In the Shadow of the Wall (12 page)

Then it was Brude’s turn.

Curtius stood in front of him, blue eyes shining with enjoyment, daring Brude to hit him. He thrust out his chin and barked, “Hit me!”

Brude hit him in the stomach.

Curtius was astonishingly fast for such a big man and he nearly avoided the blow but Brude caught him with enough force to drive the wind from him and make him step back, doubling over. Brude quickly stepped back into line, remembering that he was allowed only one punch. To try another would be to invite punishment. Even now he was anxious that he had done the wrong thing, but Curtius had not actually said they should hit him on the chin, just that they should hit him.

The big man straightened up, rubbing his belly where Brude’s fist had caught him. He grinned hugely at Brude. “Well done, lad. What’s your name?”

“Brude.” He was astonished. No Roman had ever asked his name before.

Curtius thought for a moment. “That’s no Roman name. I think we’ll call you Brutus.” Then he moved on to the next man.

He went down the line but only three more men managed to come close to hitting him. At the end he picked out four men in total, including Brude. Then he counted out some coins, which he gave to the overseer. A clerk scribbled out a receipt while Curtius beamed at his four new slaves. “You may live to regret this, my lads,” he told them gleefully. “But you’ll be well fed, well clothed and well trained where we are going. You’ll have names and if you are good enough, you’ll have some respect. If you’re really good, you’ll be able to earn your freedom.” He was looking straight at Brude when he said that and must have seen the sudden spark of interest in Brude’s eyes. He walked closer. “Do you want to ask me a question, Brutus?”

Brude lowered his eyes. “No, Master.”

Curtius grabbed his chin and lifted his head. “Yes you do. And that’s the first thing you have to learn. From now on, when you’re with me, you can ask questions. You are still slaves and you behave like slaves with others but with me you can ask a question as long as you ask permission first.” He stared into Brude’s eyes. “So what do you want to ask me?” He released Brude’s chin from his iron grip.

“Do I have permission to ask a question, Master?” Brude asked him.

“Clever boy. Yes you do.”

“Where are we going?”

“To
Rome
. To the amphitheatre. You are going to become gladiators.” He paused to let that sink in, then he added with a laugh, “Even if it kills you.”

A.D. 209

Broch Tava had changed. He supposed it was inevitable but, somehow, it seemed so different from the way he remembered it, not like his home at all. One of Colm’s men had galloped ahead to bring word of his coming and of Castatin’s safe return so there was a crowd gathering as they approached, villagers keen to see a man come back from the dead.

Most of the other riders had taken their lead from Colm and were rather cool towards Brude, barely speaking to him. One of them, a young man who introduced himself as Seoc, asked him who his father was.

“The old head man?” Seoc asked when Brude told him.

“That’s right.”

“I remember him,” said Seoc. “I vaguely recall he had a son but I don’t really remember you. I was just a kid when you all went off to war.”

“You’re making me feel old,” said Brude with a wry smile. Seoc was in his early twenties so would probably have been around nine or ten years old when Brude had marched off with the war band. At that age Brude would hardly have had anything to do with him.

Seoc looked as if he was going to ask another question but Castatin interrupted with a question of his own. “How old are you?” the boy asked him innocently.

“Not as old as I feel,” Brude told him. He saw Castatin looking puzzled as he tried to figure that out. Brude explained, “I’m the same age as your father.”

“You don’t nt s as old as him,” Castatin told him.

Brude laughed. “Thank you for that,” he said. He liked the boy, which he thought was only right as the lad was Mairead’s son and her gentleness and inquisitiveness would have rubbed off on him. As they neared Broch Tava, Castatin grew anxious. He jumped down from the mule to run ahead. “I’ll tell my mother all about you!” he shouted as he charged off.

They approached the village from the open plain on the north side of the hill that would take them to the broch with scarcely a climb. Beyond it, Brude knew, the land fell away steeply, down towards the river where most of the people lived. The broch sat on a spur of the hill overlooking the village. From the walkway at the top, it gave panoramic views over the river and the inland plain all the way to the northern hills. Only to the east was the view restricted for the very top of the hill was steep, uneven and covered with thick woodland. Now he could see that the broch still stood there majestically, jutting skywards like a squat, accusing finger, a thin curl of smoke from the hearth rising from its circular summit. When he had left, the broch was where his father had his seat and there had been only a couple of roundhouses outside because the villagers got much of their food from the sea so most of the dwellings were down on the flat river bank where there was also good grazing for their livestock. Now, he saw, the woodland near the broch had been cut back, creating wide fields on the open land to the north and west, some ploughed, some with cattle, freshly shorn sheep or goats. There were enclosures formed by walls made in a similar dry stone way to the broch, although much more crudely, with each stone delicately balanced, held in place by gravity and the weight of the stones above, not cemented to its neighbours at all. There was a skill to building these walls, or dikes as they called them, but compared to what Brude had seen in
Rome
they looked paltry and crude. Even the broch, which he had once thought the mightiest structure in the world with its immensely thick walls and the stones fitted neatly together, now looked less impressive.

In addition to the new fields, the broch had acquired a wooden stockade, stretching in a wide, rough circle, the pointed timbers high, sturdy and strong. Over the top of the high fence he saw the roofs of new buildings too, huddled round the broch. The village had obviously expanded considerably under Colm’s rule.

Brude stopped to take the pack from his back and refasten it to the mule. He also unlooped his sword from over his shoulder, stuffing it firmly into his bedroll. Glancing up, he saw Seoc watching him. “I won’t need it here,” Brude explained. He took up his staff and walked on.

He was close now, a warm feeling of homecoming filling his senses. He had dreamed of this moment for so many years that he wanted to savour it. The crowd stood at the wide gate which led through the perimeter fence to the broch. He was close enough now to make some of the people out. There were men, women and children and he was struck by the realisation that a surprising number of the men were armed with sharp spears and sporting shields. He saw Castatin speaking to awoman who was crouching down to hug him and hold him. As Brude drew near, Castatin pointed back at him and the woman stood up to look at him.

He stopped, standing there in full view of everyone, only a few paces from her. His heart pounded faster as he saw her and knew her.

Mairead.

She was probably standing in roughly the same spot as she had been when he had last seen her, nearly thirteen years before, when he had marched away. That memory of her was still strong in his mind and seeing her again brought it back to him once more. She looked at him, her eyes wide, her lips parted in surprise and wonder. Castatin tugged her arm and she took a faltering step towards him. All Brude could do was stand there feeling stupid. The only words that came to him were, “Hello, Mairead.”

“Brude? Is it really you?” Her voice was smooth as silk, yet full of strain and worry. She was tall for a woman, her long dark hair curling around her shoulders. She was no longer the girl he had left behind but a woman, a mother now, with a full figure and some worry lines around her eyes. She wore sparkling pins in her hair and a brooch of gold on her finely woven dress. Painted on her left temple, half hidden by her hair, was an intricate, swirling, blue pattern. She was still the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

But she was Colm’s wife.

She reached out with her left hand, gently touching his cheek, as if trying to make sure that he was really there. Her fingers traced a delicate line down his chin then back up to his short hair. Her touch was as soft as silk yet it burned itself into his skin. She stared at him, confusion written all over her face. He saw her eyes begin to fill with tears. “Brude?” she whispered. “Colm said you were dead.”

Before he could answer there was a shrill yell from the gate as an old woman pushed her way through the crowd calling his name. Mairead turned and the spell was broken. Brude looked over her shoulder to see his mother running for him. He dropped his staff and went to meet her, arms wide. Unlike Mairead she did not hesitate but ran to him, throwing her arms around him, sobbing his name. He held her tight and felt his own eyes stinging. After an age she stood back, still holding tightly to his arms. She looked at him, then began sobbing, so she clung to him again.

Then others approached and some of the older women recognised him, calling his name. His mother at last let him go so that she could run her hands over his face. Then she pulled his head down to kiss him as if he was a small boy. He laughed and told her to stop because he was a grown man now. She laughed through her tears, telling him he would always be her little boy and she had missed him so she would kiss him as much as she wanted.

“Give the lad a chance to meet folk, Mor,” said an elderly man with grey hair and a weathered face, gently tugging her hand. Then he held out his own hand and clasped Brude’s hand in welcome. “It’s me, Seoras. Your mother stays with me now. Welcome home, boy.”

Brude remembered Seoras as a friend of his father’s, one of the village elders. He had been left in charge of the village when the war band had left, Brude remembered. “Thank you, Seoras. It is good to be back.”

The crowd was pushing in now so Seoras shouted at them to back off and give Brude space. “He’s home and we’ve plenty of time to hear all about where he’s been.” He began pushing a way through the crowd. “Come on, lad, let’s take you home.”

Brude, with his mother clinging to his arm and trying to tug him through the crowd, turned to see Mairead. She gave him a smile that lit up her face as she waved for him to go. “I’ll see you later!” she called. He could still feel where her fingers had touched his face.

Brude called to Castatin, asking him to bring the mule along. The boy eagerly ran to grab the halter rope and proudly march behind him. That gave Mairead an excuse to tag along if she wanted and, after a moment’s hesitation, she followed. Most of the crowd came along as well, mainly women and children, while the spearmen simply looked on, rather bewildered. Seoras led the crowd in a procession through the gate, past some houses and out another wide gateway on the south side of the stockade. A wide, well-trodden path ran down the steep slope towards the main village and Brude felt a pang of loss at the realisation that the broch itself was no longer his home.

Seoras took them down the winding path to a large roundhouse at the foot of the hill. All the way there, Brude’s mother clung to him, constantly asking him if he was well and what had happened to him. He assured her time and time again that he was fine and glad to be home.

They reached the house where Seoras ushered them inside, allowing Mairead to follow. He told Castatin to tether the mule outside and then come in. He ordered everyone else to stay outside then he waited for the boy before pulling down the goatskin flap that served as a door. “They’d all try to come in if we let them,” he said with a smile. Brude had a momentary worry that all his belongings were on the mule and it was out of his sight but he told himself he was home now, not in
Rome
, and nobody would steal his things, especially not with so many people watching.

They sat at the central hearth where the fire always burned. Brude’s mother fetched a pot to boil some water and brew a tisane while the others sat looking at each other, nobody quite sure what to say.