The Thracian and Gaul

One

Screams echoed across the countryside as my feet thundered against the cold, winter dirt. The shouts of foreign men were prominent, but it just urged my feet to push further into the dirt and will them to go faster. The Thracians have gone to war before. I mean, we as a people are known for it. However, to fight against the Romans was like a mouse fighting a bear: hopeless.

All of the Roman soldiers sounded angry. Suddenly, I was gripped and thrown to the ground, pain blossoming across my back and head as my body hit the hard, forest floor. I was suddenly very aware that three Roman soldiers surrounded me on every side, their chests heaving tiredly and their eyes shone with hatred. I wouldn't give up without a fight.

"Grab her!" One soldier ordered.

I sprang to my feet like a frightened animal and made a break from their ranks, but to no avail. The men shouted at me angrily and then to each other. My people were massacred by these men, and it's a miracle I managed to escape. They had come riding in that night and murdered everyone in the tribe: men, women, children, or anything living they could bring the tip of their arrows to. It was all the same to them. Death had no end. It only ended with my people's.

Two men grabbed my by my shoulders and shoved me against the trunk of a large tree. I kicked and screamed, making attempts to bite at the soldier's hands and arms before getting a hard smack across my face. My cheek ached immediately and I could feel the heat from the blow radiating with each throb. The remaining soldier whipped out his cock, tearing at my dress. My feet were free, and I wasted no time in bringing a knee to the area he was preparing to defile me with. He fell to the ground and I spat mucus and spit on him in resistance. His groans of pain were music to my ears, and worth every single ounce of anguish that soon followed as the men holding me down punched me in all places they could touch. As the sun rose, my body was bruised, the blood around my face and between my thighs dry and sticky, and the ropes around my neck tied off; as such was the way of war.

The soldiers who murdered my mother and brother in their beds were the ones who led me away by the end of a thick rope. After I was left in the woods to die at the mercy of animals, they found me and conversed with the Roman soldiers who had done what they did. Apparently, I was amusing to them as every time I pulled against my bonds and away from the man atop the horse, he laughed and jerked me back down into the mud. Camp was made over the course of a month, and each night, I would receive a visitor. Each night began with pain, and ended with sorrow.

I was placed upon a ship at the bay. I knew now that it would surely be the end. I was bartered and traded for a few coins to a Roman slave trader.

"A Thracian whore!" He laughed gleefully, holding my jaw and forcing me to look into his eyes.

"A pretty price, surely," the Roman soldiers snickered, hoping to get more coin than they had received. I sputtered and spat a mixture of blood and spit into the slave trader's eyes, much to his anger. I was reprimanded with a hard slap.

"Not with that demeanor," the slave trader huffed, keeping the rest of his coin and jerking me on board. "I'll be lucky to sell her for half of what I gave!" The soldiers behind looked very angry, but I smiled in triumph at their lack of coin. A small victory in a horrible situation. I was still set to sail for Rome, and was sold to the highest bidder all the same.

The slave trader's crew members replaced my ropes with heavy chains and thrust my arms above my head below deck. My tattered dress revealed more than I would have liked, but after everything I've lived through, I couldn't care less. The men shackled me to the ceiling below deck, along with my feet, so I dangled precariously between roof and floor. Pain emanated, and it was there I noticed I was not alone.

Four more men joined me below. One to my left, and the other three across from me. Prisoners of war, by the looks of things, with their freshly bruised and bloody faces and bodies, as well as their strained muscles. I tugged on my chains in vain, much to the annoyance of the men.

"Shut up! Shut the fuck up!" The man to my left was scrawnier than the rest, and had a bad attitude to match. I ignored him and continued to pull, making my wrists sore and bleed.

"You're the Thracian?" A man across from me with a badly swollen eye questioned. I perked up and nodded.

"My people--," I started, but was cut off from the scrawny man beside me.

"Are dead!" I growled and attempted to hurt the man. The only problem: my chains made me unable to and jangled mockingly. The scrawny man snickered, shaking his head.

"Best leave the anger. If not, you will find life harder with where we're going," the man across advised. My eyes widened and reality set in. The boat began to creek and my stomach flipped in nausea. I couldn't help the vomit that came after, and neither could the other two men who had been silent. I had never been on a ship in my life.

The room reeked with piss, shit and vomit before the week's end, but I cared not. All I wanted was freedom. Freedom from this ship, these men, these chains. I wanted to go home. However, there was no home. No life for me in my lands of Thrace were possible anymore. My only choice now was Rome. Gods help us all.