Return to

Home Page

NEW AUTHORS SHOWCASE

 

 

6M

3

Let Ravens Cry

By

Kertland

Various Samples

SAMPLE 1..

With squawks of fright and large black wings beating at the air, three Ravens rose from their perches among the white trunks of a stand of Birch trees. The air resounded to the steady drum of hob nails crunching on the stone surfaced road. This beat was echoed in the clink of metal as the marching column of a Roman cohort pushed it’s way north in the province of Briton. Gusts of wind threw swirls of dust into the air as the long column of gleaming helmets and javelin points drove relentlessly on, it’s men oblivious to this minor irritation, their brown cloaks flapping in the wind

An iron point on the end of a wooden staff rammed down to pierce deep into the soft earth at the side of the road, giving a sharp metallic ring as it struck a stone. With a loud curse Caesernius gripped it firmly with his right hand and growled. “Come out you little bastard!”

Lifting his right foot he shook it to dislodge a small pebble that had become trapped between his foot and the sole of his military boot. with another sharp flick of his foot it was gone. After adjusting the leather lacing of the boot’s straps he pulled out the long shaft topped with an iron ball sheathed in shining tin. Proudly wiping this symbol of an Optio’s rank with his hand, he prepared to rejoin his men in the line of march.

Just as he looked up, the gold laurel leaf crown on top of the standard at the front of his Century glinted in a sudden shaft of light as the sun broke through the rolling dark clouds. Although tinged now with a little regret, he had never lost his pride in the standards but this sight made hairs stiffen on the back of his neck. It was an omen, that suddenly gleaming standard, a good omen. This island of winds, water and forests may prove to be not such a miserable posting after all. It could be that it was the place to set his fortunes to rights. His spirits had lifted with the sudden glow of’ the sun and that good omen had made them rise even further. But for now, he must concentrate on the present after a muttered gratitude to the Gods,

“May Fortuna guide me and Mithras, God of the Legions, hold me in his palm.”

It had looked like rain, often a refreshing godsend while on a long, hot march, but not in this sharp wind. It had made him pull the hood of his cloak over his helmeted head, the winds in these colder climes of the Northern-most province of’ the Roman Empire could soon cause bad humours to the head. He pulled the hood back turning his face to let it absorb the warmth of Sol, feeling it’s energy soak into him. The trudging pace of the Legionaries seemed to quicken. the chiming clink of the ornaments on the military belts picked up the quickening beat, the warmth of the sun seemed to be lifting everyone’s spirits. Although helmets had been ordered to be worn, for this was considered potentially hostile territory, still under full military authority, there was a relaxed feeling among the ranks .The country  was open grasslands, only a few clumps of gorse with it’s bright yellow flowers and occasional clusters of white birch trucks punctuated the rolling green. there was little chance of any trouble. Caesernius stopped to adjust the carrying belt of his shield across his shoulder watching as the column passed a small shrine to Mars, God of War, placed by the road in memory of a dead soldier of Rome. The heads of the Legionares turned as they drew level and occasional incantations were muttered. Marching past, Caesernius quickly said his own invocation for strength and protection as he went by.

He settled back into the marching rhythm of the column until his attention was drawn to the sturdy figure of his Centurion who was now standing at the side of the road, his dark red cloak thrown back over his shoulders, exposing the glinting scales of his body armour. With powerful hands firmly gripping the top of the thick, twisted shaft of his vine-wood cane, a symbol of his authority, he studied the passing marching men. As the men of his Century marched by, his face became set in a stern frown, suddenly he took up quick steps beside his troops and with a swiftness that deceived the eye brought the staff down hard on the back of’ the thighs of the Legionarv whom he had caught not keeping up the required pace. There was a howl of protest.…….

SAMPLE 2

……..The next vicious blow cut into the bronze edging of the shield and glanced heavily off the protective brim of his helmet, knocking his head back and almost unbalancing him. He staggered back to try to regain his composure as the gleaming blade rose for another deadly strike. The Celt in his frenzy to get at him grabbed the edge of the shield with his left hand trying to claw it away. This gave Caesernius the opening he needed and gripping his staff tightly he side-stepped and drove it’s iron ball with all his might upwards into the snarling, blue-painted face just as the blade came slashing down. With blood streaming from a broken nose and split lips the stunned Celt reeled, his blade totally missing it’s mark. Caesernius now seized the opportunity and struck his enemy with the full force of his shield sending the warrior staggering back but the deadly sword was swinging up again. Stepping back and quickly changing the grip on his staff Caesernius used it as a mace, swinging it high and diagonally down, he felt the skull shatter with his shuddering blow. The upraised arm went suddenly limp and flopped down still grasping it’s sword as the Celt’s body slid down to collapse into the earth. A cheer rose from the Roman ranks and Caesernius raised the staff above his head to give a cry of triumph. He wiped the blood and gore from its shining ball on the grass and handed it to the Decanus. Drawing his sword he prepared his men for their next task. With the third warrior having been dispatched further down the rank the Legionaries’ blood was up and the timing was now perfect.

This was going to be dangerous work for his men in that forest, of the sort he did not like. They were going to act as beaters driving the Celtic scum back into the waiting spears and swords of the cavalry who would now be coming back through the forest. There were many imponderables, no proper order could be kept among those trees, no control of the enemy to bring them onto his organised javelins and swords. It all suited those bastard Britons’ way of fighting too well with their bloody individual heroics for his liking, but the job had to be done.

Trumpets sounded the advance and the first rank moved off into the trees. In the gloom of the forest, eyes and ears strained for the slightest hint of danger as they moved stealthily forward. An excited shout went up as figures were spotted dodging from tree to tree ahead.

“Hold your rank, no individual chasing! Keep as close as possible among these trees.”

The rank moved tensely but steadily forward with Caesernius cursing the undergrowth catching his shield. Suddenly a number of sling shots came at them, a Legionary went down stunned.

“Halt! \Hold your positions, get behind your shields.”

“The bastards were trying to goad them to break rank.” thought Caesernius. They waited ready behind their shields, everyone itching for a fight; Caesernius gripping the hilt of his sword just wanted to sink its blade into the belly of a Briton. A few shapes appeared briefly in the dim light but when the rank held they were gone. The rank started forward again but within a short time shouts of battle were heard from deeper in the forest.

“Thank the Gods those stinking Celts have run onto Roman swords and spear points at last, the cavalry are on them now!” Caesernius said with some satisfaction. Recall was sounded and with some relief he turned his men round to make their way back to the road, he did not like his men doing this skirmishing, this was Auxiliary work.

At that moment the Centurion came striding across to join him, “Did you fall asleep back there Caesernius? I thought I was going to have to come and save your arse from that blue bunny !“

Caesernius grinned back, “I was just playing with it for a while Centurion.”

“Try not to play with them for so long next time my lad.”

As they walked together Caesernius smiled to himself, enjoying the Centurion’s sense of humour, “It always amuses me when you call them that - blue bunnies!”

 The Centurion glanced at him with a completely straight face but there was a twinkle in the eyes…….

SAMPLE 3

….The next morning Caesernius settled himself in front of his personal bronze alter to Mithras.

Greatest and best God whose invincible power keeps Sol and Lunar always there for us. Whose eternal power keeps all things in order. Lord of the Four Winds thankyou for your protection and guidance in the attack on the village and your bountiful gifts afterwards, glory to you.”

There came a knock on the door, his breakfast had arrived from the cooks of his Century. He went and fetched Cresalena from her room, there would be enough for two but she would watch and wait till he had eaten. Setting about enjoying the porridge, olives, bread, fish sauce and wine and being an officer ,a dish of salted pork and chicken. He looked up at her and between mouthfuls said, “One of your jobs will be to provide this in future.” He studied the sullen face and glaring eyes, “ Perhaps not just yet!” he muttered under his breath. When he had finished he allowed her to eat her share in her room.

Order and training being the keystones of his life, with military precision Caesernius set about introducing his beautiful new acquisition to the basics of his Roman way of living. Although she remained stubbornly silent and sullen as she was shown stone floors, pavements, windows with glass in them, tiled roofs, non the less he was determined. He brought her back inside and started to show her the Roman eating utensil, a spoon at one end and long tapering point at the other.

Demonstrating it’s use of scooping up liquids and spearing pieces of food he gave it to her to try. Her speed and ferocity took him by surprise and he needed all his soldier’s agility and reflexes to dodge the flashing point aimed at his chest as she came at him with clawed nails and sharp point slashing, like some wild animal. The wicked point cut into the flesh of his forearm before he was able to catch her flailing arms by the wrists and twisting her arm till the would-be weapon fell from her grasp to clatter on the floor. He pushed her away and brought the back of his hand down to hit her hard across the face sending her back against the wall, she remained there watching him like some cornered animal.

He never took his eyes off her as he sucked at his wound and spat the blood into a dish. Then taking his army medical pack he sprinkled the cut with powdered herbs before stitching it closed with needle and horse hair.

Her wild eyes still had spirit and defiance flashing in them but the ferocious fire was gone, tears were welling at the edges of those astounding orbs. From the determined set of the pretty lips he could tell she was resolved that she was not going to allow herself to cry. He felt an admiration growing in him for this Celtic wild cat that cooled his anger at a slave attacking their master. He stayed his hand from further beating which was certainly his right. Give her time. Such spirit would not be easily broken and she was too valuable a prize to be spoilt by harsh treatment.

With her heart pounding against her ribs, barely aware of the stinging in her cheek , Cresalena just watched for his next move. She had acted in a moment of instinctive fury, lashing out at the first opportunity in retaliation for all the humiliation and pain that had been heaped upon her.

Now she waited fur his punishment with defiance but as she looked directly back into his eyes he seemed to be studying her. There was no cruel anger in them and for a moment she felt a tinge of regret for the attack. No, that could not be, he was the hated filth of a Roman, she would not allow herself to feel the slightest remorse as she fought her hot tears of anger.

In the morning she had trudged despondent to reluctantly fetch water from the fort’s well and had put the filled water pitcher down to push back a straggling strand of hair. Bending down to pick up the pitcher a flash of purple caught her eye at the side of the well. Looking closer she saw a wild Violet nestling under one of the stones at its base. Admiring the beautiful iridescent purple flowers a tear came as she tenderly cupped them in her hand. They represented the wonderful free land outside the stark, harsh realities of this wretched fort. Now she was torn between leaving the pretty little flowers to grow or the growing need to pluck them and take them with her. They had become a symbol of the free spirit within her that she was desperate never to let die. For a moment she hesitated fingers caressing the soft petals and delicate stems…...

SAMPLE 4

….The Standard driven into the ground safely by his own tent with a guard by it, satisfied he strolled back out of the camp and across the flat open ground towards the path that ran by the village defences. As it curved away following the shape of the ditches and wall he saw the slim figure standing in the moonlight. His heart quickened with excitement, he was really being favoured tonight

“Is your duty done? Your men safely tucked up for the night?” she teased.

“My patience is not infinite, I take my responsibilities to my men seriously .“ he retorted with a slight edge to his voice.

A disconcerted look crossed her face, her confidence a little shaken. “Don’t take offence” she said quietly and took his hand.

He suddenly realised his words had been rather pompous and quickly smiled, “One thing you can be sure of is that whatever a Roman does he does to the best of his ability.” his voice low and a knowing glint in his eye. He brushed the soft skin of her cheek and neck with fingers of his other hand.

Her eyes sparkled again in response. “Come, I know a place where we can be more secluded alone away from any eyes.”

Everywhere was bathed in the moon’s silvery light as they stopped in a small hollow surrounded by bushes that hid them from prying eyes, even from the village stockade wall.

She turned and looked up at him with large beckoning eyes. He brushed her silky hair, running his other hand gently up her slim neck, cupped her upturned cheek and bent towards her. Sighing slightly she stretching her arms over his shoulders and stood on the tips of her toes. He hesitated a moment then brushed her lips with his, she pulled him onto her open lips. There was fire in that kiss as her eager tongue sort his. Slipping his exploring hands down her slim back to grip her shapely rear, her head went back with a throaty giggle of lustful mirth as he kneaded her firm rump. Gently pulling the gold brooch out of the clothes at her shoulder he slowly followed the falling cloth of her garment with his lips as it slipped down her body. Excited by the moans of pleasure from her, she was so responsive to his every touch, it fascinated him.

Dropping to her knees she pulled the last of her garments from her body, as he quickly removed his belt and tunic gentle demanding feminine fingers found his groin. He thanked the Gods that he had not left his leather arming doublet on to come to the meal. Just for a second the image of his newly acquired slave girl came to him fuelling his lust for the lovely naked creature now kneeling before him . She let out another delicious giggle as he pushed and her supple body arched back. The slim thighs parted eliciting a shriek of delight from Shiobehan as she thrust herself hard against his belly her intense cries spurring him on to a triumphant out-pouring of his passion.

After they sank down together and rolled on their sides, their bodies glistening with sweat Before too long he felt a renewed vigour of his lust, rising once more to the occasion as his fingers slid between her thighs and she let out a sensual laugh as he rolled her onto her back.

His lust eventually spent with a cry of exultation he rolled onto his back exhausted . As he lay there looking at the clear night sky noting how the stars seemed very bright when there came a thought of his slave girl, her face slipped through his mind . Why did this image of Cresalena impinge itself on his consciousness at such a time? It was as if she never left him. What was this woman? a slave, that she should impose on his life like this……….