The Pict

Calach stood. His anger was surfacing, and he felt suddenly seized by the demons he had been struggling to contain. Sioltach stared at Calach in admiration as he quickly translated his words.

"Why have you lost one legion, soon to be followed by another? Look, and see! Your soldiers are wide-eyed Roman lads, fighting beside non-Romans who were your enemies longer than they have been your slaves. They are bewildered by a strange and frightening land. They are bound to you not by loyalty, but by fear, and when their fear ends, only hatred will remain.

"For all of your pomp, you have none of what inspires men to victory. Your soldiers fight for nothing but the glory of an empire that has crushed their own nations and tribes. They have no wives to inspire them, and no parents to mock them should they shrink from battle. They have no country, or if they do it is not Rome, and it is in ruins."

Agricola began to grow pale. He was certain that he would die at the hands of this man whose spirit he could not comprehend.