Chapter 10

The air was cold, and Cato’s damp tunic clung to his skin. He also smelled like a latrine shared by an entire legion. The rope which bound him to the tree had rubbed his sides raw. They stung in the bitter coldness of the Brigantes forest.

“Wake up Roman dog.” Came a disdainful croak, followed by a hard kick into Cato’s ribs.

He looked his assailant in the eye and was shocked to find a boy, a sneer quickly disappearing from his youthful face. He dropped his gaze and stared at the tree where they’d tied Lingus. Cato stared passed the tree into the hazy depth of the woods. The entire forest was coated in mist. He couldn’t tell what hour of the day it was but knew that the sun was up above somewhere.

“I’ve been told to take you to be bathed.” The boy mumbled.

“Ahh,” Cato stated with mocked awe, still not looking at the boy. “I thank you for that courtesy.”