The irony was not lost on Stefan. For generations the Vikings captured many Scots, both men and women, carried them away and sold them as thralls to other nations. So by that right it was only fair Stefan would find himself sold into slavery. Nevertheless, the knowledge did not lessen his panic. Where were they taking him?

Guards pulled him down off the horse and he watched the Brodies take it back across the glen in the direction of their village. Stefan soon found himself walking, which was not easy with his hands bound together. To his great disappointment, the prisoners were marched west, farther away from the ocean and away from the Macorans.

The new captors were harsh men with whips who said little, fed them little, did not unbind their hands to let them eat and bound their feet as well at night. They forced the prisoners to walk up hills and down again, sometimes on paths and sometimes tramping through the woods. The guards stopped to water their prisoners occasionally, but only because their horses needed water and rest.

Stefan kept an eye out for the stallion but it did not come to help him. When they were on the paths, he watched for other men, even men of yet another unfamiliar clan he could cry out to. But he saw no one. It appeared his captors were intentionally keeping them off the well-traveled paths.

Furthermore, the prisoners were not allowed to talk. If they needed relief, they were told to raise their hands. The guards watched them constantly and more than one man was lashed for not walking quickly enough.

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The journey took three more days and by the end of it, Stefan's legs displayed a multitude of scratches from walking through the foliage and his feet were blistered and bleeding. In the evening of the third day, they were finally halted and what Stefan found himself looking at fascinated him enough to take his mind off his feet. Over the river, other men had begun to build a stone bridge and the first completed section had a high arch just like the Romans were fond of building. It brightened his mood a little. If he had to be a slave, he could at least learn how the bridge was built.

Stefan expected they were to help build the bridge the next day, and he was right. The guards took the seven to the river where they were joined with some twenty other men. Yet there were almost as many guards as there were captives, they were heavily armed and the avenues of escape looked bleak. The slaves were told to fill the baskets with rocks and carry them to the bridge. It was hard work and now instead of just sore feet, his arms and back ached long before the end of the day when they were at last allowed to eat and rest.




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