“It’s all right for you, Gregorius, you’re used to this kind of weather. Gaul is almost as nasty as Britannia!”
The other man laughed, as both men knew that Gregorius had spent little time in Gaul, having followed his father to whichever posting he had been sent.
Gregorius was taller and fairer than the dark Roman. Typically, the Roman legions were filled with men from conquered tribes. The promise of Roman Citizenship on completion of service had enticed many enemies of Rome to fight for her instead of against her.
“Sod it! Someone’s coming!” said Gregorius, looking over Lucius’ shoulder.
They both watched the mist as swirls formed around emerging figures of men. Then, lines of marching legionaries appeared out of the mist. It was with some relief that they identified that the advancing columns were Roman and, judging by the way they marched, they had seen battle recently, a fact reinforced by several captives being marched under escort at the rear, followed by several carts loaded with wounded Roman soldiers. Several walking wounded limped along, aided by uninjured comrades.
It was part of their own legion, the Ninth, returning from a campaign against the tribes from the north.
The two men sounded the alarm so the guard turned out.
The Centurion of the watch came up onto the ramparts, joining the two sentries looking out at the approaching men. Unlike them, his cloak was dry, as he had been sheltering in his nice cosy quarters next to a warm fire. The standards of the advancing soldiers were furled and all the mounted officers were wrapped up in their cloaks against the weather.
“It’s Tribune Marcus Gallinas with the first and sixth cohorts. It looks like they’ve been successful,” he announced.
The first and sixth were the two crack cohorts in the legion; the first always being the cream in any Legion. Unlike the other nine cohorts, the first had only five centuries as opposed to the normal six. However, their centuries were double the size with one hundred and sixty men in each. Normally, a century had only eighty men, so the sixth was a standard cohort with six centuries of eighty men.
Therefore, they watched as fifteen hundred men approached. There was an auxiliary cavalry unit with them, over and above the mounted officers.
“Who are they, sir?” Gregorius asked the Centurion, as the captives came in sight.
“Just some barbarians who will no doubt entertain the plebeians in the Circus in Rome. Don’t worry about them, for while they’re here, in chains, they can’t slit your neck on your next patrol.
The leading ranks were entering the gate, so Lucius could see the marks and scars of battle on the shields and on the men themselves. When the wagons rolled under them, the watchers could see the wounded men lying in the back with their wounds bandaged.
“Looks like they’ve been through a rough time!” muttered the Centurion.
Certainly, the soldiers marched like men who were glad to be back. No songs of glory or triumph were sung, and the trumpeters were silent, trudging with the rest, just relieved to be safe.
Several more carts were at the rear, carrying the supplies, cooking pots, blacksmith and armourer. To the rear of them, were the captives, around thirty individuals, roped together at neck and wrist, with legionaries escorting them, but the captives’ cowed demeanour showed little of the danger they were supposed to be. All were men, still dressed as warriors, with some still showing the leather armour that was popular with some tribes.
All bar two, that is.
The three men on the ramparts gasped as the last captives came into their sight. Two women were bound to an eight-foot length of wood strapped across their shoulders. One of them was taller than any of the soldiers who escorted her, or even the other captives for that matter, while the other was shorter, but powerfully built. The taller girl was supporting her friend, who seemed close to exhaustion. The men’s attention was riveted on the tall girl.
Her clothing was in tatters, her long limbs caked in a mixture of blood and mud, but in her flashing blue eyes, defiance and pride shone through the drizzle.
Lucius swallowed and glanced at his officer. The Centurion couldn’t take his eyes of the captive girl. Her long blonde hair was tangled and had vegetation caught up in the long tresses, but her face, once one saw past the muck and bruises, was stunningly beautiful. She glanced up at the watching men; all three were surprised to see a gleam of her perfect white teeth as she smiled. She was laughing at them!
“By the gods!” the Centurion muttered, only looking away as she passed under the gate beneath them. With a swirl of his cloak, he turned and made his way to the steps, as fast as he could go without running.
Gregorius came over to his friend.
Now that,” he said, “is what I call a woman!”