“Leave him alone you fucking whore.” The Roman commander shouted staring into her black eyes. She smirked and pushed down on the handle, its blade ripping up into the stomach and chest of Veranius as he let out an unearthly cry of agony. Varro thrust himself forwards and backwards furiously against the tree trying to break free, the top even shaking slightly with this effort and rage. The woman laughed and then slowly withdrew the blade. Veranius tried to scream again, his face contorted, head jerking backwards and hitting the trunk but no words came from him. Varro wasn’t sure if he had lost consciousness through his head cracking the tree or the pain being inflicted upon him as his head fell forward. Whichever it was, it didn’t seem to matter now as Veranius slumped forward his body limp, he was lost to the blackness.
“You fucking coward. You fucking coward! Untie me and I’ll show you what pain is, you fucking vile cock sucking whore.” Varro challenged.
Veranius’s eyes flickered back to life as his head slowly rose back up. Varro tried to get the woman’s attention but she had already seen him and had turned her focus back to his second in command. Varro was aware of a commotion from somewhere behind the ranks of watching Britons who were now screaming and almost delirious for more blood but he wasn’t focusing on that, he was screaming at the woman. She turned and sneered at him baring her teeth, lowering her arms and leering at him, leaning forward.
She raised her hand holding the knife and pointed it at him, he held his breath expecting to feel the cold metal stained with his friend’s blood enter his own flesh. She walked towards him, staring into his eyes, repeating words like some sort of incantation.
“Fucking whore, you fucking whore.” Veranius managed weakly as she suddenly turned focusing all her attention on him again. The crowds frenzy grew wild as without warning she stabbed downwards and his eyes bulged. Varro couldn’t see what she had done as she bent down near his waist, her victim suddenly white with shock. All Varro could see was a sawing motion as her arm moved forward and backwards very slowly.
Veranius slipped into unconsciousness again, his head slumping forward, blood dripped from his open mouth. The crowd went wild with delirium as the armed woman stood up straight, her blade in one hand and bloodied flesh, organs in the other. Varro strained to see what it was. Then shock hit him with a sudden realisation. She had cut off his manhood and testicles, no matter what happened next, he knew his friend was dead.
He stood there imprisoned watching as she displayed the severed organs to the baying crowd, splashing blood onto their faces and dripping it onto her own and into her laughing open mouth. When they had all had their fill she held them over a fire and then let them drop, sizzling and spitting as they landed. Varro knew there was now nothing to be gained from shouting or struggling any further not that it would have helped the situation before. He decided that whatever happened next, it was the will of the gods that was if they were even at this forsaken place.
The woman wiped her bloodied blade on the material around her waist and smiled as she approached Decimus. The horror engrained on his face was only matched by the psychopathic joy across the faces of the watching crowd. She stood directly in front of him and examined his lower body, smiling at his genitals. She shouted something that clearly amused the crowd and they laughed and balled in appreciation of her words. She leaned forward and grabbed the soldier behind his neck, pulled his head forward and then kissed him. She licked his face as he tried to push his head backwards as her other hand moved between his legs and explored.
As she withdrew from her bizarre act, Decimus suddenly whipped his head forward, his forehead crunching into the woman’s face, catching her on the bridge of the nose. She staggered back, her nose shattered clutching at her face, blood flowing freely from her broken ruptured nose and she fell to the ground. The crowd went quiet.
“Fuck you whore.” Decimus said as he spat at her prone body. Varro knew that they were both dead in the hands of these animals and didn’t blame him for what he had done. What difference would it make if they were to die like their friend? Just then Varro heard a murmur from Veranius as blood flowed and dripped from the black hole of the wound she had created. Varro hoped his friend wouldn’t awake to see what she had done to him, he knew he would prefer to die rather than see how she had disfigured him before he went to the next world.
As the barbarian female struggled to her feet holding her nose and mouth, someone pushed their way through the now quiet crowd who were watching the scene before them. Another female voice called out and the torturer turned.
Varro was struck dumb as he saw it was Brenna.
The two women exchanged angry words, the attacker pointing at Veranius. Varro allowed a brief spike of hope to enter his being as the two women argued.
However, Brenna looked over smiling at the unconscious soldier. She grabbed the other woman’s knife and approached Veranius. Varro didn’t know if she even knew he was there, surely she would recognise him and his men even in this awful condition. His shock was complete as she pushed the head of Veranius back and then slashed downwards across his neck, cutting open the veins within. Blood literally gushed out spraying the ground some feet from the tied Roman, splashing Brenna and the other woman, the watching crowd went wild with excitement. Brenna barked orders at those gathered and they went silent. She walked to Decimus and stood staring at him.
“Don’t you fucking dare, no please don’t.” Varro pleaded. Brenna looked over to him, an unknowing expression sneering at him, lips curled back like a wolf about to pounce, he didn’t recognise this person. This wasn’t the woman he had spent time with that night, she showed no sign of acknowledging him or human emotion. She was different, remote, she was native, feral, a Briton. She turned and walked around to the rear of the tree holding Decimus in place and cut the rope freeing him, he fell forward and onto the ground. Other women ran towards him but Brenna shouted at them holding out the knife, her words harsh, they stopped before getting to the Roman who was now rubbing at his wrists where the ropes had dug into them. She walked to Varro and did the same, cutting him free. What was she doing, was she freeing them only to have the crowd, rip them apart, his exhaustion almost made him not care.
She shouted for someone unseen as Tevelgus appeared through the gathered mob, he was leading three horses. Brenna pointed at the animals and Varro recognised Staro as he stamped his front hoof as he saw his master. She indicated for the two men to get onto the animals which they did struggling after their recent experience. Their hands were tied to the pommels of the saddles. The crowd parted slowly as they moved through them, some spat as they went by.
Varro looked down at the woman with the broken and bleeding nose as she tried to shout one last insult, her attempt snuffed out as blood spattered through her mouth and nose as she began to cough and choke. He didn’t try to respond as Brenna shouted something at her and kicked her horse into a canter, parting the crowd fully.
Sometime later when darkness had fallen and they were some distance from the place of torture, Brenna reminded the two soldiers not to speak, not to say a word as they had done so far. They hadn’t uttered a sentence since their release so severe was the shock of the incident and Brenna didn’t want anything that may be taken the wrong way, to be overheard by any listening ears. Varro now dared to believe they would live through this horror, although he felt really guilty because his friend had died so appallingly. The image of the whore cutting into him kept returning no matter what he tried to do to rid himself of the memory.