The end of the axe pierced in his heart. The warmth of his blood filled his back. As the smoke from burning huts filled the air, he exhaled the last of his breath. He died proud. But if the gods would allow, he would cherish another opportunity at life. A warrior at heart, he tried his best to hold on.
The day came swiftly as the decision was made. He was a proud warrior who fought many battles. His tribe was a nameless tribe of the ancient Celtic warriors. Many of the Celtic warriors fought for ego and pride. They fought selfishly, with their own honour and legend to create. Not him. He saw beyond that.
In one battle, when he was still a young man of 20, he witnessed an entire squad of 20 000 Celtic warriors all die to 200 Roman soliders. When he saw this, he wanted to learn how it was possible. The desire to kill a million men with a tenth of them, sparked a new intrigue in him.
He decided to discuss his desires with the king of his tribe. His king, a man hung struck on tradition, shut him down. The king made it clear to him that the idea of an army among the tribes will not be entertained and that it will not be discussed again. So fierce was the king in his dismal, he blew out the council fire that was set in the royal home. The council fire is only doused over important matters, such as which virgin to sacrifice for a bountiful harvest.
The sharp decisiveness of the king to not entertain the idea struck him. It felt like being pierced by a dagger. The pain is sharp, intensified on the point of entry. Only when the adrenaline dies down does the pain spread in the body. He could not understand how the king did not see logic in the idea. If one man can kill 10 men, surely that must be logical? That is why Caesar called them barbarians. The king’s rejection of the idea, however, did not put him down.
He decided to discuss it with his uncle. His uncle being an advisor to the king, surely would get the idea through. His uncle was an old man of roughly 80 years of age. Like the respected and revered priests, his beard was long and white as the snow that fell outside. His uncle set and listened as he explained the military tactic. He told his uncle that for the past 4 months, he had taken a back seat to observe the Roman army attack. Little did he realise, this was his undoing.
His uncle told him that he would request an audience with the king to propose the idea once more. And indeed this was the case. 2 months later, the king granted him a band of 100 men. With this men, he would be called a general and he’s first assignment was to raid a village 33km north of theirs. He was excited. To celebrate this honour, he asked his wife to embroider colours of red and gold on a flag. These colours were to form a circle that enclosed a Celtic cross. Vines and roses weaved around the borders and cross of his newly created crest.
On a warm day in July, he gathered his men. The sun was setting as he looked at the task ahead. For 3 months he had taught the 100 men to fight as a team. 89 of the men were regular men who had never wielded a sword in their life. 8 of the men had never wielded a shield as they believed it was for cowards. Only 3 men believed in his vision. These 3 men dedicated their life to him. All the 100 men were promised boundless women and land if they partook in the experiment. The remaining 97 men dedicated their sword to him, but not their life.
As the sun set, he yelled at his men to charge for the village. Excitement filled his veins. He had been involved in a thousand battles before, both minor and major. As young as he was, he had killed more men than he had with him at that moment. But he was excited. Excited that he was leading men. Excited that he was introducing a new method of warfare that will revolutionise his country. Perhaps through this new method, they too would be great as Rome. The excitement filled his veins. He ran faster.
As they were approaching the village, he realised that it was deathly quiet. There were no children. There were no women. There were about 12 houses, built to create a semi circle around the entrance. But in any case, he was given an order to raid the village. The objective was to kill all men and seize all livestock. But there were none. Perhaps the village was that of merchants and farmers, he thought. He figured that when the villagers saw them march towards them, they ran away. This thought made him grin. An evil yet satisfying feeling made me clutch the hilt of his sword firmer. The feeling of pride and ego swelled in his heart.
As he and his men were approaching the last house, the first houses near the entrance caught fire. It was a violent and explosive fire. 53 men who had never held a sword panicked. They dropped their swords and ran back to the village. The remaining 36 of those who never held a sword, their fear was clearly visible. Their bodies were shaking with some already soiling themselves. He felt rage. How could they forget their training that easily he thought to himself. However, his ego was greater. His ego wanted to prove to his men that they will be victorious. And so he continued to march on.
Then suddenly he heard 1 of the 3 men who were fully loyal to him scream in pain. He quickly span around. The sound of his heart dropping on the floor echoed in the village. The 8 men who had tasted battle betrayed him. 2 of the 8 men held torches that burnt down the houses. 4 of the 8 men held daggers that they used to silently kill the remaining 36 men who never held a sword. The last 2 of the 8 men killed 1 of the 3 loyal men. The remaining 2 loyal men put up an honourable fight, but they were outnumbered. It was only him who remained.
He looked at his traitors with eyes that raged with a lust for blood. But the same eyes were clouded with tears of betrayal. His heart, however, rejoiced to see that only 8 men were able to kill so many men. Even though it was against his own people, but it proved to the king that indeed his idea was sound. As the thought eased his mind, one of the men lunged at him. However, experienced saved him and was able to slice his throat with a swift sidestep to the attacker's wild attack. He was going to die a hero.
After seeing this, the two men with the torches tried to rush him with the burning torches. The one torch brushed his cheek. He rolled over to land on his knees. The sword glistened against the flames of the torch. With a loud roar, he charged at the men. He knocked the first one with his shield. The blow was so intense that the man sked to a stack of hay. With the torch in his hand, the hay caught fire and his deafening screams were heard throughout the mountain top. I hope the king hears his failure, he thought to himself. The remaining men with the torch were in shock. But he knew battle, so he stood his ground. But it was too late. As he looked at the other man with the torch on his left, the young general had already pierced his sword through his heart. His sword protruded through the back.
5 of the 8 traitors stood in shock. They did not expect he would be so skillful. But they knew battle and they stood they stood their ground. He too knew battle and he too stood his ground. As he was pulling his sword from the men had just killed, he felt a sharp pain burst in his chest. It was a battle axe. So filled with rage, sadness, ego and pride, he was blinded by his own vocations. His focus was so intense on his traitors, he did not notice a man wearing a black cloak emerge from his right. Where he came from, he does not know. But it is this man who delivered his final blow.
His knees got weak and fell down. The man in the black cloak kicked him on his chest, making him fall on his back. The axe was still buried in his heart. As he looked up at the heavens, the smoke from the burning houses enclosed him. Perhaps the orange and red of the setting sun was a precursor of what to come. However it did not matter. For his idea had worked. A few men indeed killed many. He achieved his goal.
He died a general, a leader of men.
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