“Which makes this mission even more important?” Plautius said, “If this fails, we could lose thousands of lives on both sides and it could go on for a long time to come, years maybe.”
“And so the plan sir?” Varro asked fully aware of the dangers of not doing anything.
Brenna answered, “We go and talk to Caratacus.”
Varro looked from her to the Governor, “We just ride into hostile territory and ask to speak to Caratacus, a man who has fought us for years, seen members of his family die, has been displaced from his own land?” He looked back to Brenna, “Well I’m glad you cleared that up.”
“I realise that it’s dangerous Centurion and I know that I’m asking you and Optio Grattius to risk your lives but we have to take this opportunity, it cannot be ignored.” Plautius said.
“How many men will I be taking?” Varro asked.
“One, you and the Optio here,” Plautius said, “to take anymore would risk provoking them and of course these two ladies.” Lita looked slightly aggravated by his words but he continued, “A small group has far more chance of slipping inside the mountains and making contact with his chieftains. Lita assures me that they are as tired of this conflict as we are so we can’t afford to miss this chance, it could bring an end to all our troubles here in Britannia.”
Chapter Thirteen
As Grattius threw his sword on the bed of their rented room later that evening, he wasn’t a happy man, “This will be the death of us you know?” He said to Varro who was unclasping his own weapon. “Even if by some miracle we can make it as far as the mountains, they’ll strip our flesh and feed us to the crows and Caratacus will eat what’s left.” He stared at his centurion, fury in his eyes, “I’d rather eat shit straight from a pig’s arse than be involved in this madness.”
Varro slumped onto his own bed, “And what would you have me do? Tell the Governor of the Roman Province of Britannia we’re not going?”
Grattius growled, “Better that than to be made into hats by the Silures warriors, gods above and below and all around, of all the things to be volunteered for, this is just madness.” He unclipped the harness on his belt holding his dagger and hurled it into the corner of the room. “I may as well take that and start carving away right now,” he looked at his thigh, “here this is probably a good place to start, plenty of meat.”
Varro smiled, “The gods haven’t been kind to us today my friend, but what can we do apart from accept our lot?”
“It’s not today I’m worried about, it’s being surrounded by thousands of hairy bastards in the future that worries me.” Grattius replied. “Is it too late to transfer back to the infantry do you think?” He asked with a sarcastic grimace on his face.
“Come on, let’s get tidied up and enjoy our last night in a civilised place, I’m paying.” Varro answered, removing his chainmail and walking to the water bowl on a table by the small window. “We’ll have some hot food and a few gallons of wine, perhaps it will help to take away the pain.”
They found a table downstairs in a corner and ordered a hot stew with plenty of wine to help wash it down. The place was just starting to fill up with traders, legionaries and a few locals, a large fire was roaring away nearby keeping the place warm.
“So do you think there’s any chance, any chance at all that Brenna and her friend will get us through this in one piece?” Grattius asked his centurion.
Varro took a swig of his wine, it was a little sour and one eye blinked shut as he swallowed, “Hardly the good stuff is it?” He said and shivered. “I don’t know and to be honest I don’t even know how much I trust her anymore after what happened.” He took another mouthful and pulled a face. “Don’t have much choice.”
“First sign of anything that even remotely makes me believe she’s going to remove my head and I’ll skewer her and her friend.” Grattius said taking a drink, “Mm not bad.” Varro frowned as his optio tipped his cup back and emptied its contents in one. “Not the worst drop of juice I’ve had.” He said and then let out a loud belch which prompted someone on the next table to turn around with a look on their face of utter disgust. “Oh and you don’t get wind I suppose?” Grattius said staring at the man who was clearly a civilian, “Here, have this one as well.” He added as he leant forward and belched even louder. “Mind your own business,” He said, “or there’ll be trouble.” The civilian turned away, muttering to his companions.
“Here,” Grattius said, “that’s an idea.” He leaned towards Varro, “We could beat the living life out of a few civilians and get locked up for a bit, that would put a stop to this stupid business eh? He poured another drink. “A few months in the stockade would be preferable to that don’t you think?”
“Mm I’m sure it would and what else would we get, busted back to legionary and sent into the mountains anyway, probably in the front ranks,” Varro replied trying some more wine, “no thank you, I’ll take my chances with Brenna first. I’m not throwing my career away anyway and it would be cowardice.”
“Who’s to know? Would you tell anyone?” He looked at Varro, “Thought not.”
“Bringing the army into disrepute, beating up civilians, the Legate would do to us what Caratacus is likely to do,” he took a drink, “this gets better,” his eye only shut a little this time. “We have to just accept what we’ve been ordered to do and get on with it my friend and besides, just think of all the tales we’ll be able to tell afterwards.”
“What with no bollocks, my head on a pole, arms and legs removed and eaten by goats, oh yes I’ll look forward to that.” Grattius said an ironic look on his face.
At that moment a girl came over carrying a large tray with two big steaming bowls on it and four bread loaves. The two soldiers moved their wine cups and flasks out of the way and she put them down.
“Will there be anything else?” She asked in good Latin.
“How about you later?” Grattius said.
“If you want whores, you go down the road and round the corner, third building on the left.” She said, “I’m here because my father owns this place not to get pox from the likes of you and your riddled maggot.”
“Ugh charming,” Grattius said dishing out two of the small loaves to Varro, “at least we know where to go later eh?”
“Erm I don’t think so, not me anyway,” Varro said, “I’m going to get this inside me,” he nodded at the stew, “attempt to drink some more of this until the shock of today begins to fade and my vision blurs and then I’m going to get some sleep. We don’t know when we’ll get another chance.”
Grattius ripped one of his loaves apart, dunked it into his stew and said, “Even more reason to wet your whistle, might never get the chance again after tonight.” He plunged the stew soaked bread into his mouth, “Mm good,” he said, as he took two chews and swallowed, “probably won’t have a whistle to wet in a few days anyway.”
Varro was woken up early the next morning just as daylight began to light up the room through the wooden shutters covering the window. At first he didn’t know where he was, then he realised he’d drunk far too much the night before and turned over intending to go back to sleep, and then he heard Grattius straining. He opened his eyes to find a naked optio sat on a pot against the wall.
“Oh good! What a sight first thing.” He muttered and closed his eyes again.
“You should have come last night, you missed out there. Really classy some of those girls were, knew what they were doing n’all, if you get my meaning….” Grattius said as his words were cut off by a large blast of wind.
Varro buried his face in the pillow, “Why me?” but it didn’t stop the sound, akin to thunder, from preventing him from going back to sleep again, not that Grattius would stop talking.
“Should’ve asked the Governor to let us grow our hair and beards for a few weeks, you know, help us blend in with the stinkies.” He said.
Varro spoke into his pillow, “I think you’ll do just fine as you are.”