Rome in Flames (7 page)

– chapter xiii –

Life or death

 

Conan and his opponent each had a sword and a shield. But the enemy's shield was twice the size of Conan's, and he wore arm and leg guards, a helmet and a wide leather belt. Conan had no body armour at all.

‘He's better off without it,' said Manius. ‘All that weight will slow the chaser down.'

At first, it seemed that he was right. Conan was agile and quick-moving. He ran rings around his opponent, attacking his unguarded side, then leaping away. The onlookers shouted their approval as his sword bit into the chaser's shoulder. ‘Chaser' was the wrong name for him – Conan was doing all the chasing.

‘He looks like a hound attacking a great, slow ox,' said Manius, admiringly.

But oxen have horns. The chaser's sword kept stabbing out at Conan – usually missing him because he was so quick. Then came a time when he wasn't quick enough. The chaser stabbed him in the thigh.

I gasped. I could almost feel the pain in my own leg, and I clenched my fists so tightly that my fingernails dug into my palms.

Conan didn't cry out, but anyone could see that the wound was a serious one. He carried on fighting, with blood pouring down his leg. He was limping now. He had lost his main advantage – his speed.

If only I could be down there, fighting by his side! But all I could do was watch, feeling sick with fear. Oh, Conan . . .

‘Come on! Come on, Briton!' Manius yelled. ‘Keep moving! You can do it!'

The chaser advanced, driving Conan back. Conan fought fiercely and drew blood again, but the enemy hardly seemed to flinch. I could see my brother was losing strength.

Many people around me were cheering for the Briton. I shouted too – not that he could hear me. By now, he had his back to the arena wall. Desperately, he fended off his attacker's sword strokes. He had lost his shield and was using his sword two-handed.

‘Aaah!' A great cry went up from the crowd. Conan had hurt his attacker again – his sword hand was bleeding. The chaser drew back a few paces.

But Conan didn't have the strength to pursue him. He looked unsteady on his feet. His sword slipped from his grasp. Then his whole body seemed to crumple, and he fell in a heap on the arena floor.

‘He's had it! He's had it!' the audience chanted.

His opponent came forward with sword raised. I turned away, blinded by tears. But Manius said, ‘Don't lose hope. He's still alive . . . maybe the Emperor will be merciful.'

I looked around, seeing many hands making the ‘death' sign, but almost as many signalling ‘life'. Frantically, I waved my own arm in the air, shouting, ‘Let him go! Let him go!'

It was the Emperor who would make the decision. I'd heard he was a cruel man, who cared for no one but himself. People even said that he had ordered the killing of his own mother.

What would he decide? Oh God, please let him choose life, not death!

The Emperor looked around at the excited crowd, as if he was wondering what would please them. Whatever choice he made would delight half the audience and enrage the other half. He seemed undecided. The crowd yelled even louder.

Slowly, the Emperor rose to his feet. He appeared to like the fact that everyone was watching him. Then, at last, he held up his hand, signalling for mercy. ‘Let him go!'

I felt like dancing with joy, until I looked back at Conan. His skin was as pale as white marble. He pressed both hands against his wounded leg, as if the pain was too much to bear. He couldn't walk – he had to be carried out of the arena.

The master said, ‘He may live. They have skilled doctors at the gladiator school.'

‘We'll go and see him tomorrow,' said Manius.

I wanted to go now – at once. But of course I couldn't. I had to stay with my master, watching the rest of the Games. I saw Andreas fight, but I couldn't manage to cheer him on, or feel excited when he won. All I could think about was Conan.

When we got home, I went to Tiro and told him everything.

‘I prayed to your god, and he answered me. Conan didn't get killed,' I said. ‘But he was badly wounded. Will you come with me tomorrow and pray for him?'

Tiro said, ‘I can't come tomorrow. I have to drive the master to Ostia. But I can still pray for your brother, and I'll ask my friends to pray too.'

Tiro had already told me that he had friends who believed in the same god – Christians, they were called. They didn't go to a temple to pray, but met in people's houses. It was all rather secretive. Tiro never mentioned his friends' names or addresses. That would be dangerous, for the Emperor hated the Christians, who refused to worship him as a god. Several Christian leaders had been killed on the Emperor's orders.

I asked Tiro if I could go with him when he met his friends. I wanted to be there when they prayed for Conan. Tiro gave me a thoughtful look, and then nodded.

‘But you mustn't tell anyone where we go. Do you understand, Bryn? Not
anyone
.'

We set out after Manius was in bed. By now, most people were indoors. Shops and market stalls were closed for the night. The dark streets were empty, except for a few delivery carts rumbling along. Even so, Tiro made sure we stayed in the shadows.

We turned down a side street, and suddenly I realized where we were.

‘Isn't this where you brought me when the dog—'

‘Shh,' said Tiro.

He stopped outside a door, where he knocked three times, paused, and then knocked again. Someone opened a shutter in the door and looked out at us. ‘It's Tiro. Peace be with you,' Tiro whispered. ‘And I've brought a friend.'

The door was opened just wide enough to let us in. Then I heard it being bolted behind us. All this secrecy made me feel rather nervous. I began to wish I hadn't come.

But once we were inside, there was a warm welcome from the woman of the house. She remembered me from the day of the dog bite, and was pleased to see how well my leg had healed up. She led us into a well-lit room, full of people. Several of them came to greet us.

‘This is a friend of mine, a seeker after truth,' said Tiro. ‘He would like us to pray for his brother.'

So I found myself telling the whole story. Before I had finished, a feeling of despair swept over me like a bitter north wind. What if it was too late to pray? What if Conan was already dead?

The room grew silent. Then several people prayed for Conan. They spoke in different accents – Greek, Roman, Jewish, African – but all of them talked to their god like Tiro did, as if talking to a father who loved them. As if God was right there in the room, hearing every word.

I liked listening, but I didn't feel I could join in their prayers. Although their god had helped me, I didn't know him like they did. I only had one father, and he was dead.

After the prayers, the Christians sang for a while. Then one of the men started telling a story, and everyone listened. It was about the man called Jesus of Nazareth, who said he was God's Son born on earth. He did amazing things – healing a blind man, and feeding thousands of people with just a few loaves of bread. Naturally, if he was the son of a god, you would expect him to have special power. That bit made sense all right, but what about this?

‘Jesus began to tell his friends that he was going to be rejected by everyone. He would be put to death.'

Why? If he knew that was going to happen, why didn't he escape, or call down fire from heaven to burn up his enemies? That's what I would do if I had the power. I would burn up the whole of Rome – except, of course, for Tiro and his friends. I couldn't understand why this Jesus would have let himself be killed.

After a while, the Christians started praying again. They prayed for the Emperor (which seemed strange – didn't the Emperor hate Christians?). There were long prayers for people and places I'd never heard of. It was very boring.

‘Bryn, wake up!'

I opened my eyes. I don't know how long I had been asleep, but the gathering was over. People were leaving the house quietly, one or two at a time.

‘Up you get,' said Tiro. ‘It's time to go home.'

– chapter xiv –

The best price

 

The following day, I longed for school to be over, even more than Manius did. Afterwards, we went straight to the gladiator school, which was very quiet. The practice arena was empty.

‘The winning gladiators probably had a big feast last night,' said Manius. ‘I expect they all got drunk.'

I didn't care about the winners. It was one of the losers I wanted to see.

Manius knocked at a side door. It was answered by a hefty, scar-faced man, who looked as if he had been a gladiator long ago. ‘What do you want?' he growled.

Manius tried to look grown-up and important. ‘We have come to see one of the British warriors, the one who got wounded yesterday.'

‘They all got wounded. Which one do you mean?'

I said, ‘His name's Conan. He's my brother. Is he – is he still alive?'

‘Yes, but that leg of his doesn't look too good.'

The big man stood without moving, blocking the doorway. Finally, Manius realized what he wanted – money. When Manius gave him a few coins, the man suddenly became more helpful. He led us down a corridor, unlocked a door, and showed us into a small, dark room with a barred window.

Conan lay on a narrow bed. When he saw us, he tried to sit up, but then gave a gasp of pain and sank down again. I saw that he was still very pale – he must have lost a lot of blood. And he had a weary, defeated look about him, which reminded me of the day when we lost the great battle.

‘What happened yesterday?' Manius demanded. ‘You lost. I wanted you to win!'

Conan didn't answer. At first I thought he hadn't understood the Latin words.

‘Tell him what I said,' Manius demanded.

I began to translate it, but Conan interrupted me. ‘I heard. I'm not stupid,' he said in Latin. In our own tongue, he added, ‘Just like you, little brother, I've had to learn the language of the enemy.'

‘Answer me,' said Manius, looking impatient. ‘What happened yesterday? I thought you couldn't lose!'

‘Well, it seems you were wrong,' Conan said wearily. ‘Things don't always go the way you want. You'll find that out as you get older.' He spoke better Latin than I did; perhaps he'd been forced to learn faster.

‘But you're still alive – that's what matters,' I said. ‘How's your leg?'

Manius said, ‘Can I see it? Did it bleed a lot?' He was disappointed when Conan wouldn't unwrap the bandage on his leg.

‘The doctor said it might take months to heal,' Conan said gloomily. ‘He said I might walk with a limp for the rest of my life.' I could see how much he dreaded that. He had always been so fit and strong, proud of being the fastest runner in the village.

I tried to reassure him. ‘The doctor doesn't know everything. Your leg could heal up all right. Especially if I get my friends to pray for you—'

‘When are you going to fight again?' Manius interrupted.

‘Never,' said Conan bleakly.

‘But you're a gladiator,' said Manius. ‘You
have
to fight.'

Conan said, ‘The doctor told Decimus, my master, that it would take a long time to heal me. And the master said, “I'm not wasting time and money on a half-trained barbarian. There are plenty more where he came from. Patch him up a bit and I'll sell him. He's fit enough to do farm work.”'

‘But that would be such a waste!' cried Manius. ‘You're a fighter, not a farmer. You're really good at it.'

‘Not good enough,' Conan muttered. ‘I lost – and Decimus doesn't like losers. Anyway, if I end up crippled I can't fight, can I?' He looked utterly miserable.

‘At least they can't kill you on a farm,' I said.

‘Oh yes, they can. They can kill you with hard work, and punishment, and beatings. It would be better to die in the arena – at least it would be over quickly!'

‘Don't talk like that,' I begged him. ‘You mustn't give up hope. I don't want you to die.'

Conan turned his face to the wall, as if trying to hide his feelings. ‘Go away,' he muttered. ‘I'm tired.'

‘No. I won't leave you.'

But the doorman came in and made it plain that we couldn't stay any longer.

I felt terrible, seeing Conan like that – so hopeless and miserable. It wasn't like him at all. He was my big brother. He had always been ready to help me, encourage me and stand up for me.

Now it was his turn to need help. I had to do something. But what?

Late in the night, as I lay awake worrying, an idea came to me. Conan's master wanted to sell him. Fine – I would buy him. Then I would set him free.

Yes! I sat up in bed, full of excitement. That gold bracelet was still hidden in the stable. How much would it be worth? As much as Conan's life?

I would have to be careful, though. No one must see me with the bracelet. Although I didn't think of it as stolen property – I had
found
it, after all – the master's wife might think differently.

Also, would I be allowed to buy Conan? Could a slave buy another slave? How exactly did you go about setting someone free? Where would Conan live until his leg was fit to walk on?

This wasn't going to be easy. It might even be dangerous – but I had to try.

* * *

On the way to school next day, and on the way home, I kept my eyes open. I saw several shops that sold jewellery – in fact, there was a whole street where most of the shops belonged to goldsmiths. Surely one of them would buy the bracelet.

The problem would be how to go there without Manius. He wasn't stupid. Although he might not recognize the bracelet as his mother's, he would certainly want to know where I got it.

I asked him if we could go back to visit Conan, but he wasn't too keen. Now that Conan was no longer a gladiator, Manius had rather lost interest in him.

‘You can go while I'm in school,' he said. ‘Just make sure you're back in time to take me home.'

Perfect! That would give me some time on my own.

Later, while Tiro took the horses for exercise, I sneaked into the stable to get the bracelet. For a horrible moment, I thought it had disappeared. But it had simply slipped deeper into the hole in the wall.

I took it out and admired it, feeling the weight of it. To me, it looked like solid gold, but then I was no expert. I didn't know how much it might be worth. Sliding it onto a length of cord, I tied it around my neck so that it hung down inside my tunic. I could feel it lying heavy over my heart.

All the way to school next day, I was nervous, but Manius didn't seem to notice. When the lessons started, I set off in the direction of the gladiator school. Then I doubled back to the street of the goldsmiths. I walked along the row of shops, trying to decide which one to visit. Who would give the highest price? Who would ask the fewest questions?

In the end, I chose a small shop that was tucked away round a corner. The two men behind the counter looked as if they might be brothers. I thought this was a good omen.

‘Do you buy gold as well as sell it?' I asked them.

‘Of course. What do you want to sell?'

Looking around to make sure no one was watching, I took out the bracelet. The two brothers examined it, weighed it carefully, and talked together in a foreign language that I didn't recognize.

‘Where did you get this?' one of them asked me.

My heart beat faster. ‘I . . . er . . . just found it. Ages ago, at Saturnalia.'

I wasn't sure if they believed me. But the older one said, ‘We will buy it for a hundred denarii.'

‘It's worth far more than that,' I said indignantly. ‘I won't sell it for less than five hundred.' I couldn't even guess how much it was really worth. I just knew I had to get the best price I could.

We argued for a while. At last, we agreed on a price – three hundred denarii. I had no idea if that would be enough. Maybe I could have got a better price by asking around the different shops, but I was still feeling nervous. It was better not to be noticed by too many people.

The younger brother counted out the money. Seeing I had nowhere to put it, he gave me a leather pouch to tuck inside my belt. ‘And next time you . . . er . . .
find
something, you come to us, yes?'

They obviously thought I was a thief, but this didn't seem to bother them.

I hurried out of the goldsmiths' street. Suddenly I heard a shout.

‘Hey, Bryn! What are you doing here?'

Oh, no. It was the last person I wanted to meet – my enemy, Theon.