Roman - The Fall of Britannia (8 page)

‘
But
this afternoon you said…’

‘
Do
as you’re told, boy,’ said Maria gently, cutting off the tirade
that was about to follow from Marcus.

‘
Won’t you have more garlic, Prydain?’ asked Maria’s mother
quickly, hoping to cover up the embarrassment. ‘It will make you
brave when you fight the barbarians.’

‘
Thank you, I will,’ said Prydain, ‘though I fear any effect
will have worn off by the time we meet the enemy.’

‘
Oh,
why is that?’ she asked politely.

‘
After we reach Gaul, our training will last six months and
then we have to get to Britannia. I fear the barbarians will be
pacified long before we get there.’

‘
Don’t count on it, son,’ said Marcus slurring his words and
staring into his wine. He had been drinking heavily since before
the meal started.

‘
What do you mean?’ asked Cassus.

Marcus looked up
through drunken eyes.

‘
I’ll tell you, shall I?’ he said. ‘I have never been to
Britannia; however, I have encountered barbarians, as you call
them, on many occasions. Some may live in huts and some may even
benefit from Rome’s influence, but others are quite civilized and
need no interference from Rome or anybody else come to that. They
live in beautiful cities built of stone. They have music, culture,
art, all the things we take for granted in Rome.’

‘
But
surely it is in their interests,’ said Cassus. ‘We are bettering
their lives by introducing them to our civilization.’

‘
Our
civilization,’ sneered Marcus. ‘Some of their cities were old when
Rome was still a swamp, yet we march into them and raise them to
the ground in the name of civilization. Oh no, it’s not in the name
of bettering their lives that we kill their men, rape their women
and leave their children to starve. It’s to line the Emperor’s
coffers with more gold and silver than even the Gods themselves
could use.’

‘
Marcus, stop it,’ interrupted Maria, ‘you’re
drunk.’

‘
Perhaps I am, but I have seen too many friends fall at the
hands of so called barbarians, who by the way, are well trained,
well-armed and fierce beyond belief. Then I watch as our armies
wipe whole civilizations off the face of the earth in retribution,
so I feel that, now and again, I am entitled to get drunk.’ As if
to emphasise the point, he deliberately drank deep from the
tankard.

‘
So,’ he continued, ‘fear not that you will miss the fighting,
Prydain, for I can tell you there will always be fighting, and when
you think you have subdued one tribe, another will rise in their
place. When that country is finally conquered, there will always be
another. It seems our glorious Emperor’s coffers grow to meet
supply.’

‘
You
speak treason,’ warned Cassus. ‘I would guard your words else you
fall foul of the Praetorians.’

‘
I
speak the truth, boy,’ said Marcus. ‘You seek an exciting life
filled with glory and adventure. Perhaps you will find what you
seek and I sincerely hope you retire a rich man like your father,
but it comes at a price. Yes, there is gold and women, conquests
and glory, but there is also fear, pain, blood, and death. I left
an arm in the forests of Gaul, and have thanked the Gods every day
since that I did, for it got me out of there with my life intact.
An arm I can spare, my life is the only one I have. Take it from
me, lads, don’t take the oath. Get on your horses right now and
turn away from Rome and her false promises. Gallop as hard as you
can back to your father’s farm and live your life picking olives
and drinking wine. And if it’s money you crave…’ Marcus drained the
last of the wine from his tankard, red rivulets trickling down his
well-trimmed beard. He let out an enormous belch, his eyes
struggling to focus before continuing. ‘If it’s money you want,
then abandon your morals, banish your conscience and go into
politics. If there is one truth out there that is the same all over
the known world, then it is this. There is no such thing as a
hungry politician.’ Marcus laid his head on his folded arms and the
table fell into an awkward silence. Eventually Cassus wiped his
hands on a napkin.

‘
Thank you for a wonderful meal, Maria,’ he said. ‘If you
don’t mind, I think we will retire.’

‘
There’s no need to leave just yet,’ she said. ‘Take no notice
of him, he’s just a drunken old man.’

‘
It’s not that,’ said Cassus. ‘We are very tired from the
journey and have an early start tomorrow. We only have two days,
and would like to see some of Rome before we enlist.’

‘
I
understand.’

‘
Marcus said we can leave the horses here. I will pay for
their grain and my father will send someone to collect them within
the week.’

‘
Of
course you can,’ she said. ‘There will be food waiting for you in
the morning, ready for your journey.’

‘
There is no need…’ started Cassus.

‘
It
will take you half a day to reach the city on foot,’ she said, ‘and
I will not see you travel hungry.’

Cassus
smiled.

‘
Thank you Maria,’ he said, ‘you are truly a wonderful
host.’

Maria looked
down at Marcus, his head on his folded arms, fast
asleep.

‘
Don’t be too hard on him,’ she said, touching her husband’s
head gently. ‘He has had a hard time. He hates the inequality of
life imposed by those in power, and often wakes in the night
screaming at memories I cannot even imagine.’

‘
My
father speaks very highly of him,’ said Cassus gently. ‘Do you need
a hand?’

‘
I
will be fine,’ she said, ‘you go to bed, I will have the desert
sent up. It is only fruit, but it was picked fresh today.
Goodnight, boys and good luck in the future.’

The two young
men took their leave and went back to their room, leaving the
domestic scene behind them. As they walked up the stairs, Prydain
looked over at Cassus.

‘
What did you think about that?’

‘
About what?’

‘
He
was quite scathing about service.’

‘
What does he know? He was no-one of importance,’ said
Cassus.

‘
He
served for ten years, so he must know something.’

‘
If
you fear service, Prydain, then walk away. No one is forcing you to
join. I for one am happy to take Rome’s glory to the
heathen.’

‘
I
didn’t say that,’ said Prydain, ‘it’s just different from
everything I had ever thought.’

‘
Well stop thinking’ said Cassus,’ all we need to concentrate
on is enjoying the next two days.’

Prydain nodded
and they retired to their room, Cassus still clutching a half-f
amphora of wine. The following morning, a linen pack containing
fruit and the remains of the pork from the previous evening was
waiting outside their door. A folded parchment was atop the pack.
Cassus opened it up and read aloud the contents.

To
Perre, my oldest and dearest friend,

The
two unfortunate scoundrels that bear this note are in particular
need of your help. If you can help them achieve their goal in my
name, I would be eternally grateful. I look forward to exploring
the taverns of Ostia with you the next time you are in Rome, though
be patient as there are still some in the Vigils who resent your
last visit, despite their injuries having healed nicely.

Until next we meet

Marcus.

‘
Sounds like a character,’ said Cassus and placed the note in
an internal pocket of his tunic before they both crept quietly out
of Marcus’s home.

----

Chapter
4

Gwydion rode
along the path, seeking the capital of the Deceangli. Erwyn’s
directions still clear in his mind.

Erwyn had told
him to keep the sea to his right and when he reached the fishing
village of Treforum, ask the locals to show him the road. It was
well known that there was a great fort not far from the sacred isle
of Mona, recognized as the centre of the Deceangli tribe, but apart
from the warriors who had served in the armies of the King, most of
the Blaidd had never travelled this far north.

Gwydion had
filled out in frame over the last few years and had gained in
confidence, as his role within the clan had been cemented. He had
spurned the longer sword preferred by the older warriors,
preferring the shorter style offered by traders from the east coast
but unhappy with the quality, had begged his father known as
Hammer, due to his skill as a blacksmith, to make his own bespoke
weapon.

On Gwydion’s
sixteenth birthday, Hammer had called Gwydion to his forge. He
pointed to a stone gourd containing molten iron and Gwydion
realized that at last, he was seeing the birth of his own
sword.

‘
Give me your hand,’ said Hammer, and holding his son’s wrist
firmly in his own grip, drew a knife across Gwydion’s palm,
allowing the blood to drip into the molten steel. He then spent a
day forging the blade, steadily adding charcoal to the molten iron
to harden the blade, and by repeated beating and quenching, formed
a weapon of unsurpassed hardness and quality. To make the hilt,
Hammer made him grasp a rod of hot wax, forming an exact replica of
his grip, and a skilled woodsman had carefully carved seasoned oak
into the exact shape of his hand, using the wax as a template. The
final product was magnificent, lightweight and lethal.

Gwydion had
practiced with every able bodied man willing to go against him,
strengthening his arm, and improving his technique, until
eventually he was considered the best swordsman in the
village.

----

Gwydion rode his
horse through the outskirts of the coastal town. The streets were
alive with sound, smell and colour. Wooden crates of chickens
competed with squealing piglets for the attention of anyone wanting
to purchase meat that morning. Sooth-Sayers vied for trade, each
calling out from the doorways of their huts, promising to tell your
future for a few coins and weavers hung out examples of their
finest work for passers-by to see. Sailing boats, tied to the
wooden jetty, unloaded their hauls from the rich fish beds just
outside the harbour, and the smell of freshly baked bread from
giant ovens, wafted tantalizingly throughout the
village.

Men of dubious
honour offered slave girls for pleasure, many cheaper than he would
pay for a mug of beer and he paused briefly, wondering if he had
enough time to sample their particular wares, but remembering the
seriousness of his mission, reluctantly moved on.

Gwydion had been
travelling hard since before dawn and eventually pulled up
alongside a timber shelter. An old woman stirred a large iron pot
hanging from a frame over a fire.

‘
Hwyl, old mother,’ said Gwydion from astride his horse, ‘what
place is this?’

‘
You
are in Treforum,’ she replied, stirring her pot, ‘and are welcome
as long as your sword stays sheathed.’

‘
Your pot smells good,’ he said. ‘What does it
contain?’

‘
It
contains whatever you want it to,’ she said. ‘Pork, mutton, rabbit,
you name it, it is in it.’

‘
Well my belly thinks my throat has had a confrontation with a
brigand’s blade,’ he said. ‘How much for a plate?’

‘
Cawl, bread and beer for just a copper coin,’ she said,
‘though for a Roman coin, you can eat all your stomach can
carry.’

Gwydion’s brow
furrowed.

‘
Why
would those trader’s coins buy me more food than our own?’ he
asked.

‘
The
Romans bring strange and fabulous things from their far shores,’
said an old man, coming out of the hut, ‘but they only accept their
own coins or precious metal in payment.’

‘
What do they bring that is so different to what we can grow
on our own farms?’ scowled Gwydion.

The old woman
ladled scoops of steaming soup into a wooden bowl and ripped a
generous chunk of bread from a nearby loaf.

‘
Spices, the oil of the olive, perfumes, fruit and vegetables,
the likes of which you have never seen before. You name it, they
have it,’ she said. ‘Even this pot was made on distant shores. If
you have Roman coins, you can buy anything.’

Gwydion dipped
the bread into the steaming soup, soaking up the rich gravy from
around the chunky vegetables and meat.

‘
You
make a hearty Cawl, old mother,’ he said, speaking through a
mouthful of stew. ‘There is nothing wrong with this and I trust the
ingredients were out in our own fields just a few days ago. As far
as I am concerned, the Romans can keep their spices.

‘
Thank you,’ she answered. ‘You’re not from around here are
you? Do you have business in the town, or are you just passing
through?’

‘
I
am hoping to do business,’ he answered. ‘I am of the Blaidd, a
days’ ride south of here.’

‘
I
know of the Blaidd,’ said the old man, ‘I have had cause to lose
out in trade to someone called Erwyn.’