So much gratitude to Pilyarquitect, to Filosofieke, to Fan de Basil de Baker Street, who understands Asterix's character really well, and new reader Lonely Wolf, for all your encouraging words. And to CrazyBeaver, always.
The Gauls, who had gathered at the noise, remained standing there, their eyes wide with fear. Some were still sitting or reclining, roused from sleep; the first of the villagers to use the stream were already deep in exhausted slumber. Vitalstatistix felt hands clinging to his arm: Impedimenta was holding onto him tight. For a moment, he feared they would hear the sounds of an execution.
In some ways, what they heard was worse.
They first heard words. "Anything to say before we get started?"
"I have nothing to say... to cowards. Only a coward would... hit a bound man." Asterix's voice was weak, but perfectly clear, his words formal in the extreme. "You fear what I would do to you, were I free of my chains."
"Oh! Well, if you say so..." There was the rattling of chains. "There! Now you are unbound. Fight like a man!"
"I doubt you would... grant me a sword, Roman."
"Only where the sun doesn't shine!" The legionaries burst into laughter. "That's about enough of your babbling..." And there was the sound of a dull thud, and a grunt. It was followed by more thuds - muted, flesh striking flesh. After the first grunt, there was only the sound of heavy breathing; whose, they could not tell.
Vitalstatistix clenched his teeth, feeling the bard's hands dig into his shoulder convulsively with each sound of flesh on flesh. Some of the women were crying It made no sense! They should be relieved Asterix wasn't being killed! But the legionaries might kill him anyway... afterwards. Or he could die from the beating. Vitalstatistix winced, almost in pain himself. "I'll—" another blow— "make you scream yet—you—stubborn—pigheaded Gaul!"
In response, there was a choked murmur. A chill went through all of them at the realization that it was Asterix's voice. "There are two reasons…" a wet cough, "why I wouldn't… do that, Roman."
"Oh, pray enlighten us."
"One… I wouldn't give you the satisfaction. And two… If I must die, I'll… spare my friends… the sound of it."
"Oh, you'll wish you were dead." There was the sound of a blow, and a gasp, quickly cut off. "You'll—beg—for death—you'll—scream…" The Roman's words were punctuated with blows. Asterix's grunts were plainly audible. Vitalstatistix wanted to call out to the pigheaded idiot to cry out, damn it, give them their satisfaction already! But he knew Asterix never would. Still, the heavy breathing was punctuated with grunts and gasps. Finally, they heard a whimper. Now some of the men were crying, too.
There was a moment's silence. Vitalstatistix sent up a prayer of thanks that it was over. Then there was a mutter, "Hang on, Sebaceus, my blasted sandal's fallen off. Just let me find it and then I'll have a go at him."
Cacofonix suddenly burst into song. Thunder rumbled overhead.
"What are you doing, you—" Fulliautomatix whipped round to the bard, eyes wide with fear. He raised his hand to silence Cacofonix, but the bard had had the foresight to wrap his chains round a tree-root. The blacksmith fumbled with the metal links in the dark, cursing in frustration. "By all the gods! Somebody shut him UP!"
"O warriors, O warriors, now into battle proudly march!
O warriors, join hands and raise them in triumphal arch!"
"Shut up! Are you mad?!"
"Cacofonix! As chief, I order you to—"
Cacofonix kept right on singing. He couldn't stand it any longer. Whether or not his voice was appreciated by these Roman barbarians, it would at least wake the Inspector-General, and he would put a stop to this torture. Keeping the victims healthy for Caesar had worked once; maybe it would work again. He had no lyre, but he made up for it in raised voice. "O WARRIORS—"
"Shut UP! It's about time we got rid of you, you infernal nuisance, you thrice-damned—" A legionary lunged for him, sword drawn. Cacofonix swung out with his chain in a defensive move, the villagers next to him yelling and clamoring. The man fell on him at an angle, and there was a piercing pain in his right side.
"Cacofonix!" a male voice yelled. Chains clanged above him. Through the red pain that subsumed all his senses, he vaguely sensed it as strong arms caught him.
Above him, the Inspector General's voice was yelling. "WHAT'S ALL THIS?"
"Well, that is to say, Inspector-General, sir, we—"
"IT'S A GOOD THING THAT INFERNAL RACKET WOKE ME UP! AND WHAT DO I FIND?"
The pain in Cacofonix's side receded in the face of this insult. "Infernal… racket?" he gasped. True, he had meant to rouse the Inspector-General from his slumber – maybe he'd harbored some faint hope that he would actually enjoy his song of inspiration for warriors in battle – but he'd hardly expected such slurs. Barbarians, the lot of them. He slumped backwards in the arms that held him.
Meanwhile, the Inspector-General thundered on. "WHAT IN JUPITER'S NAME IS GOING ON HERE? What do you think Caesar would say if he found you taking liberties with his personal prisoners? Think he'd be pleased?"
"Well, sir, no, sir, that is to say, sir—"
"PUT HIM BACK! NOW! And bring these legionaries to my tent!"
As they moved off, the Inspector-General still yelling about discipline and the lions and the circus, Fulliautomatix ignored him. "Cacofonix," he whispered, hand pressed tight over the bleeding wound in the bard's side. There was noise and clamor about him, but Fulliautomatix had eyes only for the self-destructive idiot who'd brought this down on himself. "If anything happens to you," he muttered, "I'll kill you."
There were heavy footsteps, and in the darkness, figures approached. The same legionary who took Asterix was the one who brought him back. He threw him to the ground like a corpse, not bothering to chain him up. Many hands were there to catch him.
Vitalstatistix approached. Asterix was near death, but – by all the gods, please no – still conscious. The black tunic, already dusty from the earlier beating its owner had received, now hung in tatters, the gaps in the fabric revealing abraded and bloody skin, the imprint of feet almost completely covering Asterix's small torso. There were more dust-formed footprints on his blood-darkened trousers.
"His leg…" whispered someone.
The damnable bullies had not spared his shattered limb: there were footprints there too. One red trouser-leg was stretched to bursting, flesh so swollen it was as if the fabric was stuffed with something other than human. "O Asterix…" the chief muttered, kneeling heavily to his friend.
Asterix's split, puffy lips parted, clearly trying to speak. He couldn't. He tried again.
"Asterix! Take it easy, by all the gods!" The chief had seen men with less severe injuries dead already, and Vitalstatistix was terrified Asterix would expire as they looked on. How was he even breathing? His nose was bruised and dripping blood. He fought to inhale through cracked lungs, each breath accompanied by a frightening wheeze.
The villagers blinked as he smiled.
"Chief..." Asterix turned his head towards his chief by hearing alone, his eyes completely swollen shut. His voice was a rasp. "Here..."
And he opened his tightly clenched fist to reveal the key to their chains.
Vitalstatistix, struck dumb, bowed his head, taking the gift paid for in blood. "O Asterix," he choked, then could say no more. He concealed the prize in the palm of his hand as Impedimenta shuffled over, hampered by her fetters, to see what little she could do, and the village women clustered around Asterix as best their chains would allow. Vitalstatistix turned back to his village warrior. "Asterix." The thoughts in his head could not but find voice. "Asterix, this was—the price was too high."
"There is no price too high…" Asterix had to stop and gasp for air a moment, "…for… for liberty." Impedimenta patted the blood off his face with her petticoat. Mrs. Geriatrix knelt and placed his head in her lap. Her husband showed no sign of jealousy, instead standing solemn and silent next to his wife. "Listen… O Chief," Asterix went on.
"Save your strength, Asterix, for the love of all the gods."
"L—listen, O Chief. Find… our druid. The Romans will have him. P—probably in one of the fortified camps…" Overcome, Asterix choked. "He'll help you defend the…" His voice faded. "The village… When I'm gone."
"Asterix. Don't talk like that. You'll be with us, you'll help find him, and with one of his potions you'll be right as rain!" Vitalstatistix hated how hearty he sounded, but he couldn't – wouldn't – believe this was happening. Never. Not this way. Never.
Not far from where he was, the blacksmith and others were tending to the bard. Vitalstatistix didn't know how serious it was. He had let his men get hurt. Asterix was… was… He grimaced, holding back tears. He was a failure as a chief.
Asterix smiled – smiled to comfort him. "Yes, O Chief, I'll be fine." His eyes slipped closed. "But please… just find our druid."
"We will." Vitalstatistix clutched the key. "As soon as everyone's asleep. It'll be all right. You'll see…" The chief's words trailed off as Asterix's eyes closed and his head lolled to the side. "Asterix!"
"Sorry, O Chief… just need some shut-eye…"
Impedimenta patted Asterix's face again. "You take care of things," she said to her husband. "We'll take good care of him, don't worry."
Vitalstatistix clasped the key tight, and listened to the sounds of the Roman camp settling down. He tried it on his own wrist-irons, relieved when the lock clicked open silently. They couldn't afford a sound. He turned to the closest Gaul to him, who happened to be Geriatrix, and unlocked his chains as well. It had just hit him that they couldn't wait for long.
Vitalstatistix thought furiously as the Gauls closest to him undid their chains. Asterix was already unfettered; the next was of course the injured Cacofonix. The last two in the chief's group were Impedimenta and Fulliautomatix, who could barely be pried away from Cacofonix's side long enough to get unchained. Fulliautomatix was cradling the skinny bard in the crook of one arm, pressing a clean cloth tight to the bleeding wound in his side with the other. "Hold on, you nuisance," he muttered, voice rough. "Had to play hero, didn't you? I'm going to thump you for this when you're better, you know."
Cacofonix's head lolled against the blacksmith's apron, which he'd put back on at some point. The bard tried to speak, but his voice was just a raspy whisper. "Save your strength," Fulliautomatix shushed him. He settled him more comfortably in his arms and smoothed the tousled hair off his face. "Just hold on."
The key passed around, quietly, parents unchaining children, wives unchaining husbands. As they did, Vitalstatistix tried to plan their next move.
The Romans would soon realize the key was missing. The legionary wouldn't be rushing to report it missing when it was his fault for losing it – he'd first assume he'd dropped it while they were having their fun – but it wasn't just about getting a head start. Moving at night was always better than moving in the daytime. The Gauls had an advantage in that they knew the forest, and the Romans didn't. Most Romans were scared of anything that wasn't paved over. And as helpless and vulnerable as the villagers were, without potion they had to get as far away as they could.
Vitalstatistix didn't like to think what would happen afterwards.
Without the druid, without Obelix to defend them, without their cunning warrior, they wouldn't be able to return to the village. Such a large group, wandering through the forest, with women and children and old people, would be picked up – or picked off – by the Romans within hours. And if by some miracle they did get back to the village, there would be a cohort – four fortified camps, in fact – ready to chain them up and take them away again. And this time, even if… if Asterix did survive, he would be in no condition to work another miracle and get the key to their chains.
There were only two other options, neither of which was appealing. One was to split up, seek refuge in twos and threes and family groups, and attempt to assimilate into any town under Roman occupation. Blend in, and disappear. The village would be no more.
The second was to establish another village out here – wherever 'here' was – and hope they wouldn't be found, a vain hope at best.
Of course, the third option was the best. Find our druid. Getafix would make the potion and save them.
Maybe, maybe he would be able to save Asterix too.