Road To The Moon [one-minute stories]

Swords of Freedom

The camp is quiet as the grave, all the men know what awaits us at the break of dawn. "There's no turning back now," Marcus mumbles as he lifts the flap of the main tent, basking in the warm candlelight which illuminates the linen tablecloth with an embrace the likes of which the goddess Hestia would envy.

There he was, at the head of the table. A golden crown lined with rabbits fur atop his head. His prominent beard fusing with his dark mane, framing the stern face of our leader. The leader of the Batavians, Julius Civilis. He who fights with the courage of the lion, unwavering, undefeated. Crowned by the camp's elder, Lupercus. Prophesied to bring the downfall of the Roman Empire by our prophetess, Veleda.

They both sit at Julius' side, each placing a hand on his sword, proving their loyalty by letting their blood dripped over the bronze hilt. The leaders of allied tribes drink the ale from the golden goblet, forging their bond of brotherhood as they align their swords with the new leader.

Candlelight danced across the blades, flashing across the scratches of previous battles, illuminating the space for forthcoming ones.

Marcus reaches for the goblet, ready to swallow all doubt and fear with the ale. Hoping it would make him forget all those years in captivity.

Julius' eyes lock with Marcus as if he had just spoken out loud. Amber eyes, filled with the fire of hope look down upon him. "After tomorrow, our swords will bear the blood that brings our freedom. They were forced with the flame of hope and wielded by the men whose fury burns like a thousand suns. We will never be slaves again."