"I didn't even have time to take a drop of magic potion," Asterix fumed in frustration as the legionaries led him out of Unpatriotix's house. He cast a few glances unobtrusively about him at the forest – he knew Obelix was out there, and he could really do with his help right about now – but apparently his friend had ventured deep into the woods to look for boars.
"Come on, Gaul! No dawdling!" Through the chains, Asterix felt what must have been the point of a spear prodding him on. He smoothed the lines of anger from his face, holding his head high as he walked along with the Roman garrison.
"Here's your reward: 100 sestertii," said the Centurion. With that, he tossed a sack of coins to a man hiding behind the bushes. Craning his neck, Asterix could just see the outline of a long nose with a large mole on it. Unpatriotix! Their generous host had betrayed them – for money! But we were guests in his house, sleeping in his bedroom – that goes against every rule of Gaulish hospitality... But Asterix's thoughts were cut short by the conversation that followed.
"What?" Unpatriotix complained. "But we said 200!"
"200 for two Gauls," the prefect retorted. "We only got one."
"What?! Only one?!"
Asterix couldn't help perking up at Unpatriotix's hysterical babbling. With any luck, once Obelix got back, he'd find out where Asterix had been taken. Unpatriotix would never stand up to Obelix, especially when he was angry. Yes, Asterix thought, cultivating an aloof expression and walking with a confident tread, all he had to do was wait for Obelix to show up. And meanwhile, he would show them how a Gaul could handle captivity.
Asterix didn't mind admitting it was a long walk back to the garrison town. True, he and all his fellow-villagers were used to walking for miles, but the chains were weighing him down, and he hadn't had any potion. To make matters worse, one of the big legionaries behind him kept pushing him down and laughing at his attempts to get up. It was difficult enough to keep his balance, and the first time Asterix had slowed down a little, the legionary had shoved him with his spear. The point couldn't penetrate the coils of heavy chain, but it did cause Asterix to topple over forwards; without the use of his arms and weighted down by at least fifty libras of metal on his body, he had no balance, and fell flat on his face in the dirt, to the loud laughter of the legionaries. "Not so indomitable now!" was the most polite of the taunts they threw at him.
He didn't listen to the other ones.
Asterix had tried to keep his dignity as he rose, but it wasn't easy. Arms pinned to his sides, upper body weighted down with heavy coils of iron, he found it an arduous and painful task, and had fallen back to the ground more than once. Amused by Asterix's awkward struggles to get to his feet, the legionary had kept repeating the practice throughout. Gritting his teeth, Asterix pretended not to mind, and held his head high as they walked past the sign reading "Divodurum." The Gauls who passed them by couldn't afford to see him hanging his head – the tour of Gaul was meant to inspire the other towns and villages, not demoralize them.
As the Romans marched him through the streets of the town, Asterix rolled his head on his neck to smudge away the sweat that had started to run down his face. Toutatis be praised, not too many people saw the procession as it headed towards the Roman barracks – he didn't really relish being stared at while being led along in chains, and he was getting tired.
The one or two Gauls he did see looked at him curiously, but, possibly intimidated by the legionaries, didn't stop to stare too long. For his part, Asterix put up a brave front, sticking out his chin and marching along with as much dignity as he could muster, as though being paraded through the streets in chains was nothing more than a minor inconvenience.
He allowed his shoulders to slump, just a bit, and huffed out a relieved breath when the great gates of the Roman barracks slammed shut behind him. Asterix's neck was beginning to ache from the proud posture, but he would be carried off to Hades before he showed weakness in front of these Romans.
As though summoned by his thought, the centurion commanding the garrison came up to face Asterix, looming over him triumphantly. "Well, well, how the mighty have fallen," he gloated. "What have you to say for yourself, Gaul?"
"Coward," Asterix said disdainfully. "You didn't have the courage to meet us in a fair fight, you attacked while we were asleep."
The centurion snorted. "Asleep. And your friend who was supposed to keep watch – he deserted you, didn't he? Left you to face the music."
Only a fool warns his enemy, and Asterix had no intention of letting the centurion know that Obelix wouldn't rest until he found him. He merely kept silent.
"Well, he was wise," the centurion continued, "because you are about to see what happens to those who defy the might of Rome."
Asterix raised an eyebrow, but remained otherwise impassive, although his blood ran cold. He knew of what the Romans had done, and still did, to many of his fellow-countrymen, and even to their own. He chilled at the thought that he might be crucified.
"Silent treatment, eh?" The centurion's lip curled in a sneer. "We'll have you singing soon enough." He turned to a legionary. "Fetch Mercilus, and have him bring the flagrum." Snapping his fingers, he called two more men over. "Unchain the prisoner and secure him to the whipping-post."
A chill of fear, carefully hidden, made Asterix's blood run cold. He had heard his parents tell of men who had died under the Roman flagrum, a scourge more terrible than anything antiquity had known. A slightly less horrific death than crucifixion, but a bad way to die.
Asterix kept perfectly still while a small Roman legionary approached with the key to his chains. He couldn't afford to wait for Obelix to turn up, not anymore. His only chance was to make a grab for the gourd of potion in his belt the moment the chains were loosened, possibly even underneath the chains, take a quick swig, and run for dear life. Speed was his only advantage, and…
"Hold it!" bellowed the centurion. "Strip him of weapons first. These Gauls are dangerous, and we're taking no chances."
Asterix forced himself to remain impassive as his sword was jerked from its sheath. Perhaps, perhaps they would think the gourd was just wine, and leave it.
"What about this, Centurion?" called the little legionary. Asterix held completely still as the man pulled the gourd of potion from his belt.
"Give it here," the centurion called.
In a moment Asterix saw it all, everything that would happen if the gourd were to fall into the Romans' hands: the centurion tasting the potion, acquiring superhuman strength, the village's secret discovered, Getafix kidnapped and tortured to make potion for the Romans… "It's poison," Asterix blurted.
With an undignified "Eek!", the little legionary dropped the gourd as though it would bite him. The stopper popped out, and the flexible gourd slowly flattened as the magical liquid glub-glubbed out onto the flagstones, to drain away in the spaces between.
"Poison, eh?" said the centurion. "Plotting to murder Caesar, are you? Low-down Gauls, no honour in you!"
Asterix forced himself to remain silent. He said not a word as the legionary unwound the chains from around him, while other legionaries surrounded him with spears, keeping him from making a run for it. I would not murder Caesar in cold blood: Caesar is a worthy opponent, unlike you, he thought, but did not say it, for words were useless now.
"Your punishment will be severe," the centurion gloated. "Mercilus, show the prisoner what is in store for him!"
A hulking legionary, bulging with muscle under his uniform, came round in front of Asterix, dangling a many-tailed whip. At the end of each knotted leather thong was a small, sharp piece of bone.
Asterix swallowed. He couldn't help it. He hoped his fear didn't show, but it must have, because the centurion laughed. "Not so cocky now, eh? Let's see if you'll be so quiet with your guts spilling out through your back!"
Forcing himself to lift his head high, Asterix kept his tread steady as the legionaries led him with their spears to a wooden post like the cut-off mainmast of a ship. He tried to keep his chin up as two big men grabbed his arms and thrust them through the manacles attached to the post. He remained impassive, not even flinching as someone inserted a sword through his tunic, ripping the fabric from top to bottom and exposing his back for the whip. But he had never felt so afraid, and so alone.
Asterix – unlike many of his fellow-villagers – was no fool. He liked a bit of fun and a punch-up as well as the next Gaul, but – again, unlike many of his fellow-villagers – he was well aware what he was getting into when he defied the Roman Empire. There was always a chance, when they went on one of their adventures, that they wouldn't come back, although Asterix always did his best to ensure that they stayed alive. And there had always been a chance, he thought as the cold metal clamped shut around his wrists, a slim chance, but a chance nonetheless, that one of their adventures would end up like this.
So be it. He would endure it, till Obelix came. And if his friend was too late? Well, Asterix would die like a Gaul, that was all, and try to do his village and his parents honour.
Mercilus was a good torturer, a good executioner. He was aware that he did the dirty work of the Roman Empire, but it was for his country, and if he didn't do it, somebody else had to. Still, there was something about this little Gaul that made him… uncomfortable. Part of it was the man's palpable dignity – he didn't cry or beg for mercy like many Mercilus had seen when faced with the flagrum – but part of it was how very easy it would be to accidentally kill this man, his small body so much more vulnerable than anyone else Mercilus had flogged. "Centurion, sir," he said respectfully, "permission to use a lighter whip."
The centurion fixed Mercilus with a stern eye. "You would show mercy to an enemy of the Empire? One who conspired to make fools of us, and murder Caesar into the bargain?"
"No, Centurion, sir. It is merely that – he seems not to have a very strong constitution, and if he were to—"
"Silence!" roared the superior officer. "You are to flog this man as you flog all condemned criminals, until I see fit to tell you to stop, and by Juno if you don't lay on the stripes to the best of your ability, you'll find yourself with the lions in the circus!"
Mercilus took in a deep breath through his nostrils. "Yes, sir." Well, at least he had tried…
With all his strength, Mercilus extended his arm as far out as it would go, and used the full power of his shoulder and back muscles to smash the whip into the bare back of the defenceless Gaul.
Asterix's body arched back of its own accord, and he gasped. He couldn't help it. The pain was horrific, beyond anything he could have imagined. Through the spikes of agony lancing through his back, he heard a faint echo of laughter, before the explosive WHACK of the second lash drove all thought from his brain. Asterix felt himself writhing, but he couldn't control it. He couldn't.
The whip fell again. With the third stroke of the flagrum, and the fourth, the pain became excruciating, inconceivable. How could he have thought he could maintain his dignity in the face of this? There was simply nothing to compare it to. He had never been hurt this much in his life. Everything was background noise, subsumed beneath the urgent, all-consuming hurt, the pain that told his body it could not take much more of this, that it would die if this was allowed to continue.
"How do you like the punishment for defying the might of Rome, Gaul? Not so defiant now, are you?"
For the life of him, Asterix couldn't muster a suitable retort. And yet… He thought of his parents, of his village, of the children, of Getafix, of all those weaker than he was, all those who depended on him. He opened his mouth to make some response.
Unbearable, insupportable pain arced through him as the many-tailed flagrum cut through his flesh like butter – and again, with another brutal blow that drove the air from his lungs, leaving him gasping for breath as the pain blistered its path through his entire body. A muscle in his shoulder started twitching involuntarily, small futile contractions. The torturer stood back, perhaps to gauge the effect his blows had had on his victim, and whatever the reason, Asterix was grateful for the respite. Blinking tears of pain from his eyes, Asterix gritted his teeth. He had to swallow, and it tasted like iron – it seemed he'd bitten his tongue, or his lips. "We'll fight you—till the day we die," he choked out.
The Roman centurion blinked. "That day might be today," he said. Out of the corner of his eye, he gestured to the legionary holding the whip.
Asterix saw a blur, and then – oh, Toutatis – such pain as he could never have imagined, he could feel his spine cracking, his flesh peeling off the bones – oh, please, please, stop the pain – he gasped as the knots in the flagrum embedded themselves into him and jerked out, ripping away chunks of flesh, tearing strips of skin along with them, sending lightning-bolts shooting through him as the blood splattered out. The torturer stepped back and wiped Asterix's blood off his face, but Asterix couldn't register the respite. Tears of pain welled in his eyes and slipped down his cheeks, and he knew it was shameful for a Gaul to show weakness before the Romans but he couldn't help it, it hurt so badly and he was dying and he wanted Obelix—
Yes. Please. He wanted Obelix, it hurt so much, so very much, and the man was beating him again, and his mouth opened in a silent scream but he forced himself not to cry out and he knew his body was writhing in a desperate attempt to squirm away from the agonizing blows, his limbs were all jerking now in uncontrollable muscle spasms, his hands fisting in the air, and he didn't know how long he could remain silent in the face of this, he couldn't take it he couldn't take it please please a Gaul doesn't scream— His head lashed from side to side as the punishment went on, please, please, please, they wouldn't do this if Obelix were here, please, Obelix, please, help me, no more no more no more—
He held back his cries for as long as he could, but in the end, he shrieked like the damned.