Slave

AD 123

Nine men and five women crouched in the heather, waiting. Owein shifted, his gaze never straying from the rock that marked the entrance to the mountain pass. Bryce was hidden there, ready to give the signal to attack.

Beside him, Owein felt Nia stir. She breathed onto her fingers, trying to break the cold. Their lovemaking last night had been desperate, with an edge of violence that had left Owein too shaken to sleep. Disease and hunger had all but sapped the clan of its spirits. Roman outposts had sprung up on all sides of their valley. Owein could hardly stand the bleak stares of the children and the elders. The clan could not live in hiding much longer--everyone knew it. And yet no one spoke of it.

Nia shivered. Owein wished he could wrap her in a comforting embrace, but he knew she would not accept that, any more than she had accepted the last of his meager rations two nights before. She was strong, as strong as any of her kinsmen. That she'd held onto that strength through so many years of war and hopelessness humbled Owein.

He exchanged a glance with his kinsman, Cormac. The dwarf crouched on the hillside across the trail, his sword drawn and ready. It would end today, unless they bought a few more weeks or months with the supplies carried by the approaching Roman patrol. Food and bedding along with weapons and armor. Owein was prepared to kill for those things.

Movement flashed near Bryce's rock. Owein leaned forward, his gaze narrowing. Thoughts faded, the mountain at his back faded--even Nia's form retreated to the edge of his consciousness.

The Romans advanced through the narrow pass in single file, like pearls on a string, unaware that death poised over their heads. Bryce gave the signal. As one, the warriors leapt.

Owein launched himself at the nearest soldier, a war-cry tearing from his throat. His victim's dark eyes went wide.

The slash of a blade, a spurt of blood. The body thudded to the ground. Owein yanked his weapon free. His head jerking up, he sought his next adversary.

An eerie battle calm descended, blanketing Owein like a dream. The grunts and screams of his companions and enemies floated like mist. His own cries seemed to ring far from his ears. His sword clanged dully against a Roman gladius . Even the jolt of contact was unreal.

His hatred formed a shield about his body. His opponent's snarls and curses did not touch him. Pain, fear, and defeat--they were words with no meaning.

He would not rest until every Roman was dead--or he was. He swung his sword low, slicing under his opponent's armor. The soldier fell.

Triumph flashed, as fierce and sexual as an orgasm. He spun about, ready for more.

Only to see a Roman plunge his sword into Nia's belly.

For an instant, Owein's world hung suspended. An image from the night before flashed through his brain--Nia arching against him, calling his name as her pleasure broke. Then the memory snapped. Nia slumped forward, a gurgling sound in her throat.

The Roman gave his sword a savage twist and jerked his elbow backward. The blade emerged from Nia's body covered with blood, trailing a rope of gut. She stared down at it, uncomprehending. Her knees crumpled.

"Nay--" Hot, boiling rage surged in his gut, shattered in his vision. Nia's life could not end this way. She was far too fine, far too good. He lunged forward, flinging himself at her murderer, an animal's cry in his throat.

The sound never emerged. A blow came down on Owein's skull sending him careening into darkness.

"Ho, Titus! Look! This one's alive."

A rough hand slapped his cheek. Owein's eyes snapped open and confronted the point of a sword. At the end of the gleaming shaft, a dark face leered.

Nia's death roared into his mind. With a cry he tried to knock the blade aside, only to be kicked back to the ground. A booted foot came down on his neck, crushing his windpipe. He clutched at it, gasping as blackness blotted his vision.

The world went dark.

The creaking jolt of a cart wheel woke him. His mail shirt was gone; his ankles and wrists were bound with coarse rope. His struggles to free himself only served to bloody his skin.

"The big barbarian's awake," a voice shouted.

"Get him up."

The cart creaked to a stop. Rough hands hauled Owein to his feet. He struggled, only to receive a resounding blow to his head for his trouble. The rope binding his ankles was cut. A soldier knotted a new tether about his neck and fastened it to the cart rail.

The vehicle resumed its roll, following in the wake of a column of marching soldiers. Owein's leash jerked. He stumbled in wagon ruts, only just managing to keep his feet. It was that or be dragged to an ignominious death.

They reached the Roman fort before nightfall. There, Owein was leg-shackled inside a pen with a two other Celts. Fallen warriors all, they avoided each others' gaze in shame. A slopped moldy bread and brackish water into a pail. Owein forced himself to down both. He needed whatever strength he might gain to attempt his escape. He hardly cared that he might be killed in the process. In fact, he welcomed the notion of death. But he would not die caged like a beast.

When the cage door opened the next morning, Owein fought with inhuman strength. It took four soldiers to subdue him, but in the end his struggles were for naught. Stripped to the skin, bearing new bruises and lacerations among his many scars, he was dragged to a wooden stake and bound with his hands behind his back. Cold sleet struck his skin as a fat man in a dirty toga prodded and poked about his body. An unsmiling Roman centurion looked on.

The man stepped back with an air of decision. "I'll take the lot," he said. "Twenty gold aurei ."

The officer's lips twisted. "For three healthy males? That's preposterous. Good quarry slaves are worth twice that amount."

"They are untamed. And I'll be saving you the trouble and expense of transporting them all the way to Eburacum," the man retorted. "Think on that."

"All right, then. I let them go for twenty-five."

"Twenty-three, and that's my final offer."

"Sold."  

» The three free short stories comes to conclusion with Druid.

» If you haven't checked it out already, click over to the first of the three short stories, Warrior.

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