Chapter 3

Getorix, it turned out, was as confused as the rest of us. We had revolted because we’d had enough, but we were strangers in a strange land. What should we do? We talked and agreed that the two of us would seek some locals to try and find a way of working together.

I sent Garius back to make sure the family were still safe, I told him to be strong and act like he was second-in-command. “Talk strong and confident, they’ll obey.” I wanted the family as bargaining chips, but I was also thinking along other lines.

Getorix and I headed for the village; as we did, several armed and dangerous men appeared from some woods. Gladiators! They got benefits for fighting for the Roman elite, they would support them surely?

“You! Are you Romans?” shouted a man with a sword and shield. I left my knife in my bag; we were outnumbered and defenceless. Yet I was honest. “No. We are from the villae yonder. We are going to the local village to find out what is happening.” I didn’t say we had rebelled, but then I didn’t say we hadn’t.

“May we come with you? We have killed our master and now need to find how we can form some kind of army for when the bastards come for revenge.”

“If they do. They were leaving Britannia anyway weren’t they?”

“Romans don’t forgive and forget. I’m Bran, son of Brean.”

“Welcome to our band.” It seemed politic to offer the hand of friendship but make it clear they were joining us, not us joining them. “I am Coriolanus, and this is Getorix.” It seemed they had tired of the whippings, poor food and inevitable death in the ring. They also tired of being ‘given’ a female for the night and never being able to form relationships. I got the feeling that was the main complaint, actually. The Romans are so dense sometimes. Give each gladiator a woman to fuck every night and let her bind his wounds too and Getorix and me would be spit roast now probably.

The village came out to meet us. Well, that was good. An armed group approaching and they saw it and prepared. If they hadn’t seen us we could have killed half of them before they knew it; and so could the Romans.

“Hail! Cad é mar atá sibh?” I shouted. They relaxed a little. If I spoke their tongue, then perhaps they could trust us. “These are gladiators, trained fighters and killers. They have rebelled too. We are representatives of slaves of the villae near by. We want to join you and help fight the Romans when they come back. If they come back.”

We were welcomed in, given roasted hog (I assumed it was hog, it could have been human for all I knew), and mead. We talked. We planned. We found common ground. We establish chains of command. I was the leader of the slaves and gladiators. The locals had their chieftain, the slaves had me. I could live with that. And the locals would only deal with me. Any other rebel slaves would have to be under my command. Important agreements were: