At the Edge of the World
A short story centered on Caesar's first invasion of Britannia in 55 BCE.
Welcome back, folks. So, this is another work of historical fiction. Also, note that this is an older story that I wrote some time ago. I’ve polished it up a bit since then.
Instead of being set in the late Bronze Age, like The Hungry Gods, this story takes place in 55 BCE.
Julius Caesar is starting his first invasion of Britannia. He made his second and more successful attempt in 54 BCE.
He left Gaul before his cavalry, a mistake that ultimately may have cost him the campaign, because storms prevented them from reaching Britain.
We open the story under the white cliffs of Kent, then move northeast.
Caesar made landfall somewhere around modern-day Ebbsfleet, after realizing that landing in Kent was a bad idea because of the tides and massed Celtic forces.
While the Greeks used the word Keltoi, the Romans preferred Celtae or Gauls for Celts on the Continent, but called the Celtic inhabitants of Britain Britanni.
While you’re here, catch up on A Dread Tide Rising, my serialized, pulp-flavored, fantasy novel. You can also explore some of the characters’ backstories. Oh, and make sure to subscribe, so you get updates right in your inbox.
At the Edge of the World
“But why is there a yew standing amongst the oaks, teacher?” The white-clad initiate’s question broke the immense silence.
I whispered the answer to him.
***
“Damn,” I muttered, elbowing Sarcano, who sat on the bench next to me. I nodded toward the clifftops. Shielding his eyes against the sun’s glare off the white chalk cliffs, he grunted in consternation. Here at the edge of the world, we bobbed in ships that felt shrunken, below an enormous cliff wall topped by fierce Britanni warriors.
The sun struck highlights from helms and spears, swords, and shields. The distance was too great to make out any facial features, but I knew they would be painted blue with woad, a favorite trick to frighten an enemy. The Britanni here at the end of all things were not so different from their Gaulish brethren on the continent. We had seen it many times fighting on the mainland, but it never failed to impress some of the greener legionnaires among us.
The narrow strand of beach below those cliffs was unattainable. Landing there was an open invitation for the warriors above to rain shrieking death down on us. It was tempting to think that things could not get much worse, but previous experience had taught me otherwise. The gods were capricious at best, malevolent at worst, and even more unpredictable than the damned Britanni.
Sarcano leaned toward me, thick brows drawn down. “The General’s pet Gaul has failed, it seems, Lucanis,” he whispered.
I nodded. It had been widely said that the General had sent his envoy, a chieftain named Commius, to the isles at the end of the world to prepare our way. If the horde atop the cliffs was any indication, the man had failed miserably. It did not matter much in the end, I decided. There would be a battle, and the legions would win, if dearly. That was how it worked. Usually.
Looking forward, I could see Canalus, our centurion. He paced back and forth below the large central sail, pausing occasionally to scan the small fleet, his gaze drawn inexorably toward the General’s flagship. We all waited for some signal to tell us which way the General deemed good for us to go. We did not have long to wait. The signal went up from the flagship, and we pointed our prows north against the coastline and rowed. Slowly, our straggle of ships began moving, searching for an area to put ashore.
My stomach knotted as realization hit: we were leaving without our cavalry! There had been no sign of the ships carrying the men and horses we would need to help cement our victory. Sarcano’s thoughts must have taken the same turn. As he rowed, he glanced starboard over his shoulder, out to sea, scanning the horizon. After doing so three or four times fruitlessly, he looked to me with a dark expression I knew must be on my own face.
Saying nothing, we faced forward and rowed. The sooner we made landfall, the more daylight we would have to set fortifications. The cavalry would have to fend for themselves at this point, the poor, damned souls. I only hoped we could find a suitable beachhead and establish our fortifications before the Britanni found us.
The currents of air and water here seemed as contrary and unpredictable as the gods and the Britanni. We labored against the sea currents to make a few yards of headway, while the sail hung slack, the canvas slapping thickly against the mast. Sweat stung my eyes, but I had no time to wipe it away. Life became nothing more than the pull and reset of the spar in my hands. The Britanni paced us atop the cliffs, the jangle of harness, weapons, and armor coming to us across the distance.
Our fleet moved ponderously along the coastline as the hours dragged by. Dusk was falling when a lookout finally spotted a shingle beach. It lay within a small bay and offered little in the way of protection from the waves, but it was a beach, nonetheless.
Exhaustion warred with worry. The tide was out, and our ships’ drafts were deep. If we approached now, it would mean wading ashore over unknown terrain and through icy water. However, we had to balance the decision to wait for the tide to rise with expedience. There was no sign of the Britanni who had paced us all day, but every man there knew that they could appear at any moment. My aching arms and back turned that bleak expanse of water-washed stones into a glorious paradise.
Sarcano’s response to the beachhead was a tight smile of relief.
We wasted no time getting about the business of going ashore. The warships all moved out into deeper water to allow the wallowing cows that bore us legionnaires room to maneuver. Soon, we began inching forward; I could see relieved smiles on the faces around me through the sweat and grime. We knew we could get ashore now, and all the questions about the invasion and the lost cavalry would be temporarily forgotten as we made camp. Legionnaires from several ships leaped into the sea and began making their way toward the beach.
As those brave few battled the icy water, scrambling toward that foreign shore, an incredible roar went up. Britanni warriors streamed down onto the shingle on foot, on horse, and in their murderous chariots. The legionnaires that had gone into the water tried in vain to form a shield wall, but flying javelins and merciless swords cut them down. I was shocked at the fury of the attack. We remained aboard the ship, watching as our brothers died.
After cutting down the last of the poor fools unlucky enough to have been among the first over the side, the painted men began racing their chariots back and forth across the beachhead, hurling taunts and javelins toward our ships. A cold fire smoldered into life in my gut as I took in the carnage. No legionnaire made a move to dive into the frigid waters to avenge his brothers, however. Raising my head, I scanned the ships. Not a single centurion was using his whip or cudgel to encourage his men. The bodies floating half-submerged in the salty water held everyone immobile.
Well, almost everyone. Sarcano elbowed me, directing my attention to port. There, on a ship so close I could have leaned over and touched it, a standard-bearer raised his Eagle to the sky in defiance of men and gods. His words carried clearly across the small space between our ships.
“Leap forth, soldiers, unless you wish to betray your standard to the enemy. I, at any rate, shall have performed my duty to my country and my general!” He spat over the side of the ship, the gobbet of spittle and phlegm hitting the water with an audible smack. Then, he leaped over the side and began wading toward shore. With that, the spell broke; every man on that ship followed their Eagle into the sea. The legionnaires on other ships hurled pila at the enemy, punching holes in their advance.
I looked at Sarcano, and we both spit into the water before going over the side ourselves. I grabbed my shield and leaped. The water hit me like ice, but the fire in my gut was stronger. Doggedly, we made our way toward the shore, blocking javelins the entire way. Then, the barbarians rushed into the surf, swords like silver shadows in the deepening dusk. The sea was churned to pink foam beneath the hooves of horses and the feet of men. Treacherous footing hampered us. I went under the water twice before I even got close to one of the blue-painted bastards.
The fighting was bitter stuff. Britanni warriors delighted in picking our men off, dashing forward to attack, and then retreating before we could respond. Unable to form up, our legionnaires struggled to make headway against the barbarian horde.
It was a near thing for most of those who eventually reached the beachhead. There were so many Britanni that as soon as I struck one down, another took his place. A hulking brute with a bristling mustache tried to cut me in half, but I dodged inside his guard and gutted him handily with my gladius.
Immediately, another howling warrior tried to skewer me with a spear. I dodged, slipped on a stone, and went under the water, letting go of my shield in the process. The warrior stabbed down with his spear, but the head caught between two large rocks and wedged tight. Grabbing the haft and using it as leverage, I launched myself from the water, my sword taking the man in the throat.
They weren’t all men, either. Blue-painted women with naked breasts rushed through the surf at me, bearing wicked swords and screaming like carrion crows. I never knew how many Sarcano and I killed that day, nor have I ever wished to. The warships behind us came to our aid, launching ballistae at the barbarian’s flanks and scattering their forces. The Britanni gave ground grudgingly, but, at last, our legions made the beachhead.
Once we gained land, we put our superior training to use. The tribes were valiant, but they lacked the numbers to go against a shield wall on dry ground. Realizing that the tide had shifted against them, they melted away as quickly as they had come, fading into the surrounding forest.
I glanced around, looking for Sarcano, my eyes bleary. I found him about thirty yards away, covered in blood but still standing. Seeing me looking, he spat toward the water. I did the same. Surprisingly fast, word came down that the General was taking a legion inland immediately. There would be no rest for those poor bastards.
Sarcano and I were with the legion that remained behind. Minutes after that order, the centurions were calling to set camp. The next hours sped by as they always did when we were immersed in our routine. We cut timber, started construction on the General’s fortifications, cared for the wounded, and burned the dead. Finally, exhausted, we drew lots for the first watch. My luck actually held for once; I got morning watch. With nothing said, I stumbled to the tent I shared with four other men and fell almost instantly into that sleep for which soldiers have always been famous.
I would like to say that my sleep was untroubled that night, that I slept as a hardened soldier should, but that would be a lie. The instant I was asleep, I could hear a woman crying. I searched for her; in my dream, we were on that damned beachhead, and gulls circled and cried in the distance. Fog moved in swiftly, shrouding everything in a funeral pall, but still I could hear her crying. I dared not leave the beach in the dream. Things moved in the fog. Half-glimpsed images of distorted faces, human arms covered in scales, and other monstrosities kept me locked to the beach. The crying was still in my ears when I woke.
It took me a moment to realize that I could still hear that mournful keening in my waking ears. My head felt heavy, and I struggled to open my eyes and get my bearings. That damned weeping seemed to reverberate through my skull, setting the world pulsating.
Finally, I managed to pry my eyelids apart. It did little good. The scene that met my gaze was as confusing as my dreams. Perhaps I was still dreaming; it was hard to be certain. The tent was filled with swirling, gray fog. Within the mist, the figures of the other sleeping men were indistinct, mere dark, oblong shapes.
Around me gathered five dark figures, human-shaped, but indistinct. They wore white robes, with deep hoods pulled up over their heads. In a grim circle, they crowded around me. Druids, I realized with a start.
Fear rose in my throat. How had they gotten into the camp, much less into my tent? My hand crept out, reaching for my gladius.
“Hold, interloper,” one of the figures spoke, his voice deep and commanding. My hand stopped immediately. No point in taking chances, I thought.
“Your life is forfeit if you touch your weapons,” a second voice added. This one was just as authoritative, but distinctly feminine.
I withdrew my hand, clasping both over my chest in obvious acquiescence. Better to stay alive now and live to fight later, I decided. There was no way to tell what sort of threat these strange figures posed.
“Rise and leave your weapons on the ground,” the first voice spoke again.
Being ordered about like some house-slave irked me. “First, tell me who you are,” I objected. Perhaps knowing who they were and what they wanted would give me an edge.
“We are…” One began, but the female speaker overrode him.
“Gorius, the Lady commanded that he be brought to her. She said nothing about answering the scum’s question. Vermin like this deserve no answers,” she growled.
“Of course, honored Eponia. I only thought it might make the process simpler. The Lady did command us to come at all speed,” Gorius replied.
“Get up, swine. Talorian, bind his hands.” The woman ordered, obviously the one in charge here. It seemed odd to me, but the Britanni were well known for making their women equal to their men. Still unsure how much threat these people posed, I obeyed and stood slowly.
One of the figures, Talorian, I assumed, moved forward with a length of hemp rope in his hands. He wrapped it around my wrists securely but not painfully. Inwardly, I scoffed at them. Showing even such a minor mercy to an enemy would earn you a lashing in the legions. I bit back the laughter before it could escape.
“I hope you are worth the sacrifice,” Eponia growled. What was this? What sacrifice did she mean?
The five figures crowded around me. The two who had not yet spoken moved to stand to my right and left. Gorius and Talorian moved to stand behind and in front of me. Eponia stood directly before me, almost uncomfortably close. From this vantage, I could just make out her features beneath the deep hood of her robe. She smelled of heather and fresh rain and seemed surprisingly young, while her voice seemed older. I could not make out the features of the others; the swirling fog and lingering darkness prevented it.
The four men surrounding me began chanting. It was a strange, harsh language, not at all like their usual tongue. Eponia glared at me, hatred warring with some other emotion. Resignation? Suddenly, I realized that the four others were stationed at each of the cardinal directions. Gorius faced south, while the two unknown figures faced east and west. I half turned, glancing behind me. Talorian faced north.
The chanting abruptly reached a crescendo, and Eponia stepped forward, clutching me tightly. Her lips pressed to mine, but this was no passionate embrace. One arm wrapped tightly around me, pulling me painfully close to her body. I felt her other hand cover my eyes. And then everything shifted. The ground beneath us lurched, and the darkness evaporated in blinding radiance. Even with her hand blocking my vision, the light burned through her flesh. And then I was falling. The floor vanished from beneath my feet, and I plummeted downward, with Eponia still wrapped tight around me.
The light vanished almost immediately, replaced by a darkness deeper than any I had ever known. I felt the dark trying to invade my eyes, tendrils working into my corneas, like ravenous maggots feasting on dead flesh. A roaring filled my ears, like some titanic cry of fury. The force of our descent pulled Eponia’s lips off mine. I screamed then, but it was ripped from my throat and soared away into the hungry darkness, gobbled up by whatever surrounded us.
Violently, my companion covered my mouth again with her own, clamping her lips down over mine. My shrieking ended, and I concentrated on the warmth of her lips on my skin. Far from erotic, it gave me something to focus on, but even then, I was almost lost to whatever force attacked us. I could feel the worms of darkness burrowing through the soft tissue of my eyes and invading my nostrils. Somehow, I knew that they would soon reach my brain, and I would be lost.
Just as I thought I was gone, my feet slammed into something, hard. The force of our downward momentum was enough to send us both toppling over. Eponia was flung away from me, and I lay sprawled on a soft surface, trying to figure out where I was.
I took a moment for my distraught senses to realize that I was lying on soft, green grass. Above me arched the blue vault of the sky. It took another moment for me to realize that there were other people around, and that some of them were speaking. Not all of them seemed to be happy, either.
I spied Eponia speaking with an older woman, who wore the same white robe as my captor. The other woman had her hood thrown back, and the early morning sunlight painted her face in soft gold. There was no sign of the other four druids who had been in my tent.
My hands were still bound securely, so I sat where I had fallen, unwilling to give my captors the pleasure of watching me struggle to rise. As I began to get my bearings, I realized that we were on the outskirts of a village, and other people wandered here and there. Many of them wore white robes, but many wore the simple garb of Britanni villagers. None of them paid much attention to me. Presumably, being trussed like a game bird and disoriented from my travel rendered me unthreatening.
Thinking of it brought back the horrible feeling of falling, of the blackness trying to wriggle its way inside me, of writhing creatures gnawing at the insides of my skull. With a lurch, I heaved forward and noisily emptied the contents of my stomach into the grass. Eponia’s mouth twisted with distaste as she directed the other woman to where I sat retching.
The pair walked the short distance to where I sat, their robes trailing in the grass. “Take him to the glade. We cannot wait any longer,” the older woman said.
Immediately, she turned on her heel and walked briskly back toward the village. I was left alone with Eponia, who was smiling oddly. It was almost… anticipatory.
“Get up. You must walk now.” She punctuated her sentence with a kick at my legs. I wondered briefly if I could strangle her with the rope that bound my hands, but the realization that I had no idea where I was kept me from the attempt. Instead, I rose unsteadily to my feet.
Once up, Eponia spun me roughly around. A long hillside stretched northward, rising tall over the surrounding land. A massive grove of oaks crowned the hill. That must be their holy place. I had a bad feeling about this.
“Move. Now.”
I did.
Something nagged at my mind as we walked. Perhaps I was just trying to distract myself from whatever fate awaited me beneath those overhanging boughs, but I was curious.
“What happened to the other four, Talorian, Gorius, and the others?” I asked.
“They are dead.” Her voice was matter-of-fact, but she walked behind me so I could not see her face.
“Dead?”
“Yes, pig. They died to bring you here. Now, be silent. I’ll not tarnish their memories by speaking of them in your foul tongue. When they reenter the wheel of life, I pray they do not remember this.”
“But, why?” I had to ask.
She sighed and was silent for a moment. Then she said, “It takes great power to move through the cracks between the worlds. They gave their energy, their lives, so that you and I could travel here.”
The cracks between worlds? What madness was this? But I could not explain our journey in any other way. Then another thought struck me. “When you came to my tent, you did not simply walk through the camp, did you?”
“No, it took ten of our druids to send the five of us to your tent. You have cost my people many lives, Roman.” She spoke the word “Roman” the way one might excrement.
“What’s the point of all this? I’m just a simple legionnaire. Is it vengeance you want? Did I slay someone important during our landing?”
“Those you cut down when making landfall are unimportant. You are what is important. Or, rather, what will come from you.” Her answer was cryptic and only further confused me.
I intended to question her further. These “cracks” intrigued me, and I was certainly curious about what use they had for me, but we had come to the top of the hill. It seemed I would learn firsthand what they had planned.
The hilltop was not what I had expected. I expected some crude altar dripping with blood, festooned with gobbets of flesh, beneath the ancient, watchful trees. It was both more and less than that. I was not sure if I was elated or disappointed.
The hilltop was well-groomed, the grass cropped short. The trees, rather than being menacing and overbearing, felt sheltering and protective. Beneath their branches stood a large dolmen; a large, flat stone supported on three sides by smaller stones. The stones radiated a palpable throbbing, like a heartbeat. There was nothing else to see. No druid priest with a golden knife to cut out my heart and drain my blood into a bowl. No hideous hag to feast on my entrails and suck the marrow from my bones. It was… peaceful.
The moment of peace was interrupted. My captor placed her hand in the small of my back and shoved, hard. I stumbled, barely keeping my balance as I tottered toward the dolmen.
“My Lady,” Eponia intoned from behind me, “I have brought him before you. Render your judgment as you see fit.”
I had no idea to whom she was speaking, as we were the only two on the hilltop. Perhaps she was going to sacrifice me anyway. Would I go to some Britanni hell?
Eponia’s shove had pushed me considerably closer to the dolmen than I would have liked. On closer inspection, the thing was pitted with age, with lichen beginning to creep up the smaller stones that supported the top. The air of calm was deep, seductive. I did not like it. Something was forcing me to be tranquil and still. My inborn stubbornness was having none of it; I backpedaled and encountered flesh behind me almost immediately.
“Be still,” a new voice said in my ear. Startled, I whirled around. I found myself face-to-face with another woman, but one like none I had ever seen before. She seemed more real, more solid, than any person had a right to be. She exuded life in some way that defied description. In height, she was a match for me, and I was not a short man. Her skin was pale, like fine marble, and her hair was the black you only see behind your eyes after drinking too much wine. It was her eyes that truly startled me, though. They were white, not like blind man’s, but radiant white.
She pressed one hand against my chest. “Calmly, now. Be at peace. No harm will come to you while you are under my protection.”
As the words left her lips, I realized I believed them. There was no way not to. It was a simple, unalterable fact.
Eponia harrumphed from somewhere nearby. Clearly, she was not happy about the situation, but I guessed that she could do little about it.
The strange, otherworldly woman smiled at Eponia, but kept her burning eyes fixed on me. “Southron, Roman, stranger, I am Brigantia, and you stand here on my suffrage alone.” Her voice was suddenly deep, rolling like the thunder of a waterfall or the rumble of hooves across the plain. I stared, my mouth open.
“Why?” I finally managed to ask.
“You are integral to the future of my people. Or, rather, your seed is. You are… less so.” Her answer was enigmatic, to say the least.
“I fail to understand, Lady. My seed?”
“Yes, you will lie with Eponia and beget a child on her. Your bloodline is what I require from you.”
I risked a glance at Eponia and was gratified to see that the goddess’s statement was just as shocking to her.
“Lie with him?" she all but shouted. “My Lady, surely you more than anyone must understand how I feel about his kind!”
“Of course, daughter.” Brigantia turned her face fully toward Eponia now. “I do understand. I simply cannot find another to take your place. It must be him, and it must be you. There is no alternative.”
“This is ridiculous,” I blurted, forgetting for a moment to whom I spoke. “How can you even be certain that a child will come from such a union?”
Brigantia fixed me with a forceful stare. “A child will come from this. That is all that you need to know.”
“Why me?” It was a simple question, but one that suddenly burned in my mind. What made my blood so special?
Brigantia hesitated before answering, perhaps judging just how much to reveal. “From your union will come a leader of men, a light against the darkness. When mighty Rome falls, and fall she will, your scion will stand against the encouraging darkness.”
“Rome is eternal,” I scoffed. Surely a goddess, even one worshipped by these barbarian Britanni, knew that the Eternal City was forever.
“Nothing lasts forever, mortal man, not Rome, not the gods, not even the stars in the heavens.”
“What must I do? I would have this over with as soon as possible.” Eponia’s face was a resigned mask, but she ground her teeth hard enough that I could hear it.
“Unclothe and lie upon the altar, daughter. You, Roman, disrobe and stand beside the stone.” She indicated the dolmen under the oaks. Eponia wasted no time, shedding her robes in a single, fluid movement.
More self-consciously, I stood beside the altar and began to disrobe. It did not take long, as most of my clothing was still back in my tent. I paused halfway through and looked at Brigantia. “What happens if I refuse? What’s my reward if I do as you bid?”
Once again, Brigantia turned those strange, luminous white eyes toward me. The sudden menace in her glare was palpable. I had no doubt that refusal would carry a high price. I did not recant my question, though.
“If you do as I ask, then I will reward you. If you refuse, I shall punish you.” She raised one hand toward me, palm outward. Intense agony washed over me, every particle of my being shrieking in anguish. Torment such as I had never imagined burned through flesh and blood and bone, withering my soul, and blasting even thought to dust.
After what seemed an eternity, the pain vanished as though it had never been. The memory solidified in my mind, a mountain of proof that defiance was unwise.
“That was but a taste. Such sensations can be amplified and made to last for eternity. You need not take another turn on the wheel of life, after all.”
“I take your point,” I said, hurriedly undressing the rest of the way.
“Do it now, Roman. It must be done soon. We tread a very delicate line here. Quickly!”
Uncomfortable now that this act had gone from a potentiality to an immediate reality, I climbed the stone. Eponia waited for me, her face stony and unwelcoming. Briefly, I wondered how this would work. Romance did not seem something Eponia was ready for, and I certainly was not in that particular mood. Brigantia spoke then, driving away thought and fear, self-consciousness, and doubt.
“Blood of the stranger, flesh of the people, wind of the world, fire of the mind, united, connected, interwoven. Blood, flesh, and bone become one. Mind and spirit become whole,” Brigantia intoned.
At the goddess’s words, haze filled my mind, and I felt strangely numb. I saw Eponia’s expression soften. Then it was as if someone else moved my limbs, positioning my body correctly to consummate the act. I would like to say that I recalled the rest pleasantly, but the truth is that as soon as our flesh became one, I found myself outside my body. I hung suspended but incorporeal above the dolmen.
I felt the presence of another with me as I drifted there. “Come,” Brigantia said. “I have something to show you. It is part of your reward. You, alone of all Romans, shall know the future.”
Leaving my body behind, we rose ever higher. We flew southeast and soon crossed the water that separated the Britanni of Britannia from their kin in Gaul. Onward we flew, faster and faster. As we increased in speed, something happened. Images began to form – images that I recognized!
I saw the General riding triumphantly into Rome, an enormous procession held in his honor. I saw him crowned as emperor, a thing I never thought possible in the Republic. Then, suddenly, I saw him cut down, murdered in a fit of rage and avaricious ambition. The death of my beloved General did not end the parade of images. They flowed faster now.
Other men claimed Rome’s throne. The Eternal City grew, spreading her arms farther and farther. Britannia had submitted, and Gaul was ours. The desert lands of the east fell to our legions. Rome burned brighter than the sun, and though my heart was troubled, my pride in her swelled.
Then things began to change once more. Romans forsook the legions. Germans, Gauls, and other barbarians now formed the core of our forces. Soon, those legions fought only to maintain their positions against encroaching threats, never advancing. Then they began to lose ground, to fall back toward the heart of Latium.
When the end came, it was not the strong arm of the barbarian that brought down my homeland, but her own people. Corrupted, shrunken, and uncharitable, my countrymen destroyed themselves. With the death of Rome, darkness descended on the world. Hordes of armed invaders arose from the windy steppes to the east and the frozen wastes of the north. In despair, I wept.
“Turn around now,” Brigantia urged.
I did so.
Far away, I beheld the land of Gaul, and beyond Gaul lay Britannia. There, a bright flame burned in the gathering night. Faster than thought, we flew toward that light.
I saw him then, the man who would become known as Arturus. I saw the descendant of our union, and I loved him. With that realization and knowledge, my mind suddenly slammed back into my body. I lay there, panting, feeling the cool stone supporting me. Beside me, Eponia lay similarly exhausted, as though she had just run a great distance.
“Come now, interloper. There will be time to rest. First, let me give you the remainder of your reward.” Brigantia’s voice was soothing, coaxing. I should have been wary, but I was too tired. I struggled into a sitting position, then forced myself from the altar and stumbled to where she waited between two massive oaks.
“It was my will that allowed your General to land, but all would have been for naught had you refused me. For that, and for the deed you committed in my holy place, I reward you, Lucanis of Rome.”
She placed her cool, pale hands on my flushed face. It was like water to a thirsty man, like food to the starving. Her mere touch thrilled me in a way that words could never describe.
“For your reward, I grant you the gift of long life. You will see the fruit of your union with Eponia grow and have children. You will witness the relentless march of time toward the coming darkness. You might even see the coming of the promised one, gods be good.”
Brigantia smiled then and laid the tip of one index finger on my forehead, pushing hard. She uttered a single unintelligible word, and my world changed forever.
With an agonizing lurch, I felt my bones begin to crack and lengthen. My legs shattered as they twisted together. My muscles bunched and then stretched taut in fits and spurts, stretching against my skeleton.
I felt my skin harden and thicken, becoming rough and cracked as it stretched to cover my lengthening frame. My arms rose of their own volition, stretching over my head. The fingers on each hand cracked, elongated, broadened, and spread. My feet reached down, deep into the earth.
Brigantia laid one hand on my torso, gently stroking my roughened skin. “Your reward shall also be your penance. Never more shall you walk again as mortal man.”
I watched the goddess help Eponia from the altar, and then they both left the hilltop.
***
“But why is there a yew tree standing amongst the oaks, teacher?” The white-clad initiate’s question broke the immense silence.
I whispered the answer to him…
I’m so grateful for this short story to have been one of 2025’s Featured Short Stories by TiF! Make sure to check out some of the amazing folks on the list.
If you enjoy historical fiction, check out The Hungry Gods, which is set in the late Bronze Age. Or, if you’re interested in something less historical, dig into A Dread Tide Rising (new chapters posted every Monday). Hit the Table of Contents to get a look at all of my available works.
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Ahh this was excellent!!!
I had no idea what to expect and I loved this! Roman history is fascinating and the battle scene was incredible. Then the fantastical part and the end! Wow! Everything I love in one story.