Lucius had been in the army for six years, two of those had been spent with Varro. He had more than his fair share of scars, more even than the others but no-one ever seemed to know why. He came from Ravenna one of the largest military ports on the north east coast of their homeland. Unlike most of the others under the command of Centurion Varro, Lucius was tall and skinny despite days, weeks and months of physical training. His large Roman nose meant that he sometimes had the nickname Caesar, usually when others in the group had drank too much wine and became braver as the alcohol loosened their tongues. He was a good man to have around and a demon in a fight.
He actually hated the seafaring men of the empire more than his commander after his woman Rica, had run away with one of them. Rumours circulated throughout the legion that he had sought them out in a nearby port and killed them both the night before joining the army the next day. He wouldn’t talk about his life prior to joining the legion except to say where he was from accompanied normally by a loud snorting, followed by him spitting huge mouthfuls of phlegm onto the floor no matter where they were. The rest of them had learned not to ask too much about his past. He was however, a joker who never missed the chance to verbally rip the bowels out of his friends and fellow soldiers and he liked to drink his share of wine.
Marcus and Lucius were close friends and were constantly bickering with each other. A daily joke was that they should make things formal and become man and wife but then the two argued about who was going to be who, bride or groom. They drank the clear cold crystal water heartily and checked their mounts before moving off.
“So what’s the plan sir?” Decimus asked watching the others in their group who were all checking their equipment a few feet away. Legionary Quintus was ensuring that everything was in order. Although he was a legionary, he was one rank above the others as he commanded the other half of the men when Varro and his group were parted whilst one was scouting ahead and the other returned to the main body of the legion to report on their progress.
Quintus had been in the army for ten years and was a veteran of many campaigns, he had been offered further promotion many times but had turned it down preferring to ‘keep his boots in the mud’ as he could often be heard saying. He was an Optio, one rank below Centurion and had quickly risen to the rank but he knew with further promotions, came the possibility of a command post and he didn’t suit managing others or writing commands on scrolls or wax tablets all day long.
Varro replied, “We are going to stay as close to the coast as we can for the time being and keep heading west until the land naturally takes us north, a few days ride from here. The map we got hold of shows that the coast is cut away with paths going north and then branching off in different directions. The General has orders for the Second to try and identify any settlements that are willing to help and engage those that aren’t. Whatever the outcome of the next few days, we’re to liaise with the other legions before he decides who is going in which direction but from what I could gather from the briefing, we’ll continue along the southern coast.”
He took out a rough map drawn on animal hide sometime before by an exiled prince. It showed the southern coastal part of the island, if this place could be called an island because of its size. There were two smaller land masses, one off the south coast and one to the west just off the land fall, beyond that was another island it was marked as ‘Mona.’ There was a red mark against the name.
“What’s the significance of this Mona?” Decimus asked pointing as he and Veranius flattened the parchment and studied the map.
“It’s thought to be crawling with druids, the spiritual leaders of these Britons. This is where Adminius tells us they have their main settlement where they train others in their spiritual beliefs. They are believed to have been the main reason some of the tribes stopped forming an alliance with Rome. It’s said they worship ancient forces and commit cruel ritualistic acts and anyone that goes against them is automatically under the threat of death and eternal misery from their druidic gods. Personally I think it’s a load of old bollocks just like some of our own priests. If we end up going there and there’s a distinct possibility it will be us,” he pointed to Mona, “the other legions will move inland to the central core of the country, one of them anyway and the other up the east coast. Fortifications will be established and those that want to join the empire will receive our help and assistance. Those Britons that do not, will be crushed and destroyed or that’s the plan anyway. One other legion will stay in the south and establish forts and harbours for supplies and reinforcements.” Varro paused, thinking.
“Why the hesitation?” Veranius asked, “We will destroy all those who oppose us surely?”
Varro said, “You know it’s never as easy as that and there’ll be a lot of fighting and dying to do first. Many of those soldiers unloading equipment on the beach right now will never see their families or homes again, it’s a fact. It’s not something I come to terms with as easily as some my friend.”
“Come on Varro, don’t be so dour, there’ll be spoils a plenty here, come on lets get moving.” Veranius was right he thought. There was no point in thinking about what might happen but only what they could make happen.
“Your right, okay come on.” Standing he ordered, “Mount up, lets get a move on, we won’t expand the empire sitting here with you fiddling with yourself.” He looked at Veranius smiling, they trotted into the trees following legionaries Lucius and Marcus laughing again as Veranius muttered something about his blade and where he’d like to put it.
In time, just as the light was beginning to fade, the two leading riders emerged from the trees into a clear area but beyond it was another vast woodland or forest, which it was, they couldn’t be certain of from their position.
“Trees! Who would have guessed it?” Lucius remarked, “More like a fucking forest this time though just look at that.” He brushed twigs and leaves from his shoulders and legs.
“It must have been like that when you bedded that hairy fucking bitch in Gaul Marcus. Only it probably took you longer to run your sword through her, I would have thought you’d have enjoyed the ride.” Decimus said, chuckling quietly.
“Gaul’ish women maybe hairy but they keep you warm on a winter’s night.” He retorted. “You should have tried them instead of swilling wine every night and looking for small boys.”
“Ha-ha. You’re funny aren’t you? Wine may kill you eventually but it can’t cut your throat like those harlots.” Decimus replied.
The legion had eventually banned the men from ‘associating’ with the local women after a few didn’t report for duty the next day. Their bodies, with throats cut were found floating in the local river for days afterwards. The legions Legate, Vespasian had instructed that any soldier caught breaking the rule would be flogged and for each Roman soldier killed, five local women would die. Their severed heads would be impaled on spikes as a warning to others outside the fort. It didn’t stop the drunken troops however, and no legion could confine its men to barracks forever but it did stop the murders of his men.
Discipline was hard but couldn’t be brought down like an iron fist and passes had still been given to the men to visit taverns after a hard days training, building, marching or riding. Ordinarily there was no time for such activities when the legion was on the march in the middle of a campaigning season. By the time they stopped, they had to construct defences every single night as they didn’t know who to trust in any given area, so socialising with the locals would always come another day. Waiting for the fleet and for the legions in Gaul to gather had been different and it was unavoidable that the men would mix with the women of the local neighbourhood.