“Just going for a piss,” Grattius said disappearing into the dark as Lita went directly to the tent she was to share with Brenna that evening. Varro smiled at her and turned to their tent.
“Wait,” Brenna said to the centurion. “Is everything alright between us?” She asked.
He smiled, “Of course,” he said, knowing it wasn’t actually the truth, “we’re fine.”
“I hope so,” she moved closer looking around to make sure nobody was watching and took his hand, “I wish I was sleeping with you tonight, I miss you.”
He felt a warm rush glide through his body and his heart quicken, he looked down at her as she raised herself up onto her toes, her dark eyes getting closer and kissed him tenderly on the lips. He responded in kind feeling her warm soft lips against his own as he felt her tongue flick into his mouth.
“Right, now that’s out of the way, it’s time for some sleep,” Grattius disturbed the moment and they quickly moved apart, “pissed like a stallion then.” He said seeing Brenna and Varro, he pointed, “No farting and snoring tonight either Centurion, I need a good night’s sleep.”
Varro pursed his lips and glowered at the optio as he walked past them, threw the tent flap aside and vanished from sight.
“What do you mean they said no?” Caradoc asked the messenger who had returned from Mona.
“They said you can’t have the survivors, they’re to be sacrificed, all of them.” The man said. He was dirty from his ride and clearly fearful of relaying the message he had been told to give.
Caradoc turned to Ardwen, “Saddle the horses and gather as many men as you can quickly.”
“What do you intend to do cousin?” Ardwen asked.
Caradoc began walking towards where the horses were, “It’s time the druids were told that they can’t just kill when they like, who they like and for whatever reason they like.” Caradoc replied. “Those Romans can help us, their knowledge is essential, surely they can see that?”
“They want the favour of the gods Caradoc it’s always been this way.” Ardwen said.
Caradoc stopped, “And just where have the gods got us so far, remind me? Surrounded on all sides, pinned in from the north, east and the south, that’s where Ardwen. Will they suddenly find favour in us if they kill all those men and sweep all the legions into the sea? I don’t think they will, now do as I ask.”
Ardwen watched Caradoc walk away and turned to the messenger, “Very well cousin but I don’t think this is a good idea. Get some rest.” He said to the man who had brought the reply as he ran off to gather some warriors.
It took the best part of the rest of the day to get to the channel between the mainland and Mona and night time was approaching as the fifty riders slid from their mounts.
“We’ll cross at first light.” Caradoc said looking at the small boats on the shoreline. He could see light from fires on the large island as a cold breeze hit his face.
“Do you think this will achieve anything?” Ardwen asked. “They don’t take kindly to being told what to do.”
Caradoc removed a rug from his horse as it began to chew the grass at its feet and tied the reins to a branch. “Do you suppose I care what they think? Those men that ‘we’ captured can help us and if that means them living then I’m certain they will co-operate, surely that is more important than sacrificing them for nothing.”
Ardwen tied his own horse up as the warriors with them made their own preparations for an uncomfortable night on the water’s edge. “I’ll support you whatever they say Caradoc, but I don’t know if this is a good idea,” he turned and looked at Mona, “that place is very strange, sacred they say. They won’t take kindly to us turning up like this and that’s before you even say a word.”
Caradoc knelt down and unfurled his blanket, “I’ll bear that in mind.” He said and got down, covered himself and said no more.
In the morning he was woken by rain hitting his face, he pulled the blanket up over him and turned over, he lay there for a while thinking about the day ahead.
“Come on then,” He heard Ardwen say, “let’s get this over with.”
He rolled and sat up, “Get the men in the boats.” He said, a dark look on his face. It took a while to get all fifty warriors onto Mona, and they were greeted by a druid who mumbled something about this being an intrusion. After an argument about Caradoc and his men carrying weapons, which the druid lost, they marched inland. By midmorning they came to the first settlements as shocked faces met them. Ardwen guided them to the edge of what he called the Sacred Groves where a large group of druids were waiting for them. News of their arrival, it seemed, had gone before them, a druid dressed in a dark garb stepped forward.
“What is the meaning of this intrusion?” He asked his head partially covered with a hood. Caradoc looked at the man whom he estimated to be easily sixty plus years of age. His robe was full length obscuring his feet. He held his hands together at the front.
“I sent a messenger to get the Roman prisoners, you refused.” Caradoc said his voice harsh, he knew that the tribes revered these men and that he should ordinarily show them some respect, but he had decided to take a hard line with them.
“Those that still live, are to die,” the druid said, “you cannot change this, to do so would anger the gods.” He added opening his hands and putting them to the side of his body as if he were conversing with something unseen.
“Those men can help us against their legions, I want them released,” he stepped forward, “now.”
The druid smiled, “I’m afraid that’s quite impossible Caradoc.” The smile turned to a sneer, “Come, I will show you.”
Caradoc didn’t know what he meant and followed the druid as he turned with the others but kept his distance, his men behind him. Just as the rain stopped falling and the sun appeared through the clouds, they came to a small dip in the path they had been following, beyond he could make out the tops of trees.
“Not far now.” The druid said wearing the same sneer on his face. They entered the wood with silver trees and light branches and continued walking until a clearing came into view. Caradoc could see what appeared to be lined tree stumps ahead.
“All will become clear.” The druid said.
Entering the clearing Caradoc saw that there was a huge circle of neatly cut tree stumps with a stone block at the centre. The wood had outer and inner layers, too many to count, some were taller than others and then he saw that there were bodies slumped at the base of most.
“As you can see we have splayed the invaders and most are already dead, those that are not will soon be so. The others, well most were burnt to death as is our custom but splaying is like their habit of nailing a man to a cross.”
Caradoc didn’t want to know the answer to the question of what this meant but as he got closer, he saw for himself. The druids had cut into the prisoners along the back of their hands, up their arms and had peeled the flesh back to the shoulders. The men had then been tied by their own flesh to the wood facing outward, nails embedded into the dying skin to secure them. He felt bile rise in his mouth as his face contorted in disgust at the sight before him.
“It works quite well,” the druid continued, “the pain they endure is like nothing on earth and sometimes they survive for days.” He pointed, “This one for example.” He walked closer to a corpse his head slumped forward, skin white, strips of flesh tied to the rear, congealed blood formed around his mouth. “Lasted three whole days before he went, quite unusual but he was a very strong individual.” He looked at Caradoc and pushed back his hood, “So you see King Caradoc,” the sneer returned, “it is not possible for you to have them, they are all dead, to a man. Those who weren’t executed straight away were splayed after your messenger left.”