Late morning.
Just as Oppius and Teucer came out upon a field from leaving the forest the sun similarly came out from behind a flock of pink clouds. They were almost home.
"It looks like that we may just make it back alive. Things went more smoothly than I thought," the Briton remarked, squinting a little in the sunlight.
"Don't tell Caesar that. It may encourage him to send us out again behind enemy lines," the centurion replied, half thinking about how Caesar would react to his success, or lack of, in regards to the mission.
"Aye, it's a shame we don't have any war wounds to show him when we get back, to prove how much we've been to Hades and back."
No sooner had the Briton finished speaking than he let out a cry, as an arrow slammed into his though, cutting through skin, sinew and muscle. He fell to one knee and nearly passed out. Oppius looked up to see a brace of arrows flying towards him. He quickly dove to his left to avoid the missiles, which thudded into the ground just behind to where the centurion had been standing. When Oppius looked up he saw half a dozen barbarians, armed with bows, rushing towards him from out of the trees. The ground shook beneath him as another barbarian galloped towards Teucer upon a horse. Oppius would be struck by at least three arrows before he would have the time to draw his bow and unleash just one in return.
"Adminus, put the bow down. I meant to shoot you in the leg. I can as easily arrange to shoot you in the head," Caradog called out whilst riding towards his brother.
Blood seeped out from Teucer's wound, as did any feelings of hope or revenge it seemed. He placed his bow on the ground. He glanced at Oppius, who was being surrounded by a trio of savage but skilled warriors, their bodies smeared with sweat and woad. Caradog glanced at the centurion too - with a look of recognition, an expression twisted in contempt.
"It's you. Roman bastard," the cruel-faced Briton exclaimed - and then spat at the centurion. "Tell your foreign friend that I missed him on the beach, but I won't miss him again."
It dawned upon Oppius who the barbarian was. He recognised the same jewellery. The same hatred. Although he could not understand what he was saying, Oppius sensed that he was not inviting him to share his lunch. When Teucer finished translating the centurion met the barbarian's vicious glare and replied.
"Tell your brother that I'll only require one shot. I won't need a second."
Before Teucer was able to reply however Caradog spoke.
"Why did you come back?"
"I missed the weather."
"You have a joke for everything brother, but I'll have the last laugh. Now, unless you know them yourself, ask your friend what Caesar's plans are?"
"He doesn't know anything."
"Burning him alive might help him cook up some thoughts."
Teucer translated the question for Oppius, although the centurion gazed off into the distance somewhat, seemingly distracted. Perhaps he was collecting his final thoughts, or praying. Oppius thought about the question for a moment or two and then replied.
"What are Caesar's plans for Britain? To encourage Britons to start dyeing their clothes instead of their bodies."
