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Book serialisation
The Lost Sister
by Paul Harris
This story will be serialised in six parts and does not appear in the print edition of The Ambler
Chapter 1
Visits and Visions
1
The five open deck ships were hugging the rugged coastline, trying to remain unobserved. They moved swiftly through the water creating hardly any drag in the calm sea. They had the Gods on their side today for certain. The usually treacherous seas around Britannia were as smooth as a lake and they had crossed from the coast of mainland Europe with no mishap.
"We will give offering to Sol Invictus at dawn said Varillius, we are truly in the favour of the unconquered sun"
The ships each carried 100 men, this was the remains of the 13 th legion, and the year was 9AD.
Marcus Varillius was in command of these men and had ordered the improvised crossing. This land was wild and uncharted. It was also said to be rich and ripe for the picking. It would soon be part of Rome and its barbarian natives subjugated.
Caesar had been ill equipped when he attempted to take the country. He had been humiliated by the weather and the painted savages.
We will teach them a lesson soon. They must learn not to defy Rome .
Varillius was trying to make amends for his legions near annihilation in the dense, overgrown forest of Germania . Thousands of Roman's dead, a complete disaster, he had miscalculated badly, all his experience should have warned him that this was a trap but he kept walking in to it, deeper into that cursed forest. Silent, closed in, Then like creatures from hell they fell upon his men. He would never forget that day.
The legion was on a path that was only wide enough for two abreast and no more. The enemy were on higher ground at either side. His men could not get in formation. They could not defend themselves against the rain of spears, stones and arrows. It was carnage, Rome 's worst defeat, and the responsibility was his. He would certainly be branded incompetent and a disgrace to Rome if he returned after such a catastrophic defeat. And he knew all too well how Rome dealt with failure. But at least they kept the standard. They did not let the eagle, the symbol of the great Empire fall into the hands of the Barbarian. They carried it with them now, in a vain quest to regain some respect, for them and for Rome .
He decided his only course was to try and regain some credibility by doing what Caesar could not. Make a successful landing on this wretched rain soaked island, take whatever he could find that was valuable, kill all who opposed and return to Rome with at least something to appease the Emperor Augustus.
Perhaps this would save his life? Perhaps it would not.
What made the situation even graver was the cargo in his care. He had been entrusted with the safekeeping and deliverance of the Emperors youngest sister to her betrothed in the Region. The journey had only been half completed when tragedy struck. This was what prompted the escape to Britain . He had lost his legions, he must not lose the emperors beloved sister.
They had been travelling North up the East coast all day, looking for a place to make land. They had seen suitable sites but each time the hoards of Britons were gathered in wait, screaming and howling at them from the shore and the cliff tops like mad dogs. Too risky, these savages were too many and although undisciplined would overwhelm his force easily. They must make camp and find a position to defend.
Just as the light was fading along with his troop's morale, he spotted it.
An estuary, and with no opposition visible. The exhausted crews turned their craft into it and rowed almost silently up the winding river. The Roman oarsmen strength returning with hope. The river was deep enough to support the ship's which drew very little water. Soundings were taken every fifty feet to ensure they did not run aground. Each bank of the river was steep and had dense tree and foliage cover, overhanging branches obscured vision. This could be another trap. After the previous disaster Varillius was wary and determined not to fall foul of these demon tribes again.
2
Not again, this makes three times in as many weeks. He had been refused service at the pub for being rowdy and too drunk and asked to leave.
He knew the landlord of the Hideaway quite well and was one of their best customers, but in sober times he had agreed that when he started to 'get the way he got' when drinking. If Derek suggested he should, make that the last one tonight, he would leave when asked, and without fuss.
This assured him of remaining friends with the proprietor of his favourite watering hole and also someone who he regarded as good company. Reluctantly, he stepped out from the warm noisy atmosphere of the pub into the night.
The streets were white with winter's snow and it was slippery underfoot. His shoes were letting in water and his feet felt freezing cold after just a few steps, He was just 100 yards from the pub and still had about a quarter of a mile to stumble home.
He got to the top of the slight incline of the main street and looked back, he was quite pleased with his drunken progress so far, thinking no one would be able to tell he had 'had a few' as his motion was as normal. As he looked back down the hill he could see his footsteps recorded in the fresh snow, they were all over the place. Zigzagging up the hill, they looked more like dance steps.
"Oh my God! I had better get home before I get spotted by someone I know"
It didn't really matter whether he was spotted or not, his late night shenanigans were a regular and well-discussed occurrence in the small village. It was only due to the fact that most of the time he was well liked and despite his drinking habits, still a respected member of the community.
Nice lad but he spoils himself was the common opinion.
But he was gladly tolerated by his fellow villagers as his daytime running of the post office stroke newsagents was a key role in the community and would be sorely missed if absent.
"Hells Bells its Freezing" he said to himself. Even through the alcoholic fog he new it was an exceptionally cold night.
As he started down the other side of the gentle slope in the road and was headed passed the old church, he could smell the river on the cold air and hear the waters flowing out to the estuary about 5 miles away. By now he had been trudging for about 10 minutes and the exertion of the walk and the cold night air were combining to reverse the effects of his liquid anaesthetic.
He stopped for a second to take in the view of the church. He loved to come and look at the old building and to look around it when he had time.
The moon was quite full that night and now the snow had stopped falling the sky had cleared. He could see the small ancient church clearly in the moonlight and thought that it looked more beautiful and mysterious than ever. There had been a church of some description here since Saxon times. The first recorded on the site in 679 AD. The present building had it's origin in the Norman 's quest to build fine stone structures and was a companion to the nearby castle high on the hill that overlooked the village.
The Village itself was known to have existed as a settlement long before then, with Iron-age remains being found more than once, this meant of course that most of the area was a protected site of historical interest. Also more importantly to the locals, A much sought after affluent residential site of great financial interest.
He had even found an artefact himself. One afternoon with some spare time he had been walking through the small manicured garden surrounding the church when his foot caught on something in the ground. He bent down and picked it up. It was a small metal object, the dirt of many years clinging to it. He rubbed off some of the soil to reveal the surface. It was silver in colour and in its centre was a stone of some kind, purple and smooth, oval in shape like a tiny bird's egg. There was an engraved inscription. It was written in what he thought was Latin. But as he could not read Latin he was not sure. He now wore the object on a silver chain around his neck, he knew he should have probably handed it in to the nearest museum and one day he would. But for now he wanted to keep it for a while. When he had time he was going to try and research its origin before handing it over. It was his small, unique connection with the past and the History of the village.
As he looked at the church he thought he heard music, not modern music that might have come through an open window or door from a car radio or pub sound system. This was more like a military bugler, or to be more exact, like a herald blowing a fanfare.
He glanced down toward the river. The small lane sloping down toward the tree lined banks was very dark and encased in shadow. 'Nothing there'
"It must have been the winter wind playing tricks on me" he muttered to himself.
Now feeling quite sober and very tired he turned to continue home though the snow.
There it was again, a bugle or something like one! He was sure he'd heard it.
"I bet it's those stupid sod's from the pub winding me up" he looked around to see if there was any sign that he had been followed. Nothing! The snow was only disturbed by his own meandering steps. There was nothing else visible at all.
In fact there was nothing and nobody visible, the street was completely deserted.
He also noticed that the light had changed, the atmosphere seemed almost illuminated. He could see the church perfectly, the shadows hiding the old walls leading down to the river had been lifted, the air was no longer bitter cold yet he was still standing on the recently fallen snow. What was going on?
There it was again, some sort of wind instrument carrying on the winter air, he had definitely heard it. He turned to look toward the church. The shape had changed. The church clock and spire had disappeared. It looked more like a large hut with a roof of thatch. It was surrounded by a wall, but the wall was more like a wooden stockade rather than grey granite.
His heart was beating like a jack-hammer, he could sense something was going to happen, something he had no control over and also something that was special. He had no idea how he knew this, he just did.
Then from the old narrow lane leading up from the river the sound came again. He could see right down to the riverbank now, about 50 yards. He could see shapes moving. People walking quickly. They looked short from his viewpoint, wearing some sort of headress or helmets.
If this was a wind-up then someone had gone to an awful lot of trouble, including, from what he could see, dressing up.
The shapes were moving in a column of two abreast. He heard the trumpet sound again, this time as clear as a bell.
What was this? He opened his eyes as wide as he could,
"I don't - It can't be"
Up from the riverbank, processing toward him along the lane were what looked like soldiers, not only that but Soldiers of ancient times.
The front rank carried a pole with an eagle on the top and what appeared to be a bundle of sticks bound together with an axe fastened in the middle.
They were all wearing helmets, carrying rectangular shields and wearing short tunic style uniforms.
My God! They're Romans,
"What is going on here? Who is doing this? Pack it in" he shouted almost panicking.
He whirled around, and then again, looking for the smirking faces of his drinking mates from the pub. Hoping desperately to see it was all a joke.
Not a person in sight.
Not a movement anywhere, other than the strange scene taking place in front of him.
He bent down and scooped up a large handful of the fresh fallen snow. He quickly fashioned it into a ball and let fly at the marchers, a distance of about 15 feet.
"My turn to laugh boy's" he shouted
The hurtling snowball was on target, it passed straight through the front soldier in the left side of the line and also through the second rank on the right side, he saw it smash and disintegrate on the church wall past which the line was marching.
The soldiers did not flinch. They did not acknowledge the missile or try to see where it had come from.
The column was almost alongside him now and he realised that not all of the soldier's bodies were visible. In fact he could not see below their knees. It was as if they were walking in the deep snow that was not disturbed or a river that made no movement, no sound, didn't splash.
The marching warriors just kept marching.
The front ranks were passing him now and walking toward the church wall, the trumpet sounded again. This time the volume and shrillness of the blast made him feel terrified to the bone.
He stood frozen, perfectly still, holding his breath in case daring to breathe would unleash something even worse.
They must see me he thought. I am less than three feet away from them. Why don't they see me?
As the line passed him he could see into their eyes, cold, expressionless obedient.
He could hear the men speaking quietly in their own tongue to one another, an occasional bitter laugh in response to whatever comments were being made.
He could smell the sweat on their unwashed bodies, the stained tunics.
Worst of all he could hear that damned battle horn, like the shriek of some dreadful bird of prey.
They did not acknowledge him, or even glance in his direction.
As the line reached the Church wall, they simply passed through it, still only visible above the knees, and then disappeared.
He looked up at the now restored church clock, falling to his knees, for a second he thought he saw someone else, a smaller figure with outstretched hand by the wall. Then blackness closed in and he passed out in the snow.
3
Jim Smith felt himself regaining consciousness, he new he was about to join the human race again, he was trying not to let it happen. He wanted to sleep forever, he was cosy, safe. He wanted to stay like that. But he new he was waking and like every other day he would have an early morning battle with his latest hangover.
As the blissful state of sleep lifted and his mind started to clear he realised that something was different. His usual struggle to emerge from slumber was always difficult. Today it was not. Rising from bed he usually looked like a bedraggled, feeble insect trying to prise itself from a cocoon, hardly enough life force to merit existence. But today was different. What he did not realise yet was 'just how different'
First of all his head was fuzzy as expected, but not in the usual way. He felt more dizziness than a thumping headache.
Secondly, the sun was shining through the open windows and he could hear birdsong.
Not the usual signals for a North East winters day. The flower scented air felt fresh and warm.
Most significantly, this was not a room he recognised. Where was his stuff, for a moment he was puzzled then he gasped.
"I'm in hospital. This is a Hospital bed and I am in it, why?
He opened his eyes fully and looked around the room, other than a chair a small T.V. fastened to a wall bracket and a bedside cabinet, holding a vase of flowers the room contained nothing but him and the bed.
He could hear activity from outside his room, nothing recognisable, just general noise. People talking, moving around, working.
Then he noticed that hanging down behind him was a cord with a buzzer attached.
He pressed twice.
Within 20 seconds a nurse pushed open the door and entered the room.
"Mr Smith how long have you been awake?"
"Just a few, erm why am I in here? This is a Hospital isn't it? What's going on?"
"How are you feeling" asked the nurse.
"Feeling, how am I feeling, I am alright, why shouldn't I be?"
"Please tell me what is happening here, why am I in Hospital"
"You've been under observation since your, er incident"
"Observation... for what? And what do you mean my incident?"
"I had better let the doctor explain, just let me take your blood pressure and temperature and then we can call him"
Smith did not object to this request, he did not feel anxious now, and he realised then that he actually felt quite well, in fact he felt the best he had felt for a long time. He had reached a state of alertness already, most unusual for him. In fact, unheard of. He was well known for being a bad morning person.
The nurse did her job with the speed, efficiency and detachedness that you would expect from an experienced professional. She left the room saying "the doctor will be along very soon, please lay still and wait" He moved as if to try and get out of bed.
"Now we don't want any nonsense Mr Smith do we?"
Smith thought for a second and decided she was right. He didn't want any nonsense, at least no more than he felt was already coming his way, he had a feeling he was in for a massive dose of nonsense, a lifetime supply, and he certainly did not want to add any further complication to it.
He lay without moving, just looking around and thinking, I can't remember being brought here.
What could have happened for me to end up under observation in Hospital.
He examined his hands and arms, felt his face and neck. Wiggled his toes, no sign of anything wrong. No pain or discomfort.
"Ah Smith" the doctor burst into the room. I am glad to see you awake. I hear you are feeling well?"
"Yes of course I am well, have I been Ill and not known about it?"
" Well this is a very unusual case, in fact it is so unusual we don't know ourselves what has actually happened to you. All we know is you were found unconscious in the snow outside your village church by a Police patrol vehicle at 7.00am"
"You should have displayed signs of hypothermia and frostbite, but you had none of these. We don't understand how you could be out all night in below freezing conditions and not be affected. Every test we have run on you shows you to be perfectly healthy."
"7.00am, What was I doing in the street at 7.00am?"
"We don't know, we hoped you would be able to tell us"
"The Police have confirmed you left the Hideaway pub at approximately 10.15pm, but no one saw you after that until you were found unconscious at 7.00am"
Smith was as baffled as the Doctor.
"Was this last night?" he asked.
"Last night" The Doctor said, surprised.
"Good God man, it was over 2 months ago. You were picked up on February 27 th . It is now the 2 nd of May.
Smith gasped and his eyes widened, he looked straight at the doctor half hoping to see some indication that he was joking, half knowing that he wasn't.
"I don't understand, what have I been doing since then?"
"That's just it Mr Smith, There is no physical damage or illness and no sign of anything wrong with you at all. The only blemish on you is a small mark around your neck area where your chain and medallion have been pressing against the skin. Other than that, you have simply been sleeping"You have been asleep for 64 days, and we don't know why.
4
As the ships cruised along the estuary the banks started to change from sand to earth as the saltwater gave way to the freshwater of the river.
The foliage began to thicken and was becoming quite dense the further up-river they travelled.
What light there was left of the day was fading fast now and they would soon be relying on moonlight alone. They needed to find somewhere to go ashore and camp for the night. The men were hungry and tired and even Romans need to rest sometime. Although if required both Varillius and his men would press on all night. To succumb to fatigue was not the Roman way.
An owl flew down from the trees on huge silent wings and passed over the front of the lead craft, it could not have been more than twenty feet from Varillius. As it glided effortlessly in front of him he could see the fullness of its round face, its large staring eyes, the hooked beak. This he thought was not a good omen. The bird seemed to be looking straight at him, as if it was trying to deliver a message, a warning, asking them to turn back. Almost as if it were trying to save them from something. Then it was gone, leaving no trace and making no sound.
After another mile of travel up-river they came upon a clearing on the left bank, it was about five hundred yards across and the river-bank was sandy and easy to climb. This looks like the place for tonight.
The order was given to stop rowing and drift the boats in to the shore, A collective sigh of relief was heard from the exhausted men, their aching arms and blistered hands would get some respite at last. Perhaps if lucky they may get some sleep, the first for 2 days.
The men jumped out of the ships as they got nearer the bank and began to wade the last couple of yards. They pulled the vessels up on to the flat sandy patch of ground.
And fastened the ropes to anything that would prevent them from drifting away.
It would be war rations tonight and sleep, then tomorrow hunting and foraging for provisions. The men needed some good fresh meat. There would be deer and rabbits to take, the men were very skilled and practised hunters, they were well used to living off the land. Fresh water was abundant and herbs and berries would be found nearby.
They made camp quickly, just preparing to sleep under blankets on the ground. No worse than they had done a hundred times before. No fires were lit, the night was not cold and they could not risk attracting attention until they had decided a proper course of action. Dried meat from their packs and clear water from the river upstream would be sustenance for tonight.
Guards were posted all around and weapons laid out ready to employ immediately if attacked. Then they took it in turn to sleep.
5
"When will I be allowed out of here?" Smith enquired of the doctor.
"Well I would like to do a couple of more tests just to be certain you are OK, but once that is completed, if nothing shows up you can go home. I would think first thing tomorrow"
"Can I have a phone to use? I need to find out what has been happening at the shop"
"Oh I forgot to mention you have had a visitor every day, a young woman, she said she was your friend, Miss Leah Rowan, do you know here"
"Yes she works for me"
"She has been running the Post Office with another lady in your absence"
"Thank goodness for that, I must get back there as soon as possible and make sure they are OK"
"Mr Smith, you need to be sure that you are fully recovered from whatever has afflicted you in the last weeks, please be patient. Your staff will be able to cope for another day I am sure"
Although he felt fine he knew the Doctor was right. He reached over to the bedside table and picked up the remote for the T.V.
He flicked on the set and it sprang to life.
Daytime T.V. He usually hated it, but today it seemed a strangely welcome sight, he even paid attention to what was going on, listening carefully to the daily pulp he normally couldn't abide.
The presenter was asking him to ring in and answer the question on screen. The prize a trip for two to the capital city of Australia
All the viewer had to do was name it correctly, is it -
A - Canterbury
B - Canberra
C - Canvey Island
"My God, they have got to be joking" he murmured.
He even thought for a moment he might ring. A trip to Oz would go down very well. Then he came to his senses, remembered why he never watched this crap and switched channels.
"Who wants to win a trip to Canvey Island anyway"
The nurse was coming back into the room pushing a small trolley.
"Time for your tests Mr Smith"
6
Smith walked out of the hospital and looked up at the morning sky. It was cloudless and blue, a perfect late spring day.
There was a Blackbird singing in the hedge nearby and a slight breeze brushed across his face.
He was feeling fantastic; the long rest had taken all the weariness out of him and rejuvenated his tired body. The spell without any alcohol had really done him good. No toxins, no hangover and a clear complexion, "Must do this again sometime" he quipped, "Not"
He climbed into a waiting Taxi and headed for home.
When he arrived at the Post Office he went through the back way and up to his flat on the second floor. He wanted to have a look inside before he spoke to the ladies in the shop. The flat, though small was just the right size for him, and with the store room being on the first floor it was insulated from any shop noise. He had lived there for about 9 years, always alone and always very privately with only a handful of people having been allowed access to the flat, and the personal ex-directory phone number only given to the few who needed it.
The flat was very tidy and fresh flowers were placed around the room, giving a welcoming feel, which he found comforting.
Leah must have used the spare key from the Post Office and come in and given the place a good going over. It looked immaculate.
He started down the stairs to the shop when he met Leah coming up.
"Oh hello Jim" she said, It is wonderful to have you back home, you look really well"
"Yes Illness seems to agree with me, I have never felt better, I have just been in the flat and it looks cracking. I can't thank you enough. I intend to make it up to you as soon as I can"
"I understand you have been running things here without me, how have you coped?
"I took the liberty of starting a temporary assistant, she has been a godsend. She worked in a Post Office in London before she came here and I didn't really have to teach her anything. Within a couple of hours, once she knew where everything was kept she was working like an old hand"
"Fantastic, if she really is that good then I may keep her on permanently. Where did you find her?"
"Well that is the remarkable part, the very day after you were taken into hospital she just came in the shop, she said had just moved into the village and was looking for a job. She fitted the bill perfectly. A couple of minutes later she was serving behind the counter. I don't know what I would have done without her"
"What's her name?"
"Don't laugh"
"Why would I laugh?"
"It is Libertina"
7
The Romans rested that night, exhausted, bloodied. Some had wounds that needed tending, some had broken bones to be set. The healers were in for a busy day when dawn broke. But they were used to it, these men were warriors of the highest calibre and fighting on whilst injured was part of the deal for them. They were trained by Rome to defend Rome , they would give their lives without hesitation and take the lives of others just as quickly.
The night was beginning its retreat at about 4.30am, the first hint of dawn starting to show through the morning mist that had rolled up-river from the sea. The sun would soon be in full view and warming them with its hot breath.
The night guards were swapping places with other soldiers so they could grab at least a couple of hours rest before duty called again. They would be allowed to sleep while others found food and cooked. The General knew he must do all he could to get every man into fighting shape, for when the time came they would all depend on the collective strength of the cohort to defend their lives.
Men were now returning with felled trees, these would form the posts of a perimeter fence that would be the first stage of the fortified camp. Experience told them that this must be constructed quickly. They knew that the Britons would soon know of their presence and that would lead to a full-scale attack. Being vastly outnumbered they needed to organise these defences securely and strategically.
The Romans were excellent engineers, they had already selected the best spot for the fortified camp. High ground, the river curving round three sides.
The five hundred men would soon have defensive ditches and wooden balustrades constructed, this would at least give them a chance when the fight came.
Six days later the defences were built, food and water were collected and stored. Firewood had been gathered, healing herbs found and the injured men were on the mend. With the exception of three men with broken bones that needed time to heal, the soldiers were ready.
Varillius was confident that his preparations were sound. He had the camp arranged so that the natural arc of the river course was protecting three sides, with their own ships available if they need to make an escape. The fourth side, or inland facing view was now protected by a 12ft high wooden wall. This had a gate in the middle and tower's built 50 ft apart. The wall had a walkway battlement behind it with arrow slits for the archers and water barrels every 10ft in case the enemy tried to use fire. In front of this wall was a defensive ditch, this was 6 ft deep and 15 ft wide, it had sharpened stakes at the bottom sticking up so as to impale any unfortunate who fell into it. The ditch could only be crossed by a narrow bridge causeway that would be removed when being attacked.
From here the Romans could send out parties to scout the area and return with news of the enemy's strength and whereabouts. As they began to understand the situation more they would build further fortifications when and where they were needed. They would also take anything they needed or could use from anyone they came across.
They were building up the strength of their position, making ready for battle.
8
Smith was back in his apartment above the shop. He felt well, the place was tidy and he was looking forward to an evening watching a film on T.V. He decided to order a take away meal from the local Indian restaurant and select a D.V.D. from the shop. Bliss, an undisturbed few hours then off to bed.
He should have gone down to the shop to meet his new assistant and thank her for the good work but he decided to do it tomorrow. He would offer the two ladies a small bonus in their next pay and also take them for a slap up meal at a place of their choice.
He began to think about the recent events and was trying to piece together what had happened.
How did he end up in Hospital?
Why did he not remember what happened after his drunken night at the pub?
How could he be out in the snow all night and have no signs of exposure?
The Police still wanted to speak to him about these things and he needed to come up with some answers, if not for them then for his own peace of mind.
The shop was closed and the staff had left for the night, he let himself in to the locked premises and switched on the counter lights. He could just about see the rack in the corner where the rental D.V.D. selections were kept. He started looking through the empty boxes in the dim light. He had no idea what he preferred watching.
Perhaps a comedy or a Thriller, Hmm, he examined the shelf with the old classics on it.
"Sherlock Holmes, I don't think so"
"John Wayne, nah"
Then he picked up 'The Romans', a sword and sandals epic. For a moment he looked at the front cover. He could not tear his gaze from what he saw. It showed a picture of a Centurion soldier with bloodied short sword, metal breastplate and rectangular shield. Behind him was another warrior holding the standard. An Eagle with wings spread and vicious talons ready to strike. Some Latin inscription that he did not understand was written on the banner fixed to the pole. It seemed to spring out at him with lightning speed, like a Cobra attacking a Rabbit.
He froze, He stopped dead in his tracks. He felt like every drop of blood was draining from him.
His mind was swimming in a whirlpool. The picture on the box triggered his memory it awakened the recollection that his mind had suppressed.
He began to shake and then convulse, as if the terror he was feeling was sending a powerful electric current through his body in bursts, shocking him into a macabre dance that no other person would witness.
All the time he could feel himself becoming more and more intoxicated, falling into some sort of trance.
He could see The Romans marching. He could hear the horn sounding its battle cry. He could sense the extreme danger, life was threatened. He was there with them.
The field was full of wild looking men, they were slashing and stabbing. Cries of agony were filling his ears. Savage dogs tore at flesh, blood dripping from their jowls.
Bile rose in his throat, his eyes watered, he could hardly breathe.
He started to lose consciousness. He reached out and grabbed onto something, he did not know what it was. This broke his fall and slowed his collapse. Then as he finally gave way to the swirling and increasing pressure in his head. He slumped over the counter and slid to the floor. He was still conscious as he went down, his hands in front of him now instinctively to save himself. He ended up on all fours, then as his last strength left him he rolled onto his back and blackness overtook him.
Just as he passed into oblivion he saw a shape in the room. It was a person in a robe. Small and petite, with hand outstretched toward him. Expressionless, motionless. No indication of what was wanted, just reaching out to 'him'
It was about 30mins before Smith recovered. He opened his eyes and sat bolt upright.
He felt a little dizzy and cold, but apart from that he was OK.
The box from the D.V.D. was on the floor in front of him, it was face down with the cover picture not visible. He remembered what had happened immediately, looking at the picture on the box and the way it made him feel.
He remembered the things he had seen. He had been able to smell his surroundings, feel the different atmosphere,. Sense the dread of death.
He saw the violence of the warriors as they hacked at each other mercilessly. The swords stabbing, the spears thrusting, men being cut open and the vile hounds pouncing on the wounded and tearing into them. The dreadful smell, the stench of dying men and animals.
And it was all so real. So absolutely real.
He knew that what happened was linked to the picture on the box. It had sent him into some sort of state that overwhelmed him. His entire body system had reacted violently, causing the convulsions and sweats. But why?
What on earth was going on here?
How could the sight of a mere picture provoke such a reaction?
As he felt himself regaining control of his mind and body he rose to his feet. This is somehow connected to what put me in Hospital. The things I saw and heard are related to what happened outside the church that night. But what does it mean?
He started to try and think it through. "Must be calm and reason this out" he whispered.
I have had some sort of out of body experience, something that has no connection to my life at all, as far as I know.
Why Romans? What is the significance of "ehh"
It was then that it started to come back to his mind. The freezing cold night outside the church. The lines of soldiers, knee deep in the snow. The sound of the battle horn. These were all things he had seen. He had seen them as real as anything he had seen before in his life.
He also remembered the way he felt. As if he were connected to the whole scene, it was not a feeling he could really describe other than to say he felt somehow a belonging to this ancient event. An event that he knew would develop into something both wonderful and terrible.
Am I some sort of psychic? He thought. Why has it shown all of a sudden? I am 45 Why have I never done anything remotely like this before?
Can I connect to past events?
Well I certainly connected to something. Or it connected to me.
There must be a reason for it. But what could possibly cause this?
He had promised himself that after his Hospital experience he would not drink alcohol for a while. Give his body a break and time to recover from the toxins and harmful effects. But he knew at that point that a drink was needed. He made his way back upstairs to the flat. Reaching up to the shelf in his kitchen cupboard his hand found the bottle of Vodka. Not stopping for a glass or to dilute the drink with his usual tonic water he took a long swig. He felt the liquor burn his throat and course down into his body. Having not tasted alcohol for some two months the effect took his system by surprise. His head felt the rush of the drink within seconds. He was grateful and took another swig, not so big this time. Now he felt a bit more relaxed and not quite so alarmed. The funny thing was although the events he had witnessed were dreadful by any standards he was not really scared while it was happening. More of an exhilaration if anything.
Now, considering the fact that he detested any form of physical violence, this was most unusual. He would normally be upset all day if he had a row with a difficult customer or an altercation in the pub. Yet here he was having witnessed first hand a barbaric battle scene, albeit through some sort of vision, yet he felt, well, exited.
And who was the figure reaching out to me?
Was someone or something trying to tell me something, or help me?
Or could someone want me to help them?
I am going to have to bring someone else in on this. I need to tell the story to someone I can trust before I explode. I need another view, someone who is detached from it and can give a balanced opinion, if such a thing is possible regarding the circumstances.
The phone rang, Smith nearly jumped out of his skin. He grabbed the receiver and held it to his ear.
"Hello, Jim Smith speaking" he almost gasped the words. His voice more of a rasp, he was trembling now and he felt suddenly cold.
"Hello Jim, its me, Leah. Sorry to disturb you, I just wanted to make sure you were O.K."
"Leah, Do you think you could come round here"
"When, now?"
"Yes! Now. Let yourself in, I will be in the flat"
When Leah arrived it was about 10.00pm. She had driven the 2 miles to the shop with a worried expression, Jim seemed strange on the phone and she did not know what to expect on arrival.
She unlocked the door and made sure it was secure behind her. She started to climb the stairs to the flat when she noticed the D.V.D. rental stand, it had been knocked over and the empty boxes that usually sat proudly displaying their contents to the ponderous customers were scattered about the floor .
It looked at first as if there had been some sort of disturbance in the shop, but she could see no other sign of disruption and she knew there was no cash worth stealing on the premises as she had seen it collected that afternoon just before closing. She concluded that Jim must have knocked it over and uncharacteristically gone up stairs without tidying up the mess.
She again began to negotiate the stairs, but with a caution that made her feel uneasy and even scared, well just a little.
When she reached the landing she tapped lightly on the glass panel of the door to Jim's flat. He answered almost immediately. Smith opened the door with such enthusiasm that she was startled. She stepped backwards, oh it's you. Thank goodness, I was getting worried. I thought that something awful had happened.
"Not so much Awful as - well I will try to explain. Thanks for coming, I need to talk to someone, I feel like I am losing my mind"
"Losing your mind, Why what has happened, is it the shop, has someone broken in?"
"God if it were only that simple. Would you like a drink? I am having one"
"Just a very small Vodka with lots of tonic water, I'm driving"
Smith poured the drinks, he decided to have another large Vodka himself, this was not a time that he felt like being sober.
He sat on the armchair facing the door and Leah sat opposite on the couch. Smith's head was bowed. It took him a good two minutes before he could bring himself to talk. He knew that what he was about to recount was incredible and inexplicable. But he also knew that it was something he needed to understand and to try and deal with.
"What I am going to tell you now takes some degree of stretching the boundaries of what you would normally except as a true story. But as unbelievable as I am going to sound, I swear every word is true, every word"
He slowly and carefully let the story unfold, the night outside the church, the soldier's knee deep in snow. He re-lived the memory of the battle and its horror. He described graphically the wild savage melee that he had been in the midst of. The details were almost etched on his memory. His recollection of the events was total. His ability to describe the brutal happening was faultless.
Leah sat and listened intently. She did not move or speak, until he had finished his account. Then she said in a shaky voice -
"Can I have another drink? - A large one"
The doorbell rang and they both jumped, startled.
God, my nerves are in tatters said Smith. I am even scared of my own doorbell.
I'll get it said Leah.
Thanks.
Leah disappeared downstairs to answer the door. She reappeared a few minutes later with a young girl. She was dark haired and had the kind of olive skin complexion associated with southern Europeans. She was quite petite in stature, slender and no more than 5ft 3" tall.
But if she looked small and meek her eyes made up for her lack of physical size. They were so dark they were almost black, he only looked into them for an instant but they had a strange effect on him. Then they seemed to return to being a normal looking pair of eyes. It was as though they had made a quick search of his soul and decided they knew what they needed to know.
"Hello" said Smith.
"Hello, I'm Libby, I work for you"
Oh please forgive me, I should have realised. It is so nice to meet you at last. Listen, thanks for all you have done to help, Leah says we could not have managed without you.
"Yes that is correct, I have worked hard and made sure your business did not suffer from your neglect. It was fortunate for you that I was around and willing to help"
Smith looked at her pretty face, it was small and smooth skinned, it had a pleasant look but with a touch of arrogance. She was very confident, not in the least bit nervous or intimidated. Her opening sentence was not what he was expecting and threw him a little. There was no attempt at courtesy or respectful politeness. She was speaking to him as though she had known him for ages. Her tone was almost a rebuke. He felt some kind of motive that he was unaware of.
Would you like a drink said Smith, we are just having our second Vodka and tonic.
No not at all said the girl, I do not cloud my brain with such things. I only called here because I wanted to be sure what you looked like. I will go now. For a second or two he was caught in her gaze, something flashed through his mind. He felt, just fleetingly as though he was somewhere else, somewhere dangerous. As though this small person who he had just met was meaning to harm him. Then it was gone and he was looking at the face of a girl again.
With that she turned and started out of the room.
Wait! Smith shouted after her.
Too late, she was gone and he heard the door close as she let herself out.
That went well said Leah. I can't understand it. She seemed like a different person. I wonder what was wrong. Do you want me to go after her.
No, leave it. I have a lot more to worry about at the moment. I have no doubt the situation with Libby will sort itself out. In fact there may be nothing to sort out. She may just have been upset about something else.
Yes said Leah, you're right. But I wonder what she meant by wanting to be sure what you looked like.
Well she probably er, she must have ... I don't have a clue.
As the days passed the Romans became more embedded in the place they had chosen for their base. They had built up food stocks and constructed large wooden water tanks sealed with tar. These would store emergency drinking water in the event that the enemy poisoned the river. Defences were ready if required. Weapons sharp and deadly would greet and beat back any attacker. A catapult constructed of the local wood was set to hurl whatever was available and harmful over the walls of the encampment.
And most important of all, his men were ready. Physically recovered, well fed and rested, The proud 13 th legion. They would rise from the ashes of the terrible defeat in Germania , They would crush these simple savages and take everything they had. For although they were wild and disgusting in appearance the reports of the gold adornments worn by them were well known by the legions. There must be a source of the precious metal and possibly other mineral wealth in this country, and if so he would find it. Returning to Rome with gold and news of great riches would go a long way toward his redemption.
It was almost time now to make the local Barbarians pay, show them who they were dealing with. Teach them a thing or two about the greatness of Rome .
When the time came, Varillius and his men would have no qualms at all in handing out the ultimate reminder and the most serious punishment of all, Death.
Twenty five miles to the south of the Roman encampment, on a grassy plane overshadowed by dark hills, they were massing. Many different tribes gathering, making ready for the attack. The news of the invaders had reached most of them within hours of the landing and they had spent the days since preparing and planning and spreading the news. The normally bickering tribesmen had united against the common foe, and they were determined to destroy them. The leaders of each tribe had spent hours putting their own case for who should be in control, who would make the final decision about when and how to fight. The tribes had travelled from far and wide to join the throng. No agreement had been reached until today. After much shouting and even weapons being drawn the elders had selected a leader. It would be Cattalanus of the Brigantes. He was a proven leader and a brave warrior.
He feared no man and had become head of his tribe through his own ability, intelligence and courage.
He stood now on high ground looking down on the scene below. Wild looking warrior men, with flowing beards and braided hair. Equally warlike women with painted faces, naked breasts and screeching voices, some with babies strapped to their backs in harness. The women of the Britons were as likely to go into battle as the men. They were completely fearless and savage when required to be. They could hold their own in any battle, and quite often turn the tide for victory.
All around, people of all ages, old hags stirring pots on fires and children running, laughing unsuspecting of the battle to come. All manner of carts, sleds and barrows containing provisions and weapons were scattered randomly around the fields, Guarded by large ferocious dogs that gnawed on bones pausing to snap at anything that passed and to bark and howl at each other. Although the dogs were wild in appearance they were trained to attack any enemy of the tribe. They would be cut loose in the midst of the battle and fighting in packs could wreak havoc at close quarters.
There were also the war chariots. The weapon that could hurt the Romans most if used correctly. On flat open ground the warriors in chariots could attack the enemy at speed cutting and slashing, firing arrows, hurling spears and be gone, out of reach just as quickly.
They were about 10,000 strong now, a fraction of what was available if needed. But they had been watching the Romans from hidden places, they knew the enemy's strength was not in numbers. They also knew that even though they vastly outnumbered the Roman force they must be wary, and cunning. They must draw the Romans into a place where they could not defend themselves easily against such a large force. Any place where the Romans could fight in a tight formation, using their unrivalled military training and discipline was no good to the Britains . Even they had heard of the fighting machine that was the Roman infantry. The Romans could be outnumbered three or four to one and still win the day if they were allowed to fight in the way they new best. A plan must be devised to draw the Romans from their fortification. They needed to get them into a tight space, a forest with narrow pathways or a mountainous area with an uneven surface. If they could drive them back with sheer numbers and force them into disarray, to break formation, then if they made it to open ground the chariots would be waiting to cut them to pieces. They must make sure that they do not pass the advantage to them, don't give them a chance to set themselves. If the Britons attacked the camp head on the loss of life to them would be great. The Romans were absolute masters at defending a fortification, especially men like the battle hardened 13 th legion.
The defended encampment had been built well and the location selected wisely. It would be no easy nut to crack.
CONTINUED IN THE NEXT ONLINE ISSUE OF THE AMBLER (Feb 2010)
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