Under the Shadow of the Eagle

Part Three

—Get up —the voice of the druid suddenly woke up the warrior.

—Yes, mistress —he replied, doing his best not to let drowsiness be noticed in his words as he hurried to stand up.

—And stand completely still.

—Yes, mistress.

With a tense body and strained eyes, the man stood. He retained only his pants, plus the greenish war paint, scars, his long hair and beard, and the blindfold still on his forehead.

And the woman was gone.

They had slept every night outdoors, under a starry sky, for the whole of the last month. Thirty days had already passed since that moment when the warrior entered the druid's hut.

Waiting for her, he stayed there, straight as a spear and hard as an oak, while hours passed.

—You haven't moved —he heard the woman's voice, approaching him, before seeing her several meters away.

—No, mistress.

—It was not a question.

—Then you realized, mistress.

—I realize everything, warrior. If it weren't so, I wouldn't be worthy of your calling me mistress ... but I am.

—I understand, mistress.

—You are more and more convinced of that. Put on your blindfold.

—Right away, mistress —and before he finished speaking, the warrior had covered his eyes.

Several incalculable minutes passed until something pushed the man's knees from behind. Despite the dream he had just woken up from and the time he had not moved, more blows were needed to bring him to the ground, on his hands and knees.

—You resisted a lot —said the voice of the druid, from above.

—It was not my intention, mistress —replied the warrior from below, with his hands on the soil.

—I know —she continued, smiling invisibly.

And immediately the warrior felt something fall on his back, pushing him completely to the ground. Then he felt that same something coming to rest on him, going up his spine to his neck. When he felt something else fall on him, with controlled force, that which was rising was already in his head, pushing his face against the ground.

—The war paint can mark more than the enemy's blood —the woman spoke—. Did you know that?

—Yes, mistress, but only after I had experienced it.

—And did you know that mud can mark more than war paint?

Then that which was on his head pushed more than before. Although he didn't feel it on his back, the man did notice it between his hairs. The druid's toes were there, spreading out and coming together over his head and between his braids, while the other foot's toes balanced on his back.

—I didn't know, mistress —he answered.

—You will learn —she said, pushing the man's head harder against the ground—. Keep your mouth and nose open. Absorb what exists on the earth.

And so he did. The more force the woman put in stepping on him, the more mud came through his beard and moustache, the more wet earth entered his mouth and nose, and the more he felt every movement in his body. The grains of the earth, the path of insects and worms, the remains of fallen leaves, all of that he felt on his chest, while the druid's foot made itself felt on his back.

Although the weight was what the warrior would have expected for the woman's body, strong and firm, even if she looked thin, her strength increased with every second. He noticed his own body sinking very slowly into the earth, surrounded by mud and moisture, the same that covered his face.