Roman Invasion Read online

  With Pentheus and Talos safe, I stumbled out of the tent. I didn’t want to, but I had to look at the Brigante warrior again. I think I was hoping that he wouldn’t be dead, that he would have got up and walked away, but he was still in the same position, his arms flung wide, his eyes still open, the spear still through his neck, blood on his face, dead; and I knew that I was cursed for ever.

  Chapter XIV

  Remembering what had happened before, when Talos had saved me from the Roman soldier during the previous attack, I expected the Romans to come to kill me. After all, those were the orders that the governor had given. I left the tent, went to the cart, climbed on to it and sat and waited for the Romans to take me. I knew that death was to be my punishment for killing the British warrior. Not punishment by the Romans, but by the goddess Brigit or the god Lug for what I had done; the Romans would just be the instruments carrying out the will of the gods.

  Around me in the dim glow of the campfires I saw the Roman soldiers clearing up after the attack, removing the bodies of the dead, both Roman and British. The Roman bodies were laid neatly and gently side by side, while those of the British were piled one on top of the other like so much rubbish, and among them was the body of the British warrior I had killed.

  After a long time, the officer in charge of the soldiers arrived and went into the tent. I assumed he was talking to Pentheus and explaining that they knew this had been an attack by Brigantes, and so I had to die. I also knew that this time there was nothing Pentheus could do to save me.

  The officer was only in the tent for a short while and then he came out with Pentheus and Talos. I expected them all to come to me in the cart, but instead the officer walked away. Pentheus and Talos joined me at the cart.

  “I am to die?” I asked.

  “One day,” said Pentheus, “but not today.”

  I was puzzled.

  “But the orders of the governor…” I began.

  “I told the officer you had killed a Briton to save our lives. I wasn’t the only one who saw you do it. So did two of the soldiers. The officer in charge says because of what you did, you are reprieved. You will not die. For a while, anyway.”

  I stared at him, stunned.

  “They are not going to kill me?”

  Pentheus shook his head.

  “No,” he said.

  “But I have to die!” I said. “It is my punishment for what I did!”

  “You saved Talos’s life,” said Pentheus.

  By his side, Talos nodded. They both looked puzzled at my words.

  “You do not understand…” I began.

  Pentheus interrupted me.

  “No,” he said, “I do not understand. And at this moment I do not have the energy to listen to you and try to understand. I thought you would have been pleased.” He gestured at his wounded arm and at Talos. “We have to rest tonight because there is work to be done tomorrow. We will talk in the morning.” He pointed at the tent. “Are you coming into the tent?”

  I shook my head.

  “I have to wait here for my punishment,” I said. “It is the will of the gods.”

  Pentheus looked as if he was going to argue with me and insist I went into the tent for shelter. Then he shrugged.

  “Very well,” he said. “Stay here. We’ll talk in the morning.”

  Then he and Talos headed back to the tent.

  I sat on the cart and watched the soldiers finish clearing up, and then some took guard duty while the rest settled down to sleep for a few hours. My heart was heavy. I had committed a sin, one for which I should have died. And yet I was still alive. Was this to be part of my punishment: the torture of waiting? Or would the Goddess send her messengers tonight to kill me? And if so, what form would they take? Would it be eagles? Lightning? Wolves?

  That night I hardly slept. I dozed for a few moments, but kept waking, listening out for the sounds of the messengers of my death. But, to my surprise, I did not die that night. As dawn rose the next day, Pentheus came out of the tent and joined me at the cart.

  “How are you this morning, Bran?” he asked.

  “I am cursed,” I said. “I am waiting for the Goddess to send her messengers to kill me and carry my soul to hell for what I have done. I killed a British warrior.”

  “Yes,” said Pentheus. “So you said last night.”

  He pulled himself up onto the body of the cart. I noticed that he winced as he did so from the pain in his wounded arm.

  “You were not to blame,” he said. “This is war. What you did happens in war.”

  “No!” I said. “War is killing your enemy. That is good. I killed one of my own warriors!”

  “You saved Talos’s life,” said Pentheus.

  “But the blood of a British warrior is on my hands. I am cursed and will die for what I did.”

  “You did not do it on purpose,” said Pentheus. “It was an accident. I saw what happened from by the tent, when I was trying to stop the blood. It looked to me that you were just using the spear to try to stop him killing Talos and he fell onto it.”

  “That does not matter,” I said. “I killed one of my own. You do not understand. You are not a Briton. You do not know of our gods and goddesses.”

  Pentheus gave a sort of smile.

  “I am a Greek,” he said. “We Greeks know all about gods and goddesses. Our history is filled with them. Some vengeful, some caring. Everyone has gods.”

  “But ours are true gods,” I said. “Ours have the power of life and death.”

  Pentheus looked as if he was about to correct me, but then he saw the real pain I was in, and instead said gently: “Tell me about this power.”

  And so I told him. I told him about the Goddess, Brigit, who was the Mother of us all and who had given us the name of our tribe, Brigante, after her own name. “To kill a Brigante is to kill one of Brigit’s children!”

  “But you Brigante are always fighting and killing one another,” said Pentheus. “In all the time the Romans have been here, I have known it. Fighting for power, or for revenge, Brigante warriors kill other Brigante warriors.”

  “But not for the Romans!” I insisted.

  “You did not kill that warrior for the Romans,” countered Pentheus. “You killed him accidentally while saving Talos’s life. And you did it because you owed Talos your life after he saved yours from the Roman who was going to kill you.”

  I shook my head.

  “I hear your words, and they seem to make sense,” I said. “But in my heart I know I have offended the Goddess. And Lug.”

  “Lug?” asked Pentheus.

  I told him about the great god Lug, who had particular power for the Britons in our area.

  “Even the Romans believe in Lug! After all, they named the largest fort they built here in our land Lugavalium in his honour!”

  “The Romans honour no one but the Roman way,” said Pentheus. “They called that fort Lugavalium to try to make it holy to the Brigantes in an attempt to stop your people attacking it. Believe me, the Romans cannot be trusted when it comes to gods. They steal gods from other people and try and make them Roman by giving them Roman names. They did it with our Greek gods. After they had conquered us they stole our gods and gave them Roman names. Zeus became Jupiter. Poseidon became Neptune. The goddess Hera became Juno, and so on.”

  “Why would they do that?” I asked.

  “So that everything in the whole world becomes Roman in some way or other,” said Pentheus. “I told you before, the Romans have become the rulers of the world, but not just because they have the biggest and strongest army. With every nation they have conquered, they have taken the parts they like and made them Roman, and destroyed the parts they disapprove of. In this way they intend to make the whole world, and everyone in it, Roman. And those who aren’t Roman will be brushed aside.”

  I thought about what Pentheus had said about the Greek gods and asked him: “If the Romans steal gods and goddesses, then they don’t really believe in them? T
hey don’t believe that gods and goddesses have powers?”

  “Oh they believe all right,” said Pentheus. “There are temples to Apollo and Mercury and the others in Rome, and Romans will make offerings to their chosen god or goddess. But if one particular god lets them down, they’ll switch to another one.” Then he looked around to make sure no soldiers were in earshot. Even then he lowered his voice as he said: “Except for the soldiers. They have only one god, but they are very secret about him. They don’t like anyone else even knowing about the fact they worship him.”

  “Why?”

  Pentheus shrugged.

  “It’s to do with having power. The soldiers of the army are all supposed to swear allegiance to the Emperor, to die for him if necessary. But, in truth, the army have killed emperors they did not like, especially if they thought that emperor was a threat to the power of the army. The true loyalty of all Roman soldiers is to the army. And so they have their own god of the army who is more important to them than any emperor. So, even if they kill an emperor, or any other ruler, they won’t have offended their own god.”

  “Who is their own god?” I asked.

  Pentheus looked around again to make sure that no one was listening, and then whispered, “Mithras.”

  “But why is he so secret?”

  “To prevent the Emperor or the politicians from taking him over as theirs. Only soldiers can be disciples of Mithras. And I warn you, Bran, do not speak his name when soldiers are around or they will kill you for committing sacrilege. And not I, nor Talos, nor even the Emperor himself could save you.”

  Chapter XV

  After Pentheus had left me, I remained sitting on the cart and waited for my punishment. Despite all Pentheus’s words, I still knew in my heart that what I had done was wrong and I would pay for it. Pentheus and Talos left me alone. The morning passed, and no punishment happened. No fierce bird came and pecked my eyes out. No animal came from the woods to kill me.

  It will come later, I told myself.

  The Roman soldiers continued with their work building the road, and Pentheus and Talos fussed around watching them, Talos making marks on a wax tablet at things Pentheus said to him.

  Then, just after midday there was the sound of a trumpet being blown and immediately the soldiers laid down their tools and began to form into lines. Within a few moments they had formed an enormous square, all facing towards the centre. Pentheus and Talos came to the cart and joined me.

  “Come down from the cart,” said Pentheus. “We have to move away, out of sight. We’ll walk back and join the stores wagons.”

  “Why?” I asked, puzzled.

  “I’ll tell you as we walk,” said Pentheus.

  I climbed down from the back of the cart and then walked with Pentheus and Talos towards where the wagons with the stores were gathered at the edge of the camp.

  “They have identified the duty sentry whose laxness last night let the warriors into the camp,” said Pentheus. “He fell asleep while on guard. He is going to be punished. But the punishment can only be witnessed by other soldiers. It’s a military matter. We are civilians. They don’t want us involved.”

  “What kind of punishment?” I asked.

  Talos mimed using a whip.

  “Whipping?” I said.

  Talos and Pentheus both nodded.

  “But a whipping is nothing,” I said. “A couple of lashes. Why is it a secret kept only for the soldiers?”

  As I spoke the trumpet sounded again, and two soldiers appeared from the tents, walking stiffly, their eyes fixed ahead. Between them marched a soldier, but stripped of his uniform; he was barefoot and dressed only in a loincloth. But still he marched like a warrior, stamping his bare feet down in time with the soldiers on either side of him. As they passed us and headed for the square of soldiers, it hit me with a shock that I recognized him.

  “That’s one of the soldiers who put me in the cart,” I whispered to Pentheus.

  “We must hurry,” said Pentheus. “The soldiers will not take kindly to us being here when the punishment is carried out.”

  As we hurried along towards the wagons I tried to remember the soldier’s name. Asry … something. No, Asras. That was it. Simeon and Asras, they had called one another. And now one of them, Asras, was about to be punished. But what sort of punishment was it that was for a soldier’s eyes only?

  We reached the stores wagons and climbed into the back of one.

  “There,” said Pentheus. “Now there is no chance of us giving any offence.”

  “Why this secrecy?” I persisted.

  “It is not secrecy as such,” said Pentheus. “More about military pride. The soldiers don’t want civilians witnessing the punishment in case the soldier disgraces himself by begging for mercy.”

  “What is the punishment?” I asked again. “You said it was a whipping?”

  Pentheus nodded. “Yes,” he said. “A hundred lashes.”

  I looked at them both in horror.

  “A hundred? But that will kill him!”

  “Possibly,” said Pentheus. “If so, whether Mithras takes his soul will depend on how bravely he dies.” He sighed. “Roman discipline. It’s what drives the army ever forward. Fear of their own commanders has to be greater than their fear of the enemy.” He shook his head in disgust. “And they call you people barbarians.”

  We sat in the store wagon and waited. Outside there was silence. No sound of yells from Asras, no sounds from the soldiers. Finally, after what seemed like ages, we heard the sound of the trumpet again.

  “It’s over,” said Pentheus.

  He got down from the store wagon and Talos and I followed him, and we headed back towards our own tent.

  The soldiers had now been dismissed from the square and were going about their tasks as before. But I noticed that their manner was quiet and subdued, their faces stony. They didn’t talk to one another. As we neared our tent I realized the reason for this atmosphere: four soldiers were carrying a stretcher. On the stretcher was a red cloak covering the body of a man. One bare foot dangled from beneath the red cloak. Asras hadn’t survived the punishment.

  The rest of that day the Roman soldiers went about their work. I remained on the cart, waiting for Brigit or Lug to send my punishment for what I had done, but none came.

  At the end of the working day I refused the food that Pentheus offered me and remained on the cart. If Brigit and Lug wouldn’t punish me, then I would punish myself. I would not eat. And when night came, I told Pentheus and Talos that I would spend the night on the cart rather than join them in the tent. I wanted it to storm. I wanted the gods of rain and lightning to send me my punishment for what I had done, but that night the sky remained clear and cool.

  After what seemed like hours of sitting on the cart, waiting for the worst to happen, I felt my eyes grow heavy with tiredness. I was drifting off to sleep when a hand shook me. I guessed it was Pentheus, come to try to persuade me to sleep in the tent.

  “No, Pentheus,” I said. “I must stay here.”

  “But not for much longer, you British scum!” snarled a low voice.

  I opened my eyes, startled, and found myself looking into the angry face of Simeon, the Roman soldier. He was holding a knife pointed straight at my throat.

  “My brother was killed today because of you!” he grated. “Whipped like a dog.”

  “Asras,” I said.

  Simeon glared at me, the anger in his eyes burning like hot coals.

  “You dare to speak his name!” he spat. “My wonderful older brother! One of the truest and bravest men I have ever known. He brought me up and looked after me our whole lives! He had been working on this road for days on end, working harder than any other man, barely taking rest, that’s why he fell asleep for just a few seconds. That was all. A few seconds! It could have happened to any man. It could have happened to me. But it happened to the best man who ever lived. And all because of you British dogs. Well I’ll have my revenge, scum!”


  “Simeon!”

  A shout behind him made him turn. Two other soldiers had appeared, and they rushed forward and grabbed him, pulling him away from me.

  “What are you doing?!” demanded one angrily.

  “Claiming blood vengeance!” snapped Simeon, struggling to break free of their grip, but they held him too firmly.

  “And if he dies, what will happen to us?” said the other. “Decimation!”

  “No!” shouted Simeon angrily.

  “Yes!” insisted the other soldier.

  The commotion had obviously woken Pentheus and Talos, because they came out of the tent and looked at the three struggling soldiers, and at me in the back of the cart.

  “What is going on?” demanded Pentheus angrily. “What is all this row? Do you want me to call your commander?”

  This seemed to bring Simeon to his senses, and he stopped struggling, but continued to glare at me.

  “We’re afraid he’s a bit confused,” said one apologetically.

  “Too much to drink,” added the other. “He didn’t mean anything.”

  We watched the two soldiers take Simeon by the arm and lead him away, back to their tents. I knew the bit about Simeon having had too much to drink was a lie. He had been close to me and I had smelt no drink on his breath. It had been anger and hatred, pure and simple.

  Talos looked at me and spread his hands wide, questioningly. I shook my head. I didn’t feel like talking about what had just happened. Talos gestured at the tent and made that face he always did, asking a question: did I want to go inside the tent?

  Pentheus nodded. “A good thought, Talos,” he said. Turning to me he added: “In case it happens again.”

  I shook my head.

  “No,” I said. “He was the brother of the soldier who died today. He was made mad with grief. Unless Asras had other brothers in the legion, I think I will be safe tonight.”

  Pentheus looked as if he was about to argue, but then he shrugged.

  “Very well,” he said. “We’ll talk about it in the morning.” Turning to Talos, he said: “Come, Talos. You and I need our sleep. We have a long day’s work tomorrow.”