The three moved together back down the darkened gorge like a cat on a hunt, quick and intent. Glam, for all his size, was as surefooted as a mountain goat. And the girl had been born to these parts. Casca was the one who stumbled a couple of times; he swore under his breath each time, until the girl told him to shush. Chastened, he obeyed. Whoever got this one for a wife was in for a rough time. He grinned at the thought that maybe the worst punishment possible for the man who raped her might have been to make him marry her in accordance with the laws of the tribes. That would really have taught him a lesson. Nothing quick like having your neck snapped, but the long, lingering agony of a nagging wife's tongue.
The Quadii had made camp in a rough circle in a sheltered area surrounded by large boulders about sixty feet across. The male slaves were kept together under the watchful eye of three guards. The rest of the perimeter was walked by another four. Casca removed his sword belt and scabbard and carefully laid them on the ground. He didn't want to take any chance on anything making noise. He kept his sword in his right hand, ready for use.
Glam held his axe close to his side. The moonless night gave them good cover as they crept and crab-crawled closer to the camp. The only light came from a smoldering fire in the center. Casca tried to make sure the leader was bedded down, but no luck. In the dark there was no way to make out one hairy mass from another.
The girl stayed close behind them carrying the bag of stakes. Making their way around the edge of the surrounding boulders, they came down on the side where the male captives were kept. The women had been separated from them and were being kept on the other side of the fire with the children. Inch by inch they moved in, slowly, carefully, reaching the side of the boulders nearest the prisoners. Casca removed his helmet and set it aside. He whispered to Glam and the girl. They nodded agreement and he lay back on his belly. The feel of the damp grass was cool, soaking through his robes. He crawled, keeping his body as close to the rocks as possible, one yard, then another.
The prisoners were darkened masses lying together in huddled clumps. Casca watched the guards. When they turned to walk away, he rolled silently into the body of the male captives, becoming one with the dark. He moved close to a young man, who grumbled in his fitful sleep at the movement. His eyes jerked open with a terrified snap when a strong hand clamped over his mouth and held him still. A strange voice whispering in his ear quieted him. He nodded his head under the restraining hand and he was released. A gentle tugging at his bonds and his wrists were cut free. He didn't move. He just lay in the same position and bumped his head against his neighbor until the man woke, protesting. A few soft, quick words and he too was silent while another body moved close to him to free his hands and press a short knife into them. Moving as if still asleep, he twisted and cut his feet free. The two prisoners, obeying the stranger's orders, each woke the man next to him, spoke, then freed him, passing him a knife to do the same to his neighbor, until all six were free. They waited, keeping their same positions, lying as still as possible. Being this close to freedom, it was hard not to break and run.
Casca took his bundle of stakes out of his robes and handed them over to be passed around to the men. While he was doing this, the same action had been repeated on the women's side of the camp by the girl. The prisoners were free. Now they had to take out the sentries. Casca whispered in the ear of the young man he had just freed. He knew the youngster was grinning, even though it was too dark to see his face.
Casca snapped his fingers twice. The sound brought Glam to a standing position behind the boulder; it also brought two of the guards closer. They weren't suspicious, only curious. These two would be Casca's and the youngster's meat tonight. Glam was already moving around the other side of the boulder to take out the remaining sentry. A distant, wet thump told Casca that Glam had reached his target and the axe had fallen.
Glam held the man's body up so it wouldn't make any sound falling. He dragged it back into the shadows and quickly stepped out to take his place, careful to stay in the shadows away from the fire so that his face and size wouldn't give him away. The dull sound of their comrade dying turned the other two around in their tracks. Hesitant and uneasy, they fingered their weapons. One called out softly, "Madorg, you all right?" The figure in the shadows raised an arm with Madorg's spear in it and waved back. They both sighed, tension released, and began to walk their rounds again.
Casca nudged the young man next to him and slowly turned onto his belly. Gathering his legs under him, he held the short sword to the ground where it couldn't be seen and slowly raised himself from the earth as the two guards turned their backs to the captives and began to walk back toward the other side. The youngster did likewise. The others kept their positions. Taking a deep breath, Casca moved on the nearest man. One knotted, muscled arm went around the raider's throat, cutting off any cry as the broad blade of the short sword penetrated his back on the right side of the spine. Angled up, it crossed over and severed organs until it reached the heart, nearly cutting it in half.
The youngster had moved, too. He had his man on the ground, the short blade of the knife buried in his back and a hand over his mouth. He was trying to keep him still. The son of a bitch would not die. The youngster struck again and again, driving the knife in, but his man kept fighting, trying to get the hand away from his mouth. He succeeded in sinking his teeth into the youngster's hand and bit down, trying to chew clear through to the bone. His efforts were terminated when Glam's axe took the back of his skull off.
The rustling of the dying guard woke one of his comrades, who was a light sleeper. The man called out, asking if everything was all right. Glam spoke in a stage whisper, "Shut up and go back to sleep." The warrior rolled, mumbling about Madorg being a grouchy son of a bitch, and went back to sleep.
On the women's side, the girl was waiting… Casca made his way back around the perimeter until he was just behind the boulders where the women were kept. He snapped his fingers twice and the girl was ready to do her part. She and three others would take out their guards in a way that women knew best. She gave the signal and she and the three women she had chosen quickly removed their clothing, and, nude, lay down on the ground on their backs.
When the guards turned, they saw the young women lying there, their breasts and thighs glowing in the light of the campfire. The warriors gaped, openmouthed. This was something new! Rape they were familiar with, but not this! How the women had freed themselves of their bonds never entered their minds. All they could see were the young women running their hands over their naked bodies, moaning softly, opening their legs and squirming at their feet.
Stupefied, the guards each went to the girl nearest him; eyes wide in dirty bearded faces, they lay their weapons aside to remove their pants. The girls whispered to them to be silent so as not to wake the others. Grunting, the guards removed their pants and fell into the waiting arms of the girls. They were moaning and giggling softly, which the guards mistook for pleasure.
The warriors began to work, their minds on nothing but the sweet woman flesh writhing in mock pleasure beneath them. They were still involved when they died. When the girls, still lying on their backs, looked up and saw Casca and Glam standing over them, accompanied by two men from their village, they smiled and struck out with the sharpened stakes that they had been lying on. As they struck, so did the men. Axes and knives quickly finished off the four guards. The women enjoyed the death tremors of their savage lovers and held them near until it ceased. Then they rolled out from beneath the dead men and spat in their faces. Casca was right. There was nothing like the hatred of a woman.
The other women, all freed now, rose from the ground to join their sisters. The steel weapons of the guards were distributed among the men, and sharpened stakes given to each of the other women after they'd undressed.
In spite of the night chill, all felt a warmth in their bellies. The men moved back into the shadows spreading out around the camp. Casca asked one of them where the headman of the raiders slept. A pointing finger showed where the man with the horned helmet lay under a skin shelter, alone.
Casca moved near, standing directly behind the headman's sleeping place. The women waited until they saw his sword flash gold in the light of the campfire as he waved a signal. Then they moved. Each one crept silently until she had reached her objective; then each lay down beside the sleeping man. Quietly, easily, their mouths silenced any protest from those who woke at the feel of a naked body lying next to them. When they were all in place, Casca filled his lungs and yelled, his voice echoing across the valley, "Kill!"
And, kill they did! Wooden stakes struck deep into stomachs and hearts. The freed men finished off the few that managed to escape the wrath of the women. Grim butchers! Work was done this night.
The headman rolled out of his shelter, instantly alert, weapon ready. He gaped for a moment at the sight of the women killing his men, then roared in anger and lurched forth, long sword swinging. His sword hand was stopped in midair as Casca moved quickly behind him and grabbed his wrist. Swinging the barbarian around, Casca grinned a look of killing and spat, "Sing your death song, hero." He drove his short sword into the man's gut, angling the blade up. He struck so hard that he raised the man clear off his feet. Grabbing the man by the hair, he forced him to his knees and moved his sword hand down. Drawing the blade out in a long, smooth slice, he opened the chieftain's stomach from chest to groin letting the hot, steaming intestines fall in a convoluted mass, wet and quivering, to the ground.
The chieftain never had a chance to sing his death song. His mouth had filled with his own blood before he could open it.
Several of the raiders had not yet died and their former slaves were in no hurry to put them in that blessed state. The women gathered around them, dragging them nearer to the campfire.
Casca knew what was going to happen next. Even he, with all the fighting he had been in and the slaughter he had seen, had no stomach for what lay in store for the raiders. But this was their way, and the only way he could have stopped it was to kill the women. Besides, they had earned the right to return the pain and humiliation they had suffered to those they now held down beside the fire.
Casca moved away into the shadows to wait until it was over. He knew that it would be several hours before the last wet, gurgling screams stopped.
The women went to work. With sharpened stakes and blades heated to red-hot over the fire's coals, they cut and they sliced, taking their time, making sure their victims would feel every second of agony before they died.
It was dawn before the last raider was permitted to die. He didn't scream. His mouth had been filled, first with red-hot coals and then with his own testicles shoved down his throat until he strangled.
The women were through. They sat, tired, haggard, their bloody hair in knots, their faces drained.
It was over!
Casca and Glam left the women and their men to return to what was left of their village. Several of the women had offered themselves to the two, but after seeing how their last lovemaking had ended, not even Glam had any desire for a quickie with the still bloody-handed maidens.
They were content to take what they wanted from the bodies and baggage of the Quadii and leave the rest for the villagers. What they took were the easy-to-carry items, and that wasn't much, plus a few pieces of well-worn small coins of gold and silver to help see them through the season.
Both of them were glad to leave behind this last bit of gruesome business. They had no sympathy for the women's victims, but even so, it was still a little hard to warm up to a girl who had just cut off and shoved a man's family jewels down his throat.
A quick farewell and they headed over the pass, taking the same route the raiders would have. Any direction was better than none.
For the rest of the warm months they wandered from one tribal ground to the next, and Casca marveled at the vast expanses they'd covered where no man had ever seen a Roman. The tribes numbered men in masses too great to count. He believed the women of Germania didn't give birth to one child at a time; they had litters instead.
From others, they heard of the migration of a tribe of fierce warriors from Scandia. For years now they had been moving to the warmer regions south of them-a trickle at first, then a flood that would soon reach the boundaries of Rome. Casca wondered what would be the result when Rome met the tribes of the Goths in their full strength and numbers.
They went as far east as the northern border of Pannonia, crossed the river Danube, and spent a couple of pleasant weeks in the fleshpots of Vienne, enjoying the comforts of a city somewhat civilized by the Romans, who garrisoned the frontier along the Danube. From there, before the winter caught them, they moved back to the east along the banks of the river. For a time they detoured from the river to travel through the high mountains with their lofty summits of eternal snow, down through deep, green valleys where a man's whisper could be heard echoing a dozen times until it finally faded in the clear mountain air.
But they didn't want to stay in these high, beautiful mountains for long. If winter found them there, they wouldn't be able to get out until the next year's thaw opened up the passes. They moved on. The journey from the place of the slaughter of the Quadii raiders was one huge horseshoe that brought them back near the Rhine and the edges of the Hyrcanian forests. They were near the city of Colonia Agrippina on the Rhine, across the river from the lands of Tencteri, when the first snows came. Large flat flakes fell gently from the sky-one, then another, gradually increasing until the men were blinded by the brilliance of a blanket of pure white snow.
They kept to the German side of the Rhine until they reached the bank opposite Vetera, the last major Roman town before the Rhine emptied into the sea. Even now, large chunks of ice could be seen drifting with the current toward the greater waters separating Britannia from the continent.
After a certain degree of haggling they found a fisherman that agreed to ferry them across the river. There was nothing on the German side to make them want to stay. There were a few homesteads and trading posts, but there were still too many members of hostile tribes around. Casca had decided that if they were going to get any rest or supplies they had better try to do it on the Roman side of the river.
By the time they reached midstream, a full winter storm was on them. Raging, gusting winds tried to turn the shallow boat over and dump its passengers into the frozen flow. But the captain of the small boat knew his craft, and without much anxiety, though his passengers were definitely uneasy, he beached his craft on the Roman side, took his pay in the form of two small pieces of silver and one of copper, and hurriedly left, heading back for the German side of the Rhine.
Casca and Glam hauled their belongings onto their shoulders and walked through deserted dirt streets, now frozen hard from winter. The blasting winter wind and whipping snow pushed them along. Anyone with any sense at all was inside out of the cold. But they had no choice. They wandered for a while through the streets, leaving their footprints behind them in the new ice crust until Glam raised his nose like a hunting hound and said in a reverent voice, as he sniffed the air, "Beer. I smell beer and roasting meat."
Casca raised his nose to do as Glam had and all he got was a nose full of falling snow, which made him sneeze.
Glam clucked at Casca's obvious disability and deficiency in the olfactory senses and led the way unerringly to a wooden door. "This is it," he informed his companion.