Rome in Flames (2 page)

– chapter iii –

Captured

 

All the next day, thick, grey clouds filled the sky. Without the sun to guide us, we couldn't find our way through the forest – we might end up walking round in circles. So we stayed on in the empty village.

The owners had taken their most valuable belongings, their sheep and cattle. A few hens had been left behind to peck and scratch around the village. We hunted for eggs, which had to be eaten raw, as it would be too risky to light the fire. We also found a big pot half full of cold stew, so we didn't go hungry. But it was a long, silent, miserable day.

The open wound on Conan's hand was looking ugly. He kept brushing flies away from it. Mother would have put salve on it to help it heal, but Mother wasn't here. I washed it and bound it up with rough strips of cloth cut from the edge of a blanket.

I couldn't forget the sight of all those women and children, butchered by the Romans. If only I knew what had happened to my family!

‘Do you think they managed to get away?' I asked.

‘We just have to hope they did.' But Conan didn't sound hopeful.

‘They might be nearly home by now.' I tried to imagine them on the path to our village, Mother walking slowly because she was carrying Bronwen, and Enid walking even slower on tired little legs.

‘Will you stop going on about them!' Conan burst out angrily. ‘Just shut up. Talking won't help them. If they're dead, talking won't bring them back.'

‘But they may be all right. The gods may be on their side.'

‘The gods! They were supposed to protect us – that's what the druids said. But they didn't. Our gods are powerless compared to the Roman ones.'

‘Shh,' I said. ‘Don't talk like that. They'll hear you.'

‘I don't care if they do. They can't punish me, because they're useless. Useless, do you hear?' He cupped his hands and shouted across the valley towards the encircling woods: ‘Useless!'

A faint, mocking echo came back, and I gasped. ‘See! They heard you!'

Conan laughed. So did the echo.

Feeling nervous, for it's foolish to taunt the gods, I went back indoors. But there was no comfort to be found there. Night was falling. The hut without a fire in the hearth was like a dark cave, not a home. I felt a shiver run through me. What would we do if we reached our home village and found it as empty as this place?

And how would we survive through the next winter? Hardly any crops had been planted that spring because the men were all away at the war. With no grain stored up, and no men left to go hunting, it would be a hungry winter.

Everything had gone wrong. The future was dark and frightening. Maybe Conan was right – our gods were losing their power to help us. The Roman gods had invaded our land and conquered it, just as the Roman soldiers had conquered our people. But what could we do? You can't fight against the gods.

We went to bed as soon as it got dark. I lay still, listening to the sounds of the night – an owl hooting far away, a mouse rustling through the straw – and gradually drifted off to sleep. Suddenly I was awoken by another sound, and fear gripped me by the throat.

Conan sat bolt upright. The same sound had wakened him too – the tramp of marching feet. The footsteps stopped, and a voice barked out an order in a foreign language.

Romans! Roman soldiers, right outside the door!

I looked around desperately. There was no place to hide, unless we burrowed into the straw. But no one came in. What was happening?

Then we smelled smoke, and heard the crackle and hiss of burning thatch. The Romans were burning the village, as our warriors had burned Londinium.

A bright flame flickered in the darkness above us. Sparks dropped onto the straw, setting it alight. If we didn't get out, we would burn to death! We ran towards the door.

‘Stay in the shadows,' Conan told me. ‘Head towards the trees.'

But there were no shadows. All around us, the huts were ablaze like a ring of bonfires. As we ran out, a shout went up. Conan tried to pull Father's sword from its sheath. Too late – we were surrounded by soldiers. Although we both struggled fiercely, they quickly overpowered us. I was sure we were about to die.

Then the leader gave an order. Instead of killing us, they took our weapons away and tied our hands. I felt my face burn with shame and fury.

It would be better to be killed than taken prisoner. That's what Father always said. Choose a warrior's death, not a lifetime of slavery!

But we had no choice. They led us away into the darkness.

* * *

‘Where are they taking us?'

For three days, we had been marching southwards. We were part of a long, straggling line of prisoners, chained together in groups of five, with iron collars locked around our necks.

On the first day, one group of men had made a run for it, trying to reach the forest, which was a bowshot from the road. But, chained together, they couldn't run fast enough. A soldier's javelin had brought down their leader. They had fallen in a heap, and the soldiers had finished them off.

After that, no one tried to escape. We trudged on, mile after mile, along that road which ran straight as a spear over hills and valleys. Soon, our feet were blistered. The iron collars rubbed and chafed our necks.

Along the way, we saw villages being burned, their crops destroyed, their cattle stolen. The Romans were taking full revenge on the people who had rebelled against them.

‘Where are they taking us?' That was what everyone wanted to know. Rumours spread up and down the line of prisoners. We were going to Londinium or across the sea to Gaul. We would rot in the salt mines, or break our backs in the galley-ships. No one knew what lay ahead, and even the strongest warriors were afraid.

On the fourth day, the road led us through a broken gateway into a city of smoke-blackened ruins. ‘Londinium,' Conan whispered to me.

Although it was ruined, anyone could see that this had been a great city. It was fifty times bigger than our village. And our army had destroyed it! No wonder the Romans were angry.

‘They will never rebuild this place,' said Conan. ‘It's totally dead.'

‘Don't be too sure,' said Andreas, another prisoner. ‘The Romans are like mushrooms. If you pick one, three more grow up in the same place.'

Beyond Londinium, we were in the land of the Cantii tribe. They had not taken part in the rebellion. There were no burned villages here, no signs of war. But the towns looked more Roman than Celtic. Square stone buildings were replacing thatched huts. Many of the people wore Roman-style tunics, although they were too tall and fair to look like true Romans.

‘Traitors,' Andreas muttered, spitting on the ground.

As we went through a town, people looked at us with embarrassment. I heard the word ‘slaves' being mentioned.

Conan straightened his back. ‘You are all slaves too!' he shouted. ‘Slaves of the Romans! You should have fought alongside us when you had the chance!' Then a soldier threatened him with the whip, and he was silent again.

At last we came to a town by the sea. I had never seen the sea, although of course I'd heard of it. Travellers who passed through our village sometimes talked about it – how stormy and dangerous it was, how it could swallow ships and men. But it didn't look dangerous. It was flat and grey, and the sky came down to meet it in a long, straight line.

There was a harbour where ships were moored. I'd never seen a boat that could hold more than two people, but these ships were huge. We were herded on board in groups of fifty.

‘Where are they taking us?' I asked, yet again.

One of the sailors heard me and understood. ‘Rome,' he said. ‘We're bound for Rome.'

– chapter iv –

The slave market

 

Three months later, after a long and difficult journey, we were in the slave market at Rome. The hot sun beat down on us as we stood in line, waiting to be sold.

I couldn't understand why it was still so warm. At home, it would be autumn by now; the trees would be changing colour, and there would be chill mists in the morning. Did Rome have summer all year round? I would have asked Conan, but it would only annoy him. He hated it when I asked questions he couldn't answer – and I had plenty of those.

What would happen to us? What sort of life would we have? Would we be split up? That was what I really dreaded – being separated from Conan. I prayed that the same person would buy both of us. But praying wasn't much use, for the only gods I knew were far away. The gods of the forest had no place in this city built of stone.

The market was busy. Crowds of people had come to see the latest batch of slaves. They looked us over as if we were animals for sale. They checked that we seemed healthy, discussing us in their swift, chattering language. One of them opened my mouth and looked at my teeth. I wanted to bite his hand – but that would only bring trouble.

One at a time, each prisoner had to stand on a stone block so that everyone could see him. Then people in the crowd called out, bidding against each other. It seemed to take a long time, and I was getting hotter and hotter. I longed for a drink of water.

Then, through a gap in the crowd, I saw something very strange – a face carved on a wall, with water gushing from its mouth. It was like a woodland spring, here in the middle of the city.

‘Look at that,' I exclaimed, pointing it out to Conan. ‘How does it work? Why does the water keep on flowing?'

‘I don't know and I don't care,' he said irritably. ‘You're crazy, Bryn. Still asking questions at a time like this! Can't you shut up for a minute?'

But questions were part of my nature. I couldn't stop myself staring at things – the towering buildings, the marvellous figures carved in stone, and the people. The people! There were hundreds of different faces – white, brown and black. Ordinary people were on foot; rich ones lay on beds carried by groups of slaves. Around the edges of the crowd, stallholders were selling food and drink. Children played under an archway, shaded from the sun.

Looking at all this took my mind off what was about to happen. I really didn't want to think about that.

Conan nudged me. ‘It's Andreas's turn,' he said.

Andreas was made to stand on the block of stone. He gazed into the distance, as if he couldn't hear the voices calling out from the crowd. The final bidder was a grim-faced man, who looked as if he would be a harsh master.

I hoped Andreas would be all right. On the long journey to Rome, we had got to know him well. Although he didn't belong to our tribe, he'd become a friend.

* * *

My mind wandered back over the events of the last three months. The sea voyage had seemed endless. Day after day, we sailed round the edge of the Roman Empire. And I began to understand just how huge that empire was.

How could we ever get back home? Each day took us further and further away. My thoughts of home seemed to dwindle, just as the white cliffs had shrunk behind us, becoming a thin, distant line which finally vanished.

We sailed around the coastline of Gaul and Iberia – or so the sailors told us. Now and then, the ship had to find harbour, to take on fresh water or to shelter from bad weather. But there was no chance of escaping. Each time, we were locked in the hold of the ship until it put to sea again.

‘Don't lose hope,' Conan said to me. He always knew when I was feeling bad, although I tried not to talk about it. ‘There
will
be a way to escape. We'll do it somehow – even if we have to go to Rome first.'

We came at last to an enormous harbour. All around were ships of every shape and size. Some were preparing to sail; others were being unloaded. Up and down the gangplanks, dozens of men moved endlessly, like lines of ants. They carried sacks and bottles into the tall buildings by the dockside.

‘Is this Rome?' I asked, awestruck.

But the journey wasn't over yet. We were marched off the ship, under guard, and made to walk along a busy road. A never-ending stream of ox carts rumbled down towards the port, returning filled with grain.

Then, by the roadside, I saw something that filled me with horror. There was a tall, upright, wooden cross, and a man was fixed to it by nails which had been hammered through his hands and feet. He was still alive, groaning in agony.

Andreas noticed my horrified gaze. ‘That's what the Romans do to thieves and murderers,' he said. ‘They get left like that to die. Sometimes it takes days.'

There was more than one cross. There was a whole row of them – a row of men, dying slowly, in dreadful pain. The people walking past hardly glanced at them, but I couldn't look away. I felt sick with fear. If the Romans treated their own people like that, what would they do to us – their enemies?

At last, in the distance, I saw what looked like snow-sprinkled hills. But I slowly realized it wasn't snow: it was a city, a vast city built over hills and valleys. The stone walls shone white in the sun. And it was
huge
. Londinium, compared to this, was like a pimple on the face of a giant.

I didn't need to ask again. This must be Rome.

Two days later, we found out why we had been brought here. There was to be a great procession to celebrate the Roman victory in Britain. We were all to be led through the streets in chains, as defeated enemies, conquered by the power of Rome.

At the head of the procession there were soldiers, rank upon rank of them. There were important-looking men in robes edged with purple. There were carts piled high with stolen things – Celtic weapons, gold necklaces, silver cups.

Sitting proudly in a chariot was the Roman leader who had caused our defeat. He was smiling, enjoying his day of triumph.

‘Let his horses stumble and fall,' muttered Andreas. ‘May his chariot overturn. May he break his neck! Let him lie in the gutter for the dogs to eat!'

Trumpets sounded, and the procession moved slowly forwards. Soon we were in a street, with high buildings on either side. Crowds of people watched us, cheering the soldiers and jeering at us.

‘Ignore them,' whispered Conan, trying to sound brave. ‘Walk like a warrior, not a captive.' But it's hard to walk like a warrior when you are in chains, your clothes are filthy, and you have no weapons except your pride.

The procession halted now and then for prayers and offerings to the Roman gods. These gods were made of stone. They stood in front of their houses, which were also made of stone, with stone tree trunks to hold up the roof.

Each time we stopped, I looked around. I had never imagined a place like this city. Did people actually live in those tall buildings, which were four times taller than my home? How did they get up to the top? And how could so many people find food and water? There were no woods to hunt in, no fields, no streams.

At last, the parade reached the top of a hill. There was another god here, clearly an important one, for he was huge and covered in gold. A pure white bull was led forward. The Roman leader killed it as an offering to the god.

Finally, the long day was over. We were led back to our prison outside the city.

‘What will happen to us now?' I asked Conan.

He sighed. ‘I don't know. But somehow I don't think they will keep us here for ever.'

My heart leaped up. ‘You mean they might send us home?'

‘What would they do that for? We're their enemies, remember. If they don't kill us, they will probably keep us as slaves.' Then he saw my face, and his voice softened. ‘Don't worry, little brother. We'll get home again one day. I promise we will.'

But what use was that promise if we were separated – sold to different owners?

* * *

My stomach lurched as I realized that it was Conan's turn to be sold. I felt proud to see him stand there, tall and strong and seemingly unafraid. Would I be as brave when my time came?

Several voices called out, competing to buy him. Oh, I wouldn't be able to bear it if he were taken away and I never saw him again. We had been through so much together – I didn't think I could survive on my own.

The winner was the tough-looking man who had bought Andreas. He came up to pay his money and take Conan away.

This was my one chance. Even a cruel owner would be bearable if I was with Conan.

‘Please,' I begged him, ‘buy me too. Please. We're brothers. Don't split us up!'

He didn't understand my words, of course, but he must have seen the pleading in my face. He looked at Conan, then at me. The family likeness would have been obvious, although I was younger and smaller than Conan.

Too young. Too small. The man would not waste his money on me. He gave me a scornful look and turned away, taking Conan by the arm.

‘No!' I cried. ‘Conan! Don't leave me!' I tried to follow him, but the slave dealer grabbed me roughly and shoved me back into line.

Andreas and Conan were led away quickly through the jostling crowd. Conan struggled to look back at me over his shoulder. I knew what he wanted to say to me, if only he could make himself heard in all the noise: ‘We have to be strong, Bryn. Don't give in. Be brave.'

Then the crowd closed up behind him. He was gone.