While gazing at the flickering lantern beside him, Legate Vespasian shuddered, though not from the cold.
He glanced down to watch the slender, pale fingers of another’s hand trail down his scarred, olive skin and slither beneath the silk sheets that draped across him. The tender fingers encircled his now-limp shaft and gently stroked another shudder from his weary body.
Rolling over, into a bundle of red hair, he stared into his companion’s green, enchanting eyes. Undeterred, her fingers still strummed across his length, enticing quivers from his slumbering manhood.
‘How did I get here?’ He wondered to himself.
***
The hill-top inferno was visible for miles around; a glowing beacon through the abyss of night. The sounds of screams; crackling fire and the breaking of groaning timbers were unmistakable from the opposite hill, a mile or so away. This is where Vespasian sat astride his steed, his calloused hands soothing the horse’s long mane. The surrounding woodlands were almost alive with the echoes, which rang through the otherwise eerie silence.
His horse whinnied, turning and trotting on the spot, its nose held high. Vespasian stroked the stallion’s long neck and whispered a soothing song in its ear, unable to tear his eyes away from the blazing fort. His horse had seen him through many years of conquest; no doubt it was tuned into his own unease by now, Vespasian thought.
The thunder of approaching hooves forced the Legate and his assembled party from their reverie. The clearing suddenly rippled with the drawing of swords and shuffling hooves as all turned, alert to the stranger.
From the trees sprang a lithe young horse, carrying an even younger looking messenger boy. Garbed in Roman light armour, emblazoned with the Capricorn of Vespasian’s Second Legion, he rode directly towards Vespasian himself.
“Sir, the tribunes report the fort is ours! It is taken, sir!”
The party remained silent until the Legate let out a chuckle. At once, the assembled group broke out in sympathetic, sycophantic titters.
“Yes, I can see that, boy.” The Legate turned and stared at the blazing beacon, almost sure he could feel the heat of the flames against his face. “At least, what’s left of the place. Give it another hour or so and I fear our latest possession will be nothing but ash.”
The group chuckled in time with their leader, awaiting his orders like an excited pack of dogs.
“Let us approach the town, shall we? We should see this great fortress of resistance, before it’s completely destroyed.”
Vespasian whipped the reins of his loyal stallion and charged down the hill. Behind him, the hillside erupted with the sound of beating hooves and neighing mares as his entourage gave panicked chase.
The evening air was cool against his flushed cheeks, compared to the warmth of Rome’s climate, but Vespasian knew that the weather was on his side. Crashing through the undergrowth, he could smell the spring flowers smashed aside by his galloping steed and his eyes cast up at the clear, starry sky lit by man-made flames.
“There’s not a drop of rain in sight. It makes a damn change in this Gods-forsaken place. It’s dried up in time to watch it burn to the ground.”
Climbing the hill at last, faced with the blaze of the burning fort, Vespasian’s officers began to catch him. Gathering around him defensively, the group rode up the roughly trodden path to the once proud stronghold of resistance.
“At least I won’t have to give this place a road, now.” Vespasian’s powerful voice carried over the clamour of hooves and earned another appreciative laugh from his entourage.
The group surged through the broken remains of the charred and splintered gate into a vision of Hades itself, complete with tortured screams. The officers, resplendent in their pristine uniforms, stood in awe of the inferno around them, gleaming against the fire’s light like Godly messengers.
The muddied street was baked hard from the heat of the firestorm. Whole buildings were engulfed in a wall of fire and the sky alight was with the crackling embers of a thousand blazes. The fort seemed to double in size, covering the world in a terrible haze of smoke that streaked into the obsidian sky and towered above. A river of blood flowed across the scorched earth, almost boiling with the heat. The horses bellowed, dancing their hooves in the crust of mud as Romans and locals alike ran from house to house and street to street through the cacophony of noise.
Vespasian heard a woman’s screams from inside a nearby building before a thunderous crash of collapsing woodwork cut them off for good. The men wrestled with their unwilling, rebellious mounts, shouting out their orders.
“Sir, it’s not safe here!” The almost echoed voice of a tribune somewhere behind Vespasian was lost on the Legate’s ears.
He paid no attention, mesmerised by the fleeing shadows of the fort’s populace, backlit against the intense light of the blaze. Men, women and children retreated from the encroaching flames and the marauding army of foreigners rampaging through their homes.
The Legate, stupefied and overwhelmed, could focus on nothing but the assault on his senses. Scowling against the singing heat, with a hand covering his face, he desperately wished to cover his ears and drown out the horrific, chilling screams and the spitting flames.
A woman ran out across his path, making a desperate dash for freedom. Her red hair trailed out behind her. Her torn and ragged shirt barely covered her pale skin - darkened by streaks of mud. Her thin arms and bare legs flailed frantically as she scrambled away.
She barely passed in front of the Legate before two Legionaries had pounced on her, tumbling to the floor in a tangle of twisted limbs. As she started to scream, thrashing on the scorched earth, the Legate dived from his horse in an instant.
“Sir! Sir, no! What are you-“
Vespasian strode ahead and seized the soldiers by their tunics, scattering them through the blood and mud. As one, the two men turned in anger, a war cry building in their throats. Their trained hands snapped to their sheathed swords, tearing the weapons from their scabbards as they leapt to their feet.
The Legate stared them down, defiantly facing his soldiers with his plumed helmet held high.
The Legionaries stopped dead in their tracks, amazed, as the Legate’s tribunes formed up around him, presenting a wall of sharpened steel.
“Go now, before I change my mind.” Vespasian’s tone was quiet, but carried the menace no legionary would dare to question.
The men retreated at once, scattering into the fort’s twisted streets. Vespasian hauled the girl – shaking and delirious – onto his shoulder and tossed her over the saddle of a nearby tribune with ease. She did not resist, now sobbing quietly into the leather piece. The assembled group shared questioning looks. All eyes avoided the unmistakable flash of her bare thighs in the fire light.
“I want her alive,” Vespasian growled, mounting his own horse again. “Take her to my quarters. She might have useful information.” The Legate turned to stare down his confused tribune with a look that made the man sink into his saddle. “Now! Go!”
Eyes wide and shocked, the tribune turned and tore out of the once proud gateway, leaving the Legion’s officers to mill about in a strangely quiet moment of shared confusion.
***
The girl sobbed almost endlessly, eyes streaming into the dark leather saddle. Her eyes never lifted when the horse cantered into a camp and she heard the loud, lewd calls and whistles of the soldiers they passed. She had no idea where they were and she didn’t want to know.
She looked up at the rider’s face only once as he steadied her across the mare’s back. The man looked straight ahead and refused to see the tear-strewn eyes pleading with him.
The evening was quickly darkening now that she was away from the flames. Here, her ripped and shredded clothes provided no warmth against the cool evening air.
Halting among an encampment of tents, the rider dismounted. It was with flaming cheeks and bloodshot eyes that she was finally lifted from the saddle. Her torn shirt rode up around her waist for a few humiliating seconds – something no nearby Legionary failed to cheer about. She hugged her rags tight, seeking any comfort, and desperately tried to hide the arrow sharp tips of her cold, stiffened nipples.
The girl was marched into the nearby tent, pushed inside by her rider. Ducking under the door, she stood up straight in a tent bigger than the home she’d had back in the fort.
Her eyes shone and blinked back tears, her lip quivering, and bitten, as she relived the horrific night. When she closed her eyes, the flames still danced behind her eyelids; the silence still bore the echoing screams of loved ones and friends.
The tent flap whipped shut behind her. Her cold, pale skin prickled and she ran for the corner of the tent. The soldier was gone and the thick canvas walls seemed to isolate her from the din of the camp outside. Hugging her knees, red hair tumbling wildly over her ragged clothes, she settled on the floor in the darkest corner, closed her eyes and quietly cried to herself.
***
The appalling slaughter was just beginning and Vespasian wanted nothing to do with it. The clinging smell in the air was enough to sicken him. He barked out a few quick orders, smacked the hide of a few horses and let the officers scatter into the town.
The Legate turned for the gate and rode out at a gallop, glad to be away and alone at last. He knew that his tribunes would achieve nothing now, the rout was all too strong to halt; he just couldn’t be around them anymore.
At the bottom of the hill, he stopped against the line of trees and drew deep, ragged breaths. The clear air felt intoxicating compared to the close, bitter taste of the fire. His churning stomach slowly settled and he leaned against the horse for a minute. The beast barely moved but for a whinny until its rider climbed up once more.
“Water. We’ve gotta find some water. I’m filthy!”
***
She had no idea how long she cried for; she just knew that she was done when her eyes dried up and she could cry no more. Hugging herself on the spot and taking heavy breaths, her heart rate soon began settling down.
Getting to her feet, she ran her hand through a bowl of clear water on a nearby table, taking deep breaths and blinking away her weary eyes.
She could see the large tent was well filled with solid chests, a fine bed of silk sheets and a large oak desk, covered in maps and plans. She peered at the works, but the foreign language was beyond her. A small fire of spitting embers sputtered in the middle of the tent and she felt her whole body shudder.
“Must be someone important who lives here.”
The water was cool between her fingers; a stimulating feeling of freshness. A couple of splashes gave her pale cheeks a ruddy glow and flushed her tired eyes. The smell of the fire seemed to cling to her rags, though, and no matter how much she washed, she couldn’t feel clean.
She peered around herself, clutching the remains of her clothes. Slowly, she inched the garment higher up her thighs, her head swivelling for any potential intruder.
At last, the girl shrugged and lifted away her shirt to stand naked in the empty tent, stretching her exhausted limbs. Sitting down and huddling against the pale warmth of the dying fire, her cold, pimpled skin began to thaw.
Pulling up the water bowl, she dunked her dress inside to wash and sighed, glancing at the flickering lanterns hanging nearby. They gave her a tiny quiver of unease. Hugging her modest breasts tight and rubbing the numbness from her arms, she sighed to herself.
“I’m lucky to be out of there alive. I just hope this place is safer.”
Clasping the bowl, she closed her eyes and braced herself before splashing the freezing water across her aching body. The chill sucked the breath from her sooty lungs, through her gritted teeth. She stood bolt upright and shuddered as her skin erupted in tingles and goose bumps. She washed herself all over, rubbing her skin for warmth before huddling up close to the feeble fire, feeling truly invigorated.
***
Soldiers saluted and approached as Vespasian entered the camp, hailing their Legate. He ignored them all, staring ahead and feigning ignorance as he cantered towards his tent.
‘I don’t care what these people want. I don’t care, today. Let them burn that place to the ground and have their fun. I’m going to my tent for the night and that’s it!’
The Legate slid from his horse the second it reached his tent, his boots slamming into the mud on impact. Vespasian threw the reins to the approaching optio and stormed into his tent without a word or a gesture, his armour’s gentle chinking the only sound bar his hurried steps.
A quick couple of yanks at the ties loosened his armour enough for him to cast it down next to his bed - just in time to collapse onto its soft comfort. Lying across the silk sheets, he closed his eyes and sighed, glad to be able to lie down and relax at last. His heavy eyes were unstoppably drawn shut and he lost himself to the world for a few delightful moments.
Something rustled nearby and, trained to react in an instant, Vespasian’s eyes flew open. Diving to his feet, he whipped about on the spot, alert and defensive.
Only a few feet away stood an ashen Briton girl with a fiery mane of wild hair. Her green orbs were held wide open as she backed slowly away from the threatening Roman, clutching the wet, heavy shirt she wore, tightly.
“Oh fuck, it’s you.” Vespasian breathed out and stood up straight, intent on hiding his heavy inhalations.