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

by John Salter

  Later a chill had fallen over the valley where the Britons had tortured their friends, camp fires still flickered below with bodies lying nearby. Nothing moved except the occasional dog wandering around scavenging scraps and leftovers from their meals. An owl hooted somewhere in the distance its call echoing across the small valley.

  Slowly Marcus led Lucius down the slope, their swords sheathed their daggers in hand as they moved lower careful not to step on anything that might break or snap and alert the sleeping enemy. Marcus had a rough idea where his prey slept as he got close to the first fire its flames disturbing his vision. They moved very slowly now crouched low, stepping through and round some snoring bodies.

  “There!” Marcus whispered pointing. She lay wrapped around a child, two others were close by.

  “How the fuck are we going to get her? The bitch is wrapped around that little bastard.” He indicated whispering with his dagger.

  “Pull the child away Lucius.” Marcus instructed.

  “You are fucking crazy, you’ll get us both killed.” Lucius said kneeling down and gently grabbing the child wrists and pulling her away. Marcus got into position around the head of the sleeping barbarian woman and pressed his dagger against her throat. Her eyes opened with a start just as he hit her, knocking her out cold instantly. A few bodies stirred briefly with the sound of the impact but none woke properly. Marcus picked up the head and shoulders whilst Lucius grabbed her feet. Together they left the sleeping bodies behind as quickly as they could, the child was still sleeping, she would never see her mother alive again.

  At a safe distance Marcus threw his end of the unconscious woman to the floor, her body span round as Lucius maintained a grip of her ankles, her head colliding with the ground roughly.

  “Let go.” He said to Lucius, whilst getting some rope.

  “What are you going to do?” Marcus didn’t answer as he secured her to a tree. When he was satisfied she couldn’t move he said, “I vowed vengeance on this cunt and that’s what I’ll have.” He glared at Lucius and he knew that he wouldn’t argue. Secured and tied with her back to the tree, Marcus cut her clothing off as she began to stir.

  “Where shall we start Lucius?” He said grabbing at her breasts, her nipples hard in the cold night air. Her eyes opened fully as she licked her lips, still bloody from the punch Marcus had delivered. Realisation dawned as she looked at her captures armour and uniforms, she tried to cry out but Marcus grabbed her mouth with his hand and squeezed tightly, his knuckles going white with the pressure. Her eyes bulged not in fear but in pain, defiance etched all over them. Her dark eyes stared out at him with a mixture of terror and hatred.

  “She’s a feisty fucker this cunny stinking whore eh my friend?” Marcus cut the remaining clothes from her exposing her body totally.

  “Just empty the blood from her throat Marcus, we’ll gain nothing from torturing her.” Lucius said as he walked back to the horses.

  “And where would the fun be in that Lucius? This fucking cunt killed our second in command. Not only killed him but ruined his body as well, cutting his cock and balls off in the process. Now correct me if I’m wrong but that deserves a little more than a quick death in seconds as her blood vacates her stinking carcass. No my friend this fuck stick is going to pay for her journey into the afterlife.”

  Lucius didn’t reply but tended to the horses. “She’s quite an attractive bush here Lucius.” Marcus said pointing to the woman’s crotch with his knife, “It’s a pity there are no balls to slice off though eh? Never mind I’m sure I can think of something similar, eh my beauty.” Her eyes widened as if she understood her fate.

  As he said it he brought his dagger up unseen, grabbed her left ear and sliced through from the top instantly cutting down but not fully. She tried to scream as he ripped it clear of her head and threw it straight to the ground.

  “Meat?” He offered Lucius. “We could start a fire and have fresh meat for breakfast.” He gestured to his mouth as the woman’s muffled cries died in the material he wrapped around her mouth.

  Before Lucius could gather his thoughts, Marcus had reached up and cut the other ear from her, her head thrashing furiously in a vain attempt to stop him or evade the inevitable, it landed close to the first as he discarded it. Mixed with pain and terror her eyes now showed fury as well as pain.

  Lucius looked away. “You see Lucius these Britons will eventually learn that they are inferior to Romans and any act to defy us will pay a heavy price, especially if they torture our men. We’ll take at least five for each one they take and eventually even they will learn.”

  As he said it he thrust upward and cut directly into the left breast. Blood covered the knife immediately and the right hand and arm of Marcus but not as much as the female bore on her stomach and legs, they were covered by dark red running blood. She continually closed and opened her eyes, her muffled cries dying in the gagging cloth.

  “Now if I were a Briton, I would probably cut her breasts from her body and pull them over her head before watching her bleed to death. It’s lucky for her we are not as primitive as them though eh Lucius? Although we should have brought that child and she could have watched as we cut it to pieces as well. Shame we didn’t think of that eh my friend? You,” he pointed at the woman as he began to laugh, “are very lucky we are a civilised unlike you.”

  Unexpectedly Marcus took three quick steps back towards her, dipped his body slightly and then thrust upwards with his right arm leading with the tip of the knife. It penetrated and entered her body easily directly below and between her breasts. He stepped closer as her eyes went hazy and dull and then rolled upward into the back of her head. He thrust more upwards embedding the weapon deeper, his feet gaining purchase on the dusty surface. He worked the knife inside her rib cage, cutting through organs, tissue and sinew as he sliced and mashed the woman to death.

  When he was finished Marcus picked up her torn clothing from the ground and wiped her blood from the dagger. He felt no particular satisfaction at the action he had taken but his friend had been avenged and so his conscience was clear.

  “Cut the fucker down Lucius, at least you can do that I’m sure.” He looked at his comrade not even attempting to hide his contempt. Marcus felt that he had allowed him alone to carry the burden of vengeance. Lucius did as he was instructed, he understood the anger in Marcus and shared it but cared for no more blood that night and wasn’t prepared to violate a prisoner even though he had helped to make her one and was therefore ultimately as guilty as Marcus for the nature of her death.

  Marcus crouched near a small stream and washed the blood from his hands and arms. “Let’s get out of here and back to the Legion, we’ve got to try and free Varro from that other murdering bitch.” They untied the horses, jumped onto them and rode into the night.

  Quintus led his own small reconnaissance force further away from the Legion and into the open space appearing before them. The sun had been high in the sky when they had departed the fortified lines of the encampment. It was originally intended to be used for just one night as usual but instead it had now been for many and had become more solidified in its defences. Not quite permanent but not a structure that would be ripped up and abandoned like most all the same. Vespasian had decided instead that this was as good a spot as any to build a fortress of a more permanent nature and so the building had begun the day before in earnest. A century of men would be left to defend the structure which would be much smaller yet better defended using deep revetments, higher walls and watch towers than the larger temporary emplacement.

  The Roman war machine knew that it was pointless to march into an area, dominate the ground and destroy the enemy just to walk away without holding the territory they had taken. They had learned to fortify specific areas especially where resistance was strong and their enemies were many. At such places they had mile forts, garrisons built on the edge of the empire, the frontier. They were manned by hardened soldiers used to remote areas and desolate places,
men who knew their presence itself would bring attack.

  Auxiliaries normally helped make up the numbers in such places and were usually made up of men who were not from the local vicinity. Here however, some of those men were actually Britons who were yet to be drafted into the auxiliary legions properly as most of their neighbouring tribes were yet to be conquered. Those who had agreed to join the Empire, as client Kingdoms were yet to expose themselves to the tribes still fighting Rome. This fact and reduction in numbers gave Vespasian a problem he could ill afford, leaving a full century of battle ready men behind exposed, which meant he was a large quantity of fighters down. An entire century and twenty cavalry were to be left at the new fort from where they would scout the local lands. The Britons were to provide support and knowledge of the area.

  Servius had been treated by the medicus, doctor after receiving an arrow wound to the upper thigh during the battle a few days before. The injury had been clean and had missed any vital arteries or bone and the medic had assured him there would be no internal bleeding or permanent damage. Padded and strapped up now, every step his horse took was a jolting reminder of the injury but he was glad to be away from the Legion and in the fresh open air of the countryside.

  The arrow had somehow flown further and higher than those around it landing within the confines of the well fortified and guarded position, where the reserve cavalry units were waiting to be deployed if necessary. It had sunk into his leg without warning unseen like a burning spike instantly sinking into his flesh. Fortunately its power was dwindling when it fell to the earth and Servius wasn’t pinned to his horse as some had been later, nor was his bone shattered.

  After reporting to General Vespasian, Quintus and his men had been ordered to link up with Varro who had left the day before. They had been instructed to track the Britons and if possible locate an area ahead of their progress that would be ideal for an ambush and killing ground, in effect, an area where Caratacus and his army would meet their demise and be destroyed. Quintus had given his second in command Servius, the opportunity of staying behind and healing properly but he wouldn’t hear of it and was eager to return to active duty as soon as possible.

  By noon Quintus had led his men further west, they had stayed within cover wherever possible and now stopped to let the horses feed and get some water at a stream and the men some food. They had found the water where the banks were sandy and only high in a few places so it was ideal for the horses and for the men to relax for a while. Quintus stretched removing his sword and walked into the crystal clear water still wearing his boots, it was cold on his skin.

  “Ahhh!” He sighed and then continued walking further in as he said to no-one in particular, “you should try this,” His men were already biting into food or drinking from their water sacks. “We’ll take a few moments then keep going.”

  A sudden burst of movement somewhere further up the stream had the men rushing and diving for their weapons, Servius grabbed his spears and took up a stance ready to throw as horses and riders quickly came into view. They were Britons, confirmed by the appearance of chariots behind the single horses. Scrambling out of the water Quintus slid his spatha from its sheath, there was no time to get on the horses and get away. Servius ran forward, limping slightly and hurled his pilum into the air, ripping his arm forward up and over with almost unnatural speed, the weapon flew towards the enemy.

  “Stop. Stop.” A voice called out in his own tongue from somewhere within the group now advancing on them with terrifying speed.

  “Fuck!” Shouted Quintus as he watched the spear, cut the air through the riders, it thumped into a tree behind them, buried inches deep.

  “Quintus, it’s me Varro, stand down.” Shouted one of the riders somewhere towards the rear as the horses got closer and began to come to a halt spraying sand up at the waiting men who were standing swords ready.

  “Gods teeth Varro what happened to you where’s your armour, your uniform and weapons?” Quintus saw that he and Decimus were dressed like locals. “Where are the others, where’s Veranius, Marcus and Lucius?”

  Varro jumped from his horse splashing water and saw that Quintus was stood with his weapon pointing at Tevelgus.

  “Stand down they’re friends.” He grabbed the spatha and lowered it. Quintus satisfied that these Britons were no threat sheathed his sword as did the others. Servius limped back to his horse and returned his second javelin.

  “I’m glad you’re throwing hasn’t improved any.” Varro said with a smile. Servius pointed to the leg wound, “You’re lucky I’m wounded commander, it slowed me down and made my throw less accurate. If I hadn’t been punctured by an arrow a few days ago, your blood or that of your friends would be mingling with the water in the stream.”

  Varro smirked and clapped Servius on the shoulder, “I for one am glad of your injury my friend. After the few days we’ve just been through, the last thing I need is a Roman spear through my belly.” Quintus looked at the centurion his expression questioning.

  “My friend, and yours Veranius, has gone to the next world.” Varro felt anguish and sadness as he spoke these words, it still didn’t seem real. Quintus couldn’t believe the words and literally staggered back a few feet with their force.

  “What? How, how did it happen? It can’t be true, he survived years campaigning through Gaul, survived the Germanic tribes and black forests, what happened?”

  “I’m afraid it’s true Quintus, we were ambushed, captured and tortured. Veranius died before Brenna and her brother Tevelgus could come to our aid. Quintus looked at the large barbarian and the female they were quite striking for locals and not the normal barbarian pig faced bastards he had been unfortunate enough to come into close contact with before. He knew these Britons like most others were descended from Celtic tribes that came from the mountains near Rome and now called themselves Britons. These however looked bigger, stronger and better looking than the usual limed faced primitives he’d seen before.

  “I am Tevelgus and this is my sister Brenna we are of the Cantiaci.” The large male announced with a thick accent leaping from his horse. Quintus saw he stood at least a head taller than Varro and was just as wide. Most Britons like all barbarians were taller than their Roman counterparts but thin and bug ugly but this fellow was especially large in all areas. His sister was remarkably stunning and both had darker hair and skin than most he was familiar with.

  “Our tribe rule this land by the sea but many of our people have been persuaded to carry the sword and spear to your forces by Caratacus.” She said to Quintus her Latin good but heavily accented. Her bare arms were well muscled and Quintus assumed she had been trained as a warrior as most females in this strange and foreboding land.

  “If you rule this land why can’t you control your people?” Quintus asked walking to the stream and cupping his hands to gather water to splash his onto face.

  “People are led here in this land but they cannot be ruled or bent like bronze Quintus.” She replied taking in his uniform.

  “They saved us from a baying mob Quintus, if they could have stopped the others I’m sure they would have. If it wasn’t for them Decimus and I would have been put to death as well. You can trust them my friend as I do believe me.”

  Quintus seemed to relax a little and took in how the Britons were dressed and their weapons. Tevelgus and Brenna must have been quite high ranking as they both carried long swords and small round shields, he knew most only used the spear as a primary weapon. Tevelgus’s sword handle glistened with colourful stones and Quintus saw detailed inscriptions engraved into the handle but could not decipher the meaning.

  The other Britons he noticed although large of build carried the customary spears but no swords. They eyed Quintus with suspicion as he did them. They wore no garments on their upper bodies, their muscles defined by sweat and the blue war paint they extracted from local plants called woad. The Britons believed that by dying their hair with lime it not only protected them as the hair itsel
f became very stiff and hard and therefore negated the need for a helmet but it was also a sign of respect for Epona their horse Goddess. Their belief was that when their hair was limed they looked like they had a flowing main of a horse. The drawback from such tradition was that the chemical within the liquid of the plant eventually made their hair fall out and it never grew back.

  Bald warriors were looked upon with respect and merely applied woad to their scalps as well as their arms and upper bodies. They were deemed to have served their time as warriors but most remained active and had generally risen through the ranks of local tribes.

  Tevelgus and Brenna however, had full heads of hair and with the lime they appeared even larger. Quintus tried not to stare at Brenna’s rounded breasts that she or someone else had covered in swirling woad curves, they accentuated her figure even more and they were already more than appealing he thought. She like her brother and the others wore long pants down to their ankles and leather sandals over their feet, almost Roman like in their appearance.

  “We’re ordered to scout Caratacus and find a suitable place for ambush. The General wants his army destroyed as soon as possible.” Quintus reported to Varro.

  “I’m certain he does,” he replied, “but it won’t be easy. Now that he’s had his teeth smashed he won’t make the same mistake again if he can help it. He hasn’t ruled his own tribe with his brother for these years without being tactically aware of that I’m sure.”

  Quintus studied one of the Britons chariots, the workmanship was quite remarkable. Pictures of horses had been carved into the wood and intricate Celtic designs decorated the wheels, swirling in concentric interlocking patterns.

  “We stopped using chariots a long time ago Tevelgus.” Quintus remarked. “Why do you still use them?”

  Tevelgus walked to the horses at the front of the chariots and unhooked them leading them to the water. “Some of my people worship the horse Goddess Epona, she is said to give the warriors power and speed. The people cannot show their love for the Goddess without a chariot on which to carve their pictures.” He pointed out the detailed carvings. “With a chariot you have the power of two animals not just one and with a chariot you can carry more than one warrior into battle. In here,” he indicated to the chariot itself, “two or more warriors can travel as well as those on the backs of the horses themselves. From these positions, spears can be thrown at the enemy before they are engaged on foot and many spears can be carried not just two.” He pointed to his horse. “Men can be moved to positions around an area of conflict very quickly and sometimes can even prevent it altogether if the enemy sees that they are at a tactical disadvantage.” The big Briton smiled. “We can also carry more food and water, so you see, our chariots are very useful.”