The various kings, the strong men of the Gallic tribes, had assembled here in the country of the once powerful Nervii to take part in the event. They hoped that by giving their thanks to the gods and bringing their own prisoners they could change the course of the war. Always needing more servants and ever eager to mete out more pain the gods had not been kind to the Gallic peoples as of late. Even the bought muscle of the Germans did little to push aside the Roman sword held in one hand and Roman law that promised a more equal government in the other. There were some that saw this as a last hope.
Standing as tall as three Germans put atop each other, the construct was ready. The wicker tied together tightly and the pyre made ready. Stopping at daybreak the rain left a pleasant scent in the early spring air. Screaming for their gods to intervene the Romans would not be quieted. They were bound and tied, carried over to the large wicker man with no eyes, no mouth, and no ears. A horde of Gauls surrounded the site of the sacrifice. This was their way, the way of their fathers, and their fathers. The gods deemed this the proper way and the druids had made sure this was to be handled in the most proper way.
It was hot in the wicker man, a dozen and more men stuffed inside still bound. A few Iberians caught running messages for the various legions were there. A German who betrayed his people for Roman luxury was there with eyes shut and a look of great calm about him. The Romans were still screaming and offering all they had and would ever have to Jupiter just so they could live another day and see the rolling hills of Italia again.
The pyre was ready to go and the druids approached with torches. Chanting in their rough language and waving the torches in gesture the druids were a sight to behold. The people assembled to observe the burning of the wicker man. All were enthralled by the event. The head druid, a Briton covered in blue markings, was the first to throw his torch onto the pyre followed by his comrades. The screaming intensified from within. This was the will of the gods and necessary if Gaul was to remain free. Catching fire easily the wicker man soon became like a monster from the ramblings of old witches standing tall and emotionless uttering this unearthly noise.
All left the burning very pleased. Surely the favor of the gods had returned to Gaul. The foreigners with their effeminate ways and 'law' would be expelled. This was to be sure.