Adams’ Son

“I regret to inform you that your village must be razed to make way for our new ‘road’ through this area.” The legionary in leathers smiled apologetically as his feet squished into the boggy soil.

The druid in his robe stared at him. “What?”

“We’re building a ‘road’, you see. It’s this very efficient way of leveling the earth so carts and the like can move along it better.” The legionary picked up one foot, dripping with muck. “I think you’ll find it’s much, much cleaner than the system you have now.”

“But - why do you need to raze our village?”

“See we’ve already built most of the road,” he explained. “To move around this town would take a lot of extra work and manpower, which we’re a bit thin on right now what with the occupation and all. It’s more efficient if we just raze this village and have you all relocate.”

“Why would we do that? This is our home!”

Looking around the boggy area, the legionary frowned. “Honestly, I feel like you could upgrade to a nicer neighborhood. Maybe a less wet one? Anyway, the folks south of you all capitulated, so we just need you to do the same or else we’ll be forced to kill you and then raze your village.”

“You would kill us for a road?”

“Oh no, we’re not killing you for a road,” the legionary explained. “We’re killing you because you’re godless heathens who haven’t accepted our lord and savior, Jesus Christ.”

The druid blinked. “Who?”

“Jesus? Son of God?” The legionary tapped his foot with a squishy sound. “You have heard of him, yes?”

“We have our own gods,” the druid insisted.

The legionary shook his head, “Oh no, see, you have false gods. We’ve realized it’s far easier to have just one true God - capital G - and we’re uniting everyone under his benevolence. But don’t worry,” he assured the older man, “you’ll get to keep all your same heathen holidays and celebrations. Honestly we quite like them, lots of fun and whatnot. We’ve just rebranded them a bit so we’re all on the same page.”

“Rebranded?”

“Yes - for example, your upcoming solstice this spring? We’ve converted it to the celebration of the day Jesus Christ died on the cross and was resurrected.”

“Your god’s son is dead?”

“Was dead,” the legionary corrected quickly. “Then resurrected. Actually, if you think about it, you’re sacrificing what, two goats a year every solstice? With our holiday there are no sacrifices needed - because Christ was already sacrificed, so we just have a bit of bread and some wine for symbolism. Far easier and less messy.”

Horror turned the druid’s grey beard nearly white. “You sacrificed the son of your god? And he hasn’t struck you down?”

“Oh no! It was all a misunderstanding, really - we weren’t sure he was the son of God at first, because he certainly didn’t act like one. Carousing about with truly terrible crowds, honestly. Who would have guessed he was being all ‘compassionate’, you know? And we didn’t sacrifice him, per se, we sort of tortured him until he bled out.” The legionary paused then quickly continued, “Which sounds awful, but it was all part of his plan, see, because he sacrificed himself. He popped up again like a daisy days later and forgave us. It’s all water-through-the-aqueduct now.” The legionary beamed as the druid continued to stare at him like a madman.

“And you want us to abandon our homes and follow your god, who sends his own son down to be tortured and killed by his followers?”

“God works a bit mysteriously, sure.” The legionary nodded in understanding. “I mean, he tried communicating through a shrubbery at one point, and who listens to ‘sacred plants’ anyway, am I right?” He grinned, but the druid’s gaze only narrowed in response. “You won’t have to worry about that, because our priests will tell you what he’s really saying when you go to our churches - which we are also building, all along these roads.” Waving again at the expanse of bog around them, the legionary finished, “You understand now why we need to raze your town?”

“No. We refuse.”

“Ah,” the legionary said, his face falling in disappointment. “That’s a pity. Truly. We’ll have to send in the legion to kill you all, now. And since you haven’t accepted God and his son as your true savior you’ll all go to Hell.”

“We don’t know this ‘Hell’,” the druid insisted.

“I know, which is why you’re all doomed. It’s imperative, really, that we build these roads and help convert you all because even if we didn’t kill you, you’d all go there anyway. You’d just live longer, happier lives beforehand.”

Leaning on his staff, the druid’s robes billowed in the wind. “This is lunacy!”

“Right, well, moving along,” The legionary reached into his satchel and pulled out a piece of parchment. “Let’s just jot down an invasion then for sometime next week. How’s this day work for you? Hmm....I always have trouble reading these local Germanic names, we’ve really got to get some Latin established up here...what, Thor’s-day?” His brows furrowed. “Huh, ‘Thor’, that’s a different sounding name. Strong. Kind of neat. Could make a great character in a story or something.”

“You can’t simply kill us and pave over us like bumps on your precious road! We want to live!”

“Silly fool, it’s not your life that’s important,” the legionary corrected him, “it’s your afterlife that’s imperative, really. I mean you’ll spend maybe what, twenty or thirty years on this earth? And after you die you’ll spend eternity in Hell. I mean, that’s even worse, isn’t it? Surely you see why this is all for your greater good.”

“No!”

With a sigh, the legionary returned his parchment to his satchel and adjusted his spear. “Right. I’ll just report back then and we’ll see you all next week. You might want to send your women and children away, you know, for their safety.” As he turned to go he stopped and pointed. “By the way, that’s a fabulous robe you have. Looks awfully useful, it’s so bloody windy out here. I don’t suppose you have an extra laying about? Or maybe a blanket? Possibly just a towel? I really ought to carry one of those. Blasted weather you’ve got out here, it’s always so damp.”