by Terry Deary
Illustrated by Helen Flook
A & C Black • London
First published 2008 by
A & C Black Publishers Ltd
38 Soho Square, London, W1D 3HB
www.acblack.com
Text copyright © 2008 Terry Deary
Illustrations copyright © 2008 Helen Flook
The rights of Terry Deary and Helen Flook to be identified as the author and illustrator of this work have been asserted by them in accordance with the Copyrights, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
eISBN: 978-1-40813-876-2
A CIP catalogue for this book is available from the British Library.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form or by any means–graphic, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or information storage and retrieval systems–without the prior permission in writing of the publishers.
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Printed and bound in Great Britain by Cox & Wyman Ltd.
Table of Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
AFTERWORD
ONE
Rome, 387 BC
Rome is built on seven hills, they say. And the greatest hill is the Capitol Hill. And on that hill stand three mighty temples:
The temple of Jupiter–king of the gods.
The temple of Juno–queen of the gods.
And the temple of Minerva, the goddess of wisdom.
Three mighty gods, and their greatest duty was to guard the city of Rome.
And they did … but only just! When I was a boy, I was a young priest at the temple of Juno. It was the most exciting time of my life, I can tell you, but the hardest time, too. We never stopped working.
In the mornings, we had lessons with the head priest, Marius. He liked shouting at me. No, he loved shouting at me.
“Brutus!” he sneered, as if I were a beetle that had crawled from inside his bread. “Brutus, tell me the name of the god of weeding?”
“Er… er…” I stammered.
The black-haired, brown-eyed girl next to me smirked seeing me suffer. Her name was Fabia and she was slippery sly.
“Insitor,” she whispered from the corner of her mouth.
“Insitor!” I cried out. “Insitor … the god of weeding, sir.”
The face of Marius looked like a thundercloud. He spoke slowly, the way you speak to a baby. “Insitor is the god of sowing seeds. The god of weeding is … who? Tell him, Fabia.”
“Please, sir, the god of weeding is Sarritor,” she smiled and showed her pointed, dog teeth.
“Well done, Fabia,” Marius said and the thundercloud lifted. He almost smiled. “As for you, Brutus,” he sighed. “What are we going to do with you?”
“Send him to weed the fields for a day,” Fabia said quickly. “He can spend the whole day praying to Sarritor, and that will help him learn.”
“Splendid idea, Fabia,” the high priest said. “To the fields, Brutus,” he ordered. “To the fields!”
TWO
I trudged down from the temple of Juno, past the great, white geese that grazed the grass. My mind was a jumble of thoughts. I knew I had to have revenge on Fabia, but I didn’t know how.
Then I saw the geese and I knew. Fabia had one great love. Those geese.
The geese were the holy birds of the goddess Juno. They even had their own junior priestess to feed and care for them. And who was that junior priestess? Yes, Fabia, of course.
So if the geese were harmed, who would be upset? Fabia.
If a single goose was killed in the night, who would be punished? Fabia.
My feet felt as light as if I was wearing the sandals of Mercury–the ones with wings.
The geese. If I hurt the geese, I would hurt Fabia. And that was all I wanted in the world.
The ugly white monsters snaked their long necks and hissed and snapped at me. Oh, I would enjoy having a chop at one of those necks!
But when I walked down the path from the temple into Rome, I heard the screams of the people. I saw the terror in their faces as they ran from their homes holding bundles of their riches. Some items spilled out in the dusty roadway, but they didn’t stop to pick them up.
A group of Roman soldiers ran after them; they were bleeding and sweating and throwing away their armour to help them run. One stopped at the great square to get his breath.
“What’s happening?” I cried.
The man stood trembling and exhausted. His eyes were empty and haunted. I shook him hard and shouted again. “What happened?”
He began to babble. “We went to fight the Gaul armies in the hills to the north–they swept down and drove us back. They were so fierce–they fought with no armour–some had no clothes at all!
“And their battle cries. What a noise! More frightening than thunder. Most Romans turned and ran. They won’t stop till they reach the rest of the Roman army in Veii. That’s where I’m heading,” he finished and staggered off down the street.
The roads were empty now.
Rome had run away.
I looked towards the north gate and saw why. The dust clouds showed that a mighty army was approaching.
THREE
The Gauls were coming. There would be no weeding for me in the fields that day–that dreadful day of 18th July.
I decided to run back up to the temples. I’d warn the priests and the guards. We’d block the only path to the Capitol Hill. We’d be safe.
I turned, and stopped. Some servants were carrying heavy ivory seats out of the senate–the great hall where the mighty men of Rome met up. They placed the huge thrones in a line, facing the north gate–facing the Gauls.
It was madness, I thought. A row of seats wouldn’t stop the barbarian attackers. I wanted to run, but my legs refused to move. I had to watch.
When the seats were in position, a dozen old men–the senators–walked out of the building. They were wearing fine togas with purple edges and each carried a rod–the rod that showed their power.
No one spoke. All we could hear in the warm morning air were the distant cries of the Gauls.
The old men sat on the thrones, held their rods across their laps and faced the gate.
“What are they doing?” I asked a servant, as he backed away to the safety of a dark alley.
“Waiting to die,” he squeaked and vanished.
There was a great roar and the first Gauls burst through the northern gateway and ran down the street. When they reached the square, they stopped. Many of them were naked, as the Roman soldier had said. Their pale bodies were streaked with sweat and blood and dust. Each carried a sword and a shield.
The Gauls formed a line, facing the senators. The old Romans didn’t move. A breeze stirred their white beards, or they could have been statues.
The Gauls looked around. They seemed to fear a trap. At last a massive warrior in fine armour pushed his way forward and faced the senators. He shouted at them in some strange tongue. No one moved. Then he spoke in rough Latin, and I understood.
“I am Brennus, king of the Gauls. Rome is now in my power and you must kneel at my feet.”
The senators stared straight ahead and ignored him.
Brennus turned red in the face. “Bow, you beaten old fools,” he screamed, then he marched up to one of the senators, old Papirius, and shouted in his face. “What is it you Romans say? Vae victis, i
sn’t it? Woe to the defeated!”
Papirius did not move.
One of Brennus’s captains stepped forward. “You insult our king–that insults us all!” He reached forward, grasped the old man’s beard and pulled it.
What happened next was so quick, I could hardly take it in. Papirius raised his rod of power and smashed it on to the hand that tugged his beard. The captain gave a roar, raised his sword and brought it down on Papirius’s head. The old man fell, dead. Then the other Gauls leapt forward and butchered the senators in their seats.
I ran. At last my legs felt the winged sandals of Mercury again. I flew up the Capitol Hill.
“Vae victis!” I cried. “Vae victis … woe to the defeated!”
FOUR
Three weeks passed after I fled from the dead senators. They were frightening times.
There was only one path to the Capitol Hill, so it was easy for our temple troops to defend it. The Gauls who rushed up the hill were chopped down, just as they had slaughtered the senators.
The Gauls who fled back down the hill started burning and robbing the city below us in revenge.
The temples stood on the edge of a cliff and no army could climb the cliff. Far below were sharp rocks–one day a priestess had been thrown on to the rocks to die–the priestess Tarpeia–so they were known as the Tarpeian Rocks.
As the sun set over the sea, I gazed down on the smoking ruins of the city and the Gauls camped in the streets. When I looked at those rocks, I dreamed that one day the foul Fabia would have a little accident and end up there.
Fabia slid alongside me. “What are you thinking, Brutus?” she asked.
“I was thinking about Tarpeia … and worried you might end up like her. You will be careful, won’t you?”
“I will,” she said quietly.
She believed that I was worried about her!
“Of course,” she went on, “Tarpeia was crushed to death between the enemy shields before they threw her off this cliff … she wouldn’t have felt a thing.”
Crushed to death first? No, I wouldn’t mind if that happened to Fabia, I decided.
“What will happen, Brutus?” she asked.
The cruel, sly girl was as tired and starving as the rest of us. Her spirit seemed as crushed as Tarpeia’s body.
“We’ll survive. Lord Furius has the army at Veii–he’ll rescue us,” I said.
The sun slid out of sight and shadows raced over the land. That’s when I saw a movement at the foot of the cliff. Someone was climbing the steep, secret path that only the Romans knew about.
“Hush!” I whispered to Fabia and ran to find the captain of the guard, Marcus Manlius. He was at the gates to the path–waiting for another attack there. No one thought the Gauls would try to climb the cliffs.
Marcus Manlius was a powerful man with the eyes of a hawk and a nose like its beak. He listened to my babbled news, then he took off his hob-nailed sandals so he could run silently to the cliff edge.
Pulling Fabia back, Marcus stared down into the gloom. “Someone is climbing the cliff,” he nodded. “Well done, boy.”
He backed away and we hid behind one of the great marble columns of the temple. When we heard a young man pulling himself over the top of the Tarpeian cliff, Marcus Manlius leapt out.
“Die, Gaul!” he cried.
FIVE
As Fabia and I ran out to watch, we saw the shadowy form of the invader fall to his knees, throw his arms wide and cry, “I am not armed–I am a friend–I am a Roman!”
He spoke Latin and wore a Roman tunic. Marcus lowered his sword and helped him to his feet.
“I’ve come to help,” the man panted. “I am Cominius.” Fabia snorted. “One man can’t do much!”
The stranger peered at her through the darkness. “One man with an army behind him can,” he said.
“Oh,” Fabia muttered, and I felt pleased to see her squashed.
“Lord Furius has the army ready to attack,” Cominius explained.
“But he needs orders. He needs me to return and tell him you wish to be rescued.”
Marcus Manlius led the way to the temple where the priests and the soldiers were eating a miserable meal of corn and watery wine. “My friends, we have news from Lord Furius,” he said. “The army is gathered at Veii. He wants to know if we want his help.”
Marius rose to his feet. Like Fabia, his manner was quiet and tired now. “Lord Furius was banished from Rome. He is a rogue and we sent him away for his crimes.”
Marcus Manlius said, “Then we can stay here and die. The Gauls will overrun the temples. They will pull down the statues of our gods.
The past three weeks of struggle will have been wasted. We may as well have given in on that first day. Is that what you want, Marius?”
Marius shook his head wearily. “Let us send for Furius,” he conceded.
The young soldier, Cominius, thanked him and set off back down the secret path to Veii.
Everyone on the Capitol Hill was cheered by the thought of rescue.
“It will take two days for Furius to reach us. We have barely enough food to live on.” He laughed. “It would be good to have a feast when they arrive. But we can’t.”
And that’s when I stepped forward. It was the plan I’d been dreaming of for days.
“There is a way we can eat like lords,” I said brightly.
“How?” Marcus asked.
I turned and looked at Fabia. “By killing those great, fat geese, of course!” I said.
“No!” she screamed. “Not the geese! You can’t! They’re holy birds and we need them to protect Rome!” She wailed and sobbed till she was too tired to cry any longer.
But Marcus Manlius nodded. “When rescue comes, we will feast on the geese,” he agreed.
I smiled to myself. My revenge was almost complete.
SIX
I walked past the geese the next morning. They clacked their yellow beaks at me and hissed their hatred.
But that day I smiled and licked my lips. “Tomorrow, my feathered friends. Tomorrow, we’ll be rescued by Lord Furius and then I will eat you. That’ll be nice … for me … won’t it?”
I walked off, laughing, and on my way I passed the tearful Fabia going to give the geese their last-ever meal.
The head priest Marius didn’t shout at me in class that day. He taught us the right way to sacrifice a goat.
“It is wrong to kill an animal if it doesn’t want to be killed,” he told us. “What you must do is hold out some food. The animal will stretch out its neck to take it. That is a sign that it wants to have its throat cut. Then you cut it.”
Fabia was silent.
“Will it work with the geese, sir?” I asked eagerly, and I heard Fabia let out a small sob.
“Probably,” Marius sighed. “But I am not sure that we should be sacrificing the holy geese…”
“Of course we shouldn’t,” Fabia sniffled. “They’re Rome’s protectors.”
“But they didn’t save Rome, did they?” I jeered. I turned back to Marius. “Can I be there when you kill them?”
The priest nodded. “Unless we receive a sign from the gods,” he said, and I sighed with happiness.
You must be thinking I was cruel and spiteful. You are right. I wanted to hurt Fabia, so I wasn’t thinking about the geese. Boys can be stupid and blind.
Marius said the geese needed a miracle if they were going to live. And I suppose what happened that night was a miracle…
While I had been tormenting the geese, and Fabia, that morning, the Gaul guards at the foot of the cliffs had seen the broken branches and crushed plants on the cliff. It was the trail Cominius had left when he climbed down to get help. Now the Gauls knew there was a way up.
King Brennus had seen us beat his men on the path to the Capitol Hill. He knew that the Gauls had no chance of succeeding by climbing a narrow, slippery cliff path.
“We must go in the dark,” the king decided. “There is no moon tonight,” he told his c
aptains. “Twenty of the best warriors can climb the cliff, kill the guards and take the Capitol Hill. If we hold that hill, when the Roman army attacks, they will never drive us out!”
SEVEN
And so they set about their plan.
In the temples, we ate our thin corn porridge and settled down to sleep. It would be our last night of misery. Tomorrow Furius would come with the Roman army. Tomorrow we would feast on goose flesh.
I slept. The priests slept. Our leader Marcus Manlius slept. The guards and even the guard dogs slept.
Everyone was exhausted.
Through the night, the Gauls climbed. In the darkest hour they reached the top of the cliff. They slid out their swords, ready to start slitting sleeping throats. The enemy moved forward.
Then, all at once, the silence was broken by screeching, cackling, blood-chilling screams.
The geese had woken and raged against the strangers. Geese are better at guarding than dogs.
Marcus Manlius woke. He snatched his sword and gathered his guards.
The Gauls panicked. Some staggered backwards over the cliff and fell screaming on to the Tarpeian Rocks below.
The rest were driven back and killed. Cries of men mingled with the gabbling of the geese until the last attacker died and calm returned.
Torches were lit and the priests and the soldiers gathered near the temple of Juno.
