Numitor turned around, while the legionaries hustled the prisoners away.
”And as for you…on your knees.” When Johan resisted, he was kicked to the ground, his neck forced onto a stump. ”Perhaps your Gods will give you more mercy than you have those children.” Titus slid out his weapon, and raised it.
The sun flashed on the descending blade.
”Carry out the sentence Centurion.” Numitor walked away, back to his tent to ponder on many things.
The soldiers took the Vikings to the shore. Cutting down trees, they fashioned crosses. After erecting the instruments of death, they lashed the northerners to the beams, and then drove nails through their wrists and feet, blood running from their tattered limbs and shattered bones. There they left them, writhing in agony. All but five. The Centurion in charge of the detachment cast them out, with no weapons or food.
”Go back to your home, and tell your king that Valkoria will have its reckoning. You have only tasted the beginnings of the cup of vengeance that will brought upon you. Begone, cowards and murderers!”
The crosses with their pain-wracked burdens stood, lashed by the wind and rain blowing from the sea. One by one, the corpses turned to skeletons. They stood until the wood rotted, as a warning.
The bones intended for head count by the murderers were buried in a communal grave, with proper burial rights.