Chapter Eight







Aurelia smelled roasting meat. Food and love and family and home. A bird chirped in the chill hour before dawn. She had curled into a ball on her side beneath a soft furred blanket. The smell of breakfast drifted on the air currents from the kitchen, where the slaves were busying themselves with preparing a feast of stuffed olives, roasted venison and juicy ripe fruit.

She should get up soon, wash away the sleep from her body in her familias heated pool, and greet the day refreshed.

But the world had gone awry. The scent of the venison was mixed with the strong smell of horse and stale sweat. She blinked her eyes open, momentarily disorientated, until the events of the past couple of days rushed back to her like some half-forgotten dream revisiting her. No, nightmare, she thought despairingly. She was caught up in a nightmare and there was no waking from it.

Tree roots were painfully sticking into her back, and she tried to shift away, only to realise she was tangled up in some kind of rich thick animal pelt. She ran her finger tips along the edge in confusion. After finishing the meal (a rather tasteless affair but her stomach welcomed it like it was the most sumptuous banquet she had ever tasted), Aurelia had stayed in her slumped position against the tree, watching the men milling about her with wary eyes. None had approached, choosing instead to ignore her. After some time, she must have fallen asleep on the early hours of the morning, eyelids too heavy to stay up and keep her vigilance. It must be some time after that, that the animal pelt was laid on her to keep her warm for the cold British nights.

She certainly didn’t have it when she fell asleep.

Aurelia huffed under her breath. They could have cut the rope around her wrists too. The skin underneath was beginning to burn with the chaffing. Curling her fingers around the edge of the blanket, she drew it slowly from her face and blinked rapidly in the early morning glare of sunshine just peeking over the hills.

The camp was already in motion. Some men were tending to the weak fire, where the delicious smell of roasting meat was coming from, others were packing up their possession and bundling them into bags on their pack horses. It was done with such precision and deftness that Aurelia couldn’t help but be impressed with the way the war party acted as a cohesive group. The Roman Legion would be proud.

The thought of the Legion immediately brought her Intended to mind and her throat closed in the sudden surge of tears. Biting her lip with her teeth, she concentrated on the stinging pain to keep the show of weakness at bay. There was no way she would cry in front of her captors, she wouldn’t give them the pleasure.

Awareness of herself filtered back as the vestiges of exhaustion lifted and she attempted to put some semblance of order to her knotted hair by running her fingers through it, snagging on the pins. Sighing, she began to pull each one out until her dark hair tumbled around her shoulders in loose waves. Her hand paused in mid movement of brushing the pins off the blanket when she considered them. They could prove useful later…

Eyes flicking around her, she collected the pins and slipped them into the bodice of her dress, some poking into her flesh, but she ignored the discomfort.

Her stomach tensed with both hunger and trepidation of the day ahead, and her bladder needed to be emptied badly. Glancing furtively around, she slipped out from beneath the blanket and stood on wobbly legs. The agony she had felt yesterday from the walking had now died done to a dull ache that was much easier to overcome.

The moment she gained the balance of her legs, the blonde youth from the night before was beside her. His hand was hovering by her as if he was reaching out to steady her but she flinched from him and his hand dropped back to his side.

“Are you hungry?” He questioned softly.

She nodded. “I, uh, I need to relieve myself,” she mumbled with obvious embarrassment, her cheeks turning pink to admit it. “In private.” She stressed.

He nodded his understanding with a slight hint of amusement about his mouth, and pointed to the treeline behind her. “You may go there. Don’t wonder too far or I will be forced to come and get you.”

Aurelia didn’t bother to reply, she didn’t trust herself to be polite. She turned around and strode stiffly to a large thick tree with the prickling feeling of his eyes on her. It was far enough away from the camp that gave her some semblance of privacy but not enough that the Britons would protest against it. Making sure no one could see her, she was able to relieve herself, all the while cursing the indignity of it.

Once finished, she made her way back to where he waited. Feeling the need to say something in the silence, she asked “what is your name?”

“Vaughan.” He replied with a small smile and an incline of his head. “And what may I call you other than roman?”

“Aurelia.” She answers, seeing no harm to tell him the truth.

“Au-rel-ia.” He attempted, his brash accent finding the softer sounds harder to accentuate. “I like it.”

“Vaughan.” A voice interrupted them.

They both turned to see Kailen standing behind them, large arms folded across his chest. His eyes were levelled at Vaughan, stare steely and unyielding. Aurelia would have balked if he had directed that look at her but Vaughan seemed to be unfazed by it.

In fact, his smile got bigger and he nodded at the silent exchange they were having that Aurelia wasn’t privy to before stepping back. His eyes flicked to her and he nodded. “Aurelia.” He said and turned back to the camp.

Aurelia felt confused at the turn of events, but was unable to decipher it as Kailen took it upon himself to draw close to her. The skin of his jaw was a little red from where he had scraped off the stubble with the edge of a blade and Aurelia was struck speechless from his appearance again.

His face looked younger now. It was smooth, the jaw more angular and pronounced, and she couldn’t help herself from thinking how attractive he was. It wasn’t fair; she had been led to believe the Briton’s were horrible unclean savages. She hadn’t been ready for the reality of a true Briton, that a barbarian could have the face of a God.

Gritting her teeth of her ridiculous thoughts, she turned her attention back to Kailen. He had now stopped right in front of her, within touching distance. She stood her ground, her heart beating wildly as he loomed over her. Gods, her head only come to his impressive chest. She had to tilt her chin up in order to look him in the eyes. She felt vulnerable baring her neck like that but she didn’t want to back down.

His hand reached out to her, fingers plucking at a lock of her dark hair and running it over his fingers. She wanted to pull away but it felt too much like a weakness so she kept herself still.

Something must have shown on her face, as the corner of his mouth lifted in a smirk. Finally, he spoke. “It is time to break your fast. Once you have finished, we’ll be moving on.”

He gave her hair a small tug, not enough to hurt, but to remind her he had a hold of it before he let it go and turned to walk away from her.

“Where are you taking me?” She blurted out before she could stop herself.

She couldn’t be sure if he would answer her, but he turned back to her. “I’m taking you back to my tribe.”

It wasn’t much to go on; it’s something that she could have figured out for herself so she tried again. “And then what?”

He cocked his head to the side, studying her. She had the strange feeling to duck her head under the intensity of it. “Then, my clan leaders will decide what to do with you.” He replied and left her befoe she could ask any more questions.

She felt like she had plunged into ice water all over again. Then, my clan leaders will decide what to do with you. He had said it with hardly a flicker of emotion, like it was commonplace to talk about a person’s life like it meant nothing to him. Which, she had to vehemently remind herself, was true for someone like Kailen. He was a Briton. A warrior who dealt death to his enemies without a second thought.

And Aurelia was his enemy. She may not take up arms against him and his people (maybe rocks, but that was it), but she was Roman and the physical manifestation of everything he hated about her people.

No matter what happens from now on, she had better not forget it. Because Kailen certainly wouldn’t.





~



Verenus had spent the night stumbling around in the dark, hoping against hope that he was going the right way to the Roman fort. Finally fall dark lifted and his eyes settled on the dark wood of the tall walls, his heart rose in triumph and it gave his cramped muscles a new lease of life.

Stopping a safe distance from the gates and the centurions that guarded it, so they could observe and recognise him as one of their own.

“State your name and cohort!” A centurion commanded him.

"My name is Verenus Tiberios, first centurion of the fourth cohort to Commander Acquilla. I have news of British movements along the coastline and that of his intended, Aurelia Metilla!” He answered with a clear voice.

“Open the gates!” The same centurion cried and, with a loud groan of creaking wood, the great gates opened to allow him passage.

Stepping over the threshold, he was immediately met by a centurion and four foot soldiers in light leather armour. The centurion briefly glanced down at his bound wrists but didn’t comment on it. “We were expecting you two days ago, sir. News of the decimated reinforcement from the storm has made our patrols all the more cautious.”

“There are other survivors?” Verenus asked, unable to help the spike of hope he felt at the mere prospect. “Others have got here safely?”

The centurion hesitated, remorse in his eyes, before he shook his head. “Apologies, but no. No one has arrived but yourself. Pieces of ships wreckage have washed up on our shore.”

Verenus felt light headed. All those men, lost. Forever. It was unimaginable. “I need to see commander Acquilla immediately. What I have to say is of great importance to him.”

The centurion nodded. “I will escort you to him. Follow me please.”

“Gratitude.” Verenus followed the centurion, flanked by the foot soldiers, passed large tents of men acting as common barracks, fire pits where they were cooking great vats of what smelt like stew, right to the biggest tent in deep red that acted as the commander’s own quarters. Two Infantry soldiers stood by the entrance and stiffened to attention at their company.

The centurion peeled back the cover and they were inside the great domed tent. In the middle stood a large dark wood table and chairs that had vast amounts of written documents spread out over it, the largest being a map that Verenus could only guess as being the British territory they were in now.

A tall man stood at the table, hands braced against the edge and head bent as he persued the documents with grim determination. Judging by the gold leaf laurels at the shoulders of his breast plate, this man was commander Aquilla. It was the first time he had been in the presence of the man. He was young for a commander, couldn’t be any older than twenty eight, with blonde hair and a large condescending mouth that looked perpetually cruel.

“Commander Acquilla” The centurion said formally, gaining the man’s attention. “This man belongs to the fourth cohort that perished in the sea. He claims he has knowledge of enemy movement on the coast.”

The commander nodded, green eyes taking in Verenus with one dismissive sweep. “Gratitude, Centurion. That will be all.”

The centurion saluted, his arm held out straight in front of him, with his palm down and fingers touching, before he and the foot soldiers left the tent.

Acquilla unsheathed his knife from his belt and motioned for Verenus to turn around and present his tied hands. Verenus did so with no small bit of relief and the roped came away from his rubbed raw wrists with a sigh.

“Congratulations, soldier. It seems you alone have escaped a watery grave. But the bound wrists tell another, more intriguing story.” The commander said as he slipped the knife back into its rightful place.

“Not alone, sir. I was with six others until a British war party hunted us down.” Vernus hesitated, unsure of how to word his next piece of information. Honesty seemed to be the best course of action. “Your intended was with us, Sir.”

The commander looked at him sharply, eyes narrowed and assessing. “My intended? She escaped the storm?”

Verenus nodded. “She did, Sir. We were blown off course by a two day trek along the shoreline. We were forced to make our own way on foot to the fort, but a day ago a war party hunted us down, killed my men and sent me to you as a warning.”

The commander’s face was closed off completely. “And what message would that be?”

Verenus swallowed uncomfortably. “The British tribe known as the Silures-“

The commander’s face twisted in disgust at the name.

“-have taken your intended as a war prize in the name of Caratacus, one of the High Kings of England and the tribal leader of the vanturi that you defeated in battle. If you wish to see her alive and unharmed, you and the Legio XXII will leave the shores of Britain, never to return again to fight. If you do not, then Lady Aurelia will be raped, beaten and killed by a pack of wild dogs.”

Verenus’s voice trailed off into a charged silence that was painful to withstand, the Commander’s face never changing in its intensity.

Finally he stirred, his voice remaining detached. “We can only conclude that the Lady Aurelia is dead then.”

Verenus frowned. “Sir, I left her alive and-“

“Don’t interrupt me with your ill-judged opinions, soldier. These Britons are savages and won’t think twice about defiling a woman. Certainly not about killing her. They are about as disciplined as the dogs they use to threaten me with.”

Verenus swallowed the protests he wanted to voice with extreme difficulty. “Then what do you propose we do, sir?”

The commander pulled himself up to his full height, shrugging his shoulders as if he was ridding himself of unwelcome thoughts. Ridding himself of his intended like she was nothing to him. Marriage contracts between Nobilius families were often for political gain rather than for love, it was not unusual. But it was chilling to see it before him like this.

“I will not risk the placement of my legion for the idle threats of an already dead woman. We will push forward with our plans.” He glanced at Verenus. “I want you to inform the scouts to ready themselves to move within the hour. You will show me the place where you were intercepted by the Britons.”

Verenus could do nothing but nod. “Yes sir. What is to be done for Lady Aurelia?”

“I will send word to her family that she fell victim to the storm like all the others. They don’t need the grief of knowing her true fate.”

You seem to be bearing the grief remarkably well, Commander. “Yes sir.”

“Dismissed.”

Vernus saluted and left the commander’s tent with a nasty taste in his mouth. It tasted oddly like betrayal.



~





“I don’t understand your reasoning. The terms you offered to the Romans is poor at best. They would never surrender the territory they won for one captive, and a woman at that.” Vaughan said to Kailen, watching his leader’s face as if it would show him a sign of madness.

“Of course not.” Kailen replied with a grin. “I never thought for one moment they would do any such thing. It would be military suicide.”

Vaughan’s eyebrows drew together in complete confusion. “Then why are we keeping her captive?”

“Because she’s a means to an end. The Roman Commander is a proud and vain man who above all else covets glory and self-worth. To take his woman captive is a grievous blow against his honour. And that is something he cannot live with.”

The clouds of confusion were parting on Vaughan’s face. “So she is bait for the Romans? To draw them to us?”

Kailen’s grin turned positively feral. “Exactly. The Commander won’t be able to resist such a challenge. And when we meet them in battle, we will wash them away in their own blood.”

Vaughan matched his grin with one of his own. “Looking forward to it.”

~



I may or may not have been watching Spartacus the series while watching this I can no longer say 'Thank you' in real life and in writing without swapping it out for Gratitude. Oops.



The Roman Salute is a gesture in which the arm is held out forward straight, with palm down, and fingers touching. In some versions, the arm is raised upward at an angle; in others, it is held out parallel to the ground. In contemporary times, the former is widely considered a symbol of fascism that is commonly perceived to be based on a custom in Ancient Rome.However, no Roman text gives this description and the Roman works of art that display salutational gestures bear little resemblance to the modern Roman salute.