Grouville Bay Jersey.

"Keep going we cannot stop here," urges Euderyn.

Four miles east of St Helier the capital town, our small band of sixteen warriors and five laden mules have made good time. Wading ashore and alert for any signs of people, they know that Jersey has only a small population. Mostly concentrated in the small town for defence. This is after lucrative slave raids in previous years by their own people the Coriosolites, had decimated the rural population.

Without pausing they struggle up the soft sand of this sloping beach before heading inland. Over sand dunes at first, then open land, their advance inland is slow. Until they pick up an ancient trail snaking its way between small copses, they stop to rest only when they reach the top of a hill and are a little way inland. While they all rest Eudeyrn stands on a fallen tree, with his hand to his forehead he looks out across the misty sea.

"Damn! I can see some small boats two or three miles away, they must have found them in a nearby village." (He neglects to say that he can see a centuria of eighty Romans on their way). "Prepare a position here where we can stand and defend ourselves."

Jumping down he continues.

"The Romans are following us and they must know we have valuables. They will soon be here then we will fight in our glorious tradition and leave this world naked, as we entered it. Remember we fight to the finish for all survivors will be tortured for information."

Eudeyrn's hand is still on his sword as his eyes scan everyone in this small band of fifteen warriors before him, the best in Northern Gaul... All strong and fierce, a rag tag murderous assortment, from the top fighting families in the tribe.

"Stay here, all you lot! Anyone trying to follow us will feed my sword."

His right hand half draws his sword from his scabbard as a warning. This is heeded by everyone for they know there will be no hesitation by this man. They also know that they have little time left and soon they will all enjoy glorious battle.

"Watch out for us; prepare your blades and feed yourselves... We will be back soon."

Eudeyrn backs away in the normal fashion out of sword range and turns towards his five bodyguards.

"Come with me."

Waving his hand, his five bodyguards follow him with the five tired staggering mules in single file down the trail. On muddy tracks they tread their way through lush growing land with no sign of people or their homes.

Making slow but steady progress the cargo on the mules bumping at this slow pace, a tinkling sound can be heard with each step; above the squeak of the leather harnesses. This is the cause of much concern and the reason why as they journeyed those few miles to the shore in Gaul, they have had to silence a further two more villagers of their own tribe who were stupid enough to notice and understand what they were carrying.

"I fear the Gods have forced all this upon us, perhaps this is a test? Are you Gods all on the Roman's side?"

Eudeyrn looks skyward as he asks these question; their need of rest is far from their minds as they march ever forward at his command.

"This treasure, collected as tax and tribute; with much use made of the sword to extract gold from the tribe all to give to Vercingetorix... Our hero and hope for the future... Are we to use it for this purpose or will it just moulder away in some field? Answer me!"

His shouts disappear as Eudeyrn listens intently for a sign, only the soft sounds of the trees stirring in the breeze, the squeaking of the leather harness and the clink of coins can be heard. These sounds are the only answer in this living forest.

"I met Vercingetorix once, he spoke to a few of us and I swear there is witchcraft in his words. He has a hatred of the Romans so rare to see. They say his family was slaughtered by them."

He urges them on.

"We must succeed in this struggle to keep this treasure away from the Roman hordes sweeping across our lands."

"You push from the rear and I will pull the reins," he says, grabbing hold he helps Elisedd to raise his stumbled mule.

"They will go further," he says although the pace is slowing down now to a crawl."

Walking up and down the line of mules encouraging his bodyguards to keep alert, he has walked further than anyone. Remembering his lump of pig dripping fat, he unfastens the draw string from his belt of the small pouch and squeezes some into his mouth. This keeps him quiet for a short time as he enjoys the rich flavour. Never relaxing for a second he listens as his fellow tribesmen swear in the fashion of the times struggling to drag the animals over the uneven ground... but only 'Eudeyrn' dares to curse the gods.

"This will buy an army in Britannia for they want to see the slaughter of these invading Roman bastards as we do. Our hope is for one great victorious battle to cast them with help from the Gods off our lands."

He spits on the ground for emphasis as he regains his breath.

"We must find the right place... so help me."

Raising his sword aloft, filling with anger he shouts.

"I spit on the God's arses for this situation. I Eudeyrn do curse the Gods."

A fearful whisper can be heard passing between the warriors, as they exclaim their shock at such blaspheming at a time like this.

"Come on all you warriors..." He urges. "You fighters of men and beasts... you sons of Esus, we have much to do, for if we wait for the Gods, then I'm sure death will come first."
Trysan, who is Eudeyrn's best swordsman, lightens the situation a little as he says.

"We will bury it too deep for these tiny Romans to find, they will not be able to reach it with their little arms."

A joker, he is a formidable warrior at six feet two inches tall and as strong as an ox. It is well known that the Romans are a small race.

"These beasts are exhausted after that long crossing at low tide, let them drink in this stream before we cross, for we have further to go. Take water for yourselves, this may be the last chance," says Eudeyrn, for well aware is he that they are all tired out and still soaked in sea water after the crossing.

It is taking some time to move any distance over rough ground with many obstacles, the mules and their loads taking an hour to cover two miles. Before them can be seen a wisp of smoke rising up into the late afternoon sky, eventually revealing to them as they approach, a small thatched single room cottage of wattle and daub standing in the corner of a field.

An old man sees them coming from inside the hovel, but it is too late for him. Dirty and covered in a rag, slow with age, he tries to escape and rushes out straight into the thrusting sword of Eudeyrn. With a scream he falls to the ground, the sword deeply imbedded in his chest.

"Dam you."

Eudeyrn curses as he struggles to remove the bloodied sword from body of this hapless twitching man. With a savage twist and a pull it eventually comes free and the death throes cease...

***********

Writers notes.
Facts have emerged during my research to indicate, that in the first century BC Jersey was important as a staging post for trade between Gaul and Britannia.

Gaul = was the territory of over thirty Gallic tribes covering roughly the area of France and Belgium.
Britannia = the Roman name for modern day Britain.