In Britannia Salutem
- Thread starter Lindseyman
- Start date
-
- Tags
- 5th century aetius arthur
475 AD
Viroconium
The meeting at Viroconium that year was dominated by three things. The first was a realisation that the Cult of Morrigan was growing in ambition. However nobody could work out what they hoped to achieve.
“Petronius had obviously crossed them in some way” noted Artos
“However apart from being associated with a couple of murders in my Lordship, neither of which have any obvious connections with either each other or with Petronius. They seem to have been quiet elsewhere”
“Except” started Pelias of Deva.
Artos looked at him
“What is it cousin?”
“My patrols have found several of the old shrines have been repaired and are now being maintained. The locals are being very close mouthed about it. Not exactly frightened but unwilling to say too much.”
There was much nodding amongst the other Lords especially those in the west of the island.
“Sa, it is the same in my lands” reported Emrys of Arfon
“And mine as well” added Pascent of the Silures.
Ida stirred
“I would have said that it was just in those lands least affected by the Romans but for the fact that my patrols have found similar recently maintained shrines in my lands south east of Caer Lind.”
He shrugged
“Those are the areas with the biggest remaining Coritani population.”
Uffa who was representing his father Rodmunt then piped up
“There are similar shrines to be found in those areas where the Iceni still live.”
Ethelric of Deira smiled
“I would have said that there were none in my lands but there have been some strange rumours from those areas nearest the Brigantes so I will send patrols myself after this meeting.”
Ida looked at Drustan and Virianus
“Your lands My Lords?”
Drustan shrugged
“In the lands closest to Deira we have found one shrine but no more as of yet”
“None that have any association with Morrigan but a shrine to Belatucadros was repaired on a small island in the small lake to the north of Galava” added Virianus.
“Who?” asked Ida.
“Belatucadros, an old local war god” replied Virianus.
Constantine of Dumnonia who was representing his father Cador who had been injured whilst repelling one of the now very rare Hibernian raids despite his age, looked up
“Interesting, there are rumours from Kernow as well. I shall suggest to Father that they need further investigation”
“I suggest that we keep a close eye on this” suggested Medraut.
“There is something brewing but what and why is still a mystery it would appear.”
The second thing was the news that the Eastern Empire had indeed fallen into a three way civil war.
“They are very lucky that Peroz is still dealing with the Hepthalites” stated Artos
“Or he would be interfering”
“That plus there does seem to be rising tensions between the followers of Zoroaster and those who call themselves Christian despite their heresy” added Eucherius, the Bishop of Eboracum.
“Well as we have said before we can do nothing about it but wait and see what happens” noted Ida.
The rest of the meeting was taken up with discussions about trade and the harvest that year. Just as the meeting was drawing to a close a messenger came and whispered something in Constantine’s and then Ida’s ears. Ida immediately stood up
“My Lords I have distressing news. Cador of Dumnonia has died”
The meeting at Viroconium that year was dominated by three things. The first was a realisation that the Cult of Morrigan was growing in ambition. However nobody could work out what they hoped to achieve.
“Petronius had obviously crossed them in some way” noted Artos
“However apart from being associated with a couple of murders in my Lordship, neither of which have any obvious connections with either each other or with Petronius. They seem to have been quiet elsewhere”
“Except” started Pelias of Deva.
Artos looked at him
“What is it cousin?”
“My patrols have found several of the old shrines have been repaired and are now being maintained. The locals are being very close mouthed about it. Not exactly frightened but unwilling to say too much.”
There was much nodding amongst the other Lords especially those in the west of the island.
“Sa, it is the same in my lands” reported Emrys of Arfon
“And mine as well” added Pascent of the Silures.
Ida stirred
“I would have said that it was just in those lands least affected by the Romans but for the fact that my patrols have found similar recently maintained shrines in my lands south east of Caer Lind.”
He shrugged
“Those are the areas with the biggest remaining Coritani population.”
Uffa who was representing his father Rodmunt then piped up
“There are similar shrines to be found in those areas where the Iceni still live.”
Ethelric of Deira smiled
“I would have said that there were none in my lands but there have been some strange rumours from those areas nearest the Brigantes so I will send patrols myself after this meeting.”
Ida looked at Drustan and Virianus
“Your lands My Lords?”
Drustan shrugged
“In the lands closest to Deira we have found one shrine but no more as of yet”
“None that have any association with Morrigan but a shrine to Belatucadros was repaired on a small island in the small lake to the north of Galava” added Virianus.
“Who?” asked Ida.
“Belatucadros, an old local war god” replied Virianus.
Constantine of Dumnonia who was representing his father Cador who had been injured whilst repelling one of the now very rare Hibernian raids despite his age, looked up
“Interesting, there are rumours from Kernow as well. I shall suggest to Father that they need further investigation”
“I suggest that we keep a close eye on this” suggested Medraut.
“There is something brewing but what and why is still a mystery it would appear.”
The second thing was the news that the Eastern Empire had indeed fallen into a three way civil war.
“They are very lucky that Peroz is still dealing with the Hepthalites” stated Artos
“Or he would be interfering”
“That plus there does seem to be rising tensions between the followers of Zoroaster and those who call themselves Christian despite their heresy” added Eucherius, the Bishop of Eboracum.
“Well as we have said before we can do nothing about it but wait and see what happens” noted Ida.
The rest of the meeting was taken up with discussions about trade and the harvest that year. Just as the meeting was drawing to a close a messenger came and whispered something in Constantine’s and then Ida’s ears. Ida immediately stood up
“My Lords I have distressing news. Cador of Dumnonia has died”
475 AD
Words not coming at the moment
So here is a map of the area around Caer Ebrauc in 475AD.
So here is a map of the area around Caer Ebrauc in 475AD.
476 AD
Artos walked through the barracks in Venta. People took one look at his face and gave him a wide berth. He was in a foul mood. He had had another argument with Findabair over Amhar. They had become more frequent since Cador’s funeral. She was insisting that as his son and heir he should be given a command in the army. Artos had refused saying that Amhar would have to learn his trade the hard way, as he had done, first serving in the ranks so that he could understand the basics of soldiering and only then be given commands commensurate with his ability.
Findabair had just not understood and nothing Artos could say would make her understand. In the end he had just left the room as he could feel that his temper was reaching breaking point.
Damn the woman! First the nonsense about becoming High King and now Amhar should be given preferential treatment just because of whose son he happened to be! He loved her with a passion and knew that she loved him equally passionately in return but they kept having clashes between their respective upbringings. His has been as Roman as Ambrosius could make it in the circumstances of the time whilst Findabair had been brought up as the daughter of the most powerful Lord on Monoida and would have been the wife of that Lord’s successor if he hadn’t been killed in a Hibernian raid. That meant that they had very different expectations when it came to Amhar’s upbringing.
As he walked his temper subsided and he began to think. There had to be a middle way which would satisfy both of them. He went into the stables and began to check on his horses. Bedwyr came and found him.
“I thought that you would be here.”
Artos smiled wryly
“I needed space and time to myself”
“Another argument”
Artos nodded
“Over Amhar”
Bedwyr sighed
“Let me guess. You want him to learn the ropes in the ranks and she thinks that that is beneath his position as your son.”
Artos nodded
“He can’t be mollycoddled just because he will become Lord of my lands after my death. He needs to learn that the position carries responsibilities to others and what those responsibilities can entail!”
“Make him your armour bearer”
“What?”
“You heard me, make him your armour bearer. Julian is ready to be moved on.”
“He’s only just started!”
Bedwyr sighed
“He’s been your armour bearer for three years now!”
“It doesn’t seem that long!”
Artos paused
“That’s actually a good idea. I keep a close eye on him which will please Findabair.”
Bedwyr nodded
“The role will harden him up. It’s no bed of roses being an armour bearer, especially yours!”
“I don’t know what you mean”
Bedwyr grinned
“Yes you do. Julian used to complain bitterly about your expectations but interestingly enough he doesn’t now. Think about the positions that your others have now reached.”
“They deserved them”
“Sa, but did you think so when they started?”
Artos grinned
“Na, they were always wet behind the ears and slow. However they do seem to have all become good leaders.”
“So?”
Artos sighed
“I’ll go and see Findabair and tell her”
“Let her think that it is her idea. Suggest something that she thinks worse such as sending him to Virianus to command on the wall and be persuaded to have him as your armour bearer.”
“What if she agrees to send him to the wall?”
Bedwyr just looked at him, Artos shrugged.
“True”
He straightened his shoulders.
“Wish me luck!”
Findabair had just not understood and nothing Artos could say would make her understand. In the end he had just left the room as he could feel that his temper was reaching breaking point.
Damn the woman! First the nonsense about becoming High King and now Amhar should be given preferential treatment just because of whose son he happened to be! He loved her with a passion and knew that she loved him equally passionately in return but they kept having clashes between their respective upbringings. His has been as Roman as Ambrosius could make it in the circumstances of the time whilst Findabair had been brought up as the daughter of the most powerful Lord on Monoida and would have been the wife of that Lord’s successor if he hadn’t been killed in a Hibernian raid. That meant that they had very different expectations when it came to Amhar’s upbringing.
As he walked his temper subsided and he began to think. There had to be a middle way which would satisfy both of them. He went into the stables and began to check on his horses. Bedwyr came and found him.
“I thought that you would be here.”
Artos smiled wryly
“I needed space and time to myself”
“Another argument”
Artos nodded
“Over Amhar”
Bedwyr sighed
“Let me guess. You want him to learn the ropes in the ranks and she thinks that that is beneath his position as your son.”
Artos nodded
“He can’t be mollycoddled just because he will become Lord of my lands after my death. He needs to learn that the position carries responsibilities to others and what those responsibilities can entail!”
“Make him your armour bearer”
“What?”
“You heard me, make him your armour bearer. Julian is ready to be moved on.”
“He’s only just started!”
Bedwyr sighed
“He’s been your armour bearer for three years now!”
“It doesn’t seem that long!”
Artos paused
“That’s actually a good idea. I keep a close eye on him which will please Findabair.”
Bedwyr nodded
“The role will harden him up. It’s no bed of roses being an armour bearer, especially yours!”
“I don’t know what you mean”
Bedwyr grinned
“Yes you do. Julian used to complain bitterly about your expectations but interestingly enough he doesn’t now. Think about the positions that your others have now reached.”
“They deserved them”
“Sa, but did you think so when they started?”
Artos grinned
“Na, they were always wet behind the ears and slow. However they do seem to have all become good leaders.”
“So?”
Artos sighed
“I’ll go and see Findabair and tell her”
“Let her think that it is her idea. Suggest something that she thinks worse such as sending him to Virianus to command on the wall and be persuaded to have him as your armour bearer.”
“What if she agrees to send him to the wall?”
Bedwyr just looked at him, Artos shrugged.
“True”
He straightened his shoulders.
“Wish me luck!”
Ah the wonderful idea of trying not to piss off the wife, all the whilst main by sure your kid ain't gonna end up completely spoilt.
476 AD
Spring Meeting of the Council
The spring meeting that year was held in Petacaster in Deira. It was quite a subdued meeting as it was the first since the death of Cador. However all listened with interest to Virianus’ account of what had happened to his son Coel that winter.
It wasn’t so much the attempt on Coel’s life although that in itself was a cause of worry especially when Virianus had mentioned that it was the Leader of his personal Guard who had led the attempt.
“I had known him since before I joined Urien’s army. I would have staked my life on his loyalty. How little I actually knew him!”
“Is there nobody that we can trust?” asked Emrys of Arfon.
“It would seem not” replied Virianus
“We are all going to have to take special precautions.”
Instead it had been the person who had rescued Coel who had caused most interest.
“Coel is sure that it was Caius the grandson of Urien?” asked Drustan of the Brigantes.
“Sa but even he is not sure that it was not a ghost. However Coel did say that he felt far too solid to have been one and made too much noise!”
“I thought that Caius had been killed along with his mother and grandmother by, what was his name, ah yes, Esca, during the Madness of Urien” queried Titus of Elmet.
“So we all thought” replied Artos.
“Certainly there was no sign of him when we cleared up that mess and we certainly found a grave where we were told that Esca had him buried.”
Virianus nodded in agreement.
“Nor was there any sign of him when I had the forest searched after I heard Coel’s story.”
He sighed
“I would willingly have surrendered the Lordship to him.”
Drustan chuckled
“You would have soon had it back again. Caius wanted nothing more than to be a soldier.”
“I rather understand that viewpoint” muttered Artos.
“In any case if he had actually wanted the Lordship he would have surfaced in the aftermath” added Drustan.
“Unless he thought that I would declare him an imposter and contest the Lordship”
Drustan gave Virianus a long hard look
“He cannot have thought that you wanted it especially as you tried to give it back to Urien’s Coel before he retired to that monastery in Emrys’ lands”
“I rather think that we will never solve this problem” stated Ida.
“Anyway, you have a grandson.”
Virianus nodded
“One with a very healthy set of lungs!”
“What has he been called?” asked Pascent of the Silures.
“Cai, apparently Coel’s rescuer requested it and Morgana thought it a name of good omen in the circumstances.”
Ida raised an eyebrow
“That makes your three generations have the same names as Urien, his son and grandson given that Virianus is a Latin version of Urien.”
“I know” answered Virianus
“It has given me some cause for thought. However stranger things have happened in the last twenty odd years!”
There were nods of agreement and the meeting went on to discuss what little news had reached them since the autumn about the civil war in the East.
The spring meeting that year was held in Petacaster in Deira. It was quite a subdued meeting as it was the first since the death of Cador. However all listened with interest to Virianus’ account of what had happened to his son Coel that winter.
It wasn’t so much the attempt on Coel’s life although that in itself was a cause of worry especially when Virianus had mentioned that it was the Leader of his personal Guard who had led the attempt.
“I had known him since before I joined Urien’s army. I would have staked my life on his loyalty. How little I actually knew him!”
“Is there nobody that we can trust?” asked Emrys of Arfon.
“It would seem not” replied Virianus
“We are all going to have to take special precautions.”
Instead it had been the person who had rescued Coel who had caused most interest.
“Coel is sure that it was Caius the grandson of Urien?” asked Drustan of the Brigantes.
“Sa but even he is not sure that it was not a ghost. However Coel did say that he felt far too solid to have been one and made too much noise!”
“I thought that Caius had been killed along with his mother and grandmother by, what was his name, ah yes, Esca, during the Madness of Urien” queried Titus of Elmet.
“So we all thought” replied Artos.
“Certainly there was no sign of him when we cleared up that mess and we certainly found a grave where we were told that Esca had him buried.”
Virianus nodded in agreement.
“Nor was there any sign of him when I had the forest searched after I heard Coel’s story.”
He sighed
“I would willingly have surrendered the Lordship to him.”
Drustan chuckled
“You would have soon had it back again. Caius wanted nothing more than to be a soldier.”
“I rather understand that viewpoint” muttered Artos.
“In any case if he had actually wanted the Lordship he would have surfaced in the aftermath” added Drustan.
“Unless he thought that I would declare him an imposter and contest the Lordship”
Drustan gave Virianus a long hard look
“He cannot have thought that you wanted it especially as you tried to give it back to Urien’s Coel before he retired to that monastery in Emrys’ lands”
“I rather think that we will never solve this problem” stated Ida.
“Anyway, you have a grandson.”
Virianus nodded
“One with a very healthy set of lungs!”
“What has he been called?” asked Pascent of the Silures.
“Cai, apparently Coel’s rescuer requested it and Morgana thought it a name of good omen in the circumstances.”
Ida raised an eyebrow
“That makes your three generations have the same names as Urien, his son and grandson given that Virianus is a Latin version of Urien.”
“I know” answered Virianus
“It has given me some cause for thought. However stranger things have happened in the last twenty odd years!”
There were nods of agreement and the meeting went on to discuss what little news had reached them since the autumn about the civil war in the East.
476 AD
Venta
Decidivatus looked at his guest, Flavius Aquila
“Now what was so important that you came all the way from Eboracum?”
“Not calling it Caer Ebrauc? How old fashioned of you Decidivatus” smiled Aquila wryly.
Decidivatus raised an eyebrow
“Old habits die hard, old friend”
“Sa, it is still officially Eboracum, although even we refer to it as Caer Ebrauc in everyday transactions.”
Aquila paused
“It involves some old family history.”
Decidivatus waved his goblet
“Go on”
“Ever since that old Eagle was found in the ruins of Calleva I have been thinking back on my family history. Family legends have it that my ancestor went on a jaunt into Caledonia to find it to restore the family honour as his father served with the Hispana. Certainly there was an upturn in family fortunes after he returned. He bought some land near Calleva and built a farm. A more recent ancestor moved north with Chlorus after the campaign against Allectus and we have lived around Eboracum ever since. However there is an old family story about an heirloom that was lost at about that time. There are two versions, one is a signet ring the other is some sort of emerald. Both versions agree that it was lost during that campaign against Allectus.”
Aquila paused again
“I’m beginning to feel my years and whilst I am still fit enough I decided to investigate where my family used to live.”
He chuckled
“I don’t really expect to find anything. After all it’s been 180 or so years! However..”
Decidivatus nodded
“There is no smoke without fire!”
He signalled the servants
“Let us retire to my study. I have done some investigating since I received your letter.”
He smiled
“Well to be honest I had Gulielmus do the investigating! He needed a break from investigating those cultists.”
“How is that going?” asked Aquila.
“Slowly” scowled Decidivatus.
“However we have made some progress but it’s all rumour and no hard evidence at the moment.”
The two entered Decidivatus’ study where they found Gulielmus waiting. After the introductions Gulielmus spoke
“I found the old villa, well more of a farm house that your ancestors built. Nobody has lived in them since the Civil War of the thirties. However the lands around are still farmed by relatives of those to whom your ancestor left it. They remember your family but have no stories of any lost heirlooms although they too have stories of an ancestor who journeyed in Caledonia.”
Aquila nodded
“That would make sense, my ancestor was supposed to have made the journey with a freed slave who became his friend”
Gulielmus shrugged
“That’s as may be. With the permission of the man who currently farms the land I investigated the old buildings which now just serve as a shelter for livestock. All the useful material has long since been scavenged for use elsewhere.
I found nothing on my first search but returned the next day. I had just about had enough when I found the entrance to what at first I thought was the hypocaust. It wasn’t it was storage rooms. However I knocked against one of the pillars and felt a metal object. I did a little more investigating and finally managed to tease this metal box out.
I only got out just in time as the floor above me collapsed.”
Gulielmus handed an old metal box to Aquila.
“It has rusted shut over the years so I made no serious attempt to open it.”
Aquila’s hands shook as he took the box from Gulielmus. He carefully put the box down and Decidivatus handed him a dagger which Aquila carefully ran around the edge. After a few attempts the lid was finally prised open and all three looked at what was contained. There were two scrolls. Aquila picked one up unrolled it and began to read.
“I have made this copy of to ensure that the exploits of my ancestor Marcus Flavius Aquila will not be forgotten”
Aquila put that scroll down and opened the second scroll
“These are the accounts of Marcelus Flavius Aquila and Tiberius Lucius Justinianus of the rule of Marcus Aurelius Carausius and the restoration of the Empire”
“There seems to be nothing else in the box” noted Decidivatus.
“No matter” stammered Aquila
“These are worth far more to me than any ring or emerald. I will have copies made of them. I will give you copies, old friend.”
“Thank You” replied Decidivatus.
Decidivatus looked at his guest, Flavius Aquila
“Now what was so important that you came all the way from Eboracum?”
“Not calling it Caer Ebrauc? How old fashioned of you Decidivatus” smiled Aquila wryly.
Decidivatus raised an eyebrow
“Old habits die hard, old friend”
“Sa, it is still officially Eboracum, although even we refer to it as Caer Ebrauc in everyday transactions.”
Aquila paused
“It involves some old family history.”
Decidivatus waved his goblet
“Go on”
“Ever since that old Eagle was found in the ruins of Calleva I have been thinking back on my family history. Family legends have it that my ancestor went on a jaunt into Caledonia to find it to restore the family honour as his father served with the Hispana. Certainly there was an upturn in family fortunes after he returned. He bought some land near Calleva and built a farm. A more recent ancestor moved north with Chlorus after the campaign against Allectus and we have lived around Eboracum ever since. However there is an old family story about an heirloom that was lost at about that time. There are two versions, one is a signet ring the other is some sort of emerald. Both versions agree that it was lost during that campaign against Allectus.”
Aquila paused again
“I’m beginning to feel my years and whilst I am still fit enough I decided to investigate where my family used to live.”
He chuckled
“I don’t really expect to find anything. After all it’s been 180 or so years! However..”
Decidivatus nodded
“There is no smoke without fire!”
He signalled the servants
“Let us retire to my study. I have done some investigating since I received your letter.”
He smiled
“Well to be honest I had Gulielmus do the investigating! He needed a break from investigating those cultists.”
“How is that going?” asked Aquila.
“Slowly” scowled Decidivatus.
“However we have made some progress but it’s all rumour and no hard evidence at the moment.”
The two entered Decidivatus’ study where they found Gulielmus waiting. After the introductions Gulielmus spoke
“I found the old villa, well more of a farm house that your ancestors built. Nobody has lived in them since the Civil War of the thirties. However the lands around are still farmed by relatives of those to whom your ancestor left it. They remember your family but have no stories of any lost heirlooms although they too have stories of an ancestor who journeyed in Caledonia.”
Aquila nodded
“That would make sense, my ancestor was supposed to have made the journey with a freed slave who became his friend”
Gulielmus shrugged
“That’s as may be. With the permission of the man who currently farms the land I investigated the old buildings which now just serve as a shelter for livestock. All the useful material has long since been scavenged for use elsewhere.
I found nothing on my first search but returned the next day. I had just about had enough when I found the entrance to what at first I thought was the hypocaust. It wasn’t it was storage rooms. However I knocked against one of the pillars and felt a metal object. I did a little more investigating and finally managed to tease this metal box out.
I only got out just in time as the floor above me collapsed.”
Gulielmus handed an old metal box to Aquila.
“It has rusted shut over the years so I made no serious attempt to open it.”
Aquila’s hands shook as he took the box from Gulielmus. He carefully put the box down and Decidivatus handed him a dagger which Aquila carefully ran around the edge. After a few attempts the lid was finally prised open and all three looked at what was contained. There were two scrolls. Aquila picked one up unrolled it and began to read.
“I have made this copy of to ensure that the exploits of my ancestor Marcus Flavius Aquila will not be forgotten”
Aquila put that scroll down and opened the second scroll
“These are the accounts of Marcelus Flavius Aquila and Tiberius Lucius Justinianus of the rule of Marcus Aurelius Carausius and the restoration of the Empire”
“There seems to be nothing else in the box” noted Decidivatus.
“No matter” stammered Aquila
“These are worth far more to me than any ring or emerald. I will have copies made of them. I will give you copies, old friend.”
“Thank You” replied Decidivatus.
476 AD
Venta
Lucius skirted the edge of the social gathering. He tried very hard to avoid all social events but it had been made clear to him by Decidivatus that this was one that he could not make his excuses and not attend.
“You are Praefectus of the Watch. You are expected to move in certain circles” Decidivatus had stated.
“I will not be here forever to stand in for you so you had better start attending some of these gatherings of the “great and the good” of Venta”
Eventually Lucius stood by a window nursing a goblet, of admittedly much better wine than he could afford. He felt a touch on his shoulder he spun round and saw Gulielmus.
“What are you doing here?” Lucius whispered.
“Avunculus insisted” replied Gulielmus.
“I think that he is setting me up to replace him in some of his duties. Much to my displeasure I might add.”
“Join the club” commiserated Lucius.
Just then they saw Decidivatus approaching them with a man in tow.
“That’s Androclus” whispered Lucius
“One of the richest men in Venta. Mind you he always supported Ambrosius and then Artos and paid his taxes willingly so he can’t be all bad” answered Gulielmus.
“Hmm, why is Decidivatus bringing him to us?” mused Lucius.
“I would suggest that we are about to find out” was Gulielmus’ reply.
Androclus was a large genial clean shaven man.
“So this is Gulielmus. I have heard so much about you from Decidivatus and from the Praefectus’ reports.”
Lucius looked at him warily
“You have read my reports?”
“Sa, as one of Artos’ advisors”
Lucius looked at Decidivatus
“Androclus is a long serving member of the Lord’s advisors”
Lucius nodded in understanding.
“Well” said Androclus
“What can you tell me about me, young man?”
Gulielmus shrugged
“Nothing that Decidivatus hasn’t already told you.”
“I insist” stated Androclus.
“Very well. You are not a native Briton, there is a slight flattening of your vowels that would suggest being raised in possibly Angle, but more likely Saxon lands. You served in the legions in North Africa and spent some time with the Picts before moving to Venta.”
Androclus was staggered
“How? I freely admit to being born in the old Saxon lands about the Albis and having lived with the Picts. I would think that the blue woad gives that away. But North Africa with the legions?”
“There has been some attempts, most recently by the Picts, to cover an old tattoo on your arm. It is now indistinct but looks like “Bonifacius”. That would imply that you served with Boniface, since he was only recalled to Italia in about 430 and given your apparent age that suggests that you served with him in North Africa.”
Androclus looked at Decidivatus and raised an eyebrow.
“He is as good as you suggested that he was, if not better. I apologise for not believing you.”
Decidivatus nodded
“He is better. I missed the flattening of your vowels”
Androclus smiled
“It only becomes apparent when I’m stressed. Much the same as my daughter in law. You can only tell that she’s a Silure when she’s angry”
“You’re right! He might be able to help”
Lucius skirted the edge of the social gathering. He tried very hard to avoid all social events but it had been made clear to him by Decidivatus that this was one that he could not make his excuses and not attend.
“You are Praefectus of the Watch. You are expected to move in certain circles” Decidivatus had stated.
“I will not be here forever to stand in for you so you had better start attending some of these gatherings of the “great and the good” of Venta”
Eventually Lucius stood by a window nursing a goblet, of admittedly much better wine than he could afford. He felt a touch on his shoulder he spun round and saw Gulielmus.
“What are you doing here?” Lucius whispered.
“Avunculus insisted” replied Gulielmus.
“I think that he is setting me up to replace him in some of his duties. Much to my displeasure I might add.”
“Join the club” commiserated Lucius.
Just then they saw Decidivatus approaching them with a man in tow.
“That’s Androclus” whispered Lucius
“One of the richest men in Venta. Mind you he always supported Ambrosius and then Artos and paid his taxes willingly so he can’t be all bad” answered Gulielmus.
“Hmm, why is Decidivatus bringing him to us?” mused Lucius.
“I would suggest that we are about to find out” was Gulielmus’ reply.
Androclus was a large genial clean shaven man.
“So this is Gulielmus. I have heard so much about you from Decidivatus and from the Praefectus’ reports.”
Lucius looked at him warily
“You have read my reports?”
“Sa, as one of Artos’ advisors”
Lucius looked at Decidivatus
“Androclus is a long serving member of the Lord’s advisors”
Lucius nodded in understanding.
“Well” said Androclus
“What can you tell me about me, young man?”
Gulielmus shrugged
“Nothing that Decidivatus hasn’t already told you.”
“I insist” stated Androclus.
“Very well. You are not a native Briton, there is a slight flattening of your vowels that would suggest being raised in possibly Angle, but more likely Saxon lands. You served in the legions in North Africa and spent some time with the Picts before moving to Venta.”
Androclus was staggered
“How? I freely admit to being born in the old Saxon lands about the Albis and having lived with the Picts. I would think that the blue woad gives that away. But North Africa with the legions?”
“There has been some attempts, most recently by the Picts, to cover an old tattoo on your arm. It is now indistinct but looks like “Bonifacius”. That would imply that you served with Boniface, since he was only recalled to Italia in about 430 and given your apparent age that suggests that you served with him in North Africa.”
Androclus looked at Decidivatus and raised an eyebrow.
“He is as good as you suggested that he was, if not better. I apologise for not believing you.”
Decidivatus nodded
“He is better. I missed the flattening of your vowels”
Androclus smiled
“It only becomes apparent when I’m stressed. Much the same as my daughter in law. You can only tell that she’s a Silure when she’s angry”
“You’re right! He might be able to help”
476 AD
Venta
The next morning both Lucius and Gulielmus were in Decidivatus’ office. Androclus looked at Decidivatus, who nodded, and handed Gulielmus a scrap of vellum. Gulielmus smiled and examined the vellum
“High quality, whoever sent this was wealthy”
He then read the message and frowned
“This makes no sense”
He read it again and understanding dawned in his eyes
“Oh! Whoever wrote this was also quite intelligent, not learned but intelligent.”
Lucius, who had taken the vellum from Gulielmus, shook his head.
“All I can tell is that whoever wrote this served in the legions. The message itself makes no sense”
Decidivatus looked at Lucius with interest
“Why the legions?”
“The spelling and the words used all indicate somebody for whom Latin was a second, or third, language and is full of the abbreviations used in military reports. Whoever sent this was at least a Centurion but not much higher.”
Decidivatus cast a wry eye at Gulielmus
“Your methods are rubbing off on him! Lucius is mistaken but his logic is quite sound”
“Mistaken?”
Decidivatus nodded
“There is another type of person who would write in this way.”
Lucius frowned then smiled
“A commander of foederati”
Decidivatus nodded.
“But the message?” inquired Lucius.
“Flee. All is lost. We have been found” replied Gulielmus.
“Flee from whom? What has been lost? Found by whom?”
Lucius stopped then continued
“Well obviously, found by those from whom Androclus is supposed to flee. All is lost seems superfluous in that respect.”
“You are definitely having an effect on him!” commented Decidivatus.
Lucius looked at Androclus
“How can the Watch help? We need more information to see if we can be of any use other than setting extra patrols around your villa and town house.”
“They wouldn’t help” replied Androclus.
“Those coming for me are far too determined to be put off by the members of your watch. They wouldn’t be deterred if your men were of the quality of the old legions.
Which they are not!”
“They are good men!” snarled Lucius.
Androclus raised his hands
“They are, but are they that well trained even in comparison with the infantry of Caer Ebrauc or of the garrison here in Venta?”
Lucius shook his head
“Na. So who are these people?”
The next morning both Lucius and Gulielmus were in Decidivatus’ office. Androclus looked at Decidivatus, who nodded, and handed Gulielmus a scrap of vellum. Gulielmus smiled and examined the vellum
“High quality, whoever sent this was wealthy”
He then read the message and frowned
“This makes no sense”
He read it again and understanding dawned in his eyes
“Oh! Whoever wrote this was also quite intelligent, not learned but intelligent.”
Lucius, who had taken the vellum from Gulielmus, shook his head.
“All I can tell is that whoever wrote this served in the legions. The message itself makes no sense”
Decidivatus looked at Lucius with interest
“Why the legions?”
“The spelling and the words used all indicate somebody for whom Latin was a second, or third, language and is full of the abbreviations used in military reports. Whoever sent this was at least a Centurion but not much higher.”
Decidivatus cast a wry eye at Gulielmus
“Your methods are rubbing off on him! Lucius is mistaken but his logic is quite sound”
“Mistaken?”
Decidivatus nodded
“There is another type of person who would write in this way.”
Lucius frowned then smiled
“A commander of foederati”
Decidivatus nodded.
“But the message?” inquired Lucius.
“Flee. All is lost. We have been found” replied Gulielmus.
“Flee from whom? What has been lost? Found by whom?”
Lucius stopped then continued
“Well obviously, found by those from whom Androclus is supposed to flee. All is lost seems superfluous in that respect.”
“You are definitely having an effect on him!” commented Decidivatus.
Lucius looked at Androclus
“How can the Watch help? We need more information to see if we can be of any use other than setting extra patrols around your villa and town house.”
“They wouldn’t help” replied Androclus.
“Those coming for me are far too determined to be put off by the members of your watch. They wouldn’t be deterred if your men were of the quality of the old legions.
Which they are not!”
“They are good men!” snarled Lucius.
Androclus raised his hands
“They are, but are they that well trained even in comparison with the infantry of Caer Ebrauc or of the garrison here in Venta?”
Lucius shook his head
“Na. So who are these people?”
428 AD
Old Roman Province of Numidia
The Commander of the small Roman force looked at the old fortress at Gemellae and sighed.
“Well this is a mistake, there’s nothing here worth looting!”
He waved his hand at the ruins.
“This must have been abandoned for years and thoroughly stripped by the locals. Why did anybody think that there would be anything left here?”
The Centurion who acted as second in charge, despite being a Saxon rather than a Goth, sighed
“Because the old records don’t show it as being abandoned.”
He paused
“It looks to be like the old fortress at Rutupiae but not as in such good condition.”
“Where?”
“Rutupiae, in Britannia”
“Oh, never been there. God forsaken corner of the Empire anyway. No wonder Honorius left it to its own devices. How? Oh of course you come from that area Centurion”
The Centurion shook his head
“Na, I come from around the Albis but I went there with my father on a trading trip once, before I joined the Eagles”
The Commander’s eyebrows rose
“Trading trip?”
“Sa, my people did trade occasionally”
The Commander shook his head
“We’ll shelter there for the night and then set off North in the morning. Centurion, set up camp”
The force marched into the ruins and set about making it as defensible as possible. Watches were organised and the ruins searched in case anything usable had been left. The night passed quietly and the next morning the force made ready to depart.
At first all went well but after a while the Commander turned to the Centurion
“The back of my neck is itching”
The Centurion nodded in agreement
“Mine also. The scouts haven’t reported back”
“Na”
The Commander didn’t say any more as he fell out of his saddle with arrows sticking out of his neck. The Centurion wheeled his horse
“Mehercule, Decurion! Back to the fort!”
The Goths, never the best disciplined of forces, just scattered and were soon cut down by the archers. Only the Centurion and twenty of his men made it back to the fort. They managed to push the gates closed. The Centurion looked around
“We’re too few to hold the entire fort. Fall back to the watch tower and barricade the doors.”
Once that had been done the Centurion took stock.
“Five of you up at the top. Five at the door. The rest of us grab as much rest as we can.”
“Who hit us Centurion?”
“I don’t know, too far south for it to have been any of Sigivultus’ men. Local Berbers probably, the arrows looked as if they were Berber.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know, possibly we upset one of the local tribes on our way south. We weren’t too careful in our behaviour particularly some of you in that last village. You lot didn’t steal anything did you”
“Well, come to think of it, some of the women did claim that they were priestesses.”
One of the men who had joined since they had been in Numidia, and had acted as a guide, swore.
“Idiots! The southern tribes are only nominally Christian if that. If you lot, had your way with priestesses we will be lucky to just be killed! They won’t give up either, not only have you shamed their women, the menfolk will have lost face through not protecting them.”
The Goths looked confused, the Numidian just glared at them
“Northern Barbarians!”
“Who are you calling a Northern Barbarian, you southern..”
“Stop right there” ordered the Centurion
“Our enemy is out there. They don’t need any help from us fighting amongst ourselves! Those men out there have a blood feud with us”
A light of understanding dawned on the Goths
“Why didn’t he just tell us that?”
The Centurion sighed
“He did, in his way!”
“What are we to do Centurion?”
“Pray to Christos, Woden, whoever, for a miracle!”
The Commander of the small Roman force looked at the old fortress at Gemellae and sighed.
“Well this is a mistake, there’s nothing here worth looting!”
He waved his hand at the ruins.
“This must have been abandoned for years and thoroughly stripped by the locals. Why did anybody think that there would be anything left here?”
The Centurion who acted as second in charge, despite being a Saxon rather than a Goth, sighed
“Because the old records don’t show it as being abandoned.”
He paused
“It looks to be like the old fortress at Rutupiae but not as in such good condition.”
“Where?”
“Rutupiae, in Britannia”
“Oh, never been there. God forsaken corner of the Empire anyway. No wonder Honorius left it to its own devices. How? Oh of course you come from that area Centurion”
The Centurion shook his head
“Na, I come from around the Albis but I went there with my father on a trading trip once, before I joined the Eagles”
The Commander’s eyebrows rose
“Trading trip?”
“Sa, my people did trade occasionally”
The Commander shook his head
“We’ll shelter there for the night and then set off North in the morning. Centurion, set up camp”
The force marched into the ruins and set about making it as defensible as possible. Watches were organised and the ruins searched in case anything usable had been left. The night passed quietly and the next morning the force made ready to depart.
At first all went well but after a while the Commander turned to the Centurion
“The back of my neck is itching”
The Centurion nodded in agreement
“Mine also. The scouts haven’t reported back”
“Na”
The Commander didn’t say any more as he fell out of his saddle with arrows sticking out of his neck. The Centurion wheeled his horse
“Mehercule, Decurion! Back to the fort!”
The Goths, never the best disciplined of forces, just scattered and were soon cut down by the archers. Only the Centurion and twenty of his men made it back to the fort. They managed to push the gates closed. The Centurion looked around
“We’re too few to hold the entire fort. Fall back to the watch tower and barricade the doors.”
Once that had been done the Centurion took stock.
“Five of you up at the top. Five at the door. The rest of us grab as much rest as we can.”
“Who hit us Centurion?”
“I don’t know, too far south for it to have been any of Sigivultus’ men. Local Berbers probably, the arrows looked as if they were Berber.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know, possibly we upset one of the local tribes on our way south. We weren’t too careful in our behaviour particularly some of you in that last village. You lot didn’t steal anything did you”
“Well, come to think of it, some of the women did claim that they were priestesses.”
One of the men who had joined since they had been in Numidia, and had acted as a guide, swore.
“Idiots! The southern tribes are only nominally Christian if that. If you lot, had your way with priestesses we will be lucky to just be killed! They won’t give up either, not only have you shamed their women, the menfolk will have lost face through not protecting them.”
The Goths looked confused, the Numidian just glared at them
“Northern Barbarians!”
“Who are you calling a Northern Barbarian, you southern..”
“Stop right there” ordered the Centurion
“Our enemy is out there. They don’t need any help from us fighting amongst ourselves! Those men out there have a blood feud with us”
A light of understanding dawned on the Goths
“Why didn’t he just tell us that?”
The Centurion sighed
“He did, in his way!”
“What are we to do Centurion?”
“Pray to Christos, Woden, whoever, for a miracle!”
Well, seems that they could be surrounded and that even if they 'd be able to defend the tower that they are in a very dire situation... And in that tower they should be readying for making their last stand...
Because, even if fighting in close quarters the advantage should be on the 'Roman' side, but if they will be besieged, as 'd be probable they would be affected by the lack of the necessary water and food for resist even a short 'siege' by as appears to be a very motivated enemy...
Because, even if fighting in close quarters the advantage should be on the 'Roman' side, but if they will be besieged, as 'd be probable they would be affected by the lack of the necessary water and food for resist even a short 'siege' by as appears to be a very motivated enemy...
Miguel Lanius
Banned
Someone just fucked up lol.
Someone is finding the hard way the problem of multi-cultural armies.
Priestesses of What/Who?
Someone is finding the hard way the problem of multi-cultural armies.
Priestesses of What/Who?
Map of Roman North Africa in 428AD. A certain patrol has been sent well outside then Roman Territory.
Them and what remains of the Gaetules (they are not mentioned much after the second century AD)
428 AD
Old Roman Province of Numidia
Two days thought the Centurion. Two days they had been trapped in the watch tower. Still the tribesmen didn’t have to do anything they could just wait until his men were all dead from thirst! They never saw any of them but whenever a soldier put his head above the parapet or they opened the door there was a fusillade of arrows which put paid to any thought of breaking out.
There had to be something that they could do. He ruled out a relief. They were too far from either sides usual patrol patterns. They would just be one more lost patrol. He sat down carefully against the wall and rubbed his face. There had to be an answer!
He idly dug his fingers into the sand which covered the floor. The sand was particularly dry and he kept digging. He stopped. He had felt something. He scooped out another handful of sand. Yes, there it was a hinge. He started digging more methodically.
“Hoping to dig a well Centurion?” quipped one of the Goths.
The Centurion shook his head
“Na, come over here and dig just there”
The Goth looked at another and tapped his head but came over and did as he was ordered. After a minute or two he too started to dig more methodically. The other Goth came over and looked where they were digging. His eyes opened wide and he dropped to his knees and started digging as well.
They started to uncover a trapdoor. As it became more visible, more Goths came over and started to clear away the sand. After about a quarter of an hour they had cleared a large trap door.
“Knowing our luck it will just be a cellar” muttered one of the Goths.
However they set to try to open the trapdoor. It took a lot of effort but eventually it opened. The hinges creaked a lot. So they stopped and listened. The tribesmen must have been out of earshot.
The open trapdoor revealed a set of steps carved into the bedrock. The Centurion lit one of their now meagre supply of torches and sent a soldier down to investigate. After a while he came back.
“The steps lead to a passageway, Centurion. There is a slight breeze so there is an opening to the surface somewhere.”
“Sa, into the middle of those tribesmen” muttered another.
The Centurion glared
“We have no choice. Right men, down those steps”
One by one the Goths filed down the steps. The Centurion closed the trapdoor after them. Not that it would do much good, as soon as the tribesman realised that no one was peering over the parapet they would break down the door and find the trapdoor. However opening it might delay them a little longer.
They felt their way along the passage way. As the first man down had said, there was a steady breeze and it was fresh air so there must be an opening somewhere. They kept going suddenly the first man gasped
“Centurion there is a cavern up ahead”
“Keep going but wait until we are all in it”
They were soon in the cavern. The Centurion lit a torch. They gasped it was obviously a temple of some sort. There were statues and an altar. The statues all had cat’s heads. However the Centurion was relatively happy because there was neither gold nor valuables lying around. That was one less worry. The Numidian who was with them looked frightened
“What is it?” asked the Centurion.
“This is a shrine to Sekhmet. She is a vengeful goddess to all who disturb her. I told you that the southern tribes were only nominally Christian.”
“Those women wore cat jewellery” commented one of the Goths.
The Numidian shrank in on himself
“We are dead! They will never give up until they have killed us all. It will not matter whether or not we actually despoiled those priestesses, just being associated with those who did makes us all guilty!”
“They’ll have to catch us first” answered the Centurion.
“Right, the breeze is coming from that direction. “
He led the men across the cavern and into another passage way. It twisted and turned but eventually they came out into a narrow ravine. It took some time for their eyes to get used to the light again but as soon as they were the Centurion pushed them onwards.
Two days thought the Centurion. Two days they had been trapped in the watch tower. Still the tribesmen didn’t have to do anything they could just wait until his men were all dead from thirst! They never saw any of them but whenever a soldier put his head above the parapet or they opened the door there was a fusillade of arrows which put paid to any thought of breaking out.
There had to be something that they could do. He ruled out a relief. They were too far from either sides usual patrol patterns. They would just be one more lost patrol. He sat down carefully against the wall and rubbed his face. There had to be an answer!
He idly dug his fingers into the sand which covered the floor. The sand was particularly dry and he kept digging. He stopped. He had felt something. He scooped out another handful of sand. Yes, there it was a hinge. He started digging more methodically.
“Hoping to dig a well Centurion?” quipped one of the Goths.
The Centurion shook his head
“Na, come over here and dig just there”
The Goth looked at another and tapped his head but came over and did as he was ordered. After a minute or two he too started to dig more methodically. The other Goth came over and looked where they were digging. His eyes opened wide and he dropped to his knees and started digging as well.
They started to uncover a trapdoor. As it became more visible, more Goths came over and started to clear away the sand. After about a quarter of an hour they had cleared a large trap door.
“Knowing our luck it will just be a cellar” muttered one of the Goths.
However they set to try to open the trapdoor. It took a lot of effort but eventually it opened. The hinges creaked a lot. So they stopped and listened. The tribesmen must have been out of earshot.
The open trapdoor revealed a set of steps carved into the bedrock. The Centurion lit one of their now meagre supply of torches and sent a soldier down to investigate. After a while he came back.
“The steps lead to a passageway, Centurion. There is a slight breeze so there is an opening to the surface somewhere.”
“Sa, into the middle of those tribesmen” muttered another.
The Centurion glared
“We have no choice. Right men, down those steps”
One by one the Goths filed down the steps. The Centurion closed the trapdoor after them. Not that it would do much good, as soon as the tribesman realised that no one was peering over the parapet they would break down the door and find the trapdoor. However opening it might delay them a little longer.
They felt their way along the passage way. As the first man down had said, there was a steady breeze and it was fresh air so there must be an opening somewhere. They kept going suddenly the first man gasped
“Centurion there is a cavern up ahead”
“Keep going but wait until we are all in it”
They were soon in the cavern. The Centurion lit a torch. They gasped it was obviously a temple of some sort. There were statues and an altar. The statues all had cat’s heads. However the Centurion was relatively happy because there was neither gold nor valuables lying around. That was one less worry. The Numidian who was with them looked frightened
“What is it?” asked the Centurion.
“This is a shrine to Sekhmet. She is a vengeful goddess to all who disturb her. I told you that the southern tribes were only nominally Christian.”
“Those women wore cat jewellery” commented one of the Goths.
The Numidian shrank in on himself
“We are dead! They will never give up until they have killed us all. It will not matter whether or not we actually despoiled those priestesses, just being associated with those who did makes us all guilty!”
“They’ll have to catch us first” answered the Centurion.
“Right, the breeze is coming from that direction. “
He led the men across the cavern and into another passage way. It twisted and turned but eventually they came out into a narrow ravine. It took some time for their eyes to get used to the light again but as soon as they were the Centurion pushed them onwards.
428 AD
Old Roman Province of Numidia
The Centurion cursed the idiots who had forced themselves on those women. They had only had a day of grace before the tribesmen caught up with them again. They had been harried constantly. Of the twenty men who had escaped the watchtower with him only five now remained. There had been nowhere at which to make any sort of defence. Not that he had enough men to do so with any real hope of survival. So he had pushed his men onwards losing roughly one man per hour. One group of five had deserted and tried to make their own way. It obviously hadn’t worked because their heads had been thrown into their camp the night after they had left.
The Centurion didn’t really know where they were. He thought that they must be close to Zarai but that was a guess. The Numidian approached him
“Centurion, they’re massing for an attack”
“Why? They’re risking casualties. They’ve been able to pick us off so far with no risk to themselves”
“I’m not really sure” replied the Numidian.
“Unless we are close to a Roman Camp”
“That would be luck beyond all hope” sighed the Centurion.
He signalled to the four others.
“Form up. We can’t outrun them if they have decided to attack. However let’s send as many as possible to meet their gods”
There was a series of grunts as the Goths tiredly formed themselves up. It was silent then suddenly a series of war cries sounded and a mass of tribesman charged from all directions. The Centurion sighed there was no conceivable way that they were going to survive this charge. The tactician in him wondered why they just didn’t pepper them with arrows but he crouched with sword in hand.
Suddenly a horn sounded. The tribesmen halted and looked around. The horn sounded again and they could see dust rising. After a moments confusion the tribesmen launched a volley of arrows at the tiny group of men. Three of the Goths fell.
A single man came out of the tribesmen, pointed at the three survivors and ran his finger across his throat. Then he and the others melted back into the countryside. A moment later a patrol of Roman cavalry appeared.
At that moment the Centurion did not care whether the cavalry followed Sigisvultus or Bonifacius. Either way their arrival had saved them!
“They will follow us to the ends of the earth” commented the Numidian.
The Centurion looked steadily at him.
“Not where I am going! I am going to return to my people around the Rhenus.”
“Never underestimate them” replied the Numidian.
“They have to kill you all to restore their honour”
The remaining Goth hawked and spat
“Cannot we just pay a weregild?”
The Numidian looked confused so the Centurion explained. The Numidian shook his head
“If you had just killed men, perhaps. However despoiling those priestesses, na. They will hunt us down”
The leader of the patrol rode up
“It looks like we saved you” he commented.
“Sa” replied the Centurion
“For the moment at least!”
The Centurion cursed the idiots who had forced themselves on those women. They had only had a day of grace before the tribesmen caught up with them again. They had been harried constantly. Of the twenty men who had escaped the watchtower with him only five now remained. There had been nowhere at which to make any sort of defence. Not that he had enough men to do so with any real hope of survival. So he had pushed his men onwards losing roughly one man per hour. One group of five had deserted and tried to make their own way. It obviously hadn’t worked because their heads had been thrown into their camp the night after they had left.
The Centurion didn’t really know where they were. He thought that they must be close to Zarai but that was a guess. The Numidian approached him
“Centurion, they’re massing for an attack”
“Why? They’re risking casualties. They’ve been able to pick us off so far with no risk to themselves”
“I’m not really sure” replied the Numidian.
“Unless we are close to a Roman Camp”
“That would be luck beyond all hope” sighed the Centurion.
He signalled to the four others.
“Form up. We can’t outrun them if they have decided to attack. However let’s send as many as possible to meet their gods”
There was a series of grunts as the Goths tiredly formed themselves up. It was silent then suddenly a series of war cries sounded and a mass of tribesman charged from all directions. The Centurion sighed there was no conceivable way that they were going to survive this charge. The tactician in him wondered why they just didn’t pepper them with arrows but he crouched with sword in hand.
Suddenly a horn sounded. The tribesmen halted and looked around. The horn sounded again and they could see dust rising. After a moments confusion the tribesmen launched a volley of arrows at the tiny group of men. Three of the Goths fell.
A single man came out of the tribesmen, pointed at the three survivors and ran his finger across his throat. Then he and the others melted back into the countryside. A moment later a patrol of Roman cavalry appeared.
At that moment the Centurion did not care whether the cavalry followed Sigisvultus or Bonifacius. Either way their arrival had saved them!
“They will follow us to the ends of the earth” commented the Numidian.
The Centurion looked steadily at him.
“Not where I am going! I am going to return to my people around the Rhenus.”
“Never underestimate them” replied the Numidian.
“They have to kill you all to restore their honour”
The remaining Goth hawked and spat
“Cannot we just pay a weregild?”
The Numidian looked confused so the Centurion explained. The Numidian shook his head
“If you had just killed men, perhaps. However despoiling those priestesses, na. They will hunt us down”
The leader of the patrol rode up
“It looks like we saved you” he commented.
“Sa” replied the Centurion
“For the moment at least!”