Whenever he gave them an answer they didn’t seem to like he was burned with the sword, its tip heated in the flames of the fire. They had stripped his upper clothing off, the remains of which were now rags around his waist. Swollen hot welts could be seen easily from their hiding place as the Britons continued to question the boy, who in turn screamed in agony whenever the hot sword came close to his skin.
“I wish I had my bow,” Lucius whispered watching, eyes glaring. “I’d pierce that blue bastards eyeballs for him, see how he likes a bit of pain.”
Varro scowled as he watched, “Mm, that would be nice but I don’t think it would help that youngster there unless we killed all of them and with just two of us that isn’t going to happen.
“What could they want from a boy? How old would you say he is thirteen, fourteen maybe?” Lucius asked Varro.
“Something like that I should imagine.” A deafening scream shattered the otherwise peaceful night as the red hot sword once again pierced the boy’s skin, this time on his right shoulder. He collapsed onto the sandy surface by the river’s edge, his skin glistening with sweat.
The druid said something and two of the Britons picked the boy up and dragged him to the wooden cage. One opened the door as the other dragged his unconscious body up and spilled it into the wooden form. Chanting began from the druids and the assembled painted warriors as women emerged from their roundhouses carrying flaming torches. As they approached the men, they joined in with the chanting, it seemed to stir the boy as his head moved from side to side as if drunk and an arm was raised.
Varro and Lucius watched from their hiding place in the bushes at the side of the river, their eyes glinting in the reflection of the lit torches as wafts of burning kindling reached them now. As the boy stirred from his wooden prison, the women gathered sticks and brush and began piling them under the wooden man. The boy was fully conscious again now and began screaming for mercy. His behaviour and gestures were getting more frantic but the two Romans couldn’t hear him as his voice was drowned out by other chanting Britons.
“What in gods bones are they doing sir?” Lucius asked his commander, “Surely they’re not going to do what I think they are?”
Varro watched almost transfixed by the horror playing out before his eyes. “I wish we could do something Lucius but we would most likely end up in the same place if we intervened. There’s nothing we can do for him, all we can do in time, is ensure that it never happens again.”
As the brushwood grew under the confined boy his expression changed, his cries for mercy were exchanged for cries of anger. He was cursing his captures now and reaching through the wooden bars. He stopped at one point when his injured shoulder touched the wood and he grimaced. He leant back and began pulling at the wooden bars, jerking his head backwards with effort.
When the branches, sticks and brushwood had reached the actual base of the wooden man, the women withdrew and the chanting reached a crescendo and then abruptly stopped. The boy continued to shout and hurl what Varro concluded were insults at the people who were gathered around him but finally he stopped and was quiet. As an eerie silence enveloped the area the older druid spoke out, his harsh guttural language totally unrecognisable. He spoke for some time during which he pointed up at the sky and then down at the earth, to the trees and to the water flowing by in the river. At the end of his speech the silence took over once more as the priest bowed his head.
The boy began to fidget and move around the cage once again shouting towards the druid who pointed towards the base of the wooden man. The women walked forward with expressionless faces their eyes staring at the boy. He jumped up and began to pull at the wooden struts again, screaming and shouting, wild panic now apparent in his young voice.
The druid shouted another command and the women stopped, without another word they bent down and dropped their torches onto the gathered wood. The boy stopped stock still and looked down as initially nothing happened and the woman retreated. Then a wisp of smoke grew and was followed by another, the boy went berserk, trying to climb higher into the cage that had become his death pen. The gathered Britons did nothing except watch as the horrific drama played out before them.
“For the god’s sake sir, they’re burning the poor lad to death.” Lucius withdrew his sword.
“We can’t do anything Lucius put your fucking sword away that’s an order.” He emphasised the point glaring at Lucius as if to say, ‘one wrong move and you’ll regret it soldier’. His subordinate slammed his weapon back up to the hilt.
“Come on my friend, we don’t need to see this play out, the boys as good as dead already. I promise you though we’ll take vengeance on those animals, I swear it.”
As Varro led the way back to their tethered horses the boy’s screams began to fade and finally stopped. “Hopefully the smoke knocked him out before he could burn but they will pay for what they’ve done.”
Chapter Four
The next day the morning sun warmed Caratacus and his scouting party as they observed the invading force in the valley below. They were lying flat on the ground on their stomachs at the top of a rise hundreds of feet above the invaders.
“Either they are convinced of their invincibility or they’re as dumb as the swine we keep in our fields because if we get warriors here quickly, they’ll be stuck and we’ll push them back into the sea.”
He had come south to see for himself the army that he had been assured wouldn’t land on these shores.
“How many do you think are here brother?” He asked Togodumnus.
“In this group I would say ten thousand infantry, two thousand cavalry and about the same in those auxiliary units we observed last night. If we had brought all our men we could have defeated these vermin. It looks like they have divided their force into equal groups of three. We must find out where the other two columns have marched off to, spreading their filth over our lands.” Togodumnus replied.
We’ll deal with them later,” Caractus replied, “first we’ll crush what we see before us at the great second river. We’ll use her current and depth to drown these men and banish them from ours lands. Come we have plans to make.” He pushed himself up and without looking back walked to his horse.
Varro and his men had spent a restless night trying to keep the boy they had managed to rescue quiet. They had ridden towards the hills he had pointed towards the previous day and had tried to stop and rest and let the horses feed but it was to no avail. The boy had terror in his eyes and no amount of persuasion, albeit in a foreign tongue would calm him down. The men realised that he was probably thinking he was in for an equally vile end as his fellow Britons had tried to give him.
He obviously didn’t understand a word they were saying and as they rode on Varro had discussed every eventuality with his men about what to do with the boy. They had decided they would make every effort to return him to his tribe but if that in any way risked their mission he would be abandoned. Likewise if at the end of the day he was still with them and they hadn’t been successful he would be left to his fate.
After the third attempt to make camp during the night, they had given up and walked the horses slowly in single file. Lucius retold the story of the night’s events to the rest of the men, all of whom were equally horrified.
“Maybe he was from a different tribe and they were sacrificing the boys to appease their Gods.” Marcus said looking at Lucius.
“I don’t give a whores cunny Lucius. Nobody deserves to die like that especially an innocent child. These barbarians need to be taught a lesson, is it any wonder we’re here to bring them civilisation?” Lucius spat out the words.