Now I took aim at the impudent bottomcheeks on the far end and swung.
“Thwap!” The wooden blade struck the jutting mounds-not hard, but decisively, for I never took Kimar’s “punishments” too seriously. I had no wish to hurt the girl, but only to leave her with a sharp reminder that would have her sitting down most gingerly for several days. The slave girl screeched her outrage into the gag at the sudden shock of the solid impact. I heard a duller thud come from immediately behind me. Kimar had found the range on a girl whose big, curvaceous buttocks had clearly attracted him-a most generous ass that I knew would give him the greatest of pleasure as each solid impact was followed by a keening yelp.
The resounding blows rang out repeatedly, punctuated by the muffled cries, as the two paddles came swinging down to flatten the sets of twin mounds, the first smack followed rapidly by another as we alternated between our dual targets. I watched the way the resilient mounds of the fuller ass bounced back, rebounding nicely at each swiftly delivered slap. And I saw the blade bite deeply into the hard little ass that waited anxiously on the end.
“Thwap… Thwap!… Thwap!… Thwap!” The whipping paddle repeatedly assaulted the solid impudent ass, sending the small mounds wobbling.
“Thwap!… Thwap!… Thwap!… Thwap!” The blade smacked the lush soft mounds, making them quiver wildly.
Thus we paddled the slave girls, lightly but methodically, using a series of rapid-fire shots that had the slaves mewing urgently into their gags. Their muted cries rose in syncopated rhythm with the crisp smacks, resulting in a regular cacophony that filled our tent.
Chapter Eight. The Eagle Turns To The North
Late that summer, ominous reports began to reach our ears of stirrings among the barbarous tribes of the North. Teuton raids on the slave caravans were increasing. Tax officials had been set upon, and now those worthies were refusing to visit the villages without an armed escort. The more civilized tribes were being threatened by the wild men from the North, who promised that the peaceful tribes would pay a heavy price for cooperating with their Roman overlords. The situation got so bad that it was no longer possible for us to remain idly sitting by, so I was not surprised when our orders came from Rome. The legion was to take to the field!
I was not looking forward to the hardship of a campaign after the long, leisurely days spent so pleasantly at Bernesium. It now seemed inconceivable to me that at some remote time, far away in the safety and comfort of Rome, a young lieutenant had actually complained of boredom and yearned for martial glory. Now, facing the imminent prospect of confronting the dreaded Northmen, I felt far less enthusiastic. Still, a Roman soldier must do his duty, so I ordered preparations be made for our first sally from the comforting security of our cozy, well-fortified home.
We hoisted the eagle and, with banners flying, we set off heading north; first to the farthest rim of outposts, and then beyond, to enter into the deep, forbidding forests. It was dark and gloomy under the huge trees, and the men trudged on in eerie silence. My horse seemed unusually nervous, twitching and snorting as if he sensed the danger that was all around us.
Less than a day’s march into the forest, our column was attacked.
The raid was sudden: a fierce, brief attack that came upon us in a flash as we were making our way patiently along the floor of a shallow valley. A piercing, bloodcurdling scream rang out, and we looked up to see a band of raging pale giants racing down the hillside through the trees, blond hair flying wildly as they flourished the axes and the heavy clubs these savages preferred as weapons. We barely had time to draw our swords and fall automatically into the defensive turtle, shields interlocked. Standing firm, we prepared to meet stoutly the pell-mell charge of the fierce barbarians.
In an instant their charge broke over the wall of shields, and they were upon us. The fight was fast and furious, a wild melee of war clubs thudding down on bending shields, and Roman broadswords slashing out at the barbarians’ flailing limbs. After only a few minutes of vicious fighting, the Teuton leader cried out, and the band fell back, melting away to disappear back into their forest haunts.
It had not been a very determined assault-more of a skirmish, really-one that didn’t appear to be well planned, but broke upon us helter-skelter. Perhaps a small raiding party had seen our column and decided to bloody a Roman nose or two before scampering off; or maybe they’d been sent to find us, to feel us out and test our strength, to see what Rome had sent against them. We bound our wounds and rested. And then we moved on.
The next day, our scouts reported smoke coming from a valley up ahead. As we crested the hill, we looked down on the smoldering ruins of a devastated village. The few dazed survivors who crawled from the woods when they saw the Roman standard told the tale of the vengeance of a mighty Teuton chieftain named Unix, who had demanded tribute and wreaked havoc on the village when they were unable to pay, slaying the men, burning their huts, and taking their women.
In broken Latin, one of the survivors assured us that he knew where Unix had made his camp, and he offered to lead us there. I talked it over with Sergeant Metellus and we agreed that the man seemed trustworthy enough. Moreover, it was obvious that we would have to come to terms with this Unix eventually if we were to subdue his revolt, so we decided to lay plans for an attack. We would move quickly but cautiously, throwing our scouts before us and stealing toward the barbarian encampment, hoping that the element of surprise might be on our side this time.
We marched that day and well into the night. Sometime after noon on the second day, our guide cautioned us to move more quietly as we were getting closer to the enemy camp. I had the men wait while the sergeant and I accompanied our guide, scrambling through a narrow defile and onto a rocky ledge that looked down on the sprawling enemy camp. We crept up behind some rocks and raised our heads cautiously.
The scene below was peaceful. Campfires were burning; blonde women clustered about them while children played at a stream nearby. At one end of the camp, there were carts piled high with loot, and a band of defeated captives sat dejectedly, heads hung low, guarded by a single warrior. Probably taken in some recent raid, these hapless men and women were now the slaves of this upstart and his men. We noticed that they had the same crude dress and blond complexion as their captors. Unix was obviously making war on other Germanic tribes as he struggled to establish his supremacy over them. We counted several dozen warriors, most of them unarmed, although their arms were stacked nearby. These fighting men were not deployed for defense. Here and there an occasional guard had been posted, but the camp was clearly not on alert.
It seemed inconceivable to me; the gods must be with us! Surely by now the raiding party must have warned them of the presence of a Roman column in their own backyard, but there was a curious air of lax tranquility about the barbarian encampment It was as though they were oblivious to any danger; or perhaps they were so confident of their strength that they had become arrogant, rashly disregarding any warnings they may have had.
We stole back to where my men waited hidden behind the rocks and planned our attack Because the camp lay in the middle of a large plain, we would be seen as soon as we emerged from the rocks, thus giving our enemy plenty of time to spread the alarm and grab their weapons. Therefore, we would split our force.
I would lead a contingent down the defile, tumbling across the plain, brandishing our swords, shouting and charging with a great clamor. As soon as the Teuton warriors rushed onto the field to meet us, we would turn, as though in sudden panic, and flee back toward the rocks. Once we had the overconfident enemy strung out and racing eagerly across the plain, we would stop suddenly and turn on them, while at that moment Sergeant Metellus, leading the main body of our men, would fall on them from their flank The maneuver took disciplined timing, but my troops had practiced it many times, and they knew what to do.