Beric the Briton

by G. A. Henty

  “I am rejoiced, indeed,” he said, “for although I knew that the general would not receive a triumph, I feared that if he made a public entry it was possible there might be a public outcry for your life, which would, by our custom, have been forfeited had there been a triumph. I doubt not that the hand of Petronius is in this; his messengers would have arrived here weeks ago, and it may be that letters despatched as much as a month after we left have preceded us. Doubtless he would have stated that his clemency had had the desired effect, and that all trouble was at an end; he may probably have added that this was partly due to your influence, and warned them that were you put to death it would have a deplorable effect among your people and might cause a renewal of trouble. Suetonius is furious, for he has hoped much from the effect his entry with captives in his train would have produced. He has powerful enemies here; scarce a noble family but has lost a connection during the troubles in Britain, and Suetonius is of course blamed for it. You and I know that, although he has borne himself harshly towards the Britons, the rising was due to Catus rather than to him, but as Catus is a creature of Nero the blame falls upon Suetonius.”

  “It was the deeds of Catus that caused the explosion,” Beric said; “but it would have come sooner or later. It was the long grinding tyranny that had well nigh maddened us, that drove Caractacus first to take up arms, that raised the western tribes, and made all feel that the Roman yoke was intolerable. The news of the massacre of the Druids and the overthrow of our altars converted the sullen discontent into a burning desire for revenge, and the insult to Boadicea was the signal rather than the cause of the rising. It is to the rule of Suetonius that it is due that hundreds of thousands of Britons, Romans, and their allies have perished.”

  “The fault of Suetonius,” Pollio said, “was that he was too much of a soldier. He thought of military glory, and left all other matters, save the leading of his troops, in the hands of his civilians. Petronius is a general, but he has distinguished himself more in civil matters. Two generals have been sent out with him, to lead the troops if necessary, but he has been chosen as an administrator.”

  “They should have sent him out ten years ago,” Beric said, “and there then would have been no occasion for generals.”

  They were now approaching Rome, and Beric's attention was entirely occupied by the magnificent scene before him, and with the sight of the temples and palaces rising thickly upon the seven hills. Massilia had surprised him by its size and splendour, but beside Rome it was only a village. “Rome would do well,” he said to Pollio, “to bring the chiefs of every conquered country hither; the sight would do more than twenty legions to convince them of the madness of any efforts to shake off the Roman yoke.”

  “I will see you tomorrow,” Pollio said as they neared the landing place. “I shall see many of my friends today, and get them to interest themselves in your behalf. I will find out for you where Caius Muro is at present; doubtless he too will do what he can for you, seeing that you lived so long in his charge;” for Beric had not mentioned to his friend aught of the manner in which he had saved Muro's daughter at the sack of Camalodunum.

  As soon as the centurion came on board Pollio recommended Beric to his care, saying that he was the chief of the party of British captives, and that during the journey he had formed a close friendship with him.

  “I shall not be in charge of him long,” the centurion said. “I have but to hand him over to the governor of the prison, but I will tell him what you have said to me. He must now go on board the other ship and join his companions, for my orders are that they are not to be landed until after dark.” Pollio nodded to Beric; this was another proof that it was determined the populace should not be excited in favour of Suetonius by the passage of the captives through the streets.

  Beric rejoined his companions. “Well, Boduoc, what think you of Rome?”

  “I have been thinking how mad our enterprise was, Beric. You told me about the greatness of Rome and from the first predicted failure, but I thought this was because you had been infected by your Roman training; I see now that you were right. Well, and what do you think is going to be done with us?”

  “It is evident there is going to be no public display of us, Boduoc. Suetonius is at present in disgrace, and we shall be either sent into the school for gladiators, or set to work at some of the palaces Nero is building.”

  “They may do what they like,” Boduoc said, “but I will not fight for their amusement. They may train me if they like and send me into the arena, but if they do I will not lift sword, but will bid my opponent slay me at once.”

  There was a murmur of assent from some of the others; but another who said, “Well, I would rather die fighting anyway than work as a slave at Roman palaces,” found a response from several.

  The next day they were marched up to Nero's palace.

  Surprised as they might be by the splendour of the streets they traversed, and by the grandeur and magnificence of the palace, they betrayed no sign whatever of their feelings, but marched through the vast halls with their wealth of marble and adornments with calm and unmoved faces. At last they reached the audience hall, where the emperor was seated with a throng of courtiers behind him.

  Nero was five-and-twenty, but looked older, for his dissolute habits had already left their marks upon his features. He had an air of good temper, and a rough frankness of manner that rendered him popular among the mass of the people, whom he courted by every means in his power, distributing with lavish hand the wealth he gained by confiscation and spoliation of the rich. The Britons bowed deeply before him and then stood upright and fearless.

  “By Hercules,” the emperor said to the councillor standing next to him, “but these are grand men! No wonder Suetonius has had such trouble in subduing them. And this young man is their chief? Truly, as Petronius said in his letter, he is but a lad. You speak our language too?” he went on, addressing Beric.

  “I was brought up as a hostage among the Romans,” he replied, “and was instructed in their language and literature.”

  “Then you should have known better than to rise against us, young chief.”

  “Two years ago I was but a boy, Caesar,” Beric replied, “scarce deemed old enough to fight, much less to give an opinion in the presence of my elders. I was well aware that the struggle must end in our defeat; but when the chiefs of my nation decided for war, I had nought to do but to go with them.”

  “But how is it, then, that you came to command so many, and became in time the leader of so large a band?”

  “It was because I had studied your military books, and knew that only by an irregular warfare could we hope to prolong our existence. It was no longer an insurrection; we were simply fugitives trying to sell our lives dearly. If Suetonius had offered us terms we would gladly have laid down our arms, but as he simply strove to destroy us we had, like animals brought to bay, to fight for our own lives. The moment Petronius offered to allow my people to return to their homes and pay tribute to Rome I advised them to submit.”

  “So Petronius tells me, and he has said much to excuse your conduct.

  “I would I could enlist this band as my bodyguard,” Nero said in a low voice, turning to his councillor, “but the praetorian guards are jealous of their privileges, and none save a Roman can be enrolled in their ranks.”

  “It would be dangerous, Caesar; the praetorians are well affected to your majesty, and in these days when there are so many ambitious generals at the head of armies it would be unwise to anger them.”

  “Then we will send them to the schools to be trained. Send this lad with the four best of the others to Scopus, and divide the rest among three other schools. The Romans have never seen such men as these in the arena. We must not spoil it by matching them at present with men whose skill more than makes up for their want of strength. Two years in the schools will make marvels of them. The lad will want more than that before he gains his full bulk and strength, but he will some day turn out s
uch a gladiator as Rome has never seen; and if after a time we can find no champion to withstand him, we can match him against the lions. I will myself give Scopus orders concerning him.”

  So saying he waved his hand. The guards closed round the captives and they were led away.

  “What is it all about, Beric?” Boduoc asked.

  “We are to go to the school for gladiators,” Beric said; “but as the emperor considers that you will all need two years' training at the exercises before you will be fit to appear in the ring, we shall have time to think matters over. Much may happen before that. Nero may be liked by the mass of the people, but he is hated and feared, as I hear, by the upper classes. He may be assassinated or overthrown before that.”

  “I don't see that it will make much difference to us,” Boduoc grumbled.

  “I don't know that it would. At any rate we have time before us. We shall be well taken care of, well fed, and have plenty of exercise. Before now the gladiators have shaken Rome to its centre. What has happened once may happen again.”

  As they passed along the streets of Rome the news that a party of fair haired giants were being escorted under a guard spread rapidly, and a crowd soon filled the streets. Windows opened and ladies looked curiously down at the procession. Beric marched at the head of his party, who followed four abreast, and their air of calmness and self possession, their proud bearing, and the massive strength of their figures roused the admiration of the multitude, who, on learning from the guards that the captives were Britons, greeted them with shouts of approval. So thick became the crowd before they reached their destination, that the Roman soldiers had difficulty in forcing their way through. As they turned into the street in which stood the great school of Scopus the crowd at once guessed the destination of the captives.

  “By all the gods!” one of the lookers on said, “these fellows will furnish us with grand sport in the arena.”

  “It is a shame to turn such grand looking men into gladiators,” a woman said.

  “What, would you like to pick a husband out among them, dame?” the first speaker laughed.

  “I would not mind. At any rate, I would prefer any of them to such an ill looking scarecrow as you,” she retorted. “It is bad enough when they kill off some of those Gauls, who are far too good for such work; but the best of them I have seen in the arena lacks six inches, both in height and breadth of shoulder, of these Britons.”

  “Ah!” the man grumbled, “that is always the way with women; they think of nothing but strength.”

  “Why shouldn't we? Men think of nothing but beauty.”

  And so, amid a chorus of remarks, for the most part complimentary, the Britons strode along, surrounded by their escort, until they reached the entrance to the school of Scopus. The master, attracted by the noise in the street, was standing at the entrance. He was a broad built man, but without an ounce of superfluous flesh, with muscles and sinews standing up in knots and ridges, and evidently possessed of extreme activity as well as strength.

  “Nero has sent you five fresh scholars, Scopus.”

  “By Hercules,” Scopus said, “they are splendid barbarians! Whence come they?”

  “They are Britons.”

  “Ah! Yes, Claudius brought back a few with him, but that was before I was here. I would they were all a few years younger. They are in their prime now; and to make a man first class, one should begin with him young. This youngster here is just the age. I warrant me there will not be many who can hold their own against him when I have trained him.”

  “He is their chief,” the centurion said, “and speaks our language as well as you do.”

  “That is good. I can speak a little Gaulish; but there is always trouble with newcomers from out of the way countries when we have no one who speaks their language.”

  “Well, I will leave them with you; they are in your charge. I have the other fifteen to divide among three other schools.”

  “I will take care of them,” Scopus said. “There is good feeding and good drinking here, and no one runs away. There is nowhere to run to, that is one thing. Still, what could a man want more than to be well housed, well fed, and have the companionship of plenty of good fellows? Don't you think so?” and he turned to Beric.

  “It is of no use asking for more if one is not likely to get it; certainly we might do worse.”

  “Well, follow me,” Scopus said. “I will introduce you to your comrades.”

  Beric and his companions took a hearty farewell of the others, Beric telling them that doubtless they would have frequent occasions of meeting; he then followed Scopus into a large hall. Here some forty or fifty men were assembled. Some were swinging weights round their heads, others were engaged at gymnastic exercises. Two men, under the direction of an instructor, were fighting with blunted swords; one great fellow, armed with sword and shield, was hotly pursuing an active man of little over half his weight, carrying a trident in one hand and a net in the other, amid the laughter of a group watching them.

  At the entrance of Scopus and his companions the proceedings were arrested.

  “Here are some fresh hands,” Scopus said, “who have come to fill up the vacancies made in the games ten days since. They are Britons, and I should imagine will require a lot of training before they are fit for the arena. One of them talks Latin. The rest, I fancy, will have, for the present, to content themselves with the companionship of you Gauls, who are, as I believe, of kindred race, though it seems to me that either you must have fallen off in size, or they have increased since you separated.”

  Some seven or eight Gauls stepped forward and addressed the Britons, and the latter, glad to find men who could speak their language, responded heartily. The gladiators were of many races. Besides the Gauls there were four or five Goths; some Iberians, lean swarthy men; Numidians, fleet of foot, lithe and active—these were used more often for contests with wild beasts than in the gladiatorial conflicts, for which they lacked strength and weight—Parthians and Scythians, together with a score of natives of Italy, Romans and others, who had taken to the profession of gladiator as they might have done to any other calling.

  “Now,” Scopus said to Beric, “you are free of the place; there are no prisoners here. There are regular hours and exercises; but beyond that your time is your own, to walk in the city, to see the shows, or to remain here. As you see, all here dress somewhat after Roman fashion, so that as they go abroad they may not be stared at. There is no obligation that way, but it is more comfortable. There are upwards of a hundred schools in Rome. Some are larger than mine, and some smaller, but there is not one that stands higher. When one of my men enters the ring the audience know that they are going to see good sport.”

  “Do we have to fight against each other, or against strangers?”

  “Against strangers,” Scopus said. “When there is going to be a show day, so many schools are warned to send three or four men, as the case may be, and the master of ceremonies matches them against each other. Sometimes there may be ten couples, sometimes forty or fifty, it depends whether it is a great occasion or not; and of course each school hopes to see its champions win. That fellow you saw running with a net, he is a Scythian, and so quick and nimble that he always gets away, and is ready for a throw again before his opponent can overtake him. He is a great favourite of the public, for he has been in the arena twelve times and has always conquered.”

  “What do you consider to be the best weapon—the trident or the sword?”

  “If a man is active without being strong, I should make a retiarius of him,” Scopus said. “If he is strong without being active, he would naturally fight with sword and buckler. Then there is the caestus, but the Romans do not care for that, though, to my mind, it is the finest of all the exercises; for that both strength and activity are required, but it is not bloody enough for the Romans. Perhaps the thing that demands the greatest skill and nerve and strength at the same time is to fight wild beasts. However, we settle none of these
things at first. After a few months' training we see what a man's capabilities are, and what he himself has a fancy for. I always let a man choose, if he has any very strong wish in the matter, for he is sure to succeed best in that. There are many who, even with all my care, never turn out first class. These are reserved to fight in what may be called general contests, which have become popular lately, ten against ten, or fifty against fifty. On two or three grand occasions there have been as many as a thousand engaged. For these no particular skill is required; it is one side against the other. Lastly, there are a few who turn out so useless that it would be a waste of pains to try to make anything of them. These are sent to the galleys, or to the public works.”

  “You never find any unwilling to learn?” Beric said.

  “Not one,” the man said carelessly. “A man has to defend himself, and even with blunt swords he will get awkward cracks if he cannot protect his head. Besides, in the arena a man's life depends upon his skill, and the conquered is sure to have no mercy shown him unless he has borne himself well. Therefore, each man is anxious to learn. I have had a few obstinate fellows, for the most part Goths, who would do nothing. I simply send them down to the galleys, and I warrant me that they are not long in finding out what fools they have been, and would give a good deal to exchange their beds of hard boards and their coarse food for a life of pleasure and freedom here.”

  “As long as it lasts,” Beric said.

  “Yes, as long as it lasts. But with all its dangers it is likely to last as long as that of a galley slave. What with bad food and hardship and toil and the taskmaster's whip and the burning sun, a galley slave's life is a short one; while a skilful gladiator may live for many years, and in time save money enough to set up a school as I have done.”

  “Were you a gladiator once?” Beric asked.