Roman Invasion Read online

  To Lynne, my inspiration.

  Contents

  Cover

  Dedication

  Chapter I

  Chapter II

  Chapter III

  Chapter IV

  Chapter V

  Chapter VI

  Chapter VII

  Chapter VIII

  Chapter IX

  Chapter X

  Chapter XI

  Chapter XII

  Chapter XIII

  Chapter XIV

  Chapter XV

  Chapter XVI

  Chapter XVII

  Chapter XVIII

  Chapter XIX

  Chapter XX

  Chapter XXI

  Chapter XXII

  Historical Note

  The Roman Army

  Roman Religion

  Celtic Religion

  Timeline

  Copyright

  Chapter I

  The night had been pitch dark and was now turning the red and grey of just before dawn. The sun had not yet risen, but its early red streaks could be seen making patterns in the distant sky. Owls still hooted, and foxes and badgers and other creatures of the night moved through the forest, heading home before the daylight exposed them to predators of their own.

  We stayed silent, hidden behind trees and concealed beneath bushes, watching as the first light of day filtered through the trees. I was with my older cousin, Carac, and five others of our Carvetii tribe. Across the track, throughout the forest, others were also hidden. More of my cousins, other warriors from our tribe. And not just men. We Britons are proud of our warrior women, who can fight hand to hand with sword or spear, the equal of any man. Our tribal leader, my mother, Queen Cardua, warrior queen, was with us. She had become leader of our tribe after my father, King Vannan, had died in battle against the Roman invaders. Now we were going to take our revenge.

  Our spies had been keeping an eye on the Romans in their big fort and had noticed that they sent out dawn patrols to keep watch on the territory they had invaded. For the past two days the Roman patrol had travelled the same path, coming through this part of the forest. Usually it was just a party of twenty soldiers. Although we had seen the soldiers in action and knew how fiercely they could fight, our hope was that this time we would have surprise on our side. We would also have the advantage of outnumbering them. Fifty of our tribe were hidden among the trees and bushes of the wood. All of us were armed with knives, swords, axes and spears.

  In the distance we heard the sound of many tramping feet. The Roman patrol was coming! I crouched behind the cover of the tree, my fist gripping the handle of my knife so tightly I thought my knuckles would lock. Beside me, Carac was holding his large axe. The others were also poised, their weapons at the ready.

  Nearer and nearer came the sound of the Roman patrol, marching feet crashing down onto the earth. Then, through the leaves and branches, I saw them: a glint of the early sun catching on the metal armour the soldiers wore. Now I could see the faces of the soldiers beneath their helmets. How was it they could not see us? We were so close to them!

  The soldiers at the front of the patrol began to pass us. I felt a sickness in my stomach. This would be my first battle against the Romans. Would I be brave enough? I prayed to the goddess Brigit and to the great god Lug that I would not let my tribe down. Today I, Bran, would become a fully fledged warrior and this would be a great victory! This day the Carvetii would strike a blow for freedom against the Roman invaders!

  “Aaiiiee!!” It could have been the screech of a hawk or an eagle, but it was the signal from my mother for us to attack. Echoing her cry we launched ourselves from our hiding places, swords and axes and spears waving as we threw ourselves on the party of Roman soldiers. I leapt onto the back of the soldier nearest me and stabbed him hard with my knife, but the blade broke against his body armour. I threw away the knife and tried to get my arms around his neck, determined to wrestle him to the ground, but he was too strong for me. He swung his elbow back and hit me hard in the ribs, and I gritted my teeth to stop myself crying out in pain. He tried to shake me off, but I hung on grimly, still trying to use my weight to bring him to the ground. Now he had drawn his short sword and was hacking blindly at my legs, but my wolfskin leggings took the blows. Around me the battle raged, Carvetii warrior against Roman soldier, yells of war and of pain. And then the soldier took me by surprise: he bent down suddenly and I slipped forward up his back, trying to cling on with my arms around his neck. He grabbed me and threw me with great force, and I was aware of the trunk of a tree coming fast straight at me … and then there was a huge pain in my head and everything went black.

  Chapter II

  The six of us stood as prisoners in a line: my mother, my cousins Carac, Ventius and Awyn, my eight-year-old sister, Aithne, and myself. We were in a large room in the fort where the Roman governor had his headquarters. We were chained together, iron shackles around our wrists and ankles fixed to the heavy chains. The governor sat on the high seat and looked at us. There was no anger in his face at our uprising, no rage, and neither was there any sign of respect for my mother’s rank as queen. There was nothing at all in his expression, except possibly contempt for us. Behind us and to both sides stood Roman soldiers. Although their swords were in their scabbards we knew that if one of us made a move towards the governor they would take out their swords and cut us down. Not that any such move was really possible with the weight and awkwardness of the chains and shackles that kept us held together.

  My mother gestured towards my sister. “Is there any need to keep my daughter in chains?” she demanded. “She is just a child.”

  “Children can kill,” said the governor. “We have found children as young as six years old in your armies.”

  “They are not in our armies,” retorted my mother. “We keep our families with us wherever we go. Even to battle. Unlike you Romans, who abandon yours.”

  The Roman governor said nothing for a few seconds, then he answered her with a cold anger: “If you were a man, or a common warrior, I would have you killed for insulting our Roman ways. It is only out of respect for your role as a queen of the Britons that I have kept you and your kinsmen alive after your foolish attack on my troops. I have already ordered the execution of all the male warriors that we captured.” For the first time he gave what might be called a smile. “You will be the queen of a tribe of women and children, Queen Cardua. All your warrior men are dead.”

  With that the governor got up and walked towards where my three warrior cousins, Carac, Ventius and Awyn, stood straight and defiant, and I noticed that he took care to stay at a safe distance from them.

  “You three will be spared because you are, I am told, princes of your Carvetii tribe. Instead you will be sent to Rome as slaves. British princes have commanded a high price in Rome, ever since we captured your king Caractacus and sent him there in chains.”

  “I would rather die than be sent as a slave to serve you Romans!” spat Carac.

  “I’m sure you would,” nodded the governor. “And I’m sure you’ll die soon enough in Rome. The circus is always in need of gladiators for entertainment.”

  The governor turned away from my cousins and came to stand in front of me, studying me. I scowled and glared at him to let him know he didn’t frighten me. I am Bran, son of the late King Vannan and Queen Cardua of the Carvetii tribe of the Britons. We are not afraid of the Romans.

  “For the boy, I have something special in mind,” said the governor.

  “I am not a boy!” I shouted. “I am a warrior!”

  The governor looked towards my mother, shook his head and said sarcastically: “Like I said, you have children in your army.”

  “He is not a child!” said my mother defiantly. �
�Bran is a prince, raised to be a warrior like his father! He is eleven years old. Old enough to take his place on the battlefield.”

  “Old enough to die!” I declared.

  “I am glad you think so,” said the governor.

  For a moment my heart stopped beating. He was going to have me killed right here in front of everyone as an example. Despite what I had said, I didn’t want to die. I wanted to stay alive so that I could fight and drive the Romans out of our country. A dead Briton was one warrior fewer to fight against the Romans.

  I stood up straight, my body tense, waiting for the sign from the governor for the soldiers to take out their swords and cut me down, but instead he turned away from me and walked back to stand in front of my mother.

  “We are going to build a road from here in the west right across this barbarian country to our fort in the east, a distance of forty miles. Along this road we will build forts. It will mark the northern frontier of the great Roman Empire.”

  My mother shook her head.

  “It will not happen,” she said firmly. “That territory is the kingdom of the Brigantes, our sister tribe—”

  “Sister tribe!” echoed the governor, and he gave a derisive laugh. “How can you call yourself a sister tribe to the Brigantes? The Brigante territory covers hundreds of miles, from coast to coast and from far in the south to where it borders the land of the Caledonians. The territory you Carvetii rule is barely bigger than a large farm!”

  “We Carvetii have lived here for generations!” stormed my mother. “Many of us are cousins to the Brigantes…”

  “Yes, cousins I will accept,” nodded the governor. “Inferior cousins, perhaps…”

  “Take off these chains and I will show you who is inferior!” shouted Ventius, and he stepped forward as if to attack the governor, but a spear was suddenly thrust towards Ventius’s throat. Personally, I felt it wasn’t the point of the spear pricking the skin of his throat that stopped Ventius so much as the chains and shackles that bound him to us, holding him back.

  The governor gave that nasty contemptuous smile of his again.

  “I wish I were going to Rome with you, Carvetii,” he said. “I would quite enjoy seeing you in the circus arena against a few hungry lions.”

  The governor waved his hand and the soldier removed the spear point from Ventius’s neck.

  “As I was saying,” said the governor, and he began to pace: “We are going to build a road from this point in the west right across this country to the east.”

  “And as I told you,” said my mother as firmly as before, “the Brigantes will not allow that to happen. They will attack your forces every step of the way.”

  “Not if they really are your sister tribe,” said the governor with a sneer. Pointing to me, he said: “Your son will go with the surveying engineer and the escort of soldiers as a prisoner. If the party comes under attack from the Brigantes, the soldiers will have orders to kill the boy immediately. And I will spread word of that along the line the survey party will take so that all Brigantes from here to the east coast know what will happen to the boy if they attack. Your son, as you have just told me, is a warrior prince. No Briton will want the blood of one of their own princes on his soul.”

  “It will not help you!” I said loudly. “Once we are on the road I will escape and join the Brigantes in their battles against you Romans.”

  The governor shook his head.

  “I would not advise it, my headstrong young prince,” he said, “because your mother and your sister will be kept prisoner here in this fort, and if I receive word that you have escaped, then I will kill them both.”

  Chapter III

  The next day I was taken from the room where they kept my mother, Aithne and me, and brought out into the courtyard of the fort. The chains had been taken off me, but my wrists were tied together with thick rope, and a noose had been fixed around my neck. One of the Roman soldiers held the other end of the rope as if I were a horse on a lead. The soldier gave a sharp tug, and I stumbled forward into the daylight of the fort.

  Before, I’d only seen the Roman fort from the outside. It was a massive building at the top of the hill, with high walls made of timber and turf, a watchtower at each corner and smaller towers set along the tops of the walls. When I’d been brought in with my mother and the others after the battle with the Romans, I’d been unconscious and so I hadn’t seen anything of the inside of the fort except the room where I woke up and the large room where the Roman governor had addressed us. Now, finally, I saw the Roman fort from the inside. The large buildings in the centre weren’t round and made of wood and turf, as the buildings of our tribe were. They were long and square and made of cloth and leather. I had heard people speaking of these buildings and saying that the Romans called them “tents”. They had a sloping roof made of what looked like animal skins stretched over a long wooden pole, and then fixed to the ground with ropes. There were hundreds of these tents.

  Everyone inside the fort seemed to be working: either sharpening their swords and spears, or mending something. In one area not far away from me a group of soldiers were training, practising fighting one another. I stopped to watch, but the soldier tugged again at the rope around my neck and I was jerked forward towards the gate of the fort, where an enormous line of soldiers was standing to attention ready to leave. I stopped, stunned by the sight of so many men. There were thousands of them, all fully armed and carrying heavy packs on their backs. I had expected we would be accompanied by a troop of twenty or thirty, at most, but this huge number left me breathless. High above the column, banners and flags of different colours flew. In the middle of the column a silver eagle was held high on a pole. The soldier leading me saw the stunned expression on my face and gave a grin.

  “The power of the Roman army, boy!” he said. “A Roman legion. Five thousand of the bravest and toughest warriors the world has ever seen.”

  I recovered my surprise and gave him a glare.

  “We Britons have bigger armies than this, Roman! We have hundreds of thousands of warriors! But we do not feel the need to put them on show like this. I only stared because I have never seen so many men dressed up like puppets pretending to be warriors. A real warrior goes into battle naked and unafraid, not hiding behind a suit made of metal like a coward.”

  The soldier’s face hardened and he raised his hand as if to strike me, but another soldier gave a sharp cough to stop him, and said quietly, so as not to be heard: “Leave him till later, Simeon. Don’t want to get into trouble for striking a prisoner. Especially a prince.”

  Simeon stopped his hand and glared at me for a moment, as if undecided about what to do. Then he brought his hand down and rubbed his cheek with it, and nodded: “You’re right, Asras,” he said. “I’ll deal with him later, when we’re on the road. For now, let’s dump this rubbish in the cart.”

  They pulled me to a cart that was about halfway along the line. I saw that there were other large wagons at the end of the line, piled with equipment, but the cart they were pulling me to was small, with a large old mare between its shafts, the big shaggy sort of horse that was used to pulling logs and heavy loads rather than the lighter, more spirited horses that pulled our chariots. Sitting on the seat of the cart was a man in a short robe, with a boy of about my age next to him.

  The two soldiers lifted me up, and then tossed me onto the back of the cart. It was filled with wooden stakes and I banged my knee as I hit them, but I was determined not to cry out or let them see they had hurt me. Simeon clambered up and began to tie me to the rails at the side of the cart.

  “Just so you don’t get any ideas about trying to run away,” said Simeon, as he got down from the cart, and then he and Asras joined the column of soldiers behind it.

  The man in the driving seat and the boy beside him turned to look at me. The man gave me a smile.

  “Welcome, young warrior,” he said. “My name is Pentheus, and this is my nephew, Talos, my assistant. We are the surv
eyors for the road.”

  I scowled back at them and turned my face away to let them know I wanted nothing to do with them. They were Romans and Romans were my enemies.

  I looked towards the room where my mother and Aithne were still being kept prisoner, but there was no sign of them. The Romans were obviously keeping them under tight guard. Anyway, we had said our goodbyes already this morning, when the soldiers had come for me.

  “The Goddess will be on your journey with you, protecting you, my son,” my mother had said. “Be brave and proud.”

  We had hugged tightly, just in case it was the last time we should see one another. Then I had saluted her as my queen as well as my mother, kissed Aithne gently, and allowed the soldiers to put the rope around my neck and take me out.

  There was a shout from somewhere at the front of the line which was repeated past us down the line of soldiers, and suddenly the soldiers began stamping their feet in time, marching on the spot. The sound of five thousand pairs of heavy metal-soled boots crashing onto the earth was incredible! The soldier who had shouted out first was obviously in charge of the whole legion.

  I felt the cart give a lurch, and realized the man, Pentheus, had prodded the horse into moving. The line of soldiers moved forward, with our cart trundling along in its middle. The two large gates of the entrance swung open and we left the fort and moved out into the open country, heading east. We were on our way.

  Chapter IV

  Even though I was angry at being taken as a hostage in this way, a part of me felt excitement. In all my life I had never been to the far east. The furthest I had been was to the mountains in the middle of the country with my mother and Carac and Awyn to meet with a king of the northern Brigantes, soon after my father died. I had heard tales about the wildernesses and forests in the east, and the magical beings who lived there, although I thought many of them to be just fairy tales told for children’s amusement. Now I would be travelling beyond the mountains and would see the distant country for the first time. It was said the Caledonians sometimes roamed that far south in the eastern regions. The Caledonians were fierce warriors who lived in the north of the country. They rarely ventured to the south where we Carvetii lived. The reasons most tribes travelled were to trade or take slaves. The Caledonians only traded with their own kind in the wild mountains and valleys of the north. I had heard that they did not take slaves. In battle, they killed their enemies, and sometimes ate them. The Caledonians were a force to be feared. It was no wonder the Romans had retreated before them.