Artorius and Praxus knew exactly why their centurion asked for timber, even though he had given no specific instructions. Their gut instincts told them the truth.
“Oh, you are so evil!” Camillus said with a cruel smirk after Macro had revealed his plan.
Flaccus frowned and nodded. “If that doesn’t serve as a warning, nothing will.”. Groans could be heard coming from the wounded as they lay broken and bleeding.
“Please…mercy. Our wounded…” one barbarian said in broken Latin.
The prisoners were on their knees, their feet and hands bound.
One of the guards walked over to the man and kicked him viciously in the back of the head. “How about that for mercy?” he spat.
“Enough!” Macro barked. He then turned to his signifier. “Camillus, take a couple of men and show some mercy.”
“You’ve got it, Macro,” he replied grimly, drawing his gladius.
The cries of the wounded were cut short with efficient slashes and stabs. Camillus and a pair of legionaries could be seen walking amongst the fallen barbarians, finishing off any who were still alive. This elicited further cries of anguish from their fellows. One was cursing violently in his native tongue. The words struck a chord with Macro, who abruptly turned and faced the man. He strode quickly to the prisoner and kicked him in the face, speaking to the man in his tongue. None of the legionaries understood the words their centurion spat, though they knew they must have been brutal, given the barbarian’s fearful reaction to them.
“Hey, how many of these prisoners do we need to fix up?” Artorius asked, walking up.
“Optio Flaccus?” Macro asked over his shoulder.
“Eighteen, sir. We counted another thirty-five among their dead. The rest ran off into the night.”
Macro nodded and turned to Artorius, who nodded in turn and went back to his task. The decanus returned to his section to find them standing over the body of a slain barbarian.
“What is it?” he asked, confused by the somber faces of his men.
“Seems we found a friend of yours,” Valens replied in a low voice.
Artorius looked down and felt his stomach turn at the sight of the young boy who had attacked him in the village, a javelin burrowed into his chest, pinning him to the ground. The soft metal shaft was bent, the weight ripping open the boy’s ribcage. The lad was covered in blood; a copious amount of which he had vomited over himself as he had struggled in the throes of death. Artorius closed his eyes and shook his head. Magnus smacked him on the shoulder with the back of his hand and pointed towards one of the prisoners.
“That one looks familiar too, doesn’t he?” he asked, an evil glint in his eye.
“That he does,” Artorius replied, his anger rising. “I’ve got something special in mind for him.”
As the sun dawned, the barbarian prisoners were horrified by what they saw. Eighteen crudely made crosses lay in a long line. A post hole was dug in front of each. A detail of soldiers stood ready to execute their grizzly task. Macro walked in front of the prisoners who lay prostrate on their stomachs and spoke to them in their own tongue.
“You vile scum deliberately violated the peace that has existed between our peoples for nearly four years. You have made open war on Rome, thereby imperiling your villages and your entire tribe. I do not believe that your actions had the authorization of your chiefs. If they had, surely they would have sent more than such a pathetic lot as you!” He spat on the ground in front of them to emphasize his point.
“Be cheerful that your families and loved ones will be spared from Rome’s wrath. You, however, shall not.” With that, he turned and nodded to Statorius, whose job it was to oversee the executions.
The tesserarius signaled to Artorius, Praxus, and Sergeant Rufio. All three brought their sections forward, each surrounding a prisoner.
“Hello, Thrax,” Artorius said icily.
The barbarian looked up at him in disgust.
“Remember me? Of course you do. I am the one who has haunted your dreams, the source of all of your hate. You should have died all those years ago like a man and a warrior. Instead, the death of a coward awaits you.”
“I piss on you, Roman dog,” Thrax replied in broken Latin.
Artorius replied with a sinister smile. They cut the cords binding Thrax to his fellow warriors and dragged him to his fate. Other prisoners continued to wail and beg for mercy. One thrashed about so much it provoked a guard into bringing the bottom of his shield down hard on the man’s neck.
“Just relax, you’re turn will come soon enough,” he said casually, as the German cried in sorrow.
Crucifixion was among the most languishing and agonizing means of execution. It involved hanging the condemned from an upright pole planted in the ground; his arms stretched out on a crossbeam. The ankles and wrists were then tied in place. Nails could be used, though this was extremely rare. The condemned would slowly suffocate as their overstretched lungs struggled to take in breath. Fatigue would set in, combined with severe dehydration. Death came slowly over a period of many hours, sometimes days.
Artorius’ hatred for the barbarians had lain dormant for the last several years. The attack the night before, and the sight of the slain child, brought it back to the surface. Thrax remained silent, though is breath was coming in rapid gasps. Once they reached the line of crucifixes, Artorius drew his gladius and smashed the prisoner across the face with the pommel.
Magnus held Thrax down as Artorius cut the bonds. Valens and Carbo each grabbed an arm, Gavius and Decimus taking the legs. The barbarian was a big man. However, he was helpless in the grip of six legionaries. He cried and moaned as he was tied to the cross and hauled to the hole that would hold it up. The hole had been dug right in the middle of a massive ant hill. Large black ants swarmed the ground in frenzy from having their lair disturbed so violently.
“We thought you could use some new friends,” Artorius sneered as soon as the cross was placed in the ground. With his gladius he made several vicious slashes across the warrior’s body.
The man moaned in pain, his eyes rolling into the back of his head as blood seeped from the wounds. He came alive as he was swarmed by the ants, who sought the exposed wounds with hunger and fury. Unholy screams came from the crucified prisoner as his flesh was bitten in a thousand different places.
Artorius glanced over to see Rufio and Praxus had gotten their prisoners up as well. All three sections went back to fetch their next lot, all the while ignoring the screams of despair and agony coming from the crucified and the soon to be crucified.
Camillus stood to the side, looking at the sign he had completed. Though it seemed like a good idea at the time, writing a sign in blood was no easy task. It had been rather messy and the signifier was constantly wiping his hands on a cloth that he had stuffed into his belt.
“Think any of those uneducated bastards can even read?” he asked Macro and Flaccus, both of whom were watching the crucifixions.
“I’m sure there’s somebody amongst the village elders who can read,” Macro replied.
“Well, I hope so. You know I hate getting all messy for nothing,” Camillus fussed as he carried the sign over to the crucifixion line. In front of the line of wailing and groaning men, he hammered the sign into the ground.
In large letters, it gave a stern warning to add to the grotesque scene that would greet those who came in search of their missing warriors.
Next time, it will be your women and children
Artorius stood back and gazed at the spectacle as another section took over for his. In all, they crucified five of the prisoners. Each had been an ordeal. All had fought and struggled, even more so after they saw their companion being tortured by the swarm of ants that devoured him. By the time they finished with their last prisoner, all were breathing hard and drenched in sweat.