In Fire And Darkness

Chapter 4: A Helping Hand

   Safely back in their hiding place, a thought crept into Ambisagrus' head. Through his tear filled eyes, he could barely make out the shapes of his companions.

 “Drest... Bricius...” said Ambisagrus, “What about your parents...?”

    The boys didn't say anything. Both their parents were still out there fighting the horde of Romans... maybe. Their expressions turned grave as realisation dawned on them. Drest glanced towards his younger sister who had been listening to them. The little girl looked like she was about to cry.

    “We need to - ” started Bricius, but he was cut off by a loud bark.

    Their expression turned to shock as more barks and snarls were heard.

    Wolves...? thought Ambisagrus.

    Yes wolves. Wolves as pale as the moon and as large as grown men could be seen approaching them. A young woman screamed, which only agitated the them further. They bound up to the hidden group, driving all the children and women out of their hiding place.

    We worship the wolves, they can't attack us... can they?

    As he thought this, a particularly large wolf, probably the leader of the pack barked and jumped onto Ambisagrus. Pinned down more by fear than the weight of the wolf of his chest, he looked into its eyes as the wolf snarled, its stained teeth clearly visible. The wolf took one sniff at him and backed off. It barked to the others and the wolves ran off... not back into the forest, but into the Celtic camp!

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   The battle had been waging for over half an hour now. The Romans were steadily destroying the Celtic forces. Men and women lay in pools of their own blood on the ground. The fact that the villagers weren't fighting the thousand strong Roman legion the other Celtic tribes had encountered was greatly to their advantage. Even so, the people of Aviliobris, though being part of a peaceful tribe, had put up quite a fight. Maybe it was their Celtic blood or just their sheer will and determination, but somehow, these people had caused respectable casualties within the Roman ranks.

   One of the biggest mistakes the Romans had made was underestimating the power of the Celtic women. These ladies were not like the slim, gentle women found in Rome. The women of Hibernia were almost as big as their husbands, and possessed a ferocity that rivalled them too. Every Roman soldier to come up against a woman immediately lowered his guard, not knowing that the dames here were not the same oppressed women found back at home. Subsequently, they were unpleasantly surprised to find themselves on the ground with a knife sticking out of their chests within the next five seconds.

   With more than double the number of fighting men on their side, the Romans knew that victory was not far from reach. That is until the wolves got there...

  The Romans had heard of how Romulus and Remus, the founders of the great city of Rome, had been raised by a she-wolf; it was a myth they had all heard from childhood. But nothing could have prepared them for the sight that those soldiers beheld that night. Scores and scores of wolves crept into the camp clearing, their ghostly shapes illuminated by the moon light. The clash of swords and battle-axes grew silent as the wolves formed a large circle around the battle grounds. Romans and Celts alike stood awestruck at the arrival of these magnificent beasts.

   What the Romans did not know was that the Celts had an even longer and entwining history with wolves than they ever had. The people of Hibernia had revered wolves as sacred protectors and companions for thousands of years; sacred yes, but feared too. And the question that no one could answer now was – Why were they here? And whom were they after?

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   Antonius was the first to snap out the trance. He caught the Celt next to him in a vice-grip and broke the man's thick neck with deadly efficiency. The wolves instantly reacted and launched themselves at the Romans.

  “They are just pathetic mongrels!” roared Antonius, “Slaughter them!”

  He charged at the wolves, pure rage in his eyes. Stupid mutts! Victory had been so close at hand, but snatched right from under him. He had been fooled once by the Celts and now these dogs had cut short the revenge he had been about to extract on them. Never in all his years of serving the Roman army had such a thing ever occurred. Blind rage guided him on his attack on Mother Nature. Nothing would stand in his way!

   Throats were ripped out, furry bodies were slashed, soldiers were knocked down, beasts yelped in pain, bodies were dragged into the darkness of the forest and white fur was stained deep red.

   The Celts retreated, thanking the Gods for their good fortune. They dared not interfere.

   Heaps upon heaps of bodies lay in bloody messes on the ground – Roman and canine alike. Not one wolf was left alive. And not one Celt was seen in the forest clearing.

   “ARRGHH!!” screamed the Roman Tribunus. The wolves had not only aided the Celts' escape, they had killed all but a handful of the one hundred men he had brought. He knew he could track the Celts and seek out his much wanted revenge – the scores of villagers would have left a very noticeable trail. But he was the outnumbered one now. Seething with anger, he kicked the body of a wolf. “I WILL FIND YOU, AND I WILL KILL YOU ALL!” he roared into the forest.