It all started with the falcon

by Jhaernyl

Arthur Castus's Briton sucked -ass-. Isobel had tried to keep to herself, live in the -now- and concentrate on her own life. It was all fine and dandy if not for the fact that Fate didn't agreed with her.

11. Where reality finally sinks in

Rating has gone up to M (and will stay as such).

This chapter is going to contain mentions of torture, graphical description of violence and death. The aforementioned graphical description will include depiction of blood, fluids and death of a human being. There will also be graphic mention of a fresh corpse.

From now on, the rating will stay M and appropriate warnings for violence, sex or triggers will be put before the chapter so that you, the readers, will be forewarned (in a way that doesn't spoiler too much spoilers of the story) of what you will be about to read.

Thank you for the attention.

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A. D. II Kalend. Nov. 457 A.D / 30 of October 457 A.D.

-The next day-

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It was the deep of night, the moment when shadows got thicker.

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Isobel pressed her finger in the dough and then punched it a few times before she went back to mold it. Next to her, Ethelind did the same, humming a tune as she worked on her own lump. Two girls on Isobel left, and the man in front of all of them, were humming in concert with Ethelind, which meant that the song was one of those common tunes everyone seemed to know.

They were making bread, working the dough to soften it and smooth it out before they put it in the oven. It was a daily occurrence, something that in the beginning she had found surprising though she had taken care not to show it too much. Drusus had noted her surprise and had mistaken it for surprise at how the Legion worked, which was why he initially had assigned Ethelind to work with her.

Legions were self-sufficient, Ethelind had explained to her. Even when marching, each soldier had a skillet to bake his bread and a daily dose of grain, bacon and hard-tack biscuits (though that rarely made them great cooks, just able not to burn their food, Ethelind had giggled). On a permanent base, like the Fort they were in was, they cultivated their own food, maintained herds of cattle and bred their own animals to use for meat and furs. They then relied on hunting or paying for the result of others efforts in hunting to replenish their stocks (Cohorts nearer to the sea than they were resorted to fishing or buying fish too).

In their particular case, Commander Castus had made arrangements with the surrounding populations, which was why they received additional food from the surrounding villages. A small number of soldiers, on rotation, was kept busy by the farming efforts and their cattle had been split between them and the local population, whose cattle herders were allowed to keep one animal out of every five born for themselves as a reward for their help.

Since a famine had severely dented many families prospects (a few years before) and Rome had passed on word that the arrival of fresh troops was unlikely at best, Commander Castus had then proceeded to open the doors of the Fort to the locals, allowing them to populate the unused areas of the Fort and to work for the Legion, earning a lower fee than the soldiers but one able to sustain one's family nonetheless (especially since the workers fee didn't suffer from the docking the legionaries own suffered from).

It was why Ethelind worked at the Fort, but her brothers (one older and one younger) were never around. They lived on the outside, one of them taking her to the Fort every morning and back to their house every evening after dinner in the summer months. In the winter months, Commander Castus had assigned Ethelind (and every other worker who lived more than one hour away from the Fort) a room in the Praetorium to spare them the road from the properties to the Fort each day, especially when the snow started to fall (which was due any day now).

Ethelind saw her brothers once a month, now that the winter had come around, when they showed up with pelts, meat and news to exchange for food, medicinal herbs and sestertii. It was going to be her first winter at the Fort, she had confessed to Isobel, eliciting a feeling of camaraderie from her that had been one of the basis of their friendship.

That stability, and the well-stocked reserves that came from the Romans practice and ability in conserving the food and storing it away in quantities large enough, meant that they could afford to bake fresh bread every day. After all, part of the Legionaries's pay got docked for the food they eat (just like they were docked money for new weapons or clothes at the Quaestorium) so if they were paying for it they should well get it, shouldn't they?

It was part of the kitchen routine, the opposite lines of women (the kitchen helpers) and men (the soldiers) working dough and shaping it up under Drusus's critical eye. It was nice, working all in concert, and Isobel didn't mind it at all. It was certainly better than washing clothes or any of the other many tasks she could have been assigned to. It was also a good way to start the day and work her arm muscles, all rolled into one.

Today, Isobel was working her dough with a little more strength than the usual. Since she knew how to perform her the task, well enough to perform it blindfolded at that, her mind was free to pick up the detail of the tune just as it was free to wander to the fact that this was going to be her first day of training.

She was to be here until morning came up, then lessons with the priest (whom she had -yet- to meet) before she went back to the kitchens. After the second breakfast and lunch had been served, she was dispensed until dinner and was expected to present herself on the Training Fields. Once there she was going to work under Lamorak's instructions, then start teaching basics of muay thai to those that had volunteered for it (she was going to see how many in the afternoon). Following that, horse-riding with Galahad as her teacher. Lastly, sword-fighting with Dinadan before she was off to the kitchens to help with preparing dinner. Language lessons with Lancelot, to happen after dinner. A bathe and then blessed sleep. Rinse and repeat, alternating Dinadan's lessons for that of a Roman legionary (whose name escaped her at the moment) every other day, until the local equivalent of the week-end, which was practically Gaul's territory, stitching lessons to Lancelot and Dinadan excepted.

Isobel felt already a little drained, but she shrugged off the sensation and got back to work with renewed strength. She needed to be positive about it, since it was all for a good cause, the -best- cause wasn't it?

-§-break-§-

Cogidubnus eyes were fixed on the tablet he had been handed by Burkhard not even half an hour before, as he dressed.

Unlike the Sarmatians, who had been dispensed from wearing roman armor from their centurion, Cogidubnus clothes and armor were the classical layer upon layer that Romans had used for centuries.

First came the wool breeches, then the long sleeved wool tunic and the focale, his skin's only line of defense against chafing from the armor and helmet. He took care to wrap it tight around his neck before he knotted it and pulled the extremities under the tunic. Warm wool socks, two pairs wore one over the other, preceded the pulling on and latching of his caligae and still his eyes were on the tablet Burkhard had left him with.

He pulled on his greaves first, latching them tightly, and then he put on the manicae over the sleeves of the tunic, tugging the latches to make sure they were as tight as they could get. He couldn't afford for them to come loose, so he double-checked them before he recovered his lorica hamata and put it on, listening to the familiar sound of the metal rings clicking one against the other as it slid down his waist.

While most of the other members of the cavalry preferred the use of the lorica squamata, Cogidubnus had never felt comfortable with the second and had been quite pleased when his centurion had authorized him to wear the lorica hamata under his lorica squamata. It was double the weight, and Cogidubnus had been forced to train until he could demonstrate he could fight with both on as well as with one, but it made him feel safer to wear both.

Even while he was checking that the lorica squamata was latched correctly and tightly, Cogidubnus eyes never left the tablet on his bed. All around him, the other members of his contubernium were still asleep, taking as much advantage as they could from their beds before the morning call sounded. They were about to be deployed on a mission, se to prepare and depart after the ientaculum had been served, so beds were going to be a luxury for at least the next week.

Cogidubnus would have been sleeping too, just like them, hadn't Burkhard come in to hand him the tablet he couldn't take his eye off from. It was from Commander Castus, the authorization Cogidubnus had requested more than two months ago, and had been waiting for since.

The interrogators had finally decided that the Saxon capture by Cogidubnus unit two and a half months ago wasn't going to be of any further use, so they were going to get rid of him. What Cogidubnus had asked for, had been the authorization to be the one to dispatch him, -methods left at his discretion-.

The Saxon had been part of an invading party his contubernium had intercepted during a mission along the coast. His capture, and the death of the rest of the raiding party, had come at the cost of Cadeyrn's life. Cogidubnus had enlisted not even two days before Cadeyrn and they had been through all of it together. They had been friends, had thought of each like brothers, and Cogidubnus felt that the least he could do for his brother was to personally ensure that the man who had struck him down paid for it with his own life.

It was why Burkhard had woken him up so early, to let him have the time he needed to take care of the Saxon before they departed. Cogidubnus wouldn't have been even half as focused as he usually was, had he been aware that the thieving rapist they had captured was being fed at their expenses instead of being as dead as he could have otherwise been. He needed to square things out before he departed.

At the same time, that also allowed him the opportunity to test the Roman woman and be done with her. This opportunity was perfect for his aims, almost tailored for his needs. He needed to show the woman that she wasn't cut neither for knife fighting nor for killing, to make her realize how unsuited she was to the kind of life she was forcing herself to choose. While there were women able to do what Cogidubnus did, able to kill in cold blood and face the truth of it, Roman women weren't among them. It was a different breed, a weaker one in Cogidubnus eyes, and he was going to show her as much.

He thought about it, about how to break it to her and how to structure the test, as he latched on the balteus over his shoulder and then sheathed his spatha in. He put on his belt, over the lorica squamata and took his pugio knife and sheathed it in. His pilum was against the wall and he left it there for the moment, just like he left his parma shield on the bed once he checked his throwing knives were all secured to the inside of it. Darts were more commonly found in the inside of the shields, but Cogidubnus had his knives and he wasn't going to change them for fucking darts.

He left both shield and pilum in the room, along with his sarcina. He, like the others, had prepared his pack the evening before, after he had been informed by Burkhard of their deployment. Apparently it was them, three other Gaul's contubernium, one Roman contubernium and a couple of Sarmatians, including Tristan who was apparently needed for his tracking and scouting skills. Cogidubnus was aware of the boy's eerie ability in those two fields, and it actually made him feel less worried about what could happen to know that the boy was going to ride with them. Still, he would have preferred Lamorak to the others they have been assigned to depart with.

Cogidubnus put on his gloves and took the tablet and his helmet, putting on his one-shouldered sagum as he left the room and his fellow legionaries behind. Inhaling the cold air of the morning, once he was out of the Equites quarters, he nodded to one of the sentinels and took off in the direction of the Forum, since it was the closest way to the barracks where the kitchen was situated in.

He had a Roman maid to fetch and scare back into the kitchens, hard enough she wasn't going to poke her head out ever again (except for buying him that fur lined clothes he had been thinking about).

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It was so dark outside, the torches barely cut into the night.

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The bread had been put in the oven and now they were at work over the meat and cheese, cutting them out and down to the sizes required by the Legion's standards. A group of five soldiers and two maidens had been dispatched to fill wineskins with the cheap, sour wine the leaving soldiers were allotted. The water ones had already been filled and prepared to be taken out to the group of soldiers that was to leave the Fort, according to Drusus.

Since it fell on the kitchen to prepare the first day meal of the departing soldiers (and to the officer in charge of the stocked goods to give them the food they would need afterward), the head cook was the one to look at if one wanted to know how many people were going to be in or out of the Fort at any given time. Right now, forty-four men of the cavalry units were slotted to leave the Fort after the ientaculum, along with one officer to command them, which meant quite a lot of wineskins and justified the assignment of seven people to the task.

It was routine work. Not as much as making bread, but routine work nonetheless. What wasn't routine, was the arrival of one of the cavalry soldiers (they were the ones with the scaled armor, instead of the plaque armor that the infantry wore) with his helm under his left arm and a tablet in his right hand.

While the work didn't stop, everyone in the kitchen knew better than giving Drusus a change to go on one of his spiels, the entrance of the man drew all eyes to him.

The man was old, in his forties at least Isobel guessed, with a neatly trimmed grey beard and grey going on white short hair, slightly greasy and combed back, receding. He wasn't half as filthy as many of the other men she had seen around and he was clearly one of the veterans. It was clear not only in his age, but in the way he moved and handled himself. His eyes were cold as they swept along the people in the kitchen, stopping on her for a few seconds before the soldier's attention shifted to Drusus, who had immediately approached him to see what the man had come to the kitchens for.

"Most veterans unsettle me, he's no different." Ethelind murmured, at her left, as Isobel refocused her attention back to the strips of meat she was cutting. It wasn't the first time she had heard her friend say as much.

While the Sarmatians, maligned as they were, didn't unnerved her, Ethelind never felt secure and confident around the oldest men. Most of them had hard eyes, hard faces and it was clear they were used to a harsh life. Twenty-five years in the service, before they were released, up there in Arthur Castus's Briton (which sucked ass for them as much as it did for her, from time to time, she supposed) meant a long stretch of battles, lost friends and hardships that left even the strongest of them weary and signed. Scarred in their bodies as well as in their minds, with thousand miles stares and, more often than not, a dark countenance.

Some of them, the more outspoken and friendly, Ethelind could deal with. Anyone else, like the one standing next to Drusus, left her friend feeling jittery. Idly, Ethelind wondered what the rates for PTSD where in the now, and how the families of the soldiers dealt with getting back sons, husbands and brothers who had been so deeply changed by what they had experienced. Her mind was about to wander down that road, when Drusus voice calling her name caught her attention, making her lose her train of thought.

Putting down the knife she was working with, she exchanged a puzzled look with Ethelind and then moved away from the table and towards Drusus and the soldier.

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They were right about the woman. She wasn't attractive.

She also had to have some Briton blood into her, if not through her parents then through her grandparents at least. She was tall, which Romans rarely were, with nice full tits, which Roman women usually didn't had, and wiry muscles, which Roman could have but their women usually did not. Her hair were brown and braided, her eyes and mouth big, with big teeth. She may have been called cute, after a little observation, but she wasn't anything to keep track of.

Cogidubnus supposed Lancelot was after her tits and her eccentricity more than anything else and then shelved the line of thought, nodding at her when she drew near. She was still going to fail, her prettiness or lack of it notwithstanding.

"Isabella, this is Cogidubnus. He's one of the soldiers who have been deployed away from the Castrum and he has need of talking with you prior to that. It's about one of the tasks Praetor Castus assigned to you and you have to consider yourself excused from the kitchen, this morning, until Cogidubnus says otherwise." Drusus peevishly explained.

The head cook was a slightly fat, aging soldier with an irritable temper and a reputation for being wildly jealous of his workers. Cogidubnus had never before had reason to strike a conversation with him, or try to temporarily poach a member of his kitchen, so he hadn't had the displeasure to meet him until now and he sincerely hoped he wasn't going to have to subject himself to the man, again, anytime soon.

The woman nodded to him and he nodded back to her, adding a nod to Drusus before he left the kitchen, stopping just to take hold of a waterskin and a wineskin from the pile of the ones who had been readied. It wasn't like he wasn't going to get them anyway, wasn't it?

He stopped outside, gesturing for the woman to get a hold of her cloak from the table just inside the kitchens were all the cloaks were piled on, and used the time to latch the leather ties on the two skins to his belt. He tied them carefully, taking the time to do a good job since his now gloved fingers were slightly less limber than they would have been otherwise.

She was wearing Lancelot's good cloak, he recognized easily. That cloak was one of the reasons he had started to think about buying clothes done outside of the Quaestorium. It was heavy but looked extremely warm and the slight sheen of the animal oil it had been imbued with was going to help repelling the drizzle and most kinds of rain. In Cogidubnus's opinion all that cloak needed was a fur lining and then it would have been perfect.

Her hands fumbled a little with the brooch she was using to latch it and, when she lowered them, Cogidubnus recognized a Sarmatian made brooch. It was both the subject, a horse, and the craftsmanship that were telling of the brooch's origins and that betrayed the fact that it had probably come from the same source the cloak had come from. Heh. Apparently Lancelot had lost his head for someone that was far less than stunning. Just this was enough ribbing material to last Cogidubnus and his friends a good few years.

"Come, we have little more than an hour left before the ientaculum and we need to be done before that." He told her, nodding to the side with his head to signal her the direction they were going to take. She said something, sounded like a question, but he didn't pay her all that much attention, concentrating instead on exiting the barracks building and traversing the not so well lighted Forum to reach the sidewalk. It wasn't like he had interest in listening to what she had to say to him.

She wasn't as noisy as most women around there, but she wasn't stealthy either, he noted as they walked, but made no comment on it. He wasn't her teacher and he didn't have to correct her on her faults, so he let it slide and started laying down the rules, instead.

"I will give you a test, in exchange for which you will buy me a few things. If you pass the test, I will rely on you to buy other things for me, at the rates you can get. If you don't, you'll buy what I tell you to and then we will go on to ignore each other. Yes or no answer, do you understand?" He turned to her, on the last one.

He knew his voice was sharp and hard, but he had no time to lose and no sympathy for the woman so there wasn't reason for him to treat her nicely or, well, as nice as he could which was, emphatically, not much.

"Yes." She answered and he nodded once, satisfied, stopping for a moment to make sure they were in a crossing point before he stepped off the sidewalk and on the boulder on the center of the road. She was one to heed directions, then, despite her newly developed reputation for having a heavy hand when she felt insulted, to put it mildly.

"I will give you a task and an hour of time to do it. I expect you to either see it done or accept the fact that you can't and renounce training with me." He told her, slowing down his stride as they neared the cell-block.

He stopped, on the last word, and turned to her, studying her face. They were in the shadows between one torch and the next, not so dark that they couldn't see each other but dark enough that he had to pay attention to distinguish her features. She had no idea what was coming, no idea at all. It didn't make him particularly happy, but it didn't displeased him either. Cogidubnus had no love lost for Romans.

"Are we clear?" He asked her and waited for her "Yes" and the nod of her head. He didn't felt guilty about what he was about to do to her. It was just an hour and then she was going to go back on her kitchens and he was going to gut open the son of a bitch that had killed Cadeyrn.

"Wait here for me." He instructed her and clutched the tablet in his hand tighter as he turned away from her figure and strode onward and to the left, right into the building that worked as the local prison.

-§-break-§-

It was cold outside, but not windy. The night was as clear as they got up there, no heavy clouds in sight.

Isobel drew the folds of Lancelot cloak one over the other and tried to ignore the bite of the cold. She reminded herself that her new, heavier clothes were going to be ready in a couple of days and that she was going to have the heavy wool shirts anyway. Tunics were still more popular but she preferred shirts, if only because she was more at ease with them on.

She had no idea what the Gaul, Cogidubnus she reminded herself, had in mind for her or what he wanted her to do. It was too dark for the Training Fields, without a few torches, and even then, the Training Fields were right next to the barracks she worked in and he had taken her to the prison instead.

She had an uneasy feeling, something cold coiling in the pit of her stomach. The man was hard, looked even harder when you looked at him right in the eyes, and she hadn't got from him the impression that he liked her, or wanted her to pass his test. He had flat out ignored her initial questions and then had spoken brusquely to her, shutting down any possibility of a civil dialogue.

He was poised to see her fail, intimidating in a way that made her shiver under the cloak. It did nothing to weaken her resolve, did nothing to made her want to give up, but it didn't made her feel defiant either. It made her feel as if a bucket of water had been dropped on her head, shocking her out of her preconceived notions about how things were going to be and making her take note that things were going to in a way that was unpredictable by her.

She still felt up to the task but, for the first time, she stopped to consider what she was actually going to have to deal with. Exhaustion and muscle pain. Hours of repetitive movements and day after day of hard work, with no handy training montage to skip through it like she had seen in the movies back in the then. Pain, lots of it and not only from the muscles but also from the training itself. The possibility of injuries –-, her thoughts went up in smoke when the figure of the Gaul stepped back out of the prison and motioned for her to draw close.

"Come, woman. We don't have time to lose." He ordered her and, puzzled, she followed him in, feeling faintly glad that she was going to get out of the cold soon.

-§-break-§-

The woman had looked thoughtful when he had motioned her to follow, but Cogidubnus didn't lingered on it. The statores had reviewed the tablet and allowed him to take the keys to the Saxon's cell, exchanging a few jibes with him about what he was going to do to the man and how it was fucking time for the man to die.

Cogidubnus had warned them that he was taking someone else in, that he had a person he needed to test and that he was going to use the Saxon for it, but they had presumed it was one of the greenest soldiers and hadn't asked him who. If they had, he would have told them the truth, but he had hoped they wouldn't because they would have probably protested or called the Commander and Cogidubnus simply didn't have the time to waste.

Luckily, they had been happy with assuming and had left him and his recruit to it, none of them wanting to leave the hot comfort of the guard's room for the outside or the lower cells. During winter, betting on the people's refusal to leave the hottest rooms was the safest bet one could count on.

He led the woman through the cell block, towards the end and the trapdoor that was there. He passed her a torch, taking it off the wall, and closed his gloved fingers around the heavy metal ring that had been attached to the trapdoor itself. The muscles in his arm strained a little, while he dragged it up, opening it. It was a rectangular, heavy sheet made out of sturdy wood, that opened on stone stairs and a foul smelling basement, where the rest of the prison cells, the one reserved for the worst kind of prisoners, had been built.

He left it open, propped up against the wall, and took the torch from the woman's hand, suppressing a laugh when he saw the way she had wrinkled her nose at the smell coming up. Oh yes, it reeked, and she still had no idea what he had in mind for her, down there. With a wry smirk, he motioned with his head towards the stairs and then went down first, leading the way.

"Knife fighting is about killing." He told her, the humor he had felt at her disgust dropping completely as he remembered what they were here for. He kept his voice low, not wanting to rouse the few prisoners kept down here.

"It's more about killing than any other kind of fighting. You need to be able to watch someone die from up close. Knives are for up close. In and out, just like gutting a fish. Only it's a human throat. Or the gut. You splice open the flesh and see it up close. One needs to have stomach for it." He went on, not bothering with leaving her the time to answer. In his mind, he counted the doors, until he stopped in front of the fourth on his right.

He passed her the torch again, noting the way she had paled but still looked determined. She fancied herself able to do it, able to stomach what knife fighting was. He found it a little funny, but mostly endearing in the way a puppy unaware he was about to be grown for dog fighting was endearing. It was endearment latched with a bit of pity and a huge dose of 'oh well, not my problem'. He turned the heavy key in his head and then used it to open the cell door, swinging it open and motioning for her to get in.

She hesitated for a moment, then nodded and entered, trying to contain the gagging that overcame her as soon as she set foot in the cell. He couldn't see her face, since he was at her back, but he could her the sound of it. He had to admit, it wasn't a pretty sight.

The Saxon had been worked over, by many a talented interrogator. He was filthy, more him than the cell, and he was chained in a corner, hands and ankles and throat to avoid headbutting or biting. Cogidubnus looked at him, feeling the satisfaction that stemmed from knowing that the man had been through two hellish months, suffering and healing just enough to be put through suffering again.

He moved around the woman, letting her see what he was doing, and took the torch from her hand, putting it on one of the metal supports that had been mounted on the walls. He examined the Saxon from a distance, feeling his hand slide down to the pugio knife at his side. The Saxon's eyes, squinting in the sudden light, followed it but he didn't seemed all that intimidated. Cogidubnus didn't mind, he wasn't there to impress the man or scare him.

He turned, giving his back to the Saxon and ignoring his cracked, guttural voice as he spoke in his own language, one that Cogidubnus didn't understood and didn't care to learn. It wasn't as if he couldn't decipher the tone the man was using, taunting and proud. This one hadn't broke, wasn't going to break and he was proud of it. Cogidubnus didn't give a fuck, as long as the man died.

He moved closer to the woman, instead, and took out the knife, offering it to her. She hesitated and he took her wrist. Not fast so that she could again see what he was doing, but he took it and he made her turn her hand, putting the handle of the knife in it and closing her fingers around the handle, shifting them in the correct grip.

"This man is a Saxon, like the ones that destroyed your village. He's a rapist and a member of a riding party. We found him and his friend raping a girl who had already clearly been abused. Since he's not of any further use, it has been decided that it's time for him to die for the crimes he committed against the citizens of the Roman Empire. I have complete discretion over the methods I decide to employ to kill him." He told her and waited for what he had said to sink in, following the progression of emotions on her face.

"I want you to kill him. You have an hour to do it. If you can't, I will understand and do it myself." He added and then nodded to her. Her eyes were growing wide as she understood what he was telling her to do, what his test entailed, but he didn't remained there to see the play of her emotions again.

This was a sink or swim situation, one were she was going to sink and he wasn't going to allow her the time to ask questions or mount a protest or do anything but accept what he had asked of her and realize she wasn't going to be able to do it.

Cogidubnus closed the door and then took off in the direction of the stairs and the guard's room. He was sure he could be able to fleece them out of a few sestertii while he waited for the hour to pass and the moment to finally get his kill to come.

-§-break-§-

Olaf had no idea what the Gaul's endgame was, leaving him there with the woman, but she had a knife and they had been closed in, so he supposed she was going to hurt him, one way or another.

He hadn't given them any informations and he wasn't going to either way, no matter what they did to him. He had been whipped, tortured, had felt his bones get broken and then stepped on. They had given him to the Sarmatians as well as the Gauls in addition to his Roman torturers and he hadn't broke. There was no person able to translate his language present, at least judging by the way the woman had reacted to him speaking, but they were probably hoping she could mellow him out or something. Really, it was the only explanation that made sense to him.

Well, she was free to do her worst. Olaf wasn't going to give up anything.

Not to her, not to anyone else.

-§-break-§-

The night was at his darkest.

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The idea of death, or violence, didn't unsettled Isobel all that much.

On an intellectual level, she knew she should have been more upset by it than she actually was. She was a daughter of her generation, grown up to violent images displayed for everyone to see, in all of their gruesome glory. Shocking value was what drove most of the media she had been surrounded by, back then, and there was little that wasn't just a few clicks away from her eyes.

She had seen most of it. Burns, animal bites, mauled limbs, consequences of nasty looking strains of infections, corpses. There had been blood and gore, stuff that still gave many people nightmares displayed on late night television or in any horror flick worth its salt. CSI and similar programs had taken her inside a body, showed her what was to be seen in it. Ribs and hearts and muscles, open wounds and festering ones. Gangrene and decomposition.

The idea of death and violence, the visual of it, was nothing that could shake her.

She knew what bruises one could see on a rape victim, could easily imagine how the victims of the man chained in the corner of the cell had looked after he had been done with them. She hadn't experienced big nightmares about the bodies she had seen in the village she had woken up in. On the other hand, cooking meat over the fire still left her feeling nauseated because of the smell of the burned bodies, the one that had been strewn around in that same village.

The man in the corner stunk. He reeked of unwashed body, blood, piss and shit. It had made her gag when she had come in and she still was having problems with not emptying her stomach just from the sheer nausea that his smell evoked. He was unkempt, filthy, with dirty hair that may had been blonde at some point but now were darkened by the filth and the greasiness. His face was covered by filth but that just made the contrast with his clear green eyes even stronger. He was defiant, looking at her as if daring her to do anything.

The knife that Cogidubnus had left her was slightly heavy in her hand. She looked down at it, lifting it up a little to examine the weapon. It was curved, looking a little like the outline of a stylized fish. Both sides were sharpened and the blade had been either oiled or greased because it gleamed wickedly. Idly, her mind grabbed on Cogidubnus previous words and dredged up vague memories of something she had read, or heard in some movie, about cutting in a V shape. "Open up a grin in his throat" someone had said, somewhere. She couldn't pin point it, really. She had seen her fair share of this kind of things, her fair share of blood, fictional and photographed and photo-shopped. Even the real thing, drawn out when she had gone to donate her own. She had touched the tube, felt how it was warm under her fingers and off course it was warm, it should have been obvious. The human body was warm and the blood in it had to be warm too, hadn't it?

Isobel realized, with a little start, the morbid turn her thoughts had taken and, even more, how she was actually rambling in her own head. She turned her eyes from the knife to the man in the corner and licked her lips, nervously, as she became keenly aware that she could just wait it out. Stay there and wait for the hour to pass and give up knife fighting, simply as that. She didn't had -anything- to demonstrate, to anyone. She could just wait and then walk out, tell Cogidubnus that she wasn't going to learn knife fighting. She could have done it, it was really simply as that.

She just had to -wait-, and so she waited.

But while she was waiting, looking at the clearly puzzled man chained in the corner, she also became aware that this was something she couldn't discount so easily. The minutes trickled by, allowing her the time to realize that this was exactly what she was going to be able to do for herself, if there was no one else to do it for her. It was easy to say 'kill or be killed' but if she wasn't ready to kill, if she wasn't -able- to, where did this left her? If she couldn't stomach killing a man in cold blood how was she to know that she wasn't going to lose it in a situation where she would be required to kill and move on, keep going? She had to know if she was going to lose her head or keep her calm, she needed to be able to do the second because her life -literally- depended on it.

Oh God, her -life- depended, partially, on her ability to -kill-. Her whole life may come to hinge on her ability in taking a knife to someone's throat and slit it open. In using a sword to hack at them and see them die at her hand. This was the kind of world she was in, -this- was -her life- now. It hit her, suddenly, the reality behind all the things she had been doing, all the things she had been learning. Isobel was being taught how to take out lives, how to kill other people. This was not fun, this was not … learning so that you could look cool in front of your friends! And she had -known- it, on an intellectual level, but it was different now.

Now it was like seeing it for the first time, getting hit by a train of images and know 'This is what you're going to cause, this is what you may have to do.' It took her breath away, made it quick, and she gripped her hand around the hilt of the dagger. It was her or them, it was either knowing how to do it or let defiant, arrogant man like the one in the corner rape and kill her, if they managed to get the chance. -This was the world she was living in-.

She lost her battle against the nausea and doubled up, free hand pressing against the stone wall as she retched all over the pail near her feet. -This was the world she was living in-, and no matter how much she had tried to adapt to it and make it work, she had still a long way to go. A long way to go that required her to be able to spill blood, in the heat of the moment maybe but spill it nonetheless.

Cogibudnum expected her to fail, she was sure of it. Everyone would have expected her to fail, surely. While strong under many regards, the women she had seen at the Fort didn't had it in them to kill someone this way. They relied on the men to keep them safe, relied on the protection offered to them by the soldiers and their husbands and sons. While they could have maybe taken up some kind of improvised weapon in the heat of the moment, none of them had it in them to train with weapons, to learn about them. Ethelind and Antonia Minor had looked up at her in awe, because they knew this wasn't for them and that they wouldn't been able to do it themselves. Flavia and Justinia had looked down at her with pity and distaste for the same reason, because in their vision of the world this was not something to be awed by but something to be ashamed of. Well, it was easy for them to see it as a dirty stain, they weren't neither in the position she was in nor they were her, weren't they?

She had set herself on a course that was the most practical and savvy one, intellectually speaking. It was a course that was going to require calluses from handling weapons, muscles to raise them and the ability to get her hands bloody when it was needed to. Just like she had learned to kill rabbits and what she still saw as 'farm animals of the littler kind' to cook them, she was going to have to learn to kill men, something that no one thought she was going to be able to do.

Drawing herself up, Isobel hanged Lancelot's cloak over one of the metal supports on the wall and turned toward the filthy Saxon and looked at him, appraising him. His hands were chained over his head, his feet chained apart and there was a ring around his throat, keeping his head from dipping or moving too much, possibly to stop him from biting his captors.

He was completely defenseless.

Her still alive practice dummy. Her first victim. He was looking at her and there was uncertainty on his face, made strong enough by his confusion that it was showing openly enough that she could see both clearly. Something in her face seemed to spook him, because his muscles tensed and his eyes grew wide for a moment, before they narrowed. The uncertainty washed away, replaced by rage and spite and his mouth opened to let loose a torrent of harsh sounding words. They normally would have made her flinch but Isobel was feeling an eerie calm settling on her, now that her course of action had been decided.

Had he been able to, this man would have raped and killed her. She was going to kill him and that was that. It couldn't be that hard, she had seen it happen time and time again even though it had always been fictional. Cogidubnus words came back to her. -"In and out, just like gutting a fish. Only, it's a human throat."-. She had gutted fishes before, she reminded herself as she took a deep breath through her mouth. It couldn't be that hard, could it?

She advanced towards him, ignoring the constant stream of furious words that he was spitting out. It washed over her, completely ignored, as she focused her attention on his throat. His Adam's apple was bobbing up and down as he kept up his talking. Was it going to offer more resistance than a fish? She wondered about it in the seconds needed to cross the cell and get herself in front of him.

He stunk even worse, up close, and he was surely crawling with beasts and the likes. She didn't felt the usual wave of nausea, though. Yes, he reeked and he was surely infested but she was about to kill him. Smell, fleas and lice didn't really mattered here or in the long run. She was about to put a knife in the throat of the man whose rancid breath and spit were hitting her face as he bit out harsh words at her. She kept her eyes on her throat until she was so close she could almost touch him, and then raised them to meet his green own.

"I was Isobel Donner and I'm not as sorry about this as I should probably be." She told him, in english. The words weren't as rusty on her tongue as she had feared them to be and he couldn't understand her but she needed to say it, to hear it out loud in a language that no one but her was going to understand for -centuries-. It was, that of centuries, just a concept, one that she couldn't really grasp.

What she had instead finally grasped, what had finally sunk in and become real, was the truth of her situation, the scope of it.

"I am Isabella Antonia and you have to die, because I will not die if I can help it." She continued, in Latin, completely ignoring the way he had been shocked in silence by her use of a language he hadn't heard before. She raised the knife and posed it at his throat. This was it, in and out, like gutting a fish, couldn't be that hard could it?

Months of hard work had made her physically strong. The training she was going to subject herself to was going to make her even stronger. The flesh yielded under the knife and it was just a matter of seconds, pressing in with a wet sound and there was already blood, there was blood gushing out, spraying on her and the man was choking. She stopped, muscles freezing and the blade deep into his neck, eyes running up to lock on his.

He looked shocked, scared and in pain, in so much pain, blood bubbling on his lips as his words died in a gurgled sound and it was -her- who was doing -this- to -him-. She drew the blade across, tried to slash through his neck, but she hit something hard and oh God, was that his -collarbone-? His eyes were going glassy and she yanked the knife out and then right back in, drawing to the other side of the neck and managing to avoid the bone this time.

He didn't looked relieved, though, he looked -dead- and there was the stink of fresh shit and piss, there was hot blood on her face and hands and dress and she had made a fucking -hack job- of it. She had cut bad and too deep and his green eyes were glassy and he was -dead- and he -still- looked in pain. This had been no mercy kill, no clean cut execution, but a painful shitty death and -she- had been the one who had done it.

She turned her head and, propping a hand on the wall to keep herself up, retched again, emptying what little was left in her stomach on the ground.

-§-break-§-

The dawn drew near and, a few miles away, storm clouds gathered.

-§-break-§-

Isobel didn't sat down, after she had threw up. Instead, she panted and tried to gather herself back together.

She had -killed- a -man-.

She had killed a man -in cold blood-.

This was not unarmed fighting. This was not self-defense. She had had no reason to kill that man, but her own need to do it. She was the kind of person who, when push came to shove, would be able to kill a man if it came down to it.

She was trembling, she realized idly, and watched the way her hand was pressed against the cold stone of the wall. The blood on her was getting colder by the second. The blood on her. The Saxon's blood. The Saxon's blood on her face, hands and dress.

She dry heaved and then concentrated on breathing, on putting the pieces back together.

She had just killed a man, in cold blood, because she needed to do it to learn how to kill more.

She hadn't killed him because it pleased her, she hadn't killed him because it was necessary to a big cause, she hadn't killed him because there was no other choice.

She had chosen to kill a man because it was necessary for her to learn a skill, because she needed to be able to do it. Because, because, because.

Bottom line: she had just killed a man, she was botched it up and she was covered in blood.

Her dress was ruined, she realized idly (again, her brain noted), and she was still trembling.

Isobel made the conscious decision of pushing herself upright again. She turned back to the man and tried not to flinch at the sight of his head. It was lolling to the side, half hacked off, and the spine was showing. Or was it the collarbone? She wasn't sure, she didn't remembered, -the head was lolling to the side- and -she had done it-.

She made to touch him, before she could think, but then she stopped and dashed her hand away. She didn't wanted to touch him. She didn't wanted to, didn't wanted -at all-.

He was dead, surely crawling with beasts, filthy, he had crapped himself by the smell of it and had she mentioned he was -dead at her hand-?

Isobel breathed in and then promptly turned away, dry heaving again until there was nothing left in her to dry heave.

She needed to keep it together, needed to remind herself of who she was and why she had did it. She needed to remember that this was for the best, who the man was and that he was going to die anyway, no matter what she would have or wouldn't have done. She needed to remember who she was and why she had did it, that it was necessary and the right thing.

She needed to know who she was and the why.

She -needed- to.

-§-break-§-

The first thing Cogidubnus noticed, when he opened the door to the cell with heavier pockets, was the smell of shit, piss and vomit. Then his eyes got accustomed to the darkness of the cell and he noticed the blood.

It was drying up. Her face, hands and the front of her dress were drenched in it. His blade too. She was standing there, just out of the reach of the door, looking at him with shaken eyes, her face so pale it looked like fresh snow under the blood. For a moment, they both just stood there, she looking at him and he looking at her, his brain scrabbling as he tried to take in what that amount of blood could only mean. Then his eyes dashed to the corner the Saxon had been chained in and the reality of the situation hit him at full force.

She had done it. Up close, possibly as close as she could get to him by the quantity of blood she was covered by. It hadn't even been a clean kill. The neck looked like it had taken a couple of hits and the head was lolling to the side, the bloodied collarbone partially showing. It was an awful job, though the biggest cut didn't looked all that bad. Like the recruit that she was, she must have panicked and tried to end it quickly, with the only result of making it worse.

Cogidubnus didn't care much about the pain the man must have suffered. Served him well, for killing Cadeyrn and going around raping and killing the people Cogidubnus had been charged to protect. Even better that he had died in considerable pain, by blood loss more than anything else probably. It must have been as slow as it could get (still pretty fucking fast, since she had severed the jugular from what he could see from there) and this suited the Gaul more than well. Still, he found it hard to believe even with the evidence standing there for him to see.

The woman had -gone through- with it. She had put the blade to the man's neck and had cut it open, killing him like a pig at the slaughter. It was with new-found respect and no little amazement that Cogidubnus turned his eyes back on the woman standing still in front of him, still holding the bloodied knife. She had actually -done- it.

"I am Domina Isabella Antonia. I am -not- going to rely on others to be protected. I -know- protection will not always be granted to me. I -will not- die if I can help it. I -won't- shy from killing others if it means -I- will live on." She told him, her head held high even though her voice was trembling and she looked pale and shaken. She wasn't proud, there was no happiness in her at the thought, but she was determined and burning with will to live. This, Cogidubnus could understand.

He closed the distance between them and took her face in his hands, cupping her jaw on both sides as he dropped a kiss on her forehead. She was young enough to be his daughter and, had he had one of those he would have liked for her to be like this. Aware of the ugliness of the land and ready to do what was needed to be done to live on, to prosper in it.

"Good girl, this is exactly how you look at things." He complimented her and then caught her when she let go of his knife, which clattered on the stone pavement, and wrapped her arms around his chest, hiding her bloody face against his shoulder.

"I know." She said, muffled, and there was sorrow in her tone as her hands gripped his armor and held onto it.

Yes, she knew.

She had understood what he hadn't even tried to explain to her. It was kill or be killed, especially in a province like this one. Roman women could cowardly hide behind their husbands and families and try to ignore the reality around them, ignoring the constant shadow of fear they lived under and learning to forget about its existence unless an emergency came upon them. Non Roman women could try to do the same, many did, allowing themselves to feel secure in the knowledge the the army was there to bleed and die enforcing their protection.

Cogidubnus had pegged Isobel as a woman who didn't had the brain to understand neither what she was getting into nor the consequences of her choices. He had even been right, up to a certain point, but he was now being proven wrong by the woman that was trembling in his arms.

A woman who had seen her village razed, her family destroyed and had now sat for the Gods knew how much time in a cell with the bloodied body of a man who had died by her hand. A woman who had taken off the blinders and looked at the world around her hard enough to see that, in her position, the only way out was to learn how to do what he did, what the soldiers did.

How to kill and live with it, because it didn't had to come down to your life or theirs if you were skilled enough to take theirs first. It was useless to learn how to fight, if you didn't have the resolve to go through with a killing blow and the ability to bounce back from it.

This kind of woman, he could work with and on. More than that, he wanted to.

Isabella was trembling in his arms and Cogidubnus suspected her of crying, though silently. He didn't begrudged her this moment of weakness. He understood that this was about more than just this specific kill. Her silent tears about hundreds of things, ranging from the life she had just taken to the fact that she had no one to turn to, no one to confirm to her that yes, she was doing the right thing and going at it in the right way. Cogidubnus kept her close, and said nothing, letting her cry it out.

She was strong enough to kill and strong enough to search for arms to hold her when she finally allowed herself to shatter down in pieces. He carded his hand through her hairs, remembering the soothing movement from the one he had received from his mother when he had been ill as a kid, and said nothing, letting her sob it out as he held her in his arms.

This was her moment of weakness, and she had chosen him as the one she had turned to. One gentle gesture, a whispered phrase and she had come undone. Epiphanies could do that to a person, especially if they happened when the person was already at the end of its rope. He knew, now, that she wouldn't have fared well in training, had this not happened.

It was necessary for her and he had been the one who had put her in the position she needed to be pushed in for it to happen. He was the one who had unraveled her and that meant that she was his responsibility now. It was on her to piece herself back together, and on him to oversee as much of it as it could and teach her what she needed to be taught to strike her enemies down.

It would take time for her to open to anyone else, because this was her opening herself to someone. There was no need for a tearful confession, no words had to be exchanged and there was no reason for her to entrust him with her secrets, not yet. To allow someone to see her like this, to hold her while she cried, was a sign of trust far greater than any long winded exchange of words.

Everyone knew that Lancelot was courting her, the statores he had played dice with had confirmed to him as much. But it was not a lover she needed. Not now and not for this. She needed a man who wasn't going to want her to open her legs, someone she would be able to turn to and talk to without sexual attraction spoiling things between them.

Cogidubnus was forty-five, in the cavalry since he had been her age and with still five years to go before he was free again. He was far more than old enough to be her father and there was no attraction at all, between the two of them.

He had given her the knife, pushed her in the situation needed for her to realize what it meant to take the road she was taking and, after the deed was done, he had reassured her. He had put himself in the position of being the one she had turned to and now he was going to live with the consequences.

He didn't minded it, though, not now that he had seen what kind of cloth she was cut off from. Roman she may have been born but she had turned out different from any Roman woman Cogidubnus had ever met. Roman women could be ruthless but theirs wasn't the ruthlessness the woman in his arm possessed. It was more insidious and crafty, poisonous words and puppet acts where they hands never ended up bloody.

This one was different.

Sui iris she may have claimed to be, referring to the fact that she had no blood relatives left living and no husband to take care of her, but right here and then, Cogidubnus claimed her as his own.

As he held her in his arms, looking at the body of the man she had so clumsily gutted hanging from the wall, he hardened his resolve and made a vow. It was a vow made to the sacred triad of Teutates, Esus and Taranis, one he was going to validate with all the blood he was going to spill from his enemies in the coming year. All of his kills and all the wounds he was going to inflict, all the spilled blood dedicated to them and spilt in their names as an offer for their blessing and acceptance of his vow.

Blood they may not share, but he was going to see to it that she became the warrior she had the potential to be. That much he vowed, may the Gods be witness to it.

-§-break-§-

Dawn rose, in a reddish haze despite the not so far sound of thunders.

-§-break-§-

Author Note

I know this chapter is a little shorter than the previous ones, but I hope you will find it satisfying all the same! This chapter has been only partially beta-ed by the always wonderful KyuubiPaw so whatever errors are left, you can assume they are mine. Also, thanks to you all well wishers, my shoulder now is finally as good as new and I'm again free to type at my heart content!

It was kind like a birthing process for me, to write it out, because of the psychological and emotional fall out of what happens in it. I knew it was going to happen since I started writing the story, it's an important step for Isobel to go through, since a little part of her was still clinging to the idea that things were going to be if not easy, not as complicated as they are actually going to be, instead. The full scope of the reality around her has finally sunk in and this will change her, push her into becoming a different person from the one she is now (which is needed for her to survive in the world she's in).

While she was aware before, Isobel was still somewhat entertaining a flawed idea of what the world around her was. She was insulated by the reality by the mental disconnect that is typical of our culture. While we, like her, are used to the sight and visual of violence and we may be able to learn how to exercise it, most of us aren't really the kind of persons (deep down) who are able to be good soldiers, much less what at the time was considered a good warrior.

Isobel had it in her, she needed to bring it out and confront how far her reality had come from her previous life. Now she can really start growing as a character in her own environment as traumatic as this was.

If you want to imagine Cogidubnus you can go to google images and search for Callum Keith Rennie. Please be aware that the images I will upload on my profile (because I will, I just need the time to do as much) are from his latest, when he has grey hair and beard. Like he was in Harper's Island (where his character went by the name of Wakefield) and unlike he was in Due South (on which he was Ray Kowalski), people!

He's going to feature a lot, in the fic, when he's not sent around on missions, so I hope you liked him and I would like to know what you think both of him and of how he behaves.

As you may have noted, I added the date up high. I've decided that, from now on, I will keep track of the dates and add them to the chapters so that you will be able to track the passage of time in the course of the story. Since all of us like our history, I've decided to put it double so that you won't be forced to make the calculations in your mind but can still enjoy the use of the Roman calendar. I hope you like the idea :)

Regarding the OCs, almost no one got back to me on that and I was about to chuck the idea when the wonderful Ri-chan sent me a really awesome OC. Thank you Ri-chan, you made up a really great character and I already have plans on how to insert her in the story and what to do with her, your contribution is really appreciated!

Now, on to answering your kick-ass reviews :D

Soaring Hawk:Thank you for the review! Hee you'll get a few detailed history notes this time around :)! Wow, your major sound really awesome to me, I hope it's as interesting for you as it sounds to me! And wow again, your new review reached me just as I was about to upload the new chapter, talk about timing! Don't worry, you're not being pushy, I'm sorry it took so long to update but this chapter has been difficult because I needed to balance the emotions in it and be sure I didn't neither overdid it nor downplayed the consequences of her actions and decisions. I hope you liked it, and I will try to get the new one out sooner!

Victoria: Bonjour at toi aussi (and I think that's the extension of my high school french XD). Hee I'm happy you like the insults, they are fun to come up with. Thanks, I did most of the job myself with the english (the teaching level in my school years was … let's say the less said the better). Woow Korean and Japanese? I admire you girl, if only for the sheer size of your balls. I know a handful of japanese, from a beloved Guide To Japan that I possess (and what I was able to learn from manga and such) but I am aware of how difficult of a language it is, especially the writing part! Hee, I like OC with morals too. They make the story all the more interesting, though as you can see in this chapter, sometimes while we are moral on one thing we aren't moral an another one (and morals can change with time). I always found the subject of morals interesting because, like many parts of our social behavior, our morals are dictated or judged by the society we live in and different societies worked on a different set of morals than the one we possess. Isobel is learning it, will have to learn it again in the future. What's moral to her, isn't always moral to others (though on some things it is). As you can see, I'm still keeping to historical accuracy ;) and don't worry about rambling I loved your review, it made me all fuzzy and happy (and I'm a rambler myself as you can see XD).

Kristall: Hee, there will be consequences and opinions will change. Cogidubnus has already learned that she isn't to be lumped with other Romans and he will learn to know her better with time, just like the others ;). While I love fluff too, realism sometimes comes to the expenses of fluff (though we can have realistic fluff too and there will be some of it in the future ;D). I'm sorry to hear about your relationship *hug* and I hope it will get better with time or that it doesn't make you suffer too much before the situation resolves itself. I know I'm a complete stranger but if you ever feel the desire or need to talk it out, feel free to contact me (I have skype). Sometimes even the ear of a complete stranger can be a good thing. *hugs you again*

DGfleetfox: HEE! Yes we're getting somewhere indeed and we will keep getting somewhere ;). I must admit that I'm kind of rooting for Lancelot and Tristan on alternated phases, depending on what I'm writing and the mood I'm in ;). Isobel is going to have some figure out to do and, well, I won't give out spoilers but let's say that there are many years to come in front of us and no little surprises ;) I came back as soon as I could and wrote you this chapter, hope you enjoyed it!

X0Skay0x: I'm happy that you're liking both the story and the Historical Notes, I'm really having fun with all of it! Also thank you for adding my story to your alerts!

Ri-chan: It's a pleasure for me to know that you enjoy my story and it's me that thanks you for taking the time not only to write that review but also to fill out that form! You've given me quite an interesting OC and I already have plans drawn up for how she can fit in the story. I don't know how soon she will appear (plot being needed and all) but rest assured that I will happily use her in a way that I hope you will approve of ;)

Spooks94: You want to know a secret? Dinadan is fast becoming one of my favorites too, damn him and his charm XD. I tell you, I'm sorely tempted to dunk them all and wash them, bodies and hair included (especially the hair, who would need special treatment to get rid of what's probably living in there *shudders*), but the characters would sooner walk in an ambush than wash with regularity (Lancelot not included, but Lancelot now has a reason to keep himself clean *snickers*). Hee, I'm happy that you like my writing style and Dinadan wants me to let you know that it's his firm belief that if Lancelot doesn't get laid soon you may end up reading about Lancelot shacking up with the pretty little mare three stalls down... aaand now my muses are having a brawl ;). Good to know about the 'gators and hee, you're from the bayou? That's awesome, I love that part of the US of A. The language, the music, the food, the sights... wow, I'm actually kind of a little envious.

withered sage: Thanks for adding my story to your alerts, it's really appreciated! :)

Scottjunkie: Thanks for the awesome review! I'm happy that you are loving my story and, as always, I'm really happy with the success of the Historical Notes. Also, I'm always glad to find people who like or share my sense of humor ;), the more the merrier! I note down your preference and, like I said to DGfleetfox, there are years to come. It may very well happen and it may not, but I'm sure it will be an interesting ride for all of us! I'm content that you like the realism I'm trying to inject in the story. While it may be interesting to have romanticized notions and clichès, I like to work against the same and instead keep my characters grounded because realism provides us with more than enough drama to work with. Instant skills are a pet peeve of mine because I did many sports (and excelled in none) and I know very well how hard it actually is to work on your skills. It always made me feel really well with myself, to be successful in something after all the work I put into it. While I won't chronicle every hour of work Isobel gets through, you will be able to see that her skill are going to come from a long process (especially because she doesn't have a natural talent for any of them [another thing that in many fics is used as a shortcut much to my displeasure]) and I think that's going to make them more meaningful and satisfying to read about for you and write about for me (not to mention Isobel's own POV ;D). Thanks for reviewing and adding my story to your alerts!

LongLive11: Thanks for adding my story to your favorites!

RayC736: Thank you very much for both the alert and the favorite, they are very much appreciated!

Shinkirin: I'm happy you decided to add my story to your alerts, thank you very much!

And, last but not least, the Historical Notes are coming up girls and boys!

Historical Notes

Legionary Diet

A Roman Legion was made up by a vast body of men who all required food. A soldier's daily grain ration was the equivalent of 1.5 kg (ca. 3 lb 5 oz), which was generally supplemented with other foods.

However, this meant that the total consumption of grain was around 7500 kg a day. Together with up to 500 kg of fodder for the animals this made a substantial amount of food.
Because of that, in military bases, the units were heavily involved in their own supply. Land was set aside for the use of the military to plant crops and graze their animals. These lands were referred to either as prata (meadow), or simply as territorium (territory).
Herds of cattle were also kept, watched over by soldiers called pecuarii (herdsmen).

In some areas though grain could simply not be grown on the scale required and had to be imported. Merchants would fulfil the function of shipping the grain (along with other items of both edible and not condition) from its point of origin to the army bases. But so too veterans and even some acting soldiers were involved in the trade. Wine beer and olive oil had largely to be imported.

Further food was brought in by hunting expeditions. Archaeologists have unearthed the remains of deer, foxes, even bears in the scrap heaps of military camps.

Each soldier ate about 1/3 of a ton of corn a year. It is estimated that just the soldiers in Britain ate over 33.5 tons of corn a day. A soldier always marched with at least a good supply of bacon, hard tack biscuits, and sour wine. An army was often accompanied by a herd of cattle, a mobile food source.

While the soldiers were on long campaigns, such as Caesar's conquest of Gaul, the supplies would run low, and the army would take from anyone it passed. If they were stationed somewhere, they struck bargains and commercial relationships with the locals to replenish their bases and gather new resources they could count on.

When on station, the soldiers ate considerably better. They always maintained a herd of cattle, sometimes herding other animals such as sheep and goats, grew corn and other crops, including vegetables, and foraged for variety. Naturally, the diet varied somewhat, depending on the terrain, as some crops could not grow in certain areas, and the local fauna varied. For example, a unit in Corbridge is known to have eaten hares, deer, foxes, badgers, beavers, voles, wild oxen, and moles, while one in Benwell ate fresh-water mussels, and a unit in the Valkenburg ate a variety of poultry, such as chicken, duck, petrels, cormorants, herons, spoonbills, mallards, teals, geese, cranes, and crows.

Perhaps the most significant fact about the Roman soldier's diet is that there are no recorded complaints about it.

The Vindolanda tablets provide a good source of information about the dietary requirements of the Roman Army stationed at Hadrian's Wall. It is especially informative about the food ordered for the Commanding Officer who like other rich Romans enjoyed meats such as venison and wild Boar. The following tablet, found at Vindolanda, contained a 'shopping list'; of the food that was probably intended to feed the garrison.

"... bruised beans, two modii, twenty chickens, a hundred apples, if you can find nice ones, a hundred or two hundred eggs, if they are for sale there at a fair price. ... 8 sextarii of fish-sauce ... a modius of olives ... To ... slave of Verecundus."

"The Roman Army consumed a healthy combination of simple high-energy food.

Bread was their staple food and grain production was increased throughout Britain to meet the demand from the army. They used large 'beehive' bread-ovens positioned in and out of the Fortresses both, sometimes giving them in the hands of local persons, allowing them to bake into it as long as they helped the production of bread for the Fort they were near to.

Accounts from Vindolanda indicate that Roman soldiers also ate a lot of bacon. Every group of eight soldiers had a frying pan that folded away in their pack and enabled them to have a fry-up even on campaign.

They also ate porridge and stews would have included meat and vegetables. Soldiers snacking at the Fortress Baths in Caerleon certainly ate lots of chicken and bones discovered there had been boiled white. Wild boar was another favourite treat that the soldiers could have bought from the bathhouse vendors.

Legionary Pay

From the time of Gaius Marius onwards, legionaries received 225 denarii a year (equal to 900 sestertii); this basic rate remained unchanged until Domitian, who increased it to 300 denarii. In spite of the steady inflation during the 2nd century, there was no further rise until the time of Septimius Severus, who increased it to 500 denarii a year.

However, the soldiers did not receive all the money in cash, as the state deducted their pay with a clothing and food tax. To this wage, a legionary on active campaign would hope to add the booty of war, from the bodies of their enemies and as plunder from enemy settlements. Slaves could also be claimed from the prisoners and divided amongst the legion for later selling, which would bring in a sizable supplement to their regular pay.

All legionary soldiers would also receive a sizable sum of money (praemia = reward) on the completion of their term of service (twenty-five years for everyone but the Sarmatians): 3000 denarii from the time of Augustus onwards and/or a plot of good farmland (good land was in much demand); farmland given to veterans often helped in establishing control of the frontier regions and over rebellious provinces. Later, under Caracalla, the praemia increased to 5000 denarii (our case).

Legionary armor

The legionaries tended to be on the buff side of the scale because of all the amour they wore and fought with. Armor and weapons were the following:

Personal Weapons

Pugio: a pugio was a dagger, probably a sidearm. Generally, it had a large, leaf-shaped (or fish shaped depending on one's own opinion) blade 18 to 28 cm long and 5 cm or more in width. A raised midrib ran the length of each side, either simply standing out from the face or defined by grooves on either side. It was changed by making the blade a little thinner, about 3mm, and the handle was also made out of metal. The tang was wide and flat initially, and the grip was riveted through it, as well as through the shoulders of the blade.

The hilt was made with two layers of horn, wood or bone sandwiching the tang, each overlaid with a thin metal plate. Often the hilt was decorated with inlayed silver. Note that the hilt is 10–12 cm long overall and that the grip is quite narrow; which may make it seem to be too small but in fact this produced a very secure grip. An expansion or lump in the middle of the handle makes the user's grip even more secure.

Gladius: this is the general Latin word for " sword". In the Roman Republic the term 'Gladius Hispaniensis' (Spanish Sword) referred (and refers today) specifically to the short sword, 60 cm (24 inches) long. Several different better-known designs followed, they can be tracked down on re-enactors websites.

Spatha: a spatha could be any sword (in late Latin) but most often one of the longer swords characteristic of the middle and late Roman Empire. In the 1st century, Roman Cavalry started using these longer swords, and in the late 2nd or early 3rd century, Roman infantry also switched to longer swords, as well as mostly changing from carrying javelins to carrying spears

Shorter weapons (short swords and possibly sometimes daggers) were known as semispathae or half-swords.

Spears & Javelins
Javelin: Although Romans often used the word pila to refer to all thrown javelins, the term pilum also means specifically the heavy Roman throwing javelin of the legions. Lighter, shorter javelins existed.Pilum: The pilum (plural pila) was a heavy javelin commonly used by the Roman Army in ancient times. It was generally about two metres long overall, consisting of an iron shank about 7 mm in diameter and 60 cm long with pyramidal head. The iron shank may be socketed or more usually widens to a flat tang, this was secured to a wooden shaft. A pilum usually weighed between two and four kilograms, with the versions produced during the Empire being a bit lighter.

Pila were designed to penetrate both shield and armour, wounding the wearer, but if they simply stuck in a shield they could not easily be removed. The iron shank would bend upon impact, weighing down the enemy's shield and also preventing the pilum from being immediately re-used.

Bows

Bow: The soldiers known as sagittarius was armed with the bow (arcus), shooting an arrow (sagitta) with a wooden shaft and iron head. The normal weapon of Roman archers was the classic composite bow made of horn, wood, and sinew held together with hide glue. However, it was sometimes recommended to training recruits "arcubus ligneis", with wooden bows. The reinforcing laths for the composite bows are found throughout the empire. Specific populations were allowed to use their own bows.

Dart

Late infantryman often carried half a dozen lead-weighted throwing-darts called plumbatae (from plumbum = "lead"), with an effective range of ca. 30 m, well beyond that of a javelin. The darts were carried clipped to the back of the shield. Sometimes, if a soldier preferred knives, knives could be substituted in the plumbatae's stead.

Torso armor

Legionary soldiers of the 1st and 2nd centuries used a variety of armour types. Some wore mail shirts, while others wore scale armour or lorica segmentata or laminated-strip cuirass. This last type was a complex piece of armour which in certain circumstances provided superior protection to the other types of Roman armour, mail armour (lorica hamata) and scale armour (lorica squamata) the last of which was usually used by the cavalry, among others.

Testing of modern replicas have demonstrated that this kind of armour was impenetrable to most direct and missile strikes. It was, however, uncomfortable without padding: re-enactors have confirmed that wearing a padded undergarment known as a 'subarmalis' relieves the wearer from bruising both from prolonged wear and from shock produced by weapon blows against the armour. It was also expensive to produce and difficult to maintain.

You can find images on google images if you want to search for them.

Limb armourManica: From early Imperial times to after the fall of the Western Empire, some troops wore a segmented armour (armbands) known as manica on one or both arms.Greave :Greaves, sheet metal protecting the legs, were widely used in the late Republic, and by some troops in the Imperial army.Shields

There were two types of shield:

The classic, rectangular one used to create the testudo, known as scutum, and the less used parma who was a yard across (or less) and had iron in its frame, making it a very effective piece of armor. Parma had a handle and a shield boss (umbo). The parma was very effective in the act of blocking arrows.

Helmets: I think we all have a good idea of the type of helmets the Romans used ;)

Clothing under the armor:

Tunic: a basic garment worn under the armour by all soldiers in the Republic and early Empire. Normally made of wool. Tunics originally consisted simply of a piece of rectangular cloth sewed to an identical piece, with holes for the arms and head left unsewn. Later, it became fashionable for tunics to be produced with sleeves, and worn with braccae.

Focale: scarf worn by Roman legionaries to protect the neck from chafing caused by constant contact with the soldier's armor (typically lorica hamata or lorica segmentata) and helmet.

Balteus: Sword belt worn across the chest in a diagonal sense.

Braccae: trousers or breeches.

Subligaria: underpants. Their existence was confirmed by one of the Vindolanda tablets. Cogidubnus didn't mention them because he slept in them and so they were already on.

Cloak: two types of cloaks were used, the sagum and the paenula. Both were made from wool, which insulated and also contained natural oil to repel water. It was fastened by fibulae (brooches). The paenula was hoosed in colder climates and looked more like a poncho than anything else, while the sagum covered both shoulders but only one side of the body (which is why Cogidubnus uses it, since it gives him more liberty of movement).

Caligae: military boots worn by Roman legionaries and auxiliaries throughout the history of the Roman Republic and Empire. The boots were made from leather and laced up the center of the foot and onto the top of the ankle. Iron hobnails were hammered into the sole for added strength. Similar to the modern cleat.

Pteruges: skirt of leather or fabric strips that is worn around the waist to protect the upper legs. Pteruges could be fitted with small metal studs and plates to provide additional protection. They weren't obligatory, in the times our story is set, outside of parades and official occasions.

Sarcina
Military pack carried by legionaries. The pack included a number of items suspended from furca or carrying pole (this is were the idea of the stake with the sack of item when running away from home came from).
Items carried in the pack include:

Loculus: a leather satchel.

Water skin: Roman camps would typically be built near water sources, but each soldier would have to carry his water for the day's march in a waterskin.

Food: Each legionary would carry some of his food. Although a Roman army on the move would typically have a baggage train of mules or similar to carry supplies such as food, legionaries were required to carry about 15 days worth of basic food supplies with them. Most basic foot soldiers had to carry the food in sarcina or pack. Wineskins were included.

Cooking equipment: Including a patera (mess tin), cooking pot and skewer. A patera was a broad, shallow dish used for drinking, primarily in a ritual context such as a libation.

Entrenching tools: Carried by legionaries to construct fortifications and dig latrines etc. Each legionary would typically carry either shovel or a mattock for digging, a turf cutting tool or a wicker basket for hauling earth.

Sudis: Stakes for construction of camps.

You can see why most legionaries tended on the buff side, carrying all this around and still being expected to fight.

Underground prison cells

Romans did build underground prison cells, because they made escaping more difficult and also put the prisoners in a much worse ambient that, it was theorized, left them much worse for the wear so less likely to escape and more likely to give up and confess if they needed the from them.

License to kill

Being a different society with different social norms, soldiers who had helped in the capture of prisoners could ask to either be involved with their treatment, tasked with it or even allowed to be the ones to kill the prisoner when the time came, if the military authorities or the authorities over them didn't decide to make a public example out of the prisoner (and even in that case, a soldier was allowed to petition to be the one to carry out the sentence).

In the case of minor prisoners who no one really cared about (not to be made examples of, not to be ransomed, not having a different fate decided for them) a soldier who had petitioned could be granted leave to end the life of the prisoner on his own terms. This is Cogidubnus's case.

Celtic Deities (Teutates, Esus and Taranis)

The three main deities of the celtic religion.

Teutates was one of three Celtic gods mentioned by the Roman poet Lucan in the 1st century AD, the other two being Esus ("lord") and Taranis ("thunderer). They were part of a sacred triad, to whom human sacrificial offerings were made.

In Celtic Mithology Taranis was the god of thunder worshipped essentially in Gaul, the British Isles, but also in the Rhineland and Danube regions amongst others.