Chapter 16

Cato felt the bile rising in his throat as Arlan smeared what he hoped was livestock feces across Cato’s chest. Cato sat on the dirt floor of the tent in nothing but a pair of drenched pantaloons. Flaithri walked around him intentionally, waving around a mixture of dried herbs he’d set alight. The sent was strong and did not couple well with the substance weighing heavily on Cato’s chest.

“Is this necessary?” Cato asked.

Neither of the men responded. They were walking around him chanting under their breath. Cato couldn’t make out any of the words, so he sat and stared in silence. Finally, Flaithri stopped in front of him and handed him a wooden bowl.

“Drink and state your name,” Arlan whispered into his ear.

Cato took the bowl in his hands. The aroma pierced through the rest of the smells. It was spicy and sweet. He tipped his head back and poured the contents down his throat. It was warm on the tongue and had a smooth texture as it slid down into his gullet.