The Fall of Corbridge

The Fall of Corbridge

The sun blinded him; he hadn’t seen it in days.  His feet dragged on the ground as the two guards pulled him along between them, ignoring his weak pleas for water. Ignoring, or not hearing, as his dry throat and cracked lips betrayed him into unintentional silence.  A few minutes after hauling him out of the hot box, they stood him in front of her.  He blinked and tried to focus on his queen.

“Brude. You survived,” she said, staring at him intently.  “I can’t say I’m surprised,” she said harshly. Then, more subdued, “You’ve been bullheaded since we were children. Get him water!” The guards dropped him and he fell to his knees, coughing weakly.  A few minutes later one of them returned with a battered tin cup full of water; he slurped it greedily for a few moments then stood up and looked at her.

    “Scathach. Was I right?” He asked.

    She paused as the other guard returned with another cup of water for her.  She drank from it and said, “No.” Watching him from the corner of her eye as she sipped, she saw his shoulders slump.  Then continued, “But you weren’t completely wrong.” He looked up.

    “The Romans did send men up the Tyne, on the day you thought they would.” She put her cup down and stood up. “But they sent half a legion!!” She shouted at him.  “We thought they would just be scouts! We were lucky to escape with half our warriors!”

    Brude looked at the ground. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize…”

    “No! You didn’t realize! The Vacomagi have been pressing in on us from the north and we took men from those villages to fight the Romans.  And they died! Now we are vulnerable on both sides!”

    Brude watched her as she raged at him.  As her shouting subsided, he said, “You had me punished for my failure. Then why am I still alive?”

    She paused and collected herself. “Well.  The rest of that half legion destroyed several of the Vaco villages after we scattered.  It seems…” Scathach smoothed her furs and looked away. “It seems they want an alliance with us. Against the Romans. And they are thankful that we did what we did to slow them down. I may have mentioned that our Druid had foretold it.  They want to meet you.”  

    She stepped forward, crossing the twenty feet or so that separated them and looked him up and down, crinkling her nose.  He stood naked, caked in days of sweat and not a little dried blood. “Clean yourself up.  We are going to meet their emissaries today.  And when their warriors arrive…” she walked slowly around behind him and leaned forward to whisper in his ear, “...we attack... the wall.”

    Brude lay under the waterfall and closed his eyes, letting the water tumble over him, cascading the stench from his body.  He relished in the feel of running water: crisp, cold, and refreshing.  Stretching each of his limbs out, he grinned and then laughed out loud.  There was no joy like that of a simple pleasure after so many days (weeks?) of pain, misery, and deprivation.  You take for granted the feeling of standing up, of straightening legs and arms, as if it were nothing.  As if you had never been caged in a box in the darkness with no food or water, no light.  Nothing but visions…

    The hum of something vibrating lulled him to sleep.  Strange boxy buildings flew by on either side of the odd carriage he rode in, but they did not disturb him as they should have.  When he awoke, the countryside that slipped by on either side was slightly more recognizable: forest and river, and long stretches of unfamiliar grasslands, scattered livestock, and larger structures that seemed like they must be Roman, but larger than anything he had seen Romans build in his land.  

    The vehicle around him was pulled by no animal, yet it sped faster than any horse he had ever ridden.  The woman who rode next to him, laughing and chatting in a strange language, had golden hair and fair skin.  Rather than being wrapped around her, her vibrantly colored clothes seemed fitted to her body, and he couldn’t see any indication of where they may be sewn together. He had never seen the like; she entranced him. 

Soon they arrived at their destination and he watched his hand open the door next to him as he stepped out on to a hard black road.  He wanted to drop to his knees and examine it, but he had no control and could only ride along as the man he was strode into a large structure.  

    As time passed he began to understand the conversation around him.  The mind he rode in knew it well and it took a short time to connect with that understanding and listen.  This fey blond woman said to him, “Come on, slow poke! Here’s your ticket.” She handed him a slip of something thin and light and they pushed through a metal bar to enter a large chamber.  He looked up and read the sign over the entrance: “Roman Army Museum.”

    She slipped her hand into his and they walked slowly past several scenes of Roman life.  At first he was terrified - Roman soldiers everywhere! But none of them moved, and he quickly calmed down.  The first group he stopped by had a sign describing various pieces of clothing they wore.  This held no interest for him.  Then they moved to another sign and if he could have caught his breath, he would have.

    “In 180 C.E. the Picts were taken by surprise when the Romans launched an offensive beyond Hadrian’s Wall. Burning villages up the Tyne River, they won what they thought was a decisive victory.  Just a few weeks later however, they suffered their first defeat at the Wall when the unified northerners breached it and sacked Corbridge…”

    Brude opened his eyes.  This was the first time he had made it to the end of that reading in his vision.  Corbridge.  His eyes shone with excitement as he scrambled out the waterfall. 

    “My clothes! You! Hand them over! Take me to Scathach! Hurry.” He dressed quickly and slipped into his hide boots.  Grabbing his staff he practically ran ahead of his escort back to the village.  They caught up to him as he burst into the enclosure.  She stood chatting with a group of unfamiliar warriors, clearly Vacomagi by the styles they wore.  She saw him and waved.

    “Brude. Welcome!  This is Kethern and Wolch, from the north.  And this,” she gestured at Brude, “is our secret weapon.”

    The taller of the two, Kethern, held out his hand in greeting. Brude grasped his forearm and inclined his head in acknowledgment.  Wolch stood back, his eyes narrow, examine Brude. 

    “Your reading played us false, Druid,” the man spat on the ground. “Just because your face has been marked by the gods does not mean they speak through you.” Brude involuntarily reached up to touch the purple stain that spread across his cheek and onto his forehead. 

    “And where were your Druids,” he countered. “Who else knew they would come by the Tyne river when they did?”

    “The Romans are very powerful,” Kethern conceded. 

Brude’s eyes shone as he looked at him. “Not powerful enough.” He grinned. “They will fall at Corbridge. Send for your men.”

    Scathach and Kethern looked at each other, then at Wolch. The shorter man knelt down and drew a collection of marked bones from his pouch, tossing them on the ground.  As they scattered in the dirt, Brude hissed and kicked them.

    “You don’t need false readings! You know nothing! We will take them at Corbridge! Stop wasting our time!”

    Deeply insulted, Wolch sprang at Brude, drawing his blade and slicing it toward his ribs.  Brude’s frailty betrayed him, his muscles weak from captivity. He watched the deadly attack as it came for him and his normally sharp reflexes failed to save him. His queen, however, did not.  Her axe flashed out and separated Wolch’s head from his shoulders in an instant.  Then she looked at Kethern.

    “You heard him.” She said calmly, wiping the dead man’s gore from the axe head.  Wolch’s body twitched on the ground as his blood sprayed into the dirt, soon subsiding into a steady trickle and he lay still, his head rolling to a stop across the clearing. Kethern never moved as the scene unfolded around him. He looked first at Scathach, then at Brude.

    “We disregarded you once. We won’t fail a second time. The Vagomagi will join with the Pecht and the Romans will be swept off that cursed wall.  We attack in three sleeps.”

“...Just a few weeks later however, they suffered their first defeat at the Wall when the unified northerners breached it and sacked Corbridge.  Their success was not long lived, however.  The Roman counter attack by Governor Ulpius Marcellus was swift and destructive.  The Picts signed peace agreements soon after and though they successfully kept the Romans from establishing a foothold north of the Wall, for the next 300 years, they lived in a constant state of guerilla warfare against the Roman legions.” Deborah read the display out loud, and leaned her head on her boyfriend’s shoulder, pushing a wisp of blond hair out of her eyes. 

    “Can you imagine being at war for 300 years?” He said.  She shook her head.  

    “What a life,” she sighed. 

    A young boy and his mother walking towards them looked up and suddenly shied away, hiding behind his mother. The mother glanced up at him, winced, and looked away. He grimaced.

Deborah rolled her eyes, looked at him, and said in a loud voice, “Gosh Bruce, do you think they have never seen a birthmark before?” She kissed him on the cheek, right where the discoloration began, and turned to glare at the woman as she hurried by.

Bruce didn’t respond for a few moments. Deborah shook him.

“Hey. B man.  You there? Or you back in Ancient Rome again?” She said, laughing.

”Ha, no.  And it was Ancient Briton, D, c’mon.” He said smiling at her. “That was quite a vivid dream though. Being smushed inside a hot box like that for so long… more like a nightmare…”