Although it was almost noon, hardly any light penetrated through the dense canopy of leaves onto the forest floor. By now he no longer flinched when he heard a strange noise. His scouts would have warned him if there were enemies nearby. But still the light played tricks on his mind and Britannicus had grown up in Rome too long for the forest to leave him cold. He too had heard of the scary stories about the savage peoples on this side of the Rhine and yes, he was afraid. But even greater than his fear was his curiosity about these strange peoples who were so different not only from his people but also from each other.
The past months had taken a lot out of him. He expected an ambush at any moment and even though he tried to keep his identity secret, the rumour had spread in Germania that a group of Romans had crossed the Rhine.
After Britannicus had read the fake news, he had let his hair grow and since then it had constantly hung in his eyes. His friends had followed his example and since they had all learnt the language of these peoples, they hardly attracted attention. But they remained strangers passing through foreign territory and so Britannicus remained vigilant.
Suddenly he registered something on the ground that captured all his attention. A stone. With a wave of his hand, Britannicus signalled his men to stop. Quickly he slid out of the saddle and examined the stone lying in the middle of the forest. Lost in thought, he crouched down and stroked the smooth surface. Slowly his gaze wandered further, and he spotted about ten more of these stones, lost in the forest or already almost completely overgrown by nature.
"Is that what it looks like?" wanted Titus to know quietly as he crouched down beside him. Silently, Britannicus nodded, not trusting his own voice. His fingertips just ran over the evidence that they were not the first Romans in this area. Even though the stones lay weathered and unused in the forest, there was no doubt. These were the remains of a road laid out by Romans.
"I never could believe that your great-grandfather really advanced this far," Marcus murmured, tilting his head. Titus just shook his head absent-mindedly.
"Up to the Albis means up to the Albis," Britannicus smiled and slowly straightened up. Just as he was about to mount his horse again, he heard it, the piercing cry of a woman. His thinking stopped. Her voice was full of fear and Britannicus could not help but answer her call. Before he knew what he was actually doing, he was running in the direction of the cry. Marcus and Titus were softly calling his name, but he did not hear them. All his thinking was about getting to this woman as quickly as possible.
Panting, he stopped and pricked up his ears. Had he only imagined her voice? Was this just another trick of his imagination? Just as Britannicus was about to turn back, he heard her again. She was so close.
A few moments later he dashed out from between the trees and found himself in a clearing. Only peripherally did he notice the bewitching scent of the wildflowers around him. For only a few steps away from him, a savage was in the process of violating a young girl. The girl tried desperately to defend herself against him, but she was not strong enough. Nevertheless, she did not give up, although her expression betrayed that she had realised the hopelessness of her situation. The sight of her broke his heart.
The savage was too busy keeping the girl at bay and pulling down his trousers at the same time that he did not even notice Britannicus. Thank Diana the barbarian had not yet been able to force himself on her. Silently Britannicus slid out of the shelter of the trees and only when he put the tip of his sword to the barbarian's throat did the savage freeze and slowly turn to face him. The girl below him also stopped squirming.
Imitating his father's calm and polite tone of command, Britannicus instructed the savage to back away from her. Slowly the savage straightened up. The girl beneath him was stark naked. He still held the half-opened strings of his trousers with one hand. Although his trousers now hung looser around his hips, they were not wide enough to rape a girl. The Teuton's eyes squinted worriedly at Britannicus's sword.
Determined, Britannicus stepped between the savage and the girl. With his sword he made sure that the Teuton kept his distance from them. Serenely, Britannicus undid the clasp of his cloak with his free hand and let it fall to the ground beside the girl. In a few moments Marcus and Titus would join him and he did not want her to distract anyone - and he did not exclude himself.
The falling fabric ensured that the Teuton was able to overcome his surprise and so he began to justify himself. Disgusted, Britannicus tightened his grip on his sword. After only a few words he could no longer bear this hypocritical man.
"Silence!" commanded Britannicus coldly, allowing the Teuton a heartbeat to peer behind his mask. The revulsion in his eyes made the savage recoil fearfully. Out of the corner of his eye he registered a movement diagonally beside him. The girl was in all seriousness trying to get up now. With a small wave of his hand, Britannicus told her to stay where she was. Relief flooded through him when she listened to him. Immediately he focused completely on the savage again and lectured him about the rights of a woman. The other man's reaction almost broke the camel's back. This savage was seriously laughing shamelessly in his face. As he laughed, he inconspicuously began to slowly back away from him to his horse. Obviously, the Teuton was man enough to make a move on a girl without being armed.
Before Britannicus could say anything, the cracking of thin twigs in the forest at his back joined them in the clearing and in the next instant the Teuton stopped. His friends had reached him and, judging by the Germanic's face, they too had drawn their weapons. Something flared in the savage's eyes and Britannicus inwardly rolled his eyes. If no reinforcements of savages had arrived by now, then the savage's companions must be too far away.
"Don't even think about it," Britannicus said sharply, tilting his head. In a gentle voice he enlightened the Teuton about his situation and what options he could offer him.
"You have no idea who you're talking to," the barbarian sounded cocky and Britannicus couldn't help grinning. If the Teuton knew who Britannicus really was, he would probably wet himself in fear for the consequences. Although Britannicus had never been one for crosses, the idea of subjecting this wretch to this torturously slow Roman punishment seemed very tempting to him. But they were not in Rome and Britannicus would make do with what was available to him. He didn't need anyone to do his dirty work for him.
"No, you have no idea who you're dealing with," he replied, waiting a while for the savage to collect himself and make a decision. But as Titus and Marcus began to grow restless, Britannicus began to count aloud. The Germanic's eyes widened in fright, and he ran to his horse. With a jerk, he tore his sword from its scabbard and as he turned to face him, he grinned at him in victory. But Britannicus saw through the savage's posturing.
As soon as his time was up, Britannicus sprang forward and, as he had expected, the Teuton was too slow. At the last second he jerked his arm up and their swords crossed. The force of his blow almost knocked the sword out of the savage's hand. A plan formed in Britannicus' mind. A mirthless smile formed on his lips as if of its own accord, then the familiar game began. This fight was unlike any Britannicus had ever fought in his life. This was not a practice fight with his father's Praetorians to sharpen his senses and his body. With this fight he was not only putting his life at risk, but also that of the strange girl. But if he did not stand up for her and protect her from this stinking creep, who would?
Waiting, he circled his opponent and tried to draw him out. He was almost making it too easy for him. If the situation hadn't been so serious, the whole thing would probably have amused him. But this was not the awkward game of a spoilt youth who wanted to distract himself from the monotony of his privileged life. As their swords crossed again, Britannicus changed tactics.
"Leave the girl to me and I will let you go unmolested," Britannicus calmly offered the panting savage. Furious, the barbarian sparkled up at him and spat at his feet. Grinning, Britannicus refocused on their two swords and lost himself in the familiar, flowing movements. His opponent slowed down. For a while Britannicus toyed with him to tire him out. Then he seized the opportunity, feinted with his legs, which the Teuton immediately fell for, and struck the savage's sword with his sword in such a way that it was flung from his hand. Full of disbelief, the Teuton looked at the sword, which Britannicus kicked out of reach. Slowly he stepped towards the Teuton, who looked at him openly and, for the first time that day, completely calmly. This was not the look of a man who feared death, and the savage had proved time and again throughout the struggle that he feared nothing more on earth than to leave this world.
Her warning cry was the final piece of the puzzle that drove Britannicus to action Even before the dagger flashed in the warm sunlight, Britannicus was ready and reacted immediately when the Teuton attacked again. With a muffled sound, the dagger hit the ground and disappeared into the sea of flowers.
Menacingly slow, Britannicus approached the savage, ignoring the stench. Fear flashed in the stranger's eyes, but the time for gentleness was over. Britannicus had given him the choice several times. Now he had chosen death and nothing else would Britannicus give him.
With a warm smile, Britannicus bent to the Germanic's ear and whispered quietly, "Scum like you are not needed by your Wodan in his army. I hope Hela will find a particularly grim spot in her realm for you".
The Teuton began to hyperventilate and before he could alert his friends with a cry, Britannicus rammed his blade right into his heart. Frightened, the Teuton looked up at him. Slowly Britannicus drew his sword from the Teuton and stepped back. For a moment the savage returned his gaze, then he toppled forward and hit the ground with a crushing finality. His heart beat one last time before it stopped forever.
What had he done? Playfully calm, Britannicus wiped his bloody sword on the dead man's jacket and sheathed it. Ignoring the questioning looks of his friends, he turned and fixed his eyes on the trembling girl.
Wide-eyed, she looked up at him in admiration and his heart skipped a beat. Her hair was matted and dirty. Her whole body was staring with dirt, as if she hadn't been able to wash properly for weeks. But her eyes were clear and so indescribable. Although he was usually at a loss for words, he simply could not put the colour of her eyes into words. They were neither blue nor grey, they were like freshly polished silver. Shiny, but at the same time indescribably warm.
Slowly he stepped towards her and crouched down in front of her. Instinctively she leaned towards him, and he tried to hide his astonishment at her reaction. After all, he had just killed her fiancé. All right, this fiancé had tried to take her by force before, but what did Britannicus know about the customs of these barbarians. Perhaps such behaviour was normal in Germania. However, she would hardly have warned him when her fiancé drew his dagger.
A red mark slowly formed on her cheek. That bastard had hit her. Hesitantly, Britannicus took her face in his hands and gently ran them over her swelling cheek. Tears instantly formed in her eyes, and he saw her press her lips together to keep from flinching away from him.
"Do you have any other injuries?" he asked anxiously, and she shook her head languidly.
"Can you walk?" he probed with a smile, and she nodded. Apparently he had left her speechless, he noted with amusement and held out his hand to her. Slowly he pulled her up with him, but when he let go she slumped. He immediately jumped forward and caught her. Her small body trembled in his arms, and he felt the irrepressible desire to protect her. The girl was in complete shock. But they could not waste any more time.
Silently, Britannicus signalled to his friends to gather up her clothes, then he lifted her up and was surprised at how light she was. Without turning around again he hurried from the clearing, and he only breathed a sigh of relief when he reached his horse. The girl was still too caught up in her own world to ride herself.
Suppressing a groan, Britannicus nodded to his men and wanted to hand her over to Marcus to mount. But she pressed against him, trembling, and buried her face against his chest. With a furrowed brow, Marcus tilted his head and shrugged his shoulders.
Somewhat awkwardly, Britannicus climbed onto his horse and tried to find a position that would allow her to sit reasonably comfortably. His coat slipped a little, revealing to him two perfect, if somewhat filthy, breasts. With difficulty Britannicus swallowed his burgeoning desire and adjusted his coat.
Searchingly, he looked around for Titus. His friend was already sitting on his horse, waiting for his command. Quickly Britannicus wanted to know what condition their clothes were in.
"The bastard only left a few scraps," Titus replied, pointing to a ball of rags sticking out of his saddlebag. "Only her cloak is still of some use, but for the moment it is more advisable for her to keep yours on."
Britannicus gave his friend a warning look, then put spurs to his horse and the girl clung to him. Reassuringly he stroked her back, then concentrated completely on riding. The next time he looked down at her, she was sleeping snuggled close to him and, strangely, she reminded him of Tonilla. When his sister had been little, she had always come to him after a nightmare.

A day later Britannicus decided they were far enough away now. His scouts had reported no pursuers to him. Either the Teuton was not as important as he had claimed, or his men had to see to his burial first. They stopped at a small lake and allowed their faithful horses their well-deserved rest.
Gingerly, Britannicus detached himself from the girl and slid out of the saddle. Uncertainly she looked down at him and pulled his cloak closer around her. Carefully he reached for her waist and helped her off the back of his faithful horse. She had been so close to him and at some point he had caught a fresh whiff of herbs on her dirty body. Since then, he could think of nothing else.
As soon as her feet touched the ground, he let go of her and turned to Titus, who was pulling out the remains of her clothes. Britannicus was not familiar with the fashion of Germanic women, but the expression on her face immediately told him that her clothes were only rags.
Searching, Britannicus let his gaze wander over his men. Most of them were either too big or too small. Frustrated, he focused on Titus again and only now did he notice that she was about the same size as his friend.
"Did you bring a second set?", Britannicus wanted to know. Dumbfounded, the girl and Titus stared at him. Apparently she was completely disgusted by wearing trousers. Britannicus could understand that only too well. He missed the freedom of his toga, or at least that of his uniform, more than he could ever have imagined.
"I'm not a barbarian," Titus hissed at him indignantly in Latin, turning on his heel and pulling out a fresh set of clothes. He firmly pressed them into the girl's hand and added in her language: "You can have them if you promise to wash yourself thoroughly in the lake first. The lake bends over there, you should be undisturbed".
Uncertainly the girl looked back and forth between Titus and him. Only when Britannicus nodded at her in confirmation did she accept the clothes and hurry to the spot Titus had pointed to.
With a sigh, Britannicus peeled himself out of the strange clothing and followed the example of his men, who were already washing themselves in the clear water. Although most of them belonged to an auxiliary force, they had become too accustomed to the customs of the Romans to be dirty for unnecessarily long.
"Did you give her this Germanic invention?" asked Marcus trying for a casual tone, throwing this Germanic stuff at Britannicus. The Germanic people called it soap and it made sure you got really clean. Asking, Britannicus turned to Titus, who just shook his head. With a sigh, Britannicus washed his hair in no time at all, then hurried out of the lake and took just enough time to wrap a towel around his hips. Then he went in search of her.
As he was about to call out to her, he remembered that he didn't even know her name. Amused at himself, he shook his head and turned the corner of the lake. Immediately he heard a splash and watched her sink into the water of the lake. Instantly the blood rushed to his face and for the first time he was glad of his new beard.
Quickly he turned his back on her and lifted the bar of soap.
"Can you use this?" he asked, surprised at how calm his voice sounded. Father would be proud of him for not letting on. The familiar splashing of water told him that the girl was slowly approaching him.
When her warm fingers touched his hands to take the soap from him, a flash went through his body, and he struggled to keep control of himself. Before he could do anything stupid, he marched away. He did not hear her quiet thank you. The blood rushed far too much in his ears for that.

Even from a distance Titus shouted something at him, but Britannicus silenced his friend with a look. Laughing, Marcus dropped into the water of the lake and pulled Titus with him. Angrily, Britannicus stomped to his horse and slipped into a fresh set of barbarian clothes. His previous set had already been washed by a slave and hung out to dry.
Still agitated, Britannicus sat down by a fallen tree trunk overlooking the lake, pulled out a notebook and tried convulsively to think of what to say about the day's events. Impatiently, he played with the stylus in his hand and knocked against the wooden frame of the wax tablets tied together. Thoughtfully, he watched the other men slowly join him and go about their tasks. Only Titus and Marcus were still fooling around in the lake and Britannicus wished he could join them and forget for a moment. But first he had to complete this report.
With a sigh, he turned his gaze to the empty wax tablet and began to write. When he came to the place where the girl had to appear, he stopped. How could he possibly explain his intervention? What would his father write?
"Aren't reading and writing rather activities that slaves do?" a feminine voice teased him, and he resolutely folded the book shut.
"Some things I just like to do myself," he replied and when he lifted his gaze he was lost in the depths of her strange eyes. Her face was beautiful, very beautiful even without all the dirt. The features of her face were noble and even. Her hair was still damp from the bath, but some strands had already begun to dry and took on a tone that reminded him of grain. But it was her eyes that fascinated him. He had never seen such a colour. Large and innocent, they looked down on him. Yet a wildfire was already blazing in them, and he found himself wishing that it would never go out. Their eyebrows were a touch too wide, giving their appearance something wild, uncivilised, but this any good slave would be able to remedy in a few moments. Involuntarily, he ran his hand through his unusually long hair and made room for her to sit down beside him on the tree trunk. Immediately her inviting lips twisted into such a warm smile that his heart began to beat violently. Just as he was about to say something, Marcus stepped up to him and quietly asked if they were going to spend the night. Surprised, he realised how low the sun was already above the treetops of the dense forest and decided that they could not possibly ride through another night. Animal and human alike needed this break. Britannicus would have liked to tell Marcus to set up camp. For they actually had enough time for that. But if he wanted to survive here, his group had to look like a bunch of barbarians, and barbarians did not sleep in Roman camps.
As soon as Marcus had left to give the men their new orders, she quietly thanked him for the clothes. Thoughtfully, he eyed her from head to toe. These clothes looked strangely out of place on her, somehow wrong. While the trousers were a touch too short, the sleeves of the shirt were far too long and covered her wrists.
"You'd better thank my friend or the gods that you two are about the same size," Britannicus replied, reaching out to her. Automatically she moved away from him a little and only relaxed when he determinedly grasped the fabric of her left sleeve and gently rolled it over until she could use her hands undisturbed. Now, for the first time, her true scent penetrated his nose, intoxicating him so much that he almost missed the marks on her wrists. Rage coursed through his body. While he was outwardly perfectly calm about her other sleeve, she objected quietly, "Would he have given it to me if you hadn't told him to?"
Grinning, he looked up at her and shrugged. In an instant he was drowning in her strange eyes. Did it still matter whose clothes she was wearing and who had given the order to hand them to her? Dazed, he shook his head and began to examine her wrists. Now he knew perfectly well that this pig had taken her against her will. Out of nowhere, a slave appeared beside him and handed him a small tin. Carefully, he lifted its lid and generously dabbed the ointment stored inside onto the sore spots on her wrists. A small, pleasurable sigh escaped her lips and that small, innocent sound completely upset him inside. Only his years of trained control kept him from anyone even guessing his true feelings. Who would have thought that this Roman skill, of all things, would serve him so well in wild Germania? As soon as he had doctored her, he hurriedly closed the tin and handed it back to the waiting slave.
The next time their eyes crossed, he felt as if she wanted to look into his innermost being. Instinctively he closed himself even more and a frustrated expression flitted across her face. Never in his life had he met a person who so blatantly externalised his feelings.
"What is your name?" he asked her curiously. Smiling, she held her arm out to him, but before he could get her forearm to fit, she reached for his hand. Surprised, he realised how tiny and warm her hand was at the same time. It fit perfectly in his and he wished she would never let him go.
"My name is Tyra, daughter of the first sword-bearer of the Suevi," she introduced herself formally and increased the pressure around his hand with her fingers. Automatically he returned her handshake as his Germanic teacher Bror had taught him in Rome.
"And who is my noble saviour?" she asked curiously, and his insides froze into ice. At the same moment he felt his mask intuitively cover his features, hiding his true feelings from her.
"Brunold, but everyone just calls me Brun. Besides, I'm no more noble than you are," he replied calmly, withstanding her scrutinising gaze. "My tribe lives very far to the southwest of here. I am the blacksmith's son and my father sent me to open up new trade routes."
For a heartbeat she blinked up at him and he was sure she had seen through him. But then that adorable, innocent smile returned to her face and drove away his worries. They stayed like that for what felt like an eternity, heads close together, hands intertwined. Only a nervous cough brought him back to reality. He quickly averted his eyes from her and withdrew his hand. He immediately missed her warmth on his skin. Titus and Marcus stood before them. Quickly Britannicus introduced his friends to Tyra as Tato and Marbod. They had agreed on these names in case they could not use their real names and his friends immediately played along. Now that he had also told them the girl's name, his friends asked to join the others at the fire. Immediately Britannicus took the hint, rose and offered Tyra his hand. Smiling, she let him help her up and escort her to the fire.
The warmth of the fire dried her hair and Britannicus was fascinated to see how unique her hair colour was. When dry, her hair was as bright as the light of the full moon. Unlike his mother's hair, it lacked the warm, golden sheen. Britannicus thoughtfully brushed a strand of hair from his face and at that moment it occurred to him that he had lived all these years under the mistaken belief that he had inherited his father's hair colour. But here in the depths of Germania he had to realise that his hair also had a golden sheen.
While he listened to her tale and had to remind himself again and again that he had already killed this disgusting fellow and could not kill him again, he noticed how the wind played with her hair and increasingly disturbed her as she spoke. When she noticed his gaze, she brushed her long hair out of her beautiful face for a second time. She had just arrived at the place where Britannicus had appeared and saved her from her predator.
"Can I have a comb? My hair is just impractical like this," she whispered softly in his ear. With a wave, Britannicus summoned a slave and ordered a comb. A short time later, the slave pressed a comb into his hand. Wordlessly, he passed it to her.
"Did you make it?" she wanted to know, turning the elaborately crafted comb in her hands. Britannicus just shook his head and quickly replied that it was an heirloom from his mother, and he had no idea where it came from. The fact that he had secretly stolen the comb from his parents' bedroom before he left was deliberately left under the table. His mother owned so many combs that she had certainly not even noticed its absence. But for Britannicus it was comforting and, because of his now longer hair, very useful to have this reminder of her with him.
Gratefully, she ran the elaborate comb through her wild mane and began to tame it. With a smile on her lips, she handed his comb back to him and began to braid her hair into small plaits.
"Has he gotten too close to you before?" he asked casually, and she froze in mid-motion. She stared at him as if mesmerised and he would have loved to bridge the distance between them to taste her lips that were literally screaming at him for it. But now was really not the time, if there ever would be for them both. Slowly she shook her head, and her expression became strangely closed.
"No, and neither is any other man, if that's what you're alluding to, Brun," she hissed, turning her head away from him defiantly. For another heartbeat he studied her beautiful face, then turned away from her and discovered the great concern on the faces of his best friends. Her concern transferred to his men and Britannicus barely suppressed a sigh.
"We are on our way west," he explained to Tyra without looking directly at her. But out of the corner of his eye he registered her eyeing him from the side. Unmoved, he continued, "Maybe they're not on to us yet because they're already on their way south. So, we will have to make a big diversion, but I will take you back to your tribe"
"Why are you helping me?" she asked and not trusting himself, he stood up and turned his back to her. Across the fire he looked straight into Marcus' dark eyes.
"I have three little sisters and I pray every day that none of them will ever find themselves in a situation like you," he explained in a strained voice. "But if my prayers go unheard, I hope someone will stand up for them and save them from it. Who would I be to ask such a thing and act differently with a stranger?"
Trembling, he struggled for breath, and he felt strangely naked. Everyone present understood the language of these woods and he felt as if he had made himself more vulnerable by this confession. But in the faces of his men, he read nothing but respect.
Before his racing heart could calm down, he turned on his heel and disappeared into the depths of the forest. As soon as he could neither see nor hear the others, he stopped and leaned against the trunk of a tree. The moon had risen by now and the forest was eerily silent. Exhausted, Britannicus closed his eyes and tried to sort out the emotions swirling inside him and bring them under control.
Suddenly he heard approaching footsteps and automatically reached for his dagger. He could not risk causing a stir by drawing his sword. Attentively he pricked up his ears, but the approaching people made too much noise. Only when the voices of his friends called softly to him did he loosen his hand, open his eyes and walk noiselessly towards them. That night was a full moon and although little light reached them, they spotted him immediately. With quick steps they joined him.
"Are you out of your mind to offer her something like that?", Marcus hissed at him, and Titus added angrily, "If we don't start west now, we'll never make it across the Rhine before winter sets in. We'll be stuck on this side for months! Do you really think we will get away with our lies for that long?"
Ever since he had felt Tyra's small body on the back of his horse pressed against his chest, these questions had been bothering him. Soothingly, he tried to explain to them that they could not possibly leave the girl here.
"We know you better than you think, Britannicus," Marcus said quietly. "I understand that you feel responsible for her. But we came here for a reason. We have a duty and taking her to her tribe prevents us from serving Rome as we are bound to do"
Hot, all-consuming anger flared within him. No one knew better what it meant to serve Rome with skin and hair. He had been racking his brains over this too for the past few hours and Marcus had hit his sore spot. Britannicus feared nothing more than not doing his duty. But instead of shouting at his friend, he became perfectly calm. Not a single fibre of his body betrayed his inner turmoil. With one smooth movement Britannicus drew his sword and held it up to the light of the moon so that his friends could read the inscription. Pietas, virtus, honos. Duty, virtue, honour - these principles were to guide this sword and to them Britannicus had dedicated himself for the good of Rome. The divine Augustus had this sword forged for his great-grandfather Drusus so that it would bring peace to Germania. Now it was up to him to fulfil the purpose of this sword.
"Our task is to get to know these people," Britannicus replied in a firm voice. "This girl is the key to a Roman Germania. It is in this way and no other that I am bound to serve Rome".
Deeply he looked into the eyes of his friends and could not admit to himself that there was far more to it. But the feelings this Germanic girl aroused in him frightened him more than the eerie forests that covered her land.