A harsh wind whipped across the plateau that surrounded the ravine, bringing a sharp bite of winter to those gathered for the ceremony. High above them eagles soared, flown free from the wrists of their masters, waiting for the flesh and gore that would be left for them when the ceremony was over. Around the edge of the meadow great bronze cauldrons sizzled over open fires, the steam from their contents rising to form a thin mist over the people. The rich aroma of cooking meat, of beef and mutton and venison, wafted down the ravine over the circular tents of the encampment, past the spring where the holy water began its journey to the great river two days’ ride to the west, at the place where the land of the hunters ended and the empire of Rome began. The younger of the two prisoners stumbled forward and leaned against the other man, who shouldered him upright and spoke harsh words of command in a language unknown to most of those watching. They wore the ragged remains of what had once been Roman milites tunics, stained brown with rust where the chainmail had been, their feet unshod and bloody from days of marching shackled to each other.
What do You think about The Sword Of Attila (2014)?
