CHAPTER 4

Ynys Mona - Summer 60 AD

A narrow strip of water, only a few spear throws wide, separated the XX Legion and the Roman Governor from Ynys Mon, the reputed Isle of the Druids. The narrow arm of sparkling sea was filled with treacherous sandbars and deceptive clashing currents eager to rip the unwary away into Neptune's watery embrace. The crossing would be a short trip, but it was one only to be risked at the slack of high tide. And even then it would be a hazardous journey.

Paulinus had prudently secured a couple of Ordovices tribesmen as allies before the beginning of his campaign into their mountainous homeland. They had openly revealed to him a basic understanding of the weather in this rugged wilderness and the secrets of the tides that ruled this perilous channel. Paulinus had used the naïve men to garner the key to this outpost of rebellion, this cursed sanctuary of escaped criminals and bloodthirsty Druids. And once he had all the information he needed his Ordovices allies were punished for their unwitting duplicity, when their clan was forced to submit to his forces and became servants of Rome.

The Druids were the key to the complete surrender of this wretched island to Rome. Caesar had known it when he took Gaul, and when he had made Rome's claim here as well. Claudius had known it when he returned Roman forces to this dismal country. He, Paulinus, knew it as well and he would prove it to Emperor Nero. He would destroy the Druids and take their sanctuary, breaking the rebellious wills of the Keltoi. With the Druids gone he could complete and fortify Rome's control over this dismally damp grey land, and return home a hero.

Ah home. Home of the warm sun and rolling hills. Home where grace and culture surrounded him on all sides. Where men could converse on topics as ranged and varied as philosophy, history, and politics. Where art and dignified scholars could be found on every corner. Home where women were quiet, dignified, and delicately lovely, instead of this land where women were as loudly boisterous and warlike as the men. Instead of this land, where women were tall enough to tower over him and powerful enough to crush any man daring enough to climb between their thighs.

As he gazed across the channel, towards his island goal, Paulinus was pulled from his homesick reminiscences by the sound of crunching gravel. He glanced over his shoulder to watch the Legion's Praefectus Castrorum's progress down the beach. The Governor noted with annoyance that Julius' usual sure military march was marred by the water slick rocks, which rolled and slid under his feet.

When he was close enough the Praefectus snapped to attention, giving a curt report, "Governor, the boats are all completed and the men's gear is loaded. Are we bunking down for the night or are we setting out straight away?"

Paulinus chose to ignore the question for the moment and bent to pick up one of the offending grey shale stones. "You know Julius," Paulinus mused, "these rocks are like the Druids we face. If you look at just one it seems harmless enough, easily thrown away or just as easily broken by another rock. On closer examination you can feel the slime that coats it, which only a sharp blade can scrape clean. You can smell the salty decay that permeates it, rubbing off to taint all it touches.

"A beach covered in stones, an island covered in Druids. They are one in the same. Slimy, tainted, ready to be cleansed by good Roman iron. For if left alone they will cause us to slide and slip. Forever underfoot, treacherously slowing our progress and destroying our efficiency, forcing us to concentrate on each step instead of the countryside around us."

Paulinus finally glanced up and caught the look of quiet patience on his Praefectus' face. The man's expression was so comical that Paulinus had to laugh, "Poor Julius forced once again to listen to my ramblings. But after all what is a leader if he cannot philosophize."

Still chuckling Paulinus turned to gaze at the sky beyond the island. "Clear today with a rosy sunset," the Governor noted. "No clouds, on the horizon, nor wind to carry them. But the tide is not right for crossing yet. Tonight will be clear and the moon near full, plenty of light to see by. Yet by morning we will have a fog so thick we will not be able to see the Druids even should they throw themselves upon our swords."

Paulinus turned back to Julius, all signs of his earlier open mood gone. Without further preamble the Governor began issuing his orders, "We launch at moonrise. Break out cold camp rations and rotate the men on two-hour watches. I want them at their peak when we set out."

Julius snapped a crisp salute, but his military turn was ruined when he was forced to throw out his arms to keep his balance.

"I may not be able to clear this beach of stones," Paulinus muttered under his breath. "But by Mithras' sacred balls, I will clear this land of Druids."

Paulinus slowly followed Julius to the waiting camp. He refused to look down, that would be admitting that the stones had power over him. But he still stepped carefully to be sure of his footing. The Governor was aware it would do his dignity no good to be seen mincing about like a maiden or worse yet slipping and possibly falling in full sight of his men, and probably the sharp eyes of the enemy as well.

Paulinus quietly enjoyed the sound of grinding stones beneath his shoes. As he walked he kept mumbling to himself, "Oh yes, you are like the stones on this shore. Sharp enough to cut a barbarian's bare feet. But not sharp enough to slice good Roman leather. And as these stones I will grind you beneath my feet."
By the time he reached the temporary camp he had contained and confined his anger in a glowing ember. A white-hot coal that waited ready to be refanned into a raging fire come moonrise and battle. He noted with approval that his orders were already being implemented. The camp had grown quiet as the men bunked down despite the early hour. Even in their sleep the XX Legion showed their military efficiency. Through open tent flap he saw that the men were sleeping in full gear. Swords and shields at hand, ready for an attack even when they were at rest. While those on guard duty were briskly making rounds among the flat-bottomed boats and along the pike wall. In the towers, along the forested approach to the camp, brief flashes of color indicated the sentries' diligence as they watched for sneak attacks.

Paulinus paused long enough to grab up a portion of cold rations from one of the common soldier's mess tents, before he moved across the broad avenue that separated the soldier's bunks from the officers. It always boosted the men's morale to see their officers among them, sharing their life, equal in adversity. And it was even better when they saw the Governor himself doing so. Paulinus was always careful to keep his men sharp and healthy in mind as well as body. He nodded courteously to passing soldiers, as he made his way to his private tent, carefully evaluating their faces and their stances. It was the best way to judge the mood of the men. It also gave the Governor a chance to file away possible future political contacts. Men that would remember his actions from this day.

Paulinus carelessly gnawed on the hard tact and jerky of his cold rations barely tasting it, so much the better, in his concentration. This was a good unit of seasoned soldiers. There was no grumbling over his orders. No griping over the news of a night attack. It was not a preferred time for him or the Romans in general to begin an assault, but it was the only way to strike this island. With a force such as this he would conquer this damnable island of myth and superstition.

Paulinus smiled triumphantly to himself as ducked into his own tent. With satisfaction he observed that all his personal gear had already been packed up and removed. His small plain cot and a candle lamp on the floor next to it were all that remained. He reluctantly he laid himself down, sword in hand, and cleared his mind of apprehension and excitement. It was quite a task to still his mind for sleep, yet he was finally able to drift off with the reassuring sound of his bustling efficient camp filling his ears and his dreams.

Paulinus woke abruptly to the sound of approaching footsteps. They were not on pattern with the regular patrols. It was a small anomaly but one that triggered his sleeping mind, and brought him into full wakefulness. Yet did not move nor alter his breathing. Too long he had been a honed weapon of war. Ever ready for a sneak attack, despite the subdued Keltoi in the region.

A voice whispered from just beyond sword range, "Governor. the moon will be rising soon."

Paulinus slowly opened his eyes, already adjusted to the dark, and gave a curt not to indicate the message was received. Without pause he jumped off the cot and stepped outside into the cool crisp air. He nodded absently to his personal aide to complete the tear down of his tent while he covertly watched his men's silent preparations. Paulinus noted which men woke silently and which grumbled as he walked quietly through the ranks. Even Paulinus was forced to admire the speed with which the camp was broken down and loaded onto the waiting boats. Once he had assured himself that all was moving along efficiently in the camp he made his way down to the shore. He knew next to nothing about boats, and was forced to rely on his shipwrights' word that they were seaworthy. But he still felt it was his duty to make a brief cursory check of the boats to be sure all was ready. Dodging the men who were busy loading supplies Paulinus worked his way down the shore pausing at each beached boat to see if he could find anything out of order. Yet there was nothing his inexperienced eye could catch. But he kept on looking anyway until his route finally ended at the picket line.

At least here among the horses he felt comfortable and confident in his knowledge and abilities. The horses' contented snuffling and the low murmurs of the riders assured Paulinus that at least the majority of the cavalry were already preparing for the assault. With a faint smile he strolled down the line towards the sound of impatient stomping hooves.

"There, there," he murmured, pulling a winter dried apple from a pouch at his side. "Poor Jin. Did you think you were going to be left behind?" he asked as his horse delicately snuffled the apple from his hand. The gelding contentedly munched his rider's offering and head-butted him affectionately, bonding with his rider in the only way the gelding knew how.

While the horse munched on his apple Paulinus went about checking on Jin, all the while continuing his soft words of assurance. Once he was assured all was well, Paulinus personally saddled his mount up, being sure to check and recheck the tack before freeing him from the picket line.

Together they moved down the beach to the waiting boats, just one more horse and rider in the gloom. Anonymous in the darkness Paulinus joined the cavalry ranks and waited. There were times, such as this, that he enjoyed the simple pleasure of being just another one of the men. Just another face in the crowd. Although, he had to admit to himself that he would not give up the command he had worked so hard for. One of the privileges of power was the ability to stand anywhere on the social ladder as long as one did not rise above his own social step. With a suppressed chuckle Paulinus tore his thoughts away from his philosophical meanderings. Now was not the time. Now was the time to prepare to go into battle.

Paulinus turned himself and his mount into the soft breeze that seemed to blow straight from the island. The smell was so different from the warm, refreshingly salty, air of his homeland. These northern waters always seemed to carry the stench of rot and disease. His nose wrinkled in disgust from the scent. Even Jin snorted angrily, as if he too found the smell of the air offensive. With an automatic pat on Jin's neck, Paulinus calmed his mount. He absently wondered if the annihilation of the Druids would cleanse the smell of this sea's wind. No probably not. It was an integral part of the land just like the thick fogs and horrible persistent rains that fell almost every day no matter what the season.

While Paulinus waited for all his men to get into position, he glared across at the black silhouette of the island as though its very existence was an affront to him personally. Behind him the sound of skittering stones and nervous whinnying died down, punctuated by an occasional strike of an impatient hoof and a challenging neigh. The Roman army waited patiently in the darkness for the moment to come. They waited for the order to advance. Then, like an omen, the moon broke over the trees and painted a silvery trail across the waters from the Roman force to the island of the Druids.

"There it is men," Paulinus called out in his best parade ground voice. "Luna's own hand marks our path to victory and glory. Launch the boats and beat the drums. Let's put fear into the hearts of these bloody-handed barbarians."

Paulinus mounted to the sound of cheers, reveling in the power they gave him with their acclaim, and urged Jin into the water. Around him the sound of splashing horses, and hulls scrapping free of the beaches, grew to fill his senses. By the time the ice cold water had reached far enough to lap at his feet the fleet's beat drums had begun to ring out. The deep booming sound reverberated from the hills behind them and danced across the waves to echo back from the island ahead. The subtle rhythmic splashing of the fleet's oars joined the drum's song and seemed to orchestrate the gentle rise and fall of the surf at is lapped up the length of Paulinus' body. As the cold began to set-in he silently thanked the gods for the narrowness of the channel. With luck the cavalry would be able to complete their crossing before the reflexes of the horses and their riders were affected too badly.

As the water became to deep for his horse to wade Paulinus wrapped Jin's reigns around his hand and slid off to swim beside his mount. He clung desperately to the saddle strap, refusing to even think about what would happen if his hand slipped. He shut out the fearful knowledge he would sink like a stone under the weight of his armor without his horse to keep him afloat. This was the risky part. The currents here could and had changed abruptly, without warning. If they did there would be nothing to stop horses and riders and even some of the boats from being dragged down to a watery grave. The barely suppressed fear of the unknown and the cold of the sea seeped through his tunic and shrank his balls up against his body. Paulinus was careful to maintain his anger, as long as he was angry he would not be afraid of what lurked in the depths beneath him.

That was it. He needed a small distraction to keep his mind away from the fears of the uncontrollable and the unknowable. Phosphorus had begun to cling to him and the other horses and riders as they swan through the channel. It was a small thing but Paulinus latched onto it as a wonderfully humorous distraction. Wouldn't they be a sight. They would look like ghost riders rising from the sea by the time they reached the island. Maybe he could even use it to his advantage. After all these were a primitive people much given to superstition, they might even surrender without a fight if they thought they were being asked to battle shades from their underworld.
His fears temporarily banished Paulinus gave himself up to the moment. He felt his heartbeat quicken to match the sound of the oarsmen's drums and admired the shadows dance across the water. The waves were rolling dips of dark midnight laced with glowing white crests and the frosted luminance of Luna's path guiding the way. They were halfway across the channel before he noticed something wrong with the drums. Something was disturbing his peaceful enjoyment of the journey. He closed his eyes to pinpoint the man out of time. But it wasn't the Legion's drums. It was a different beat, coming from the island. The sound was faint but it twisted the Romans' even rhythm. Paulinus opened his eyes, furious at the annoying drums which had pulled him from his calm. He tried to use his force of will to shut out the disruptive sound, concentrating only on the drums of his army.

Yet even as he was caught in his internal struggle to block out the Keltoi's drums he watched the moon trail suddenly vanish before him. It was simply gone, leaving no marker of their path. Paulinus rolled onto his back in confusion and gasped in with a brief thrill of fear that quickly became coursing horror.

A veil of darkness filled his vision, blocking out moon and stars. A black fog that moved against the wind, was speeding down upon him and his troops. Paulinus tore his gaze away from the ominous cloud to look around him. Terror filled him with its cold wave as he watched the men and boats around him disappear in the blackness, until the whole flotilla is draped in the thick ebon cloak. He could barely even see Jin beside him. The once comical reassurance of the clinging phosphorus took on a phantom quality as it etched the skeleton of his proud steed, now a ghostly caricature in the Stygian night.

Unseen waves crashed against the riders, their smooth up and over motion jumbled by the resonance of the Keltoi drums, which through tricks of the fog seemed to surround them, drowning out their own beat drums and distorting all sense of direction. Had the Legion somehow fallen into the underworld, doomed to float lost in the freezing wet darkness until Charon finally scooped them up? Paulinus, remembering the tales of magic and mayhem learned at his mother's knee and was on the verge of losing all to madness and fear when he heard voices calling out through the swirling dark.

The cries of his men concerned, dismayed and panicking, recalled Paulinus to his duty. His men depended on him and his leadership. He had been among these damn heathens too long if his thoughts were straying that way. All the more reason to get rid of these superstitious fanatics and their devious Druid priests. When he rolled back over an involuntary gasp was torn from him. All he could see was utter blackness, no island, no stars just a shifting black mass, a swirling abyss of darkness that his eye could not penetrate. He had to find a way out of this trap. Before his water chilled mind could focus on a plan he heard muffled calls ring across the water from the boats.

"Hold you course men," a disembodied voice called. "The island hasn't moved. It is just hidden in the damnable mist these islands are famous for. Light torches and get men in the prows to watch for our riders and hull ripping rocks."

Small glowing places that looked unreal and unsubstantial began to appear low near the water. Flames, distorted in the mist, valiantly attempted to beat back the black fog. They revealed little, yet they were reassuring nonetheless. Paulinus was just beginning to get his fear back under control when the rumbling Keltoi war beat began to roar thunderously around them so loudly that he could not even hear the sound of the waves that splashed against him. The overwhelming crashing din seemed to come from the water and the air itself. Beside them. Behind them. Everywhere in the distorting cloud, that offered the enemy cover.

All fear was banished from Paulinus and his glowing ember of hatred was fanned into a white-hot forge of fury. The Druids had just overplayed their hand. He knew the war drums of the Keltoi would be in no underworld he would ever visit. How dare they try to make a Roman army turn tail! How dare they bring fear and doubt into his mind! For this they would all die.

Jin seemed to stumble, jerking Paulinus' arm almost out of its socket. They had finally reached the shallows on the other side of the channel. Horse's hooves began hitting ground all up and down the shoals, heralded by the calls of the men and the unhappy bellows of the horses that echoed through the lulls in the Keltoi's music. Paulinus quickly pulled himself close against his horse and into the saddle.

He shouted to his men, attempting to be heard over the Keltoi's pervasive drums, "Shallows here. Watch your horses and watch your boats."

Paulinus allowed Jin his head as he worked loose the water soaked leather reigns from his icy clenched fist. Behind and around him, in the darkness, barely heard through the din, the faint sounds of neighs, splashing and hull scrapping reassured him that the men were able to use his voice as a rallying point. None had seen his fear in the water. And none would ever know about his lapse. But he knew it would haunt his dreams, a constant reminder of his near surrender to cowardice. Now though was not the time to worry about the future of his dreams. Now was the time to concentrate on the upcoming battle. Paulinus needed to gather his men for the assault. The attack that is all he needed to think about. With fierce determination he began calling out his officers' names, waiting for each reply before calling the next name.

Halfway through his roll-list Paulinus broke through the blinding black fog to see what awaited them on the shore. Bonfires bloomed along the beach and heights casting elusive, skittering light on the adversary. Drummers with demon-painted faces rocked over their instruments closest to the flames, lost in their own pounding rhythm, while lines of Keltoi tribesmen, in various states of dress and undress, stood loosely ranked along the beaches and headlands beating their swords on round shields in time with the drums. Women in fluttering black robes and flying unbound hair darted among the men uttering blood-chilling wails that sounded of the otherworld. Women who were as the Furies themselves wove among Druid and warrior alike, carrying their torches held high to reveal their black and red streaked faces that were the haunting visages of demonesses from childhood nightmares. Beyond this terrifyingly eerie force stood the Druids themselves, in their loose robes and long flowing hair, with their arms and voices raised above it all in the eerie high-pitched wailing of Druid song that punctuated and led the hellish din.

Paulinus felt his men moving in behind him, as they broke through the unearthly fog he signaled them to take up a phalanx position. This close to the Keltoi he knew there was no way to be heard over their outrageous ruckus, but at least now they could see each other. Even freed of the cloud Paulinus could feel the fear radiating from his troops. He could sense even if he couldn't hear the gasps of shock and horror that threatened to break the Legion's spirits, as they stiffly took their places. Even as the men moved into position the volume of the enemy's so-called music seemed to lessen.

One of the Druids stepped forward. Probably the leader, Paulinus thought, judging by the length of his beard and the cleanliness of his robe. In a deep voice, that seemed to echo eerily inside their heads and carried easily above the bone-chilling chanting, the Druid addressed the arrayed Romans, in their own Latin tongue.

"We do not fear death, but shall fight to the last man's final breath. But know you, oh most faithless fools, of the sacrilege you do here. This is a sacred place protected by the gods. For every warrior you kill here a hundred for yours will die, unhonored, unremembered, scorned by the generations to come. For every member of our order you kill here a thousand of yours will perish in agony. Their bodies unburied and their souls lost, never to be reborn.

"Think well before you act, see the truth of my words in your souls. Leave this island and return to your homes to revel in its joys. Homes that through your brave withdrawal you will have protected and made safe."

The Romans were frozen in place as if entranced by the Druid's words and the sight of the raven cloaked Furies that ran amongst the enemy. Furies who had traveled from the Roman's own homelands to take vengeance for the atrocities they were about to commit on this distant island. Paulinus was furious. Did these superstitious old fools think to make Roman blood turn to water with their drums and doom-laden words? He deliberately urged his horse forward a couple of steps in an unspoken challenge to the Druid's empty threats.

Paulinus heard the crunching of stones behind him as his Legion shuffled and repositioned, but the sounds of the footsteps were retreating instead of advancing. His men were retreating! He angrily jerked Jin's head around to see the majority of his men edging back towards the half-beached boats, which bobbed and jerked with the waves. While the remainder of his men stood frozen, too terrified to advance or retreat, leaving themselves open to any attack by the Keltoi criminals. The Legion's morale and their training were dangerously close to breaking. Paulinus could not let that happen!

"Are you women to be frightened by the empty words of an old man?" Paulinus shouted at his troops. "Are you mere children to be frightened by a well staged mummery? We are Romans. Peoples from all over the world flee from us, we do not flee from uncivilized barbarians. Will you flee from victory? Will you flee from a barbarian's music? Those who do so should run on home don a woman's dress and put their hair up in elaborate curls. Those who do so might as well sit spinning indoors all day least the sun damage their soft lily-white skin. Those who flee are not men, but cowardly maidens whose names and presence should be shunned by all."

The Romans began to nudge and taunt one another, their own fear dispelled as they laughed at it in others. The men slowly began to move back into position, egging the others on with brutal mockery. Paulinus turned confidently back to face the Druids, secure in the knowledge that shame would always win over fear.

"Your words are as weak and feeble as an old woman's, Druid" Paulinus taunted, meeting the Druid's eyes in challenge. "We do not fear your gods or your curses. We are protected by the mighty Olympians, who walk with us every step of the way. It is our gods who have led us here, declaring you and your practices abominations, destined to be wiped from the earth."

The Druid smiled and called back, "We will be here long after Rome has fallen and the Roman gods have perished beneath the yoke of a new master." The old man, still smiling, began to waver and though he did not move he slowly vanished from sight.

Paulinus, not about to be taken in by another slight of hand, glared furiously at the place where the Druid had stood. The time for talking was done. Paulinus gave the order to advance.

The ensuing battle was a scene from ancient tales, ancient nightmares, as the two forces clashed in the darkness. A chaos of war cries and clanging weapons. The whoosh of arrows loosed into the air. The screams of horses cut out beneath riders. The screams of men wounded, maimed, trying to hold their severed limbs against their bodies and their innards in opened bellies. The red flames of the great bonfires shed just enough light on the beach to reveal the carnage that covered it, spraying, dripping blood, mangled lifeless bodies of the fallen, as fierce desperate warriors were locked in mortal combat with their lives and their very way of life at stake.

The Romans marched forward in tight formation, driven beyond fear of the enemy by the mockery of their comrades. Shields overlapped and spears bristled forth like the teeth of a shark, ready to tear and rend the enemy. With drilled efficiency the infantry moved in on the unorganized Keltoi rabble. They resolutely held their advancing line against the charge of the screaming enemy. While the Keltoi threw themselves against the Romans with no thought of their own safety, no thought to preserving their own lives.

The front line soldiers who fell beneath the Keltoi swords and axes were quickly replaced with troops from behind. The Romans dared not let their line break, they stood firm and stabbed and sliced through flesh and bone from behind their safe shield wall. The infantry did not advance, their job was to hold the Keltoi and distract the painted warriors from the real threat. The Roman cavalry, who had flanked out to take the unprotected Druids from behind. The Legion thought that if they could destroy the Druids first the entire Keltoi defensive stance would crumble and the battle would be finished.

For the Celtae clans, however, there was no question of retreat or surrender. For most, the island was their final stand. They had fled there to escape the Romans' so-called justice. There was nowhere else to run to. There was no desire to run, to escape, only to fight and win or fight and die. They had been blessed. And they knew what awaited them once their mortal coil had been shaken loose. There was no cause greater than the protection of the Druids, the keepers of the ancient knowledge, the link between themselves and the Otherworld's voice.

The Celtae rushed forward, fierce calls ripped from their throats, as they sought to kill as many of the hated enemy they could before they fell. The clans sacrificed themselves freely on Roman iron to protect the Druids, continuing to strike and hack at the enemy even with bodies riddled with wounds. They slammed bloody, newly severed, stumps against the foe, some even used their own severed limbs as weapons against the Romans. The Celtae refused to stop or seek help for their wounds. They refused to be captured or surrender. Determined to fight and die free the warriors struggled on, until the blood completely drained from them. Fighting until there was no more life in their bodies. Fighting until their spirits slipped free.

On through the night the battle continued, swaying back and forth with the fortunes of war. But the clans were badly outnumbered. They did not have the strength of numbers or the strength of mindless discipline to defeat the Romans. Slowly the defenders fell. Warrior and Druid alike were crushed beneath the Roman war machine, feeding the land of Ynys Mona with their own blood, and their own flesh. Bodies toppled lifeless to the ground, no longer needed as their souls sped away to Annwn beyond the waves.

There in the darkness of that fateful night the Isle was lost to the Roman invaders and their hunger for conquest.

As the sun rose above the battlefield, Paulinus was finally able to survey his victory. Beyond the neatly ordered rows of tents, the deep trench and pike wall barricades, of the freshly built Roman camp, squads of his men continued to feed the bodies of the fallen foe to the flaming bonfires. Pyres the Druids themselves had conveniently built. In the camp itself men cleaned their weapons and mended their gear. Black-robed healers moved briskly among the moaning wounded, sewing up open wounds, resetting bones and dosing the most seriously injured with their bitter potions. The same breeze that carried the greasy acrid smoke up to the low-lying clouds above him mercifully dissipated the cloying stench of the burning corpses. Only one thing currently marred his joy of the victory and judging by the look on the approaching Centurion's face it was still a problem.

"Governor," the Centurion reported with a weary salute. "The body is still missing. All the Keltoi bodies have been checked and he is not among them."

Paulinus nodded, "I was expecting this actually. Full of brave words, he fled as soon as the fighting began. Leaving his men behind to battle for an empty cause while he cowers somewhere safe from harm. Don't worry Gnaes we will find him. And if we don't the Keltoi will kill him themselves, despite their barbaric ignorance these are a proud warlike people. They are not likely to harbor a cowardly old scholar who leads them into disaster and then abandons them to death."

Together the pair turned and rode silently into camp, each man lost in his own thoughts. In the aftermath of battle a man had a lot to think about as well as a lot to be thankful for. Paulinus however did not want to look too closely into his own reactions and thoughts of the battle. The memories of his near collapse were still too raw and painful. Instead he turned all his attention to his duties and his future strategy. Diverting his attention by burying himself in duty.

He took careful stock of the men around him, judging the men's condition, which were already sleeping and who appeared to still be energetic and alert. His mind automatically counted the number of wounded who had either already been treated by the healers or were still waiting their turn, even though he knew that an exact count would soon be provided. The smell of sweat and blood mingled with the sour scent of the men's wine rations and the savory aroma of the cook-fires, permeating the camp with the sweet smell of success. The scent of victory and celebration that rejuvenated Paulinus' weary body and spirit. It did not matter that he had been briefly overcome by the Druid's tricks. No, all that mattered was the end result. The fact that the evil priesthood and the criminals that they had harbored had fallen to his Legion, that was all that mattered.

Upon reaching the command tent the two men dismounted and handed their tired horses over to the waiting groom before stepping into the warm cozy gloom of the tent. A fire had already been started in the heating brazier and hanging lamps of expensive beeswax candles had been set up and lit, illuminating and warming the interior. Platters of fresh cooked meat and bread graced the table along with bowls of fruits and flagons of good wine, not the sour watery stuff that the regular soldiers drank.

Paulinus glanced briefly around his pavilion to be sure that all was in order and motioned for the Centurion to sit and help himself to the prepared meal. He was well aware that the Gnaes had been too busy running about organizing the camp and gathering information for him to break his fast. The man would go far if he would just remember to take care of himself with he same dedication he showed to his duties. Paulinus however was not ready to join him yet, at least not until he had cleaned off the smell of death. As Gnaes dug greedily into the food and wine Paulinus stood patiently still while a pair of aides stripped off his armor. Their task done, the aides were summarily dismissed with orders to have all the garments cleaned and the armor polished immediately. Once free of his battle-gear and alone with his officer, Paulinus stepped behind the curtain that divided the room and began washing off the caked dried gore and offal that clung to him in dried stripes and splotches.

Even as he bathed Paulinus began to question Gnaes on the status of the troops. Paulinus grilled the man on all the details of the Legion's welfare. How many wounded? How many dead? How many were not expected to recover? What was the status of their food and wine supplies? How many weapons and armor needed repair or replacement? How many of the horses had been wounded? How many killed in battle and how many had needed to be put down? How many prisoners had been taken? Who was on grave detail for their own men? Who was on perimeter guard duty? Who had been sent out as scouts to survey the land and check for further Keltoi resistance forces?

By the time he had finished his impromptu bath and changed into a clean uniform Paulinus had already been brought up to date on all the relevant information regarding his army. The Roman Legion was still near full strength despite the vicious Keltoi defense. Many of his men had been wounded, but fatalities were few. Even the seriousness of the injuries his men had suffered were generally minor considering the force they had faced. In fact almost all of the men on the wounded list would be back on active duty within a ten-day. Those who had survived unscathed however needed to be kept busy, least they lapse into idleness after the battle. To Paulinus' mind idleness led to laxness, and that they could not afford. Besides there was much more to do to secure this Druid haven for the Empire. And no time like the present to get the cleanup started.

"I want a Centuriae prepared and ready to go as soon as I have finished my meal," Paulinus ordered, waving away the Centurion's salute. "We will not waste any time. I want the Druids' damnable groves leveled before the winter's snows begin."

His orders given Paulinus ignored the officer's departure, as he quickly dug into the food prepared for him, eating only because he knew he would need the strength to continue without rest. Paulinus eagerly looked forward to the complete destruction of the Druid's stronghold, energized by his political and religious zeal that urged him forward with no time for relaxation or celebration. He had heard the grizzly tales of the soldiers who had destroyed similar groves in Gaul. The tales of rotting corpses hanging from the trees and piled alters of polished skulls and tannin dipped severed heads, stories that had been as tantalizing as they were macabre. Stories that had caught his attention as a youth and driven him on to destroy the monsters who committed such horrendous deeds. Paulinus wanted everything sacred to these human-sacrificing priests wiped from the face of the earth.

He had to level the Druid's groves and sever the Keltoi's ties to their gruesome religion. With the Druids gone the Keltoi people would finally bow to the inevitable and embrace Roman civilization. Paulinus knew they would sooner rather than later. He just needed to complete his triumph here and save the Keltoi from their barbaric ways. The way his people had been enlightened in the generations before his birth. He had found much to admire in the Keltoi people, they just needed to join the modern ways of the Roman Empire. Too restless to sleep or even pause in his ruthless campaign to destroy the rebellious spirit of the people of this forsaken outpost of the Roman Empire. Paulinus was driven by the need to finish his duty here and return triumphant to Rome. His thoughts raced ahead eager to get to work, driving his body to follow.

No longer able to even sit still Paulinus wiped the grease from his face and strapped on his back-up set of armor. A luxury he had taken up while on duty in the Asian deserts. Paulinus double-checked his sword, which he had been sure to clean and polish while the camp was being set up, and strode out of the tent and into the crisp morning air. He unconsciously relished the smells and feel of the air on his face, the exuberant victory of living through any battle. Even as he lifted his face to the magical warmth of the sun he signaled for the grooms to bring him a fresh mount. As much as he enjoyed the beauty of the day he could not stand here all day basking in the sun. Recalled to duty Paulinus looked around and quickly located the area where the Centuriae detachment, all cavalry he noted, was forming up at his orders. With a brief nod to the groom Paulinus took the reins of his secondary mount. He did not have the same connection with his mare that he did with Jin, but then he had never ridden the mare into battle. That did not mean that he didn't care about her. She was like a good daughter, docile, well mannered and willing to do whatever he asked of her, and that is what he needed today. With a fluid jump, that caused his aching muscle to scream in protest, he mounted and rode over to join the grove-cutting squad.

"All right men," Paulinus shouted briskly. "Our job today is to cut down their gruesome grove. For the man or pair of men who cut down the most trees today I will provide with a feast fit for an Emperor and a pair of slave girls to ease your tension for a span of days."

Riotous cheers greeted the Governor's words, as men leapt into their saddles, eager to be off and win the prize. He set an easy pace allowing the men to blow off steam and become comfortable with him as one of their number. Paulinus laughed easily with the men as they rode out of camp, trading coarse jokes and tales of sexual conquest. It was a rare occasion when he could relax and allow familiarity between himself and his underlings. And now when all but final victory was in his grasp he allowed himself the luxury of enjoyment. A genuine smile seamed his face as he silently congratulated himself on his plan of inducement. The groves would be decimated in no time, and the men would fight to have the privilege of participating in its destruction. All was going just as he planned.

In short order the Centuriae reached the edge of the Druid's woods. Men leapt from their saddles and moved briskly into the green shade. Some took up position in front of the closest, outermost, trees to get a head start on their countrymen. While others ran into the shaded depths in order to remain cool while they labored. No matter where they took up position each man angled his cuts so that the larger trees had the chance of knocking down smaller ones when they fell, in the hope that it would add to their total and win them the prize. Soon the homey sound of axes on wood echoed through the forest, as the men busily set about working to earn their reward. Paulinus sat his horse and watched his men at work, listening to the sounds of their labor, completely at peace with himself and the world he was helping to create.

For less than a candle-mark the work continued and only a couple of the smaller trees had fallen before a feeling of uneasiness began to fill the air. The men cast surreptitious glances about them but none abandoned their tasks, putting down their apprehension to the unhealthy atmosphere of the grove itself. They had all heard tales of the gruesome rituals that were suppose to be practiced by the Druids in their bloody groves. Perhaps what they felt were the spectral fingers of past victims. Earthbound ghosts that would be set free once they had been avenged and the site of their murders destroyed. The indefinable fear only served to egg the men on. The sooner this grove of death was leveled the sooner they could leave its oppressive atmosphere.

The Romans were so focused on the task at hand that at first none noticed the pale mist that began to rise from the ground, swirling around the toes of the laboring soldiers. At first none noticed the drop in temperature beneath the leafy shade, sweating as they were with manual labor. Yet soon the mist became undeniable, as it grew thicker and climbed up to curl around their ankles, hiding the ground's numerous dangers of roots and borrow holes. Soon the air became so chilled that the men could actually see their own panting breath. The rhythmic thuds of axe against tree began to slow. Then the sound of their labors completely stopped, as the men looked around them, suddenly nervous.

Without their axe strokes to disguise it they heard the eerie silence that now filled the grove. An empty void of sound marked by the absence of wind or birdcall, the absence of animals rustling in the undergrowth. It was as if all the creatures of the woods had abandoned their homes. Animals who had fled before some great danger, sensing it as they would a forest fire. The Romans felt the specter of fear once again tighten their balls and raise the hair on the backs of their necks. This was more than just a couple of disembodied spirits making their presence known. The silence was unearthly and foreboding. What terror had the beasts fled? Was it a power that they too should flee before?

No longer trying to hide their growing fear the Romans began looking around as they began to edge their way out of the now darkening shade of the woods. As they moved they began to notice faint dancing lights, and wispy pale phantoms that moved through the trees, drawing closer. Odd lights darted along the ground just beneath the mist, lighting it but not piercing the ground fog, crackling like lightening, as it ran between the trees in webs of energy. It was not natural. Was this then a Druid's curse? The words of the old man, before the battle, came back to haunt the woodcutting soldiers. Were the shades of the dead priests drawing near, seeking vengeance? The men on the outer fringes backed cautiously away from the trees and reentered the sunshine. Praying that the shades would have no power beneath the protective rays of the sun.

Terrified screams tore through the still air as the few soldiers who had been brave enough to venture deeper into the woods came running out of the shadowy depths. Blood ran from shallow wounds and long scratch marks that streaked their faces and hands. They shouted almost incomprehensible tales of unearthly beings, dryads, satyrs, and nymphs attacking them. Once they had reached the safety of the natural sunlight beyond the grove's edge they fell trembling to their knees, and recounted the horror of the trees screaming in pain as they cut into the trunks. They shook in fear as they stammered horrifying tales of seeing blood instead of sap leaking from where their axes cut into the trees, and creatures from legend springing forth from the ground itself to attack them.

Horrified but unwilling to flee, especially after the events of the night before, the men instinctively turned to Paulinus to explain these new occurrences, to drive away the nightmare terrors come to life. The familiarity that had sprung up during their brief ride completely dispelled as they sought his leadership and guidance. If any could explain or banish the phantoms that had become all to real it would be the Governor.

Paulinus face grew livid. Enough was enough! He would not back down to a defeated enemy. This was just one more trick. He was sure that some of the Druids had escaped into the woods, and even now were continuing their slight of hand. Paulinus was now sure that the cowardly old man who had tried to frighten them on the beach was here. And if he was Paulinus intended to find him.

Paulinus shouted at his men, "If the Druids had no power to save themselves, they have no power to save these trees. Start on the outskirts and herd the demons into the center. Steal their power men. Destroy their hidey holes and you destroy them."

Leading by example Paulinus grabbed up an axe of his own and began cutting down trees himself. Each tree that fell to his destructive fury he dedicated to Mithras, the soldier god of the sun. With each tree that fell Paulinus felt the god's smile and the god's gift of strong surging power run through him in approval of his offering. Yes each tree felled was another step towards the civilizing of this island. Each tree felled was another step in banishing the blood loving gods of the Keltoi.

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