Borrowed Time

Prologue

(Edited 2/26/2018)

THE EVIL THAT MEN DO...

SPRING, 89 CE

Redbeard forced her into the middle of the fort. His fingers dug deep into her flesh as he held her by the arm. She fought him. Her little boy nestled up to her leg seeking comfort, his small hands gliding up her skin. She allowed herself to resist her husband for her son's sake. The baby grabbed hold of her skirt as he pulled his wooden horse behind him.

He clutched her face, coercing her to look at the naked man wearing a hood to cover his head, a feeble attempt to hide his identity.

Their little boy stood behind her, still clinging to her skirt, clutching his wooden horse in his hand.

Dread washed over her as she recognized the familiar tattoos inked on his arms and chest before the soldiers removed his hood.

"Athair!" Her body quivered as she screamed his name. As a Roman captive six years after the battle of Mons Graupius, she witnessed many times the terror to befall her father. The Romans murdered her younger brothers the day before. Red-beard forced her to observe the brutality perpetrated against her people, the Caledonii. He took pleasure in his wife's grief.

Her little boy sat on the ground next to her, tugging at her skirt, "Màthair, are you ok?"

The Commander arrived, his red cape flowing behind him as he walked; crimson as the blood he was about to shed. The soldiers removed the man's hood.

She tried to fight her husband's grasp; she needed to save her father. "Mercy, please, I beg of you, mercy!" She pleaded, her eyes locked on her father' face.

Their little boy listened in silence as the soldiers laughed at his mother.

She broke away from Redbeard's grasp and ran; he caught her by her hair, pulling her back to him. She cried out in pain as she stumbled back against Redbeard; her scalp burned as hair ripped away from her head. Their little boy sat, hugging his wooden horse to his chest; as he witnessed his father brutalize his mother.

Her father looked up at her; his stare met hers. He smiled at his daughter, showing no fear as the soldiers forced him to his knees.

"You are my heart." Her Athair mouthed to her. A soldier placed her Athair's chained hands on top of the bloodstained tree stump that had seen more than its fair share of Caledonii murders. In his time of torment, her father tried to comfort her.

"Your daughter's pleas for mercy are noted. I am a fair man. If you confess to being a conspirator against Rome and ask for forgiveness of this crime, I will spare your life," The Commander said, his lips twisting into a cruel smirk.

"Alba gu bràth!" Her father yelled as he spat into the Commander's face.

The Commander wiped the spit away, his face contorted into hatred.

"I sentence you to death, as an enemy of Rome." The Commander lifted his bloodstained ax above his head.

She tried to turn away, but Redbeard held her face, forcing her to witness her father's murder.

He made no sound as the Roman Commander cut off his hands, his crimson blood surging out into the dirt. His eyes remained locked with his daughter's eyes.

As the Commander kicked her father over to his back, tears trickled down her cheeks, landing in droplets on the ground. She made no sound as she gazed into her father's eyes. He lay in the dirt, bleeding, dying in prolonged agony.

Her husband laughed at her anguish, mocking her. Their little boy sat, silent; his gaze locked on his grandfather's face. His wooden horse fell to the ground.

***

Her resolve gone, she had no reason to live. Redbeard took her son away from her; robbing her of the only thing she had left. The little boy's cries for his mother echoed through the courtyard as his father led him away. She clutched her son's wooden horse in her hands, cradling the toy to her breast. As her son disappeared from her view, she collapsed to the ground in a heap in front of their doorway. She sobbed, as the hate built up inside of her.

She refused him that night, angering him. Redbeard beat her into submission; she lay on the bed, helpless, hopeless, and heartbroken.

He paraded her naked through the streets of the fort; he called her a whore as he offered her to everyone they passed. They carried her to the top of the rampart, forcing her on to the watchman's platform. They held her down, using her; stripping her of the little dignity she possessed. Redbeard sat back, a sick smile on his face as the men abused his wife. He chuckled aloud as she moaned in agony; cheering the men on as he rejoiced in her pain.

She lay half dead, no spirit left to fight, as her husband picked her up from the platform. He tossed her over the rampart into the ditch, nothing more than a sack of trash. He left her alone, dying and defenseless to rot.