Roman - The Fall of Britannia Read online

  ‘What are you waiting for?’ cried another. ‘Kill the witch!’

  Karim placed the tip of his sword under the woman’s chin, forcing her to her feet. He had fought in many countries, killing more men and women than he cared to remember, but never had he killed a foe such as this. The terrified woman looked at her executioner, tears streaming through the blue dye on her face, hope dawning in her eyes as she realised she had a chance.

  ‘Please.’ she whimpered in her strange language, ‘don’t hurt us.’

  Shaking in terror, she offered him the sackcloth bundle she had been hiding enfolded within her maternal arms, a tiny sleeping baby.

  Karim stared at the child, fast asleep in the young mother’s arms and lowered his sword, all fury spent. Slowly, he walked back to the centre of the arena.

  Someone in the crowd seized the opportunity to restore some sense and started to clap. The rest of the crowd mirrored his appreciation and the applause eventually escalated into wild cheering. Soon the occupants of the amphitheatre were again standing on their feet, celebrating not only the skill and savagery of the gladiator, but also his humanity and mercy.

  ‘Fascinating,’ said Sibelus to Pelonius over the roar of the crowd, ‘but it matters not, the wager is complete. My gladiator is the last man alive, and in due course, I will make arrangements to receive the deeds of your estate.’ He stood to leave.

  ‘Wait,’ said Pelonius.

  ‘Is there a problem?’ asked the governor.

  ‘The wager has not ended,’ said Pelonius quietly. ‘There is another survivor.’

  ‘What other?’ snapped the governor. ‘The Greek is dead and the games are over. Now I must go, for I have a slave to free and a farm to inspect.’

  ‘The child,’ shouted Pelonius, not taking his eyes off the terrified girl being led from the arena by two guards.

  ‘What about the brat?’ asked Sibelus.

  ‘Is it a boy or a girl?’

  ‘Why would it matter?’ asked Sibelus before the light of understanding dawned in his eyes. The bet had been the last male alive, and if the baby was a boy, it could be argued that he had technically lost the bet. He thought furiously. He could order the guard to kill the baby, but without explaining the situation, risked losing the crowds support, defeating the object of the whole Munera.

  He stared at the old soldier and calculated the implications. Several respectable citizens had witnessed the wager. The last male survivor in the arena had been the bet. No one had mentioned race or age and many bets were fulfilled on lesser criteria. He could ignore the situation and take the farm by force, but Pelonius enjoyed the favour of Tiberius himself. The governor sat back down, his mind racing.

  ‘Think well, soldier,’ he growled, ‘I will not bankrupt myself on a technicality. Do not think you will claim any of my wealth due to a heathen’s bastard child. I have won this wager and will claim my prize.’

  Pelonius had not survived twenty-five years in military service without gaining a serious understanding of tactics himself. There was no way he could embarrass this man and expect to live more than a few weeks; he was too powerful. He knew he had to allow the governor to escape from the wager without losing face, and yet still have a chance of retaining his lands. The governor loved to gamble and though Pelonius had a terrible record when it came to gambling, he realised he had no option but to offer one more bet.

  ‘I have another option for you,’ he said slowly, ‘a new wager. If the child is a girl, the original agreement stands and my farm is yours.’ He turned to Sibelus. ‘However, if it is a boy, I will relinquish all claims against you, but will retain my estate.’

  ‘Why would you do that?’ asked Sibelus, his eyes narrowing as he realised this was a way out.

  ‘I want the gladiator.’

  ‘Karim?’

  ‘Yes,’

  ‘And all bets will be cancelled?’

  ‘Everything,’

  Sibelus stared at Pelonius for a long time. The gladiator was good, but compared against the debt he would owe this jumped up soldier, his value was insignificant.

  ‘I agree,’ he said, ‘but on one condition.’

  ‘Name it.’

  ‘As long as I draw breath, you will not give him his freedom or engage him as a gladiator to fight against me. He will remain a slave until the day I die.’

  ‘Agreed!’ said Pelonius.

  ‘Then we have a deal.’ The governor stood up and without taking his eyes off Pelonius, shouted down to the arena. ‘Guard, what sex is the child?’

  The soldier strode over to the woman, and after a brief struggle, used the back of his hand to knock her to the floor before lifting the baby up high by one foot.

  ‘A boy,’ he shouted back, ‘and hung like a mule.’

  As Sibelus seethed through a false smile, everyone in the arena laughed.

  ‘Citizens,’ he cried out for the last time, ‘I have one last decree. In my infinite mercy, I release the Numidian into the custody of my good friend, Gaius Pelonius, in honour of his exploits in the servitude of our Emperor, the glorious Tiberius. Long may he reign.’

  ‘Hail, Tiberius,’ roared the crowd, as was their expected duty.

  The governor turned to Pelonius.

  ‘He is but one slave,’ he snarled, ‘I have a thousand.’

  ----

  The last of the crowd left and Pelonius made his way down to the arena floor, against the flow of the stragglers. He crossed the bloody sands, now busy with slaves as they piled up the corpses of horses and humans. He entered the gates of the basement The cloying darkness stank of sweat and animals and echoed with the groans of the injured and the dying. Out of the gloom, he saw an approaching figure and recognised the guard who had identified the sex of the baby.

  ‘Evocatus!’ called Pelonius.

  The soldier came over to Pelonius and they greeted each other by grasping forearms, both veterans of the army and full of mutual respect.

  ‘Hail, Gaius Pelonius,’ said the soldier, ‘I heard you had retired. I wager thousands of Gauls sleep better in their stinking beds knowing you have hung up your Gladius.’

  ‘I don’t know about that, friend,’ answered Pelonius, ‘there seems to be as much blood spilt here, as there ever was on foreign soil’.

  ‘Such is the way of the world,’ said the guard. ‘How can I help?’

  ‘Where can I find the Numidian?’

  ‘At the end of the corridor,’ said the soldier, ‘the last cell on the right.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Pelonius. ‘Call around to my estate next time you are on leave. I have some amphorae of wine that need emptying and a yearning to relive past glories.’

  ‘Sounds good,’ said the guard before adding, ‘Pelonius, treat him well,’ nodding toward Karim’s cell, ‘He is a good man.’

  Pelonius nodded and walked down the corridor. He found the cell easily and watched through the open door for a few moments, as a female slave cleansed the Numidian’s wounds. He was sitting on a wooden cot and drinking deeply from a jug of wine, the flickering torch light shimmering on his wet black skin. The gladiator looked up and the two men’s eyes met across the cell floor.

  ‘Do you know who I am, Karim?’ asked Pelonius eventually.

  Karim swigged more wine, his eyes never leaving those of the old soldier. He nodded silently.

  ‘Can I come in?’

  ‘Why do you ask?’ asked Karim. ‘Am I not your property?’

  Pelonius walked in and sat on a stool opposite the gladiator.

  ‘How do you feel?’ he asked.

  ‘I have just killed more than twenty men and women for no reason, except entertainment for a corrupt official and a thousand of his ignorant cronies. How do you think I feel?’

  ‘You are a gladiator. Isn’t this what you have trained for?’

  ‘I trained to fight others such as me, not to murder babies.’

  ‘The Governor is not a happy man.’

  ‘I am beyond caring. I have she
d enough blood for a hundred men in a hundred lifetimes.’

  ‘So why do you do it?’

  ‘What other option is there? If I refuse, I would be one more piece of meat for the stinking lions that share these cells, and as you pointed out, I am a gladiator. If I let myself die without fighting, my shade will wander as Lemures for all time.’

  Silence fell.

  ‘So, am I to be freed?’ asked Karim eventually.

  ‘What would you do if you were?’

  Karim shrugged.

  ‘Probably get drunk, hurt someone and end up back in the arena as Noxii. Who knows?’

  ‘Then I have a deal for you, Karim,’ said Pelonius. ‘I cannot free you, Sibelus has ensured that, but I can give you a life away from the arena.’

  Karim stared in silence, waiting for Pelonius to continue.

  ‘Just before I came back from Gemina,’ continued Pelonius, ‘I prevented some jumped up officer from being killed in an ambush by Germanic tribesmen. It turned out that he was the cousin of Tiberius. When I returned, I was paraded as a hero through the streets of Rome, and they gave me a farm that takes half a day to ride across.’

  ‘And?’ asked Karim.

  ‘I am no farmer, Karim, I am a soldier. If it isn’t managed properly, I’ll be bankrupt in six months or probably lose it in a crooked dice game to that shit Sibelus. I cannot free you, but I can make you my farm prefect.’

  ‘What do I know about farming?’

  ‘Perhaps nothing, but I have workers who have tilled that land all their lives and we can buy any extra labour and expertise we may need.’

  ‘You mean slaves!’

  ‘We would offer a future that is by far preferable to that offered by the beasts of the arena. You and I are the same, Karim. We know only the sword, but farming is like anything else, and can be learned. What I need is someone who can command respect from my staff and is not afraid to dish out discipline where needed. I also need someone who I can trust. I believe you are that man.’

  ‘You would trust a murderer.’

  ‘I would trust a gladiator.’ Again, there was silence.

  ‘If I say no?’

  ‘You can stay here and continue to kill for the entertainment of lesser men, but if you come with me, the work will be hard and the days long, but at least you will have a warm bed at night, food in your belly and a modest salary at the end of each month. The choice is yours.’

  ‘When do you need to know?’

  Pelonius laughed.

  ‘Do you really need time to consider, Karim? I am offering you a life of normality and peace against one of death and violence. I have been a soldier most of my life and have killed more men than I care to remember. I know which one is better, Karim. Trust me, there is no contest here.’

  Suddenly, a commotion broke out in the gloomy corridor and both men hurried out to see the source. A group of well-armed guards stood in the corridor, as another dragged a woman by her hair from her cell.

  ‘Stop!’ shouted Pelonius. ‘What is going on?’

  ‘Don’t interfere old man,’ said one of the guards, ‘you no longer serve and have no authority here.’

  Pelonius recognised the woman from the arena.

  ‘Where are you taking her?’ he asked, his tone a bit calmer, trying not to inflame the situation.

  ‘She has an appointment with Sibelus,’ said the soldier. ‘After all, she just cost him a lot of money.’ The screaming continued as the soldier resumed his task.

  ‘Wait!’ shouted Pelonius again, his mind thinking furiously. ‘What of the child? Surely he has no use of the baby?’

  For a moment, the soldier looked at the woman clutching her baby tightly to her bosom. Sibelus had not mentioned the baby and not even his perverted tastes sank that low. He shrugged.

  ‘What of it?’

  ‘I will give you ten Denarii for him.’

  ‘He is not mine to sell.’

  ‘No, but surely he will not be missed. If the governor asks, I will return him to you and no one will ever know of our deal.’

  The soldier hesitated.

  ‘Ten Denarii,’ repeated Pelonius.

  ‘I don’t know,’

  ‘Fifty Denarii,’ interjected Karim quietly.

  Everyone looked at the gladiator in astonishment.

  ‘Where would you get such an amount?’ asked the soldier.

  ‘Being a gladiator is a lucrative career, as long as you stay alive,’ said Karim. ‘I have won many purses. Most have gone on wine and women but I have some money left. I will pay fifty Denarii for the child.’

  The terrified woman looked on in fear. Though she could not understand the conversation, she realised that something important was happening regarding her fate.

  ‘Agreed,’ said the soldier finally, ‘but if he asks, the child will be returned to me.’

  Karim walked toward the woman and spoke gently, indicating she should give him the baby. The woman slowly realised that her future as a slave held little hope; the day’s events had proved that. This man had already spared her once and she had no reason to believe he had suddenly changed his mind. Her eyes filled with tears and she held her baby tight for the last time, smothering it with kisses. All present were silent as she said her goodbyes and taking an embroidered leather pendant from around her neck, she placed it around the neck of the baby, tears streaming down her face.

  ‘Enough!’ said the guard, ‘Sibelus is waiting.’

  Karim took the child in his giant hands.

  ‘Prydain,’ the woman said through her tears in her strange language, ‘Prydain.’

  ‘Prydain,’ repeated Karim, ‘I will look after him,’

  She let the baby go, realising this might be his only chance of survival.

  ‘Let’s go,’ said the guard and taking her by the arm, roughly escorted her from the cells. This time, she did not struggle.

  Pelonius stared at the giant gladiator, the tiny baby seemingly out of place in his still bloody arms. Karim looked at the baby for a long time, before eventually meeting the ex-soldier’s gaze.

  ‘Is the offer still open?’ he asked.

  ‘Why wouldn’t it be?’ asked Pelonius.

  ‘Now there are two mouths to feed.’

  Pelonius paused, realising just how enormous this man was close up.

  ‘Well, you’ll have to work that much harder,’ he said, offering his sword arm in the recognised gesture of agreement. Karim grasped the offered forearm in his own hand and sealed the deal.

  ‘I will pick you up from the Ludus at first light,’ said Pelonius. ‘Be ready.’

  ‘We will,’ said Karim.

  ----

  An hour later, the cells were silent. Any surviving occupants had been returned to their owners and an army of slaves had built a bonfire in the empty arena to burn the corpses from the games.

  The slave girl was bathing the baby.

  ‘What is his name?’ asked the girl quietly, after she had laid the baby down to sleep.

  ‘Prydain,’ said Karim, ‘and it seems our fates are entwined.’

  ‘You intend to bring him up as your own?’

  ‘It would seem so. Indeed this is a strange fate the Gods have set before me. This morning, I thought this would be my last day under this sun, yet here I am hours later, a farmer with a ready-made son. I know nothing about farming, which is a damn sight more than I know about children. This is going to be the hardest challenge I have ever faced.’

  He looked down at the sleeping baby. Prydain stirred gently in his sleep, blissfully unaware that less than a mile away in a back room of a palatial villa, his mother was screaming his name one last time before she died at the hands of Governor Sibelus Augusta.

  ----

  Chapter 1

  Britannia 42 AD

  ‘At last!’ thought Gwenno, seeing the wagon train exit the woods in the distance. She finished her daisy chain and placed it around her brow before adding a buttercup behind her ear as an afterthought. Jump
ing to her feet, she brushed down her white linen dress. She had nagged all morning to be allowed to wear it for her father’s return and her mother had finally relented. Gwenno knew she was very lucky to own two dresses; one wool, like every other female of the tribe and this one, a finer linen toga that her father had traded from one of the merchants on the east coast.

  Gwenno loved the dress, and although she knew someone else before her had probably worn it, it was her prize possession. Only the wealthy could afford to have such a garment made just for them and when her father had told her it had cost him a brand new knife, she was overwhelmed by his generosity. It was a very simple summer outfit and the thirteen year old looked beautiful, though it could be said she would look beautiful in anything. Her long blonde hair shone in the sunlight, complimenting the polished bronze Torc around her neck and the silver bracelets adorning both wrists.

  ‘One day,’ she had vowed to her mother on many occasions as she grew up, ‘my Torc will be gold!’

  Her mother had smiled sweetly on these occasions. It was every girl’s dream to marry one of the princes of the tribes, but the simple fact was, there were too many girls and not enough princes.

  Gwenno waited patiently at the wooden bridge across the man-made moat circling the village until finally, she could contain her excitement no longer.

  ‘Father!’ she called loudly and ran down to meet the riders.

  ‘Hello, child,’ boomed her father’s voice, ‘what have I told you about that dress? It is far too short for the company of men.’

  ‘Oh, Tad,’ she smiled, ‘stop being so old.’ Secretly she stole a glance back down the column, wondering if a certain young man had also noticed her pretty dress.

  Erwyn dismounted and led his horse by the bridle. Gwenno took his arm and skipped delightedly by his side.

  ‘You have been gone ages,’ she said, ‘I had almost given up waiting.’

  ‘These days, the Cornovii are far better at hiding their herds,’ laughed her father. ‘They are learning fast.’

  Gwenno looked back to the end of the horse column, seeing the first of the stolen cattle that followed the riders, herded by the young boys who had accompanied the party.