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Blogs by Nancy Jardine
Poor connections 11/10/2014 2:03:21 PM
Edit cuts in my current writing - a time-travel for the early teen market. Today, I've had very intermittent internet access which has been incredibly frustrating - even though it's a common occurrence where I live. Improvements are supposed to be being made but they're not happening quickly.
I'm not sure if it's affecting my today's writing or not, but one of my main characters-Brian-has found he's on a 'very sticky wicket'. His situation isn't any better than mine and his ability to send messages is pretty well non-existent. At this point he's been taken as one of a group of hostages which are part of a bargain/ treaty between the local Celtic Tribes and the Ancient Roman Emperor Severus. The location is north-east Scotland AD 210.
I'm not convinced this will be the final version of the scene so enjoy...
Brian was prodded and jostled from all sides as the long line he was in was unchained, the clank of the iron bonds as they hit the earth making a sound of music he was in no mood to hear.
“About time, too!” he mumbled, though not loud enough to gain any of the thumps and slaps that others along the row had received when they’d protested about their imprisonment.
“What will happen to us?” The cry came from a nearby complaining Celt. His answer was a whack across the head from the hilt of a gladius and a barrage of gibberish from the soldier wielding the weapon as the warrior Celt was forced back into line.
Brian had a feeling the Roman auxiliary wasn’t speaking posh Latin but he hadn’t a clue what the language might be. One little press was all it would take for him to understand all the strange words around him but his tied wrists made that impossible. He wanted to use the help function to find out where the others were but was unable to do anything about that either.
Fianna had absolutely petrified him when she’d taken off to help Gypta. The last he’d seen of her was Tyrnan freeing her wrists before he was bundled across the Gadie Burn like a reluctant toddler. What had happened to Aran might be even worse because the last he’d seen was his friend being walloped on the head with a shield after which Aran pitched sideways onto the ground like toppled tree.
“They have to be okay.” His murmurs were indistinct, the words directed at the ground beneath his bent head. His toes worried at loose earth that had been disturbed during the excavation of the ditch when the Roman legions had created the walls of the Durno camp. Wouldn’t Callum, or whoever was listening in through their armbands, have wheeched them back to the National Physics Lab if the danger was really dire? Had it already been really ominous for Aran? Brian’s thoughts were a muddled whirl. He’d read often enough about head bumps causing deaths. His stomach did somersaults. His head was almost bursting with temper, frustration and… disgust.
What a complete mess they were in: so much for their pact to stay together. Where are they? His plea melted into the air when he realised the Roman officer was right in front of him.
“What have you done with my sister?” His question was loud but not a shout. He guessed bawling in the face of a fully armed high-ranking soldier wasn’t going to get him an answer.
