Author's Notes: I just wanted to leave a little message here to thank each and every one of you for your kind words, for voting each chapter and for the reads. It really means a great deal to an introvert like me and I can't put into words how happy and thankful I am to you all. So thank you. From the bottom of me heart.



Chapter Three

The shock of cold almost stopped her heart. Water filled her nose and open mouth on a gasp that she couldn’t stop from slipping out. The current spun her around and around to the point where she didn’t know which direction was up and which direction was down. Her lungs burned fiercely from the salt and the need for air.

Just when she thought she would surely die, her head broke the surface of the sea. Then a wave swept over her before she could take a deep breath of oxygen. Now knowing what way to swim, Aurelia fought to the surface and gasped for air. She had to kick her legs continuously to stay afloat, the thick fabric of her stolla made every motion difficult. Her eyes darting around her, searching for landmarks.

In the gloom, she spotted the beach not far off to her left. Behind her the ship was splintering to pieces. Men were calling to each other, others crying in fear before the sea swept them under and they never resurfaced.

The swell swept her closer to the rocks and she envisioned herself being dashed to pieces by the sharp cutting surface. Shuddering in terror, renewed her efforts to swim for shore. It was heavy going. Her travelling cloak and stolla weighed her down heavily, making her progress painfully slow. With a frustrated cry, she pulled at the ties of the cloak and let it sink to the ocean floor.

Fright and adrenaline kept her fighting for her life. It took forever before she felt her sandal clad feet brush the shingle bottom. She let out a sob of relief as she got a foot hold, fighting the drag of the waves all the while. She clawed and crawled her way over the pebbles until she was out of the path of the sea and safely on the beach, utterly exhausted and gasping for breath.

Panting, she turned onto her back. The storm raged on around her, completely oblivious to the devastation it had caused. Or perhaps not, if what the sailors say was true, Aurelia thought faintly.

Now ashore, Aurelia realised how bitterly cold she was. Her fingers were numb from the cold and bloodied from the shingle, and she shivered violently as a round of coughing assaulted her body.

There was a sudden crunching of stones and a shadow was beside her. She flinched away instinctually from the perceived threat, but the voice calling to her was familiar.

“My lady, are you alright?” The prefect asked anxiously. Hands came to her shoulders and helped her to her shaky feet.

Her voice was raw with the cold and the salt of the sea so she could only nod in reply.

“We must find shelter from the storm.” He said as he unclipped his red soldier’s cloak from his armour and swept it around her shoulders. It was sodden from the impromptu swim in the sea, but it kept the wind from biting at her chilled skin. She thanked him through chattering teeth.

Supporting some of her weight, they made their way up the beach in halting stumbling steps until the shingle thinned and the tree line of a dark forest began. There was a shallow ravine where old leaves on the floor acted as insulation to their feet and the far reaching branches of the trees added to the protection against the wind and the rain.

There were six soldiers and one crew member already in the ravine, all in different states of exhaustion, but all eyes were trained on the trees. Aurelia blanched. “So few?” She whispered to the prefect. “So few have survived?”

No Senna. It wasn’t really that surprising, no slave knew how to swim unless they were taken from enemy sea ports or fishing communities. Still, the reality of it was jarring when she was confronted with it. Senna had always been a companion to her and it brought tears to her eyes, a renewed pain in her chest.

The Prefect shrugged stiffly, eyes down cast. “It is a possibility that others have been washed up further down the beach. It is too dark to tell.”

Aurelia didn’t believe a word of it but she appreciated his attempt at comfort. “What do we do now?” She asked.

“We stay here for the night, wait the storm out. Keep ourselves hidden from any unwanted attention.”

He meant Britons, of course. Aurelia felt sick at the thought.

“In daylight, we get our bearings. Make our way to the Roman fort.”

“And pray to the Gods we outlast the night.” She murmured to herself as she uddled into the floor, the soldier’s cloak tight around her.

Mercury, save us.







On top of the Cliffside, Kailen watched Roman ships break upon the rocks of the coastline. Behind him, the men of his war party let out whoops of joy as their enemies were swallowed up by the rage of the Gods.

Good. Fewer Romans to tear into over the coming days.

Unmindful of the rain pelting down upon them, he absently shifted his weight upon his horse, trying to allow the blood to circulate to his legs again. He and his men had been riding hard for days ever since the news had reached them of the latest event in an endless stream of Roman cruelty.

The Catuvellauni, the tribe to the High-King Caratacus, had been soundly defeated by the Roman dogs. Many of the tribe had been put to the sword, regardless if they were a man, woman or child. Everyone they caught were ruthlessly slaughtered. The High-King had barely escaped with his life, seeking sanctuary with the Silures, Kalien’s own tribe. Now the lands to the south west were in turmoil, outraged at the Roman treatment and clamouring for British retribution.

The Silures had never been at peace with the Romans from the very first moment they came to Britain. Kailen's tribe had sneered at the olive branch of peace held out to them, seeing it for what it really was: chains for the whole of Britain. The Silures were British through and through, being wild and free was in their blood. They were forced to take up arms against the foreigners to protect their lands to the West, had pushed back the wave of Roman violence again and again and again, even when other tribes around them succumbed to the Eagle standard.

Kailen and the men and women he called his people would bow to no one. They would rather die than become slaves. And now his tribe were taking up arms again, seeking revenge against the Legion who slaughtered their fellow countryman. There will be nothing left of the Legio XX Valeria Victrix and their commander Quintus Aquilla. Kailen had prayed to the gods, had vowed to each and every one that$ the fields of battle will be awash with Roman blood.

Kailen’s grip on the reigns tightened and his horse snorted and fidgeted beneath him. He forced himself to calm down and stroked the neck of the animal; all the while he kept his eyes on the scene before him. It was unlooked for but a very welcomed piece of good luck. The Roman reinforcement will never make it to their fort up land. Instead, the fort will welcome the war party.

The scout he had dispatched half an hour ago appeared in the distance to their right. He trotted along in a naturally graceful rhythm despite the rain turning the ground to mud beneath his shoes. Another man from the war party walked forward with the Scout’s horse and the scout clambered up onto it without a pause.

The scout was a trusted man of Kailen’s, known as Vaughan. He was a quiet unassuming man of twenty two summers, who had a smooth cheeked look of a young boy in his teens. He could walk through a forest without leaving any sign he had passed through for others to track. He could convene with the earth and tell you its history. There was no better scout and tracker than Vaughan and Kailen was eternally grateful that the man was by his side as brothers-in-arms.

Vaughan nodded to him as his horse drew up beside Kailen’s. “Three ships were dashed on the rocks further down land,” he pointed back the way he had come. “There were no survivors save from the third ship that got carried the furthest by the winds.”

Kailen nodded. “How many survivors?”

Vaughan shook his head. “Hard to say given the darkness and the distance. Their numbers couldn’t be any more than a dozen at the very most.”

Kailen smiled a smile that was all teeth. “I want no survivors, not one.” He raised his voice so the rest could hear him. “Death to every Roman!”

The War party replied in kind, the sound carrying like a death roar.

He urged his horse into motion by pressing his heels into the animal’s flank. The war band whooped their agreement and followed suit.

The hunt was on.



That night spent in the shallow ravine had to have been the worst in Aurelia’s life. Not only did the shock of the night’s events weigh heavily on her mind, but the cold from the damp clothes sunk into her very bones, making it impossible to sleep.

Not that any of them could get to sleep. They couldn’t risk a fire for fear of being seen by the enemy. So they lay huddled on the floor, Aurelia still wrapped up in the Prefect’s cloak, and warily watching the treeline for any signs of movement and approaching doom.

While they didn’t see anything that caused alarm, the strange noises from foraging animals, the wind rustling through the leaves that sounded like moaning spirits, kept them on edge until the break of dawn. In the light of morning, the Prefect sent out two of his men in opposing directions so they could get their bearings and head for the safety of the Roman fort.

“We can’t wait any longer,” He said to them in soft tones. “If any of the others have survived, they will be doing the same thing. We need to look to ourselves now.”

No one disagreed with him, not when the ever present threat of death hung over their heads like some macabre dark cloud.

Aurelia’s stomach grumbled, protesting loudly at the lack of food. The last time she had eaten was the morning before and now her hunger was gnawing at her insides like an animal. They had no food on them, nor had any washed up in the crates that the soldier’s had thrown overboard. They didn’t understand the British countryside to know what food was edible and what was poison to them.

After what felt like an eternity, the two soldiers came back to report that the Roman for lay to the East and would be about a day’s march.

The news was disheartening to hear. They had been blown so far off course and who knew how many dangers lay between them and the fort.

“Let’s move,” The Prefect said, rallying everyone up and moving. “The sooner we start the sooner we reach our destination.”

Aurelia ended up walking beside the Prefect, his solid endurance lending her strength.

“Do not worry,” He said to her as his eyes were trained on the path in front of them. They were keeping to the treeline with the beach in their line of sight to their right. “I will get you to the commander unharmed. You have my word.”

Aurelia nodded and smiled faintly. “Thank you, Prefect.”

“Verenus,” He said gruffly. “My name is verenus.”

“Verenus, then. You have my gratitude.”

Gratitude at his kind words, the effort of comforting her despite there not being a need. But there has been a shadow growing in her heart and in her thoughts and she couldn’t help but wonder if they would ever make it to the fort alive and unmolested.