by K. M. Ashman
‘You are a strange one, boy,’ he said to Gwydion. ‘You come in here, interrupting a meeting of your betters, demanding that we explain ourselves to you. What gives you the right?’
‘I only seek to protect my clan and my tribe, Sire,’ said Gwydion, ‘and if I have offended, then I apologize.’
‘And I accept your apology,’ said the man, ‘but I am intrigued, your tenacity is both admirable and annoying. I don’t know whether to enrol you in my army or have you beaten for your insolence. Where are you from?’
‘The Blaidd clan,’ replied Gwydion.
The amour-clad man, walked slowly around the table, picking up Gwydion’s purse as he went.
‘I don’t recognize the accent. Have you always been with the Blaidd?’
‘I was fostered to the Catuvellauni as a child, Sire, and grew up in the court of Cunobelinus, the ward of a Roman slave. Despite my Deceangli bloodline, I still carry some accent.’
The warrior stopped and looked back.
‘You were taught by a Roman?’
‘Yes Sire, a slave captured in Gaul and sold to Cunobelinus as one of many. They were all sacrificed by the Druids to gain him honour, but her life was spared as she was of particular beauty.
‘How long were you in the care of this Roman slave?’
‘Fourteen years.’
‘Can you speak her tongue?’
‘I can, and I also know their writing.’
The man approached Gwydion again.
‘I like you, Gwydion of the Blaidd,’ he said, tossing the purse up and down in his palm, ‘you remind me of myself when I was your age.’ Without taking his eyes off Gwydion, he called out across the hall.
‘Guard, cut out twenty of the best horses and have them delivered to the Blaidd by nightfall tomorrow.’ He tossed Gwydion the purse containing the gold. ‘I have no need of your money, Gwydion,’ he said, ‘but I may have need of someone like you. Now, take your leave!’
‘You have the gratitude of my clan, Sire,’ said Gwydion and turned to leave. Just as he was about to walk through the door he turned again to face the warrior.
‘Forgive me my ignorance, Sire,’ he said, ‘but you have me at a disadvantage, you know my name, but I know not yours.’
Owen stepped forward.
‘Gwydion of the Blaidd,’ he said, ‘you address Idwal of the Deceangli. Now be gone, for we have business to attend.’
Gwydion was led away to his horse, picking up his weapons on the way, dumbstruck that he had actually just met Idwal, famed leader and true blood warrior King of the Deceangli.
----
Chapter 5
Cassus knew he was in trouble long before he opened his eyes. Subconsciously, he knew there should be pain, but something told him that if he just stayed still, he wouldn’t have to face it. A disgusting smell forced itself into his nostrils, making him gag and he lay still, not quite sure where he was or what had happened. A distant voice forced its way through his foggy senses.
‘Wake up,’ said Prydain, ‘Cassus, come on, we have to go.’
‘Go away,’ grunted Cassus, though the words that emerged bore no resemblance to those intended.
‘Cassus you have to wake up now,’ insisted Prydain quietly. When again there was little response, Prydain looked around in desperation, his eyes falling on the water pitcher. Picking it up, he hesitated for a second before pouring the contents over his semi-comatose friend.
The effect was instant, and Cassus would have screamed had his throat not been so dry and his tongue as woolly as a camel’s scrotum. He forced himself up off the floor and onto his knees, gasping to catch his breath.
‘What the fuck,’ he gasped, struggling to form the words.
‘Come on!’ hissed Prydain. ‘We have to be at the circus at dawn so shift your arse.’
Cassus’s brain slowly started to make sense of the situation. He put his hand gingerly to his hair. It was sticky and matted to his head. He groaned as he realized the source of the smell. He had thrown up in his sleep and his head was covered in vomit.
‘Water!’ he gasped.
‘I think not,’ said Prydain. ‘That’s good old fashioned puke.’
‘No,’ he croaked, ‘I need water.’
Prydain looked around again, but he had poured the only water available over Cassus. He peered inside the jug.
‘There’s some left,’ he said, ‘but not much.’
Cassus snatched it from Prydain’s hands, holding it up high as he drained the last few precious mouthfuls.
‘Get me more,’ he ordered, holding the jug up.
‘No time,’ said Prydain, ‘we have to go.’
‘Do as you’re told, Prydain,’ he said. ‘There is plenty of time. The circus is only around the corner.’ He pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers and blew the contents onto the floor, following it up with a drawn back cough to clear his airways. He looked up at Prydain, who was obviously in a state only slightly better than himself. Prydain was wrapped in a garment of fine blue silk that hung down past his knees and gathered in around his waist with his leather belt in an attempt to make it seem as manly as possible.
‘Why are you wearing a Peplos?’ croaked Cassus, staring at the female garment.
‘Oh, you noticed,’ said Prydain with a grimace. ‘She’s got mine on.’ He indicated the other side of the room with a nod. ‘And I daren’t wake her - I don’t think we’ve got enough money left to pay her bill.’
Cassus followed his gaze, his memory still struggling to recall the details. A beautiful woman lay sleeping on a double bed, tangled in the remains of Prydain’s ripped toga. Alongside her and dominating the rest of the bed was another figure, hidden beneath an embroidered damask blanket, snoring loudly and completely oblivious to the noise in the bedroom.
‘Who are they?’ asked Cassus.
‘One of them,’ said Prydain, ‘is a high class whore and the other my dear Cassus, is your new fiancée.’
Cassus looked at Prydain in horror, appalled at the mirth on his face.
‘Fiancée,’ he said, ‘what do you mean fiancée?’
‘Easy enough,’ said Prydain, ‘you were adamant you wouldn’t pay good money for a woman, and by the end of the night, there weren’t that many left. The only way that one would sleep with you, was when you insisted you were madly in love with her and proposed in front of the whole tavern.’
‘Oh shit,’ said Cassus, looking back at the pile of tangled cloth. ‘What’s she like?’
As if in answer, the sleeping figure lifted a hidden leg and let out an almighty fart.
‘What do you think?’ asked Prydain, trying hard not to laugh. ‘Put it this way, Cassus, even Hannibal would have had difficulty getting this one over the Alps.’
‘Oh shit!’ gasped Cassus again, his stare never leaving the now stirring silhouette of the overweight girl. ‘By the Gods, Prydain, get me out of here before she wakes up.’
Prydain pulled Cassus up from the floor, turning his head from the smell.
‘Don’t expect any sympathy from the Gods, Cassus,’ he said. ‘You smell like Pluto’s stinking arsehole.’
Cassus knelt to look under the bed frame.
‘What are you looking for?’ asked Prydain.
‘My tunic,’ came the muffled reply, ‘it must be here somewhere.’
‘She probably ate it,’ said Prydain, and they both broke down into fits of giggles, like a couple of schoolboys.
‘Cassus?’ the overweight girl gurgled as she started to wake. The smiles dropped from their faces. They both stayed frozen to the spot, hoping that their stillness would fool her into falling back asleep.
‘Cassus, my love,’ she said again. ‘Is that you?’
Cassus stood up slowly and stared at Prydain, a look of panic in his eyes.
‘Say something!’ mouthed Prydain silently.
‘Yes, my love?’ said Cassus eventually, his eyes never leaving his friend, who now had his hand over his own mouth to
stop himself laughing, ‘I’m just going to get us a drink of fresh water.’
‘Come back to bed,’ she said and started to untangle herself from the bed sheets.
‘Oh shit,’ exclaimed Cassus one more time, ‘let’s get out of here.’
They both turned to run from the room, getting in each other’s way as they rushed to get through the doorway.
Downstairs, two slave girls were on their knees, scrubbing the tavern floor in the pre-dawn lamp light, cleaning up the mess from what had obviously been a particularly busy night. Anyone else may have stared at the sight as the two young men walked quickly across the tavern, but these girls had seen many things in this dubious part of Rome, and the sight of two men, one in a woman’s gown and the other naked except for a discreetly held sandal covering his modesty raised little interest.
----
Chapter 6
The recruitment officers at the Circus Maximus had paid them and a thousand others a retainer of twenty Denarii each to cover travel expenses, and they were informed that they must be at their training camp in northern Gaul in two months. Cassus and Prydain had found a local fishing boat willing to take them to Gallia Narbonensis, and though the sea was relatively calm, the swell ensured that Cassus spent most of the two days with his head hanging over the rail, retching his stomach contents into the blue Mediterranean Sea.
When they finally arrived and asked about Perre, they were told that he was due back in a week, bringing with him a laden ship from the trading ports of Gaul. They relaxed in the sunshine while they waited and enjoyed the hospitality of the locals, until a few days later than expected, the biggest trade ship either of them had ever seen, sailed into the port. Compared to the sleek, racing dog profile of a Trireme, this was more reminiscent of a well-fed bull, and obviously much better at withstanding the onslaught of the seas. Teams of slaves unloaded the hold, surrounded by a throng of excited locals, keen to see what was contained on the fully laden ship, even before the crew had had time to rest from their arduous voyage.
Cassus and Prydain shouldered their way through the crowd, eager to meet the man recommended by Marcus. Finally, they reached someone who seemed in charge and asked if he was Perre.
‘Me, Perre?’ roared the man in laughter,’ I think not. You obviously don’t know him.’
‘Where can I find him?’ asked Cassus.
‘I don’t know,’ said the man. ‘He was first to disembark hours ago, though I would venture that a good place to start looking would be the taverns.’
‘What does he look like?’ asked Prydain.
‘Trust me, you will know him,’ said the man, and turned away, still laughing to himself.
They walked to the nearby town and started asking around the numerous taverns. Despite their concerns, it took less than an hour to locate Perre, though they heard him long before they set eyes on him.
‘You cheating sons of pigs,’ roared a voice as they approached another tavern. ‘Come back here or I’ll cut your balls off and turn them into tiny purses for high class whores!’
Three terrified men ran out of the tavern, ducking as a chair passed closely above their heads, followed by the remains of a table. Suddenly the biggest, fiercest man, Cassus had ever seen, filled the doorway, throwing a half-full amphora after the rapidly retreating men.
‘That has to be him,’ said Cassus, and Prydain nodded in silent agreement, overawed at the huge bear of a man in front of him. Perre was enormous. His hair was long and unruly, falling about his head like a thorn bush and his matted beard fell to his chest. He was dressed in woven leggings tucked into knee-length leather boots and his waistcoat, also made of leather, was open, exposing his muscular chest to the world. A belt fell from one shoulder to the opposite waist and contained two skinning knives sitting snugly within inbuilt pockets. Insults followed the furniture until he realized the two young men were watching him.
‘Got a problem?’ he asked aggressively.
‘No, Sir,’ answered Cassus, ‘we are looking for someone called Perre.’
‘Who wants him?’
Cassus gave him the introductory note from Marcus and Perre read it while drinking deeply from another amphora.
‘Do you have money?’ he asked eventually.
‘We do!’
‘Good. Can you play dice?’
‘Not really.’
‘Even better,’ he said, his temper receding as fast as it had risen, ‘come with me.’
He disappeared into the tavern where staff was busy cleaning up the aftermath of a fight. Perre threw a leather purse onto the table as he passed the landlord.
‘Cover it?’ he asked as he passed, not waiting for an answer.
‘Yes,’ sighed the landlord, picking up the purse, obviously familiar with the behaviour of the Gaul.
‘More wine!’ roared the giant, and sat down in one of the remaining chairs, its legs creaking beneath his weight.
‘Dice!’ he said, more of an order than invitation.
‘We were hoping to do business,’ said Cassus.
‘Dice first,’ said Perre, ‘talk later.’
‘I’ll wait over there,’ said Prydain, pointing to the bar. He had little enough money as it was and certainly couldn’t risk losing it in a dice game. Cassus, on the other hand, had cashed in one of his father’s notes and had money to spare.
‘Have a word with your friend;’ said the barman quietly, ‘it would be better for all of us if he loses.’
‘He needs no help from me,’ said Prydain, ‘his arrogance will ensure a suitable outcome.’
Sure enough, Perre’s laughter signalled his luck was in and soon, he had relaxed enough to talk business.
‘So, you want to go to Gaul,’ he stated eventually.
‘We do,’ said Cassus, ‘and we were told you are the man that can take us there.’
‘I could, but why would I want to?’ he asked.
Cassus peeled off one of the promissory notes given to him by his father and laid it on the table.
‘Seems a good enough reason,’ said Perre. ‘Twice as much would be a better one.’
The two men stared at each other before Cassus peeled off another note.
‘Better,’ said Perre. ‘now we talk. I can take you to Gaul, but there are conditions. First, you look after yourselves and provide your own supplies. I am no nurse maid.’
‘To be expected!’ said Cassus.
‘Secondly, you keep yourselves to yourselves. You don’t tell anyone your business and if there is trouble, you are on your own. We will dock in village ports each night and I don’t want any unwanted attention from the locals if they found out there were wannabe legionaries aboard.’
‘We didn’t say we were legionaries,’ said Cassus.
Perre sneered.
‘It’s not difficult to guess, young’un,’ he said. ‘Your letter is from that rogue Marcus and you want to get to Gaul as fast as possible. Something to do with Britannia, I would wager.’
Cassus stared in silence.
‘Don’t worry;’ said Perre, ‘it is the worst kept secret in the known world.’
‘But I thought Gaul was safe,’ said Cassus, ‘Caesar defeated them many years ago.’
Perre laughed out loud again,
‘Oh, the tribes are quiet enough when they hear the footfall of six thousand legionaries marching past, but I promise you, most wouldn’t think twice about skinning you two alive if they got the chance. After all, you could return in a few years, fully trained killers, so they may as well kill you now. Cuts out the middle man, if you see what I mean.’
‘What else?’ asked Cassus
‘That’s it,’ said Perre. ‘Just meet me back here in one week.’
‘Agreed,’ said Cassus, ‘but we need to buy some horses and supplies.’
‘Buy the horses when you get there’, he said. ‘In the meantime, take one of your notes to a trader called Sellack in the village. Tell him I sent you and that you are travelling on my merchant.
He will give you all you need, though no doubt your purse will feel the pain. We start out at first light seven days from now and I will not wait. Now get out of my sight. There’s a pretty barmaid over there who’s been staring at me all afternoon.’
He barged past without another word and made his way over to negotiate with the woman as Cassus and Prydain left the tavern to seek Sellack.
----
Two months later, they stood on a hillcrest looking down into a cleared valley. They had travelled overland since leaving Perre’s ship and headed east toward Belgica, each riding a horse purchased in a local market and leading a shared mule carrying a tent and their supplies. Both the landscape and climate had changed dramatically the further north they had travelled. The temperature had fallen, and being from lands that were baked by the sun most of the year, the two friends struggled with the climate. The addition of two heavy capes purchased from a village en-route, did little to raise their mood. Soon, they had left the coast far behind and the landscape had changed into heavily wooded hills.
‘Keep to the road,’ had been the instruction from Perre, ‘it is patrolled by auxiliaries and you should have few problems. Wander into the forest, and you may not be seen again.’
Rome’s influence increased as they neared their goal. More mounted patrols were encountered as they rode alongside the road and after receiving directions, they left the road to follow a winding path up a hill. Eventually, they reached the edge of a cliff overlooking a valley over two miles wide.
Immediately below them was a rambling maze of huts and tents, filling every inch of available ground between the wooded hill and the banks of a winding river. The town was alive with the day-to-day commerce that was the focus of its very existence, and the smoke of hundreds of fires filled the air, as the inhabitants carried out the familiar struggle to survive. Sounds of animals and people echoed up from the valley and the smell of roasting meat wafted past the noses of the dozen or so men who had joined them on their journey.
‘I’m starving,’ said Prydain. ‘We should buy ourselves some mutton.
