Britannia 64 AD
The first couple of weeks had been difficult for the fugitives. They had travelled by night, heading westwards away from the coast, avoiding any contact with locals and the occasional Roman patrols. The ship’s Captain had given them what dried meat, he could spare but it wasn’t much and they had to supplement what they had with roots and berries wherever they could.
Eventually, however, the food inevitably ran out, and in desperation they had to risk interacting with the locals. By carefully selecting their targets and with Dragus’s basic knowledge of the language, they somehow managed to scrape through, but eventually, Rose approached him with a look of concern on her face.
‘Centurion, I would speak with you,’ she said.
Dragus opened his eyes and looked up at her. He was sat with his back against a tree, one of many temporary resting places they had been forced to take as they struggled through the never ending forest. The fact that they were avoiding the main tracks meant that it was much harder going and the effort was taking its toll on the women. This was the third break since morning and the sun was still not yet halfway through its journey.
‘How is she?’ asked Dragus, nodding towards the resting figure of Rubria who was sat on the banks of a small stream, bathing her sore feet.
‘Not good,’ she said, ‘We really need to find somewhere a bit more permanent so she can rest properly.’
‘I know,’ said Brandon with a sigh, ‘Another few weeks and we will be in the lands of the Atrebates. They are known to be a friendly people and welcome strangers to their midst.’
‘We cannot wait a few weeks,’ said Rose, ‘We have to find somewhere soon or I fear the worst.’
‘Surely it’s not that bad,’ said Dragus, ‘I know there is little food but we are not doing badly.’ He looked over towards Rubria. ‘I’m afraid her beauty and frailty comes at a price. Her hands were not designed to fend off the thorns of the forest, and blisters are a curse she was never intended to bear.’
‘You underestimate her,’ said Rose, ‘I have not heard one complaint escape her lips yet I know she is exhausted.’
‘We will take more rests,’ said Dragus, ‘Give her chance to regain her strength.’
‘Another few weeks and we will be relatively safe.’
‘We don’t have the time,’ she interrupted, ‘We have to find somewhere soon.’
‘That is not an option…’ started Dragus.
‘Dragus, for the love of Vesta, will you listen to me?’ she hissed, ‘She is with child!’
‘What?’ said Dragus, ‘That is impossible.’
Rose glanced over at Rubria before continuing.
‘I have seen this a hundred times, and she has all the signs.’
‘She can’t be,’ said Dragus,’ She is a Priestess of the Goddess Vesta, one of her Holy Virgins. They are betrothed to the order for thirty years. Surely she would not have broken her oath so easily.’
‘Not by choice,’ said Rose, ‘Don’t forget what she suffered at the hand of our illustrious leader.’
Dragus looked over towards Rubria.
‘Has she discussed this with you?’ he asked eventually.
‘Discussed it?’ said Rose gently, Dragus, the Priestess is so innocent, I don’t think she even knows she is pregnant.’
They both looked at the Priestess, leaning back on her elbows as she dangled her feet in the cool stream. Her head tilted back to face the sky, drinking in a sunbeam that managed to break through the foliage and her eyes closed for a few seconds, enjoying the rare feeling of warmth on her skin.
Dragus took in the detail with growing concern. He had been so wrapped up in getting them safely to their destination he had not noticed the deterioration in the Priestess. Her once long golden hair was tangled and her face was smeared with stains of sweat and grime. Her clothes were torn and her face was gaunt. As he watched he saw her brow furrow slightly and her hand went unconsciously to her stomach, reacting to an unfamiliar feeling within.
‘By the gods, Rose,’ said Dragus, quietly, ‘What have I done?’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Rose, ‘This is not you’re fault.’
‘But it is,’ said Dragus, ‘I have been so engrossed in my own little adventure I have neglected that which I hold most dearly.’
‘Don’t be so hard on yourself,’ said Rose. ‘It is not too late but we do need to find somewhere soon.’
‘Agreed,’ said Dragus eventually. ‘We will make a camp here. There is water and some food. If you’re careful, it should last a few days. I should be back by then.’
‘Where are you going?’ asked Rose.
‘To bring this to an end,’ said Dragus. ‘You are safe enough here, but if I am not back in three days, head east towards the morning sun. You will eventually come across one of our roads. Make your way to Londinium and take your chances there.’
‘Dragus,’ said Rose…
‘Enough!’ said Dragus, ‘You will do as I say. I have brought this on and I will resolve the matter.’
‘But can’t we all go together and just stop at the nearest village?’ she asked.
‘Not as simple as that,’ he answered, ‘Trust me, I know how these people work. You stay here and I promise I will return, now, help me make a shelter. The sooner I get started the sooner I will return.’
They got up together and as Dragus gathered the saplings and bracken he needed to make a shelter, Rose explained the situation to Rubria, blaming an imaginary foot injury as an excuse why they couldn’t go on any further.
‘Take care, Dragus,’ said Rubria when he was ready to leave.
‘I’ll be fine,’ said Dragus, ‘You just look after Rose.’
‘I will,’ she said and the two women watched as he disappeared into the gloom of the forest.
For a day and a half he struggled through the forest, the hunger gnawing at him like a rabid dog, Finally he saw signs of life and he followed the track to a village situated at the edge of a small river. He hid in the undergrowth for a few hours, watching the day to day life unfold, gleaning an understanding of the type of village it was. If it was warlike, then he would have to bypass it as the fact he was Roman meant he wouldn’t last a few minutes, but seeing no signs of militia, he finally stood up and walked in, making his way to central hut, where he knew he would find the Chieftain. A group of curious children gathered around him as he walked, and the commotion brought interested people from the surrounding huts.
Finally he stood outside the largest hut and a young man came out to greet him.
‘State your business, stranger,’ he said.
The five years Dragus had spent in Britannia meant he spoke some of the language.
‘I would speak to your Chieftain,’ he said.
‘You can speak with me,’ said the man, ‘I am his son.’
‘Bring him in,’ coughed a voice from within the hut and after hesitating a few more moments, the boy stood aside to let Dragus enter the hut. As soon as his eyes became accustomed to the gloom, he saw an old man wrapped in furs, tended by a young girl.
‘Greetings, Chief,’ said Dragus.
The old man nodded in return.
‘I am Dragus,’ said the Centurion, ‘What house do I have the honour of addressing?’
‘I am Blackthorn,’ said the man, ‘Chieftain of the Horse clan of the Atrebates State your business, Dragus.’
‘Blackthorn,’ said Dragus, I find myself on a great undertaking. One which has come from the Goddess Vesta herself.’
‘I have heard of the cult of Vesta,’ said Blackthorn, ‘She holds no sway here for she is a Roman God.’
‘Many Romans worship her it is true,’ he answered, ‘Including myself, but her aura graces many different tribes across the world, She is the Goddess of all hearths and smiles on those who nurture the family, sharing her bounty with those who pay her homage.’
‘Your devotion to your Goddess is admirable,’ said Blackthorn, ‘But if you seek tribute you have had a wasted journey. We have nothing of value here. Your legions took all that we held dear.’
Dragus thought quickly. He knew what the legions were capable of. He himself had taken part in the decimation of many such villages in the past.
‘I feel your pain, Blackthorn, ’he said eventually, ‘And I can only say the Gods will judge the acts of my countrymen in the afterlife.’
‘I carry a great secret that I have shared with no living man. Within your own lands, less than a days ride away, one of the Goddess’s high Priestesses and her servant lie close to death. I ask for shelter and succour for them both to recover their strength.’
‘What concern do I have for the death of another woman,’ he asked, ‘Many of our own women have died since the Romans came.’
‘Because the Priestess carries the child of Vesta said Dragus, ‘A child fathered by no man.’
‘That cannot be,’ said Blackthorn.
‘Yet it is so. She is one of the Emperors Vestal Virgins and has lain with no man.’
‘And you know this to be true?’
‘Upon my oath,’ said Dragus.
Blackthorn stared at him for a long time.
‘Why don’t you seek the shelter of your own people, Roman? There are settlements less than three days ride away.’
‘We can’t do that,’ said Dragus, ‘If our presence here is discovered we will be carted back to Rome in chains.’
‘There is probably a price on your head, Roman. What is to stop me betraying you to you countrymen and claiming the coin?’
‘Nothing!’ said Dragus, ‘But your tribe is renowned for its hospitality to travellers. I would suspect the great chief Blackthorn would not break his own people’s tradition.’
‘You are correct, Roman,’ he said, ‘But do not deem to use this against us. Our hearths are offered to travellers born of these lands, not invaders or those who would abuse our hospitality. Your people invade our lands, killing thousands. They rape our women and take our young into slavery. We are taxed more than we can bear to make you Emperor rich and are forced to kiss their collective arse just to be allowed to live in our own ancestral lands. Yet you walk in here as brazen as a camp whore and ask us to help you. I could have you killed within a few heartbeats and no one would know any difference.’
‘Blackthorn, all I can say is that this woman needs your help. I understand you may have a problem with me, but I plead with you, do not take out your frustration on her. She is not responsible for this situation. At least give her and her slave succour. If my presence offends then I will take my chances with the wild things of the forest.’
Blackthorn stood up and walked around him, looking at his dishevelled appearance.
‘We don’t have much here, Roman,’ he said, ‘We live hand to mouth and struggle to feed our own people. How can we feed three more mouths?’
‘I am strong and can work to support the three of us,’ said Dragus. ‘All we ask is shelter and a chance to contribute until the birth of the child. As soon as the mother regains her strength, we will move on.’
Again Blackthorn fell silent, taking in all Dragus had said.
‘Your story intrigues me, Roman,’ he said, ‘Bring your Priestess to my hut so I can gaze upon her. If my eyes tell me she has the aura of a Goddess then I will grant your request. However, if I feel you employ falsehoods as allies, then your heads will hang from my saddle by dawn.’ He stared at Dragus. ‘Life is hard in Britannia, Roman,’ he said, If you want to live in our world then this is how it will be.’
Dragus stared back at the chief for a long time, the implications spinning around his mind. If he agreed he would be putting all their lives on the line but no matter which way he looked at it, he knew he had no option. The food was all but gone, the weather was turning, there was a baby on the way and they were on the run from a madman who commanded the greatest army in the world. There was no choice, this village and the protection of Blackthorn was their only hope.
‘So be it,’ he said eventually, ‘I will return to Priestess and bring her back here by midday tomorrow.’
‘First you will eat,’ said Blackthorn, nodding an unspoken instruction to an old woman in the corner. ‘Two of my men will accompany you with spare horses. We will have them back here by nightfall.’ The old woman brought some warm bread and Dragus took it gratefully.
‘You have my gratitude, Blackthorn, ‘said Dragus, ‘And will have the blessing of Vesta herself.’
‘We will see, Roman,’ said Blackthorn, ‘We will see.’