Read Roman - The Fall of Britannia Online
Authors: K. M. Ashman
Tags: #adventure, #battle, #historical, #rome, #roman, #roman empire, #druids, #roman battles, #roman history, #celts, #roman army, #boudica, #gladiators, #legions, #celtic britain, #roman conquest
Roman - The Fall of Britannia
ROMAN
by
K. M. Ashman
Published by
Silverback Books at
Smashwords.
More Books by K. M.
Ashman
The India Sommers
Mysteries
The Dead Virgins
The Treasures of
Suleiman
The Mummies of the
Reich
The Roman Trilogy
Roman I – The Fall of
Britannia
Roman II – The Rise of
Caratacus
Roman III – The Wrath of
Boudicca
Novels
Savage Eden
The Last Citadel
Vampire
The Medieval
Trilogy
Medieval I – Blood of the
Cross
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at:
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at:
Roman
Copyright K M Ashman 2010
All rights are reserved. No part of this
publication may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted in any form
or by any means, without prior written permission of the copyright
owner.
----
All characters depicted within this publication
other than the obvious historical figures are fictitious and any
resemblance to any real persons, living or dead is entirely
coincidental.
Table of Contents
It was an age of fear. An age of
brutality. Yet overall, when all is said and done,
it was an age of glory.
The Roman Province of Picenum -
20AD
Karim stood at
the centre of the amphitheatre, every muscle aching as rivulets of
blood oozed down his face to drip lazily onto the ever-thirsty
sand. Damocles the Greek, his comrade from the Ludus, knelt in the
sun-scorched arena nursing a stab wound to his side. An injury
received just before he had crushed his opponent’s skull under the
heel of his hobnailed Caligae, in a frenzy of aggression and
self-preservation. All around, those who had fought like demons to
keep hold of their miserable lives and the faint promise of an
elusive freedom, lay dead or dying, pathetic victims of
gladiatorial savagery.
----
Governor Sibelus
Augusta’s birthday celebrations had started earlier that day with
an air of frivolity. A troop of travelling dwarves assembled from
all over Europe, entertained the crowds with mock battles and raced
tiny ponies around the amphitheatre. Oddities of nature rarely seen
in Rome, let alone Picenum, paraded around the arena on display.
Giraffes strode gracefully around the ring, eye to eye with those
in the lower tiers, while giant apes contained within barred crates
were wheeled into the centre to be taunted into banging their
chests by their keepers. Teams of trainee gladiators followed,
fighting violent but non-lethal battles to prepare the crowd for
what was yet to come. Throughout the day, the level of passion and
violence increased until eventually the faint rhythmic sound of
distant drums permeated the arena, raising the crowd’s
anticipation.
The excitement
finally exploded when two wooden gates were flung open and a herd
of bulls, frothing at the mouth and mad with pain, burst into the
arena seeking escape from the torture behind the scenes. This was
the Venatio, the brutal spectacle of animal against man in a one
sided contest of pain and gore. Another gate opened and ten
Bestiarii, well-trained animal fighters, ran forward to screams of
approval from the impatient crowds.
As soon as the
staged conflicts had ended, criminal classes with little or no
training faced exotic animals, including tigers from the east and
hippos and crocodiles from Africa. At last, the first human blood
was spilt. as the mob had expected and a simple prelude to what was
to come.
The crowd took a
well-earned break. It was thirsty work watching so much violence.
Vendors in the vomitories offered drinks and sweetmeats for sale
and a column of bare breasted female slaves, bearing baskets of the
animal’s cooked flesh circled the arena throwing chunks into the
crowd. Many had brought their own refreshments and picnicked on
fruit and cheese, or if they were well off, slabs of cold meat
washed down by flasks of tepid wine.
Eventually, the
crowd returned to their seats for the late afternoon’s
entertainment. This was when the real excitement started, what
everyone had been waiting for. Blood and gore, preferably
human.
First to come
were Noxii, the criminals condemned to the arena for indiscretions
punishable by death. Adulterers, escaped slaves, deserters, or
simply captured enemy, were made to fight each other to the death
for the chance to live another day. Mock battles were staged where
soldiers dressed in their finest parade gear, mercilessly cut down
unarmed slaves representing the enemies of Rome, in lavish
re-enactments of famous battles known to the audience,
Condemned women
and children were released unarmed into the ring, momentarily
relieved at the unexpected freedom before the snarls of the
starving lions brought their short-term life expectancy into sharp
and terrifying focus. Finally, the time came that everyone had been
waiting for, the main event of the day, the Ludi
Gladiatori.
----
Sixteen highly
trained fighters at the physical peak of fitness and ability,
marched into the arena to the accompaniment of deafening cheers and
music. This was what it was all about, the final celebrations for
Governor Sibelus Augusta on his fiftieth birthday. A display of
gladiatorial magnificence, that had been awarded the Emperor’s
privilege of Sine Missione.
The crowd knew
this was a rare occasion and many had travelled hundreds of miles
to see a gladiatorial contest where every combatant knew he had to
win or die. It was as simple as that. Sine Missione was rarely
granted, as the cost of training gladiators was so exorbitant and
the compensation you had to pay the opponents camp so high, that
only the wealthiest of men could afford to sponsor such games.
Governor Sibelus was such a man, or at least he portrayed that
image. In truth, he was drowning in a sea of debt due to a gambling
addiction that threatened to destroy his privileged and influential
position.
However, today
was his birthday and he had an ace up his sleeve, a gladiator whose
name was hardly known in the area. Sibelus was risking everything
on this extraordinary man. He had made a huge wager with Gaius
Pelonius Maecilius, a recently returned war hero who had retired
with a substantial pension and extended lands granted to him by the
Emperor in recognition of his bravery during twenty-five years of
military service.
Privately,
Sibelus gloated. What would a mere soldier know about such things?
By the end of the day, his debts would be substantially reduced at
the ex-soldier’s expense. The bet was simple. He had wagered that
in the finale, Karim, the jet black Numidian would be the last man
alive in the arena.
Pelonius had
accepted the wager in a drunken haze, and now three weeks later,
having seen the gladiator train, regretted that evening and in
particular his love for un-watered wine, the curse that had so
often cost him much. However, the die was cast and there was
nothing he could do.
----
Karim had
trained as a Provocatores and fought with sword and shield, whilst
protected by a breastplate, arm guard and double feathered helmet.
Provocatores usually fought each other, but in this instance, they
could be paired against other gladiators, from Retiarii, who fought
with trident, dagger and net, through Hoplomachi, who fought with
the standard Roman issue sword, the Gladius and a small round
shield.
The bloody
conflict started and when the original sixteen had been reduced to
eight, the mix was altered by the sudden addition of two chariots
bursting unexpectedly into the arena. The chariots were from a
different Ludus and each held two combatants armed with spears.
These were the feared Essedarii, and their sole purpose was to kill
the remaining combatants.
The home
gladiators worked together to bring the chariots crashing down.
Spears were driven between spokes and horse’s legs cleaved from
beneath them with blade or axe. Without the advantage of their
chariots, the riders were ineffective and though they put up a
frantic defence, they were no match for the local gladiator’s
overwhelming expertise in the administration of bloody and painful
death.
Just when the
remaining eight had started to believe they would survive, they
were instructed to fight each other. Each exhausted combatant drew
on every last ounce of strength and skill, to try and defeat his
opponent, each as skilled as the other in their own speciality,
until eventually, the evening’s extreme activities left two bloody
gladiators standing, Karim the Numidian and Damocles the
Greek.
Karim looked
over again at Damocles. Now it was clear that there would indeed be
no Missione and that the governor would make them fight to the last
man standing. The Greek was his friend and both had trained
together at the Ludus. It was never a good idea to make friends
because of the probability that one day you would have to fight
each other. However, over the last year, the two had formed a close
bond borne out of mutual respect and understanding. Karim realised
that despite his friendship, the time had come and they would have
to meet each other in the final contest. It was what they trained
for, and they both knew they would die in the ring one day. Death
held no fear for either, but the manner of dying was important. He
limped over to the Greek and helped him to his feet.
‘
Come, friend,’ he said, ‘we have a corrupt Roman and a
bloodthirsty crowd to entertain.’
Damocles looked
up at the cheering mob.
‘
Have they not tasted enough blood?’ he asked.
‘
They are Roman,’ the reply came, ‘they will never have
enough.’
‘
Then let’s give them a finale to remember.’
They walked
toward the centre of the arena and stood twenty paces apart, facing
the sponsor. Both gladiators dripped with blood, standing proud
amongst the carnage that surrounded them, yet gaining strength from
the screams and chants of the adoring crowd.