“Stand together men!”  The battle-hardened legionary barked a desperate order. 

The devastation surrounding the few soldiers struck fear into their brave hearts. Their brothers-in-arms once full of life and vigor, now lay dead in a most peculiar, inexplicable fashion. 

“Shields at the ready! Let it come. We’ll push it back together. Togeth---”

The thumping bass sounded once again. Though the sky painted a glooming grey over the land the source of this thunder was no storm. 

Sweat poured from their helmets. Heavy gasps gave way to controlled breaths. The soldiers packed themselves into a square. Calloused hands gripped hilts of the devastatingly effective short sword-the gladius. Their visibility low, only the small space between their shields showed the danger that charged them. The force that killed their friends. Their fellow men of the mightiest empire the world had ever known- the toughest men borne from the blood of their ancestors with the mission to spread the glory of Rome fell in great numbers this day. The remaining thoughts of their homes, their families, their futures, fell to the wayside as the need to survive prevailed. 

The audible rumble of the beast’s massive feet moved closer and closer.

“Stand ready men! Get ready to push it back!” 

The loud, guttural, roar of the monster muted the centurion’s commands and words of encouragement. 

“Hold! Iehova be with us!”

Magnus Vicillius looked out onto the shoreline from the small rowboat powered by men in his charge. The gray sky and the cool temperature did little to welcome the warrior to Britannia. The temperature of the air served as harsh reminder of the wear on his body serving 20 years for SPQR. The Senate and the People of Rome relied on his service to maintain and strengthen the empire. The neck of the muscular centurion hurt. He hurt it pushing a battering ram into the walls of a Germanic fort. 

There were many other scars that riddled his back. The barbarians sent out their women in the night to assassinate him and the other officers. He woke upon the first slash of many. Her wild demeanor nearly killed him. Magnus gained the advantage quickly, but his sleepy demeanor caused him much grief. He rarely slept from that night forward. The incident proved his closest brush with death. No battle or bloody skirmishes with men bigger and stronger than him were as dangerous. 

Still, Magnus neared the end of his term. In just five short years he would receive the land promised to him and be able to live peacefully. Away from the frontiers filled with uncertainty and danger.

His reputation preceded him. A greeting party waited for him. His men jumped from the rowboat into the shallows and pushed the boat up to the beach.

“Greetings Magnus. Governor Gricola requests your presence immediately.” A man dressed in grey robes surrounded by four soldiers, looked deadly serious. 

“Take me to him.” Magnus, in full centurion regalia, full metal breastplate, his large belt which held Marius’ mule, his centurion-class helmet with the crimson crest of hair, he stepped onto the beach of dismal Britannia. His sandal-boots sunk into the wet sand. 

 

“I sent them past the wall to attempt a peaceful conversion. They have yet to return. I sent for you to investigate and retrieve these men. I assure you I gave them orders to escort the missionary and march on peace and not conquest.” The governor rubbed his hands on the robe covering his knees. 

“The tribes in Caledonia historically don’t take kindly Roman legions marching onto their land no matter the mission.” Magnus stood in front of the governor with his helmet under his arm.

“Of course, Vicillius, I wouldn’t have sent them had I not sent scouts to procure a meeting with a tribal leader who sought knowledge of Iehova or Yeshua whichever nomenclature they use. Of course, it would be in my best interest to bring Constantine’s god to the frontier.”

“I shall march with my men upon first light.” 

“No more time should be wasted. I’d hoped they would return in the time it took for the message to reach Rome. Alas, they have yet to return.”

“I assure you my men will find out what happened to them Governor.” Magnus stood tall in the lavish in the intricate wood-carved sitting room of the governor’s villa. 

“That is why I requested you Magnus. You shall have the full complement of my local auxiliaries manning Hadrian’s wall if you please.” 

“Though I appreciate the gesture. We’d better not stir up the tribes with another larger force beyond the walls. If we need the might of your forces, I shall send my best messenger for their assistance.”

“Remember Magnus. There is a reason we built the wall. Please come back.” The Governor stood from his chair and nodded to Magnus.

The centurion didn’t know if Gricola’s plea was genuine. He’d just admitted that he sent the troop to help convert the pagans of the North to gain favor with the emperor. Over the years, Magnus realized that rarely were the intentions of the patricians in power purely selfless. 

“I appreciate your concern for the finest soldiers of the empire. We will be back, Governor.”

The next couple days were spent marching north west to the walls. Magnus’ force of 100 men were more than up to the task, having quelled barbaric rebellions in Gaul and in the hinterlands of the Germanic forests. The battles of their storied pasts would serve them well in the wilds of Caledonia among the Picts and other wild tribes that lay stubborn claim to the northern section of Britannia. They made camp at Hadrian’s Wall, about a day’s march south of the unmanned Antonine wall and the last built physical barrier between Roman Britain and Caledonia.

“Tiberius, I want to take three men over this wall and possibly the old Antonine wall. I will accompany them. I need to know what happened and we mustn’t alarm the native tribes with a full century marching into their territory. You must stay with the rest of the legionaries here. I will need horses.” Magnus removed his helmet and rubbed his scalp.

“Very well, Magnus. How will you know where to look for the missing?” Tiberius asked.

“The governor mentioned a tribal leader who sought knowledge of the Christian god. Upon first light, I will ask the auxiliaries who the tribal leader is and find him.” Magnus sat on his blanket in the comfort of his tent.

“You speak of the Christian god as if he isn’t yours to worship Magnus. It would be wise not to use such casual jargon when speaking of Yeshua. Constantinius II is quite the believer in his father’s converted belief. Many of the men believe and I, myself, have grown quite fond of the message considering I have been digging ditches, building walls, bridges, aqueducts, and fighting for the empire the last 24 years with nary a sign from the gods that I am worthy of their dominion.”

“Tiberius, I am aware of the men’s predilection towards the Christian god. I must say I am unaware of your own thoughts of faith. I am Christian outwardly. We must be. It is our charge to be so. Privately, in my heart I doubt that one man possessed such qualities to subsume and rule over the traditional Roman pantheon. My family gave tribute to the gods my whole life. I find it hard to break such tradition and belief at the request of the emperor.”

“Yet you are a centurion, a valued leader of the most powerful army the world has ever known.” Tiberius shook his head in frustration.

“I do and say what I must to maintain my position, unlike you I have five more years to go before I am granted citizenship. Now, if you would take your leave of my tent. I need rest. Who knows what awaits us beyond the wall?” 

“Very well, Magnus. I shall see to it that you have your horses at first light. Any specific men you want on your sojourn?”

“No one specific. You pick. I need rest Tiberius. Go.”

The bloodied corpse lay a few feet away from the broken trunk of an old oak tree. The ground vibrated, the wind howled, blowing the last leaves off the mangled, tattered branches of the New England forest.

"So terribly reminiscent of old horror films. And what is with these strange tremors? A minor earthquake, perhaps. I shall check geological data of the area. My work has been laid out for me, literally. Pun intended." Bud Hutchins knelt down, feeling the vibration of the earth steadily pulsing. He examined the victim.

The corpse was an older male wearing a dark grey robe with a hood. Streaked with blood and torn from the force of the multiple stab wounds and a sliced jugular vein, this person met Death in gruesome fashion.

"Stab wounds found near or in major arteries. Whoever stabbed this man, knows their way around a knife and human anatomy. Quite ostentatious. Judging from the amount of blood soaked into the robes and the ground, it is possible the murderer collected the blood. There should be a large amount pooled around the victim's neck."

Leaves rustled behind Bud. He turned quickly and saw a hooded figure weaving in between the dense brush. Bud gave chase. The autumn leaves, blanketing the forest floor, smelled dank. The faster Bud moved, the stronger the scent. The hooded figure weaved in and out between oak and maple trees. With each pounding foot, leaves kicked up into Bud's face. He put his hands up as a shield. His long Burberry trench coat flapping behind him, might actually have slowed him down. He refused to take it off. Not that he was naked underneath. He felt the coat was necessary to fit the part of his new job.

He gained on the hooded person. Bud took a flying leap and clipped the runaway's foot with his hand. Bud landed with a thud and lay sprawled on the forest floor. The hooded figure fell hard and narrowly missed a craggy fallen branch.

"Ack!" Bud spit leaves out. There are downsides to having a big mouth. Room for more stuff to enter. Plus, his verbal vomit problems. It worked both ways.

The hooded figure struggled to stand.

"Oh no you don't! It is clear that I have successfully impeded your progress. In my keen observation, those who try to run have a legitimate reason to." Bud pinned the hooded figure down with his knee.

"Let me go! Please! Please don't kill me!" A shrieking female voice burst forth.

"I believe we have a misunderstanding. I did not murder anyone. Perhaps you did!" Bud said.

"That was my uncle back there! I just called the cops. Who are you? There is no way the cops could have made it here this fast."

"Ah yes, so you phoned it in." Bud turned the female over. Her face was pale and her eyes big and hazel. Striking.

Police sirens approached.

"Get off of me!"

"Get off the girl, young man. Let us have her." Squeaky, raspy, voices filled their ears with dread.

Bud looked up. Surrounding him as if they appeared from somewhere behind the trees were six haggard women, varying in age. Their tongues were hanging out. Their nails were craggy and overlong. One of the smaller figures giggled. The women closed in around Bud and the girl. Salivating and laughing.