The Tale of Temperance Dunn: Part III

Part three: Vixana

?Vixana passed through Darksom Woods, like a mist on the breeze; draining the life from Alice Lerwell had fatigued her. She would return to her lair on the moor for a while and let the fear and hate in Grace Palfrey infect others. Her cave was close now. There, amongst the granite tors and swollen fast-running streams, she would refresh herself, drawing power from the earth and sky as she had learnt to do all those centuries ago.

Vixana used the ancient magic and knowledge that fools such as Reverend Ridd had thought dark and evil; “Satan’s spawn!” he had called Vixana just as his skull had cracked like an eggshell on the stone cross he so revered; “Where wast thy God that day?” she sneered. That weak, pathetic young religion from far-off lands held no fears for her, it was powerless against the immeasurable forces that coursed through her and flowed from the very earth beneath her feet. The elemental power that had defeated death and given her power beyond the realms of mortals.

She barely remembered the young woman she had been when she had first seen the strange, invading foreigners in their metal and leather, sixteen centuries before…

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Spring 56 A.D.

?Young Vixana was a valued member of the Cornovii tribe, they were from a selection of tribes known as Celts. ?Her village was west of the great moor that separated them from the larger settlement at Caerwisc - known by Temperance Dunn as the city of Exeter.

?????????????? Vixana had always had talents that other people in the village neither had nor understood; she was a healer and shaman to those in need. It was she who seemed to bless the fields of the village with abundant crops and the animals with fine fleeces and meat that was sought after in trade by others. A kind, cheerful and popular young woman, many thought it only a matter of time until she was joined with the eldest son of the village chieftain. ?Most had forgotten the strange little girl found wandering on the edge of the moor ten winters ago and brought back to the village and made one of their own; it didn’t matter where Vixana had come from, she used her mystical connections with earth and sky to help the village and its people prosper and asked little in return.

One spring morning Vixana was leading some goats up onto the moor, she intended to trade with a small settlement that lay below one of the granite tors. It stood beside an ancient stone circle which she would also visit to connect with the deep power of the earth that was so strong around the granite of the moor.

?????????????? As Vixana crested a small rise she saw the settlement in the distance, it was burning! She forgot the goats and ran towards the flaming huts. People were running and screaming, and there amongst them were strange warriors, dressed in metal and leather, they were burning huts and attacking the people.

They must be the invaders who had come to Caerwisc the summer before. She had heard tales of their strange ways and cruelty, but never seen them until today.

These men were indeed the invaders, of which she had heard tales; they were Romans. They had occupied Caerwisc the previous year, 55 A.D., and made it their own, renaming it Isca Dumnoniorum. Now they were starting to head out towards their real target, the abundance of Tin and Copper in the land called Cornouia, home of the Cornovii, known as Cornwall in later centuries.

Vixana felt a rage growing deep inside her and with it the powers her people had never understood. She let out a primal howl, strong and echoing across the moor to the village. The leader of the Romans turned towards the terrifying sound, seeing a young woman outlined on a rise by thunderclouds, lightning flashes coming from within, that had appeared seemingly from nowhere! The Centurion directed his Legionnaires to cut down this woman, and they left the burning huts and villagers as they formed up and marched towards her. She stood her ground, arms beckoning them to try and take her! She would die this day scoffed the Centurion as he set out after his men.

What the Romans didn’t see as they strode towards Vixana was the bog, now shrouded in a low mist, directly in their path. As they moved forward the mist rose around them. They started to slow and lost sight of the woman. The Centurion stopped short of the mist enveloping his men. Suddenly there were cries from the mist, from his men, sinking into the peat bog that now trapped them. Calling out he told his men to head for his voice, but the mist, and its mistress, played with the sound and the men couldn’t find a way out. Sinking into the bog, the weight of their armour pulled them deeper until, after just a few short minutes the Centurion could hear no more cries coming from inside the now dissolving mist.

On the moor in front of the Centurion were a few scattered helmets and shields, but no legionnaires remained; all were drowned in the bog. On the rise stood the young woman staring down at him; the thunderclouds behind her melting away as the mist had done. Behind him he heard angry voices as the surviving villagers approached him, axes and knives in their hands. He ran for his horse, just reaching it and kicking it into a gallop before the villagers caught up with him. Across the moor echoed a cold, dry laugh mocking him as he escaped back towards Isca Dumnoniorum.

Vixanna looked calmly down from her position on the tor, the elemental powers still sparking within her. A group of villagers approached her and knelt before their saviour. She smiled and told them they should kneel before no one.

She joined the villagers as they returned to their destroyed homes and murdered families and friends. Vixana helped lay the dead to rest before inviting the survivors back to her village for food and shelter.

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Although never written down, the story of that day and what Vixana had done passed quickly amongst the local tribes. The place where she had stood as the Romans drowned was remembered through the centuries, and to this day, as Vixen Tor. The Romans would not forget what happened that day either, or let it stand unpunished.

When he returned to Isca Dumnoniorum, Centurion Paullus Antonius reported the strange woman who had enticed his men to their deaths to his superiors and requested permission to lead an army out to find her and punish these celts for daring to defy Rome.

The Centurion would not be leading any army though, that would fall to others. He had failed Rome and lost valuable men. That could not be ignored. He was executed for this weakness and his head was put on a pike outside his barracks to remind others that Rome didn’t accept failure! Rome didn’t accept defiance either, and Celts on the moor and beyond would suffer its wrath in the coming months for Vixana’s actions.

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By July Roman legionnaires had decimated the tribes on the moor, looking for the woman who had enticed their brothers in arms to their deaths. Though they tortured dozens no one gave up a name or place to find her – simply because although most had heard the story, the name and home of this women were as much a mystery to most of them as they were to the Romans.

?????????????? One bright morning as Romans marched off the moor heading west into the region known as Cornouia, scouts found a village as yet untouched by the Romans. On a hillside close by a young woman watched them approach and prepared to call on elemental forces to drive them back. Unknowingly, the scouts had found Vixana’s village, and she was watching.

?????????????? The village Chieftain met with his own scouts, who had seen the approaching Roman warriors and their scouts. They had been ready for weeks keeping a close eye on all approaches to the village. The warriors gathered their weapons and painted their faces confident that with Vixana’s powers on their side, they would slaughter these foreign invaders.

?????????????? Vixana now joined her Chieftain at the head of the warriors as they left the village to face the Romans, but the Romans were ready for them.

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As the Cornovii warriors poured out of their village, the Romans ahead of them formed a tight group behind their shields and waited. Vixana drew on the power of the earth and sky. A mighty thunderhead of clouds bubbled in the sky, and a low mist rolled across the ground around the village. The shield wall waited, their commander barking orders to his well-drilled men.

?????????????? Vixana stood before her warriors, raised a clenched hand above her head and prepared to unleash her primal howl and strike down these invaders with the power of earth and sky.

?????????????? A rushing sound filled the air and a wave of Roman arrows rained down on the Cornovii horde, the Chieftain fell to the ground his throat pierced right through. Stunned Vixana looked down at him as an arrow glanced off her temple and sent her spinning unconscious to the ground. The Cornovii panicked, those not already felled or wounded by the arrows broke and ran.

?????????????? The battle, such as it was, was over in minutes; the Roman troops slaughtered those who stood to fight them, and the cavalry pursued and cut down the runners. Not a single drop of Roman blood was spilt.

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The villages were all executed, throats cut or run through with a sword. As Vixana woke the smell of burning and death was all around her. She found she couldn’t move. Her feet and hands were bound to a wooden cross that lay on the ground. A sneering roman stood over her, a long iron nail in one hand a mallet in the other. Screams filled the air as the remaining warriors were nailed to wooden posts and crosses around her.

?????????????? The Roman kicked her in the ribs to get her attention, first brandishing the nail in front of her face before he bent and placed it on her hand, hammering it through and into the wood. Vixana felt pain like never before and screamed as he put more nails into her other hand and through her ankles.? Legionnaires gathered and raised the cross upright, dropping it into a prepared post hole. Another wave of pain surged through Vixana, but she forced herself to with hold the scream this time. Before her stood the assembled Roman soldiers, jeering as she and the Cornovii warriors were raised on the crosses.

?????????????? Behind the Romans, her village was burning. Vixana drew on every ounce of will and hatred that was surging through her now, drawing on the power of the earth and sky. Fuelled by pure hate she was stronger than ever before, and again the clouds bubbled in the sky behind her; the Romans stood back, fearful and amazed at the sight. Taking her last human breath, she let out her deadly primal scream, the flames of her burning home reflected in her hate-filled eyes.

Lightning forked from the clouds above her and danced amongst the assembled Romans, some shuddered as the electricity flowed through them, others burst instantly into pillars of fire. One Man with a Javelin took aim and threw his weapon at Vixana, piercing her chest, but it was too late, lightning turned him into a smoking heap of flesh on the ground.

Vixana’s head dropped, the scream ended as did her mortal life. Blood ran down from her tortured body, down the cross and into the earth. Vixana’s eyes flickered open, flames still dancing in them. She was standing behind the dead Romans, looking up at her body and those of her fellow warriors hanging on the wooden crosses. She felt no pain anymore, she felt nothing at all, except hatred.

She was invulnerable now, part of the immortal and elemental forces that flowed from earth and sky. She pulled up the hood of her black robe, just her flaming eyes flickering in its shadow. One last look at those crosses, a symbol she despised now, and would again in centuries to come when a new religion came to these lands, its followers carrying crosses before them. She melted into the mist and retreated to the granite tors on the moor. Sixteen long centuries would pass before she set her sights on the good people of Clyst Tavy and their wise woman, Temperance Dunn.

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