Tengoterry tribes. Senlack had been king of the Ootipeats and Brostona queen of the Tengoterry, Walfdan told them. Each had murdered their spouses and united both themselves and their tribes.
Queen Brostona rose from the double throne and greeted the Britons. She did not look like a husband killer. She looked to be in her twenties with a big, even-toothed smile, light tan, high cheekbones, shiningly clean blonde hair and a sleeveless cream dress embroidered with a pattern of blue and red-petalled flowers. The dress’s material was taut over firm little breasts and a narrow waist, but then exploded out over a disproportionately large bottom half. It looked as if a person as slim as Spring had been chopped in two and stuck onto the arse and legs of Danu, the marvellously fat earth goddess. Brostona’s bare arms were slender like a young woman’s but she waddled . Spring thought initially that she had a wooden framework under her skirts to flounce them up like that, but, no, further subtle investigation confirmed that it was all bottom and limbs under there. It was hard not to stare.
Senlack, watching from his chair, seemed older, from what Spring could see of him. His hair was a spongy black ball of curls and his beard separated into two curly balls with little rat’s tail ends. His long, knobbly nose stuck out of this mass of hair like, Spring couldn’t help but think, the penis of a wild-pubed monster. At the top of his cock-nose, shadowed beneath his fringe, she could just make out two black eyes peering out. She smiled at them.
Walfdan congratulated Senlack and Brostona on their ascension as rulers, then said that he, Atlas, Chamanca and Spring were from the Fenn-Nodens tribe, come to help the Ootipeats and Tengoterry to wage war on the Romans. They had witnessed and studied Roman methods, he said, so would be invaluable advisers.
“Well,” said Brostona brightly, in an accent that sounded like a bard doing a parody of Lowa’s voice, “thanks so much for coming all this way, with such good intentions, however…”
She raised a small pipe to her mouth and blew out a piercing note. A moment later there were twenty spear tips levelled at Spring and the others. More men and women rushed in, slings twirling.
They were caught.
“The thing is,” Brostona continued, in the same chirpy tone, “we don’t intend to fight the Romans, you see? We’re going to tell them that the land west of our new territory is theirs, and our new territory is ours. We won’t interfere if they leave us alone. Lovely plan, don’t you think? Both empires gain a long, peaceful border. And since you’re Fenn-Nodens and therefore enemies of the Romans, we’ll be handing you over to them.”
Spring felt Chamanca tense beside her, as if about to leap and bite Brostona’s throat out. Atlas held out a hand, shook his head and the Iberian relaxed.
“The Romans will lie to you,” he said. “They will accept your treaty, then strengthen their position in Gaul. When they are ready, they will cross the Rhenus and they will crush you. You must strike now, before they are too powerful and while you have your army gathered.”
“NO!” Brostona screamed and Spring finally saw evidence of the person who had murdered her husband so she could have more subjects. “They’re boring me now. Take them away. TAKE THEM AWAY!”
Chapter 8
T he miles-long army train was marching through green mountains, next to a bright river boisterous with snowmelt, when a rider came galloping from the north. He brought news that more than four hundred thousand men, women and children from the German Usipete and Tencteri tribes had crossed the Rhenus river. Caesar nodded as if he been told that his chef had run out of pork so it would be beef for supper, called in the centurions and rearranged the marching order and direction.
Shortly after dawn and half a moon later, Ragnall was on horseback next to a curve of the Rhenus, part of Caesar’s retinue awaiting
Queen Brostona rose from the double throne and greeted the Britons. She did not look like a husband killer. She looked to be in her twenties with a big, even-toothed smile, light tan, high cheekbones, shiningly clean blonde hair and a sleeveless cream dress embroidered with a pattern of blue and red-petalled flowers. The dress’s material was taut over firm little breasts and a narrow waist, but then exploded out over a disproportionately large bottom half. It looked as if a person as slim as Spring had been chopped in two and stuck onto the arse and legs of Danu, the marvellously fat earth goddess. Brostona’s bare arms were slender like a young woman’s but she waddled . Spring thought initially that she had a wooden framework under her skirts to flounce them up like that, but, no, further subtle investigation confirmed that it was all bottom and limbs under there. It was hard not to stare.
Senlack, watching from his chair, seemed older, from what Spring could see of him. His hair was a spongy black ball of curls and his beard separated into two curly balls with little rat’s tail ends. His long, knobbly nose stuck out of this mass of hair like, Spring couldn’t help but think, the penis of a wild-pubed monster. At the top of his cock-nose, shadowed beneath his fringe, she could just make out two black eyes peering out. She smiled at them.
Walfdan congratulated Senlack and Brostona on their ascension as rulers, then said that he, Atlas, Chamanca and Spring were from the Fenn-Nodens tribe, come to help the Ootipeats and Tengoterry to wage war on the Romans. They had witnessed and studied Roman methods, he said, so would be invaluable advisers.
“Well,” said Brostona brightly, in an accent that sounded like a bard doing a parody of Lowa’s voice, “thanks so much for coming all this way, with such good intentions, however…”
She raised a small pipe to her mouth and blew out a piercing note. A moment later there were twenty spear tips levelled at Spring and the others. More men and women rushed in, slings twirling.
They were caught.
“The thing is,” Brostona continued, in the same chirpy tone, “we don’t intend to fight the Romans, you see? We’re going to tell them that the land west of our new territory is theirs, and our new territory is ours. We won’t interfere if they leave us alone. Lovely plan, don’t you think? Both empires gain a long, peaceful border. And since you’re Fenn-Nodens and therefore enemies of the Romans, we’ll be handing you over to them.”
Spring felt Chamanca tense beside her, as if about to leap and bite Brostona’s throat out. Atlas held out a hand, shook his head and the Iberian relaxed.
“The Romans will lie to you,” he said. “They will accept your treaty, then strengthen their position in Gaul. When they are ready, they will cross the Rhenus and they will crush you. You must strike now, before they are too powerful and while you have your army gathered.”
“NO!” Brostona screamed and Spring finally saw evidence of the person who had murdered her husband so she could have more subjects. “They’re boring me now. Take them away. TAKE THEM AWAY!”
Chapter 8
T he miles-long army train was marching through green mountains, next to a bright river boisterous with snowmelt, when a rider came galloping from the north. He brought news that more than four hundred thousand men, women and children from the German Usipete and Tencteri tribes had crossed the Rhenus river. Caesar nodded as if he been told that his chef had run out of pork so it would be beef for supper, called in the centurions and rearranged the marching order and direction.
Shortly after dawn and half a moon later, Ragnall was on horseback next to a curve of the Rhenus, part of Caesar’s retinue awaiting
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