She ran along the beach with a group of her friends. It was a rather cold autumn day along the Channel and the fog had not yet lifted. There was an air of excitement that the teenagers could sense. There had been word since the summer from the Belgae traders that Rome had its eye fixed on Britain. The girls knew what Rome was and sort of what it meant, but apart from that they saw no reason for life as they knew it to change.

Aryenwyn sat on a rock on the beach beneath the great chalk cliff and tossed thin stones into the surf. Others of her friends chased and were in turn chased by a small puppy that yipped playfully. She heard it a few moments after tossing her last stone. A muffled [i:3578423d67]Boom...boom...boom [/i:3578423d67] coming in regular intervals from off shore well beyond the range of visibility. It grew louder and clearer.

"Isn't that smoke from a beacon?" asked a small girl named Eilan who was pointing down the beach a bit and inland.

"I think so," answered Aryenwyn. She stood up and then pointed towards the top of the crest. "Chariots."

"Something is happening," said Eilan. The group of girls stopped playing and even the dog stopped yipping as they watched several chariots race across the top of the cliff headed towards the north.

Meanwhile, the drumming, for that was finally what the girls identified it to be, continued growing louder. Now they could hear muffled shouts in a language they did not understand. The girls stood together gazing out into the fog wondering what would be revealed.

The fog cleared in one spot as a slight wind gust blew up. What they saw chilled them. Large ships with pointy bows were slicing through the cold water of the Channel angling in towards shore. More came into view to the right of them, more to the left of them. They were headed right towards where the girls stood. They ran towards the path that ascended the chalk cliff and hid in a grotto. Men bearing strange shiney armor and square shields jumped off of the boats and waded to shore. It seemed as if there were hundreds of them lining up while lighter equipped ones fanned out to search the rocks. Then they saw one man with what looked like the head and skin of a bushy headed cat placed on his head and cascading down his shoulders. He bore a pole with a round device with some runes written on it towards the top of the pole. Perched atop this round device was a golden eagle. This man went to the head of a formation of men and they began to move down the beach towards a broader path leading up to the top of the cliff.

The girls sneaked back to the top of the cliff after the Romans had marched past. The view from the top was impressive. As far as the eye could see, across the horizon, smoke plumes from beacon fires rose into the morning air. By mid-day most of the able bodied men were massing towards the shores. Their chieftains rodein scythed chariots, bronze armor glinted in the sunlight and a cacophony of plaids adorned the blue painted warriors.

By mid-afternoon a battle had been joined. It seemed to be a stalemate as far as Aryenwyn and her friends could tell from the bodies of the wounded being wheeled in around sun-down. Yet the tribesmen proclaimed it to be a great victory. They had thrown down the Eagle of Rome and cast him into the sea. For all of the bravado, the girls could tell that the men were very ill at ease. Representatives from the neighboring tribes sat at the council, formost was a large grizzled man from the Trinobates from north of the Tamesis River. There seemed to be a dispute forming around this man. Aryenwyn's father had accused the man of being a Belgae dog and a slave to Rome. Although the chieftain of Aryenwyn's group of Cantiaci actually enjoyed the accusation, the fear in his eyes was plain for all to see. The argument persisted between Aryenwyn's father Alyn, and the large Trinobate.

"Silence," said the Cantiaci chieftain standing up finally with one hand outstretched. "Alyn merely expresses a concern that all of the Cantiaci hold in their minds."

"And that is?" spat out the Trinobate.

"That generally when there is war to be met with the mainland, the Trinobate fight to the last Cantiaci." A general murmor of approval came from the men aroudn the camp fire.

"This will not happen, for plainly all can see the threat that Rome poses to all the Britons," said the Trinobate.

And so the talks went on. The Trinobate would indeed come to the Cantiaci's aid. Or so the promise went. Later that season when the call for help again went out, the Trinobate did indeed come south of the Tamesis. But they came at the head of a Roman Legion with the dinarii of Rome jingling merrily in their purses. So much for solidarity among Britons.

Autumn turned to winter. The tides of war stagnated as the Legions hid in their walled camp. There had been a few battles, nothing major. The initial fight had gone decidedly to Rome. The undisciplines Cantiaci fell back before the machine that was the Legion. The second and third encounters however were different. As the Legion drew inland, the Cantiaci warriors rallied and assailed them from all sides. The Legions were not used to this style of fighting and ground to a halt.

As Spring came, the Legions tried one more effort to get a foot hold in Britain. They failed. This time the Cantiaci drove the Romans back into the Channel. All was quiet for several years. It became apparent, however, that not ALL of the Romans left with the Legions. Something unholy stayed behind.

An 18 year old Aryenwyn walked along the top of the white cliffs at Dubris. She watched the moon rising over the Belgic coast. It was near to Beltane. She wondered if the Gallic tribes across the channel were gearing up for the festivities. The Goddess knew that the fire in her loins was growing. It was a fire she hoped would be quenched soon. The past years had not brought any opportunities. With a heavy heart she realized that she was not the prettiest of girls. Actually, she was over weight and had a bad complexion.

Nobody led her off to the Beltane fires that year. She was getting old with no suitors. Ary wondered if she would become a crone well before her time. She did not understand it and it upset her greatly. Her mother and her sisters were all thin and shapely with ample breasts and firm buttocks. Yet here she was all frumpy. Not even the meanest of herdsmen found her attractive. She would give anything to be beautiful. Why had the Goddess punished her so. Even the druids thought her one of the once born. There was no other life for which she did penance. It was so unfair.

That was when He arrived. He came one night into the village with a few Trinobate traders. He was tall and handsome, had dark eyes and dark hair clipped short in the Roman fashion. He wore a cloak that covered him, but occasionally, when he moved, the folds would part to reveal a bright brass cuiraise. Was he a Roman spy? Sort of odd attire for a spy to blatently wear Roman armor. Nobody else seemed to notice this but Ary. That was when she caught his eye. She immediately felt that this dark Roman understood. That he cared. That he alone in the world saw something in her. He gave her a soft smile and she melted. She blushed and turned away.

She turned back to him and then she thought she saw something in him. For a split second she thought that he was absolutely hideous. He seemed misshapen beneath his armor. She blinked and then he was all beautiful and smiling at her again. That's all that matter to her.

The next night the Roman man was back. He came up to her as she turned the spit upon which was skewered an enormous bore. He spoke her language but with an odd accent.

"What is your name child?" he asked.

She coughed slightly as she was surprised at being addressed by such a gorgeous looking man.

"Aryenwyn," she answered with a soft smile.

He smiled back and she got the briefest impression of seeing rotting teeth as he smiled. But no, they were pearly white, straight, and strong looking. Something about him seemed foul, yet he was so beautiful. It ust have been the lighting.

"Everyone else calls me Ary, though."

He smiled and patted her hand sending chills througout her body. "Then I shall call you Aryenwyn."

He made certain that they sat next to one another during the meal and made certain that he was able to find her alone after the meal. They talked into the wee hours of the night. He touched her soul. For the first time, a man had reached out to her with what appeared to be genuine interest. She trembled every time he looked at her and shuddered in ecstacy every time he touched her with the lightest of touches. His touches were always inadvertent, very natural and uncontrived, yet they were electric all the same. Her heart pounded in manner she never thought would be possible. Aryenwyn felt as if she were completely under his spell. All he need to was take her hand and leader to a grove and he could do what he would with her. But he did not. Not that night at least.