Slaves of Fear: A Land Unconquered by James Mace Read Free Book Online

Neptune
     
    Halkyn Mountain, Deceangli Territory
    Mid-June 48 A.D.

    Roman Legionary
                 
    Though he had no knowledge of the fleet manoeuvring around the coast, word of the other Roman column’s advance across Britannia reached Caratacus within a few days. The former Catuvellauni prince summoned a meeting of his allies atop a formidable hill he was claiming as his temporary stronghold.
    King Orin of the Silures came with a thousand of his best warriors. Their curled hair and darker complexion denoted their Iberian ancestry, in stark contrast to the light skinned and more fair-haired indigenous tribes. Since the Romans sullied the lands of the Catuvellauni, the Silures had become Caratacus’ closest allies. Orin often called him ‘brother’; their bond growing stronger with each battle fought against the invaders. As the king had no sons or other living male relatives, there was rumour he intended to name Caratacus as his heir. A noble gesture that would prove unlikely to ever come to fruition, as Caratacus was several years older than the Silures king.
    King Seisyll of Ordovices had arrived with five hundred of his personal guardsmen. Like the Silures, the Ordovices were not native to Britannia. They emigrated from northern Germanic and Nordic lands nearly five hundred years before. They were much larger and fairer-skinned than their neighbours to the south. While they were certainly valiant in battle, they lacked the bloodthirsty, ever-supressed rage that seemed to course through the veins of every Silures warrior.
    Eurgain stood with her husband, in awe that a foreign exiled prince, whose lands now belonged to the Romans, had succeeded in compelling these age-old enemies to unite.
    “King Orin,” Seisyll said with a nod. “By the grace of our friend, the noble Caratacus, I bid you welcome to my people’s lands.”
    “And I accept,” Orin replied, as the two clasped forearms. “Let us go forward as allies from this day against our common enemy.”
    “My brothers,” Caratacus said, his arms raised high, “it is with much joy and hope for all our peoples that I see the two mightiest tribes in this land united under a common cause. Our raids have been effective in cowering the Brigantes, and the Romans have taken the bait. That simpering bitch, Cartimandua, grovels before her masters, begging them for aid.”
    “They are the largest kingdom in all of Britannia, yet they cower before our warriors,” Seisyll said with a derisive grin.
    “How soon until our weapons taste their flesh?” Orin asked.
    “Soon,” Caratacus reassured him. “Before the next ten sunrises the armies of Caesar will cross over the River Sabrina. Their forces number no more than ten thousand fighting men; a single legion, a few cohorts of auxilia infantry, and several regiments of cavalry.”
    Seisyll remarked, “They are either bold or foolish, if they think they can subdue us with such a pathetic force. My warriors alone significantly outnumber them.”
    “The woods will soon devour their flesh,” Caratacus continued. “And the mountains will grind their bones into dust.”
    A great feast was held that night. Copious amounts of mead and ale were consumed, with boars, deer, and other game roasted on giant spits. The warriors present were all members of the royal households, and their behaviour was measurably more subdued than that of the common rabble. However, both Silures and Ordovices alike engaged in feats of strength as well as outright brawls, while their kings looked on and enjoyed the spectacle.
    “I hope they save some of their rage for the Romans,” Seisyll said to his peer from Silures.
    “My people live to fight,” Orin replied. “Though I confess, it is better that their rage is focused on the imperial invaders rather than our northern neighbours.” There was a sinister trace to his words.
    Seisyll paid it no mind. The Silures were an extremely aggressive and warlike race; however, this also