by John Salter
The Britons were not difficult to track and were clearly making no attempt to disguise the route they were taking. When the sun was high in the sky overhead Varro and his small party had caught up with them, initially they stayed back out of sight and observed them from a safe distance. Stragglers walked along on foot a few hundred feet behind the rear of the main body. Carts, horses, chariots and even the walking warriors carried the wounded slowly moving along the route others walked heads bowed in the main, with little or no conversation taking place.
Some three hundred feet or so distant following at walking pace, Varro studied the Britons who had been so alive and vibrant the day before, but now looked crushed and devoid of life. He felt no sympathy however, not because he was uncaring but because if he allowed thoughts such as those to enter his head, they would eat away at him and he knew he couldn’t allow that. They were after all, the enemy, an enemy that had to been destroyed or beaten so badly that they gave up fighting and never drew a sword against Rome again.
He estimated that they were now half a day’s walk from Brenna’s settlement and wondered how her people would greet their defeated countrymen and women. Would they be welcomed with open arms, their dead mourned, their injured healed or would they be turned away to protect their own people from the wrath of the invaders. There was no doubting that the war party would overwhelm the settlement if it so desired even in its ragged state and he didn’t want Brenna or her people harmed if he could avoid it. They did their best to stay hidden and out of sight as they followed and once or twice a rider would track back and they would have to retreat some distance in order not to be seen.
“We’ll go round them and warn Brenna’s people of their approach. Caratacus could well do anything after yesterday and I wouldn’t want anyone that didn’t agree with him to get in their way especially Brenna and her people.” Varro said after a while.
They moved to the left angling away from the rear of the defeated enemy and began cantering up a slight rise and away around the Britons out of sight. The day was warm with a slight breeze, a good day for riding even if it was under pressure.
By late afternoon they approached familiar paths worn by years of feet, hooves and carts passing through them. The air was still as they rounded a slight bend and entered a clearing. The settlement looked quiet, no dogs or children were busy playing, no animals in the small pens and no people could be seen.
“It looks like they’ve already heard the news.” Veranius remarked as he brought his horse to a halt. Varro looked around at the silent roundhouses, almost eerie with no souls present. Suddenly from nowhere and without any warning arrows thudded into the ground and trees behind them, to a man they turned and retreated further into cover.
“Where the fuck did they come from?” Marcus said from under the canopy of a tree.
“Anyone see how many of them there were?” Varro asked.
“Had to have been at least ten,” Veranius remarked, “the good news is that they weren’t close enough to throw spears.”
“No-one got hit did they?” Varro said checking his horse, they were all uninjured. “We’ve got a choice, we can either try to find them and see how many of them there are or we can get out of here.”
“Sir,” Marcus cut in, “we can scout around them.” He said gesturing with his arm the direction he suggested to the left. Varro nodded in acknowledgement and they began to move away up a gradual rise on the forest floor. Some moments later they began to hear horses and carts. Moving carefully through the trees above their quarry the first of the Britons came into view. They were clearly wary of their surroundings as they were looking up into the trees canopy and the foliage as they walked.
“It has to be the main body of the enemy force. We must have bumped into the stragglers back there.” Varro said as they continued to watch the Britons. “Come on let’s get out of here.” He turned Staro quietly and moved off, the others following.
Varro opened his eyes slowly, vague memories stumbled through his thoughts. He sensed before he saw and felt that he was being restrained, arms outstretched, wrists tied as well as feet. As his eyes slowly focused, shouting became audible as if he were emerging from water, who was it, where were they? He was dizzy and his head hurt from somewhere near the left temple. He tried to shake off the dullness but it made his head thump even more, with sharp stabbing pains. More noise, voices shouting, faces, blurred faces came into view, unfocused. He closed his eyes tightly as if that would help him focus but it was to no avail. He heard screams from nearby. He turned to the left and could make out other figures standing with their backs against trees like him, he was on his feet, facing outward.
“Varro.” A voice, a familiar voice called to him. Suddenly he was struck by something hard, it rocked his head back against the tree trunk he now realised he was tied to as his senses became sharp once more through a fog of pain.
“Varro!”
The voice called again. He opened his eyes to see a sea of faces before him. Faces daubed in blue streaks, swirls and stripes, limed hair sticking out, taunting and mocking. Two of his men were tied up against a tree to the left. Veranius and Decimus were as bruised as he was and were standing watching the barbarians before them, the Britons spoke in an unknown language, their voices rough and harsh, guttural.
“Thank Mars you’re alive. I thought they’d killed you for sure.” Veranius said, spitting blood from his mouth and wincing. A Briton, female, stepped forward and bent down looking at the blood. She stepped into it merging it with the soil with her foot. Varro looked at her muscular frame, her arms daubed with the blue war paint, bare legs and breasts, her crotch and lower legs the only areas that were covered.
Seeing he had regained consciousness she walked over to him and muttered something but he didn’t understand a word she said, her breath was rank as she spat words into his face. She grabbed at his balls, squeezing them and laughing as did others gathered nearby. He realised that he was stripped naked, his clothing and armour nowhere to be seen, what the fuck had happened? She waved a sharp knife in the other hand whilst squeezing and pulling on his testicles with the other.
They had heard rumours of Britons stripping men of their flesh when they were captured, their genitals cut from them and sewn into their mouths, tongues cut out, ears and noses cut off, burned and eaten before them. It was a fate worse than death being captured by these primitive bastards but that was where they found themselves, they here and they’re worst nightmare was realised. The women were said to be more terrifying than the men, taking revenge for the deaths of their families and loved ones. Women warriors whose hatred and scorn was taken out on the men who had wounded and killed their own, were now given the chance to take blood for blood.
Varro saw men watching in the background sat on a raised bank, he and his men were being used for entertainment. They were not delirious with pleasure as the women seemed to be but sat there just watching with something akin to sympathy etched across their faces. They chewed on stripped pieces of meat and chatted with each other as the entertainment continued.
“The others, where are they?” Varro called out.
“They managed to escape when they ambushed us.” Veranius said struggling against the rope binding him to the tree. The female saw him and walked over, spitting in his face. Veranius returned the gesture and was punched squarely on the nose, it crunched under the impact. Before he could register the pain another blow pounded into his face, followed by another with the flat of her palm. The female withdrew her hand, her palm already blood spattered with red snot and blood. Veranius gagged trying to breathe through his shattered nose, snorting out blood quickly to try and clear his airway.
“I hope they rode back to get help because if they didn’t we’re going to go to our gods here this night.” Varro said watching the woman as she walked over to Decimus. She grabbed his manhood and stretched it, gathering in his balls as well she removed her knife from a belt and placed it against his organs. His head
jerked back as he tried to move away from her blade, she laughed, letting go as his head dropped in relief. They would tease their prey before they mutilated them it seemed.
“Stay the fuck away from us you dirty fucking diseased cunt.” Shouted Veranius. Instantly the woman turned her attention to him.
“Veranius, keep your fucking mouth shut unless you want that dirty cunt to cut your cock off and eat it raw before your dying eyes.” His commander ordered.
“They’re going to kill us anyway so why delay it sir?” He looked at the Briton before him almost pleading in his eyes for a quick death as she ran the sharpened blade down his chest opening a long slicing cut.
The previously vanished memories of the ambush began to return to Varro in flashes, the attack that had come without warning and that had brought them to this point. They had been guiding their horses through a twisting trail through shaded woods when the Britons had struck. Had they been pushed into taking this route by the bowmen or had it been a coincidence, Varro didn’t know. What he did know was that once the ambush was sprung, within seconds he and his men were captured or fleeing for their lives. They suddenly found themselves surrounded at the front and both sides. As they tried to turn quickly in the confined space, more Britons cut off the rear. Marcus and Lucius charged their horses at the linking line of barbarians and half jumped their animals through the gathering horde.
Marcus’ mounts front hooves clipped the forehead of a screaming enemy, knocking him out cold instantly, even before he hit the ground. Mud flew into the air from the animals feet as the ambush tightened its grip. The horse carrying Lucius romped into the gap created by the falling native and the two galloped away. Wooden clubs were wielded by the screaming warriors as they aimed for the heads and arms of the remaining riders whilst others behind them held large spears. As Varro realised the intention was capture and not kill, a blow to the head took him from the frenzied world he had found himself in.
Veranius spat the contents of his bleeding mouth at the female as she shrieked into his face pressing the knife into his stomach, her own now covered in his blood and spittle.
“Noooooo!” Shouted Varro as his second in command braced himself. He managed a half turn to his commander as the blade pierced his flesh entering his body with ease as she leaned on the handle. Sweat glistened from the Romans head as the knife sunk deeper and he howled in agony. Varro was aware of the face of Decimus behind his wounded friend but didn’t focus to look at him. Veranius could do nothing except scream. As the knife reached the hilt, the woman let go of the handle and let it stay where it had sank to and she spat at Veranius.
“Fucking cunt, you fucking whore.” He shouted his voice still strong, his head dropping, eyes looking at the blade embedded in his stomach.
“Hold on Veranius, just hold on. Don’t do anything else to intimidate her or she’ll have your fucking balls off as well.” Varro shouted almost pleading, the woman looked at him as he said it and placed her hand on the knife handle again.
“Leave him alone you fucking whore.” The Roman commander shouted staring into her black eyes. She smirked and pushed down on the handle, its blade ripping up into the stomach and chest of Veranius as he let out an unearthly cry of agony. Varro thrust himself forwards and backwards furiously against the tree trying to break free, the top even shaking slightly with this effort and rage. The woman laughed and then slowly withdrew the blade. Veranius tried to scream again, his face contorted, head jerking backwards and hitting the trunk but no words came from him. Varro wasn’t sure if he had lost consciousness through his head cracking the tree or the pain being inflicted upon him as his head fell forward. Whichever it was, it didn’t seem to matter now as Veranius slumped forward his body limp, he was lost to the blackness.
“You fucking coward. You fucking coward! Untie me and I’ll show you what pain is, you fucking vile cock sucking whore.” Varro challenged.
Veranius’s eyes flickered back to life as his head slowly rose back up. Varro tried to get the woman’s attention but she had already seen him and had turned her focus back to his second in command. Varro was aware of a commotion from somewhere behind the ranks of watching Britons who were now screaming and almost delirious for more blood but he wasn’t focusing on that, he was screaming at the woman. She turned and sneered at him baring her teeth, lowering her arms and leering at him, leaning forward.
She raised her hand holding the knife and pointed it at him, he held his breath expecting to feel the cold metal stained with his friend’s blood enter his own flesh. She walked towards him, staring into his eyes, repeating words like some sort of incantation.
“Fucking whore, you fucking whore.” Veranius managed weakly as she suddenly turned focusing all her attention on him again. The crowds frenzy grew wild as without warning she stabbed downwards and his eyes bulged. Varro couldn’t see what she had done as she bent down near his waist, her victim suddenly white with shock. All Varro could see was a sawing motion as her arm moved forward and backwards very slowly.
Veranius slipped into unconsciousness again, his head slumping forward, blood dripped from his open mouth. The crowd went wild with delirium as the armed woman stood up straight, her blade in one hand and bloodied flesh, organs in the other. Varro strained to see what it was. Then shock hit him with a sudden realisation. She had cut off his manhood and testicles, no matter what happened next, he knew his friend was dead.
He stood there imprisoned watching as she displayed the severed organs to the baying crowd, splashing blood onto their faces and dripping it onto her own and into her laughing open mouth. When they had all had their fill she held them over a fire and then let them drop, sizzling and spitting as they landed. Varro knew there was now nothing to be gained from shouting or struggling any further not that it would have helped the situation before. He decided that whatever happened next, it was the will of the gods that was if they were even at this forsaken place.
The woman wiped her bloodied blade on the material around her waist and smiled as she approached Decimus. The horror engrained on his face was only matched by the psychopathic joy across the faces of the watching crowd. She stood directly in front of him and examined his lower body, smiling at his genitals. She shouted something that clearly amused the crowd and they laughed and balled in appreciation of her words. She leaned forward and grabbed the soldier behind his neck, pulled his head forward and then kissed him. She licked his face as he tried to push his head backwards as her other hand moved between his legs and explored.
As she withdrew from her bizarre act, Decimus suddenly whipped his head forward, his forehead crunching into the woman’s face, catching her on the bridge of the nose. She staggered back, her nose shattered clutching at her face, blood flowing freely from her broken ruptured nose and she fell to the ground. The crowd went quiet.
“Fuck you whore.” Decimus said as he spat at her prone body. Varro knew that they were both dead in the hands of these animals and didn’t blame him for what he had done. What difference would it make if they were to die like their friend? Just then Varro heard a murmur from Veranius as blood flowed and dripped from the black hole of the wound she had created. Varro hoped his friend wouldn’t awake to see what she had done to him, he knew he would prefer to die rather than see how she had disfigured him before he went to the next world.
As the barbarian female struggled to her feet holding her nose and mouth, someone pushed their way through the now quiet crowd who were watching the scene before them. Another female voice called out and the torturer turned.
Varro was struck dumb as he saw it was Brenna.
The two women exchanged angry words, the attacker pointing at Veranius. Varro allowed a brief spike of hope to enter his being as the two women argued.
However, Brenna looked over smiling at the unconscious soldier. She grabbed the other woman’s knife and approached Veranius. Varro didn’t know if she even knew he was there, surely she would recognise him and his men even in this awful con
dition. His shock was complete as she pushed the head of Veranius back and then slashed downwards across his neck, cutting open the veins within. Blood literally gushed out spraying the ground some feet from the tied Roman, splashing Brenna and the other woman, the watching crowd went wild with excitement. Brenna barked orders at those gathered and they went silent. She walked to Decimus and stood staring at him.
“Don’t you fucking dare, no please don’t.” Varro pleaded. Brenna looked over to him, an unknowing expression sneering at him, lips curled back like a wolf about to pounce, he didn’t recognise this person. This wasn’t the woman he had spent time with that night, she showed no sign of acknowledging him or human emotion. She was different, remote, she was native, feral, a Briton. She turned and walked around to the rear of the tree holding Decimus in place and cut the rope freeing him, he fell forward and onto the ground. Other women ran towards him but Brenna shouted at them holding out the knife, her words harsh, they stopped before getting to the Roman who was now rubbing at his wrists where the ropes had dug into them. She walked to Varro and did the same, cutting him free. What was she doing, was she freeing them only to have the crowd, rip them apart, his exhaustion almost made him not care.
She shouted for someone unseen as Tevelgus appeared through the gathered mob, he was leading three horses. Brenna pointed at the animals and Varro recognised Staro as he stamped his front hoof as he saw his master. She indicated for the two men to get onto the animals which they did struggling after their recent experience. Their hands were tied to the pommels of the saddles. The crowd parted slowly as they moved through them, some spat as they went by.
Varro looked down at the woman with the broken and bleeding nose as she tried to shout one last insult, her attempt snuffed out as blood spattered through her mouth and nose as she began to cough and choke. He didn’t try to respond as Brenna shouted something at her and kicked her horse into a canter, parting the crowd fully.
