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

by John Salter

  Some miles away from the village the Romans dismounted from their horses, the boy had ridden with Varro until they were clear of the Britons. It was now almost dark and owls could be heard calling to each other in the trees as the stars began to emerge in the night sky.

  “What was happening back there boy, why did they put you in that wooden man?” Varro asked. The boy frowned and when he replied it was in words that the Romans did not understand. “Of course he doesn’t understand us like we don’t understand him.” Veranius said.

  “Mm thank you Senator.” Varro said sarcastically, returning his attention to the boy he said, “What were they doing to you, are you a thief?”

  The boy mumbled something in reply but again it was unintelligible. He grabbed Varro by the hand and dragged him, pointing furiously in the direction of some hills in the distance. It was the opposite way from which they had come to get to the village.

  “I think he’s trying to tell us he’s from another place and was brought here against his will.” Varro said watching the boy.

  Veranius wasn’t too sure, “He could be lying, he’s probably a thief like you said and was being punished by his tribe, that’s why he wants to get away and go to the hills. These barbarians are all the same, they’re dumb goat fuckers if you ask me.”

  Just then a shrill scream interrupted them, followed by hellish cries of pain. It came from the village and the boy’s face showed complete terror.

  “Lucius, I want you with me, come on, we’re going to find out what that was, Veranius take charge here, don’t let the boy out of your sight.”

  “Sir.” Was all Veranius said in return as Varro and Lucius galloped away.

  Moments later the two men had dismounted, tied their horses up and were now cautiously making their way through the bushes to the edge of the water, they found themselves once more on the far side of the river bank opposite the settlement. Every now and again they could hear screams and it was obvious they were actually coming from the other side of the water. As they emerged through the trees crouching by the water’s edge they could see that the blue painted warriors had another boy in their clutches and appeared to be questioning him. They retreated backward a few steps to where they could see but not be seen. One of the warriors was holding him by the arm whilst shouting questions at him and pointing into the distance, the other had a long sword over a fire.

  Whenever he gave them an answer they didn’t seem to like he was burned with the sword, its tip heated in the flames of the fire. They had stripped his upper clothing off, the remains of which were now rags around his waist. Swollen hot welts could be seen easily from their hiding place as the Britons continued to question the boy, who in turn screamed in agony whenever the hot sword came close to his skin.

  “I wish I had my bow,” Lucius whispered watching, eyes glaring. “I’d pierce that blue bastards eyeballs for him, see how he likes a bit of pain.”

  Varro scowled as he watched, “Mm, that would be nice but I don’t think it would help that youngster there unless we killed all of them and with just two of us that isn’t going to happen.

  “What could they want from a boy? How old would you say he is thirteen, fourteen maybe?” Lucius asked Varro.

  “Something like that I should imagine.” A deafening scream shattered the otherwise peaceful night as the red hot sword once again pierced the boy’s skin, this time on his right shoulder. He collapsed onto the sandy surface by the river’s edge, his skin glistening with sweat.

  The druid said something and two of the Britons picked the boy up and dragged him to the wooden cage. One opened the door as the other dragged his unconscious body up and spilled it into the wooden form. Chanting began from the druids and the assembled painted warriors as women emerged from their roundhouses carrying flaming torches. As they approached the men, they joined in with the chanting, it seemed to stir the boy as his head moved from side to side as if drunk and an arm was raised.

  Varro and Lucius watched from their hiding place in the bushes at the side of the river, their eyes glinting in the reflection of the lit torches as wafts of burning kindling reached them now. As the boy stirred from his wooden prison, the women gathered sticks and brush and began piling them under the wooden man. The boy was fully conscious again now and began screaming for mercy. His behaviour and gestures were getting more frantic but the two Romans couldn’t hear him as his voice was drowned out by other chanting Britons.

  “What in gods bones are they doing sir?” Lucius asked his commander, “Surely they’re not going to do what I think they are?”

  Varro watched almost transfixed by the horror playing out before his eyes. “I wish we could do something Lucius but we would most likely end up in the same place if we intervened. There’s nothing we can do for him, all we can do in time, is ensure that it never happens again.”

  As the brushwood grew under the confined boy his expression changed, his cries for mercy were exchanged for cries of anger. He was cursing his captures now and reaching through the wooden bars. He stopped at one point when his injured shoulder touched the wood and he grimaced. He leant back and began pulling at the wooden bars, jerking his head backwards with effort.

  When the branches, sticks and brushwood had reached the actual base of the wooden man, the women withdrew and the chanting reached a crescendo and then abruptly stopped. The boy continued to shout and hurl what Varro concluded were insults at the people who were gathered around him but finally he stopped and was quiet. As an eerie silence enveloped the area the older druid spoke out, his harsh guttural language totally unrecognisable. He spoke for some time during which he pointed up at the sky and then down at the earth, to the trees and to the water flowing by in the river. At the end of his speech the silence took over once more as the priest bowed his head.

  The boy began to fidget and move around the cage once again shouting towards the druid who pointed towards the base of the wooden man. The women walked forward with expressionless faces their eyes staring at the boy. He jumped up and began to pull at the wooden struts again, screaming and shouting, wild panic now apparent in his young voice.

  The druid shouted another command and the women stopped, without another word they bent down and dropped their torches onto the gathered wood. The boy stopped stock still and looked down as initially nothing happened and the woman retreated. Then a wisp of smoke grew and was followed by another, the boy went berserk, trying to climb higher into the cage that had become his death pen. The gathered Britons did nothing except watch as the horrific drama played out before them.

  “For the god’s sake sir, they’re burning the poor lad to death.” Lucius withdrew his sword.

  “We can’t do anything Lucius put your fucking sword away that’s an order.” He emphasised the point glaring at Lucius as if to say, ‘one wrong move and you’ll regret it soldier’. His subordinate slammed his weapon back up to the hilt.

  “Come on my friend, we don’t need to see this play out, the boys as good as dead already. I promise you though we’ll take vengeance on those animals, I swear it.”

  As Varro led the way back to their tethered horses the boy’s screams began to fade and finally stopped. “Hopefully the smoke knocked him out before he could burn but they will pay for what they’ve done.”

  Chapter Four

  The next day the morning sun warmed Caratacus and his scouting party as they observed the invading force in the valley below. They were lying flat on the ground on their stomachs at the top of a rise hundreds of feet above the invaders.

  “Either they are convinced of their invincibility or they’re as dumb as the swine we keep in our fields because if we get warriors here quickly, they’ll be stuck and we’ll push them back into the sea.”

  He had come south to see for himself the army that he had been assured wouldn’t land on these shores.

  “How many do you think are here brother?” He asked Togodumnus.

  “In this group I would say ten thousand infant
ry, two thousand cavalry and about the same in those auxiliary units we observed last night. If we had brought all our men we could have defeated these vermin. It looks like they have divided their force into equal groups of three. We must find out where the other two columns have marched off to, spreading their filth over our lands.” Togodumnus replied.

  We’ll deal with them later,” Caractus replied, “first we’ll crush what we see before us at the great second river. We’ll use her current and depth to drown these men and banish them from ours lands. Come we have plans to make.” He pushed himself up and without looking back walked to his horse.

  Varro and his men had spent a restless night trying to keep the boy they had managed to rescue quiet. They had ridden towards the hills he had pointed towards the previous day and had tried to stop and rest and let the horses feed but it was to no avail. The boy had terror in his eyes and no amount of persuasion, albeit in a foreign tongue would calm him down. The men realised that he was probably thinking he was in for an equally vile end as his fellow Britons had tried to give him.

  He obviously didn’t understand a word they were saying and as they rode on Varro had discussed every eventuality with his men about what to do with the boy. They had decided they would make every effort to return him to his tribe but if that in any way risked their mission he would be abandoned. Likewise if at the end of the day he was still with them and they hadn’t been successful he would be left to his fate.

  After the third attempt to make camp during the night, they had given up and walked the horses slowly in single file. Lucius retold the story of the night’s events to the rest of the men, all of whom were equally horrified.

  “Maybe he was from a different tribe and they were sacrificing the boys to appease their Gods.” Marcus said looking at Lucius.

  “I don’t give a whores cunny Lucius. Nobody deserves to die like that especially an innocent child. These barbarians need to be taught a lesson, is it any wonder we’re here to bring them civilisation?” Lucius spat out the words.

  Varro leading the way listened to the conversation as they all agreed to a man that if it was humanly possible to right this terrible wrong they would. The problem was that they were only a few soldiers, lightly armed, provisioned and miles away from any real support. They would have liked nothing better than to destroy the entire village but that was out of the question.

  The boy had fallen asleep eventually, strewn face down across Staro’s back in front of the centurion, Varro had kept him in place with his knees, reassuringly patting his shoulder every now and again. As the first rays of light broke slowly before the dawn of another day he brought his small party to a halt raising his hand. Veranius helped carry the lad off Staro and lay his head down on a rolled blanket.

  “We’ll get the horses fed and watered and ourselves and try and get some rest until the suns up properly and we can get our bearings.” The stars were beginning to disappear from the night sky as dark blue replaced the sparkling blackness that had enveloped everything above them.

  Decimus lit a fire whilst Marcus brought water from a nearby stream to slowly boil. They may have had to live in the field but they still liked to have some comforts. They had learned from past experience that even small things like warm water were essential for moral and keeping spirits up. They had to be wary of hunting parties but a fire wasn’t enough to draw too much suspicion. The boy slept on fitfully, every now and again his body pulsed as a sleeping sob wracked his small body.

  “Poor little bastard eh, what are we going to do with him?” Decimus asked of his commander.

  “Well we’ve got a couple of choices the way I see it. We can either abandon him here leaving him to his own initiative, we could end his life or, we could try and take him home.” Varro replied. “I don’t want to kill an innocent child. He would surely die if he was just left here so I suppose we’ve got one logical option left. What do you think?” He addressed the group as a whole. They liked Varro for a number of reasons, his compassion being one, another; his ability to ask the opinion of his fellow soldiers especially when their lives could depend on the outcome.

  “I say we try and get the child home as we’ve said, at least for the duration of today.” Veranius said. “If we can’t find his family by nightfall, we leave him to his own abilities.”

  “Agreed,” Varro said, “does anyone have any objections?” He surveyed the weary eyes before him and received shakes of the head in response. “Okay. Let’s get some food, some sleep and we’ll see what the day brings. Marcus you take first watch.”

  “Sir.” The trooper acknowledged as he scrambled in his food bag for some dried meat to chew and began to walk away.

  “I’ll be on the outcrop.” He indicated to a position a hundred paces or so away from the rest of the group. It would give him a good vantage point if anyone or anything approached.

  “I wonder if Caesar experienced the burning of native’s when he was here?” Lucius asked.

  Varro a little more educated on the topic said, “Well there were two forays into the interior of this land. Although some believe both were merely reconnaissance missions, I don’t see it that way. With the amount of troops, ships and materials he had, it had to be an invasion.”

  The others looked at him in surprise. “If you look at the facts no-one can argue that the Britons defeated him and sent him on his way, not once but twice. Some of it was down to back luck on their behalf and some of it down to fortune. Ships damaged by storms were sunk, supplies and men were lost. The Britons were prepared and lined those great white rocks we saw when we landed. This time they believed we had abandoned the invasion and so by comparison we had an easy time of it.”

  Decimus listening intently asked, “So that means that those Britons or their relatives that beat the greatest general we’ve ever had, are still out there?”

  Varro smiled, “They certainly are my friend and at some point we’ll surely meet them.”

  “So what makes you think that we’ll fare any better than Caesar?” Veranius asked chewing on his salted meat.

  “This time there’s a difference and tactically it’s enormous. We’ve got a foothold on their coast and our troops and equipment are pouring ashore still, even as we speak. As the ships are offloaded they’re returning to Gaul for more. In no time at all we’ll have over fifty thousand men on this ground.” He looked at the faces reflecting the flames of the fire. “It still won’t be easy but this time we’re better prepared, equipped and with legions that have fought through Gaul.” He smiled. “I’m sure this time Rome will give a better account of herself against these child burning primitives.”

  A few hours later the sun was high in the sky and was beginning to warm Varro and his small contingent. He could feel the cold evaporate from his arms and legs. It looked to be the start of another warm day and the chill of the night before had all but vanished. The boy had been awake for over an hour and was now sitting staring at the small flames in the dying fire as most of the wood had turned to ash.

  With daylight came good visibility and the area where the boy had been pointing to the night before was clearly visible from their position. No structures could be seen and there weren’t any smoke plumes from any villages but the rise in the land was now nearer on the horizon and was quite distinct.

  Varro smiled at the boy and pointed in that direction, the boy looked towards the region indicated and raised his eyebrows. He spoke words not understood by the soldiers and slowly got to his feet. He seemed a lot more at ease now and must have realised that the strangely dressed men, were not intending to hurt but help him.

  With the camp broken Varro helped the young lad climb up onto Staro lifting him with one hand and swinging him up onto the horse’s rump behind him. The centurion clicked and slowly nudged his horse forward as they set off at an easy pace. He adjusted his sword under the side of the saddle flap and below his left leg, making sure it was secure as they began another day and rode on.

  The
y continued on for about an hour and saw no-one or nothing of any significance. Varro rode slowly leading but not taking a direct route to their destination. Every so often he would change direction, so as to limit the chance of ambush by anyone who may have seen them from the high ground. Soldiers travelling straight were easily tracked, stalked and destroyed and Varro would do everything he could to avoid that.

  Just before noon they picked up the smell of wood smoke and eventually a few roundhouses came into view. The boy was chattering excitedly now at the rear of Varro as he clearly recognised his surroundings.

  “Stop where you are Romans.” A husky female voice suddenly sounded from somewhere ahead of them in thick bushes.

  “Who are you?” Varro shouted looking around trying to locate where the voice had come from.

  “Come out where we can see you. We have a boy with us and we’re trying to find his home,” he paused, ‘where he lives.”

  The horses came to a halt as the men strained their eyes searching the trees surrounding them but they could see nothing.

  “Where did you find the boy Roman?” The voice called.

  “He has been missing for a number of days along with his brother. Did you and your men take him and have your way with him?” The voice was heavily accented but clear, concise and Latin.

  Varro looked at his men, anger on his face.

  “We rescued him from people who wished him harm in a settlement about a half a day’s ride from here. I’m afraid we could do nothing for his friend who was with him.” Varro could still see nothing to give away the position of the speaker.

  “Get ready for anything.” He said to his men under his breath as he turned to help the boy down. The female spoke again but in a local tongue and from a different location or so it seemed, this time speaking to the boy as he stood by the side of Staro. The boy answered, speaking in a normal tone whilst pointing to the soldiers and smiling. The woman again said something and the boy broke down and began to cry moving slowly forward.