In the forest outside Divodurum, a pair of nightbirds cried, stopping in their circling to observe the two human figures below. Soon losing interest, they flitted off for the rich hunt of crickets and other insects that awaited them.
Beatnix stole glances at the big man as he led the pair to his hut. He had to take deep breaths of the night-blooming chanterelles to calm himself, for what he saw shocked him more than he had thought possible. The smaller man had been horribly flogged. The Romans, of course. It was not the first time Beatnix had seen such marks, though not on anyone living. And yet, it was not the bleeding man's pain that rocked him back, but the terrible grief that shrouded his big friend like a mist, swamping even the love that bound the pair. Beatnix knew that if he did not succeed in saving the small Gaul, it was not one but two lives that would be lost.
For his part, as the light from the hut brightened with proximity and made everything clearer, Obelix was staring more and more openly at this man, who didn't look like any druid Obelix had seen before. He wore a long druid's tunic, it was true, but it was multicolored, stained with every floral dye the forest had to offer. Strings of flowers hung about his neck and decorated the crown of his head. His long brown hair was braided long over his shoulders, twined with flowers of myriad hues and descriptions. Here and there, a live butterfly rested on his head. And, unlike every druid Obelix had ever seen, he wore no beard, but a good Gaulish mustache such as Obelix himself wore.
Obelix didn't think he looked much like a druid. But it was dark now, and he had no choice anymore. Still, he vowed, if this man so much as looked at Asterix wrong, druid or no druid, he'd soon make the acquaintance of Obelix's fist.
The two men finally reached the hut. Beatnix pushed the door open and led the two strangers into the warmth. "Place him here," he motioned to the big man, indicating his own narrow bed, close by the fire. He crossed over to his medicinal pantry, using the moment to compose himself. The emotions coming from this pair were almost overpowering in the enclosed space, but there was no question of not letting them stay. So he dealt with the pain as best he could, taking comfort in the affection emanating from the big man as he tenderly laid his friend face-down on the bed, more lovingly than a mother with a newborn.
Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Beatnix loaded up his arms with salves and supplies and turned towards them, taking a few steps across the room to where the big man was kneeling by his friend's bedside…
…and stopped in his tracks.
In the light, he saw what he had not seen before: it was hopeless.
The big man's breeches were soaked with blood, gobletfuls of it. More blood glistened sticky on his arm where he had been carrying his friend. Beatnix wondered that the little body on the bed still had any blood left in it. The poor man had lost so much, and still his torn back welled sluggishly with red, slower now than it must have been before. Here and there, bone glinted horribly where the terrible flagrum had clawed through the muscle. And still, the man's chest moved – breathing, but barely. He was so small – what was the indomitable will that kept him alive, when Beatnix had seen larger and stronger men perish under the lash? Beatnix stood, gazing at him, overcome with sorrow. It was too late. The man would be dead by morning.
The friend's stricken eyes rose to meet Beatnix's. Slowly, Beatnix shook his head.
"No," the big man whispered, his voice ragged. It was clear that the grief would explode into violence soon.
Beatnix tried to speak soothingly. "He is too badly hurt…"
"NO!" With a speed Beatnix would not have credited in someone of that bulk, the big man had already risen and grabbed him by the front of his tunic.
"I'm s…" Beatnix felt strangely calm as Obelix shook him. He didn't pretend to be a hero, and he was as alarmed by threats of physical violence as the next Gaul, but it was the proximity of the man's agony that shook him to his core. So this is what it is to witness a soul torn asunder.
"DO SOMETHING!" the big man roared like a wounded beast, and instead of hitting him, let go of Beatnix as though he weighed no more than a doll. Probably the Gaulish taboos against hitting a druid, Beatnix thought as he fell to the floor in an undignified heap. He looked up, in time to see the large Gaul turn and punch the wall with all his strength.
A giant stone, perhaps four cubits square, crumbled under the man's fist as though it were made out of sand. Several smaller stones above it came loose and showered down in a cloud of dust. As the Gaul collapsed, weeping, beneath the hole in the wall, Beatnix thanked Belenos that the rock had been adjacent to a window, else the Gaul's superhuman strength would have brought the whole adjoining wall down and probably the rest of the hut with it.
Wait a minute.
Superhuman strength… Hut falling down… sky falling down… a village who feared nothing but the sky falling on their heads… a big fat man and a little man… the bet, the bet that even Beatnix in his remote forest hut had heard of…
"You are from the Armorican village that still holds out against the invaders," Beatnix breathed, his heart pounding.
The big man blinked. "How did you know that?"
Surprised at his own fearlessness, Beatnix found himself grabbing the man by the front of his breeches and shaking him, as much as was possible to shake someone of his mass. "The magic potion, man! There isn't a druid in Gaul who doesn't know of the magic powers of your druid, Getafix! With your strength, you must be on the potion!"
When the man still blinked helplessly, Beatnix forced himself to quiet his tone. "The potion won't close your friend's wounds," he said, more slowly, "but it can give him the strength to survive them. Give his body the chance to remake some of the blood he has lost. Quick," he couldn't keep the excitement out of his voice, "give me the potion, man! Your friend's life depends upon it!"
He didn't expect the man to burst into fresh tears, sobbing as though his heart would break.
It took a while, but Beatnix managed to piece together the story between Obelix's sobs. How Obelix – for that was the fat man's name – how Obelix had fallen into the magic potion as a little boy and his consequent superhuman strength, their current adventure, and his friend Asterix's misfortune in spilling his gourd. "Let me see it," Beatnix said, hushed.
At the sight of the flat, dismal little gourd, Beatnix's heart sank. "Three-fourths of a cup at most," he murmured, looking at the gourd. He looked from it to the small figure lying on the bed, the tortured heart already slowing its labored pumping, eager for its eternal rest. But then he looked up, seeing the misery in the big man's face. He took a deep breath, and made a decision. "We can but try."
Obelix knelt by Asterix, goblet of diluted potion clutched tight in his shaking hand. Beatnix had poured water into the gourd again and again, swishing it around and around, to gather up even the minutest drops of the magical concoction, dilute them into a drink that might save Asterix's life. "Asterix," he said softly. "Asterix, wake up. Potion's ready!"
There was no response, of course. Obelix felt cold take over his body as he shook Asterix gently. "Asterix," he said, repeating his friend's name over and over.
Beatnix looked up from the water he was boiling, seeing the big Gaul bending over his friend and getting no response. "Turn him on his side and lift him up," he snapped, reaching a decision.
"He's not waking up…" Panicked eyes rose to meet Beatnix's.
"I can see that. Do it, now."
The druid crossed over to the pair as Obelix sat down on the pallet-bed and pulled Asterix upwards, intending, it appeared, to rest his friend's head on his knee. His belly made it awkward, though, and so he pulled Asterix a little higher, until the small man ended up in much the position he had been in before, lying nearly vertical with his side pressed against his larger friend. "That's good enough," said Beatnix. "Give me the potion."
Obelix handed over the goblet. "Here you are," he said, voice unsteady.
"Thank you." Beatnix reached out and pinched the unconscious man's nose shut.
Obelix's eyes snapped up to him, outraged, as Asterix shuddered, flailed, and finally opened his mouth, gasping for air. It was clear that only the fact that he had an armful of his friend was stopping Obelix from punching Beatnix in the nose. "What do you think you're—"
"Everything I do from here onwards," Beatnix intoned sternly, "is going to hurt him. Cleaning the wounds will cause pain, dressing the wounds is going to cause pain. If you will not let me do what must be done, you can let him die. You're strong, you can certainly stop me. Choose, but choose now."
Obelix blinked. "You mean… the only way to save his life is to hurt him?"
"Yes," Beatnix said, not without sympathy.
"And… you can't help him without… without hurting him?"
"No. His wounds are too great." He added, "I wish it were possible," as an afterthought.
The big man's eyes closed, and he nodded, swallowing.
There was no time to waste. Beatnix ignored Obelix's tears and the waves of pain still coming off the two men, and poured the potion-laced water down Asterix's mouth. The unconscious man choked and spluttered in instinctive reaction, but Beatnix pressed his lips tight shut with both hands, unwilling to let a drop of the precious liquid escape. He found himself holding his breath, even as he struggled. If the man was too far gone, if he choked instead of swallowing, this was the end. Obelix would probably kill him, Beatnix reflected, so he wouldn't have time to regret it, but still…
"Asterix?" Obelix whispered. Beatnix jerked. In the time he'd been playing 'what-if', Asterix had swallowed the potion. There was a slight hint of color in his cheeks, and his breathing grew harsher, as if he was waking up.
Quickly, Beatnix dribbled a little more into the man's mouth, and this time there was no hesitation – he saw the Adam's apple moving as Asterix drank. "O Belisama, thank you," he said reverently, and placed the goblet to the patient's lips, letting him drink hungrily. When half of it was gone, he set it aside.
"Aren't you going to give him the rest of it?" Obelix asked, never taking his eyes off his friend.
"He'll need it when I'm done," Beatnix said regretfully. He scrutinized the patient. His color was definitely better, and his head was starting to move slightly against his friend's body. That would have to do.
The druid looked sternly at Obelix. "I'm going to clean his wounds. It's going to hurt. You have superhuman strength. If you tighten your grip on him, you might kill him. Only stay if you can control yourself."
Red-rimmed eyes blinked, and the big Gaul nodded.
Crossing the room, Beatnix retrieved a pan of water previously boiled. He had thought of using a cloth, but that would only cause more pain. Best to flush it all out. "Carry him to the doorstep," he instructed Obelix. No sense laying the man down in a dirty, soaked bed later.
As soon as the door opened, Beatnix felt freer; he had not realized how draining the two men's combined pain had been to him in such a small space. However, now was not the time to focus on himself. Still carrying the pan, he guided Obelix to the rainwater drain, then poured the water over his friend's blood-soaked back.
The reaction was instantaneous. Asterix shuddered, hands clenching into fists, head arching back. Obelix's arms started to tighten, but at a murderous glance from Beatnix, he consciously relaxed his muscles, only his hands fisting harmlessly, away from his friend. Beatnix poured more water, hoping to sluice away the congealing and dried blood without having to touch the tattered strips of shredded skin or the glistening-raw, flayed flesh at all… although Belenos knew the whips of the Romans weren't exactly free of contaminants…
He started as Asterix jerked and gasped, his eyes opening. "Asterix!" Obelix burst out.
But Obelix's joyous expression faded as he heard the agony in his friend's voice. "Can't – mustn't –"
"Ssh, Asterix," Obelix crooned. Beatnix would not have believed that such a gentle tone could come from the big warrior. Obelix pressed his cheek gently against Asterix's, and Beatnix felt an odd wave of warmth. "You're safe now, ssh."
But Asterix was still trapped in the torment of his mind. "…honor – of Gaul…" The blue eyes closed again, tears escaping and wetting his lashes. "Must… show dignity…"
"Asterix, you're here with me. You're safe."
"Obe…?" Bleary eyes blinked, and Asterix's hand reached out, groping blindly.
"I'm here." Obelix caught the searching hand at once, enfolded it in his larger one with exceeding gentleness. "You're at a druid's, you're safe," he choked out through his own tears. "You're with me."
Asterix's fingers curled around Obelix's, and his limp head rolled back and forth against his friend's body, as though reveling in the reality of his solid presence. "Good old—" The ragged breath hitched, and Asterix smiled through cracked, bitten lips. "Knew you'd come."
Obelix sobbed, once, aloud. "Always."
Beatnix stepped forward. Time enough for a reunion later. Now he had to treat the patient. "Asterix," he said, "I'm going to have to treat those wounds on your back, and it's going to be painful. A warrior like you, you can handle it, can't you?"
Only half-conscious, the injured man closed his eyes and nodded courageously, jaw firming. Obelix bent his head to his friend's. "Of course he can handle it," he said heartily. But then the big man's eyes came up to meet Beatnix's, pleading. "Just… don't hurt him too much."
Beatnix inclined his head, even as he poured more water over the gaping wounds. The strips of flesh on the patient's back, cut to ribbons by the lash, fluttered under the flow of water like torn fabric in the wind. Asterix jerked and groaned, his hand tightening convulsively around his friend's. The big man clasped his hand securely and held on, flinching every time his friend jerked against him, as though he felt the pain in his own body. His other hand strayed upwards to cradle the back of Asterix's head, clearly desperate to give comfort. "I'm sorry," Obelix whispered through his tears as the therapeutic torture continued, tenderly stroking his shuddering friend's hair as he shuddered along with him, rubbing the back of his hand as Asterix held on through his agony. "I'm sorry."
The two men's combined pain, physical and emotional, was making it hard for Beatnix to work, but he sternly gathered his training about him. Flush out the superficial wounds and the flayed flesh, then the harder task of cleaning out the deeper gashes. By Belisama, these Romans were animals. Civilization his foot, thought Beatnix as he washed the dried and fresh blood. The flagrum was designed to strip the skin quickly from the victim's back, and on this slightly built Gaul, it had turned into a lethal tool. What kind of monsters…
"O Druid!" Obelix's voice cut through Beatnix's horror. "Please, I think he's…"
Beatnix cursed as he stepped back. He had forgotten the first rule of medicine: focus not on the wound, but on the patient. Asterix had clearly had about as much as he could take. The patient was all but convulsing with shock and pain, teeth audibly chattering. Obelix's arms were curled about him, one hand still holding onto Asterix's, the other cupping the back of the blond head. The big man's cheek was pressed tight to his friend's, voice soft, whispering words of comfort into his ear, making even Beatnix feel oddly calmed. But Obelix's eyes, when he looked up at Beatnix, were blazing with helpless pity and desperation.
"He's had enough," Beatnix said briskly, setting the pitcher down with a decisive clunk. A lot of good it would do to clean the wounds and lose the patient. "Carry him over by the fire."
The big man didn't need to be told twice. "There, there, Asterix," he murmured. "It's all over…" Still murmuring reassurances, he carried his shuddering friend over to the large open fireplace, settling into a corner where they would be warm but where the shredded flesh of Asterix's back wouldn't be exposed to the direct heat from the flames. Obelix rocked him gently, trying to soothe the violent shakes that rattled through his friend's overtaxed body. Beatnix brought him the half-full goblet of diluted potion, and Obelix shifted the hand that was holding Asterix's head to hold the cup to his friend's lips. "A potion a day keeps the Romans away," Obelix smiled encouragingly through the tears that still flowed down his cheeks, as he patiently held it up until Asterix had taken a few sips of it.
Before Asterix could finish the precious liquid, the druid quickly took the goblet away: they would need some for later. Obelix appeared about to object, but he sighed with relief as the worst of Asterix's trembling eased and he melted back into Obelix's embrace. The big man's hand moved up again and resumed stroking the sweaty blond hair. Meanwhile, Beatnix crossed the room, stowed the potion, and returned to the pair in a flash, opening the earthen pot that held his strongest salve. "Sit," he commanded shortly. "I need to be able to reach him."
Obelix sank onto one of the stone benches that flanked the fireplace, resettling Asterix in his arms with infinite care, making him as comfortable as possible against him. "There, there, Asterix," he murmured. "The druid is here. It'll be all right."
Beatnix quickly scooped up a handful of the salve and smeared it over the dangling shreds of flesh and lumps of raw meat that had once been a human back. He knew it was his best salve, made with a base of honey to prevent contamination and stop bleeding, infused with herbs to fight infection and speed healing. Still, the patient shuddered and moaned as he put it on. His small body shook violently, and he clung desperately to his friend, as though the big man could shelter him from the pain. For his part, Obelix gulped back a sob and clung gently to Asterix too, rocking him back and forth, holding on as though he could absorb some of Asterix's suffering into himself. Beatnix winced at their combined pain, yet wondered at its mysterious undercurrent of peace. He reached out again, coating his patient's maimed back with salve, a chill rising from his hand up his body at the sensation of the flayed flesh beneath his fingers. His eyes rose for a moment to orient himself, and caught the eyes of Asterix's big friend, steadily shedding tears of helpless empathy and impotent love. "A man-child too long," Beatnix found himself blurting, "grown old in a day."
But there was no time to unravel the threads of the big man's psyche. The druid turned his attention to his patient, coating his cuts and wounds thickly with salve, occasionally shifting his hands left and right to treat the places where the lash had curled around Asterix's side and laid bare strips off his ribs. The warrior never made a sound, but he was shaking with weakness, tears of pain slipping from his squeezed-shut eyes as the paste was applied. Obelix wiped them away steadily with his thumb, their tears mingling as he pressed his cheek to Asterix's tear-stained face.
After Beatnix had been working for a while, there was a gentle sigh, and the patient relaxed into his friend's embrace; the urgent piercing sensation in the air faded as the salve eased Asterix's physical pain. Still holding Asterix, Obelix kept wiping away his tears, rocking and consoling him, and soon enough, Beatnix sensed the lightening, not only of the pain of the flesh, but of the ache of loneliness in the poor warrior's heart. The small body beneath his hands grew tranquil, the tortured man's psyche soothed and consoled by his friend's heartfelt sympathy and tenderness.
And yet, there remained another undercurrent of emotional pain, strong and distracting as ever. It stung at Beatnix until, finally, he looked up at Obelix. "Your pain," Beatnix said slowly, realizing it as he gave his thoughts voice, "is greater than his."
The big man only stared at him blankly. Beatnix was forced to conclude that Obelix the Gaul would always and forever put his own pain last when it came to his friend – probably not even admit that he was in pain. Dismissing it with a mental shrug, he worked until he was satisfied that all of the tattered skin and deep gashes had been salved, then set the bowl aside. He didn't dare cut off the shreds of skin, or bandage or cover the wounds in any way – all he could do was let the whole mess breathe, and keep the patient comfortable by the fire. "Get those wet clothes off him," Beatnix instructed, "and lay him on the bed while I find him something to wear."
Obelix complied, carefully laying Asterix on the bed again and stripping off the blood-soaked tunic and leggings. The man was barely conscious, eyes drooping shut. Beatnix handed Obelix a pair of soft cotton trousers that had grown too tight for him – even this outgrown garment would be huge on the tiny Gaul, but just as well not to chafe any part of his skin. He spared an idle thought for the trouble he would have finding something to replace the big fat Gaul's blood-stiffened breeches when he was done getting his friend covered up. He looked over at Obelix, trying to divine his size.
Beatnix paused, struck by the tableau before him. Silhouetted against the firelight, the pair's aura was almost palpable as the big man bent over his friend. There was nothing but the glow of unadulterated, selfless love in in his touch as he eased the fabric over his friend's hips and modestly covered him up. "Not too cold?" Obelix asked softly. Beatnix couldn't see Asterix's face, but Obelix must have seen some reaction, because he nodded, "That's good."
"Give him the rest of the potion," Beatnix instructed. Obelix faithfully complied, laying a gentle hand against Asterix's cheek and lifting his head so he could swallow. Beatnix sincerely hoped the pair's faith in him wasn't misplaced. Calling the goblet's watered-down contents 'potion' was optimistic, to say the least. But one worked with what one had. What else was there to be done?
Beatnix watched carefully. After he had drunk the water, the sick man's color improved slightly, and he relaxed into the bed, falling still. "Asterix?" his friend asked, a note of panic in his voice.
"It's all right," the druid reassured him. "He needs to rest. His body will have a lot of work to do repairing the damage those accursed barbarians did to him." The rage that flamed in Obelix's eyes burned hotter than the fire, and Beatnix hastened to distract him. "We need to find you something to wear."
The big man looked down at his filthy breeches, soaked through and stiffening with his friend's blood, as though seeing them for the first time. His hands fisted in his waistband, and his face crumpled. "…so much…" The words were barely audible.
"Come on," Beatnix said hurriedly. "Bringing dirt in is dangerous to him. You have to wash yourself and put on something clean, now."
"Dirt is dangerous to him?" Obelix blinked.
"Yes," said Beatnix in his firmest I'm-the-druid-so-I-know-best tone. He was in no mood for arguments.
But Obelix surprised him once again: he was already gone, rushing outside to wash, his voice trailing behind him. "Why didn't you say so?"
Later, they settled in for the night. After washing his and Asterix's soiled clothes at the pump and hanging them on a rock to dry, Obelix had been able to create some makeshift breeches – more of a toga, really – from an old length of linen, and Beatnix had spread out some hay on the floor for them both. But it appeared that Obelix wasn't ready to go to sleep just yet: perched on a stool by Asterix's bedside, he sat holding his hand, quietly watching his sleeping face. It was clear he was trying to avoid looking at his friend's injuries, but every so often his gaze seemed to be drawn to the savaged back, and he would take a deep, shuddering breath and brush tears from his eyes. Again the odd warmth rolled over Beatnix, like a respite from the chill winter wind. He was too tired now to divine the source, though: all he cared was that it wasn't a threat.
"Go to sleep," Beatnix said to Obelix. "He'll need you in the morning."
"In a minute," Obelix replied.
The minute turned into several, and still Obelix sat by the bed, watching Asterix sleep in the flickering firelight. Eventually, Beatnix drifted off, leaving Obelix the Gaul still watching over his friend.