Kevin Ashman - Mortuus Virgo

Britannia 65AD

Dragus stood at the back of the cave they had called home for the last few months. All smell of the pigs had gone and the cave was sub divided by walls of interweaved willow for privacy. Rubria had her own large space as befitted her position whilst Dragus and Rose each had their own, smaller stalls, though most nights saw Rose creeping into Dragus’s bed space when Rubria was sleeping. The Centurion and the slave had grown close over the last few months and despite the obvious physical benefits, had come to realise they had feelings for each other.

‘Soup?’ asked Rose, walking up to him with an iron tankard containing a hearty broth.

‘Thanks,’ he said, and nodded towards Rubria’s stall. ‘How is she?’

‘As good as can be expected,’ she said, ‘Seems to have come to terms with it at last.’

Not long after moving into the cave Rubria had realised what was happening to her body and at first found the idea repugnant and went into denial. However, when it became obvious and there was nothing she could do about it, she became resigned to the idea and started to make the cave as comfortable as possible for the baby’s arrival.

‘Has she said who the father is?’ asked Dragus.

‘She hasn’t said anything, except she has lain with no man voluntarily.’

‘Then my worst fears are confirmed, the child’s father must be Nero.

‘By the Gods, Dragus,’ said Rose, ‘Do you realise what you are saying? Because, if that is the case, then it is no ordinary baby in her womb, but the child of an Emperor. If it is born male, he would be the firstborn heir to Nero and be the rightful successor to the most powerful role in the world. If Nero found out he had a son he would scour the far corners of the earth to bring him back to Rome.’

‘That’s if his enemies didn’t find him first,’ said Dragus, ‘They would be just as keen to find any heir, though their motives would be far different, I fear.’

‘Then that’s it, said Rose, ‘Eventually the truth will come out and as soon as it does, our fate will be sealed.’

‘Then we have to get from here,’ said Dragus, ‘Find somewhere we can settle down in safety.’

‘We cannot leave now, the birth is too near, and besides, Blackthorn won’t let us go. He sees Rubria as a bride for Reynard, remember?’

‘I know, said Dragus, ‘But we can’t stay here. I have to convince Blackthorn to let us go.’

‘How?

‘I don’t know,’ said Dragus, ‘But I’ll think of something. I have to.’

Dragus sat nervously in front of Blackthorn in the Chieftain’s hut. He had been invited to share a skin of wine with the leader, and they passed it around the circle of elders sat around the fire. He looked across the flames to stare at the man who held the fates of all three fugitives in his hands.

Blackthorn took a last swig from the skin and belched before staring into Dragus’s eyes.

‘So, Roman,’ he said, ‘The woman’s time is nearly here.’

‘It is,’ said Dragus, ‘The women of the tribe are with her. The child will be with us before the sun sets tomorrow.’

‘Good,’ said the Chieftain, ‘My son has been patient long enough. He will take her as his bride as soon as she has seen her first blood after the birth.’

‘Blackthorn,’ said Dragus, ‘You have indeed been very patient and we are grateful for your protection and hospitality, but I am not sure about the joining of your son and Rubria.’

‘Your worries are not my concern,’ said Blackthorn, ‘The union will go ahead as discussed.’

‘But she is a Roman Priestess,’ said Dragus, ‘A Vestal Virgin who knows nothing about such things.’

‘She will learn our ways,’ said Blackthorn, ‘And bear me many grandsons. What better fate could a woman have than to marry the son of a Chieftain?’

Dragus’s head bowed and he paused before speaking again.

‘There is more,’ he said, ‘Something you should know.’

Blackthorn waited for him to continue.

‘I think I know the child’s father.’

Blackthorn’s eyes raised in surprise.

‘You said she had lain with no man.’

‘And she hasn’t, at least not voluntarily, answered Dragus, ‘But she was raped and would not name the rapist because of who he is.’

‘Do you want me to kill this man?’ asked Blackthorn.

Dragus hid a smile.

‘That is a very appealing thought,’ said Dragus, ‘But I fear he is out of the reach of even your mighty sword. It is none other than Nero himself.’

‘The Roman king?’ laughed Blackthorn, ‘If this is so, then she was not raped. A king can take any woman he wants.’

‘Emperor,’ corrected Dragus, ‘And in our lands, rape is rape. We cannot do anything about it but there may be repercussions.’

‘Explain.’

‘The women are saying the child will be a girl. If this is true, then there may not be a problem, but if it is a boy, he will be the son of a Roman Emperor, and heir to the Empire. If this news gets out, the Romans will send an army to retrieve him, or kill him depending on who gives the order.’

‘Why should this concern me?’

‘They will take the boy and his mother away. You will be seen as an accomplice whatever the outcome and they will wipe your tribe out. Every man, woman and child will die or be sold into slavery. You and your family will be taken to Rome and paraded through the streets as a common criminal before being strangled in the Forum in front of the Senate.’

‘You do not know this.’

‘Trust me, I am Roman and know how it works.’

‘Then where does this leave us, Roman?’ asked Blackthorn, ‘I will not see my people die for the sake of one child.’

‘There is no need,’ said Dragus. ‘Let the woman recover and allow us to be on our way. No one need ever know we were here and you can go about your business as before.’

‘And my son?’

‘He has the choice of a hundred women. His attention will soon settle elsewhere.’

‘I have another way,’ said Blackthorn, ‘I could just kill you all and feed you to the pigs. No one would ever know of your time here.’

‘You could,’ said Dragus, ‘But what man would risk the wrath of a Goddess as powerful as Vesta. Kill one of her Priestesses and her fury would descend upon your people like the worst storm you have ever seen.’

‘Do you threaten me, Roman?’

‘No great chief, I only seek what is best for all of us.’

Blackthorn sat back in silence, staring at the foreigner. He was afraid of nothing, apart from the gods, but as a child he had also seen the power of the Romans, slaughtering everyone before them during their invasion. He knew that Dragus was telling the truth. Eventually he spoke again.

‘Tomorrow, when the child is born, we will decide,’ he said, ‘But tonight we will drink. He threw the wine skin over to Dragus. ‘Drink deep, Roman, there are plenty more skins to drain before the sun rises.’

Dragus unplugged the stopper with his teeth and lifted the neck up to his mouth. He had played the game, the die was cast. Their fates were now in the hands of the gods, and a certain unborn baby.

— -

The following morning saw the entire village gathered in silence around the cave entrance. Word had been sent that the birth was imminent and a hung-over Dragus dragged himself from the quilt of furs where he had fallen several hours earlier. He left the hut and dipped his head in a horse trough to bring himself around. There was no sign of the Chief but he followed the crowd up to the cave and made his way to the front of the throng. Blackthorn and his son were already there, neither showing any sign of the heavy drinking session.