction.’
‘What about fodder for my horse?’ asked Cassus.
‘Your problem, not mine,’ said Ocelus, ‘from here on in, you will look after yourself. Every seven days you will be allowed to hunt and to rest. Make sure you do plenty of both. Now, we are done here. At dawn present yourself outside to start your training.’
Without another word he left the hut followed by the rest of the men. The last to leave was the ex-Gladiator Titus, who paused alongside Cassus before he left.
‘I give you ten days maximum,’ he whispered and followed the rest outside.
* * *
The following weeks were a whirlwind of training for Cassus. He spent hour after hour honing his weapon skills with Titus, not with Gladius or Pugio but with longsword and double headed axe. Though his instincts and basic skills were sharp, the weapons were strange to him and every session he seemed to end up in the dust; more than he was on his feet. Titus took great delight in taunting his lack of skill, which riled Cassus even more, causing him to lash out in anger, only to be swatted to the floor almost effortlessly by Titus.
For the first few weeks he spent every morning being beaten, admonished and insulted by the Gladiator while every afternoon was spent with Archer, sending hundreds upon hundreds of arrows into far off targets until his string fingers bled.
Evenings were spent with the silent Terrimus and though the warrior couldn’t speak, his calm manner and easily learned sign language quickly conveyed the magic of the forest to Cassus’s ever hungry mind. The enforced silence of the huntsman seemed to affect Cassus and without the distraction of speech, his mind focussed on the task in hand.
Soon he tuned in to the methods of his teacher and he found himself looking forward to the evenings and nights spent with the strange local. A simple nod or shake of the head when confronted with a choice would convey whether something was safe to eat or not. These berries would cause a bad stomach; those leaves when chewed were good for a wound while this mushroom will kill you. Tracks in the forest floor were soon identified by his strange and often funny interpretations of the animals they belonged to but better than that, whenever they found a new set and if it was possible, Terrimus tracked the animal down to show Cassus where it lived. Wolf packs were observed from a distance and their kills often stolen for the meat. Beaver were trapped with snares and even roosting birds were snatched from branches while asleep in the dark. Within two months Cassus walked lightly through the forests, hardly making a sound as he went. So quiet was his approach, often he was upon animals before they knew he was there and combined with his growing accuracy with his bow, hunting soon became second nature.
Within weeks Cassus found himself getting leaner and harder, relying on less food to sustain him yet feeling the strength in his muscles grow. All conversation was in Briton and he soon found out that most recruits selected never even made it to the village, as the initial lack of information and supplies was all part of the selection process and meant to test their resourcefulness. Of the two recruits who had already been there when Cassus had started, one had left to re-join his Legion, ready to be deployed on whatever mission his Legatus had in mind, while the other often trained alongside him and though it was discouraged, Dento had become a good friend.
On one of the rare evenings off from training, Cassus and Dento sat around a small campfire, talking quietly and sharing what food they had managed to catch in their snares.
‘So, where are you from?’ asked Cassus, leaning over to rotate the hare roasting on the makeshift spit above the fire.
‘Southern Gaul,’ said Dento, ‘on the coast of the Mare Nostrum.’
‘You are Gallic?’ asked Cassus in surprise.
‘I am, though my town has always been in Roman hands and I grew up desperate to join the Legions.’
‘So why are you out here?’ asked Cassus.
‘Let’s just say the Legionary life wasn’t quite what I expected and I got into a lot of trouble. Somebody told Ocelus about me and he offered me the chance to change my fortune.’
‘Did you have to fight him at your first meeting?’ asked Cassus.
‘I did,’ laughed Dento, ‘and he had me spitting blood within seconds. He’s a tough little bastard.’
‘He is,’ agreed Cassus with a smile. ‘So, do you think you made the right decision joining this lot?’
‘I’m not sure,’ said
Dento. ‘I love the training and I am certainly a better soldier for it. I just hope I can carry it off when deployed into the villages.’
‘You’ll be fine,’ said Cassus. ‘You already speak the language like a local and so many villages have been decimated by our army’s hand recently, there are hundreds of lone refugees wandering the countryside. One more won’t raise any eyebrow.’
Dento took the hare from the spit.
‘It’s done,’ he said and laying it on a nearby stone, used his knife to split the animal down the centre before throwing half over to Cassus. The men used large leaves to protect their fingers from the hot flesh and ate their meal quietly, alone with their thoughts.
Since training with Terrimus, Cassus found that he enjoyed silence much more and his thoughts were often clearer for it. Now he considered the consequences of every action, whereas before he would stamp wildly into any situation, relying on his aggression to overcome any obstacle. Even in the training ring with Titus the contests were becoming closer; though the Gladiator invariably was the victor, Cassus often landed blows on the giant man.
‘How much longer have you got left?’ asked Cassus.
‘I don’t know,’ said Dento. ‘There isn’t a time frame for this training; you are ready when they say you are. That could be weeks or months. I have known several men just disappear overnight and I can only assume they have been summoned by their Legions. One day soon, I assume that will happen to us.’
‘And that’s when we will be deployed into the wilds of Britannia?’ asked Cassus.
‘Not necessarily,’ said Dento, ‘you may be attached to a century back in your Legion until such time your skills are required.’
‘That makes a mockery of all this,’ said Cassus in disgust. ‘What’s the point if we are to rot in a fort?’
‘It may not be that bad,’ said Dento. ‘They know we have skills they need so even if we are not needed yet, they will usually put us with a scout unit. At least that way we will be spared the boredom of camp life and guard duties.’
‘Will there be other Exploratores there?’ asked Cassus.
‘There may well be,’ said Dento, ‘but don’t announce yourself as such. Nobody else needs know except you, your Legatus and fellow Exploratores.’
‘But how will I know them?’
‘Don’t worry,’ said Dento, ‘they will find you.’
Chatper 9
The Exploratore Camp
47AD
Cassus lay on the straw mattress in his hut, listening to the pre-dawn chorus of bird song out in the forest. His eyes were still closed but he was awake, not sure what had interrupted his sleep. The past few months had been hard with constant training and learning weapon skills from the three instructors. His skill with a bow had become exceptional, his sword skills almost matched those of Titus and his survival skills were like second nature. Dento had gone, having left while Cassus was out on yet another learning expedition with Terrimus and though nobody would confirm it, Cassus assumed he had been deployed on a mission on behalf of his Legion. Occasionally new recruits appeared, but most left again just as quickly having fallen short of Ocelus’s standards. Only a few were left to undergo the same rigorous training that Cassus had endured.
As he contemplated his time in the camp, something weighed on his mind. Something was wrong and he wasn’t sure what it was. Suddenly he knew and rolled to one side to grab his sword; someone else was in the hut. He jumped to his feet and faced the man silhouetted against the faint light of the impending dawn.
‘Declare yourself,’ growled Cassus.
‘Hold that reaction,’ said the man, ‘for it just may save your life in the next few hours.’
‘Ocelus,’ said Cassus, ‘what brings you here?’
‘It is time,’ said Ocelus.
‘Time for what?’ asked Cassus.
‘Destiny,’ said Ocelus and ducked out of the hut.
Cassus followed him out and was surprised to see Archer, Terrimus and Titus standing in the clearing, each armed with their weapons of choice. Archer had his bow, Terrimus his staff and Titus his longsword.
‘Your time here is done, Cassus,’ said Ocelus. ‘There are things afoot that need your involvement. But before you leave there is one more challenge, a trial of arms. You may choose one adversary but choose well for defeat will mean you leave without our endorsement.’
Cassus looked carefully at all three. He now considered himself the equal of both Archer and Terrimus and knew that he could expect a fair contest. Titus was a different matter. Cassus had never bettered him and he knew that should he choose the Gladiator, the chances of victory were slight.
‘Consider carefully, Cassus,’ said Ocelus, ‘many have chosen the Gladiator but none have prevailed. Perhaps you should seek their advice?’
‘They are here?’ asked Cassus.
‘Indeed they are; they have watched your every battle with Titus since the first night you arrived.’
Cassus looked around as the realisation sunk in. The corpses who provided their audience on a daily basis were not native dead but those Romans who had fallen to the sword of Titus at the last hurdle. The thought disgusted him. Despite this, his mind was set.
‘I choose Titus,’ he said.
‘Then make ready,’ said Ocelus, ‘you fight at dawn.’
All four men left Cassus alone and he retreated to his hut. He prepared his horse and packed what food he had before sitting down and sharpening the edge of his broadsword. This is what it had all been about. Get it right today and his life would take a different direction. Get it wrong and his body would become nothing more than one more addition to the dead population of this cursed village.
Finally the time came and he made his way out to the arena where he had been humiliated on the night he had arrived. This time there were no theatricals, just Titus waiting with both hands resting on the hilt of the broadsword.
‘Where are the others?’ asked Cassus as he walked toward the Gladiator.
‘Elsewhere,’ said Titus. ‘There are others that need their tuition now.’
‘And what about us?’ asked Cassus.
‘We fight,’ said Titus.
‘With no witnesses?’
‘Those already dead bear witness,’ said Titus, nodding toward the cadavers situated around the arena in poses of normality.
‘But I could say I triumphed, even if it was not true.’
‘If you survive.’
‘You would not report the outcome?’
‘No.’
‘Then what is the point of this trial?’ asked Cassus. ‘If the victor can never be proven, nobody will ever know.’
‘You will know,’ said Titus, ‘as will your gods.’
‘And would this be a burden?’
‘Only to an honourable man.’
Cassus nodded and realised that the last few months had been about building not only his skills, but his character.
‘Then let the trial commence,’ said Cassus and walked over to take up position before the Gladiator. He withdrew his longsword from the sheath across his back and stuck the blade in the ground before him, matching the stance of his opponent. Months earlier he had launched wildly into the attack but that was a different day, a different man. He had changed beyond all recognition and now possessed a character that combined patience alongside skills in equal measure. Gradually he controlled his breathing, knowing that his heart rate was slowing as he concentrated on the man before him. The image seemed to get clearer and Cassus could see every mark on the leather of the man’s armour. Minutes passed with each man motionless as they waited for their opponent to move, looking for any sign of weakness. Cassus’s senses seemed to sharpen the longer they waited. The songs of the birds were louder, the smells of the forest were sharper and the light breeze on his face was like the strongest gale. Across the clearing, Titus was just as resolute, knowing that most men broke under the weight of tension and usually rushed into the attack out of frustration.
He was happy to wait all day, but then something happened that sent a message to Cassus clearer than the loudest parade square order – a bead of sweat ran down Titus’s face.
At that moment Cassus knew he had him and he withdrew the sword from the soil to replace it in his sheath before turning to leave.
‘Hold,’ shouted Titus, ‘the contest remains un-fought.’
‘There is no contest,’ said Cassus, ‘you are already defeated. Your fear echoes around the hills like a dying beast.’
‘I fear no one,’ snarled Titus. ‘Turn and face me, coward.’
‘For whose benefit, Titus?’ asked Cassus. ‘These dead men who have witnessed your vanity on so many occasions, or to satisfy your own doubt in your own skills? I know I will emerge the victor, Titus, and it is now for you to prove otherwise. Is that not a victory in itself?’
‘A victory of words not steel,’ snarled Titus swinging his sword before him, ‘and mere words have not bloodied me yet.’ With a deafening roar he charged across the clearing, not realising that was exactly what Cassus wanted.
Cassus drew his own sword with lightning speed and spun to one side, causing Titus to miss him completely and swing wildly into thin air. Cassus seized the opportunity and launched his own attack on the Gladiator. Though at a disadvantage, Titus’s huge experience in the field of battle meant he reacted quickly and deflected the blows with his own sword but just as he was ready to go on the offensive, Cassus broke off the attack and walked away from him, exposing his back to the Gladiator.
Titus was confused. He could easily strike down this man but there was no honour in attacking a man from behind.
‘Turn and face me,’ he shouted.
‘Momentarily,’ said Cassus and paused at the far end of the arena before turning to face him.
‘I am ready,’ he said and adopted the defensive stance, holding the sword above his shoulder.
Titus stormed across the arena again and swung his sword toward his opponent’s torso, but Cassus swung his sword downward with all his strength to knock Titus’s weapon from his hands and sent it spinning away into the bushes. Again, Cassus walked away nonchalantly, knowing his demeanour was feeding the Gladiator’s rage. Titus retrieved his sword and re-entered the arena.
