Highland Warriors of the Glade - William: Slaves in Time
Clean and Wholesome Scottish Romance
Charity McColl
Catriona McGill
Pure Read
Contents
A Personal Word From PureRead
1. Volusenius
2. Caitlin
3. Cantilia
4. Cantilia Met William
5. William is Coming
6. Going Back Home
7. Walking Together
8. Trajanus Decius
9. Trouble Again
10. The Gladiator
11. Lions!
12. The Power of Prayer
Boxset Reading Enjoyment
Thank You For Reading
A Personal Word From PureRead
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This highland adventure with the Brothers MacChonaill will carry you on a most unexpected and thrilling Scottish journey, one I know will keep you on the very edge of your seat wondering what will happen next.
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1
Volusenius
Volusenius had a bad day.
He couldn't believe he had been outsmarted by two runaway slaves. That never happened before and it frustrated him to the core.
His fame as a ruthless hunter of runaway slaves, a fugitivarius, had spread rapidly throughout Rome, and he was not about to let a humbling defeat by these rats of society chip away at his good name. He wiped a strand of his black, shoulder-length hair away from his sweaty forehead and stared at his calyx, the clay bowl full of red wine, before him on the round table in the tavern. A good drink would help him, at least momentarily, to forget his misery as he knew the chances of finding the two runaways were getting slim. Somebody else would find them and he would possibly have to return the money that he already pocketed to capture the runaway slaves.
He sighed, lifted his calyx and finished the wine in one gulp. Some of it dribbled along his unshaven face and dripped on his woolen cloak that covered the mail underneath. He placed the cup back on the wooden table with a loud thud and smacked his lips. A few Roman soldiers looked up from their conversation at the adjoining table and stared at him. Volusenius glared back, "Anything the matter?" The soldiers shrugged their shoulders and went back to their conversation.
Volusenius gritted his teeth and hoped the wine would soon ease his gloomy mood. It always did, which is why he was a regular customer in the Lupanare Curtius. When Volusenius wasn't out hunting runaway slaves, he could be found here. The Lupanare Curtius was by far his favorite tavern, as not only did they serve some of the best wines and food in the area, but it also made provisions for many of a man's other urgent needs, and all that for a reasonable price.
The arched ceiling divided the Lupanare Curtius into several compartments and the walls were lined with stone benches. Square wooden tables with stools were placed on the opposite side, so visitors could easily enjoy each other's company while drinking and eating. At the far left from where he was sitting was the bar and behind it, the area where slaves prepared the food. It was his custom to always sit at the very same spot in the tavern, somewhere right in the middle, facing an enormous mural depicting a victorious Roman battle over some barbarians. Looking at a painting of Roman atrocities against these horrible barbarians inspired Volusenius, and at the same time, from this position, he could keep an eye on the whole tavern. But today he did not notice the mural. He leaned his back against the wall and glared at Pollius who sat obediently at the other side of the small, round table and stared at the floor. Pollius shifted uneasily in his chair. Volusenius studied the brown eyes of the young blond slave and felt another surge of anger rising. Pollius was supposed to have helped him capture the runaways. But he had failed. It was all Pollius' fault that the slaves had escaped. He had not done his job. He should suggest to Master* Tilenius that he punish Pollius severely. Maybe he could burn the letter K into the slave's forehead. That would teach him. The K stood for Kalumnia, or liar, and although Pollius had not actually lied, Volusenius suspected that the young slave secretly considered it a victory that the two runaways had not been caught. As his mind was working overtime, he noticed a headache coming on. Maybe another cup of wine would drown his senses. After all, he had to do something to deal with his anger. Wine and thinking about ways to punish Pollius afforded Volusenius a morbid sense of satisfaction.
As soon as the thought came up, he raised his hand and shouted for more wine. Pollius kept on staring at the ground.
Right away a girl, who could not be much older than fifteen, ran up to their table and placed another calyx before him. Volusenius grabbed the cup and the girl moved away as quickly as she could. Volusenius did not notice her. All his attention was on Pollius.
"It's your fault, Pollius; it’s all your fault," he yelled and he emptied his cup once more. Volusenius did not trust nor like the fair-skinned youngster with the drooping brown eyes. Truth be told, Volusenius did not trust or like anybody except himself. There were some people he respected, such as Praetor Cassius Tilenius, the magistrate he was mostly working for and who owned Pollius, but respect was not the same as trust. Volusenius had already decided, at an early age, that trust was something solely reserved for one's self.
He narrowed his eyes into tiny slits and hissed, "I had them cornered, Pollius. But you let them slip through your fingers." He jerked his head at the young slave. "I will ask Master Tilenius to punish you severely when we get home. He may even brand you, you miserable rat."
Pollius looked up. "I am sorry, Master." For a moment his eyes shone with fear. Then he looked down again.
"You dirt bag," Volusenius continued with a sneer, "Now I'll have to explain to Master Tilenius that you lost his two slaves.” He was just about to hurl another threat to the lanky, young slave when the front door of the tavern opened and a woman entered. Volusenius frowned and stared at her. Pro Iuppiter!* What sort of woman was that?
The woman appeared completely disoriented and as she stumbled through the door, she stared with big, round eyes at the visitors of the tavern. Her long, blond hair, which had once been beautiful, was now matted and full of twigs and moss. Her green eyes were hollow and desperate. Then she spoke while she pointed outside. Her voice was strained, and although she spoke in soft tones, her voice could be clearly heard: "Ní thuigim cha dtuigim?"
"What does that mean?" Volusenius had never heard that tongue before. "What language is that?"
A Roman soldier, sitting near the door, got up from his stool and staggered in her direction. For a moment he stared at her with glassy eyes. Then he took a gulp of the wine he was still holding in his hand and pushed her down. The woman tumbled over and landed on the floor and people started to laugh and jeer.
"Who w-wants to t-try her?" the soldier stuttered as he looked around while waving his goblet. The woman moaned and cried out with a loud voice, "Níl a fhios agam."
"What i
s she saying?" Volusenius demanded without expecting an answer. As he stared at the woman with the foreign tongue, a plan formed in his mind. Obviously, this woman was not from anywhere around. She most certainly was a slave and what was more, she was a runaway slave. This was a golden opportunity. He would take her and offer her to Master Cassius Tilenius. That way, he would not have to pay back the price-money and he could possibly even make a bit of a profit. Her former owners would never find out. Without wavering, he rose to his feet and announced in a loud, clear voice, "Woman, you come with me. I am authorized by the State to take you in."
The Roman soldier, recognizing Volusenius as a fugitivarius, gulped down his wine and stepped back. The woman looked up from the floor. Her green eyes were rapidly blinking as she stared at Volusenius who approached her. She squirmed. "Íocfaidh an fear seo as gach rud"
"Whatever you say, woman," Volusenius said with a grin. "But you are coming with me." Volusenius reached down and grabbed her by her arm, but just as he started to pull her up, the woman planted her teeth in Volusenius' hand and bit him with the desperate strength of a wounded tigress. Volusenius screamed in pain and pulled his hand back as he stared in horror at his bleeding hand. The woman saw her chance and jumped up. In one swift move she opened the tavern door again and before anyone could do anything about it, she started to run.
"Pollius!" Volusenius shouted it out, revealing his bare teeth. "Get her! Here's your chance to make up for your failures!"
Pollius sprang into action, and followed the woman out the door. She was no match for the athletic young slave and in no time he had her cornered in a small alley near a stone wall.
"I am sorry…" he whispered as he was catching his breath, "So sorry… but my life depends on it. If I let you slip away, I may be branded."
The woman did not seem to understand. She shuddered and pushed herself as far as she could into the stone wall and sunk to the ground where she crawled into a fetal position. "Le bhur dtoil," she said while tears were forming in her eyes. "Le bhur dtoil, William?"
Running footsteps approached.
"Good, Pollius." Volusenius came running up with his wounded hand squeezed in between his other arm and the side of his body. His raspy, dark voice was harsh and cold, but in spite of his wound, there was a victorious smile on his face. As he looked at the crying heap of life before him he let out a satisfied sigh. "All is not lost. We'll clean this slave up, and she will look as good as new. Master Tilenius will be pleased in spite of his loss." He yanked the woman up by her shoulders and shook her around. "Biting me, huh? I will teach you a thing or two." His nose almost touched the woman's face as he spat out his angry words. "Do you have a name, woman?"
The woman did not answer but began to pound Volusenius with her fists, however, the brute was now prepared. He held her in an iron grip so she could not move and cause him any more trouble. Finally, he shook his head in disgust and pushed her down again into the dirt. "Stupid cow. Doesn't even speak a proper language."
Then he turned to Pollius. "Tie her up. We'll go home and get her ready for Master Tilenius."
Pollius knelt down by the woman. "Sorry…" he mumbled again, "… but there's nothing I can do." She stared at him, with her emerald green eyes, now filled with tears. She was clearly beside herself.
"Don't fight…," Pollius continued. "If you fight I will hit you." He had seen what the woman had done to the hand of Volusenius. "I'll try not to be too rough," Pollius mumbled.
The woman seemed to realize that it was no use to fight and submitted to Pollius, while she sobbed and shook with her shoulders.
"Eh…My name…" Pollius pointed to himself as he tightened the knot, "…my name is Pollius!"
The woman stared at him with those big green eyes of hers. Pollius pulled her up and repeated himself. "I… am Pollius."
At first, the woman did not answer and just stared at the ground, but then she mumbled barely audible in between soft sobs: "C-Caitlin. Caitlin MacThom."
Slaves would call their owners Dominus (Male) or Domina (Female) which simply means Owner or Master.
Pro Iuppiter= By Jupiter. A Roman exclamation of surprise.
2
Caitlin
The last thing Caitlin could remember was how William had pushed her face into the musty, damp earth in order to shield her from the strange shaft of bluish light that had appeared out of nowhere. She could still taste the soil, but then… everything had become blurry. And now...? Where was William now?
As she crawled to her feet she gasped. Where was she?
As she scanned her surroundings her heart began to beat faster and she felt panic rising from deep within her gut. She had never been here before.
Only minutes earlier she had been in the woods, together with William. Teherlach had just married them and a terrible storm was approaching. But here she saw no woods, there was no sign of a storm, and neither did she see William or any of his brothers.
Stretched out before her lay an unfamiliar landscape full of green, rolling hills dotted with bushes and trees. The trees, however, were unlike any she had ever seen. Tall, thin and stretched out, almost in the shape of the flame of a candle, only much longer.
She was standing on top of a hill, in an elevated position, and looked down on a winding road that was leading past a group of houses and then disappeared over the hills in the far distance. Next to it, a blue stream was peacefully flowing along, and she spotted a few small boats going by below her on the water. And what about those houses? She had never seen such houses either. They were all neatly whitewashed and had red-tiled roofs. Some even had pillars to support their overhanging roofs and were constructed in a symmetrical, organized fashion.
Caitlin bit her lips. If she had not been so distressed she may have even been impressed with the beauty and the serenity of the whole area before her. But this was not the time to enjoy the balmy sun and the pretty nature. She needed help and she needed it immediately.
As she looked down, she spotted some people walking on the cobblestone road near the houses. These people could help her. But as she began to climb down the hill she noticed her dress was badly ripped and her right leg was gashed. I must look terrible.
Still dressed in her wedding gown, she realized she looked rather strange. And the gash on her leg wasn't her only injury. A big bruise on her shoulder started to hurt, and when she wiped her forehead she noticed her fingers; they were wet with blood. Dirty, wounded and gashed, it didn't matter, she needed help.
After some minutes she came down to the road. About a hundred yards away from her walked a man in a white tunic. He could help.
"Help me. Please tell me the way to Ghilles Bhain?" Caitlin called out as she started to run to him. The man raised his eyebrows and held his hand on his dagger that was dangling from his belt. As Caitlin came close he pulled it out in defense.
"No harm intended," Caitlin said while she was trying to catch her breath. "Please… I have had a terrible accident and I am lost. Can you tell me the way to Ghilles Bhains?"
The man stared at her for a moment and then pointed his dagger at her. "Recede a me. Recede a me." *
"What?" Caitlin's heart lurched. "W-what did you say?"
A dark shadow fell over the man's face as he said, "Nolo loqui tibi.*”
Horrified, Caitlin took a step backwards and realized the man spoke a different language. This was a regular nightmare and she needed to wake up.
The man in his white tunic stepped backwards, while he kept his eyes fastened on Caitlin. For a short moment their eyes locked and then he turned his head and shouted loud. "Auxilium. A mulier amens." *
A door opened and another person appeared with a pitchfork in his hand.
Caitlin knew it was time to run. She turned around and ran as fast as her wedding dress would allow her. Behind her the two men were shouting at her and although Caitlin had no clue about their words, she figured they were not the kind of words you would want to teach young children.
&nb
sp; After some time, she stopped and leaned against a low, stone wall in order to catch her breath. All her senses were on full alert. Her heart was pounding so hard from running and the shock of realizing she did not know where she was, that for a moment she feared it would burst. Never before had she felt so utterly lost and forlorn.
As she leaned with shaking arms against the wall and was trying to calm down her ruffled nerves she heard other voices. She looked up and there, not too far away from where she stood, was a tavern. It had the same type of white-washed walls and above the door was the name of the tavern. Lupanare Curtius.
What a strange name.
Should she dare to go in? The experience with the man in his white tunic had not been very encouraging, but she really needed help. Somebody, somewhere would speak her language. She pondered the possibilities for a moment. She had no other choice and when her breathing had returned to a more normal pace, she walked up to the tavern.
All right, Caitlin… here we go.
She pushed the door handle and opened the door. For a moment she blinked her eyes as it was dark inside and her eyes needed to adjust to the light. Then she saw several men in strange and unfamiliar outfits staring back at her.
"Pro Iuppiter," somebody shouted.
Caitlin had no idea what it meant. "I am lost… Can anybody here help me?"
Someone rose and pushed his stool aside and walked up to her. Caitlin could see he had been drinking way too much of whatever it was he had in his goblet as the man staggered in her direction. When he came close his breath held an unfamiliar smell and Caitlin shuddered as she saw his hand coming closer and closer…
Highland Warriors of the Glade - William: Slaves in Time: Clean and Wholesome Scottish Romance (MacChonaill Highland Saga Book 3) Page 1
