The silence continued, and a new figure in a black, hooded robe now limped into the light. This druid was a woman, and Lucius instantly saw that she bore a striking resemblance to the old woman that Vitalis had supposedly slain days ago. Could it possibly be her?
As she walked, she was aided by two others who held her arms deferentially, as if it was crucial that she be present at the ceremony. In fact, she seemed to be the one presiding over it.
“Silence while the sacred lady speaks!” One of the druid men said. He spoke in the common Celtic tongue. There was really no need for such an announcement since the crowd was already captivated by the old woman.
A young she-goat was brought to the druidess, still living. As the crowd watched, she produced a wicked looking dagger from the folds of her robes and proceeded to slit the throat of the animal. Then, with a fervency and viciousness not expected in one so frail, she tore the animal to shreds, allowing the bloody bones and flesh to fall away until only the beast’s liver remained in her slickened hands. This she held up as if it were a rare gem that had just fallen from the sky. She studied the slippery organ intently, turning it over in her hands several times. Finally, with arms outstretched, she spoke to the assembled Belgae.
“The threads of time have been woven and knotted,” she said, in that same haunting voice Lucius had heard outside the camp that day. “The spirits of oak and fire have spoken. They speak to you of the brave Atrebates, and you of the fearless Viromandui, and you of the valiant Nervii. They speak auspicious tidings of a coming victory, a victory that will be yours!”
At this, the crowd erupted in cheers and wild howling, and it took some time for the white-robed druids to silence them again so that the old woman could continue.
“The mighty will be brought low. Woe unto he who calls himself Caesar!” She said this in a sinister tone, pointing a trembling, bony finger at the prisoners.
Lucius could not see the face within her darkened hood, but he felt as though she was looking right at him.
“Your fortune tellers have told lies,” she continued. “Your line will vanish as a flash of lightning retreats across the sky. The sword is drawn and polished for your slaughter. It shall fall on your neck and that of your people. It shall not return to the sheath until you are utterly destroyed and your memory wiped from existence. The Roman people shall be as the slag that remains after smelting. They shall be plundered and scattered to the corners of the earth, a broken and soulless people. The spirits of oak and fire have spoken!”
The war chiefs burst into wild cheering again, the tumult even greater than before. Either the druids concluded they would not be able to get control of the crowd again, or the old woman was finished speaking, because she was escorted away and the remaining druids began to move in toward the prisoners.
“What the devil are they saying?” Drusus asked, panicking at the approach of the hooded figures. “Did you understand a word that hag said?”
Lucius did not answer. Instead, his eyes focused on a single face in the crowd that seemed to be staring at him. It was a woman’s face, round and perfect in the firelight. It carried the same striking beauty as it had when he saw it at the Nervii farm, on that rainy day, when Piso had tricked him into disobeying an order. It was the same blonde-haired maiden whom Piso had tried to rape, and whom Lucius had last seen retreating through the forest, stark naked. That she recognized him, there could be no doubt, and he fully expected her to join in the insults and castigation being thrown at them by the others. Strangely, she did not. Her face looked confused when she recognized him, and then concerned, and finally in a panic once the druids started to move in. She started clawing at the arm of a large-shouldered warrior, a bearded man with long braided hair who appeared old enough to be her father. She pleaded with the man for something, shooting desperate glances back at Lucius. The man appeared annoyed and slightly displeased with her, but this did not appear to dissuade her. But Lucius did not see how the argument ended, because the next moment she was hidden from view when the druid men hefted him and the other prisoners to their feet and began ushering them toward the wooden effigy.
“Oh, Jupiter help us!” Drusus exclaimed, as they were marched single file to the base of the structure. “I don’t want to die! Jupiter help me! I don’t belong here!”
The young recruit tried once to break away, but it was a feeble attempt, and the druids had no difficulty in knocking him over the head with a club and forcing his wobbly legs back into line. At the base of the structure, two druids waited with long daggers, with which they cut the prisoners bonds and directed them to climb up into a small opening in the statue’s belly, one at a time. When it was Drusus’s turn, his legs were too shaky to even surmount the pile of firewood, let alone climb up into the structure. This changed when one of the druids jabbed the point of the dagger, dangerously close to his genitals, and that got him climbing quickly, though he pleaded for mercy the whole way up.
Lucius was not about to be led like a sheep to the slaughter, and he had watched carefully as the druid priests cut the bonds of the men that had gone before him. They were careless, and obviously trusting in the other druids hovering nearby with the clubs to keep the prisoners in check, should one of them try anything. Lucius felt certain that once it was his turn, he could quickly wrench the dagger from the hands of the one on the left. That one was slight of build, and did not have a firm grip on his weapon. Lucius would take the dagger and kill as many of the white-robed bastards as he could before they clubbed him to death. Either way, it would be a better death than the one in store for anyone who went up into that statue.
As the small druid motioned for Lucius to turn around that he might cut his bands, Lucius obeyed meekly, but waited for the instant he felt the pressure on his wrists release. The dagger started to cut, but then stopped when another druid approached and said something to the man with the dagger. They were speaking too quickly for Lucius to make out any of it, but when they finished, he found himself being ushered away from the statue by two druids with clubs, while the small hatch in the statue was quickly nailed shut by the other priests, sealing the other prisoners inside.
“Lucius! Where are they taking you? Lucius!” Drusus’s voice shrieked from the statue’s belly. The small gaps in the hastily built structure allowed the victims trapped inside to clearly see what was going on around them. As a circle of druids holding burning torches began to converge on the stacks of wood at the base of the statue, the prisoners inside began to squirm and panic.
As the fires were started, and the screams of the trapped men rang in his ears, Lucius realized that he was being taken to the edge of the sacred circle. There, a grim-faced warrior waited for him. This was the same big man he had seen with the blonde woman only moments before. The warrior seemed none too pleased to see Lucius, but he did receive Lucius from the priests and quickly passed him back into the crowd to two other warriors who appeared to be waiting for him. Without much gentleness, they pulled him along through the crowd, practically dragging him, but also protecting him on both sides and parting the angry onlookers who tried to get punches and kicks in on Lucius. But the crowd soon lost interest in Lucius and turned its attention to the structure, which had been set alight now, and was quickly being consumed. The two warriors quickened their pace to take advantage of the lull, and did not allow Lucius to look back – not that he wanted to. As the flames lapped up into the belly of the statue the condemned men cried in terror, some of them invoking their ancestors, some their gods, and others cursing the Belgae with the foulest approbations they knew. Lucius had experienced many horrors in his years in Gaul, but the screams of those men chilled his very soul. He prayed that they would all meet a quick death, especially Drusus, whom he thought he could hear above the rest.