After weeks of travelling, the grim convoy finally reached its destination. Contrary to the noiseless paths carved by different trading companies carriages and wagons through the forests and mountains; a beautiful Roman city on the path between the southern shores and The Empire's Capital. Compared to other Roman cities, this one would be considered smaller and less grandiose and imposing but the hopeless men held in chains it was quite an abnormal sight, a kind bless bestowed upon their wearied eyes that no one could tell what vicious or good fortune were to befall them in the next few hours. This city, nicknamed Ambito - Humilis in mockery by everyone including its own inhabitants since it neighbored the more famous and awe – inspiring Province of Aquileia, was deemed to be a vivid trading and entertainment center but failed at the intention with the continuous neglect and delay of its plans for progress leaving an aura of depression and lurking poverty concealed with a deceivingly lavish air surrounding the place. And indeed, for the light – seeking eyes of the foreign prisoners, the city seemed like a whole new world, and the Celtic spear - man and his friend were struck with the same feeling of awe and astonishment. Though nicknamed in mockery, the city was not in the least short of the basic structures of any Roman city, though less grand and beautiful; occupying the paved streets that differed in their smoothness and quality according to the area the wagons and litter carriages came from and to, were large buildings reflecting the sunlight against their stony structure with the same pride, carved with statues of warriors and gods, a display of power and a plea for protection to each house and establishment. The marble columns competed with the clouds, and the fountains breathed fresh water no less daring than the mouths of lions it came from yet no less serene and pure along the fresh air that danced in harmonized transparency with. Every aspect was regulated in a fantastic spectacular manner compared to two Celtics' humble villages. And then there was a giant temple residing on a mountain cleft, overseeing the entire city, and as if in a warm embrace, casting a divine aura of safeguarding upon the place and upon the people inhabiting it. At the first glance, it was a place to bewitch the eyes of an unaware stranger, but the convoy went on and took a detour, since the glamorous center where the government stood and the nobles resided was not its destination, the latter was where the merchants and traders gathered to appraise and pay their merchandise; silks, jewelries, weapons and humans alike. As the beguiling sceneries slowly faded to the distance, a dour shadow of emptiness, shallowness, and blandness hovered over everything. The humble buildings and the hastily and poorly sculptured statues along the people inhabiting and worshiping them were lacking the final touch to complete their purpose, left at a sense of loss leading to the final stages of indifference. It did not take long for the lancer to recognize this feeling for the strangers and inhabitants just like the carelessly paved streets seemed to lead to no destination, even the water drops coming out of the small fountains splattered aimlessly around in total contrast with the highly organized architecture of their peers at the city center. And soon the little astonishment he reluctantly harbored at the first sight of the city quickly withered in a foreboding sensation while Oscar gasped, still impressed, his eyes widening comically as if trying to gather the wide scenery on front of him into a small dot that fits his viewing spectrum, forgetting for instances the plight he was in. Compared to his village and his wattle cottage, the simple temple and scattered fields, this city looked like a piece of heaven, a true masterpiece of fine art.
The horses and carriages came to a sudden halt, waking the naïve boy from his daydreaming and stealing amazement as it faded faster that a burnt out candle at dark side of the city, the slave market. In a fearful reflex, Oscar tried to reach through his chains into Diarmuid's arm, seeking comfort more than courage. The lancer was frowning, he knew what fate awaited them, he was no strange to these occurrences for they as well had slave trading to his distaste. He personally would rather finish him enemy off on the battle ground than dragging him into this humiliation. It is the least a warrior deserves not matter who he was, a friend or an enemy. He wanted to reassure the frightened lad, but he had no guarantees other than a repetition of last time crazy escape attempt but the circumstances now were even more dangerous and hopeless. He could only pray that they would not be separated, although even for such a simple wish, he had no way to accomplish or bring true. He glanced bitterly at his two precious spears, taken away along other weapons, and bit his lips in irritation and frustration. It was as if a piece of his heart was being taken away. These spears that had slain countless foes, rescued numerous friends, and served many kings, ruthless yet merciful at the same time, resembling a gift from the gods, were treated no different than common swords and blades, stripped of their value that was now only measured in currency not valor.
The travelers dashed through the streets, hustling and shouting at the other carriages and pedestrian the same way the flamed their
horses back with their whips. To the surprise of the two Celtics and their partners in the upcoming unknown misery, the place they intended as their final stop was not that bad compared to the way they had to take to reach it. It was not as gloomy or ill – regarded. It was actually well decorated and organized, so it can attract the buyers. Red and purple veils of silk and satin dropped from the many various stands, each carrying proudly the name of shop along its the owner as if the latter was a chosen emperor. Upon the stages of the stands; many creatures stood in varying conditions and positions. Those were on the verge of dying, malnourished and whipped to their bones, those who were maculate and did not hesitate to show off their bare bodies endowed with the perfect amount of muscles and strength, to whom the watching ladies fanned their faces and winked without shame. Others were children through different stages of growth and ages; some beautiful for the sole purpose of decorating the palace they were destined to serve at, others ugly and skinny waiting their awaiting doom at the first difficult chore or hint of failure. The women, some naked like the fall's trees or graced with enough shreds of colorful patches of clothes, worn in a more alluring way than the denuded ones, drew different expressions on their faces. While the majority seemed clearly distraught, reaching the stage of wailing openly, the remaining ones, those who found this to be more tolerable than their previous worse circumstances, a chance to shine and attain some indulgence if they played the game right, smacked their lips and fluttered their eyelashes at the passersby temptingly. Their eyes' expression changing in a quick pace ranging from disdain to lustful admiration according to the man they fell upon; whether he looked ordinary and humble, or rich and noble.
An old man was waiting for the convoy while his servants were preparing the stall. A lengthy conversation took place between him and the convoy leader, which included a lot of explanation accompanied by a similar amount of pointing at each soul resting in the wooden prisons. Diarmuid was eyeing the two men trying to decipher what was going on. The old man's stare immediately darted to the handsome well – built dual wielder, analyzing his beautiful features along his lean yet sturdy body, captivated for seconds by the beauty mark beneath his eyes as if it was a charm to men and women alike. The lancer turned his face away with disdainful lips, but did not fail to capture the nod of refusal coming from the convoy's leader and the major disappointment caused by the last act on the old man's face. Meanwhile, after observing the new sceneries, Oscar's excitement diminished away, clutching more tightly to his companion's arm. Diarmuid looked at him softly, before he averted his gaze away again. The lancer wanted to afford the lad words of consolation and comfort, but he could not, he could deceive his friend no longer him no longer but as the doors to the carriages were opened and the merchandise ordered to step down and walk in a straight line for examination, the man finally reached to his younger's friend arm again, in an act of reassurance lacking any certainty and neither the notion nor the lack of confidence were wasted on Oscar.
To both worst nightmare, their fears were realized faster than they had anticipated. As soon as the slaves' got off the carriage, the few Roman soldiers that had been accompanying the merchandise separated Diarmuid from the others, and seized him.
"What is the meaning of this?"
The lancer exclaimed in quite good Latin, but the soldiers just ignored him as they attempted to drag him away from the entire market and take a completely different route. Oscar reached his hand to him in terror, Diarmuid went on protesting:
"Oscar! Damn soldiers, I will not let you…"
The lancer, ignored his wounds and delivered a strong elbow to
the stomach of the soldier holding him, Oscar tried to free himself as well but the hands that were grasping him were too strong for the little boy.
"You sure love to stir troubles and never learn!"
One of the soldiers, who had been fed up with the entire journey and the lancer attempts at retaliation, brought his sword's handle without mercy or consideration for the latter's injuries, a consideration that seemed to have stopped taking an important place in the soldier's orders once they had reached their destination, he brought the weapon's grip right at one Diarmuid's wounds, rendering him collapsed on the floor. Watching his angry face twist in agony, he remarked in mockery.
"What is waiting for is yet far more worse than this little playful hit!"
The lancer was dragged away, but he still tried to reach a hand to Oscar as he muttered his name, barely breathing without pain but the little boy's image quickly faded from his sight, as fear and despair were the last expressions of Oscar clawing at his mind.
Now Diarmuid understood why the soldiers prevented the traders from harming him, stating he did not belong to them.
He was a slave indeed, but not to be sold. He was already the property of that Roman general.