“Do you remember that banquet we attended in Ravenna with the Falernian opimian wine?” Veranius said. “They had fillet of hake, boiled mussels, milk fed snails, and the suckling pig! Oh that was gorgeous, that little bastard, I asked the cooks how they did it and got the recipe, mmm, peppers, lovage, caraway, celery seeds, asafoetida essence with wine passum, olive oil and corn flour. It was heavenly the gods couldn’t have prepared it any better.”
The others chuckled quietly. Veranius was a man who loved his food probably more than the soft flesh of a woman’s belly. He and Decimus would compete to see who could prepare the best dish for the others while they were out in the field and Veranius usually won because he had a knack of being able to remember long lists of ingredients which he either found or if he couldn’t, he would find something similar.
“Careful my friend or you’ll start to drool if you carry on and the Briton’s will slip on it as it drips down the slope and discover us.” Varro said. “That was a marvellous feast though I remember eating until I thought my stomach would burst and then they brought out baskets of peppered sweet cake and I ate even more. I took some with me and had it the next day it was so good. I think I nearly split my arse when it all came out again.”
Their Legate had organised the feast before they had begun their march to Gaul from Germania to take on the large barbarian men in the west. He had told them they needed feeding up because the enemy were a head taller than them and generally much wider. They continued to eat their dry rations quietly whilst retelling their stories of the feast as they waited for night to fall.
They finished the small meal still feeling a little hungry but knew it would pass in time and the meat would give them enough energy until night time or the next day if necessary. The two druids had returned to the base of the effigy and could be heard excitedly mumbling to each other about something.
“What do you say Veranius, I think we should pay our new hosts a visit and see what’s going on here. There aren’t any more men in the village at the moment that I can see and we should be okay with these two robed fools and a load of women to contend with, what do you think?” Varro had never been overly patient.
“Alright if you say so but let’s not get too far away from the horses.” Veranius replied looking along the river, as the two men moved along the water using the bushes as cover, they saw that the druids seemed distracted by something off in the distance behind them. Varro and Veranius maintained their positions and watched as blue painted men appeared through a tree line beyond the two waiting figures.
A struggle was going on inside the group and as the warriors approached the druids a young boy was thrown forward onto the ground at their feet. He struggled to get up but the tip of a spear from one of the Britons persuaded him not to move or to try and run. Rough, loud words clearly ordered him to remain still.
The older of the two druids said something unheard by the watching men, to the boy and then appeared to be inspecting him. Holding his jaw, he moved the boys head from side to side and then raised his arms. Satisfied, the druid said something to the barbarians guarding the youth and he was dragged towards the large wooden structure towering over them. The boy screamed now and attempted to struggle free but it was useless, he was dragged off his feet by the heavier and stronger men. Another tribesman ran forward and opened a door at the base of the wooden structure and the boy was bodily hurled inside. He shouted and screamed more but his pleas were ignored, the door was bound secure using vines.
“What in the name of all that’s holy is going on here?” Veranius asked.
Varro watched as the hunters spoke to the two druids, “I don’t know my friend but I think we’ll find out eh?”
The sun was beginning to sink on the horizon and a red tinge marked the clouds with a sign of another warm day again in the morning. One warrior was left to guard the boy in the wooden prison as the others returned to the main village and their huts.
“Come on.” Varro ordered as the two soldiers slowly left their cover, the guard was now sat with his back against the effigy facing the huts. The footsteps of the two Romans in the water, was masked by the sound of the stream as water trickled over stones as they approached the far bank. The boy continued to scream and cry but was ignored by his guard. Varro drew his dagger quietly as he came upon the Briton who was totally unaware of him, he looked up at the captured child, the boy inside the wooden prison was watching him as his eyes grew enormous taking in what was occurring before him, his sobs ceasing. Suddenly Varro reached forward and grabbed the long hair of the blue faced guard, ripping his head backwards and striking downwards with one deep and deadly blow with the other.
His blade slid unopposed into the Britons throat, his victim barely had time to raise his arms in surprise before his blood was drained from him as Varro sliced through the large vein of his neck. Veranius almost slipped on the bloody surface as he walked and untied the rope securing the boy in his prison. He had anticipated a struggle with the lad but he was clearly glad to be leaving his temporary prison and smiled beaming as he jumped clear. Whatever the locals had in store for him, it couldn’t have been good especially for him to put his trust in these oddly dressed strangers. Quietly they re-crossed the river and disappeared from view, taking the boy with them.
Some miles away from the village the Romans dismounted from their horses, the boy had ridden with Varro until they were clear of the Britons. It was now almost dark and owls could be heard calling to each other in the trees as the stars began to emerge in the night sky.
“What was happening back there boy, why did they put you in that wooden man?” Varro asked. The boy frowned and when he replied it was in words that the Romans did not understand. “Of course he doesn’t understand us like we don’t understand him.” Veranius said.
“Mm thank you Senator.” Varro said sarcastically, returning his attention to the boy he said, “What were they doing to you, are you a thief?”
The boy mumbled something in reply but again it was unintelligible. He grabbed Varro by the hand and dragged him, pointing furiously in the direction of some hills in the distance. It was the opposite way from which they had come to get to the village.
“I think he’s trying to tell us he’s from another place and was brought here against his will.” Varro said watching the boy.
Veranius wasn’t too sure, “He could be lying, he’s probably a thief like you said and was being punished by his tribe, that’s why he wants to get away and go to the hills. These barbarians are all the same, they’re dumb goat fuckers if you ask me.”
Just then a shrill scream interrupted them, followed by hellish cries of pain. It came from the village and the boy’s face showed complete terror.
“Lucius, I want you with me, come on, we’re going to find out what that was, Veranius take charge here, don’t let the boy out of your sight.”
“Sir.” Was all Veranius said in return as Varro and Lucius galloped away.
Moments later the two men had dismounted, tied their horses up and were now cautiously making their way through the bushes to the edge of the water, they found themselves once more on the far side of the river bank opposite the settlement. Every now and again they could hear screams and it was obvious they were actually coming from the other side of the water. As they emerged through the trees crouching by the water’s edge they could see that the blue painted warriors had another boy in their clutches and appeared to be questioning him. They retreated backward a few steps to where they could see but not be seen. One of the warriors was holding him by the arm whilst shouting questions at him and pointing into the distance, the other had a long sword over a fire.