Forged in Dreams and Magick (Highland Legends #1)(78)
Drust interrupted. “If they take the granaries, our people will starve this winter.”
I nodded. “They employed the tactic to lure you onto the field. Your people had been attacking in smaller ambushes that their army was unable to defend against or prevent.”
As I talked and walked, we approached several larger structures that were built in the same dry-stacked-stone style as the rest of the permanent dwellings. Drust inclined his head toward the entrance of the smaller of the two, and I followed Velloc inside.
A torch in an iron sconce lit the room with an orange flickering glow. Basic furniture filled a space that was easily three times larger than Velloc’s home. Wooden chairs surrounded a square table. A pallet covered in folded blankets and a fur lay on the floor next to a wall. Drust took one of the seats at the table. We joined him, sitting in two other chairs.
“Tell me more,” Drust said.
“Agricola stated two prebattle speeches occurred: one given by him to the Roman army; and the other given by the Caledonian leader, Calgacus, to the Caledonians.”
Drust scowled and shook his head. “There is no tribal leader named Calgacus. That Roman name leaves a bitter taste on my tongue.”
I glanced at Velloc, and he nodded and tipped his head toward Drust. I continued. “Modern-day historians have questioned Agricola’s account, which was documented by a revered Roman historian named Tacitus. The number of casualties that Tacitus claimed the Caledonians suffered compared to the Romans cast doubt on his recounting of the event.”
“How many did he say we lost?” Drust asked.
“Around ten thousand. He alleged the Romans lost only a few hundred.”
Both men broke into rumbling laughter. “This Agricola tells lies to inflate his standing before his people. Our warriors are swift and cunning. Many more Romans would die than Picts.”
I nodded, impressed with their quick perceptiveness; in seconds, the men saw through the deceit of another leader’s ego. I continued, “The Roman army is comprised of Romans, Britons, Gauls, and Germans. In his speech, ‘Calgacus’ supposedly stated the Caledonians had an advantage with the moral support of their women and parents, whereas the Roman army—comprised of conquered and indentured men from countless countries far from their home—would be easy to defeat once discouraged.”
A hard stare from Drust made me pause, and I glanced at three golden goblets filled with liquid that sat on the table. I grasped mine with both hands, raised the cup to my lips, and swallowed the bitter wine down. Velloc did the same. Drust pounded a fist on the table so hard the third goblet jumped, caught on its bottom edge, and toppled, spilling its contents across the table in a dark stain.
He growled, “No enemy will put words into our mouths or declare our victory would only be due to their less loyal, unmotivated ranks. We defeat an adversary with our skill, strength, and courage. The true reason for our victory will be nothing less than our total superiority.”
I righted the cup and said, “Many experts have called Agricola’s account false. The narrator biases the record; Tacitus was Agricola’s son-in-law and never even traveled to Scotland. The battle was recorded based on Agricola’s accounting to Tacitus alone. Unfortunately, history is too often accepted as fact based on one side’s skewed observations, motivations, and opinions.”
Drust calmed to a degree. “Where and when did this falsely documented battle supposedly take place?”
“I don’t know. There’s uncertainty with the exact location of the battle. Named the Battle of Mons Graupius, the title was given in the late-fifteenth century. The accounting said your people fought from the high ground of a mountain, then retreated back into the cover of forest. The Grampian Mountains are a great mountain chain on your lands. The battle could have occurred anywhere along the eastern slopes. When it occurred is also vague: historians say it was in AD 83 or 84.”
Drust rose, scraping back his chair with his legs. “Enough talk for tonight. I have much to think about, and the hour is late.”
Velloc and I both stood, watching his departure. Tense silence filled the air.
I leaned into Velloc’s side, seeking comfort from the man I loved on our last night together before my journey back. His expert hands sought my flesh, discarding clothing articles along the way. Hungry kisses consumed any worry I might’ve had into a scorching need to become one with him. We stumbled back down to the pallet, naked by the time we hit the mattress, absorbed in an animalistic mating within seconds.
Talk afterward came in awkward statements until we gave into the heavy issues on our minds. Nothing I said would make it any easier, but I had to try. Velloc had to have some hope to get him through the days ahead.
“When will you return?” he asked.
“A week’s time. After one week here and one there, Iain thought we could decide if the duration should be altered.”
“It should be altered.” He gave me a grave look.
I sighed. “I agree. This last week was filled with days on horseback, half of which we didn’t share together. Maybe two weeks would be better.”
“Forever . . . would be best.” He grinned, his face lighting up.
I kissed his grin. “We’ll have to string together weeks at a time to make our forever.”
“Don’t go. Choose to stay. Be with me.”
I shook my head. “I can’t, Velloc. If I do, I’m betraying every other part of me that makes up the vibrant woman you love. To stay with you, gives you only part of the woman all of the time. Instead, you will have all of the woman part of the time.”