Rome: Honor of the Legion - 48 B.C. by R. Cameron Cooke

Author:R. Cameron Cooke [Cooke, R. Cameron & Cooke, R. Cameron]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-10-10T23:00:00+00:00

XXI

The Allobroges oathsworn had been separated from Roucill and Egu. With their weapons confiscated, they had been placed under constant guard and ordered to wait in a spot close to the shore, away from the tents of the legions, and a bit too close to the latrines.

The wind from the sea whisked Catugna’s matted gray tresses as he watched the pavilion on the distant hilltop where the two princes conferred with Pompey. Catugna sat somewhat apart from the oathsworn. They never spoke to him, dared not look upon him, avoided the mere glance of his scourge-casting eyes. As fierce as the sword warriors were in battle, willing to throw their lives away on a whim to defend their lieges, their courage wavered when it came to him.

They were afraid of him. He knew it, even took pleasure from it, sometimes.

Out of the corner of his eye, Catugna saw one of the Roman guards watching him with fascination. The young legionary could not have been more than sixteen years of age. He had probably never seen a druid before, had most likely never been north of the Alps, and was perhaps mesmerized by this woad-painted creature of myth and nightmare.

Catugna wheeled abruptly on the lad, glared with his wild eyes, gritted his teeth, growled like a rabid wolf. The startled soldier practically tripped over himself backing away, stirring a fit of laughter from the other guards. The embarrassed youth quickly regained his footing but came no closer and kept a firm grip on his spear.

The soft underbelly of the empire on full display, mused the druid. They know not the imminency of their demise.

The evil that had blighted the northern lands for so long would soon come to an end. Rome would fall. It had already been decreed.

The spirits had spoken to him, even before he had crossed the Alps with Roucill and Egu. On the sixth day of the moon, he had climbed the sacred oak. He had retrieved the blessed mistletoe, and he had sacrificed three virgins – one for Toutatis, one for Aesus, and one for Taranis. And, as his dagger had twisted within those virgin breasts, the sacred three had awoken. They had spoken to him. The others of his kind swore they had heard only gurgling gibberish, but he had heard them. The sacred three had spoken through the dying virgins.

They had spoken in the voice of his mother.

Catugna was pulled from his daydream by the sight of the tall centurion being led to the prisoner stockade. He followed the centurion’s every movement with more than a casual interest. Long-buried memories stirred. If ever he had doubts before, there could be no questioning now. Even from this distance, he recognized the broad shoulders and confident gait.

Of all the Romans he should encounter after all these years...

Clearly, their paths had been woven together at the tree of creation. The spirits had placed them both here, at this precise time, to fulfill the prophecy. There could be no other explanation.

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