Gallinas regarded me with a degree of uncertainty in his eyes, while the grizzled centurion couldn’t hide the smile that played across his lips.
“They told me you carried a Roman sword. How came you by this weapon?”
“The fool who carried it no longer needed it,” I said.
Iona, who had been standing beside me in ignorance during this exchange in Latin, stared at the young Tribune in his resplendent uniform.
“Can this pretty peacock fight?” she asked me.
“No, he is supposed to be a leader, but in reality he is just a figurehead. The real leading and fighting is done by the man behind him,” I replied in her language.
“What did you say to her?” Gallinas said.
“I was telling her that you are not a real soldier, as you get others to fight for you.”
This one went home, so I watched the two spots appear on his cheeks as anger cut through reason. He drew his sword and advanced towards me once more.
The centurion held his sword arm.
“Sir, you can’t, not an unarmed and bound woman!”
For a moment, I could tell the younger man was trying to move his arm, but the centurion was too strong.
Finally, he relaxed, re-sheathing his sword. I had been right; it was a pretty thing, very shiny and completely unblemished by any form of fighting.
“No, you are right, Gaius, I was foolish to let her goad me so. Is your man coming?”
“Aye sir, but what do you intend?”
“I think that it is time that this woman, with all her airs and graces, is taught to respect the might of Rome, and the supremacy of men!”
“Sending a seasoned veteran against one unarmed woman is hardly a learning exercise, unless it is to show that we are fools.”
Gallinas didn’t like this, and turned on his centurion.
“Remember your place, Gaius, and curb your tongue.”
“Sir, you may hold command, but I have to maintain it. If you lose face, then the morale of the men will suffer. I need men who will fight without hesitation or questions, so you decide; how do you want your army to behave?”
Gallinas was obviously torn; for his pride was hurt and that was over-riding his ability to reason. As he calmed down, he began to understand what his centurion was trying to tell him.
“Very well, bring out the training weapons,” he said.
It was a relief, actually, when I saw who had been classed as their champion, as they’d made the same mistake as so many, having selected size and strength over agility and skill.
He was a big man, over six-five, so in Roman terms, a veritable giant. His complexion was dark, indicating more than just a touch of the African - with a chest like a barrel. I immediately revised my initial impression, for, as he took his armour off, I noted that he was well-muscled and lean. Perhaps he wouldn’t be as slow as big men often are.
His expression was one of genuine reluctance and discomfort. On seeing me, he looked first to the commander and then to the centurion for confirmation that he was to really fight a woman.
The legionaries from his cohort formed a circle with their shields, shouting words of encouragement, more of a sexual nature than of a combative. This was seen as good sport, for all, bar a few, were smiling and teasing their comrade.
A soldier stepped forward and loosened my bonds. I stood a moment, flexing my cramped and bruised muscles. Then I went through a series of stretching exercises, to bring some life back into this superb machine-like body. Having been present during the design stage, I had asked for some extra strength, over and above that they had given Jane. I had also insisted in downloading as many martial arts skills, sword skills and anything else that could possibly be useful.
The soldiers went silent as I ran through some of the more extreme exercises, such as standing straight, and stretching one leg vertically and holding it for several seconds, before changing over.
Given that I was dressed in little more than rags, as they’d removed any leather armour that I had worn, I could see the affect that I had upon the men. I smiled, as this must class as the most ultimate form of gamesmanship.
Another soldier appeared with two wooden swords. He threw one to land at my feet and gave the other to the champion – Fenius.
“You really want me to kill this man with this?” I asked, picking up the sword. It was little more than a toy.
Gallinas ignored me, turning instead to Fenius.
“Teach this wench a lesson in manners. I would have her disarmed and soundly spanked with the flat of your sword; understand?” he said.
Fenius was clearly unhappy and looked to me for some sort of help. I had to laugh as he looked so miserable.
“Fenius, what say you that we get rid of these toys, as I’m sure we’ll get some horrible splinters? Besides, if you’re to spank me, then that’s the last place I want a splinter!” I said, lifting one leg and spanking myself on the buttock.
This raised a cheer from the circle of men and the many more that crowded round to watch.
I threw the sword over their heads and into some bushes that lay beyond them.
“In any case, I don’t need a weapon to beat any man.”
Fenius looked to his centurion, who nodded. His sword fell to the earth and he half-heartedly took up a combat stance.
He never saw my kick. It wasn’t designed to hurt, just to shock, and it succeeded.
He suddenly became more alert and took me seriously.
“The art of good combat is to use the strengths of your opponent against them,” I said, as he rushed in to try to grapple me.
In the way he held his arms, he told me that he was a wrestler, not a boxer or athlete. So, ducking and avoiding his grasp, I grabbed his arm and, using his momentum, threw him onto his back, dancing clear and laughing. On laying hands on him, I could feel the hard muscles in his arm. He was a big boy, but I was better!
It was a shame to humiliate him, really, as it was not he who I wanted to shame, but his commander. With that in mind, I cut short the display by some rapid kicks and punches, rendering poor Fenius unconscious on the ground in but a few seconds. There was a moment’s shocked silence from the soldiers, but then they raised an enormous cheer for me.
Picking up his discarded wooden sword, I rolled him onto his stomach and spanked his unconscious behind once for effect. Then I threw it at Gallinas, who was forced to duck. The weapon was caught by the centurion who had a congratulatory grin on his face.
Instead of being upset or angry, Gallinas had developed a shrewd and perspicacious expression.
“Get that fool up and get him out of my sight,” he said. “You, woman, I want to know more about you.” Turning to the centurion, he said, “Have her hands bound and bring her to my tent.”
The soldiers seemed in high spirits, but it wasn’t to last. For instead of ordering the advance to recoup their lost captives and finally defeat the Brigantes Tribe, Gallinas told them to be ready to return to the fort at Eboracum. It was still early summer, despite the damp weather, so a good month of campaigning time was left to them to achieve victories and glory, not to mention pillage and loot! By ordering a return, the potential booty was denied the men.
His tent was a two chambered affair. The rear portion was obviously his sleeping quarters while the front portion was where he conducted his meetings.
He sat on a folding wooden and canvas chair. With his armour removed, he looked even weedier and younger. He wore a simple tunic with gold trim and was bathing his feet in a bowl when I was hauled into his presence.
He waved the two soldiers away. As they left, the centurion entered the tent. He’d taken off his helmet, and looked even more like a modern soldier than before. His close cropped hair was almost to his scalp. His hair was sandy coloured, another indicator of more northern European roots. He and Ed would have been drinking buddies in a different epoch.
Our eyes met and a gleam of respect seemed to flash between us. Unlike Roger, this was not a sexual thing, simply two professionals acknowledging each other.