Story #7 - Changing Times - Lee Dixon - 2,300 words

First Place!

"TIMBORINIUS"

The hoarse way in which his name had been screamed should have warned Timborinius that he was in trouble.

Timborinius stood 6 feet 3 inches tall. He was as broad as a chariot with muscles defined from years of warfare and nature. Once an imposing sight on the battlefield as he towered over most adversaries, especially the diminutive Romans, who were rarely higher than his chest. With his drooping blonde moustache waving in the wind, his shock of red hair limed back so as to not get in his eyes, his body circled by tattoos and scars in equal measure, the long sword of his ancestors held high above his head as he roared his warcry, more than one enemy had fled at the sight.

However, normally, this giant warrior amongst men would have ducked out another door at hearing this cry of his name, hoping to avoid another lambasting at the hands of his volatile wife, Cunovenda. He had killed over a hundred men in single combat, he had led a charge that had once broke the Roman lines in the misguided Tunnenrix Revolt, and yet he was the butt of jokes, behind his back of course, at the way in which he was bullied into subservience by his tiny wife, whose head was no higher than his navel.

"TIMBORINIUS!!!"

Slowly the words were filtered through his drink-addled brain and the jumble of syllables slowly began to take shape in his mind. Timborinius gently eased open one bloodshot brown eye, thick with sleep, and tried to make sense of what his senses were telling him. He was lying on his side, the aching pain that he could feel spreading through his body confirmed he had been here for some time, and he was completely naked on the hay strewn ground. He could feel a slight breeze passing down the length of his body causing him to shiver involuntary and he moved to lift his head for a clearer view of his surroundings. The smell of beer, sweat and hay were normal but as the stench of vomit invaded his senses Timborinius grimaced as he realised he had been sleeping in a thick pool of his own discharge, which had congealed in his hair and moustache and had dried over his face. His mouth felt that the inside of a dogs backside, his tongue was swollen and dry, and he noticed that a dull throbbing like a thousand Romans beating their shields had began to hammer inside his skull. With a groan Timbornius rolled himself slowly onto his back and raised one calloused and wide hand to his forehead. But it would not reach further than half way to his head and Timborinius looked down in confusion. He arm was fastened tightly by a thick leather rope to one of the timber posts that held up the roof of the Hall in which he was lay. However this confusion was quickly replaced by a greater sense of bewilderment when Timborinius caught sight of his manhood. Tree sap had been used to glue it into an erect position and it had been painted with blue woad into a grinning face with a thick head of hair and a strangely stiff nose. Like a flood the memories raced back and Timborinius found himself grinning broadly.

It had been a good night, with young Abronis getting married and the news that the Romans were to actually drop the tribal levy for the season. The warriors had gathered in the Kings Hall for a good drink, to toast each other, to toast 16 year old Abronis and the imminent loss of his virginity, and to simply get drunk. They had laughed as old Mercindubnus had gone blind with the drink and tried to beat a path outside but only ended up falling into the centre of the room and blacking out, pissing himself as he did so. They had fought when Abronis, ill used to heavy sessions, had knocked over a tray of roast boar into the lap of Cognumerix whose horn of beer had ended up on Abronis's head in return. That had been a good fight Timborinius remembered, ending up with three more unconscious and much hilarity.

"Ah, a Good night" he murmured to himself, before checking that no further damage had been done to his sword and two shields. Timborinius grimaced at the awkwardness of being restrained, 'the bastard sons of Romans' he thought as he tried to pull his tied wrist free of the binding. His memory was misted like a peat bog in summer and he had no recollection of how the night had ended or why he was the only one still in the hall, something confirmed by a quick glance around. It was obvious that he was the victim of the usual prank, 'probably Cognumerix' thought Timbornius, it usually was.

Timborinius gave up on the binding and let his head thud back onto the ground, and a sharp pain exploded across his forehead causing him to regret his hasty display of frustration. He tried to clear away the head-fog and collect some memory of the night's end, he could faintly recall standing in the centre of the Hall making some kind wager.but the exact meaning of the jumbled images escaped him and Timbornius could only shake his head, gently, thinking 'well, it had been a good night, Abronis would be a man after today.today..', Timborinius frowned as his memory struggled to beat a path through the headache to a level of awareness sufficient to enable structured thoughts".today.."

"TIMBONRINIUS"

Timborinus's eye widened in terror. "Shit"

The wide double doors at the head of the long hall were flung open and crashed against the walls on either side, causing a thin layer of dust to drift down from the ceiling and get caught in the light now pouring in from outside, millions of tiny specks drifting haphazardly through the air.

"shit" was all Timbronius could repeat. Venda hated his sessions with the men, but last night was for Abronis, her brother, and she could say nothing as Timbronius had led the warriors to the hall, Abronis carried high on his shoulders. But that was last night, and he had never returned back to his hut. Timbronius shuddered slightly as the figure of his wife stepped out of the light and went from being a shadowy haze to a clearly defined figure. She stood with legs shoulder length apart, her hands on her hips, her long blonde hair tied in two pony tails down the side of her oval face, posys and buttercups tied into the expertly woven hair. She was wearing her best blue dress, bought from a Greek trader two years earlier who swore it had been owned by the concubine of the Emperor. Her face was lightly coloured with some Roman make up, also bought from the Greek, although her normally petit and soft features were twisted in a look of unmitigated fury. Timbronius had to admit she looked beautiful and he smiled at the sight of his warrior-princess, burning with anger before him. "So you think it's funny do you!" The smile was instantly wiped off. Cognumerix stepped into view behind her, struggling to repress a wide grin behind his thick dark beard. "I told you Venda" he said in mock sadness, "we tried to calm him down but he wouldn't have it. He kept saying he was own man and could do as he pleased. He said if he wanted to stay out drinking then he would and that would be the end of it" Timbronius could just stare, wide eyed and dumbstruck in shock at his friend's comments so clearly engineered to get him into more trouble, and in anticipation of the tongue lashing he was to receive. Cunovenda, without moving her head, snapped back, "I know you and your lot Cognumerix, always leading him astray, spending more time in here playing jokes and drinking than at your hut. If you spent more time with Lernicca and the baby you might not have a son who wastes his days drinking and fighting" Cognumerix was still grinning behind her back, and he replied, "True Venda, he could become a farmer like the rest of them, wasting his days to pay the Imperial levy, or trapped under his wife's skirts maybe". He winked at Timbronius, whose eyes were so wide it seemed they must fall out and bounce on the ground, rolling to a stop at Cunovenda's sandaled feet, where they would be crushed in one swift step. Timbronius thought he was going to be sick as his stomach threw itself against his chest like a battering ram, its contents eager to spill out. He could feel the bile rising up in his throat and fought to keep it down, swallowing nervously as he watched his best friend and wife facing off in the doorway.

Cunovenda slowly turned her head and smiled sweetly at Cognumerix. "Do you want to see what a man under my skirts will do to another if I ask?"

Cognumerix returned her smile with a wide grin. Although smaller by two heads than Timbronius, Cognumerix was just as broad with great hairy forearms and hands that could crush a Roman helmet. "Now THAT would be worth a drink, eh Timbo?" Timberonius did not reply, his eyes were fixed on his wife whose outbursts were spontaneous and could come without warning. However, she was simply fixing Cognumerix with her patient stare, and in response he nodded at Timberonius, "See you tonight Timbo, you still have the second part of your wager to make up for!", and with that he grinned again, and turned away with a shrug.

Cunovenda strode forward into the Hall, "what wager?"

Timbronius smiled weakly as she neared, he could not remember anything about a wager but knew a denial would not be believed. Instead he hoped to appeal to her sense of injustice and instead of replying he twisted to show her his plight, a rueful look on his face as he sounded out her mood, "He doesn't mean it Venda, its just his way"

"Don't Venda me Timbronius. And don't defend him, look at what he did to you, him and your other so called friends."

"It was only a."

"Look at you, you big ox, laying in your own filth like an animal. Gernosovia's wife doesn't have to deal with sort of thing, he doesn't get himself...what is that" She was pointing at his crotch.

Timbronius followed her gaze and frowned, trying to clear his head enough to reply with something suitable, "Well, err.I don't know"

Cunovenda raised a single delicate eyebrow and gently shook her head. "Timbronius, is this all you and your friends can do, play practical jokes on each other? if your Father could see you now."

Timbronius stared in shame at the ground, his cheeks colouring. His Father had been a great warrior in a time when being a warrior still meant going to war for honour or some other more profitable reason. He would never have been found semi-consciousness after a session with his private parts having been subjected to a practical joke, although Timbronius reasoned you would also have not found him trembling before his wife. Then again Timbronius conceded, he hadn't been married to Cunovenda.

Cunovenda repressed a smile whilst he was looking away and squatted down beside the hulking form of her husband. She loved him dearly, and wanted nothing more than to tolerate his drinking sessions and desire to recapture and maintain his warrior past. But times had changed, there were no revolts or wars anymore. The Romans had occupied these lands for as long as anyone could remember, and only a hardy few were still hiding out living in isolated settlements and slowly being crippled by inbreeding. Even now the inevitability of Roman power could be seen in the vast wall being built just a few miles North, cutting the entire island in two. No, Cunovenda would not allow her husband to turn like so many other warriors desperate to recapture their "honourable" past at the bottom of a horn of beer. She would make him a farmer, he would till the land and they would trade goods. It was the only way, of that she was sure. But, for now, she had to tread carefully. Timbronius could be easily managed but she had to temper fury with understanding and, with a glance at his current predicament, she did not feel that humiliating him any further would achieve a great deal.

"Abronis will never forgive you if you aren't there as headsman at his wedding. More importantly he wouldn't ever forgive me."

In a single swift movement she flicked a small dagger from the folds of her dress and sliced through the leather bindings in a single movement.

"So you can get yourself cleaned up and get out there"

A few moments of resigned silence echoed through the Hall and Timbronius was aware for the first time of the sounds being made outside. Music was playing, people were singing and he could hear laughter and the playful cries of children.

He slowly eased his aching body up off the floor and towered over Cunovenda, who had also stood up and was staring up at him, her hands back on her hips and the dagger secreted away. He rubbed his wrist, marked red by the leather, and with a grin at his wife, who was watching him with a quizzically expectant look on her face, he gently eased his manhood down into its normal position.

"Don't think I've forgiven you though, we'll talk about last night later."

Once more, Timbronius looked sullenly at the ground.

Cunovenda hooked one delicate hand round her husbands elbow and gently pulled him towards the door.