by Barry Sadler
Casca and the girl followed. As swiftly as the terrain permitted, they put distance between themselves and the slavers' encampment. One was enough for now; they would hunt again later. By taking the body with them, there was the chance that the raiders would think their comrade had merely run off with the girl to sell her separately and keep the gold for himself.
They hadn't covered much ground before they heard voices calling for their missing comrade. Glam dropped his load under a group of bushes and covered the body with leaves and branches.
That night they ate a cold handful of uncooked grain and the last scrap of the horsemeat. Before night fell, the girl took time to search among the trees for herbs and plants. Finding what she needed, she waited until they stopped for the night, and then began to eat her collection of green things. Casca said nothing, content to leave her to her own devices. After about an hour, she began to cramp, drawing her legs up to her chest then jerking them back again. When Casca asked if he could help, she said between gritted teeth that what she had taken was insurance that she would not give birth to a slaver's bastard and that the cramp would end soon enough.
They huddled in their furs half sleeping, one ear cocked for any unusual sound. Glam had given the girl the filthy hide coverings of the corpse to use. Stinking as they were, they did serve to keep out the worst of the night chill. Several hours before dawn, Casca made the others rise and get ready to move out. He had thought about the situation and decided to get ahead of the slavers and see if there was any place on the trail that would serve as an ambush site. The girl stayed behind the Roman's back, keeping close to him, with her face down to avoid whipping branches. Glam broke trail, somehow always seeming to know which way to go, even in the almost complete darkness of the woods.
At dawn they stopped by a narrow creek to drink and rest. The girl took advantage of this to wash as much of the filth off her as she could.
Glam cast an admiring glance at the girl as she bathed nude in the stream. Nudity was nothing to be ashamed of in her tribe. And after a little scrubbing, she looked a lot better. Before, her hair had a dull, drab look to it, but after rinsing out the ashes and dirt, it took on a healthy auburn color. She was small but well-built and toned. The girl told them that there was only one way through the passes, which the tribesmen had to take, and, like Glam, she had an instinct for direction that civilized man could never hope to attain. One had to be raised in these forests to acquire that kind of sense. Glam grunted and threw his pack up a little higher and they moved again. This time Casca was leading, following Glam's instructions. All that day they kept moving, until finally they approached the entrance to the mountain's passes, which led back to their lands. Casca figured they were three or four hours ahead of the slavers, who would be held back by their human cargo. The trio had time. And most likely the raiding party would make camp outside the walled entrance to the mountains. The steep cliffs and narrow defiles gave an enemy too many opportunities for ambush to be risked.
Following Casca's orders, Glam and the girl spent the rest of the time before nightfall searching for saplings of ash or oak. Casca would have a use for them that night.
Glam and the girl moved further up into the passes, where they built a small fire. There they cut and sharpened the ash and oak poles into spiked stakes and hardened the points over the fire. Casca kept watch.
Waiting, he let his mind drift while watching the racing clouds gather overhead among the high peaks. Occasionally shafts of gold light broke through and lanced the earth below. He sat on a gentle incline near the entrance. Below him was a clearing through which his prey had to come. A distant sparkle caught his eye: a gleam of light had bounced off polished metal. They were coming.
Casca left his perch and ran up the pass to warn Glam and the girl. Tying their bundles of sharpened stakes together with a strip of leather, they moved back down to where they could keep an eye on the approaching party.
The leader of the group, after crossing the clearing, held up his hand to signal a halt. He wore a bell-shaped iron helmet with the horns of a goat protruding out of it at angles. A big man and tough, he hadn't survived this long by not having an instinct for danger. Something about the pass bothered him. Besides, it would be warmer here on the lowlands in shelter of some rocks. They could build their campfires and feed with a degree more comfort here than in those high passes where the wind ripped and tore at every piece of exposed skin. Casca nodded, pleased with himself for correctly deducing the barbarian leader's course of action. They would camp outside the pass.
Glam and the girl followed him to the sheltered cleft in the rock wall. There they huddled together to wait and rest and wait for the dark.
The enveloping darkness would be their ally this night - that and the sharpened stakes. They slept, the girl dreaming of dark thoughts of revenge while Glam muttered in his sleep for more beer and meat, making smacking, sucking noises. Casca stayed awake, eyes half open, letting his body relax. Taking in one deep breath and then letting it out slowly, he eased the tension.
He and Glam had come a long way since they had first met on the banks of the Rhine, a long way from that river to where they were now, near the borders of Pannonia. How far they would go together was yet to be seen. But so far Glam had been as good as his word. He had told the smaller Roman that he would show him all this land had to offer - even to the steppes of Scythia. There the Alani tribes were slowly being pushed back by gnomish invaders from the east, who never removed themselves from their horses' backs unless it was to take a crap.
These tribes were called by the rest of the western world the Huns. Glam had met them before when working as bodyguard to one of the Alani kings. He swore they even made love on horseback. When they walked they looked like trolls, with their legs twisted and undersized from so many years in the saddle. On horseback, they were... unbeatable. On the ground they were helpless in the way a crippled wolf was. You could kill them easily as long as you kept out of the way of the snapping jaws.
These Huns were the vanguard of a great migration that had begun a hundred years before when a great king of Han defeated them and drove them from their trivial lands to wander. And in the wandering, they had gained new strength as they followed the grass. When they met a new tribe, they either destroyed it or took it in with them to swell what was called the Horde.
It was not uncommon anymore to find men from a dozen races riding under the horse and yak-tailed standards of the Khans. They would even take the name of Hun for themselves and emulate their dwarfed masters in every act of cruelty known. Glam swore that one day they would come out of the east by the tens of thousands, and when that day came, there would be enough bloodshed to drown even the Seven Hills of Rome.
When there were still about three hours to dawn, Casca rose and stretched out his legs and arms, breathing in deeply the crisp air of the highlands. He shook his head to clear it of the half-dreams and mist. Speaking softly, he woke Glam and the girl. It occurred to him that he had never asked her name. Glam and the girl each woke in their own manner. Glam, grumbling about food, walked to the edge of the cleft and urinated. The girl gathered their bundles of stakes together and stood ready to leave. Her movements were quick and eager. The woman wanted blood and, as Casca well knew, a female was far more dangerous when she had the upper hand than any man was. He touched the thin scar running from his left eye to the corner of his mouth. Indeed, it was best to always keep one eye on a woman - especially if you thought you had done something to piss her off.
Chapter Three
The three moved together back down the darkened gorge like a cat on a hunt, quick and intent. Glam, for all his size, was as surefooted as a mountain goat. And the girl had been born to these parts. Casca was the one who stumbled a couple of times; he swore under his breath each time, until the girl told him to shush. Chastened, he obeyed. Whoever got this one for a wife was in for a rough time. He grinned at the thought that maybe the worst punishment possible for the man who rap
ed her might have been to make him marry her in accordance with the laws of the tribes. That would really have taught him a lesson. Nothing quick like having your neck snapped, but the long, lingering, agony of a nagging wife's tongue.
The Quadii had made camp in a rough circle in a sheltered area surrounded by large boulders about sixty feet across. The male slaves were kept together under the watchful eye of three guards. The rest of the perimeter was walked by another four. Casca removed his sword belt and scabbard and carefully laid them on the ground. He didn't want to take any chance on anything making noise. He kept his sword in his right hand, ready for use.
Glam held his axe close to his side. The moonless night gave them good cover as they crept and crab-crawled closer to the camp. The only light came from a smoldering fire in the center. Casca tried to make sure the leader was bedded down, but no luck. In the dark there was no way to make out one hairy mass from another.
The girl stayed close behind them carrying the bag of stakes. Making their way around the edge of the surrounding boulders, they came down on the side where the male captives were kept. The women had been separated from them and were being kept on the other side of the fire with the children. Inch by inch they moved in, slowly, carefully, reaching the side of the boulders nearest the prisoners. Casca removed his helmet and set it aside. He whispered to Glam and the girl. They nodded agreement and he lay back on his belly. The feel of the damp grass was cool, soaking through his robes. He crawled, keeping his body as close to the rocks as possible, one yard, then another.
The prisoners were darkened masses lying together in huddled clumps. Casca watched the guards. When they turned to walk away, he rolled silently into the body of the male captives, becoming one with the dark. He moved close to a young man, who grumbled in his fitful sleep at the movement. His eyes jerked open with a terrified snap when a strong hand clamped over his mouth and held him still. A strange voice whispering in his ear quieted him. He nodded his head under the restraining hand and he was released. A gentle tugging at his bonds and his wrists were cut free. He didn't move. He just lay in the same position and bumped his head against his neighbor until the man woke, protesting. A few soft, quick words and he too was silent while another body moved close to him to free his hands and press a short knife into them. Moving as if still asleep, he twisted and cut his feet free. The two prisoners, obeying the stranger's orders, each woke the man next to him, spoke, then freed him, passing him a knife to do the same to his neighbor, until all six were free. They waited, keeping their same positions, lying as still as possible. Being this close to freedom, it was hard not to break and run.
Casca took his bundle of stakes out of his robes and handed them over to be passed around to the men. While he was doing this, the same action had been repeated on the women's side of the camp by the girl. The prisoners were free. Now they had to take out the sentries. Casca whispered in the ear of the young man he had just freed. He knew the youngster was grinning, even though it was too dark to see his face.
Casca snapped his fingers twice. The sound brought Glam to a standing position behind the boulder; it also brought two of the guards closer. They weren't suspicious, only curious. These two would be Casca’s and the youngster’s meat tonight. Glam was already moving around the other side of the boulder to take out the remaining sentry. A distant, wet thump told Casca that Glam had reached his target and the axe had fallen.
Glam held the man's body up so it wouldn't make any sound falling. He dragged it back into the shadows and quickly stepped out to take his place, careful to stay in the shadows away from the fire so that his face and size wouldn't give him away. The dull sound of their comrade dying turned the other two around in their tracks. Hesitant and uneasy, they fingered their weapons. One called out softly, "Madorg, you all right?" The figure in the shadows raised an arm with Madorg's spear in it and waved back. They both sighed, tension released, and began to walk their rounds again.
Casca nudged the young man next to him and slowly turned onto his belly. Gathering his legs under him, he held the short sword to the ground where it couldn't be seen and slowly raised himself from the earth as the two guards turned their backs to the captives and began to walk back toward the other side. The youngster did likewise. The others kept their positions. Taking a deep breath, Casca moved on the nearest man. One knotted, muscled arm went around the raider's throat, cutting off any cry as the broad blade of the short sword penetrated his back on the right side of the spine. Angled up, it crossed over and severed organs until it reached the heart, nearly cutting it in half.
The youngster had moved, too. He had his man on the ground, the short blade of the knife buried in his back and a hand over his mouth. He was trying to keep him still. The son of a bitch would not die. The youngster struck again and again, driving the knife in, but his man kept fighting, trying to get the hand away from his mouth. He succeeded in sinking his teeth into the youngster's hand and bit down, trying to chew clear through to the bone. His efforts were terminated when Glam's axe took the back of his skull off.
The rustling of the dying guard woke one of his comrades, who was a light sleeper. The man called out, asking if everything was all right. Glam spoke in a stage whisper, "Shut up and go back to sleep." The warrior rolled, mumbling about Madorg being a grouchy son of a bitch, and went back to sleep.
On the women's side, the girl was waiting. Casca made his way back around the perimeter until he was just behind the boulders where the women were kept. He snapped his fingers twice and the girl was ready to do her part. She and three others would take out their guards in a way that women knew best. She gave the signal and she and the three women she had chosen quickly removed their clothing, and, nude, lay down on the ground on their backs.
When the guards turned, they saw the young women lying there, their breasts and thighs glowing in the light of the campfire. The warriors gaped, open-mouthed. This was something new! Rape they were familiar with, but not this! How the women had freed themselves of their bonds never entered their minds. All they could see were the young women running their hands over their naked bodies, moaning softly, opening their legs and squirming at their feet.
Stupefied, the guards each went to the girl nearest him; eyes wide in dirty bearded faces, they lay their weapons aside to remove their pants. The girls whispered to them to be silent so as not to wake the others. Grunting, the guards removed their pants and fell into the waiting arms of the girls. They were moaning and giggling softly, which the guards mistook for pleasure.
The warriors began to work, their minds on nothing but the sweet woman flesh writhing in mock pleasure beneath them. They were still involved when they died. When the girls, still lying on their backs, looked up and saw Casca and Glam standing over them, accompanied by two men from their village, they smiled and struck out with the sharpened stakes that they had been lying on. As they struck, so did the men. Axes and knives quickly finished off the four guards. The women enjoyed the death tremors of their savage lovers and held them near until it ceased. Then they rolled out from beneath the dead men and spat in their faces. Casca was right. There was nothing like the hatred of a woman.
The other women, all freed now, rose from the ground to join their sisters. The steel weapons of the guards were distributed among the men, and sharpened stakes given to each of the other women after they'd undressed. In spite of the night chill, all felt a warmth in their bellies. The men moved back into the shadows spreading out around the camp. Casca asked one of them where the headman of the raiders slept. A pointing finger showed where the man with the horned helmet lay under a skin shelter, alone.
Casca moved near, standing directly behind the headman's sleeping place. The women waited until they saw his sword flash gold in the light of the campfire as he waved a signal. Then they moved. Each one crept silently until she had reached her objective; then each lay down beside the sleeping man. Quietly, easily, their mouths silenced any protest from those who woke at the feel of a
naked body lying next to them. When they were all in place, Casca filled his lungs and yelled, his voice echoing across the valley, "Kill!"
And kill they did! Wooden stakes struck deep into stomachs and hearts. The freed men finished off the few that managed to escape the wrath of the women. Grim butchers! Work was done this night.
The headman rolled out of his shelter, instantly alert, weapon ready. He gaped for a moment at the sight of the women killing his men, then roared in anger and lurched forth, long sword swinging. His sword hand was stopped in midair as Casca moved quickly behind him and grabbed his wrist. Swinging the barbarian around, Casca gave him a look of killing and spat, "Sing your death song, hero." He drove his short sword into the man's gut, angling the blade up. He struck so hard that he raised the man clear off his feet. Grabbing the man by the hair, he forced him to his knees and moved his sword hand down. Drawing the blade out in a long, smooth slice, he opened the chieftain's stomach from chest to groin letting the hot, steaming intestines fall in a convoluted mass, wet and quivering, to the ground.
The chieftain never had a chance to sing his death song. His mouth had filled with his own blood before he could open it. Several of the raiders had not yet died and their former slaves were in no hurry to put them in that blessed state. The women gathered around them, dragging them nearer to the campfire.
