By morning nothing would remain of this place but a few sad mouldering beams and some charred stones. It was a little more high profile than their previous strikes, but he had reasoned that by now word of the executions of Roman officers would have filtered back to the authorities and there was no longer any real need to sneak around. Of course, he would still be careful, as there were only twelve of them, and though they were each and every one a killer, forged in the crucible of war with Rome and moulded into the vengeance of the peoples by the will of one man, there were still limits to their ability. Taking on a large group of Romans would be stupid and suicidal, and at this stage he could not risk the plan for the simple love of killing Romans. He could hear the screaming now. Unearthly wailing like a soul beyond the limits of human endurance. Which, of course, was the plain truth of the matter. Belenos was sitting in the midst of the conflagration, his feet up on a table as he coddled a large mug of beer to which he had helped himself.
