by K. M. Ashman
‘I’ll be fine,’ said Brandon, ‘just make sure you get back here as soon as you can.’
‘Okay,’ said Murray, ‘but then we are done, agreed?’
‘Agreed,’ said Brandon, ‘now go. My number is on the pad, ring me when you’re on the way back.’
He watched the taxi disappear down the lane before climbing over a stile and making his way back up the hill, keeping close to the hedgerow to avoid being seen.
----
Brandon walked around the hill, keeping to dead ground wherever possible until he found a relatively sheltered area overlooking a track leading into the forest. For hours he watched the gate, catching occasional sightings of two security guards located just within the forest edge. Throughout the evening a few vehicles drove into the forest, including two cars and a white transit van. The van in particular caught his eye as unlike the cars, it was quite old with an odd coloured door on the passenger side, obviously the result of an amateur repair. Finally he made his way back down the hill and waited in a small copse, huddling beneath his coat as the temperature dropped. After what seemed like an age, his phone vibrated and his head sprung from his chest where he had dropped off into a light sleep.
‘Murray?’ he asked.
‘Who the hell is Murray?’ asked a voice.
‘Sorry, Mike, you caught me having a power nap, any news?’
‘Well, sort of,’ said Mike, ‘we reviewed the CCTV on all the entrances and there is no sign of her entering the station.’
‘Damn,’ cursed Brandon.
‘Hold your horses,’ said Mike, ‘I also reviewed the cameras outside the station and it seems like two people matching your descriptions got out of a cab and entered a house halfway between the train station and the bus station.’
‘You think it was them?’
‘I’m sure it was,’ said Mike, ‘we managed to get someone inside but it seems the place is hardly used.’
‘What happened?’ interrupted Brandon sitting up, ‘was she there?’
‘No. One of the guys had a good look around but there’s no sign of her. The only thing we can think of is that they left the building via the car park.’
‘Car park?’
‘Yes, underneath the building there is a small car park that exits onto the road at the side.’
‘Anything on camera?’
‘No, that’s the thing. The only vehicle to come out after the time she went in was a battered old van.’
Brandon looked up the hill toward where he had spent the last few hours, thinking about the vehicles he had seen earlier.
‘Describe it,’ he said suddenly.
‘What?’
‘Describe the van,’ said Brandon tersely, ‘was there anything strange about it?’
‘No not really, it was a bit shit, really, old, white and battered.’
‘Go on,’ thought Brandon, ‘say it.’
‘Oh and it had a black door on the passenger side,’ said Mike, confirming Brandon’s suspicions, ‘by the time we realised the connection it had long gone and I can’t access the London CCTV grid without a warrant. Sorry, Brandon, I have no idea where it went.’
‘That’s okay, Mike,’ said Brandon, ‘I know exactly where it went.’ His phone beeped once in his hand. ‘Mike, I have to go,’ he said, ‘I’ve got another call on the line. We’ll talk later, cheers.’ He pressed the red button on the phone, quickly followed by the green one.
----
‘Murray,’ he said, ‘about bloody time.’
‘Calm down,’ replied the Taxi Driver, ‘I got stuck in traffic.’
‘Where are you?’
‘About ten minutes away,’ he said, ‘are you okay?’
‘Don’t worry about me,’ said Brandon, ‘just shift your arse and get back here.’ He hung up and made his way down the last few hundred yards to the lay-by. A few minutes later, the taxi pulled up and Murray got out.
‘Got it?’ asked Brandon.
‘In the boot,’ said Murray, ‘nice lady, your mother.’
‘Yeah, diamond,’ said Brandon.
‘Got you something else too.’
Brandon looked as Murray reached over to the passenger seat to retrieve a carrier bag.
‘Your mother sent me on a side errand on the way back,’ said Murray, ‘figured you may be hungry. Fish and chips and a can of coke do you?’
‘Murray, you’re a bloody legend,’ said Brandon with a smile. He had not realised how hungry he actually was. Murray leaned against his cab, eating his own bag of chips.
‘Thanks for this,’ said Brandon, ‘it’s just what the doctor ordered.’
‘No problem,’ said Murray, ‘I’ll add it to your bill.’
Brandon smiled.
‘So what happens now?’ asked Murray.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Up there,’ said Murray, ‘at the convent. That’s where you’re going, isn’t it?’
‘What makes you think that?’
‘I’m not stupid,’ said Murray, ‘that bag in the boot, it’s special forces issue.’
‘Is it?’
‘Look,’ said Murray, ‘many years ago I did some time in the territorial army. Nothing special but some of my mates are still in the mob and I know a squaddie when I see one. I reckon you intend to get into that convent to find your girlfriend or whoever she is.’
Brandon stared at him for a moment before laughing.
‘Jesus Christ,’ he said, ‘everyone’s an expert these days, so much for secrecy, eh?’
‘I’m right, aren’t I?’ said Murray.
‘Look mate,’ said Brandon opening the boot of the car, ‘you probably know too much already and that’s my fault, I wasn’t thinking straight.’ He unzipped the oversized air-force blue holdall. ‘The less you know the better,’ he continued, ‘nothing personal, you understand, it’s just safer that way. At least five people have died that I know of and I would hate you to be the sixth.’ He started to undress, placing all his civilian clothes in the boot of the taxi before donning a pair of black denim cotton trousers. Finally, he pulled a black, fleece-lined jacket over his head.
‘Look,’ said Murray, ‘I know you can’t tell me what’s going on but if there’s anything I can do to help, just ask, yeah?’
‘Cheers,’ said Brandon, tying the last lace on his combat boots. He stood up and looked thoughtfully at Murray. ‘Actually, there is something you can do,’ he added, pulling out his phone, ‘what’s your number?’
Murray told him his number and watched as Brandon punched something into his own phone.
‘I’ve just sent you a number,’ said Brandon. ‘If you don’t hear from me in twenty four hours, I want you to call that number and ask for Mike. Tell him everything, he will know what to do.’
‘Are you sure about this?’ asked Murray.
‘Positive,’ said Brandon, pulling out a pre packed rucksack from the holdall. ‘You do that and when this is all over, you can treat me to a couple of pints out of that grand you swindled me out of, yeah?’
‘Yeah, whatever,’ laughed Murray, ‘don’t worry, I’ll be watching that clock like a hawk.’
‘Right, I’m off,’ said Brandon.
Murray held out his hand and after a second, Brandon took it in a handshake based on trust.
‘Good luck, matey,’ said Murray.
Brandon nodded and climbed over the stile to the field beyond, retracing his steps up the hill he had checked earlier. Murray pulled a cigarette and leant against the cab, drawing the smoke in deeply as he watched the stranger disappear into the gloom. A few minutes later, he held out his hand to flick the butt of the cigarette over the hedge but froze as the feel of a cold pistol barrel pressed gently against his head.
‘Hello again, stupid,’ said a voice with a foreign accent, ‘remember me?’
----
Chapter 29
Britannia 64 AD
The first couple of weeks had been difficult for the fugitives. They had travell
ed by night, heading westwards away from the coast, avoiding any contact with locals and the occasional Roman patrols. The ship’s captain had given them what dried meat he could spare but it wasn’t much and they had to supplement what they had with roots and berries.
Inevitably, the food supply was depleted and in desperation, they had to risk interacting with the locals. By carefully selecting their targets and with Dragus’ basic knowledge of the language, they somehow managed to scrape through. Eventually, Rose approached him with a look of concern on her face.
‘Centurion, I would speak with you,’ she said.
Dragus opened his eyes and looked up at her. He sat with his back against a tree, one of many temporary resting places they had been forced to take as they struggled through the never-ending forest. Avoiding the main tracks meant that it was much harder going and the effort was taking its toll on the women. This was the third break since morning and the sun was still not yet halfway through its journey.
‘How is she?’ asked Dragus, nodding toward Rubria who was sitting on the banks of a small stream, bathing her sore feet.
‘Not good,’ she said, ‘we really need to find somewhere a bit more permanent so she can rest properly.’
‘I know,’ said Dragus with a sigh, ‘another few weeks and we will be in the lands of the Atrebates. They are known to be a friendly people and welcome strangers to their midst.’
‘We cannot wait a few weeks,’ said Rose, ‘we have to find somewhere soon or I fear the worst.’
‘Surely it’s not that bad,’ said Dragus, ‘I know there is little food but we are not doing badly.’ He looked over toward Rubria. ‘I’m afraid her beauty and frailty comes at a price, her hands were not designed to fend off the thorns of the forest and blisters are a curse she was never intended to bear.’
‘You underestimate her,’ said Rose, ‘I have not heard one complaint escape her lips, yet I know she is exhausted.’
‘We will take more rests,’ said Dragus, ‘and give her chance to regain her strength. Another few weeks and we will be relatively safe.’
‘We don’t have the time,’ she interrupted, ‘we have to find somewhere soon.’
‘That is not an option,’ said Dragus.
‘Dragus, for the love of Vesta, will you listen to me?’ she hissed, ‘she is with child.’
‘What?’ gasped Dragus, ‘that’s impossible.’
Rose glanced over at Rubria before continuing.
‘I have seen this a hundred times and she has all the signs.’
‘She can’t be,’ said Dragus, ‘she is a priestess of Vesta, one of the holy virgins. They are betrothed to the order for thirty years, surely she would not have broken her oath so easily.’
‘Not by choice,’ said Rose, ‘don’t forget what she suffered at the hand of Nero.’
Dragus looked over toward Rubria.
‘Has she discussed this with you?’ he asked eventually.
‘Discussed it?’ said Rose gently, ‘Dragus, the priestess is so innocent, I don’t think she even knows she is pregnant.’
They both looked toward Rubria. She was leaning back on her elbows, bathing her feet in the cool water. Her head tilted back to face the sky, drinking in a sunbeam that managed to break through the foliage. Her eyes closed for a few seconds, enjoying the rare feeling of warmth on her skin.
Dragus took in the detail with growing concern. He had been so wrapped up in getting them safely to their destination he had not noticed the deterioration in the priestess. Her once long golden hair was tangled and her face was smeared with stains of sweat and grime. Her clothes were torn and her face was gaunt. As he watched, he saw her brow furrow slightly and her hand went unconsciously to her stomach, reacting to an unfamiliar feeling within.
‘By the gods,’ said Dragus, ‘what have I done?’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Rose, ‘This is not your fault.’
‘But it is,’ said Dragus, ‘I have been so engrossed in my own little adventure, I have neglected that which I hold most dearly.’
‘Don’t be so hard on yourself,’ said Rose, ‘it is not too late but we do need to find somewhere soon.’
‘Agreed,’ said Dragus. ‘We will make a camp here. There is water and some food. If you’re careful, it should last a few days, I should be back by then.’
‘Where are you going?’ asked Rose.
‘To bring this to an end,’ said Dragus. ‘You are safe enough here but if I am not back in three days, head east toward the morning sun. You will eventually come across one of our roads. Make your way to Londinium and take your chances there.’
‘Dragus,’ said Rose…
‘Enough,’ said Dragus, ‘you will do as I say. I have brought this on and I will resolve the matter.’
‘But can’t we all go together and just stop at the nearest village?’
‘It’s not as simple as that,’ he answered, ‘trust me, I know how these people work. You stay here and I promise I will return, now, help me make a shelter. The sooner I get started the sooner I will get back.’
As Dragus gathered the saplings and bracken he needed to make a shelter, Rose explained the situation to Rubria, blaming an imaginary foot injury as an excuse why they couldn’t go on any further.
‘Take care, Dragus,’ said Rose when he was ready to leave.
‘I’ll be fine,’ said Dragus, ‘you just look after Rubria.’
‘I will,’ she said and watched as he disappeared into the gloom of the forest.
----
For a day and a half, he struggled through the forest, the hunger gnawing at him like a hungry dog. Finally, he saw signs of life and followed the track to a village situated at the edge of a small river. He hid in the undergrowth for a few hours, watching the day to day life unfold, gleaning an understanding of the type of village it was. If it was warlike, then he would have to bypass it as the fact he was Roman meant he wouldn’t last a few minutes but seeing no signs of militia, he finally stood up and walked in, making his way to central hut where he knew he would find the chieftain. A group of curious children gathered around him as he walked and the commotion brought interested people from the surrounding huts.
Finally, he stood outside the largest dwelling and a young man came out to greet him.
‘State your business, stranger,’ said the man.
‘I would speak to your chieftain,’ said Dragus.
‘You can speak with me,’ said the villager, ‘I am his son.’
‘Bring him in,’ coughed a voice from within the hut and after hesitating a few more moments, the boy stood aside to let Dragus enter. As soon as his eyes became accustomed to the gloom, he saw an old man wrapped in furs, tended by a young girl.
‘Greetings, chief,’ said Dragus.
The old man nodded in return.
‘I am Dragus,’ said the centurion, ‘what house do I have the honour of addressing?’
‘I am Blackthorn,’ said the man, ‘chieftain of the horse clan of the Atrebates, state your business, Dragus.’
‘Blackthorn,’ said Dragus, ‘I find myself on a great undertaking, one which has come from the goddess Vesta herself.’
‘I have heard of Vesta,’ said Blackthorn, ‘she holds no sway here for she is a Roman deity.’
‘Many Romans worship her, it is true,’ answered Dragus, ‘including myself but her aura graces many different tribes across the world. She is the goddess of all hearths and smiles on those who nurture the family, sharing her bounty with those who pay her homage.’
‘Your devotion to your goddess is admirable,’ said Blackthorn, ‘but if you seek tribute you have had a wasted journey. We have nothing of value here, your legions have already taken all that we held dear.’
Dragus thought quickly. He knew what the legions were capable of and he had taken part in the decimation of many such villages in the past.
‘I feel your pain, Blackthorn,’ he said eventually, ‘and I can only say the gods will judge the acts of my country
men in the afterlife but I carry a great secret that I have shared with no living man. Within your own lands, less than a day’s ride away, one of Vesta’s priestesses and her servant lie close to death. I ask for shelter and succour for them both to recover their strength.’
‘What concern do I have for the death of another woman?’ he asked, ‘many of our own women have died since the Romans came.’
‘Because the priestess carries the child of Vesta,’ said Dragus, ‘a child fathered by no living soul.’
‘That cannot be,’ said Blackthorn.
‘Yet it is so, she is one of the emperor’s Vestal Virgins and has lain with no man.’
‘And you know this to be true?’
‘Upon my oath,’ said Dragus.
Blackthorn stared at him for a long time.
‘Why don’t you seek the shelter of your own people, Roman? There are settlements less than three days ride away.’
‘We can’t do that,’ said Dragus, ‘if our presence is discovered, we will be carted back to Rome in chains.’
‘There is probably a price on your head, Roman. What is to stop me betraying you to your countrymen and claiming the coin?’
‘Nothing,’ said Dragus, ‘but your tribe is renowned for its hospitality to travellers. I would suspect the great Blackthorn would not break his own people’s tradition.’
‘You are correct, Roman,’ he said, ‘but do not deem to use this against us. Our hearths are offered to travellers born of these lands, not invaders or those who would abuse our hospitality. Your people invade our country, killing many. They rape our women and take our young into slavery. We are taxed more than we can bear to make your emperor rich and are forced to pay just to be allowed to live in our own ancestral lands. Yet you walk in here as brazen as a camp whore and ask us to help you. I could have you killed within a few heartbeats and no one would know any difference.’
‘Blackthorn, all I can say is that this woman needs your help. I understand you may have a problem with me but I plead with you, do not take out your frustration on her. She is not responsible for this situation. At least give her and her slave succour and if my presence offends, then I will take my chances with the wild things of the forest.’
