LITMIR.BIZ

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tried to kill me,’ rumbled Butuus.

      ‘He’d just found his mother. Look at her. Can you blame him?’

      ‘Well, no, but we didn’t do it.’

      ‘As the boy can testify if it comes to that.’ The third man spoke for the first time. His voice was thin, cutting, his accent bad. His face was swarthy and scarred with pockmarks. ‘It’s the only real proof we have if someone finds the body and reports it. The Emperor’s orders were plain and he’s a man of his word. He’ll execute anyone found guilty of breaking them. Also, he’s fond of making examples.’

      ‘So?’

      ‘The boy speaks Latin and good Latin at that. His father could be a Roman citizen; quite a few of them settled here. That’s reason enough for taking him in.’

      ‘He said—’

      ‘I know what he said, Butuus, but we don’t have to believe him. He’s a witness and, anyway, he might fetch a decent price.’

      ‘A boy?’

      ‘One who speaks Latin.’

      So it was decided as I stood looking at the dead body of my mother. Ants were running over her face and into her staring eyes. She had died defending Britain. Now I was a slave of Rome.

      CHAPTER TWO

      The captives were herded into the stronghold, prisoners in the very place which, if held, would have given them safety. The women were separated from the men and squatted, keening, their hair over their faces, blood running from the flesh they had torn with their nails.

      The men were crushed, broken, many wounded, convinced the gods had turned against them. Among them were a few boys, all older than myself, and one of them joined me where I sat as a soldier yelled something from beyond the stockade.

      ‘What’s he saying, Atilus?’

      Cymbelle was of my own tribe, but we had never been friends. The son of a noble, he’d had little time for the offspring of a trader, but now his father and uncle were dead, his elder brother somewhere on the road to Colchester. He might escape to freedom, but Cymbelle would not. Now he was eager for any familiar company.

      ‘Atilus?’

      ‘He’s asking about feeding us,’ I said. ‘And he mentioned water.’

      ‘They’ll poison it.’

      ‘No.’

      ‘You can’t be sure,’ he insisted. ‘It would be a quick way to get rid of us.’

      He was ignorant for all his nobility, but I’d had the advantage of a father who knew how Rome operated.

      ‘If they’d wanted to kill us, they would have done it when we were taken,’ I said patiently. ‘We’re war-captives now, slaves. As such, we’re worth money to Rome. They’ll feed us and the water won’t be poisoned.’

      He scowled, barely convinced and more than a little afraid. He had been hurt, a minor wound on his left arm, and blood was oozing from the cut. I tore a strip from his tunic and bound it tight over the gaping flesh. He thanked me and continued to talk.

      ‘I could have got away,’ he muttered. ‘When the chariot overturned I was lucky. The reins snapped and I was thrown clear. I should have stayed where I’d fallen and pretended to be dead. A chance would have offered itself—but there was not time to think.’

      He touched his arm, wincing.

      ‘Caractacus ran towards Colchester, I saw him go. Perhaps he’ll make a stand somewhere down the road. We could even be rescued.’

      He was dreaming, hoping when there was no hope, but he was a noble and I said nothing. My silence unnerved him and he left me to wander among the others. I was glad to be alone.

      The afternoon ended, and from all sides came cries from the wounded as they suffered from thirst. The women had stopped their keening and sat moaning instead, the sound eerie and frightening. Some of them committed suicide by swallowing their tongues. A few ripped open veins with their jagged nails. The rest sat and waited as did the men.

      There was nothing else to do.

      At dusk the Romans gave us water, taking a party of twenty men to haul it from the river, but they gave us nothing to eat until well past the following dawn. It was a mess of sour porridge and we ate it with our bare hands, using fingers to thrust it into our mouths. For a week nothing else was given us but water at dusk and porridge in the morning. The compound in which we were held stank of urine and excreta and several men died of their wounds.

      I would have starved if it hadn’t been for a guard.

      Mucius was a grizzled veteran with scarred thighs and a snaggle of broken and rotting teeth. His breath smelt and his eyes were yellowed, the lower lids inflamed, the lashes and corners speckled with dried pus. He was in charge of the party delivering the food and he had noted my smallness. Noted too that I stood little chance against the men whom hunger had made savage as they fought over the buckets.

      ‘What’s your name, boy?’ He grunted as I told him. ‘So you’re the young devil who tried to knife Butuus. A pity you didn’t make it, the swine still owes me five denarii from a dice game. Hungry?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘Like something nice to eat?’ He chuckled at my expression. ‘Don’t look so scared. I’m no Greek after your rounded young bottom. Go outside and wait.’ He added, casually. ‘Try to run and you’ll maybe get ten yards, then you’ll be spitted like a goose.’

      He took me to where fires blazed under suspended pots and gave me bread, oil, and a scrap of honeycomb. As I ate I looked around. The Roman camp had extended itself up the slope and legionaries seemed to be everywhere. Men were busy at work piling broken chariots and other damaged equipment into a great pile on a stretch of level ground.

      ‘They’ll be burned as an offering to the gods,’ said Mucius. He had watched the movements of my eyes. ‘Still hungry?’

      He handed me another wedge of bread and I learned why he had been so generous.

      ‘You move around in there,’ his head jerked at the compound. ‘You’re young and they wouldn’t notice if you edged close. You might be able to learn things. If you hear anyone planning anything let me know, eh?’ He winked. ‘It’ll just be between the two of us.’

      ‘You want me to be a spy?’

      ‘I want to avoid trouble, boy. The best way to stop it is before it starts. I’ll put you on the food detail, that way they won’t suspect anything and you’ll get a chance to eat before those wolves snatch it all. If they ask why you were ordered outside, tell them that you were questioned about your mother. Three of the fourteenth have been arrested for rape—they die tomorrow.’

      That night, when I dreamed of my mother, she was smiling.

      I didn’t see the executions, but I heard the trumpets, and though I doubt if the men had killed my mother, it helped to think they had. At least, afterwards, I slept easier, though the food may have had something to do with that. I made no attempt to act the spy, and I don’t think Mucius expected me to; it was probably an excuse to justify his generosity in case of need.

      Ten days after our arrangement, the prisoners were sorted. Tables had been set up outside the compound and small groups taken out at sword point to answer questions. Those who held a high position or who were the sons of chiefs or nobles were offered the chance to buy their freedom, but first they had to swear loyalty to Rome. Cymbelle was one of them. He didn’t look towards me as he burned a pinch of incense at the altar and gave his oath.

      The rest of us were to be shipped to Gaul.

      Mucius was one of the guards conducting the party. He was a decanus in charge of ten men and was close to having served his thirty years. Because I was no real threat, he allowed me to walk beside him, a thong

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