Calvinvs

Lvdvs

Liber IV: LVDVS - GAMES

WARNING: This story contains strong and violent themes and gore. If you do not like such things, do not read it.

Britannicus ran down past the temple of Jupiter Optimus Maximus, Jupiter the Greatest and Best. He did not pause to worship there, nor even climb its steps. That was not his destination, and in any case he had little use for the gods of the Romans. He had been in Rome for nearly three years now, but he had not forgotten the gods of his people, even if they had all but forgotten him. He may be a slave of the Romans, but he was not subject to their gods. Not that it would matter in any case, as he had no offering to give the god, so he would be turned away if he tried to enter the temple.

The temple was a beautiful building, but on the Capitoline Hill there were many beautiful buildings. This was the heart of the political and spiritual heart of the city, the caput mundi, as the Romans called it, the capital of the world. One building that lacked the elegance of the temples but was no less impressive was the boy's actual destination. Britannicus skidded to a halt at the entrance to the Tabularium, the building that housed the state archives of Rome.

"Go away, brat," said a man dressed in the uniform of a guard. Britannicus shook his head and pulled out a scroll case, handing it to the guard. "What is this?" the guard asked, and when Britannicus did not answer he grunted. "Speak up boy, or has the harpy got your tongue?"

Britannicus opened his mouth, pointing at the stump of tongue that was all that had not been cut out by his former master, and the guard looked and shivered, but when he spoke next his tone was gentler.

"Gods, the harpy really did get your tongue! Well look, you are wearing no bulla so you are a slave, and I doubt you can have much business here. Are you lost boy?"

Britannicus let out a small sigh and pointed vigorously at the scroll case. The guard looked at it too and frowned.

"Okay, okay, I am reading it! Calm down," he said as he unstoppered the case and extracted a small roll of parchment and unrolled it. He squinted at it, holding it very close to his face, and Britannicus at once knew why he had been so slow to read it – because he clearly did not read well. It took him a long time to read the short note of authority.

"This seems very strange to me," the guard said. "What is the point of showing you vicesima documents? It is not like you will be able to understand them."

Britannicus held up a box he was carrying and opened it to show a layer of beeswax and a stylus inside. He picked up the stylus and pointed at himself. The man looked at him and laughed. Britannicus knew why. Obviously a barbarian, and a scrawny one at that, no one would think much of his chances to successfully copy down what his master wanted to know.

"Well it is your master's business, but maybe tomorrow he will send a Greek to do the same work," the guard scoffed. "Just be sure to get someone to point out the passage you need copying down."

Britannicus bit his lip, but now the guard waved him in, and so the boy hurried on past and into the tabularium. The man called after him to ask if he knew where he needed to go, but Britannicus raised an arm to indicate he needed no help. Turpio had been quite clear as to where to go and who to ask for help. The boy followed the path his master had explained, and sure enough found a man who seemed to be expecting Britannicus and took him to an area where the light came through a large arch, so he could see the document he had been sent to inspect.

"The vicesima was paid on the estate of Gaius Artorius Bato in respect of both the gladiators that were manumitted at the last games. They are indeed legally free."

Britannicus nodded his head and noted down the information on the scroll, a record of the tax paid when the slaves had been freed. His master would not like the answer, perhaps. Britannicus did not understand his master's business, but he knew that if he had discovered the tax had not been paid, he could have used the fact to his advantage. This was not the answer he had been hoping for then, but it was still an answer and Britannicus would note the information carefully and faithfully.

He was just about finished copying the information out when something else caught his eye on the scroll in front of him. Much further up, a name had caught his eye, and now that he could read, he found he was fascinated by what it said.

Caudex Gaius Aurelius. The freed man of Gaius Aurelius, the vicesima paid on the calends of August. There was even a note that the slave was formerly known as Caudex Maximus Valerius Servus, but manumitted on the day he was bought by Gaius Aurelius.

"Are you done yet boy? Because if so, get out of here. I don't want to explain why Turpio Africanus' slave is looking at this document."

Britannicus slammed the lid shut on his wax tablet, and nodded. The man pointed to the door and the boy quickly left, walking out of that tabularium and back out into the spring sunshine.

Caudex was a freed man? A Roman Citizen now, under the patronage of Gaius Aurelius, the man who he had once thought loved him? The man who had left him to die in the wrath of Vesuvius. That made little sense though. Why would a man buy a slave just to set him free? That was just a waste of money, and although Gaius Aurelius had much money, Britannicus could not believe he was so willing to throw it away on releasing slaves. In any case, why Caudex? He would hardly have even known Caudex existed.

Britannicus was supposed to return to Turpio Africanus once he had the information he had been sent to collect, but he thought he had time to make a quick visit on the way back. He ran down past the forum and into the streets beyond, dodging people until he arrived at the house of the physician near the fullonica. When he reached the gateway, a door slave shook his head and called out.

"Quintus, your little friend is here."

Quintus appeared with a smile on his face, although he was shaking his head.

"Britannicus, you will get us both in trouble. I am busy, and I would wager that you are not supposed to be here."

Britannicus shrugged and drew a word in the dust. Caudex.

"Caudex? Valerius Maximus' slave? what about him?"

Britannicus wrote: What happened to him?

"Sold off with everything else I suppose, why?"

Quickly Britannicus scribbled down words, his spelling interesting, but understandable. Quintus tried to follow along and saw where Britannicus was going. There was a mystery here. Why the coincidence of the slave being bought by Gaius Aurelius, but more importantly, why was he then freed?

"I will ask around, but you have to go Britannicus. Next time I see you I will tell you what I found."

Britannicus looked at Quintus, nodded and then, on an impulse, he hugged the boy. Quintus looked taken aback, but he returned the hug and smiled before pushing him away.

"Go on, get out of here," he said, his voice a little gruff, and Britannicus skittered away across cobbled streets into the crush of people heading towards the forum.

"Calvinus!" Julia said, her face twisted in a smile as the eunuch boy walked into the atrium, carrying a load of plates. The boy stopped and looked at her uncertainly. Every time he saw Julia, his face would redden and today was no exception. She never stopped goading him about his lack of manhood, nor indeed his new occupation as a whore. He knew what he was, and she knew it too, but it did not seem so long ago that he had thought he was her equal.

Today was different though. As embarrassed as he was, today he did not feel as bad as he usually did. True enough he had been kept up late last night, serving the needs of a man who expressed his manhood by the domination of weaker males. True enough he had been fucked, and his bum was still sore after being forced to service this man. Two things were different though. Firstly the man in question had called him beautiful. Calvinus did not think his body beautiful, he thought he was a filthy whore, but this man had looked at him and declared him beautiful, and that had made his heart skip a beat and his stomach flutter. The other thing that was different was that the man who had fucked him last night was none other than Domitian, brother to the emperor of Rome.

Thus it was that today Calvinus was ready for Julia's jibes.

"Why are you smiling, whore boy?" Julia asked and Calvinus swallowed the smile – he had not meant to smile, and Julia would not leave his happiness unpunished – this he knew.

"No reason domina," he replied.

"Calvinus, kneel down andl tell me now why you were smiling or I will have you whipped for disobedience."

Calvinus shivered. He knew that Julia was capable of carrying out her threat, and he remembered Enoch's back after his whipping. That was not a fate he wished to share, but how could he explain that he had been smiling because Domitian had said he was beautiful? He kneeled down and took a moment to form his reply.

"I was just thinking of 3; happier times," he lied. Julia snorted.

"You disgust me Calvinus."

Calvinus thought to himself that he disgusted himself too, but that did not matter. Domitian liked eunuchs and he liked him especially. Julia stalked away and Calvinus went about his business.

That was the day after Domitian first took Calvinus to his bed, and that very evening word came that Calvinus was to return to his private chamber. Over the next days and weeks Calvinus was a regular visitor to Domitian's chamber and the man fucked him in a variety of ways, but nothing Sabinus had not already trained him to. Unlike Sabinus though, Domitian showed him some regard. Sometimes he hurt him, sometimes deliberately, but at the end of their love making, Calvinus could always lie with the man, snuggled close to him, feeling his warmth and a sense of protection from him. He knew now that Julia's options were limited, because Domitian would not want his favourite eunuch harmed.

Julia would quickly have realised what was happening though. She would know from Sabinus that Calvinus was no longer allowed in any bed but Domitian's, and when she saw him around the villa from time to time she seemed to be increasingly furious, and this made Calvinus happy. At last the tables were turning. Julia may be Domitian's ward while her mother was sick, but he was Domitian's favourite now. She may be free, but he was the bed boy of the second most important man in the world. He still felt humiliated by his life as a whore, but now at least he was an important whore.

***

Everything changed again two weeks after Domitian had first slept with Calvinus. The morning was bright, birds were singing spring songs, and a wood pigeon was cooing its morning call, as another slave came to find the boy from where he was working in the garden. For Calvinus the morning had been good until that point, his mind filled with memories of the night before.

The night before he had been with Domitain, and the love making had been reasonably gentle, followed by a long period spent in the man's arms. Domitian could be a harsh master, but to Calvinus he was gentle. He had fondled the boy's small nub and castration scars, and spoken of his beauty, even as he spoke of his regret of the act that had taken away his manhood.

For Calvinus there were few such tender moments, and although Domitian's interest in him was clearly sexual, still he thought of his father at these times. He could close his eyes as he lay in the man's arms and imagine that he was in the arms of his father, still free, still an heir to a reasonable fortune, and all right with the world.

There was also something of a surprise that night, as Domitian fondled the castrated stump of his penis – Calvinus had discovered that not all feeling was gone from it. As Domitian caressed it, he could feel a strange feeling, and the nub actually stiffened, the nub reaching a finger width in length. The feeling was perhaps just the vaguest shadow of what real men felt, but it did actually feel quite good. A tiny glimmer of the pleasure that had been cut away from him, a gift from Domitian.

Domitian had spoken gently to Calvinus as he had drifted off to sleep and then Calvinus had left only after he was sure Domitian would not be disturbed by the movement. He returned to the slave quarters and fallen quickly into a deep sleep, dreaming of Domitian and his kindness.

Now though he was being summoned, and the grim look on the slave's face suddenly filled Calvinus with trepidation. He followed meekly, and as he was taken into the villa and directly to the master's tablinarium, his fear and confusion deepened. Domitian liked him, maybe even loved him, but he had never been summoned to see him anywhere but his bed chamber.

Calvinus was ushered in and took in the scene quickly. There was Domitian, standing in the room, a look of fury on his face. Standing a little behind him was Julia, and her face was set like stone. Not fury, but no smile either, just a grim expression set firmly in place.

Calvinus swallowed and kept his head down. Whatever was happening it would be best not to give anyone any reason to punish him. Domitian nodded at the slave who had brought him, and the man stepped back, close to the entrance.

There was a long pause, and Calvinus wondered what could possibly have happened. He wanted to pee, and hoped he had the control not to wet himself.

"Calvinus, tell me, what did you do after I fell asleep last night?" Domitian asked quietly, but his tone was dangerous.

"I 3; I went back to the slave quarters and slept dominus," the boy answered truthfully but Julia snorted.

"You went directly back? You did nothing else?"

"No dominus, nothing," Calvinus confirmed.

"He lies!" Julia said, her voice seething with anger. Calvinus looked at her and shook his head.

"I am not lying. I went straight back to the slave quarters and slept until just before dawn."

"Calvinus, did you go to the table in my chamber and remove a ring from there? I think you know the one – the ring with my sigil on it, my mark of authority. A ring that could be used by a runaway slave to pretend to freedom perhaps?"

The colour drained from Calvinus' face as he realised what he was being accused of but he shook his head and denied the accusation with a firm "no dominus." Of course he had not done so.

"And yet, Calvinus, the ring is missing. This morning I cannot find it. Is that not strange?"

"It is strange dominus, but I did not take it."

"He is lying again!" Julia said and Calvinus turned to her and glared. He could not help it, he felt such fury towards her. Why was she saying that? What was she even doing here.

"There is more Calvinus. After you left my chamber, did you or did you not steal your way into Julia's room with the intent to do her harm?"

"I did not, dominus," Calvinus replied, "I went straight back to the slave quarters."

"I think you went to Julia's room and entered it, did you not? I think you saw that she was not there and crept away, thinking you were unnoticed. You intended to do her harm, as I hear you once vowed to do, and after doing her that harm you would have run away with my ring, trying to flee the city. Your mind was set on revenge, and you were only thwarted by the fact that Julia had been to see her mother and returned very late with Sabinus and some of my men as her escort."

"No dominus, I did none of that. I went straight back to my quarters."

"You were seen Calvinus," Domitian roared, banging a fist onto his table in anger. "Sabinus, Julia, even a soldier who was with them all say they saw you slipping out of Julia's room and running for the slave quarters in the dark. How can you deny it, slave?"

Calvinus felt his world fall away from him. He suddenly felt like everything was a very long way away, and he was observing this scene from outside. Blood rushed in his ears and he saw now a glimmer of triumph in Julia's eyes. Sabinus would lie for her, he knew, but they must have bribed the soldier. He wondered what his life was worth – how much she had paid for the lie.

"It was not me dominus," Calvinus said weakly.

"Liar!" Julia said, standing indignantly now. "Cut the liar's tongue from his mouth."

Did Domitian raise an eyebrow? yet his tone was angry when he did answer Calvinus.

"Who are you, a slave, a filthy eunuch whore, to call the daughter of a senator a liar? and a noble equestrian, and a soldier too? How dare you deny their testimony."

Calvinus felt tears of rage fill his eyes. Rage and terror. He shook his head.

"It was not me Dominus," he said once more.

"Thrax," Domitian said, turning to the slave at the door. "Show me what you found in Calvinus' quarters earlier please."

Thrax came forward and placed an object on the table in front of Calvinus. The boy looked at it and then at the slave and his heart sank deeper. How could that be in his quarters? or was Thrax in on the deception too? Calvinus looked at the table. He could not raise his eyes to look at the man he thought would protect him. He could not bear to see the anger and disappointment in his eyes.

There on the table in front of him was Domitian's ring.

Enoch woke up early as a bowl of food was pushed through the bars of the cage he was in. He snarled, but that just made the man laugh.

"Eat up, wolf boy. We left you some nice scraps there."

Enoch looked at the bowl and growled again. The gladiators kept him caged up and never let him out until meal times were over. For some reason gladiators were never served meat, but they had a variety of filling foods that could often taste better than what most slaves ate, but since he had arrived here, Brixus had been quite clear that the wolf boy was not going to benefit from the good food. They knew better than to starve him – he had to fight one day, and they would all be punished if he wasted away before the games began, but they made every effort to ensure he did not enjoy his food. Today they had chewed it all up and spat it out into a big wad of vegetables and saliva covered mushed beans. The food looked like a green-brown spit ball.

Enoch looked up and was about to say something, but he knew that just made the gladiators more cruel, and despite the unappetising mess in the bowl, he was still very hungry. Enoch put his hand int the bowl, lifted the chewed mess out of it, looked at it and then stuck his fingers in his mouth, glaring at the laughing gladiator.

Only when he had licked the bowl clean did they let him out of the cage, and even then not right away. He sat curled up in a corner until Brixus decided it was time for their new pet to get some exercise. The cage was meant for an animal, and too low for him to stand in, so he crawled to the door and came out at a crouch, poised to dodge the blows or kicks that would be aimed at him as he emerged. Training, they told him, but he suspected it was just that they liked hurting him. Once out he got quickly to his feet and headed off to the gladiators latrinum. He sometimes had to pee in the cage, but as much as possible he tried to avoid it, as it was never cleaned out and would stink of piss if he did it all the time. That was something else the gladiators liked – seeing him forced to piss in his own bed.

"Come on Lupulus, training time!"

Enoch finished up and came out to the arena. As he descended onto the sand, a slave released the gate on the cage that held two grey wolves and the animals warily came out onto the sand. When they saw Enoch they sprang forward, mouths open. Enoch crouched down, weaponless and wearing nothing more than his loincloth, as the huge male wolf leaped at him. Two huge paws landed squarely on his chest, knocking him backwards.

And then the animals tail wagged, and it licked him once before turning and playing with the female wolf, leaving Enoch alone.

The first day that he had been introduced to the wolves the trainers had thought to teach him how to fight, unarmed against the animals. They had thought to train him as a venator, or rather, as a novelty act – a bestiarius to be killed by the animals for public amusement. They would have taught him to fight enough that he did not immediately have his throat ripped out, but the public would want blood, and he was damned to provide it for them. Thus the lanista of the imperial school had thought to train Enoch against the wolves, using nets to stop the animals killing him before the games began. The wolves, however, had other ideas. They had been kept hungry and then released into the arena with Enoch, and for a while had squared off warily, but the animals showed no desire to attack. At first the lanista was going to whip and goad the animals into a frenzy, but then he started to form another idea. He left boy and animals together, to see what would happen.

Over time the wolves became curious enough to come up to Enoch, and for his part, Enoch was happy with the company of the animals. After the casual rape he had received at the hands of Brixus he had no desire to spend his time with the men here – especially as a few had already suggested they were to be next to have him. Instead he was happy to spend time with the animals, and over time he built a rapport with them. They accepted him, and he them. As long as he was with the wolves the men left him alone, and that was reason enough to spend time in the company of the animals. Two of them he always trained with, but there was a pack of five animals in all, and sometimes he stood among all five.

Enoch's training now was twofold. He had to learn to act like a wolf, and he had to learn to fight with them. That latter part was hard, as the wolves remained wild, but the training that had been started and that would be continued today was all about getting the animals to trust him and fight with him. There was a trained venator in this ludus – a big black man from Egypt called, aptly enough, Leopardus. This man was experienced at fighting wolves, and he would stand in harms way to see if the wolves would follow Enoch's lead and attack Leopardus together. If they attacked, they would us nets to avoid injury to Leopradus, but rewarded the animals with fresh meat, although always after putting Enoch back in his cage. He was to be the wolf boy, but he was not going to be fed meat!

The training was more dangerous for Leopardus than for Enoch now. The wolves had all but accepted the boy as one of them, but the man they had to fight. There were slaves standing around the whole time with nets so that if Leopardus was in danger, the wolves could be neutralised, but still he had earned many cuts, scratches and bites from the animals.

The wolves, for their part, were intelligent animals. They did not want to fight Leopardus, because the man was big and dangerous, and it took a long time for Enoch to first coax them to do so, but slowly he was teaching them to fight as a pack, and slowly the wolves were accepting it. They might get kicked by Leopardus, or hit with the flat of a training blade, but they were learning that fighting as a pack involved some pain, but always meat, and Enoch 3; he was the one who was learning how to lead them.

Enoch revelled in the training sessions. He had formed a bond with these animals that pained him already, knowing that one day soon he would have to fight with them in a much more lethal combat. All the same he enjoyed the company of the wolves, and the grudging respect he saw from some of the gladiators when he saw how the animals were starting to fight with him.

When training was over though and the animals were locked away, Enoch enjoyed things less. True to his word, Brixus treated Enoch like his slave, and other gladiators followed his lead. Enoch would growl at any man who came close, and had bitten Brixus' cock when he tried to force him to suck on him. That had earned him a black eye from a violent back hand blow that had sent him sprawling, followed by a violent kick to the balls, and the gladiator had threatened to pull his teeth out, but had not followed through on that. Enoch thought he knew why – he could not be the wolf boy if he was toothless. Nevertheless Brixus did proceed to punish him a little later, as soon as his cock had stopped throbbing, by thrusting it deep into the boy's bum, raping him violently and painfully. Enoch cried out in pain, but as Brixus emptied his seed into the boy, laughing and telling him that would teach him a lesson he would not easily forget, Enoch responded in kind.

"One day Brixus, I will kill you."

It was a simple promise born in the boy's anger and humiliation. How dare this man treat him like a weaker male. How dare he do this, when he was Enoch, the wolf boy. All the pain, the many humiliations and the derision loaned vehemence to his words, but Brixus did not care.

"A novelty act. That is all you are boy. Nothing more. You will die on any day you face me in the arena, and now you know it. My seed is in you boy! I own your body, and never forget it."

Even though he had avoided sucking cock, he had not prevented a second rape by another gladiator as soon as Brixus was done, and then a third one from Leopardus.

"Before the month is out, boy, everyone here is going to have fucked you. That is all yo are good for," Leopardus mocked, wiping his dripping cock on the boy's bum before throwing him back in his cage. Enoch had turned around, grabbed the bars, and growled, but Leopardus just shook his head and laughed.

"Wolves don't frighten me, Lupulus, and even if they did, a pathicus like you wouldn't."

In Capua Patricius had prevented him from making Nathan suck his cock with strong words about the need for a gladiator to know they are the dominant ones, but here no one cared about that. Here Enoch was not meant to be a great gladiator one day – he was meant to die horribly alongside the wolves at the hand of Leopardus or another venator. That was why Leopardus fucked him – he wanted Enoch to know who was in charge. For all the training he was being given on fighting with wolves, he was also being taught to lose. To lose valiantly perhaps, but still to lose.

For Enoch though, that was not the way he thought. When he looked at Leopardus, or even more at Brixus, he did not feel submissive, ready to roll over and die. What he saw was the man who would hurt and humiliate him for his own pleasure, and he wanted to hurt that man. He wanted to hurt him badly.

Nathan jumped off the wagon as it passed through the Ostia gate into Rome, and Jonathan jumped down behind him, each calling their thanks to the driver who had been hauling his cartload of wares to to Rome from the port city. The lift had saved them the eight mile walk, and both might have been in higher spirits about that were the situation not so serious. A serious fever had struck in Ostia, and many people had died already. Now Simon had fallen ill too, and Jonathan's mother had sent the boys to Rome to see if they could find a doctor who could help.

Ostia had doctors of course, although the one the family could afford, and who did not have the reputation of killing his patients, was ill himself. Thus Simon was being cared for in the cramped household Nathan had been staying in, and the boys had been sent away – not so much, Nathan suspected, because they might seriously find help in Rome, but mostly just to get them away from the house.

Nathan had lived in the Golden House in the heart of Rome, but despite living in the city he did not know it well. He did, nevertheless, know where he had to go to seek help. The temple of Aesculapius was on the island in the river Tiber – the one that always looked like a giant boat sitting in the water. He knew this was where they must go, and yet he could not help feel that this was wrong. As a Jew he had been brought up to believe in the one God, and even though he had sided with the heretical Christian cult, that had not changed. He did not think help would be found in a Roman temple.

It did not matter though – if not at the temple of Aesculapius, then it would be nowhere. He had no idea how to find a physician if not there, so he set off into the crowds, Jonathan running to keep up.

"Slow down!"

"This way," Nathan called urgently. Jonathan dodged someone carrying a tray of something that smelled like bread and nuts on his head, and caught up with his friend, looking back wistfully. "We have to get to the river, and then follow it to where the bridge crosses to the island."

The two boys dodged and weaved through crowds of people. Rome was always such a noisy place, and there were so many smells. Some good, like the bakers or the tavern smells, but others were foul, such as the stench of the dung filled streets, stale water and the odour of hundreds of bodies.

Things were less crowded by the river and the boys ran for the bridge that would carry them onto the small boat shaped island in the Tiber. Jonathan stopped short when he saw the island, and Nathan turned around impatiently, but when he saw the look of awe on the boy's face he thought he understood. He had often gazed onto the island, wanting to come here, to explore, but he had never been allowed free movement, so he had only ever seen it from a distance, but still he had seen it. To Jonathan it was all new, and he must have wondered whether this was really an island or a huge boat growing trees and buildings.

The island in the Tiber was indeed shaped like a boat, but at its prow and stern a stunning white rock facing had been added to make them just like any of the boats that would dock in Ostia. In the centre of the island was a huge stone mast, and all around the edges of the island were wooden planked walls, so that the island could easily be mistaken for some giant's boat.

"Why doesn't it sink?" Jonathan asked.

"Because it's an island, stupid!"

"Don't call me stupid. It looks like a boat."

"The clue is in the name. Tiber island, remember?" Nathan said sarcastically and then grabbed the other boy's arm. "Come on, we need to get to the temple. I hope you like snakes."

Jonathan was given no chance to ask about the snakes as Nathan impatiently dragged him towards the island, over the bridge that connected it with the rest of the city, and then set off at a run for the temple of Aesculapius. The distance was short, and Nathan pulled up, sweat glistening on his skin from the warm spring air and the exertion of the run across the city.

"They say that the Sibyl told the senate to build a temple to Aesculapius when there was another plague years and years ago. They say that when they reached the island a snake slithered off the ship and settled here and that was how they knew to build it here." Nathan told his friend, but Jonathan was shaking his head.

"Well that can't be true because Aesculapius is just an idol."

"Yes, but don't say that so loudly you idiot, or no one is going to help us."

"Couldn't we have gone somewhere else for help?"

"How much money do you have?" Nathan asked, knowing the answer. Jonathan pulled out a handful of copper asses, a pittance meant to be spent on food. "If you are lucky, we could buy a bunch of grapes with that," he scoffed.

"Bread is cheaper than grapes, and anyway I don't think anyone has fresh grapes yet."

"Sure, but its not enough to pay for a doctor."

"So what are we doing here?"

Nathan smiled and tapped his nose. He climbed the temple steps and looked around. There were people everywhere, lying on make shift straw beds in the open or under shelter, wherever they could. There were chambers where the sick normally went but these were clearly overrun. Nathan felt a stab of fear. So many sick people! he had not realised it was this bad in Rome too.

A snake slithered along the flagstones nearby and Jonathan let out a yelp of fear, but Nathan just shook his head and gave a wry laugh.

"I told you to watch out for snakes."

"No you didn't, you just said you hoped I like them."

"Well do you like them?"

"Not so much," Jonathan admitted, looking warily at the snake which seemed to be ignoring them and slithering further away.

"Well I guess you are not going to like this place much. Don't worry, they are harmless."

"How do you know?"

"Everyone says they are harmless."

"Who is everyone?"

Nathan considered the question for a minute with a frown and then looked back at his friend. "I don't remember. Josephus maybe."

"And what does Josephus know about snakes?"

"Probably nothing," Nathan admitted.

Jonathan swore in Hebrew and Nathan tutted, but his face set in a grin as he wagged his finger.

"Can I help you boys?"

Nathan looked up to see a man in a long tunic and hooded cloak looking back at him. He had no idea if this was a priest or a doctor or someone else, but now was the time to try out his first plan.

"Please sir, we have come from Ostia. We are apprenticed to Baruch Ben Lemuel who is treating the fever in Ostia. He has sent us to fetch medicines as he is running out."

"Gods," hissed the man, "it is a bad day if Ostia is running short of silphium. Ben Lemuel you say? the Jew? I had word that he is ill too."

"That is why he sent us, sir. We need to bring him silphium urgently."

"You can buy some in the apothecary, although how Ben Lemuel will see to his own bleeding, I do not know. The bad humors must also be purged."

"Please sir, we were robbed on the way here, and our money was stolen, perhaps you could let us have some silphium?"

The man's expression changed from kindly to dark before their eyes and his tone immediately went cold.

"If I had an as for every time I have heard that story these past days I would have enough to buy an army of slaves to pick me silphium. Go away boys and try your begging for charity on someone else," and with that he walked away.

Jonathan kicked Nathan.

"Ow, what was that for?"

"You lied and you made him angry."

"I suppose it would have been better to tell him the truth and make him angry. At least we know what the medicine for fever is now. Come on!"

Nathan set off once again, this time heading towards the apothecary.

***

"Our master has sent us for silphium, do you have any?" Nathan asked as he entered the apothecary. An old man in an ancient tunica peered back at them, blinking watery eyes in the dark room.

"Everyone wants silphium it seems. Would your master not prefer fennel?"

"He said silphium. Please, we have to get silphium."

The man nodded, stood up, coughed and then hobbled over to a shelf, he moved a few jars before picking up a clay pot and setting it down on the table in front of him.

"Forty denarii," he said and held out his hand. Nathan looked at him, his mouth open in shock.

"Forty? That is way too much. Forty denarii for that?"

"Prices have gone up. There is little silphium around and much demand for it."

"I will give you five," Nathan retorted, instinctively bartering even though all their copper coins added together did not add up to a denarius.

"If I do not sell it to you for forty, I will sell it to the next person. Will your master be happy if you come back with nothing?"

"He will not be happy if I come back having spent forty denarii. Please, he will beat us 3;"

"Nathan!" Jonathan hissed and Nathan looked at him. Jonathan's face was set into a look of incredulity, as though he could not believe what Nathan was doing. Nathan shook his head and turned back to the man. Jonathan may wonder why he was bartering, but he knew what he was doing. The man had to believe that they intended payment, and he would not believe it if they agreed such an outrageous price for a jar of herbs.

"Please sir, our master said we must not pay more than ten denarii. He will beat us soundly if we pay more."

"Ten you say? then you must tell your master that he should gather silphium himself in future. I will sell for thirty and not a denarius less."

Nathan shook his head and his face broke. He rubbed at his eyes and then turned away, letting out a sob.

"Twenty then? Please settle for twenty and our beating will be less severe. Please have mercy."

The man shook his head and barked a laugh.

"Oh you are good, boy. Very well done. I will sell for twenty five just to save a little of your hide, and in honour of your superb thespian qualities."

"Thank you sir. Thank you," Nathan said turning back to the man gratefully. Jonathan was pulling at his tunic, but Nathan ignored him.

"Now show me your silver and you may take the herbs."

"My master said he would bring the silver shortly. He did not trust us with it."

The man's face darkened and his hands closed back around the pot of silphium.

"Then your master may pick up the medicine when he brings the silver."

"But he said the need was very urgent. He said you would know his name. He said to tell you that he is Lucius Annius," Nathan said, using the name of one of the doctors they had overheard as the walked almost unnoticed through the crowds of sick people.

"Lucius Annius, you say? But then you are not his apprentices or slaves. Lucius Annius I know, but you boys 3; who are you, where is his boy, Hyacinthus?"

Nathan swore under his breath.

"Hyacinthus has fever," Jonathan said and Nathan swallowed his look of shock as the boy actually told a lie. Jonathan was always full of the teachings of the Way, and both boys knew falsehood was a sin, but then both boys knew the importance of getting medicine for Simon. Many people had died from the fever already, and it was likely Simon would die without it too. Sometimes, Nathan supposed, a life was worth more than the truth. "He has fever and Lucius Annius has asked us to fetch silphium or his boy will die too and many others."

The old man's tone softened just a little, but he did not let go of the pot.

"Then tell Lucius Annius that he must send payment."

Jonathan placed all his money on the counter, fourteen bronze ases – not quite a denarius and he looked at the man with big pleading eyes.

"Please sir, he left us this money to buy food but he said he would settle with you later. Please take this as down payment."

The old man peered at the money and shook his head.

"You must think I am as young as you two in the head if I will fall for this. Two boys I have never seen before claiming to be working for a man who has an able apprentice? Hyacinthus has fever you tell me – well that is quite possible, but I do not believe Lucius Annius would have sent you here without at least ten sestertii for the medicine."

Nathan noted that he had not negotiated so well if ten sestertii was the expected price of the medicine. He cursed again under his breath. The apothecary keeper was indeed shrewd, so he did the one thing left to him. He threw himself forward, sending money flying, letting out a loud sob, as though in despair. The man was taken aback only for a second, but it was enough. Nathan grabbed the jar and turned tail to flee.

The man was quicker than his age would have suggested, no doubt ready for such ruses. He reached out and grabbed at Nathan as the boy rolled away, and his hand seized the boy's tunic.

"Come here you little shit!" he snarled but Nathan was struggling hard. He twisted and pulled, but the man's hold was firm. He quickly threw the jar to Jonathan.

"Take it to Simon," he shouted. Jonathan caught the jar but was momentarily frozen in place, too startled and no doubt trying to decide whether to take the medicine or hand it back. "Now!" Nathan shouted and Jonathan ran.

Now Nathan twisted and ducked down. The man had a firm grip of his tunic, but he knew what needed to be done. The boy managed to slip out of his clothing and rolled away, quickly regaining his feet using his training in the Ludus to do so in one fluid movement. The man shouted, but Nathan was young, small and quick. He darted out of the apothecary after Jonathan who was already fleeing, naked now – he had not even been wearing a loincloth under his tunic.

***

Nathan caught up with Jonathan some distance from the apothecary, back amidst rows of sick people. The man from the apothecary had shouted and cursed after them but he was too old to catch them, and although the boys attracted stares – particularly Nathan, running naked as he was, no one seemed to be publicly spirited enough to stop them. Nathan suspected he knew why. All around them were people suffering. There were sick people coughing their lives away, or lying weakly in the sunshine, and there were people tending to them, grave faced, or weeping over dead bodies. So much sadness, so much fear, and amidst all that the apothecary was raising its prices, profiteering from the suffering. No one much resented to boys making off with a single jar of medicines.

"You shouldn't have done that!" Jonathan said, panting, leaning forward, hands on his knees, catching his breath. "You shouldn't have stolen from him. That was sin!"

"So what?" Nathan retorted, "All things are lawful 3; isn't that what Apollionus was saying last week?"

"He said 'all things are lawful but not all things are helpful.'"

"Right, but the medicine is helpful, isn't it? So that must be what he meant."

"It is not what he meant, and you know it."

Nathan swore using a coarse word for sexual intercourse he had learned in the Ludus, and Jonathan looked shocked.

"Let's just get the medicine to Simon. If it makes you feel better we can bring some money back to pay for it when he is all better."

"If they had caught you, things would have been bad," Jonathan observed.

"If we don't get the medicine to Simon and he dies, things will be bad for me anyway," Nathan retorted.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Don't act stupid Jonathan, you know your parents don't want me there."

"That's not true. Mam would never throw you out. You know that."

"She wouldn't, but your dad would. I heard him arguing with Simon more than once. He thinks I am a liability. If I get caught with you then you would all be accused of stealing me. He went on and on about the danger to the community and everything else. He wants to send me back to Capua."

Jonathan looked like he might argue, but he didn't. He looked sadly at Nathan and Nathan was pretty sure he understood why. Jonathan saw him like part of the family now, but he was not family – he was the property of Gaius Aurelius. Maybe no one was looking for him, maybe he was presumed dead in Pompeii, but he was still property, and a danger to them all. Jonathan bit his lip and unfastened his loincloth, handing it to Nathan.

"Here, take this, you can't walk back to Ostia like that."

Nathan grinned and pulled on the loincloth.

***

The boys passed through the Ostia gate a short while later. The road was busy, and the sight of two boys, one of them half naked, did not cause much more than a sideways glance from anyone. That was, until they passed a couple of vigiles.

"Now now, what do we have here?" one of them asked. Nathan looked up at them and his heart immediately beat faster as he saw a malicious glint in the man's eye. "Is this your slave?" he asked of Jonathan.

Jonathan went wide eyed and started to stammer.

"N..no 3; he is 3; I mean he is not a 3;"

Nathan poked Jonathan and shook his head. Better that Jonathan had just said a confident yes. The boy was just such a bad liar, and he was going to have difficulty talking his way out of this – especially as the man spotted the brand.

"Not your slave?" he asked, his voice quiet but there was an edge there, and Nathan sensed the danger. He hoped Jonathan was wise to it.

"Why do you ask sir?"

"I am just curious, but tell me, if he is not your slave then to whom does he belong?"

"Why do you think he is a slave sir?" Jonathan asked and Nathan groaned. That was hardly the most subtle stall he had ever heard. The man came closer and spanked Nathan's right butt cheek.

"Not so many free boys carry a brand, do they?"

"He was set free by his master."

Nathan wanted to hit his forehead with his palm. What a stupid answer! Didn't Jonathan know anything? It seemed not.

"How old is he?" the man asked.

"I think he just turned eleven sir," Jonathan answered, truthfully this time, and Nathan could see his more open body language. Yes, Jonathan was a terrible liar.

"So we have here a boy that was a slave, and received a brand 3; an interesting brand as it happens 3; and you tell me that he has been set free at the age of eleven?"

"Yes sir," Jonathan touched his face nervously.

"And yet the law does not allow him to be formally manumitted for many years yet, and even then, with this brand, he could only ever be a latine 3; subject to re-enslavement at any time. You are telling me his generous patron let him out on the streets of Rome without a tunic, for all to see his brand? Tell me who is his patron? who was it who manumitted this boy?"

Jonathan was stumped. He opened his mouth, closed it, finally went for the only name he could think of.

"Lucius Annius," he said. The man looked at them shook his head and then clapped his hands together.

"So we have a winner. I received word less than ten minutes ago of a thief bearing the brand of Valerius Maximus' Ludus who claimed to be the slave of Lucius Annius before stealing several jars of medicine and fifty sestertius. That then would be you, boy, yes?"

Nathan pushed the jar he had been holding into Jonathan's hands.

"Run!" he hissed, and with that he launched himself at the man, head down charging into the man's stomach. The man had been expecting him to run, had been moving already to grab him, but the attack surprised him and he grunted in pain.

"You little shit!" he roared and grabbed Nathan by the hair. Nathan for his part was punching and biting. He knew that he was not getting away from this, but he had to give Jonathan time.

"Run, and don't stop until you get that medicine home. Run! for God's sake run!"

The last thing Nathan saw before the club hit him, all but cracking his skull, was Jonathan running down the Ostia road.

"How is she?" Julia asked the doctor as he came down from his mother's chamber.

"She has the fever. I have given her medicines and restored her humors. Now all you can do is pray to you family gods."

Julia nodded and saw the doctor out. A slave would settle up with him elsewhere. For now she just wanted to see her mother.

Julia's mother had been ill in her mind since the fateful day they had fled Stabiae, seeing their home destroyed, and father lost. She had hardly spoken a word since then, and what she did say made little sense, seeming to have regressed in her mind to a time when Julia was still very tiny, and father had been around more often. Despite her illness in her mind though, she had been physically well, but all that had changed overnight with the news that she had the fever. Julia had arranged to come and see her right away, and also sent for the best doctor in Rome, but she knew this was serious.

Fever had been sweeping through Rome for many days now, and more and more people were getting sick. Many were dying, and the sounds of funeral processions, or weeping or the howls of mourning seemed as common now as the sounds of animals in the street or people calling out prices for their wares.

The doctor had been candid. Despite the best available medicine, many people still died from this fever, and like so many things, their fate now lay largely in the lap of the gods.

Julia paused at the lararium and said a prayer to the household gods. She had been neglecting this lately, what with one parent dead and the other indisposed. There had only been her uncle Domitian to encourage her to pray, and he rarely did so. Domitian was not strictly her uncle – it was more that his wife was a cousin of her father, but nevertheless father had been close to Domitian, and made him the trustee of his estate in his will. Domitian did not mind being called uncle by Julia.

After she had said her prayers, she went up to her mother. Mother was covered in perspiration, moaning and sleeping fitfully, and all Julia could do was hold her hand. Once she awoke calling Julia's name and the girl squeezed her mother's hand.

"I am here mother, I am here."

After that she seemed to sleep more restfully, and Julia sat with her a long time before a slave came to escort her back to Domitian's villa.

The following morning a messenger arrived to tell Julia that her mother had died in the night.

***

Jonathan ran most of the way home to Ostia, and when he was not running, he was hiding in shrubbery, scared that someone might be following him. He held the precious medicine that Nathan had stolen, but he could not think it was worth it. They had captured Nathan, and recognised his brand. They would take him back to the ludus or worse. Jonathan had sobbed for much of the way, but by the time he reached sight of Ostia he was past tears. How would he tell Simon what had happened though? What would Simon think when he told him how they came by the medicine.

When he reached his little family home though, Jonathan realised something was very wrong right away. There was no noise. Usually there were people milling about, or the sounds of shouts or laughing or singing. It was too quiet.

Jonathan ran inside and came up short. The dark little single room in which the family both lived and slept was covered with people – his brothers and sisters, his parents, Simon 3; everyone was sick. His father was kneeling near the tiny window, praying, looking like he could hardly hold himself up. His mother was lying on her back, mouth open, her breath coming in ragged short bursts. Simon was white, still obviously very ill, but well enough that he was trying to hold a cup of water to the lips of his youngest sister.

"Jonathan," Simon croaked, his voice scratchy and weak but enough to make his father look up. "You should stay away. Take Nathan 3; stay on the boat."

Jonathan shook his head. Now was not the time to tell them about Nathan. He held up the pot he had carried all the way back from Rome.

"I brought medicine," he said and suddenly uncertain, he looked around him miserably. "I don't know if it is enough for everyone."

***

"Gods this place stinks."

Enoch looked up from his cage, into the eyes of a man dressed in the uniform of the praetorian guard.

"Tell me about your father, slave."

Enoch furrowed his brow, and frowned. His father? Why?

"My father is dead, sir," he replied.

"Dead, yes. He tried to kill the emperor, did he not?"

"Yes sir," Enoch said, the uncertainty showing in his face and his questioning tone as he replied.

"And it was after that you were sold as a slave? Your are in that cage because of him?"

Enoch shrugged, but the man was not satisfied with that as a reply, and flicked impatiently at the cage bars.

"Yes sir, I suppose so."

"Do you share your father's hatred for the emperor? do you too believe he should die for his rape of Jerusalem?"

"No sir," Enoch replied, truthfully enough. He told himself he had turned his back on the God who made him an abomination – a boy who liked boys not girls. He had turned his back on the God who demanded his followers give up their lives for useless failed acts of vengeance, leaving their sons as orphans to suffer a life of slavery. No, he did not want to finish what his father had started.

"I don't believe you," the man said, and Enoch shrugged. "Tell me, slave, if you saw the emperor, a sword in your hand, and you could cut him down in a moment, would you do it? even if you knew you would die for it?"

"I do not want to kill the emperor, sir," Enoch said adamantly. What was this? an attempt to get him to speak treason to a member of the praetorian guard? a man who could cut have his throat cut for the mere mention of such things?

"Of course not, but suppose you were going to die in any case. Suppose that you could die a quick death or a slow one, and avenge the Jews at the same time, complete your father's work, wouldn't you consider it then?"

"No sir, I do not wish to kill the emperor."

"What if it was not you who would die slowly and painfully if you failed? What if it was your eunuch friend whose death would be made quick an painless. Would you not do it for him?"

Calvinus? What did this man know about Calvinus? Why was he asking these questions?

"Now don't answer, slave. I see that you are a clever lad, and not one to speak treason lightly. Your loyalty to the emperor is 3; noteworthy. You will, of course, say nothing of this conversation unless you wish to end your life on a cross, but one day, when the time is right, I am sure you will demonstrate your loyalty admirably.

"Oh, and perhaps you should know, Calvinus is to be crucified in the new arena shortly after it opens. I hear that crucifixions can be very 3; prolonged. Very painful. Such a pity if such a pretty young thing were made to suffer such a lengthy public, agonising torment, don't you think?"

The man left, and alone again Enoch sat brooding, his thoughts in an angry torment that ended with him rattling his bars and screaming at his God about the injustice of everything.

***

Nathan struggled and kicked as he was thrust into a small room in a house close to the Capitoline hill.

"Let me go 3; let me go!" he shouted.

"Shut up you little thief. You wait here, while we send word to your master that we have caught you."

"Let me go, damn you. Damn you! I was in Pompeii! They locked me up there too and look what happened. Let me go or the same will happen to you. Let me go!"

The vigiles walked away, shaking their head and smiling. There should be a reward for returning an escaped slave – even one as feisty as this. As for his threats to rain down fire on them all? that was just the boy's bluster.

"Britannicus, there you are," Quintus had an excited smile as the small skinny slave boy walked into the house. Britannicus raised his hand in greeting and smiled back at his friend. It was two weeks since he had last seen Quintus, but this was the first chance he had to slip away after finishing an assignment for his master. His bum was sore, but the boy had more than satisfied the lanista of another Ludus, and as he had pleasured the man, he had also carefully stored up the conversation that he had been having with another as he fucked the boy. The conversation was about the prospects of each of his gladiators and Britannicus would faithfully relay all this back to Turpio later, the lanista having no idea that the mute barbarian whore was in fact a spy for his master. Turpio would know exactly which gladiators to bet on at the next games, or which to buy and which to avoid if he wished to trade in them.

"I found Caudex," Quintus informed said as soon as they were out of view from the people on the street.

Britannicus at once opened his wax tablet and wrote show me.

Quintus seemed to take an age closing things up, and Britannicus worried about the amount of time he had. The lanista had fucked him quickly and sent him away, so he had some time before he was missed, but he knew Turpio was no fool, and he would be punished severely if there was any hint he had not returned promptly. All the same he was safe for a while yet, and at last Quintus set off, past the forum, up the Capitoline Hill, and across the temple precinct, taking the most direct route to the opulent area that lay beyond it.

From the Capitoline Hill Britannicus could see the temple of Jupiter and beyond it the theatre of Pompey and various other gardens and civic buildings, but there were also villas here and it was to one of these that Quintus took him, at last stopping by a white stone wall.

"Here it is."

Britannicus looked blankly and then turned to Quintus, hands out, mouth open, his face forming the question. What? What was this place?

"He lives here," Quintus said, his face turning to a smile. He clearly was enjoying having knowledge that Britannicus wanted. "They called for a physician to assist with a fever. The daughter of the master of the household was quite ill and my master came. He brought me along too to learn."

Quintus was an apprentice, not a slave, so it was natural that he would be given such opportunities to learn, but for Britannicus the story was going too slowly and he gesticulated impatiently to ask Quintus to get on with it. Quintus just smiled.

"The Daughter was very sick and my master decided to bleed her to restore her humours to balance, and he gave her a cold poultice. My master says that a hot fever should be treated with something cold you know."

Britannicus stamped his foot and huffed impatiently and Quintus giggled.

"Anyway, after the treatment was done my master was given a tour of the villa. He has two libraries you know? his own and another study library 3; yes yes, I am getting to it!" he said as Britannicus held up his hands in exasperation. He did not care about libraries, he wanted to know about Caudex.

"The small library – that was where we saw Caudex. He was there, writing!"

Quintus stopped and looked expectantly at Britannicus, but now Britannicus wanted him to go on. Why was he there? what was he doing?

"The owner of this villa – do you know who it is?"

Britannicus shook his head.

"Gaius Gracchus, the patron in Rome of the Ostia Collegia."

Britannicus wondered for a moment why he knew that name. The Ostia Collegia? But then he remembered. He had been there at the trial of Valerius Maximus, and it was at the end of that trial that the Ostia Collegia had foreclosed on the debts that saw the seizure of all his master's estate. It was the Ostia Collegia that had enslaved Calvinus too, and it was the Ostia Collegia that had forged the deal with Gaius Aurelius over damages.

Britannicus furrowed his brow and he saw that Quintus was nodding. Quintus too had been at the trial. When he had been carted away with Calvinus, Quintus had been watching. He had thought that would be the last time he saw his friend.

"So it would seem that Caudex was given to Gaius Aurelius, who immediately freed him, and then he came back to live with Gracchus as his patron. So strange, when surely it would be easier if Gracchus himself had freed him, don't you think?"

Indeed that made no sense. If the Ostia Collegia had foreclosed on the debts of Valerius Maximus they did not need to pay of Gaius Aurelius with Caudex as one of the slaves. Unnecessary as that was, the immediate grant of freedom was unheard of, and as for the return to this villa as though the Ostia Collegia had freed him 3;

Britannicus shook his head. He could not work it out.

"You know what I think?" Quintus asked and Britannicus cocked his head, a listening pose to encourage the boy to go on. "I think maybe the Ostia Collegia knew more about Valerius Maximus than anyone supposed. I think Caudex was in their employ, and his freedom was given in recognition of his services."

That made sense, and at once Britannicus felt a rush of feelings about Caudex. He had always supposed the house slave to be nothing more than he seemed, an amiable administrator in service of Valerius Maximus. Yes, the person who had found his stash of stolen items, a discovery that had led to his losing his tongue, but still not responsible for that act. He was having a hard time seeing Caudex as a spy.

That was when he realised that he too was a spy of course. Turpio Africanus was using him as a spy – that was why he had been sent to service the lanista of a ludus earlier. That was why he would relay all that he heard back, and no doubt the lanista also thought of him as nothing more than he appeared – a mute barbarian boy whore. A slave of no account.

Slaves made the best spies. They were always around and so rarely noticed. Britannicus cursed himself for making the same mistake as all the freeborn Romans made. He had not thought of Caudex as any more than a slave, doing the job he was assigned to do. Stupid! he had been stupid.

There was one thing still not making sense though so Britannicus opened his tablet again and wrote a few words for Quintus.

Why was it Aurelius who freed him then?

Quintus read the words thoughtfully. He rubbed his chin and considered.

"I don't know. Maybe just an arrangement to avert suspicion. Maybe it was something else. Why would he agree to take a slave just to free him! and to pay the tax too?"

Why indeed, but Britannicus knew he had to get back quickly now or Turpio would certainly punish him. He gave Quintus a quick hug and then ran down the hill towards his master's home.

***

The chance to discover more did not come for several days after that. Britannicus had no new assignments taking him out of Turpio's villa, but instead spent the time warming his master's bed or else doing chores as his master's secretary. His penmanship was improving now to the point that he was being given tasks that required accounting of goods and recording what he found. Turpio was meticulous in keeping account of everything, which explained how he so quickly would discover any theft by his slaves.

Aristocles was also employed often in such tasks, and there was still no love lost between the two of them. Aristocles resented that a barbarian whore could be given such tasks best suited to Greeks, and constantly tried to find fault with his work, as well as making many barbed comments about how Britannicus was really no more than their master's bed boy – a pretty young thing who would be discarded as soon as his body was changed by puberty.

Britannicus, for his part, worked meticulously to avoid the errors that Aristocles would point out, and learned a great deal more from this than Aristocles had ever been able to teach him directly.

Aristocles was right about Turpio's affections though, inasmuch as he clearly enjoyed making use of his slave boy. Britannicus endured a good deal of pain and humiliation at his master's hand, and his bum was constantly sore. Many a time as his master would groan, his huge cock throbbing inside the boy as he enjoyed the ecstasy of ejaculation, Britannicus' thoughts would go to his family. He thought of his mother, and how she had looked after that first day a soldier had raped him of his virginity. He wondered if she too was at this moment lying in some far away bed, legs open, taking the seed of some soldier in Britannia. He wondered if he had bastard slave siblings now, or if she even lived. He also wondered if his sister had escaped all this and still lived free. He wondered what she would think of her brother, the mute Roman's whore. Not the strong warrior he had always dreamed of being but a male so weak that he did not even have control over his own body. Most of all he wondered if his father could see him from the afterlife, and whether he would disown him, ashamed by what his son had become.

But even as his thoughts turned to shame and self loathing, there were moments when Turpio was done, and he would just hold the boy to himself, falling asleep with his slave held in his arms. There were moments when Britannicus remembered how it had felt to be held by Gaius Aurelius, thinking himself loved. He would not be so easily fooled again, but still the feeling of the powerful man holding him close like that had the same unexpected effect on Britannicus. In those moments he knew he was still a whore and a slave boy, but it would seem that Turpio had some affection for him, and that felt good. It made Britannicus want to do well in his assignments. It made him want to give his body to his master, even though it hurt and he rarely felt much pleasure from it.

A ruffling of his hair, a rare smile or perhaps even a kiss during his master's love making were all ample reward to Britannicus, although even that made him ashamed that he had become so much less than the strong man he had hoped to become.

The day came, though, when Turpio had another assignment, and this one not just for Britannicus – Anglius was to come too.

The baths of Titus had just been completed, their construction rushed to be done as the finishing touches were being put to the new amphitheatre adjacent to them, and now there was a need to staff them with sufficient slaves. Nevertheless the fever that had taken Quintus to the house of Gaius Gracchus had been spreading elsewhere, and a very large number of slaves had become ill, many had died. The slaves that were to have worked the baths were decimated, but such an important opening of a public building could not be held back. Turpio Africanus had revealed the extent of his business and political interests when he had offered help and it had been accepted. He would provide slaves to assist in the bath house until replacements could be brought in from outside Rome. It would only be a few days, but it would add to his prestige to have stepped in and aided the city.

Britannicus and Anglius were set to work in the furnaces. They had both been offered as whores, but the balneator, the master of the bath house had declared them too scrawny for that role, and in any case, heating the baths was the first and most important function.

The boys were sent to fetch fuel, stoke furnaces, clean metalwork, and occasionally even to crawl into the hypocaust itself to clear debris or chase out some mice that seemed to have taken up residence in there. It was hot exhausting work, and if either boy slacked off they felt a flick of the task master's whip.

For Britannicus, however, there was another reunion that made the hard work seem lighter. A slave boy had been brought to serve patrons in these baths from the baths that Calvinus had once frequented – a slave boy Britannicus knew just a little. Germanic, like Anglius but from a different tribe. When Britannicus spotted him he nudged Anglius and pointed him out, and in one of their short food breaks they got to talking – except for Britannicus, who could not write responses to the two illiterate boys, and made do with miming and facial expressions that had the others giggling with mirth.

"How did he lose his tongue?" the bath boy asked. He was called Leo, named for his bright red mane of hair and apparently his barbaric ferocity when he was first enslaved, but that had been when he was only some five years old and Leo was a much more obedient slave these days. Anglius shrugged. Unable to read what Britannicus wrote, he only knew the rumours, and these he decided to share.

"I heard that he bit his master's cock when he was forced to suck it."

Britannicus huffed and thumped Anglius on the arm who yelped, grabbing it.

"Well that is what I heard," he said, backing away from Britannicus who was looking like he may thump him again. Leo laughed and shook his head and conversation turned to other things. Britannicus' thoughts drifted as he could not join in the banter, and that was when he heard a voice he knew.

Caudex! Here!

Quickly he grabbed Leo's arm and turned the boy, pointing in the direction of the voice.

"What's up?" Leo asked, peering towards the frigidarium. "Oh that's just the cold 3;" Britannicus shook his head frantically, and dragged the boy towards an archway that allowed then to see the frigidarium. Two men plunged into the cold water, and Leo looked at them.

"Caudex?" he asked. He knew the former slave too, but now he offered some more information. "Oh yes, he came here yesterday and today. He may become a regular. He is a freed man and a citizen now, you know?"

Britannicus nodded. Yes he knew, but what he really wanted to know was what he was doing here. He pointed at the other man, and Leo peered at him.

"That is Lucius Andronicus. He is alleged to be one of the richest men in Ostia, and first cousin to the prefect of the praetorian guard. He is also a personal friend of the brother of the emperor. What is Caudex doing talking to a man like him?"

What indeed. Britannicus was heading away towards the apodyteriumi, the room where Caudex and Lucius Andronicus would have undressed. He skidded into the room, and saw a bored looking capsarius watching over the clothes. Britannicus looked at him and then looked at the door he had run through. He mimed a thump and then mimed being knocked back and pointed that way urgently. The capsarius' eyes lit up at the thought of watching a fight and he hurried through the door, giving Britannicus the freedom of the room, but not for long. He hurriedly began searching through piles of clothes, but which of these belonged to Caudex? Which belonged to Lucius Andronicus?

He searched quickly and thought maybe the task was futile. Stupid of him to have come here. Stupid of him to have even thought he could find Caudex's belongings amongst everyone else's. He was about to hurry back out again before a disappointed capsarius returned, but then he saw something glint in one pile of clothing. Something he had seen before.

There on top of a fine tunic, spun from wool but stained brilliant white, was a pin – a pin Britannicus knew because he had once stolen it from Calvinus. A special wrought bronze pin, intricately fashioned and far more expensive than most freedmen might afford. The coincidence was too great – it had to belong to Caudex, and next to that pile of clothing was another tunic, and a folded toga, trimmed with red. He knew that had to belong to Lucius Andronicus.

Quickly he rifled through the clothing. There was some money, but not much – perhaps Caudex knew not to entrust too much money to the capsarii, or maybe he had already been robbed of it. Other than that there was little of note, just clothing. He thought the same of the other pile at first, but then his fingers found a shape in the folds of the toga. He rifled through it, realising with sudden terror that if he was caught doing this, the punishment would be terrible. What was he doing? All the same he pulled and papyrus dropped to the floor, falling free from a tiny scroll case!

Britannicus pulled the contents free. He looked at the first few words and knew this was what he had wanted to find, but there was not time to read it. Quickly he stoppered the scroll case and put it back in the toga, and slipped out of the room, the papyrus stuffed into his loincloth.

"There was no fight!" the angry capsarius said as he saw the boy slinking out. "What was that about?" He was looking suspiciously at Britannicus. For his part Britannicus held up his hands and then shrugged. He carefully showed his empty hands, to try to allay the slave's suspicions, but he did not wait to be questioned further, running back to where Anglius was waiting, looking puzzled and concerned. He tugged at the boy's arm and the two of them returned to the furnace room.

***

The boys were walking back to the household of Turpio Africanus much later, both exhausted from their day's labour. Britannicus had read the document, and now he wished Quintus was here to talk to, but the hour was late, and they would start again early in the morning. He wanted to talk to Quintus, but more than anything he wanted to lie down and go to sleep, and Anglius clearly felt the same way.

As they walked in the dark there was a sound behind them. Both boys looked back nervously. They were clearly slaves with no possessions to steal, but not all robbers and cut throats in the night just wanted money. A slave might get raped on the way home – it was a crime, but even if caught the perpetrator would merely pay a fine for any damage to property. Neither boy wanted to be tonight's damaged property.

"I have been waiting for you, Britannicus," a voice carried in the dark and Britannicus did not know whether to feel relief or terror. Terror won and he felt his knees weaken. Caudex!

"Tell me, boy, why did you take the scroll. Don't deny it now – the capsarii gave me a good enough description to recognise you, although I must say I was surprised to find you were working in the baths. I thought you were sold to a whorehouse."

Britannicus put on his best confused expression, which did little good in the dark. Caudex was closer now, and there was enough moonlight to make out his features now, but only just.

"Oh, I forgot though, you cannot tell me anything can you? Because our former master saw fit to cut out your tongue. Such a waste though – I heard Gaius Aurelius thought very highly of your tongue as you sucked his cock. He could hardly believe it was your first time. Indeed, it wasn't your first time, was it? It turns out you were quite a little pro."

Anglius was watching the exchange, nervously moving from foot to foot. Britannicus could not see him well in the dark but now Caudex grabbed both boys by an ear each. They tilted their heads, yelping in pain.

"Shut up, both of you," Caudex said and dragged and then pushed them through a doorway of a house that opened onto the street.

"This is the little shit who took it?" asked another voice and Britannicus turned There was another man here, holding a torch that lit his face, but it was not someone he recognised.

"This is him and his co-conspirator. What is your name, slave?"

"Anglius," the germanic boy replied.

"Anglius, well Anglius, did you know what your little friend here stole from my acquaintance?"

"I know nothing sir, I have just been working in the baths all day."

Caudex seemed to consider this.

"Do you read, Anglius?"

"No sir."

"Does Britannicus read?"

There was a pause, barely perceptible, just the briefest moment when Anglius took stock of how to answer that question.

"No sir."

"Liar! I don't know how it happened, but he does read doesn't he?"

Anglius said nothing and Britannicus tried stamping on Caudex's foot with his heel. He had no shoes so the movement caused little pain, although it was still pain enough for Caudex to cuff him and send him sprawling across the room.

"Give it to me now, Britannicus."

Britannicus spread his hands in a look of innocence, trying to look mystified. Caudex breathed out through his teeth, an irritated sound as he knelt down and pulled at the boy's loincloth off. The scroll went skittering across the floor and he picked it up, moved closer to the torch, looked at it and nodded.

"Now then, my little thief, it does seem that losing your tongue was not enough to change your ways. What am I to do with you now?"

Britannicus knew what was on the scroll, so he also knew what Caudex would do, knowing that he could read and write. He would not want the contents of that scroll more widely known, and two dead slave boys would arouse no great suspicion.

Caudex turned his back, picked something off a table, and Britannicus knew it would be a blade. There was only one thing for it – he jumped forward. The other man had the door covered – they were no fools, and already Caudex was turning with a gladius in his hands. Britannicus did not go for the door but instead for the wall of the room where the torch was. He picked it up and threw it. If he had thrown it at Caudex it would most likely have bounced off with little harm and then it would all have been over, but Britannicus did not throw it at Caudex. Instead he threw it at a cloth screen that separated the front room of this house from the back. The screen was dry and old and immediately crackled into flame. Britannicus lost no time and leapt through it, Anglius following suit.

The house they were in was not a big one – there was one room on this level and a ladder to the next. There was no back door, nor window to escape through so Britannicus climbed the ladder. Again Anglius followed, but Caudex was right behind.

"There is no escape you little runt. Give up now and I will make it quick and painless."

By way of reply Britannicus threw a pot down the ladder. Caudex cursed and fell as the pot glanced against his head and then hit his collar bone with a loud crack.

The other man swore and was about to head up the ladder, when Caudex called him back.

"Don't bother, they are dead already," he said, getting to his feet, nursing his shoulder. He limped for the door as fire was crackling up the wood struts of the house now. "This place is going to burn down, and the only exit is this door. Bar it from the outside."

And with that Caudex left the building, leaving the two boys inside to cook.

***

Britannicus looked around in a panic. The upper room of the house had no exits, no windows. It was a dark little room that was rapidly filling with smoke. The boy coughed, and Anglius was on his hands and knees, choking too. They were trapped. There was no way out.

And then he spotted something – the smoke was travelling up through the roof. Britannicus felt the spot with his fingers, and realised there was a kind of hole here to let out smoke, like in the roundhouses of his home. He squirmed his way into the space, but it was tight, He was stuck and in a panic. The space was never designed to let even a child climb through it. He tried again, scrabbling against some kind of tiling and layers of filth.

If Britannicus had been his former size even he would never have fitted, but he was still skinny from his near starvation, and somehow he managed to force his way up through a tiny shaft that bent back on itself and then opened onto a tiled roof. As his head broke through into fresh air he took in great gulps of it, thanking the god of fire for letting him go. He felt someone push his feet and scrabbled out fully, laying on his stomach to help Anglius up.

Smoke was pouring upwards all around them, and they dared not climb down onto the road – Caudex would be sure to be waiting for them down there in the dark, so instead the boys leaped from this roof to the next. Smoke covered their leap, as wind blew it in the same direction, and that was when Britannicus noticed that the flames had jumped buildings too. People were starting to shout now. The fire had been noticed, and the boys ran and jumped again to the next building, scrabbling along the roofs until they felt it was safe to climb down again. Then they ran for Turpio's villa, the only place of safety they knew.

As flames spread from building to building Britannicus felt a few moments of guilt. People would die if this fire was not stopped soon. He had caused a fire that could kill people, but even as he thought those words, an image came to his mind. He saw Calgacus hanging on the cross, and his last words to Britannicus – the command from one Briton to another that called for vengeance for their people.

"Kill them!" Calgacus had said. "Kill them all!"

Britannicus looked at the flickering orange flames licking at the night sky and nodded satisfied.

This is for you Calgacus, he thought, and he prayed to Taran, god of storms and vengeance, to avenge his people in this fire.

***

Fire raged for three days in Rome, at one point spreading onto the Capitoline hill itself and beyond. The temple of Jupiter was burned to the ground, as was Pompey's theatre. The baths were largely undamaged, and the new amphitheatre also escaped, but damage across the city was extensive. The emperor had been away in Pompeii, inspecting the relief work there, but he sent word, read out by public proclamation, all information as to who had started the fire was to be delivered to him personally, and he would see justice was served.

As for Anglius and Britannicus, they slipped into the villa of Turpio Africanus, covered in soot and dirt, coughing and smelling of the fire. Perhaps Turpio Africanus would believe Anglius' story that they had been returning from the baths and had to run through smoke filled streets. Britannicus hoped very much that he believed that. If his master knew he had started the fire 3; an image of Calgacus came to mind and he shivered.

As the fire raged there were rumours of many deaths and destruction. The news that the great temple of the mightiest god of the Romans had been consumed in fire filled Britannicus with elation. Here then was a story he could tell one day. He dared recall something he had mentioned to the senator, but had told no one else since he had been taken as a slave: Gwion, the druid had called him: weaver of stories. His father had thought he would be a great warrior who avenged his people and drove out the Romans, but now he had done something beyond that – he, a mute slave boy, had burned the city at the heart of the Empire, destroyed the very home of their chief God, Jupiter Optimus Maximus. He was Gwion after all, and what stories he could weave. He was Gwion the god slayer, the avenger.

That is, he thought ruefully, as long as no one ever found out his actions had started the fire. He supposed if that became common knowledge then crucifixion was the most pleasant story that remained to him.

Nathan heard the door of the chamber rattling and being forced open, and someone entered. He groaned and looked towards the frame he had been suspended from the day before, certain that more torment was about to follow. As he blinked in the half light though he could see now that this was not either of the men who had been torturing him. This was someone else – someone familiar.

His hope that he might be released when he had given them what they wanted had been dashed when he had been left alone in the room, but at least alone they were not hurting him. At least all he had to suffer now was the aching of his body, the soreness in his wrists, the stiffness of his back and the shame of having been so unmanned that he had confessed to everything he was accused of. He did not know whether the new visitor brought hope of release or more torture with him, and he watched nervously as the familiar man approached. At last he realised who he was looking at.

Caudex.

"Nathan, I hear that we have a confession from you, is that right?"

Nathan looked at the man, and opened his mouth to speak, but he could form no words, his lips were dry, his throat sore from screaming, and his gums raw and painful where his back teeth had ben pulled one by one. He settled instead for a small nod of his head. No use denying it.

"You have confessed to being involved in a plot to start the fire that swept our city?" another nod, and Caudex went on. "You have also confessed to quite a considerable theft of silver and medicines, of affray and, of course, escaping from your master, stealing his property from him?"

Nathan would have shrugged but he could not make his shoulders move right so he just nodded again.

"The thing is, Nathan, I don't know if I believe you. Without a doubt you escaped Pompeii, although the calamity you avoided killed your master. Affray is possible of course, but if you stole so much money, I am at a loss to see where you kept it when witnesses saw you run from the apothecary naked and holding only a single jar.

"And then there is the matter of the fire, my boy. You admit to being involved in a plot to start that fire, and indeed your unwise words, and rumour that you are in league with Christians leads to a tempting conclusion that this is true, but I don't believe it to be so. Unwise words they may have been, but I do not believe that even you thought the threats you made before the fire would ever come to anything."

Nathan looked at Caudex, his eyes big and sorrowful. What was this man doing? why bother saying he believed him now when he had already given his evidence? only evidence extracted under torture could be used in a trial, so his admission of guilt was all that mattered. It was too late. Too late to speak of believing him. In the eyes of the law he was guilty of theft, treason, murder, arson. His torturers had already made it plain that the gods themselves would need to intervene to save him from a penalty of death, and for a slave that would mean crucifixion no doubt.

"Now listen to me, Nathan, because I need to tell you what is about to happen. You are property of the estate of Gaius Aurelius, and that estate is currently in trust for his daughter. The trustee is Domitian, brother of the emperor. Do you understand me?" Nathan shuddered and gave another nod. "Good, so there is something you need to know. Very soon the new amphitheatre will be inaugurated with a series of games, and it falls to Domitian to furnish the entertainment for one of the days of the opening games in the second week. It so happens that he had long ago planned with Gaius Aurelius for a specific day in which you and your fellows were to compete. You can imagine his anger when Vesuvius erupted in flames, killing so many fine gladiators, and Gaius Aurelius too.

"Nevertheless Domitian has you back now. I have made him aware of your recapture, as well as the special plans Gaius Aurelius had for you, and so you will compete in those games, as will some others you already know. You will be trained up for some particular tasks, but there is something we must discuss.

"You know, do you not, that this new amphitheatre has been built with the money from the sack of Jerusalem? That your Jewish temple was desecrated and plundered to pay for this, and that it was built upon the backs of thousands of Jewish slaves taken into captivity after the Jewish war?"

Nathan had known that, but he looked at Caudex without nodding now. What did it matter? That defeat was ten years ago now – it was the reason he and his mother were slaves. How could he not know all of that? he had heard over and over again of the terrible sack of Jerusalem.

Caudex cocked his head, looking for a response from the boy, but when none was forthcoming, he went on.

"Nathan, I was there the day Valerius Maximus bought you. Do you remember that day? No public auction for you, it was the men of Titus himself who brought you to be sold to the Ludus."

Nathan did remember the day, and he closed his eyes a little at the memory. They had branded him and thrown him into a cell, and that was that. The boy orphaned by the crucifixion of his mother had become the youngest damnatus in the Ludus of Valerius Maximus.

"Nathan, I will speak candidly now, but bear this in mind: you are a self confessed thief, a liar, and a conspirator who would see Rome burn. For that last crime you will be given only death. Death in the arena, yes, but certain assured death. If you do not have the good fortune to fall in battle, you will be nailed to a cross to amuse the crowds as they take a midday meal. You are most certainly under sentence of death. You understand me?"

Nathan felt a familiar fear, but it was not new. Since the moment he confessed to that crime he knew that he would most likely end up on a cross like his mother. Having Caudex tell him this terrified him, but it was not a surprise. "Nathan I also know that your mother died for a plot that would have unseated Titus. I know that you were indicted in that plot, and would have shared her fate already had you been any older. I know that in any case, and despite your young age, Titus did not spare you – he sold you to the Ludus to die. You are condemned to death twice over already, yes?"

Yes, Nathan thought. Yes he was – and perhaps he deserved death for his first betrayal even if the fire was nothing to do with him. Simon had told him all his sin was forgiven now, but that did not mean the death sentence was unjust.

"And so I come to you with an offer. If you repeat this offer to anyone, I have orders to cut out your tongue so you will never speak another lie. If you repeat this offer you will be mocked and derided, because all will know what you are. All will know that you are a slave who escaped, lied, plotted treason and set fire to our city, because that is the testimony you gave yesterday. No one will believe a word you will say, and when you die in agony they will mock you and spit on your body. You are a liar, a thief, a traitor, and soon you will receive marks to show that to the world. We could brand you but I think we could tattoo you instead out of mercy – that will depend on how you receive my offer.

"I will tell you this offer, and you had better welcome it with open arms," Caudex said with a bitter smile. "Domitian himself offers you a chance to avenge your mother and your people. He knows of the sack of Jerusalem and regrets the sacrilege his brother caused there. I have orders to convey to you his sincere belief that he believes the many disasters that keep befalling the empire are vengeance from your God, and that there can be no respite as long as Titus is emperor."

Nathan looked wide eyed at Caudex. He knew what was being suggested here, and now he knew why the terrible threats had been necessary too. His heart beat hard in his chest as he realised with dismay that once again he was caught up in plots much larger than his own place in the world.

"Nathan, on the day that you compete in the inaugural games, you will be given a chance to strike against the emperor himself. Will you take that chance?"

Nathan tried to speak. His voice was raw, but he managed to form the words slowly.

"If I kill the emperor, I will die too. Why 3;. would I do that?"

"Nathan," Caudex said, his face twisting in a wry smile, "you are right. You will die in the inaugural games, but here is your choice. You can be nailed to a cross for the amusement of the crowd, hanging in agony as thousands of people jeer your name, the double traitorous slave, cursed as I know your scriptures say – all who hang on wood are cursed are they not? You can die a useless, slow, excruciating death or you can strike at the emperor, and you have my word that your death will be quick, and your name will be known forever as the avenger of the Jews."

"I don't care about vengeance anymore," Nathan said. He was not sure if it was true, but he knew it was what Simon would say. Caudex looked at Nathan, his eyes seeming to burrow into the boy's soul as though he was trying to read what was in his heart. There was silence for some time, and Nathan tried to look back defiantly, but at last his eyes dropped away, disturbed by Caudex's intense gaze.

"There was a boy with you when you were caught, Nathan. Do you know what happened to him?"

Nathan's brow furrowed. Jonathan? he had hoped that his friend had got away, got home to Ostia unnoticed.

"Don't worry, we let Jonathan go. We did not follow him, but we know exactly who he is. My friends know Ostia well you see. They know where he lives and who his family are, or should I say were. They know about the little atheistic community he is a part of too. Such a convenient little cult that you got yourself involved in. You don't realise quite how easy it would be to paint your friends too as part of your treasonous plot. Such a pity that his parents and siblings died from fever, but your other friend, Simon he lives, as do others I think you know.

"Let me explain something to you. If you do not do as we ask, then I will personally see to it that Jonathan finds himself on the slave block, naked and feet dusted white as he is sold into slavery as an accomplice to your crimes, or else nailed to a cross beside you as a co-conspirator. Again your confession was quite clear. You admitted it was these Christians that plotted this fire, so it is these same Christians that will all suffer if you do not do as I ask.

"Tell me Nathan, would you want Jonathan to suffer that fate? The boy has suffered so much just lately, would you really want him and everyone he knows enslaved or dead?"

Nathan glared angrily at Caudex. He worked his jaw, ready to shout or scream his anger in the man's face, but he controlled himself.

"If I help you, how will I know that you won't hurt them?"

"Nathan we have your confession, but we don't have to use it. If you do as we ask, you have my word that Jonathan will be left in peace. That is 3; as long as you play your part. Just in case you have considered a convenient accidental death before you act, I also vow that if you should die before you act then I will ensure that your friends suffer just as I have described. You will play your part if you want them to live free. You understand me?"

He was trapped. He did not want to do this, but all the more he did not want to see Jonathan hurt, nor Simon. The news of the death of his friend's parents and some or all of his siblings was terrible news. He could imagine Jonathan's tears. And yet Simon lived. Had he saved him with his actions? Only God knew that for sure, but he hoped so. Simon lived, and Jonathan was free, and all that would change if he did not agree to take part in the very crime for which they were going to kill him. The world was so unfair. There was so much evil, so much loss. Nathan wanted to cry, but at last he asked:

"What do I have to do?"

Calvinus looked up from the corner of the cage he sat in as he heard people by the door. His eyes met those of Julia, and he quickly looked away sullenly.

"Gods, Calvinus, it stinks down here. Best place for a pig like you."

Calvinus said nothing and Julia simply stared at him for a while through the bars. At last the boy looked up miserably.

"What do you want Julia? Come to gloat, have you?"

"Yes actually," Julia laughed and Calvinus buried his head in his arms. "My uncle tells me you are to die tomorrow in the games. I have come to say goodbye."

Calvinus shivered. He knew he was to die too. That much had been made abundantly clear. Condemned to death for multiple crimes, the worst of which was conspiracy to harm Julia herself, but also theft of Domitian's ring, and other thefts and lies. The only reason he was still alive now was because Domitian had some grand plan for a spectacle in the inaugural games – a part he had chosen for Calvinus. When they had not nailed him to a cross straight away after the accusations, Calvinus had dared to think that Domitian might hold him in some special favour, because of the time they had spent together. Calvinus had dared to think back then that even if he could never be a real man, he might yet be close to a great man, like the eunuch Nero had taken in marriage, Sporus. Calvinus had thought Domitian actually cared for him, but that illusion had been broken as they had prepared him for tomorrow's games with the tattooists needle.

First they had needled the letters KAL into his face, the mark of a liar for all to see. Such punishment of slaves was not unusual, and he was perhaps lucky that the mark had not been a brand. All the same, it was a clear mark in his flesh that told the world he was considered a liar. The terrible thing was that it was not him who had lied, it was Sabinus and Julia.

After that the tattooist had not stopped though. Calvinus had been tied down as the man had needled a design into his flesh around his navel and then down his pubic bone. The work had taken hours to complete, layer after layer of dye being rubbed into the painfully sore places where the needle bit. When it was finally done and excess dye was washed off him. Calvinus saw that he had been given a serpent design that wrapped around his navel and pointed down into his empty crotch. The tattooist had laughed at his dismayed expression and ruffled his hair.

"Now you look like a barbarian girl." he jibed and walked away.

The pain of the tattoo had long since faded, but Calvinus knew then that Domitian was not going to save him. The humiliation of the design was enough to dispel any hopes of high regard from the man. Domitian believed he had betrayed him, and that thought hurt the boy more than any other.

"Why did you have to do it? Why did you set me up?"

"Why? Calvinus, why do you think? Because I hate you. Because I want you dead."

"What did I ever do to you?" he asked piteously, and Julia shook her head contemptuously.

"Other than swearing to rape me? Other than having your father do just that you mean?"

Calvinus bit his lip, silent a few moments before blurting out an angry retort.

"You don't think I was fucking well punished enough for that? Your father made me his slave, castrated me, fucked me in front of you and then left me to rot in Capua, a slave who could be fucked by any gladiator or slave who wanted to. And after that 3; after that you got Sabinus to make me his whore! raped every night and humiliated every day. Do you know the kind of things he liked doing? He is sick 3; not right in his mind 3; and you left me to his mercy 3; for months. Months when all I wanted to do was kill myself, and you would not even allow that mercy. You don't think I suffered enough for just that one angry remark?"

"It was more than that, Calvinus, it was a vow and you meant it. You are just as bad as your father. You don't know what it was like, Calvinus, being raped by him, smelling wine and garlic on his breath, having his seed 3;"

"You don't think being raped by your father was just as bad?"

"No! Not if he did it a million times, it would not be as bad?"

"And why not? Why is it so much worse for you?"

"Because it is! Because I am not a slave and a whore and a eunuch."

"I wasn't any of those things either once, you know!"

"But you were always a stupid little bore."

"So that is it? You want me dead because I bored you?" Calvinus' voice was raised in anger now and he got to his feet, crossing the cage floor to bring himself face to face with Julia, his own face contorted with rage. "Is that what it is? I deserved all this because 3; what 3; I didn't want to talk about the price of fabric in the market?"

Julia stared back at him, her eyes venom dark.

"I wanted you dead because I did not want my father adopting you and making you his heir just because he wanted you to suck his cock."

Calvinus opened his mouth and then shut it again, lost for words.

"He was going to adopt you, you stupid prat. If he had adopted you, you would have inherited everything. You would have been his heir, and he was totally blind to what a useless, boring, hopeless little idiot you are, because all he could see when he looked at you is how you would look with your tunic off, and lying in his bed."

Calvinus turned red. He had known adoption had been mentioned, but he had never realised that about Gaius Aurelius. It was only a year ago now that he had met him, but it all seemed so long ago. He had been so naive, and it had taken all the abuse at the hands of Sabinus and other men for him to see it. Domitian had seen it too – they liked his body. They liked to fuck him.

"Domitian 3; so that was why 3; you framed me because Domitian took me to his bed?"

Julia nodded.

"But I was already a slave Julia! Already a eunuch. It was not like Domitian was going to adopt me. Couldn't you have let me have someone care about me for who I am, just once? Why did you have to ruin it?"

"You are my slave, Calvinus. My uncle holds my estate in trust, but it belongs to me. I don't want you. I don't ever want to see you. You destroyed my life, and I want you gone from it. Forever."

Calvinus looked at Julia, feeling anger and sadness, and terror too. Why did she hate him so much? She had already taken everything from him, and she still hated him.

"I am your mother's slave, not yours," he said, pointlessly really – it made little difference.

"My mother is dead."

Calvinus did not know what to say to that. Should he say sorry? he did not feel sorry for Julia. Julia was a traitorous lying bitch who richly deserved everything she got.

"Good!" he said, opting to be vindictive back. Julia's eyes flashed, and she spat on him through the cage bars.

"If my father had not seen you hanging around the forum all the time, and that damned slave boy of yours, he would never have hatched the stupid plan he had. If he had not hatched that plan, maybe I would have stayed in Rome with him, because your father would never have raped me, and if we had remained in Rome, he would still be alive. It is your fault he is dead, you know? All your fault."

Calvinus shrugged, and then because Julia was talking, and that was better than sitting in the cage on his own, even if he did have spit running down his face, Calvinus asked: "What plan?"

Julia laughed, shook her head, wiped her eyes. Calvinus had not realised she was crying until that moment.

"The plan to take your father's ludus of course. One of the few Ludi that trained children 3; just the thing my uncle was looking for when he was planning for the inaugural games. He wanted a contest of women and children fighting gladiators you know? But he did not want your father taking the credit for it. No, my father and my uncle worked it out together. That was why my uncle let your father use his unfinished arena for my birthday 3;" Julia tailed off remembering the birthday games, and Calvinus could think of nothing to say. He waited for her to speak again.

"Father knew your father's reputation for debt, and he knew men who would help him with that. He also saw to it that many of your father's investments failed. All because he was going to offer to adopt you. He was breaking your father, he wanted him desperate enough to have you adopted and the Ludus transferred in your name. He wanted that because he wanted to fuck you, and your slave boy. Well he did fuck your slave boy of course."

"He did?" Calvinus' mouth dropped open in surprise and Julia laughed a cruel laugh.

"Oh Calvinus, you are so naive! What do you think father was doing when we were sent off to play together? Why do you think your boy was gone so long?"

Calvinus looked chastened. He had indeed been very naive. How had he not realised that Britannicus was being used as a whore in their own house?

"So what are you saying? your father engineered the whole plan to ruin my father?"

Julia laughed, but there was more mace than mirth in her eyes as she nodded.

"And all this for what? the chance to host one day of games with my father's gladiators, and to have me for his 3; bed?"

"Don't think yourself so important Calvinus. You were just an added bonus. My father would have had the ludus in any case. Don't you remember the day we met? your father had just bought a slave. You remember him? the biting one?"

Calvinus frowned. "Enoch?"

"Yes, Enoch. Sabinus was most irritated that my uncle let him live, but there was no way he could have been executed. Not that slave."

"What does Enoch have to do with anything?" Calvinus furrowed his brow in confusion. Enoch? Why did anyone care about Enoch? And why would Domitian care enough about him to spare him from death?

"Enoch has everything to do with everything. You remember why your father bought him?" Calvinus shook his head to Julia's question, and the girl sighed her displeasure. "Really Calvinus, you are so hopeless. Enoch's father was the Jewish zealot who attacked the new emperor, attempting to assassinate him. You remember that now?"

"Yes, but that was not Enoch 3;"

"So all his property was seized and his son, Enoch, was sold into slavery. Not any normal servitude – he was sold as a damnatius to the one ludus in Rome that would take one so young. Your father's ludus. To make very sure of that, my father even had one of your slaves help him discover this new talent – and he was not the only one."

"So what? he was still just a slave 3;"

"A Jewish slave, son of a man who had indoctrinated him, taught him to fight, fed him on stories of the Butcher of Jerusalem. A slave who could be relied upon to take his vengeance one day. Even then he was just a backup. Your father's man had already ensured there was another son of a Jewish traitor there. Who would suspect anyone so young of treachery, of wishing to take his vengeance?"

"His vengeance?" Calvinus asked, but even though he was asking questions still, things were slotting into place. Gaius Aurelius had wanted the ludus first and foremost, and for one purpose 3; a fight of women and children against gladiators, in which Enoch would be present? "But your father is dead."

"Thanks for reminding me, Calvinus," Julia said wryly, "but my uncle is still very much alive, and this is a plan they held together."

"Why tell me this?" Calvinus blurted out. "Why tell me this now, when I could tell someone 3; I could stop it from happening!"

"Oh Calvinus, you know what that tattoo on your face says? You are a liar! If you were not going to die tomorrow I would have you renamed as Mendax. No one believes a slave who has lied, threatened to harm and kill his owner. No one would trust a thief, a whore, a eunuch like you. Calvinus you are the lowest of the low. If we tried to sell you, I doubt even the salt mines would take you. You will never be a man, too weak for field work. It costs more to feed you than you are worth, and everyone knows that the lips of such pathetic creatures as yourself are filled with lies. No one is going to believe a word you say.

"In any case, you will be saying no words. I wanted your tongue cut out, but my uncle says that would cause too much injury before the games. He says you have to be there, to play your part. He did not say I could not hurt you at all though, so instead, when I leave here, a man is going to come with a hot poker and sear your tongue. In time it would mostly heal I am told 3; probably, but as you will die tomorrow, you will never form a coherent word again."

"You can't do that to me, you bitch!" Calvinus said, angrily throwing himself at the bars, making Julia step away.

"You are my property Calvinus, I can do anything to you that I like. I want you to know something though. When you are in that arena tomorrow, in every last humiliation before the moment you take your last breath, I will be sitting in the audience, watching, laughing. When you die, unloved and unwanted, there will be no coin placed in your mouth to pay Charon to cross the Styx and Acheron. I will have your body dumped in an unmarked pit, filled with animal shit, and your shade will be trapped and haunted by your broken vow. You remember the one? the one where you vowed to rape me? I hope Cerberus rapes you over and over again for all eternity."

And with that, Julia turned to leave. She went out of a doorway, and a few minutes later two men entered. One opened the cage door and held Calvinus still as the other approached with a red hot poker they had been warming in a fire.

Britannicus sat with Anglius as he tore into some bread, sheltering from the mid-day sun in the collonade of Turpio's villa. Both boys remained skinny and were always hungry as there was never enough food, but at least the starvation punishment had not been repeated. There had been punishments though, after they had returned late from working at the baths, covered in dirt, scratches and soot. They had washed as best they could when they returned, before they were observed by their master, but Turpio had sniffed their hair suspiciously and questioned them as fire ravaged Rome.

"No dominus," Anglius had insisted, "we saw no fire, but we worked all day in the furnace room of the baths as you told us. That is why we smell this way. We got the scratches from crawling into small spaces too."

"And why were you so late back?" Turpio had asked, and the Germanic boy had told a story of being chased by some men in the dark who wanted to rape them.

"And you washed yourselves clean because you felt so grimy?" Turpio asked and both boys had nodded their assent. The story was plausible, but if Turpio had been convinced, then why had he ordered the boys stay in the villa since then? Why had he had them both caned in front of the other slaves for their lateness? They had been worked hard as usual, Britannicus returning to accounting tasks along with other duties around the villa, but despite any suspicions, Turpio did not speak of the events of that night again, at least not directly.

There was one occasion that Britannicus had cause to wonder if he knew more than he let on, when Turpio had taken him to his bed, and fucked the boy roughly in his bum, gripping his head and pushing him down into the bed sheet, kissing and exploring the boy's soft skin with his tongue, pulling hard on the boy's hair in his moment of release.

As Turpio Africanus pumped his seed into the boy, a rite that asserted his strength over the weaker male, he gasped and then whispered, "Take that my little fire starter. Take your master's seed and remember you are property."

Britannicus' mind was alive with thoughts as to what that might mean as he lay still, his master gently spooning him, holding him, stroking his hair as he drifted slowly off to sleep. Was he referring to the fire? or just his hair colour? or something else? Britannicus left the bed when he was sure his master was asleep and went to lie down with Anglius in the small cell they shared, but he had not found sleep easy that night.

He had snuggled up to Anglius that night – partly for the warmth, but mostly because of the feelings of friendship and a shared secret. Britannicus knew how the fire that had burned so much of Rome had started, and knew that if ever it became widely known that two slave boys had been involved in it then it would not matter that it was an accident, or that they were fleeing for their lives. It would not matter what they said, they both would wind up nailed to crosses just as surely as he had seen it done to Calgacus. People had died in the fire – many people, and the damage had been immense. The whole area of the city west of the temple of Jupiter, including the temple itself had been largely destroyed. The fire had not spread to the insula, but still many wealthy homes had been burned to the ground. The Tabularium had only just been saved through swift action and favourable winds, as well as its stone construction.

Britannicus thought about the people who died – people he killed. He did it, and yet he felt it was the hand of the gods too – their punishment for the invasion of his home land. Calgacus' dying words to him had been "kill them all" and isn't that what he had done? Hadn't he struck a decisive blow for his people against the Roman invaders? But if that was so, why did he feel so bad? Why did visions of people burning in their homes flash through his mind so that he could not sleep?

At some point Britannicus had at last fallen asleep, though and he had awoken in Anglius' arms. Now it was morning, and the two boys were wolfing down their meagre breakfast of bread and water before their next chores. Life was one endless sequence of work and chores when you were a slave, Britannicus thought ruefully. You work all day for your master, then he fucks you, then you sleep and then it starts all over again. Day after day of endless humiliation, drudgery and effort for someone else.

Well not today, he thought. Today he was going to do something for someone other than his master, just for a short while. He finished his bread and then scooted closer to Anglius. He put a finger on his lips and then gently slipped a hand down the boy's loincloth. Anglius' eyes went wide, but he did not stop his friend. Britannicus felt his friend's penis, and it was stiffening as he touched it, stroked it, played with it. Britannicus was becoming quite expert in the skills of love making, even if Anglius' experience was limited. He knew how to make the boy feel good, and gently kissed his nipples, exploring his body with his left hand. He ran a finger down the boy's arm, and then gently over his chest, playing with the now damp nipples, and then letting the finger run down his chest to his navel. All the time he used his other hand to rub and play with the boy's balls and penis, tracing a finger over his foreskin, rubbing his shaft, feeling his two small balls in their tight little sac, and then running his finger over Anglius' perineum, as he locked eyes with is friend and smiled.

For his part, Anglius held on to Britannicus inexpertly, his body rigid as he experienced his friends touch, his penis stiff in the boy's hand, whispering "don't stop. All father help me, but please don't stop."

Britannicus kissed and caressed his friend's body until there was an explosion of pleasure, a cry, an exhalation, an expression of delight so intense on Anglius' face that it looked like pain. Britannicus held him close as he experienced orgasm – perhaps his first ever – Anglius had never said otherwise, and then gasping, panting and then breaking into nervous giggling sobs, Anglius hugged his friend, held him close, skin to skin. Britannicus wished the moment could last, feeling Angliis' affection – devotion even as they held each other. For Britannicus there had been no orgasm, of course, but this was what he liked most in any case. This moment of closeness as the boys held each other, joined in the shared act, knowing that Anglius cared as much for him as he did for the boy 3; or as much as he cared for Quintus.

"Well that is a touching scene!"

Both boys whirled around in horror at the sound of Turpio's voice, both immediately wondering how much he had seen. The answer came soon enough.

"Britannicus, you are my whore. I do not remember giving you permission to pleasure Anglius."

Both boys blushed as Turpio looked at them and shook his head.

"Fetch me my cane, and tell the other slaves to assemble."

***

Britannicus walked stiffly into the forum, still rubbing his sore bum. He had been soundly caned, and the marks were showing below the level of his tunic, so that there was no hiding it. As he rubbed himself, biting his lip, discomfort written on his face, he drew a number of amused looks, and one man even tousled his hair as he walked past.

Britannicus saw who he was looking for though – there was Quintus with the doctor he was apprenticed to. He walked over to them and then took his wax tablet and started to write.

My master asks for your services as the games, he wrote. The new amphitheatre, the monster of a building in the heart of Rome, paid for by the money taken in the Jewish war, built by hundreds of slaves over many years now, was finished and the inaugural games were due to start. Turpio, as the owner of a large number of slaves retained for general municipal work, was offering his slaves to help with the back stage work during the games, and he also wanted to provide other services too, including physicians to deal with the inevitable injuries. Quintus spoke to his master, knowing that they would be happy for the work.

Now that he was with Quintus on an errand he took the time to tell his friend about the letter he had seen. He did not mention the fire, but the letter itself was enough to get Quintus looking shocked.

"We should tell someone," he said.

Tell them what? Britannicus wrote.

"I don't know but why would Lucius Andronicus care about Nathan playing in the games tomorrow? I mean, that's the most powerful man in Ostia, one of the most powerful men anywhere, interested in a recaptured slave for what? to deliver a package? This is serious, Britannicus. Something is very wrong about this 3; and it looks like it may happen tomorrow. We have to tell someone?"

Tell who? Britannicus wrote.

"I don't know 3; someone."

No, too dangerous.

Quintus thought about it and nodded, and Britannicus gave him a weak smile. Telling anyone would only lead to more danger. This was something bigger than a slave boy and his plebeian friend. It was better to let things happen as they were meant to happen, and to keep their heads down, and he was glad that Quintus could see that now.

Enoch clenched and flexed his hands nervously as he waited in the wings. The Flavian Amphitheatre was huge, and full of people. The roar of the crowd was louder than anything he had ever heard before, and the thought of so many eyes upon him would have been enough to make any boy nervous, and he was no exception. That was not the only reason for his fear though. Today was the day – the day when all his training would go into one combat, and one that he knew he was unlikely to survive.

This was not the first time he had been in this situation of course. It had not been a full year yet since the fight in Pompeii where he had defeated a fully trained murmillo alongside Nathan, escaping a death he now knew that he had richly deserved. There was no bringing Lykos back from the dead, but that boy had died because of him, and he had survived. Today perhaps the score would be settled. Today in all probability his lifeless body would be dragged across the sand and dumped on a cart to be taken out of the city and disposed of.

Enoch had seen the wagons each day travelling from this arena. The games had already been running for two weeks, and each day scores of criminals and wild animals were taken away for disposal with no ceremony, no care. Dumped in mass graves and forgotten about – the losers rarely given much thought by the victors nor the crowds. Gladiators who died were given more honour, but even they were wheeled out by the wagon load in the bloodfest that had become the inaugural games. In any case, as Brixus often reminded him, he was a boy, not a gladiator. He would be given no honours.

Enoch contemplated that, but the ignominy of an unmarked grave, and a lack of funeral rites frightened him less than the prospect of death. What awaited him after death? Was it nothing, as the sadducees had taught? was there no after life? or was it otherwise, as the pharisees taught? in which case he would stand before God knowing that he was an abomination – a boy who liked other boys, and had been fucked by the gladiators of the Ludus, and had fucked Calvinus himself, and liked it too

His hand went to the mane of one of the wolves, the female he trained with most often, and the animal whined, sensing his tension, his fear. The wolves did not like this – they wanted to be free, to be away from this place. They did not want to fight people, even for reward and the sounds of so many people had them cowed. Would the animals do what was needed of them?

He looked out on the arena floor. This was not the wide open arena he had imagined. It had been transformed in the night into something else entirely. There were real trees that had been cut down and re-erected in the arena, fastened into slots in the ground, and huge boulders had been brought in and dropped randomly around. The sand of the floor had ben steeped up in places, and the central channel of this amphitheatres had been flooded, and a sand and rock had been painstakingly laid out to give the impression of a river running through the very centre of the arena.

It was hard to believe so much work had been put into the set for just one day of the games, only to be cleaned up at the ned of the day and replaced with something else entirely for tomorrow.

Tomorrow. Enoch shivered and wondered whether he would live to see tomorrow.

The editor was standing now his arms raised and as people noticed, silence fell quickly across the arena, and all heads turned to him as he shouted out the day's order of play. Enoch listened too.

"Citizens of Rome, welcome again to the inaugural games of this glorious amphitheatre of our emperor, Titus and his deified father. Our games today are additionally offered in memory of Gaius Aurelius, whose vision we will see unfold today. I, Lucius Andronicus humbly act in his stead as editor to bring about his vision in a series of spectacular bouts that will tell the story of the traitorous uprising in Britannia of Boudicca of the Iceni.

"As you know, this woman caused her tribe, allied to Rome, to rise up in revolt and murder many loyal Roman citizens in that province. She murdered every innocent in the colony of Camulodunum, and then did the same to Londinium and elsewhere before she was brought to heel by the might of Rome. Such rebellion caused the emperor, Nero, such consternation that he almost lost heart and withdrew from Britannia altogether, and yet in recent weeks we have had word of the progress of our governor, Gnaeus Julius Agricola, who has now pushed all rebellion in Britannia to the far northern reaches of that barbarian land. Such is the might of Rome, that no barbarian can stand against it.

"Our re-enactments today come in four parts. We start the day with a performance of the grievance of Boudicca. For this part we have brought to you a new gladiatrix, never seen in Rome before, a barbarian from Britannia itself, a dangerous woman who like all the barbarian women of Britannia, will happily fight alongside the men. This woman was captured in the war two years ago of the Ordovices, in which that whole tribe was defeated and blotted from history. We are told that she herself was a queen among her people. She is dangerous, she is mean, she is terrible, I give you our Boudicca, Queen of the Iceni!"

There was a roar from the crowd as Enoch watched a woman being brought onto the sand, painted in blue and wearing very little clothing. People shouted, some applauding a new gladiatrix, but many booing as she was here to portray the villain of the story, showing their discontent at the traitor against Roman rule.

He could see her face now, which was dark with anger. No doubt she was not really called Boudicca, but now she had taken that part, it would become her new slave name. Unknown in Rome, no one would call her anything else after this – if she survived, which was far from likely.

"Boudicca was wife of king Prasutagus of the Iceni. Prasutagus was loyal to Rome and in his will he left the kingdom to the people of Rome, and to his offspring. However Prasutagus died without male heirs, just daughters. Today we have two daughters of Boudicca for you. The oldest is played by Trinovanta, another slave from Britannia, she is under sentence of death today for killing a man who had paid her master for her hospitality."

Enoch looked at Triovanta as she was walked into the arena, also dressed in very little clothing, also painted blue. She was perhaps sixteen years old, but even at this distance, Enoch felt that here eyes looked much oder – and murderous too. The crowd hissed as she was walked in, showing their contempt for a slave who would kill a free man.

"Boudicca's younger daughter," Lucius Andronicus continued, "is played by a traitorous and mendacious eunuch, a slave who turned on the very brother of our Emperor, stole from him and plotted against a noble woman of his very household. This eunuch was notorious for having threatened sexual violence against a noble woman, and has been sentenced to die in the arena. Spare no compassion for Mendax, as he deserves nothing but death this day."

Enoch's heart was in his mouth as he saw Calvinus being led onto the sand now. Calvinus? Please not Calvinus! He watched the white faced boy, dressed in the same way as the women, and also painted blue, and sporting a barbarian tattoo, being taken up to a wooden platform along with Trinovanta and Boudicca. Enoch looked at him and wished Calvinus would look at him, but the boy kept his head down now, his shame and terror evident to all. Enoch remembered a conversation he had had with a man dressed in the uniform of the praetorian guard. He looked again at Calvinus and shivered. The choice he had been offered was a poor one, but one thing he knew for sure now, and doubly so now that it had been announced to all present. Calvinus would not leave this arena alive. Enoch looked in anguish at him, and let out a frustrated shout which made the wolf skittish.

On the platform there was a post as well as a curule chair, and a man dressed as a Roman governor sitting on it. Other slaves were guiding Boudicca and her "daughters" up onto the platform and they were forced to kneel in front of the governor, who was clearly an actor, rather than a gladiator. When he spoke, his voice carried clearly across the amphitheatre.

"Boudicca, you claim the kingdom of the Iceni for yourself, but your husband the king is dead, and your daughters can be no kings. As per the Roman custom that your husband understood well, your lands pass to the senate and citizens of Rome.

"What is that you say? That you do not yield to your new rulers? Then learn respect, for you are now Roman subjects, and not even citizens yourself."

The man's voice was sonorous, but the acting was overdone, giving Boudicca no chance to actually speak. If she was a barbarian it might be that she could not, in fact, speak Latin. More likely she simply had no wish to play her part in this play, and especially as it became clear what her part was to be. When the actor finished speaking, two gladiators dressed in mock Roman legionary uniforms seized her and dragged her to the post, at once tying her hands to a ring set into the post, leaving her stretched, unable to do more than stand on the tips of her toes. The woman shook her shoulders at the men to show her displeasure but she said nothing, just allowing herself to be strung up. When she was in place, one of the gladiators cut away the few clothes she was wearing and the other picked up a whip.

The whipping that followed was brutal. The first lash landed and everyone could see how the woman tensed up, but made no sound. She remained determinedly silent for lash after lash, but in time the pain of the whip ripping into her flesh overwhelmed her and she began to cry out, shouting something in the barbarian language of Britannia. Enoch did not know what it was, but he guessed he knew by the tone that it was nothing polite.

All this time Calvinus and Trinovanta watched on, gladiators standing close to them, as though to prevent escape, and escape must have been on their mind, as they saw the gladiatrix whipped, reduced to screaming her fury in front of the jeering multitude.

Enoch felt sick. He knew what a whipping like that felt like. As the whip cracked, and her skin ripped, blood flowering on her back, it was as if he was there again, feeling the terrible agonising bite of the leather into his skin. He closed his eyes and shivered as the woman started to scream and the crowd roared again.

Britannicus was already exhausted and today's games had hardly begun. Already he had helped in a small army of slaves who had created an elaborate sylvan scene on the arena floor. There were real trees that had been carried in on carts and hoisted into position, driven into place with wooden pegs which were in turn hidden by mounds of earth and sand. There were bushes too, and the normally flat floor of the arena had been steeped with a gentle incline that dropped away towards the central axis of the arena, which had been flooded with water diverted there, creating an entirely artificial river.

By the side of the river there was a mock beach, where the usual arena sand had been left untouched, and scattered around were boulders and shrubbery. In one area huge slabs of rock were erected like the standing stones, and between them and a wooden stage, sharpened poles had been forced into the ground, hammered into a framework to hold them firmly upright. The finishing touches had seen war chariots being brought in the likes of which he knew well enough. Celts used war chariots, often with protruding blades on their wheels. He looked at them and remembered his father's chariot, feeling suddenly homesick. No one knew what the set in the arena was supposed to represent, but many slaves had suggested it was intended to portray Britannia.

He and Anglius had been detailed primarily with fetching small items, or climbing trees to fasten or untie lines, or other jobs were small nimble boys were better than the older and bigger slaves who were doing most of the lifting work. They had been working since before dawn to create this transformation in the arena after the games of the day before, and as Britannicus looked out on their handiwork he was stunned by the metamorphosis that they had wrought.

It did not look exactly like the forests of home - the trees were not the birch, elm and oak he remembered, and it was still an arena, not a windswept hill top surrounded by earthworks. Nevertheless the transformation was startling - he could almost imagine swimming in that brook with his sister, Celyn.

People had already gathered now, as the work was completed, and the slaves had barely finished their duties on the forest floor when the editor stood up to deliver his opening speeches. Britannicus knew this man by sight. He had seen him once before at the baths on the day of the fire. This was the man that had been with Caudex, the man who had been carrying the letter he had seen. It was no surprise to see Lucius Andronicus here today. Terrible events were due to happen today, and he could not shake the knot of fear in his stomach that Caudex may be here somewhere too, and might see him and realise he still lived. It was best to stay out of sight then, at least until the day's events were done and the knowledge from that latter could no longer do him harm. He felt guilty at the knowledge that others would soon come to harm based on what he had read, but then again this was a gladiatorial games. People died in games such as these. What did it matter who died?

Someone passed Britannicus a skin of water and he gulped from it, quenching his thirst as the order of play was described. Today's event was to be a re-enactment of the defeat of Boudicca. Britannicus knew the story well enough, as his father had often spoken of it.

Boudicca was queen of a tribe that had allied itself with Rome, and for that reason she had gained a great deal of odium from his father. The tribes that rolled over and made treaties with Rome were the ones that had given Britannia over to the ravenous wolf. That was what his father had always said. If all the tribes had stood together and fought the Roman aggressor, they would have been driven from Britannia, just as they had been driven away once before.

Nevertheless when the Romans had turned on Boudicca she had raised a war band from many allied tribes. All the Iceni had risen together with the Trinovantes and the slaughter they had inflicted was terrible to behold. This part of the story was one his father enjoyed telling - the destruction of the Roman town of Camulodunum, and then the Romans fleeing Londinium too, which was sacked and burned to the ground. Boudicca had shown the Romans that the Britons were a force to be feared, and they had all but fled the island before they belatedly rallied and inflicted a defeat on Boudicca.

Father had said Boudicca deserved the defeat for the earlier pacts with the Romans while their people fought on alone. It fell then to the Ordovices to defeat and drive the Romans from Britannia, and that had been behind the attack and destruction of the Roman cavalry some years later that in turn had led to the Roman response, and the war in which Britannicus' father had lost his life, he himself had been captured and enslaved, and the sacred island of Mona had fallen to the Romans, the sacred groves desecrated and destroyed, the great druids killed or enslaved.

Boudicca had redeemed herself in standing against the Romans, but Britannicus wondered whether, if things had been different, and if she had won, or perhaps not fought at all, he might not be here right now, a slave of Romans, working for their entertainment, with no prospects but a life of back breaking servitude ahead of him.

All those thoughts came to a crashing halt when the gladiatrix who would play Boudicca was brought on, and for a moment he felt like the world had stopped. Suddenly he had a terrible feeling of sick dismay in his stomach, as well as other feelings too. Maybe a touch of hope, but also a wave of unmanning sick dread, and a longing to have his voice back one more time, to be able to shout a word at the top of his lungs. One word was all he needed. One word that would sum up his dreams, his longing, his terror, his sadness. One word that would chase away all other thoughts. One word 3;

Mother!

Looking out angrily on the baying crowds, there stood his mother. He had not seen her since the day he had been captured - the day he had been raped by a Roman soldier in her presence. He had not seen her since her last look of despair and loss at him.

He longed for her to see him now, and he started out onto the arena floor, before Anglius grabbed his arm. Britannicus shook it off, but now an older slave had seen and grabbed him too.

"You don't want to go out there, boy. Slaves who get themselves in the wrong place in the arena end up dead in the games."

Britannicus struggled, looking at his mother. He had often wondered what he would say to her if he ever saw her again. Now he could say nothing, but still he wanted to run to her, to hug her one last time. What cruelty was this that she was here, and playing Boudicca in the day's re-enactment. He knew what that meant. These re-enactments were little more than lavish executions, and she would most certainly suffer the fate of Boudicca today. He had found his mother, only to be here on the day she would die.

When they began to whip her, Britannicus grunted, moaned and bit down on the slave's arm, kicking with his feet.

"You little bastard!" the slave growled as Britannicus wormed free, and made to run onto the arena. Anglius leaped and grabbed him around the waist, letting gravity drop them both to the floor.

"Don't, Britannicus. What has got into you? Don't go out there or they will string you up beside her! Gods, they will realise you are from Britannia and make you part of the games! Stop it Britannicus. Stop!"

Britannicus tried to struggle as his eyes filled with tears and he heard his mother's resolve break, starting to cry out under the cruel lash. He sobbed and struggled, but Anglius held him tight until two other slaves came to drag the distraught boy away and shut him in a cell meant for gladiators, for his own safety.

Calvinus watched in terror as the gladiatrix was whipped so brutally that her skin tore and blood spattered under the leather whip. He had seen one such whipping once before – Enoch had been punished this way and immediately after it they had travelled together from Pompeii. He remembered the terrible effect it had on Enoch, how the boy was sick and helpless through the sea voyage, and how long recovery had taken after that. He heard the whip crack and winced, praying to the gods that they would not do the same to him. He knew he had been sent here to die today. He knew this was surely his last day on earth, and yet he almost did not care about that now. Terrified as he was of death, he had also considered taking his own life before, such was his shame to have been castrated, made a slave and a whore. He had known many moments of despair, and if today was to be the day that despair finally ended, some part of him might yet welcome that.

What frightened him more than death was the pain and humiliation that would precede it. He had not been told how he would die today – only that he must take part in the games. He had been left in no doubt that if he did not play his part well in the games, he would be nailed to a cross during the lunchtime executions. Now that he saw the whipping and wondered whether it would be better just to die on a cross.

The whipping was not his fate though. As the gladiatrix they had called Boudicca was released from her restraints, groaning with the agony from her raw and bleeding back, sinking to her knees and taunted by the man who had whipped her, the actor who played the part of the governor stood again, raised his arms and began to speak.

"And so, Boudicca, your punishment is done, but yet we must show that your daughters to are no rulers, and never will be. Your daughters too are subject to the might and dominance of Rome."

And with that the gladiator by the girl, Trinovanta, ripped her clothing from her and forced her to the ground, tearing off his own tunic as he spread her legs. Calvinus was shocked to see her naked body exposed to the crowds who were roaring now. Meanwhile the gladiator beside him ripped away the clothing he had been given too, leaving him naked. The gladiator picked him up and threw him across the planking. Calvinus flailed as he went down, hitting his head with a sickening crack on the wood, as the gladiator ripped off his own subligaculum and exposed a stiff penis. As the crowd shouted and jeered, many of them standing, waving hands, screaming insults, Calvinus felt the man straddle him, grasping his hair, pushing his face to the ground. Moments later there was a terrible agonising pain in his bum as the man pushed his shaft inside him, and in front of thousands of people, perhaps everyone he had ever known and thousands he would never know, Calvinus was raped by this man.

Calvinus had been raped many times, but this was in a class of its own. He could hear the cat calling and roars of appreciation as the man began to thrust, slowly at first, but getting faster and faster. People were clapping in time with him, and the man himself was speaking.

"Gods, there are some privileges to being a gladiator," he said. "Such a waste that you have to die, but I still get to be the last man to fuck you! Take my seed, boy and know the name of the man whose seed will be in you when you die. I am Brixus, and 3; here 3; comes 3; my 3; seed"

Brixus gasped and started to pant as he thrust one more time, hard and painfully deep into Calvinus' bum, and in front of thousands of people, shot his seed deep inside the boy. As he orgasmed, he bit down on to Calvinus' shoulder, his body rigid as he pleasured himself on the eunuch.

Calvinus was not alone being raped of course. The girl was also being attacked by the other man. Calvinus' face was pressed to the ground but he could see her, face up and struggling as the other gladiator forced his way into her. She was screaming and cursing in her own language, maybe begging. She tried to bite him, but received a slap for it. As the crowd roared, Calvinus and the girl were raped, just as the daughters of Boudica had been. Calvinus could not see Julia, but he remembered what she had said. She would be there, in the crowd, watching, gloating.

Calvinus' felt his swollen tongue, sore in his mouth, preventing speech, but as Brixus eventually pulled out of him, and he got to his knees, one more humiliation awaited him. There was a splash of hot liquid on his back, as Brixus pissed on him. He was a whore, a eunuch, nothing to anyone. He knew that. He had been fucked often enough now, but still this rape was one of the most brutal ever. The man's cock was large and he had been deliberately violent, and there was blood on the man's penis. His blood, although not as much as the blood on the other gladiator's shaft as he withdrew from the girl.

Calvinus knew of the story of Boudicca. He had made Britannicus play this game, with him as the conquering Romans, but he had never thought about this part of the story before. Boudicca, the client queen of the Iceni, had been whipped and her daughters raped. They had just been words until now, but now as hot pee splashed on his back, and his bum felt like it had been raked through with knives, he thought that maybe, just maybe, he had some sympathy for the woman who had rebelled against Rome.

WARNING. There is plenty of blood in this chapter, and other disturbing content. If you are offended by such things, please do not read on. If you read on, please don't say you were not warned!

"And so, humiliated and dispossessed, Boudicca raised allies amongst the traitorous Britons, and they fell upon Camulodunum, where they fought against innocent law abiding citizens and countrymen of Rome, ex soldiers and freedmen. They slaughtered all in their path, and offered each death to the goddess Andraste. Their rites were terrible. Women and children were offered as freely as men to this evil goddess, and each one was impaled upon a stake, the bodies horribly mutilated as they hung their dying.

"Our second scene picks up the slaughter, with today's first execution of criminals, who will be tortured and mutilated as the Britons did to their farm more innocent and respectable victims, when they were offered to the goddess Andraste."

And with those words a hapless group of criminals were marched into the arena, flanked by guards painted in the blue woad paint the Britons decorated themselves in, and wearing celtic clothing to make them appear to be victorious Iceni, leading out captured prisoners of war.

Boudicca was untied from her post and Calvinus and the other girl were taken aside with her, flanked by more guards, also dressed as Britons although there was little doubt that should Boudicca choose to attempt escape at this moment, those Britons would not turn out to be her allies, Enoch thought to himself ruefully. They were dressed as her compatriots but were just as clearly her jailers, in truth.

Enoch had never seen games so involved as these. The detail of the set, the size of the arena, the enormous crowd and the care that had been taken to dress the participants for their parts took his breath away. These games were on a whole different level to anything he had experienced before, and now as he watched he saw another way that the games would excel themselves – in their bloody brutality.

In all there were thirty prisoners brought in, five of them women, who were all naked whereas the men had an assortment of rags and light clothing. Ropes bound their hands as they were herded into place, and one of their number, a woman who had had her hair shaved, was taken aside first. The shaved hair was a sure sign that she was convicted of some sexual crime, perhaps an adulteress or worse. Indeed as she was led towards the standing stone part of the set, the editor announced she was not just an adulteress but had murdered the wife of the man she had been having her affair with. The crowd jeered as she was taken to where one of the ugly looking stakes was set into the ground. She saw the stake and tried to run, but one of the guards grabbed her and manhandled her to it. A chariot had been placed beside the stake and now its purpose was clear – the men climbed onto it, dragging her up with them, and using a platform built inside the chariot itself to step up further. From this point it was not a great effort to lift the woman and impale her through her vagina on the point of the stake, cutting the binding on her hands as she they did so.

The woman shrieked, and there was a hiss from the crowd, like a huge intake of breath, that became a roar of approval as the men let her go and she writhed like a wounded animal, screaming and begging for mercy, begging to be let down or to at least have the agony end in a quicker death. Her thrashing made the stake wobble but the wood was strong and the footing sound, so it remained upright, and all she succeeded in doing was forcing the stake deeper into her guts, as she slid down the shaft to excited shouts from the crowd.

The men were not finished though. The accounts from Britannia had spoken of one other thing that happened to the women offered to Andraste, and so they did this too – taking a bone needle and twine, they stabbed the needle through her breasts, and forced her head down before running the thread from her breasts through to her eyelids, sewing the two together, stretching the flesh in an agonising final humiliation for the impaled murderess. After this they jumped down and dragged the cart over to the next stake, leaving the woman dangling there, thrashing and then dropping a hand span deeper, shrieking and kicking futilely to the approval of the crowd. She moved her arms spasmodically and howled in agony as blood gouted from the stake.

The other four women suffered this same fate, creating a gruesome spectacle around the standing stones. By the time the last woman was impaled, the stake had penetrated near the shoulder of the first one, and she had all but stopped writhing as death claimed her.

After that it was Enoch's cue to come on with his wolves. He did not want to take part in these games, but he was pushed into the arena, and as he thought to hang back, he at once felt a whip across his back. The wolves also were whipped until they howled in a frenzy, and at the same time all the guards dressed as Britons had left the arena, leaving just twenty five unarmed men to face Enoch and a pack of wolves.

This part of the show was the easy part, but that did not make Enoch feel good about it. He and the wolves were to be the executioners. Twenty five unarmed men, with their hands bound, might outnumber the wolves, but they had little with which to defend themselves. As the animals began to circle the group of men a hush fell and the editor used the quiet to tell the crowds more of his tale.

"The Britons killed 70,000 people in Camulodunum. Many were sacrificed to the goddess as we have seen, many were burned in fires, but the Britons happily fed others to the wolves and wolf men that inhabit their northern forests. Here we have for you one such wolf boy, Lupus. Lupus was a slave in Pompeii last year when the mountain exploded, and in his desperation to escape he offered an unholy alliance with a barbarian god of the Britons. He was delivered from the danger but in doing so sacrificed one of his companions and ate him. As it was with Damarchus, this cannibalism has left him cursed to live like a wolf and with wolves. See how they follow his lead and do not harm him. Truly Lupus is more animal than boy now."

Enoch was indeed thinking like the wolves now. He saw what they were doing, understood it too. He had helped train them to hunt humans, against their nature, but the animals were still intelligent and would not attack the whole group, but instead circled, growled, snapped, until suddenly one of them broke ranks and ran.

In an instant the animals were on him, one wolf taking his arm in his mouth, and another leaping on his back, knocking him to the floor. Enoch was not close enough to join their attack, but he saw a third wolf bite into the screaming man's throat, and then it was all over.

After that mayhem broke out as several of the more courageous men went to attack the wolves who were worrying the body of their fallen comrade. The wolves backed off, but now the men were moving around and the animals snapped at them, biting several. One big man kicked a wolf hard that had got too close, but even as people watched that brave act, they neglected Enoch at their back and he quickly ran into a scrawny looking man, bowling him over, biting down hard on his shoulder. The man shrieked, but as several wolves raced over to finish him off, his comrades backed away in fear, leaving the animals unimpeded in finishing him off.

The crowd roared and suddenly Enoch heard people shouting his name.

"Lupus, Lupus, Lupus!" they roared and he felt a savage pride as he backed away, letting the wolves tear at the still screaming man. These were no warriors, he realised. If they had known how to fight they would never have backed away when he felled his mark, but instead would have attacked. They needed to stand together if they wanted to live, but Enoch knew that if they lived, he would not. He may have the upper hand here, but the risks were very real and 23 men remained – more than enough to catch him, strangle him or otherwise incapacitate him.

Enoch backed up, and saw the big man who had kicked the wolf was trying to rally the others. He had got free of his bindings and was pointing at Enoch, speaking urgently. Others were looking at him too. Enoch felt 23 pairs of eyes on him and shuddered. He had not felt so hated by such a group of people since the day he had been sold into slavery.

Enoch knew that if the big man were to organise them all, there was a chance that they could overpower the wolves. These men were condemned to death – part of the executions that happened each day in the arena. Usually the executions happened at midday, but these ones were scheduled earlier to fit the day's theme, but nevertheless they were still executions, and if he and the wolves failed to kill them, they would all die on the point of a sword or the end of a stake. Enoch stole a quick look at the women kicking their lives away on the stakes, still moaning in agony. He was showing them mercy if he killed them quickly and spared them that.

There was only one thing to do then – he must not let the big man succeed, and he instinctively knew the best way to stay his hand. Enoch looked at the she-wolf. He had spent so much time with her that he no longer really knew how he communicated with her, but he directed her attention towards the man. He did the same now with the big male wolf he shared so much time with, and the wolves moved and with a blood curdling howl went for him from both sides.

Enoch went in from the front, grabbing the man's hands, and biting down hard on his arm. Two more wolves attacked the man, ignoring the knot of other men as they landed on him with such force that he staggered and fell to his knees. The man tried to shake Enoch off and then head butt him, but Enoch was quick and moved his head to the side, releasing his grip and then, lifting his tunic, biting the man's cock. The man screamed, writhed, tried to get his hands down to protect him, but the wolves were on him, ripping at his flesh, tearing at his throat.

The attack had the desired effect on the other men who panicked now and split up. That was what Enoch had hoped for. Devoid of the one man who would have united them, it was every man for himself and that allowed the wolves to pick them off one by one.

Some men tried to climb the trees. Only one got out of range of a wolf, and Enoch left him for now. A couple more jumped into the central channel of the arena that had been flooded to make a river and swam across, but the wolves just leaped across the gap, catching the men as they climbed out the far side. Some tried to stand and fight, but the wolves fought together. They were pack, and no wolf fought alone. No man, however brave, survived the encounter.

At last there were just corpses and a great deal of blood on the arena floor, as well as strewn entrails and a pack of bloodied baying wolves. Enoch walked over to the tree that one man had successfully climbed. The man was begging for mercy, terrified, his face white with fear, but Enoch grimly started to climb. The man kicked, trying to knock him down, but Enoch dodged the kicks and then grabbed the flailing leg. He let go of the tree, hung there and the man groaned as he held on tightly with the boy hanging from his leg. The crowd jeered and cat called, as the man begged for Enoch to let go, but at last he lost his grip. Enoch rolled as he hit the floor, just avoiding having the man land on him, and then the wolves were on him. He screamed and Enoch was showered in blood as his jugular vein was severed and arterial blood fountained out.

A few minutes later and it was all over. Enoch was on his knees as the she wolf came over, dropping a severed leg in front of him, his share of the kill. He looked at it feeling sick as the crowd got tho their feet and roared again, delighted at the animal horror of the boy who had turned into an animal.

"Lupus, Lupus, Lupus 3;"

WARNING. This chapter is extremely violent, contains deaths and a good deal of blood. If such things offend you, do not read on. You have been warned! Please do not complain if you read this chapter and do not like the violence.

Nathan had watched the terrible bloody spectacle with a mixture of fear and disgust. Enoch truly had turned into an animal. He had slaughtered and butchered those men. The wolves seemed to follow him, and never so obviously as when he managed to guide them out of the arena, back to the animal pens. They dragged corpses or bits of corpses with them, feasting themselves on their prey, but they left plenty in the arena, perhaps glad to be away from the noise. All the same Enoch's ability to guide them was terrifying.

With the wolves gone, the other corpses were rapidly dragged away by the slaves working in the arena, and Boudicca and her "daughters" were brought back out from where they had been taken during the executions. The editor had his arms raised for quiet and the arena hushed to listen.

"Senators and citizens of Rome, you have seen the monstrous barbarity of Boudicca and her followers. Who could deny that these barbarians were a great and terrible threat to the might of Rome? and yet as so often happens, when there are great challenges then great men respond. Our third scene for you this day moves to the final battle with the Britons, where our Roman forces were outnumbered ten to one.

"Queen Boudicca made a great speech in which she said that she, a woman, was resolved to win or die; if the men wanted to live in slavery, that was their choice.

"So it was that her forces, filled with women and even children, fought valiantly against our Roman legions. They fought for freedom – freedom such as any barbarian might know it at least, and it is this last battle we will re-create for you now.

"We have brought you women and children of the Ordovices tribe, the most recent Britons to attempt to resist Rome's will in Britannia. The governor of Britannia, Gnaeus Julius Agricola, has sworn that the Ordovices be wiped out to the very last, their lands laid waste and claimed for Rome, and these assorted slaves are indeed the last of them, brought from Britannia to fight and die for you today. They will fight alongside Lupus and his wolves, the unholy alliance of barbarians and cannibals fighting against the gladiators of the imperial gladiator school, who will represent the heavily outnumbered Roman legionaries.

"Although Rome prevailed in Britannia, today's battle is unscripted for your added enjoyment. Just as Boudicca fought for freedom, our Boudicca today fights for her own freedom. Should she prevail against the gladiators, she will be granted her freedom, presented with a rudis, the wooden sword.

"Our gladiators are led by Brixus," the crowd roared at this point, showing that they knew who Brixus was, something that was confirmed moments later by the editor.

"We know him, we love him. Brixus has won every bout he has fought in, but today's challenge is great. Despite better equipment, better training, and the advantage of being seasoned fighting men, our gladiators are as terrifyingly outnumbered as our legions were that day. Yet if they can defeat Boudicca and her forces, Brixus will receive the rudis and Boudicca will die. Today Brixus fights not just for himself, but for the honour of Rome."

The crowd were stamping their feet again, shouting and chanting a name. Brixus, Brixus, Brixus. There was no doubt which side they wanted to win. And, Nathan thought, there was little doubt people expected Brixus to win. Yes they would be outnumbered, but they were trained, armoured gladiators fighting naked women and children. The Britons were known for fighting naked save the blue paint they wore, and today was no exception. It would be like Enoch and the wolves against unarmed men once more – except Enoch and the wolves would fight for the weaker side this time. Perhaps that would give them an edge, but Nathan imagined the wolves, wild untrained animals, turning on the women and children and shuddered at the potential carnage.

The editor had his arms up again to try to still the crowd. He could not be heard while they were making all this noise, but it took them some time to make notice, and even as a hush fell, someone shouted: "stick it to them, Brixus," and everyone laughed.

"So today two sides truly fight for freedom. We join the fight at its most desperate. The Britons were unable to drive their war chariots into the narrow defile our armies chose to make their stand, so fighting was up close and brutal. One side or the other will soon be utterly defeated. Let the game begin!"

That was Nathan's cue. He was no Ordovice of course, nor a Briton at all, but like Enoch, the fact that he was a Jew would simply not fit with the story being told, so instead he marched into the arena amongst a group of women and children. No doubt many of them truly were Ordovices, but as they had waited he had heard whisperings in Latin and Greek too, and suspected that many here were, like him, simply conscripted for the part. There were only two other children – two boys, a little older than him. These two did look celtic, at least, and might actually be Britons. There were no adult men among them – those who had played the part earlier were assumed to have stayed away from this fight to lend power to Boudicca's famous speech. It was the women and children of the Britons who fought for freedom, while the men accepted the yoke of slavery.

Everyone was naked, and wore little but the blue woad paint that celts liked to cover themselves with for battle as they walked into the arena, perhaps more intricately drawn than the celts really would have done, as a small army of slaves had helped paint them and prepare them for this fight. Nathan looked at his own stomach, aware that in his case the blue paint had been tattooed in days before – a permanent mark in his flesh that joined the marks of shame that had been drawn on his face to draw attention to his theft. Cave Furem was emblazoned on his forehead: beware the thief.

The tattoos had been painful, and the shame had been great, knowing all would see those words written in his face. Nathan knew that the permanent mark was very deliberate though. He had a role he must play today, and to further ensure his compliance, the tattoo had been given to him to ensure no one trusted anything he said, and that he would never have any prospects if he survived this fight. He was not meant to survive. This was the place he was meant to die, but for the sake of Jonathan and Simon and all the people he loved, he had to die in the right way. He knew, because he had been assured of the fact, that if he just allowed himself to be cut down quickly, Jonathan would end his life nailed to a wooden cross. Perversely he had to fight to survive in this battle, just so that he could spend his life later.

Nathan thought to himself that so many choices in life lacked justice. How just was it that he spent all his life as a slave, subservient to others, only to be offered death before he had even got man hair on his body, or before his voice had broken. What justice was there in a choice of one death or another? Where was the justice for Jonathan either?

Through the dark night he had slept very little, endlessly thinking through this moment, trying to come up with a plan that would save him or at least release him from this terrifying and monstrous choice he must make. Now the moment had come, and he was terrified. He was terrified but not into inaction. He knew what he must do, and he would not allow himself to luxury of the quick death – if he could help it! He had the training he had been given, and he had his speed. He just needed to survive the death of Boudicca and then surrender. He hoped that would come swiftly.

From another gate a howl was heard and Nathan looked over grimly to see Enoch re-entering the arena accompanied by the pack of wolves. The blood from the earlier bout was largely washed off him, and he had divested himself of his blood soaked loincloth, but even cleaned up a little he was a scary sight. Nathan could not shift the image of Enoch biting a man's cock as the wolves gored him to death. The wolves scared him almost more than the opponents he was meant to face. He simply did not trust the animals to distinguish between friends and foe.

Facing them there was a row of gladiators. One of them was a venator, lightly armoured but carrying a bow, and dressed in leopard skin. The others were dressed as murmillo but with a nod to legionary uniform too. They looked grim, but confident. Just five gladiators and a venator faced a pack of wolves and maybe as many as thirty women and children. The gladiators held the Roman short sword – the gladius, whereas the Britons held longer celtic swords, giving them more reach, but more unwieldy.

The women all knew what they had to do, but there was little in the way of a plan of attack. Some were so reluctant that they felt the lash of a whip on their backs, forcing them into the arena. It was the two boys who were the first to attack, lifting the big celtic swords they had been given and running at the gladiators with a scream that spoke of their bravery and, Nathan thought, their stupidity.

As the boys ran, two gladiators crouched and readied their blades, but the venator leapt away from the group, drew his bow and shot an arrow at the wolves, which Nathan noticed had made a run for the man under cover of the boys' attack. The shot was true, taking a wolf through the head, and the animal fell to the floor with a howl. A second arrow took another wolf down but a third one was running still, and Enoch was running beside it, having paused only briefly by one of the dead animals, and howling his fury. The venator had no time to loose another arrow, so drew his sword to stay the animal's attack.

Other wolves had begun to harry the gladiators, but these men knew how to fight the animals, and had weapons. This was not the slaughter of the criminals that had finished earlier. There was no undisciplined rout, and the gladiators crouched, thrust, lunged, and animals howled and rolled away. Enoch was screaming his fury as the wolves met their end on Roman iron.

As wolves fell, the first of the boys reached a murmillo, and there was a flash of silver and sparks as a blade was turned away and a spray of red as the shorter gladius was turned quickly and opened up the boy's neck.

The speed with which the boy fell stayed the second boy for just a second, and he checked his forward momentum enough to roll away to the side, just avoiding suffering the same fate at the hands of another murmillo. The reprieve was short lived though, as the murmillo raised his arm to strike. Nathan let out a cry of fury, echoed by some of the women. One in particular looked in a state of distress and Nathan wondered whether it was her son about to be killed. She sprang forward, and that movement loosed the other women into a charge on the gladiators, who had formed themselves into a defensive circle from which they harried and cut at the wolves and prepared to take on the charging women.

An upward thrust opened the second boy's stomach, the force of the blow lifting him right off his feet, his sword flying forgotten from his hand as he screamed in shock an terror. The gladiator turned then to receive the new onslaught, and here the numbers and the ferocity of these women began to show. For her part, Boudicca was picking up a sword that had been dropped at her feet, and looking at the battle, her wounds where she had been whipped earlier weeping blood, but her face equally red with anger.

Nathan hung back, looking for an opening. He knew what he had to do, but he also knew better than most the importance of being sneaky in an attack. There was one other consideration too, he reminded himself, for Jonathan's sake if not his own, he had to stay alive through this battle. It did not matter who won – he just had to survive it. He looked away from the murmillo who had just decapitated the woman that Nathan had assumed was the mother of one of the boys. That battle was too confused, but the venator was fighting Enoch and just the one wolf that seemed to always stay with the boy. Already the wolf was injured, and raised to a frenzy.

Once again, he though to himself ruefully, it fell to him to save Enoch's butt. He moved behind the venator, and stealthily closed in, ready to stab the man in the back. Enoch saw him, but did not let his eyes linger for fear of alerting the man. All the same the crowd roared their outrage at the cowardly tactic. The venator heard the roar, saw movement in the corner of his eye and turned. It was enough for Enoch who threw himself in close, grabbing the man's sword arm. The venator shouted angrily and head butted Enoch, even as Nathan stabbed for the man's neck, missing by the barest finger width. Enoch staggered but clung on, but now the man simply took his sword in his other hand, and would have struck the killing blow, but for the wolf which sprang at that moment, ripping huge claws into the man's flesh, and its teeth finding his throat.

Leopardus' last act as he tasted blood, smelled the wolf's breath, felt its weight on him, was to sink his blade into it's belly. The wolf yelped and fell away, and blood slewed across man and animal as both lay on the sand, dying.

Enoch was on his knees clutching his head, and there was blood trickling from a scalp wound. Nathan picked up the venator's gladius, preferring it to his unfamiliar celtic long sword, that he had not been able to control for the killing blow.

Nathan got to his knees and spoke quickly with Enoch, a few encouraging words at first. Enoch looked up at him and Nathan saw tears in his eyes. Enoch was crying for this wolf! No time for that though, and he spoke to Enoch some more before the other boy growled in anger and frustration, and Nathan turned to look around himself at the rest of the battle.

He realised with shock that in the short time the two of them had been fighting this man, the other seasoned gladiators had decimated the naked women, leaving just a handful of the group who had come in with Nathan. However he could see that these ones who were still alive were not just slaves who had been rounded up to die. They all sported brands, and although he could not identify what they meant, they matched a brand on Boudicca. These were actual female gladiators, and they knew how to fight.

Nathan circled behind the gladiators, hoping to repeat his trick that had worked against the venator, but these gladiators were seasoned fighters and were covering each other's back. There was no easy opening, and the women circled cautiously, armed with longer swords but wearing no armour, holding no shields, they fell away against any thrust from the gladiators.

The gladiators were outnumbered. Boudicca had joined the fight now, standing warily but ready to defend the others. Calvinus too had picked up a fallen celtic sword, which he held inexpertly. The girl that had been with him was curled up in the foetal position, crying, despite the bite of whips that had been meant to force her to fight. She would be no help, but all the same the gladiators were outnumbered and wary too. They had the size, training, and armour on their side, but Nathan thought he had faced worse odds.

And then one gladiatrix sensed an opening. One of the men had looked away for a second, and she lunged. Even as he moved, Boudicca shouted something in the language of the Britons, which he supposed meant no, because it was suddenly clear the man had been fooling her. As she lunged forward, he turned to the side, kicked and his boot connected with her stomach. She fell away, and another gladiator parried blows from two women at once to give his comrade the chance to sink his blade into the woman's neck.

The gladiatrix let out a gurgling scream, clutching her neck as blood foamed out from between her fingers, but already the gladiator was ignoring her. He looked at Nathan, sizing up the threat but did not press an attack yet, opting instead to turn and relieve the onslaught on his comrade.

Now the gladiators were trading blows with the women, Boudicca included. Nathan realised that Boudicca could certainly fight. Despite having just been whipped until her skin hung from her back in flaps, she was still moving quickly – too fast for the more heavily armoured and bigger gladiator. She thrust and there was a spatter of blood – a hit and the crowd roared. The gladiator fell back, but he had underestimated the reach of the sword. As he dropped his guard, Boudicca slashed at his leg, and the man was down.

The noise from the crowd was deafening at that. This was a fight such as they liked to see. The butchery of prisoners was always welcome entertainment, but now this was a real battle – a battle in which either side might prevail. The cream of Rome's gladiators may yet fall to the sword of a naked barbarian woman, or even more humiliating – a child.

Another gladiatrix was quick too, but she was giving ground to the gladiator who was pressing her backwards. She parried but could not bring her sword to bear for a return strike. She was quick enough to avoid the killing blows but not quick enough to ever win. Nathan did not run to her support though. He hung back, held back by his most pressing concern – his own survival.

Calvinus must have had the same doubts, but still he ran at the man, yelling in incoherent rage, perhaps spurred on by the knowledge that he could not survive this fight, and unlike Nathan he had no one to stay alive for. There was no reason why he needed survive this, but there was something else in Calvinus' savagery, and Nathan realised this was the gladiator who had raped him and pissed on him.

No, Nathan thought desperately as Calvinus rushed forward. Don't let your anger control you, he thought, but Calvinus did not have a gladiator's training. He made nothing but an animal sound as he ran at the man pressing on the gladiatrix. He swung inexpertly and the gladiator parried, the blow so hard it knocked the sword from Calvinus' hand. Now the woman at last saw her chance and struck a blow that would have killed the man had it not glanced off his leather belt. Still it opened a deep wound in his side, but the gladiator brought his gladius around and landed a deep cut into the woman's shoulder that drover her to her knees, and she lost control of her weapon as her collar bone snapped and the arm hung loose and useless.

A moment later and a second blow finished her off, and the gladiator turned to Calvinus.

Calvinus backed away in terror, and then sank to his knees as if knowing it was all over, unarmed and naked as he was, but as Nathan watched all this, suddenly there was a thunk, and an arrow was protruding from the gladiator's chest. Nathan looked around to see Enoch running towards them, dropping the venator's bow pausing only long enough to pick up the fallen gladiatrix's sword which he drove into the gladiator's throat.

The man clutched the sword protruding through his throat, writhing in agony, blood gouting from the wound. There was a fire in Enoch's eyes – an anger Nathan had never seen so clearly as right now. He spat in the face of the dying gladiator.

"I told you I would kill you, Brixus," he said, twisting the blade. "This is for what you did to me, and what you did to Calvinus," and with that he picked up the gladiator's fallen blade and thrust it into the man's groin. It was as if there was a collected intake of breath from thousands of watching men as the blade must have passed through the gladiator's genitals. Brixus' face contorted in agony, his mouth open in a wordless blood soaked howl that froze on his face as his head dropped backwards, and he merely twitched away his last moments of life.

The stadium hushed as Brixus, the champion who was meant to kill Boudicca fell to the sword of a mere boy, and Enoch spat on the man again.

WARNING: This episode is an important one, but it also comes with a warning. This episode contains violence and gore. There is blood, death and darkness in this episode. If you do not like such things, you may not want to proceed. You have been warned.

"What's up with you?"

Britannicus looked up at the sound of a familiar voice. Quintus! He might have wondered what his friend was doing here, but the boy answered that question quickly enough.

"Anglius fetched me. He was quite insistent. It was lucky for you I was nearby though. I was on my way back to the spoliarium, which is where I should be now, as the wounded will soon be coming in. I was sent out to fetch bone pliers as it seems no one had the foresight to provide their own. I had to run all the way back to my master's home and Anglius caught me in the vomitorium."

Britannicus was on his feet rattling the bars as Quintus approached, looking frustrated, like he so often did when Quintus spoke too much and listened too little. He was making a weird sound too, making a sound he could manage with his tongueless mouth. Mamamama.

"Calm down, Britannicus 3; what is wrong? Here 3; write it in the dust," he said, passing the boy a stick. Britannicus immediately wrote one word.

MATER, he wrote.

"Mother? Whose?"

Britannicus pointed at himself and then pointed out into the arena. Quintus' face transformed to puzzlement to horror in an instant as comprehension dawned.

"Your mother is in the arena? Fighting?"

Britannicus nodded and rattled the bars again, tears springing from his eyes and running down his face, but he looked at his friend with an expression that seemed to please: Quintus make it better again.

Quintus swore and shook his head, and Britannicus angrily rattled the bars again.

"Calm down, Britannicus. You can't just go out there. If you do, they will make you fight to the death. And no offence, because I know you are a Briton and all you said about what great warriors your people are, but I have seen you fight already and I don't want to see you die."

Britannicus howled in frustration and Anglius gasped, looking around nervously. Quintus put a finger to his lips.

"Calm down Britannicus 3; it's in the lap of the gods now. She could still win you know! Which one is your mother?"

BOODIKA.

Quintus read the word and swore.

"Boudicca? the one they whipped?"

Britannicus nodded, pacing frantically, making incoherent sounds like a distressed dog, and Quintus swore again.

"I don't know what we can do," Quintus said apologetically, but Britannicus pointed to himself, then to his head. He knew, Quintus realised. The slave boy picked the stick up again and began writing frantically on the ground.

***

Minutes later Quintus opened the cell door and Britannicus sprang out, leaping away towards a narrow stairway leading down into the dark underbelly of the amphitheatre.

"Britannicus 3; this idea 3; it's foolish, and dangerous 3; you know that?"

Britannicus turned back on the stairway, almost lost in the dark. He nodded, and Quintus fancied he could see the tracks of tears glistening in the half light from a torch. Then the boy ran back up the stairs, over to Quintus and hugged him tight. Quintus was only momentarily taken aback, before returning the hug, holding the frail skinny form of his foolish little friend, not wanting to let him go. Hold him tight, he thought, keep him safe. Don't let him go.

Quintus did let him go though, against his better judgement. Britannicus looked at Anglius.

"Don't hug me!" Anglius said gruffly, "Anyway, I am coming with you."

Britannicus looked at Anglius, gratitude in his face, warring with terror. The boys went back to the stairs and Quintus swallowed, scared that this may be the last time he saw Britannicus.

"Britannicus 3; just 3; be careful. Please be careful."

Britannicus gave an uncertain wave to his friend and descended into the dark. As Quintus heard the boys running off in the dark below, he bit his lip, rubbed his eyes and said the words he had wanted to say, but had not been able to voice.

"Come back safely, please! I love you, Britannicus."

***

The battle was still raging in the arena, when Quintus entered the public stands. He should be in the spoliarium, and his master would probably beat him later, but he had to see this part of the fight. In any case, until this fight was over, there would be no one needing treatment in the spoliarium.

All around him people were baying, cheering, drinking, eating, and placing bet upon bet. He looked down in horror at the scene below him, realising now why Boudicca looked so damned familiar. Britannicus' mother 3; and gods could she fight. That would be a woman to be terrified of if you ever stole your brother's breakfast.

It was not just Boudicca that he knew though. He had seen Calvinus in the arena, and now he saw other boys from the Ludus of Valerius Maximus. Not all of them, but there was the boy that had made Britannicus suck him off – what was his name? Enoch was it? People were calling him Lupus now though. He had been injured – blood was pouring from a scalp wound, and he was kneeling beside a dead wolf, holding it like a fallen comrade. No wonder they called him Lupus.

And then there was that other boy he had seen. He had forgotten his name, but he had been another of Valerius Maximus' young recruits. The boy was holding a gladius and moving warily, but not engaging anyone in battle. He stood near Enoch, and seemed to be speaking to him, although the two were not looking at each other.

Curiously no one was whipping those boys to force them to fight. Calvinus was not being let off so lightly. He was holding a celtic longsword that appeared to be unblooded, but every time he fell back someone would whip him, forcing him to stay close to the three remaining gladiators. Quintus felt a small thrill to realise that there were only three gladiators left now. Two other gladiators and the venator had all fallen, but even as he realised this, he watched with a groan as a gladius ran through the stomach of one of the women. She fell, screaming, clutching herself, trying to push back the guts that were spilling from the wound. The gladiator kicked her hard in the head and Quintus could hear the crack from where he was watching as her neck snapped and then hung at a strange angle.

There were three women, three men, three children left now. Come on, he thought, looking at the other boy, willing him to join the fight.

"Get up Enoch, fight!" he suddenly shouted. His voice was lost in all the others calling, screaming advice, but all the same, Enoch seemed to look up, as though he had heard his name.

But no, for now it was three women and Calvinus against three fully trained murmillo dressed as legionaries, and now they thrust forward. Calvinus raised his blade inexpertly and let out a howl of pain as a gladius landed across his wrist, fast and hard, edge first. Despite the distance Quintus could hear the crack of bone and blood slewed. Calvinus clutched his wrist to his body, and blood continued fountaining through his fingers. Had the hand come off? Quintus could not see it, buy the boy was cradling his wrist to himself – the injury was clearly severe. The boy was howling in agony, and the stadium baying at the sight, but lucky for him the gladiators had lost interest in him. Incapacitated as he was, he was no threat to them and so now they concentrated on the three women, and did so swiftly, pressing the attack, turning, parrying and thrusting.

The women, for their part, were clearly experienced gladiatrixes. They turned and parried and thrust back, using their longer swords and greater speed to good effect. The next blood was to one of the men who overstretched, but that led to such a frenzy of blows that one of the women mis-stepped, fell and the gladius was coming for her. She turned her blade but it was too slow. The gladius cut into her neck. The crowd roared but the sound of the roar changed to an "ooh" sound as it became obvious that somehow in her last moments, the gladiatrix had managed to thrust her sword through the murmillo's stomach and up into his chest. Gladiator and gladiatrix, both seemed to freeze and then fall to the ground.

That was when the other boy struck. Quintus watched him leap forward and thrust up under a murmillo's arm, striking true and rolling away. The murmillo roared and turned, batting at the boy, striking him hard across the head, sending him sprawling. Now Boudicca leapt in to try to finish him off, but in the distraction the other murmillo scored a vicious slash across the other gladiatrix. Boudicca cut at the one, and he fell back, but the other gladiator had his back. Boudicca swung and he parried. Her counterpart swung and he parried, feinted, she dodged, caught out and there was another sigh from the crowd as he cut away at her knees. The gladiatrix fell but she was dead before she hit the ground, another deep cut severing her head and sending it rolling across the arena floor.

Quintus swore. This was all so quick and now it was Boudicca against two armed and dangerous gladiators. The boy with Cave Furem written on his head was down, dazed, vomiting, clearly incapacitated, and the two murmillo were coming at Boudicca. It was all over, he thought.

And then there was a flash of movement, and a loud growl as Enoch ran under the reach of one gladiator, his speed carrying him past the man, leaving a red bleeding gash behind. The gladiator turned and aimed a blow at Enoch but the boy was lightning fast and rolled away from it, at once finding his feet. The crowd went wild, and something extraordinary was happening now. Boudicca was parrying, thrusting, parrying again and again, but her opponent was not gaining ground on her. Despite his better equipment and larger frame, he was backing up. As Enoch occupied one gladiator, she was driving the other towards the channel of water.

The gladiator backed up, found himself with nowhere to go, and looked for support, but his comrade was swiping furiously at Enoch who seemed to be toying with him. The boy did not have the strength to engage a full grown gladiator and survive, but he had the speed and skill to keep him occupied, and that was all Boudicca needed. One more thrust and the man overbalanced, falling into the water. He flailed around, weighed down by his armour, and a second later Boudicca had lunged forward and the water turned red as the man died, bleeding out in the channel.

Boudicca turned to help Enoch, just in time to see the man swing his blade down on Enoch's. He held on grimly but his blade was forced downward and the man came in close, grabbed his arm and viciously kicked the boy in the balls. Enoch crumpled and he kicked again, and then kicked to the face. Enoch's nose exploded in blood, and his head whipped wildly to the side. He fell to the sand with an audible thud, and it looked like a tooth flew from his mouth as another kick to the head ensured the boy was unconscious.

Boudicca launched at the gladiator, but he was fast – faster than the other. He parried, thrusted, parried, thrusted, and now his smaller blade showed its virtue against the larger slower celtic blades. Boudicca could not match the intensity, and she was falling back, tiring. It was remarkable she had come this far after the whipping she had received, but still she fought on, although all could see it was hopeless now. There was no one left to help her as she was driven back, back 3; Calvinus was barely conscious, clutching his wrist to himself and moaning, the boy with Cave Furem written on his head tried to stand and collapsed like a drunkard, and Enoch was lying still, unmoving. Everyone else was dead. it was all over. Britannicus' mother was about to die.

Quintus put hands to his face, peeking through his fingers, feeling the full horror of the inevitable.

And then the sand trembled for a second and vanished down a hole as a trap door opened right in front of the gladiator and two naked boys leaped out. The crowd went wild, stamping feet, waving arms at this unexpected turn of events. They had already seen these trap doors in this new amphitheatre used to great effect in the games earlier in the week, causing wild animals to jump out on unsuspecting gladiators. Now, instead of a lion or a bear, the gladiator was confronted by two naked boys. Two weaponless boys! He swung his blade but they dodged and together ran into him, trying to knock him off his feet. The move was futile, foolhardy, even stupider now then when Britannicus had suggested it. The man simply picked up Britannicus and threw him into Anglius, deliberately driving one boy's head into the other, incapacitating both boys in one movement. Quintus watched and let out a cry of despair as Britannicus fell backwards, his neck twisting in a sickening fashion as he rebounded off Anglius and then fell from a height onto a rock. The crowd let out a long ooh at the skull cracking knock that left the boy unconscious or perhaps even dead.

The new attack was muted but the distraction was all Boudicca had needed. As the gladiator had thrown Anglius, she reached in under his guard and put a blade through his soft abdomen. The gladiator looked down almost in surprise, as though he had forgotten she was there or expected him to wait for him to deal with the boys before resuming his attack on her. Instead he looked now at blood gushing from his stomach as she pulled the sword out again.

The man fought on even with his guts spilling out, but mortally wounded, Boudicca did not have long to wait before she could land another blow to his groin and then as he fell to the ground, and before anyone could stop her, she thrust the sword down and through his neck.

The crowd were on their feet, jumping, yelling, screaming their approval and Quintus was yelling right along with them, tears streaming down his face despite his concern for his friend lying still on the arena floor.

Boudicca, they cried. Boudicca, Boudicca victrex.

WARNING: There is a gore warning again but of you read chapter 15 and were OK with it, you will be fine with this chapter.

The editor held up his hands for silence, but it was a long time coming. All around there was stamping, shouting, chanting of one name over and over: Boudicca, Boudicca, Boudicca. No-one thought twice about chanting the name of a traitor of Rome. Perhaps no one saw the irony, as that threat had been seen off a decade ago, the woman whose name they were shouting was not Boudicca of the Iceni but Boudicca the gladiatrix who had fought valiantly and beaten all the odds to emerge victorious.

Cerwen listened to the riot around her, chanting the slave name she had been saddled with by the Romans, feeling numb inside. She was exhausted from the fight, and her back was agony from the whipping. She had killed today for Roman entertainment but she did not feel the sense of victory she might have, despite the adulation. She had won her freedom if the editor was true to his word, and yet even that meant nothing. She was not emotionally drained, but rather all her emotions at this moment were focussed on one thing and one thing only.

Lying unconscious on the sand, close to where he had jumped up from the arena floor like a god leaping from the other world, was her son, Gwion. How could this be? How could he be here?

She dropped her sword and staggered over to the boy, and then knelt next to him. She felt his bones for injury, but nothing was obviously broken, although he had received a nasty bang on the head. He was so thin though! How could he be so thin?

Cerwen saw the brand in his nipple too. She had known he had been taken as a slave, and had wept bitter tears for him many a night. She had never dreamed she would see him again, and yet here he was, lying there - breathing but unconscious. Cerwen lifted him carefully and cradled him in here arms. He was so light, it was as if he were just a baby again. She moved back and forth on her knees, gently rocking the boy and sang him a lullaby, just as she would have done eleven years earlier. Tears ran down her face and fell on his soft young skin. She wrapped fingers in his golden-red hair and buried her head in it, kissing him, humming her song now, the sound occasionally stifled by her sobs. Gwion did not wake up, but she rocked her baby boy, whispering soothing words in his ear.

Now at last the arena fell silent at this remarkable scene, and even the editor seemed lost for words for a while as every eye fell upon the gladiatrix who had fought her way to victory, holding an unmoving boy with all the tenderness of a mother holding her child. The resemblance between the two caused people to guess that this was her son, and yet that was not something the editor knew about, and had not been listed in the order of play. Nevertheless he clearly decided it was best to run with it, as though this were all part of the plan.

"Just as in the original battle in Britannia, Boudicca was not killed in her defeat under the Roman forces, although her army was routed. Many of her loved ones were lost, many of her own family," he shouted, ad libbing to include Britannicus in the scene, before moving on to describe the fourth scene.

"Today we honour a valiant fight, and even though no treachery against Rome and her citizens can go unpunished, still we note that Boudicca here has been thrilling crowds in gladiator fights for two years now, first in Britannia, and then in Gaul, before she was brought here to Rome for this fight today. In honour of her victory today, and her bereavement, we call on the Emperor of Rome, Titus Caesar himself, to award the rudis to Boudicca."

Eyes turned to the area where the emperor sat watching the proceedings. The emperor nodded, and beside him sat his brother, Domitian, who had designed the day's events, and some of their other guests. His ward was there - a girl who would normally not sit anywhere so near the action, but was under Domitian's special favour, as well as some other senators and favoured equestrians. They began to move now, allowing Titus to stand up and make his way down to the arena floor. This was not the first such ceremony Titus had conducted in the inaugural games. A week earlier, on the opening day, he had awarded the wooden swords to Priscus and Verus after a memorable draw between the two gladiators, but Cerwen had never supposed she would be receiving a wooden sword from the emperor.

It did not matter. All that mattered was that Gwion was here, and she clutched him and wept.

"After the rudis is awarded, Boudicca will be free to leave, but as our morning's entertainment reaches its end, we will play out one final scene. Although Boudicca escaped with her life and committed suicide, the traitors that fought with her were executed. The execution of traitors will follow the awarding of the rudis, beginning with the execution of a particularly vile slave who plotted theft, treachery and murder against the household of the emperor himself. In the same way Boudicca's daughters were executed for treachery, so too Mendax, who played the part of the daughter of Boudicca, will be the first execution at noon, watched today by the noble family he plotted against."

Cerwen did not know Mendax, but knew who he must be. The poor castrated boy who had been violently raped at the start of the games, and was now kneeling in the sand moaning as a slave was binding his shattered wrist, staunching the flow of blood so that he did not die before they could kill him. She was still holding her little Gwion to herself, but her heart went out to the other boy as she heard what was to happen to him. The binding on his injured hand seemed to stop short and already seemed to be blood soaked. She could not see the injury to his hand well, but it was clearly very serious. An injury such as that could be life threatening, both through blood loss or later infection, so perhaps a quick execution would be in his best interests. She had no idea what treachery he could have committed to deserve such a fate.

"After the execution of Mendax, Nathan will also be executed for his involvement in the starting of the fire that ravaged our city so recently. Nathan confessed he helped plan and start the fire that caused so many deaths," the editor said amidst boos and jeers and cries of outrage at the boy. "It is fitting that just as those who burned Camuludunum and Londinium were executed in Britannia, we will execute the boy who burned our city."

Two slaves had approached her now. One held out a hand to help Cerwen to her feet, but the other had come to take Gwion. She clung to her little boy protectively, kissing him, holding him tight. If only he were conscious, she thought, so that she could tell him how much she loved him. She did not know how he had come to enter the fight just at that moment, as though sent by the gods themselves, but she knew that her little Gwion truly had become the weaver of great stories he had been prophesied to become. She wanted to tell him how proud she was of him, and how much she regretted the way she had reacted the day he had first been raped by a Roman soldier.

After that day she had been taken away to be sold as a whore, but she had made a terrible whore. She was older than many men wanted, and not at all good at the arts that pleased them, more inclined to bite or scratch than to kiss or lick men's bodies. It had taken barely a month for her to be sold from the whore house to a ludus, where she had been branded and forced to fight for Roman entertainment. Fighting was something she understood though, quickly making a name for herself as a brutal and terrifying gladiatrix. She would go on to win fights even against male gladiators through her speed and ferocity. That was the path that had eventually brought her to this place, but never in all that time had she forgotten the moment her Gwion had been taken from her, and now here they were to take him again.

"Please," the slave whispered urgently, "we will take good care of him, but you must let us take him. Please, we will find him a doctor."

Cerwen kissed her son one more time and let the slave pick him up, her hand reaching out and touching his cheek as he was pulled away.

"Be well, Gwion," she said in her Brythonic language as he was carried out of the arena, and she was guided towards a podium that was being rapidly rearranged close to the standing stone set by a large group of slaves. As she approached it, she saw the emperor of Rome walking onto the arena sand, and suddenly the cheers were growing again as trumpets blared the fanfare that accompanied the awarding of the wooden sword, the symbol of freedom for gladiators.

WARNING: This chapter contains strong and violent themes and gore. If you do not like such things, do not read it.

Nathan was escorted onto the podium along with Calvinus. His legs were shaking, and he felt more terrified than he had ever felt in his life. He knew that soon he would be dead. He scanned the people in the crowd, looking for Jonathan, but he did not see him and was not surprised by that. There were thousands of people here, and picking out one familiar face would be all but impossible, and that was even supposing the boy was here, which he very much doubted. The games were not the kind of entertainment that the followers of The Way would go to. All the same, it would have felt better to see his friend one last time. He hoped Simon was better, and that the medicine had saved him. He cursed himself again, as he had so often, for allowing himself to be caught and mixed up in these events.

Titus was coming up the steps onto the podium now, and Boudicca had been given a simple covering, not so much for her own modesty, which could hardly be preserved after fighting naked, but for the sake of the emperor. Nathan squeezed his hands tight and prayed. God forgive me for what I must do.

The plan was a simple one. The podium they were on was made from slatted wood, and between the slats a knife had been carefully placed by one of Lucius Andronicus' slaves. The knife itself was laced with a powdered poison derived from some plant, turned into a paste with tree resin. It was potent and would lead to a painful death as long as he could sink it deep into Titus' flesh. Go for the stomach, he had been told, and twist the knife to ensure more poison was left behind.

The man standing beside him, supposedly guarding him ready for his forthcoming execution, knew where the knife was, and was to ensure that Nathan was placed directly in front of it. All he had to do was reach a finger carefully between the slats and extract it. He had been warned not to cut himself on the knife. The poison would take some time to kill, and should he attempt his own suicide he would live long enough to see punishment for his failure. If he fulfilled his murder as agreed, then in reward for his service to Domitian, he would be given a quick death in the form of a gladius through his throat by Calvinus' guard. Domitian had planned the day's play which meant he had assigned the guards too, or rather his friend Lucius Andronicus had done so. All was arms length from the brother of the Emperor. The Jews would be blamed for murdering the butcher of Jerusalem in a random revenge attack. The knife, they would say, was one dropped in the fighting or else by some negligent slave. A slave would be executed for the lapse but they would say that no one should have known Nathan, a mere boy, could have been capable of such an act. Domitian would declare himself emperor when Titus died, probably some hours later, as though from the injury turning bad, and he would absolve the soldiers guarding Nathan from responsibility. Nathan would die so quickly that there could be no questions asked of him about the guard's involvement, nor had any man of Domitian's ever spoken to Nathan or been near him in his captivity, they would say. Instead the boy had been held by the Ostia collegia, and brought to the arena for his crimes by Caudex. Caudex too would be exonerated, having clearly warned of the boy's treason, for which he was to be executed, and there would be no loose ends leading back to the new emperor.

The whole plan hinged on his playing his part, but Nathan knew that if he failed, Domitian would not be stopped. He could expose the plan now, but Caudex had promised him that if he so much as began to speak out, the man guarding him had orders to cut his tongue out and then ensure he died the most painful and prolonged death by crucifixion imaginable, and while he hung on a cross, before he died, he would watch Jonathan brought into the arena and thrown to a tiger with the rest of his family, all of whom would be charged with assisting in the setting of the fire of Rome.

Nathan did not doubt that this was true. He also remembered that his target was Titus who had tortured him by ripping out his fingernails and toe nails one by one, and who would have started on his teeth if he had not confessed and implicated his mother in another plot. Nathan felt the gaps in his gums where the men from the Ostia Collegia had extracted those teeth in a later torture session, and reflected that perhaps it would have been better losing them the first time around.

Still, this was Titus who crucified his mother and condemned him, her son, to the slow death sentence of the damnatii. Killing the emperor would be a sweet revenge on a man who caused so much death and suffering before he became emperor. What he had done to Nathan was surely just a microcosm of his full crimes against the Jews.

Nathan knew that this was why he had been chosen. He had nothing to lose, and everything to gain by killing the emperor. The moment to strike would be just after he presented the rudis to Boudicca, and all eyes would be on her. He felt the urgent need to pee as he waited, listening to a short speech from the editor about how great the emperor Titus was for presenting these hundred days of opening games at his own expense.

Nathan caught Calvinus' eye. It was strange that he would share his last moments with the eunuch boy, after they had been separated in Pompeii. Strange that he and Enoch and now even Calvinus' ex slave, Britannicus should be re-united on this day. Not Calgacus though – what ever happened to Calgacus? He had last seen him fleeing Pompeii so he supposed the boy had found freedom, and now he wished he had gone with him. So foolish that he had stayed to help the gladiators escape – although had he not done that he would never have met Simon, and never discovered The Way.

Nathan supposed the other boys were here because of the plan to bring children into the fight, which in turn provided Domitian with the excuses he needed to distance himself from the plot. He knew why Enoch was here – son of a man who had himself attempted to kill the emperor. Enoch was the back up and he had admitted as much earlier, but Calvinus and Britannicus had clearly just been caught up in the need for expendable slave boy fighters.

Nathan also thought he knew why he and Enoch had been chosen. Gladiators could be bought, and a gladiator killing an emperor would cast fingers of suspicion on their owner, but no one would believe a child would have been in Domitian's employ.

Nathan thought to himself ruefully that it would be some justice if Domitian himself were one day betrayed by a slave boy. God, please make it so, he prayed.

***

The moment came, and the emperor handed the wooden sword to Boudicca. She was free and the crowd roared their approval. She held the sword aloft for all to see, and that was the moment Nathan had been waiting for. He reached over and pulled the knife free. His guard made a grab for him, but too slow – nicely acting out his horror, shouting even as Nathan lunged forward. Titus whirled around at the shout, arms raised to fend off an attacker, but too slow and too high. Nathan was a blur of motion, going in low, the unarmoured space above his groin open to his thrust, where he would sink his blade in the man's gut, ensuring his death whether it be quick or slow.

Titus' face changed to a look of incomprehension, and then horror. The boy, armed with a stolen knife, lunged for him. He let out a shout, but it was too late, too late.

And then something hurtled into Nathan, and the boy went sprawling, missing his mark by a handspan. There was a growl and Enoch bit down hard on the boy's arm, as he pummelled and wrestled the boy on the ground.

The attack had failed, Enoch had stopped it, and as the boys rolled on the floor, the guard rushed forward and lifted Nathan's struggling form in the air. Nathan began to scream his rage, and terror as he was held aloft by powerful arms.

What happened next seemed to take place very slowly for the boy, as though time had slowed down around him and seconds had become hours. In an instant the man who was meant to be guarding him – the man who had guided him to the knife, and who he knew was in Domitian's employ, carried the boy across the podium to where one of the stakes around the standing stones stood, close enough to be reached, covered in blood but devoid of the corpse that had graced it earlier. The man hoisted him up, dropping Nathan's anus onto the spike, and pulling down hard on his legs, using all his weight and strength to force the spike deep into his gut.

"You would raise a blade to the Emperor of Rome?" the man roared in anger, although Nathan saw fear in his eyes, and knew why. The plot had failed, and he was scared that his part would be uncovered if Nathan could live to tell the tale. As the spike penetrated his hole, Nathan screamed in agony. He began to kick, just as he had seen the women kicking and screaming earlier that day, his feet unable to find the purchase he desperately sought to take the strain off the wooden shaft driving deep, deep, deep into his gut. In horror he felt the man hold his hips and pull him downwards. "Die you traitorous scum!" the guard screamed, spittle flying into Nathan's face as the boy shrieked in terror and agony.

Nathan saw his stomach distend – the spike threatened to burst free. He felt sick, the pain was terrible, the shaft juddering in fits and starts as his internal organs gave way one after another to the sharpened point. The guard was not going to have the spike penetrate his stomach though. He had to stop the boy speaking, and again his hands grasped the boy and with an almighty tug, he pulled Nathan deeper onto the shaft. Nathan was peeing now, his urine pink with blood because his bladder had ruptured, and then the shaft penetrated his diaphragm and with a sickening downwards movement, he felt it pass deep into his right lung. The lung started to collapse and the boy felt a sudden terrible panic as breathing became difficult, and blood bubbled into his throat.

Still the guard was not done. He yanked the boy down further, again his body slid down on the shaft more easily as it made its way through his chest, only briefly coming to rest on a rib, which gave way with a chest crushing crack. Now Nathan felt the shaft in his neck. He gagged, and opened his mouth, feeling himself choke. Another huge tug and the terrified boy felt the spike rip through his throat and out through his mouth, the point of the spike tearing at his tongue, then get caught on his teeth, before it ran out of his mouth like vomit.

The whole thing happened in seconds – so quickly that the Emperor did not have time to order that he be taken alive. He was alive though. Titus walked over and inspected the boy who was flailing and kicking his last moments away as gravity now slowly tugged his body further down the stake. Nathan was blinking, his face a mask of terror as blood foamed from his mouth. He looked into the face of Titus and saw a flicker of recognition there. Titus remembered him.

The noise from the arena was deafening, jeers and cries of traitor. Titus spat on him and turned away, and Nathan saw Enoch being helped to his feet by another guard.

Nathan's vision blurred, and the world seemed to recede, but he saw Enoch looking at him, his face contorted in horror and sadness. He wished he could manage one word. One word that would express what he felt. One word to give to Enoch before he died.

Thank you. Nathan thought it, although he could not form the word, and Enoch seemed to dip his head, as though he were acknowledging it.

Nathan closed his eyes then, feeling his life slip away. Soon the pain and terror would be over. Soon he would find himself in paradise, he thought. He had not murdered Titus, and now as the emperor's spittle ran down his face, he thought, "I forgive you," and was surprised to realise he meant it.

And then darkness took him and Nathan knew no more.

Enoch

"You did well boy," Titus said quietly to Enoch. The crowd was in uproar, jeering and screaming as Nathan writhed away his last moments of life, but Enoch was looking at him with a mixture of guilt and horror. As for the emperor, he had looked at the would be assassin thoughtfully, and then turned to speak quietly again with Enoch. "How did you know he was going to attack me?"

Enoch swallowed and thought how to answer. He had to be very careful what he said now – the danger was very real. One wrong move and he could just as easily end up on a stake next to Nathan. His eyes flicked to the praetorian guards, standing poised, dangerous. Titus noticed the look and waved the guards back.

"Stand back, this boy saved my life, I do not want him harmed."

Enoch looked at Nathan and felt a lump in his throat. No he must not give in to emotion, not yet. There would be time enough to cry for the boy who had twice saved him in the arena.

"Dominus, I knew he would attack you because he warned me himself. Your life is still in danger, and 3; and he had to have me attack him to save both you and his friends."

"Surely had he not attacked me the danger to me would have been less!" Titus observed wryly. Enoch's glance shifted again to the guards, standing a little way off now and again the Emperor appeared to notice the glance. "We will discuss it later perhaps."

Titus looked hard into the eyes of the slave boy and then glanced up at the arena stands toward where he had been seated. Enoch followed his gaze to where his brother, Domitian sat. Just as quickly Titus turned his head back to the boy.

"Very well. You have done me a great service today. I should give you some reward boy, we can discuss when we talk later 3;"

"Dominus, if I may, I know the reward I would ask, but I must name it now," Enoch interrupted the Emperor. Titus looked taken aback, but still he nodded his head for the boy to go on. "Dominus, the eunuch, Calvinus – I beg for his life. I believe he may know something of the plot. He fought well today, and may be useful to you 3; please Dominus, I 3; I beg pardon for him. I 3; I care for him 3;"

Titus looked into Enoch's eyes, and his face softened when he saw tears run down the boy's cheeks. Enoch had got to his knees, hands together, begging for Calvinus' life.

Titus looked at the eunuch boy and Enoch followed his gaze. Calvinus was a mess, and his injury could still prove fatal if infection set in, but honour demanded that the slave boy be rewarded, even if he was just a slave. There were many things he could have asked for – money, or to serve in the imperial household, or perhaps even freedom, but instead he asked only for the life of a pitiful creature who may yet die from his wounds. Titus spoke briefly to the editor.

"In view of today's unexpected events," the editor announced, "the eunuch, Calvinus is granted a pardon for his crimes. This concludes the morning's festivities, but other executions of criminals will take place shortly and then this afternoon we have matched gladiator bouts, with a special novelty for today's theme – in every bout this afternoon, one gladiator will be from Britannia."

Titus walked back across the arena to his seats, leaving Enoch and Calvinus behind. Enoch walked over to Calvinus, put his arms around him and hugged him. For his part, Calvinus burst into tears – huge racking uncontrollable sobs as Enoch held him close, kissed his cheek, stroked his hair and tried to hush him.

"It's all over now, Calvinus. It's all over. Everything will be okay now. You will see. Everything will be okay."

Julia

"Do you mean to tell me," Domitian said in an angry whisper, "that you told Calvinus the whole plan? that he knows it all?"

Julia was trembling and starting to cry. She nodded.

"Not everything, but too much. I 3; I had his tongue seared so he cannot speak, but 3; you did not want it cut out."

"Cutting it out would not have helped, you foolish child. Calvinus can read and write! The only way to keep a secret is not to tell it to anyone," Domitian hissed. "Now we have a slave boy who knows all, and with the emperor's pardon!"

Julia wept, and Domitian saw his brother climbing the stairs to return to his place. He called for a couple of slaves to take Julia home.

Titus entered the covered area reserved for the emperor and his entourage, to see Julia sniffling and crying as she was led away. He looked quizzically at his brother.

"My ward was most distressed to see the attempt on your life, brother. She has gone home to recover."

"Indeed! I am sure my distress would have been the greater had he succeeded."

Jonathan

Although Nathan had not seen him, Jonathan had indeed been at the games, sat with Caudex. If Nathan had not played his part, Jonathan would have been dragged onto the arena floor, accused of being a co-conspirator in the fire of Rome, made to watch as Nathan was crucified before being fed to wild animals in front of the dying boy. The threat had been very real, not least as an example to those chosen for the next plot should this one fail. But that was if Nathan had not co-operated. In fact the boy had played his part, although that damned Enoch had not come through. He should have hated the emperor, and been happy to see him dead. Instead he had saved the man's life and then managed to beg for the life of Calvinus, the boy they had threatened to ensure Enoch's compliance. The boy they would have executed most cruelly now as punishment to Enoch. Curse the boy! Why didn't he just let Nathan play his part? Why didn't he finish what Nathan had started? He had been left out on the sand for a reason, and that reason was to back Nathan up, not to stop him.

Jonathan did not know about the threats that had been directed towards him though, because Caudex had not told him. Instead the freed man had come as an emissary of the Ostia collegia to the recently bereaved Ostian boy, telling him that the collegia would look after him for a few days while Simon was at sea fishing. The boy had not wanted to come to the games until Caudex had casually dropped into conversation that a Jewish boy called Nathan would be performing in them. That had caught Jonathan's attention and he had come willingly to the colossal new amphitheatre built by the emperor, despite any misgivings he must have felt about the nature of the sport. He had watched in horror throughout the games - appalled at the bloodshed and terrified that he would see Nathan cut down in the battle. He had become excited when Nathan helped Enoch against the venator, and animated as the boys took on another gladiator.

Boy and captor had then watched this last scene played out and Caudex saw emotions plainly crossing his face: fear and excitement turned to anguished dismay when it was announced Nathan was to die anyway. How was that fair, the boy had asked, after he had fought for his life already? Why did they even think he had anything to do with that fire? It was all lies!

And then the dismay had turned to an anguished moan and he had clutched Caudex's hand tightly as Nathan had lunged for the emperor. Jonathan would not have not known what was about to happen and watched in shock as his friend who was supposed to be a follower of The Way now, attempted the murder of the Emperor of Rome. He had covered his mouth in horror as Enoch had leapt to the Emperor's defence, and then hidden his face in Caudex's tunic when the boy had been picked up by the guard and dropped onto the spike, impaling him.

Caudex had heard the boy's cry of horror echoed in the hiss and collective gasps of the crowd at the boy's violent summary execution. He had held Jonathan to him, consoling the boy whose cries were turning to sobs, his body shaking. For Caudex there was also a strong emotional reaction, but for a different reason. Nathan had played his part, fulfilled his agreement, but he had failed. How had the wolf boy known to attack him at just that moment? Why did he even bother? Surely Enoch's own father had tried to do this very thing. He too was a Jew, indoctrinated in their religion and the stories of Titus' sack of their capital city. Why had he stopped Nathan? What had gone wrong?

Caudex ran a hand through Jonathan's hair, consoling him, but he glanced up towards Domitian. He could not make anything out at this distance, and in any case Domitian would let nothing slip, but the plan had failed. Should he drag Jonathan down now to have him executed? Nathan would be dead before they got there so it would do little good as an example, and in any case that would be unwise now. The boy was not just a traitor accused of firing Rome - something Caudex knew full well he had not done - but now he was a traitor again who attacked the Emperor. To bring on a co-conspirator now would invite too many questions, perhaps implicate him too. Why did he only expose a plotter now, they would ask. No, better to leave it well alone.

"Come on," he said quietly to Jonathan, lifting the distraught boy up. "Let's go somewhere far from here."

And with that, Caudex left the arena and walked the boy back to his patron's villa. He could go back to Ostia tomorrow and he hoped very much he would never see the snivelling child ever again.

Titus

Enoch was sat in the dark of the spolarium, having his head wound cleaned, Anglius nearby, sitting in a corner groggily, Calvinus beside him nursing the tight binding around what remained of his hand, which already had reddened the binding with blood, waiting his turn for the doctor to clean away loose bone and then sear the end to form a stump.

In another corner, Britannicus lay unconscious still but being tended by Quintus, when there was a commotion outside, and the Emperor, Titus, entered, flanked by a soldier. Quintus was the most shocked by this, having never been so close to the Emperor before. Titus turned to Enoch.

"Tell me again, boy, how you knew of this attack?"

Enoch again began to explain about the conversation between himself and Nathan in the arena, after they had slain Brixus. Nathan had told Enoch that he was being forced to do this, or he would see his friend accused of a false crime and would die for it. As Enoch was explaining all this, suddenly something fell into place for Quintus and he smacked his head.

"Lucius Andronicus!" he blurted out.

Titus whirled around and fixed the boy with a hard stare, one eyebrow raised.

"Britannicus told me of a letter he had seen from Caudex of the Ostia Collegia to Lucius Andronicus. It mentioned Nathan and said that he had been re-captured and was well placed to deliver. It said that he was property of Julia Aurelia but the Ostia Collegia would assume stewardship to keep arms length from Julia and would field him in the games."

Titus looked thoughtful for a moment before asking, "who is Britannicus?"

Quintus pointed to the unconscious boy in the corner.

"The boy who jumped from the ground?" Titus asked, shaking his head. "My brother actually seemed surprised by that development. Most intriguing. And how did a barbarian slave boy read such a letter?

Quintus bit his lip and answered carefully, trying to avoid any suggestion that Britannicus may have stolen the letter. Theft was still theft, and a serious matter for a slave.

"Britannicus has no tongue, sir. He was taught to read and write instead, and happened to see the letter in the course of his duties."

"And he faithfully reported all of that back to you? Remarkable, and yet regrettable he and you did not then speak to me, although I suppose there was little enough concrete there – I must think about how hard it is to get messages to me," Titus said, looking thoughtful and then he looked again at Britannicus. "Tell me, whose slave is he?"

"He belongs to Turpio Africanus now, sir." Quintus replied, and Titus nodded and waited a moment before speaking again.

"So then, it would seem the finger of suspicion points back to my brother once again."

Calvinus groaned from his corner, opening his mouth to speak, but his injured tongue prevented him forming words. Titus looked at the eunuch he had reprieved, but it was clear from the look that he did not hold the boy in high regard. Calvinus' right limb was still bound up tightly and forever useless, but despite his pain and weakened condition, the boy started scratching letters using his left hand to hold a loose stone, marking the hard stone floor. Titus came closer to read.

"And Julia," Calvinus wrote. Titus indicated he should go on writing, and Calvinus did so, detailing his last conversation with Julia in which she had confessed the whole plot. Titus looked sceptically at the slave boy, taking in the KAL tattoo, that marked him out as a liar, and noting that he had been accused of treachery against Julia. He would have good reason to speak falsely of his domina, and slaves were not honest by nature. Then again, he was accused of treachery against Domitian too, and Titus already knew all about his brother's schemes and deception. He tapped his teeth thoughtfully, and looked at the boys in this room. Enoch and Calvinus belonged to Julia, but did that make their testimony more or less reliable? They were slaves, so he could have them tortured, but Titus knew that he was unlikely to learn more that way than they had already told him.

In any case, it did not matter. He knew about his brother already, and this was just another reason to be on his guard, but he was not going to have him killed. He was determined his reign as emperor would not be marred with fratricide and murder. No, he would just need to have a quiet word with Domitian, a warning to him that his plots were known, and a reminder that he, Titus, was emperor. That and a retirement or two in the praetorian guard would see things put right.

He considered the actions of the slaves now. The attack by Nathan had been inexcusable, but the boy had paid with his life. What of Enoch? Nathan had told him the whole plan but given him no options except to save the emperor or not. Had he tried to shout a warning, one of the traitorous guards would have silenced him, so perhaps his action really was his best course. As for Britannicus, the problem had been that he had no mechanism to hear what the little spy had learned. He must fix that. No, there would be no gain in punishing these boys. More to gain if he kept them alive.

As to Julia - he knew about her. She was an orphan of one of Domitian's friends, Gaius Aurelius. He had known Gaius Aurelius too - an intelligent man, a friend in the senate, but not one to be trusted. He did not miss him.

Well there was a solution for Julia that would get her out of Domitian's sphere of influence. She was still young but at the age of twelve, soon to be thirteen, she was old enough to be married off. Titus also knew of her rape, of course, and so he had just the match for her. He would have her married to someone a long way away, where the events that besmirched her reputation could be forgotten, and where she could cause no trouble. He would have to marry her to an equestrian, of course, so that her husband would see the union as a sign of imperial favour and not dishonour. Servius Vinius came to mind following the day's events. He did not think of Britannia often, but Servius Vinius was in Londinium and Titus owed their family a favour that he could now repay. They said Londinium was cold and wet, but Servius would no doubt have many tales of his bravery in the army to regale Julia with through the cold evenings. She would enjoy hearing all about the army. An equestrian Roman officer for a husband seemed to be a perfect match for her, and with luck he may hear nothing from her ever again. He would send a delegation to Britannia at once to arrange things. Although the marriage would have to be delayed a year or so, she could join the family at once so that Servius' mother could begin to instruct her in her feminine duties.

There was the issue of these slaves too though. He could hardly leave them in service to Julia after what he had heard. Not while she remained her brother's ward.

"I will speak to my brother. I believe it will be best for all if he sell you two," he said, pointing at Enoch and Calvinus, "to Turpio Africanus. I suspect the man who could turn a barbarian into such a useful little spy will find useful work for you both, and remember me if I have need of such services from time to time," and with those words the Emperor of Rome left the slave boys to themselves and their own thoughts.

Cavinus

Calvinus looked wide eyed and terrified into the eyes of Quintus, seeing a pitying expression from the boy who held him still now, his right wrist unbound and held out flat on the table as the doctor picked out the largest bone fragments, and folded flaps of skin in place over the wound. It hurt, and he moaned, but somehow all this seemed to be happening very far away. He thought he had spoken to the emperor, but it all seemed like a dream now. The whole scene around him felt so unreal. Britannicus was here – his slave, but he could not order him over because he could not speak. Wasn't it Britannicus who could not speak?

Why was Britannicus here? Why was he asleep on that bench? And here was Enoch, holding him, crying, telling him everything would be alright now. Enoch back with him. When had Enoch got back?

Quintus stroked his hair and spoke words of reassurance, and then the red hot iron was pressed against his new stump. There was a crackle and the smell of burning flesh. Calvinus screamed, retched, screamed again, and then mercifully passed out.

Britannicus

"Welcome back to the land of the living," Quintus said as Britannicus's eyes opened and he looked around him. He was in a dark cell that stank of blood, burned flesh, vomit and pee, and was lit only by a small window high in the wall. He lay there, just looking, trying to gather his senses, as though he had awoken from a very deep sleep.

"You saved her," Quintus said and Britannicus blinked his eyes, trying to remember, looking quizzically at his friend. Saved who? He moved his mouth and remembered he could not form words. who did he save? And then it came back to him 3; his mother. At once he tried to sit up, but as he did so he felt giddy and vomited.

"Easy now, Britannicus. Take it easy. You had a nasty blow to your head and I think you may have cracked a rib or two. You are lucky it was not worse. I thought you might have broken your neck, the way you landed."

Britannicus lay back and listened to Quintus recounting the battle, telling him of the remarkable moment that he and Anglius had sprung from a trap door, tipping the battle at just the right moment with their distraction, allowing his mother to win and gain her freedom. Anglius was less seriously hurt and had already returned to Turpio Africanus' villa, no doubt to receive the wrath of their master who had never sanctioned their actions, risking their lives and his investment. Britannicus did not like to think what punishment lay in store for him, when he too returned home, but he would do it again in an instant. He had saved his mother's life. He pulled himself up to a sitting position more slowly now and traced letters laboriously on Quintus' hand to ask the one question he most wanted to know.

Where is my mother?

Quintus frowned. He had already anticipated the question, but he did not want to give the answer. Britannicus had been unconscious for some time, and even when he had come round he had lapsed back into sleep several times and appeared to have no recollection of the times he had been semi conscious in between. His mother had looked in on him, kissed him, cried over him, but now she had gone.

"Your mother was here, Britannicus. She spoke to me because you were unconscious. She told me that freedom for a gladiatrix is a fragile thing. She was branded, you know, and some of those marks on her were tattoos, not just woad paint. She was freed only as a Junian Latin, and there was every chance someone would try to re-enslave her if she remained in Rome. You know a rudiarus must carry the wooden sword wherever they go or risk re-enslavement. But there was something else too. The emperor himself had asked her to relay a message to a Roman soldier in Londinium, and without delay. There was a ship leaving for Britannia from Ostia on the tide early in the morning and she had received the offer of passage under the emperor's protection. She had to leave at once for Ostia or risk missing it.

"Britannicus you were unconscious, but she so wanted to speak to you. She waited until the very last moment, holding you, kissing you. She dressed you in those clothes too. She said that it was fitting that a boy who would willingly step into the arena to face gladiators should be dressed as a gladiator, dressed as a warrior. She waited and waited but you did not come around, and while she waited she asked me all I knew of you – who owned you, how you lost your tongue, what you have been doing, what games we used to play, and why I had been so stupid as to let you out of the locked cell you had been placed in! So then I told her what you told me – how you were responsible for the fire of Rome, and how you would confess to it if I didn't let you out – how you started to write your confession on the floor to prove you really would do it, and how I waited until you started making noises, calling for someone to come and see your confession before I was forced to let you out. Forced to allow you to try and save her to stop you from getting yourself killed.

"She told me you were a stupid hot headed little child, and always had been. I agreed.

"Then she told me about things you did when you were small. She told me how you used to pull your sister's hair, and about the time you poured water into a beehive and got stung on your nose. She told me how you loved climbing trees and playing with swords, and hunting shells on the beach. She told me about how you loved to hear stories, and spent all your time following the druids around. She told me your true name is Gwion, and she told me that she never stopped loving you, and there was not a day in the last two years when she did not think of you and long to see you and tell you that she did not blame you for what happened.

"But Britannicus, Gwion, she had to leave. She could not stay, and she knew she could not keep you even if she did. She knows you are her boy no longer, but she said you have a sister, and she has to find her. She said she had to return to Britannia, even though it broke her heart, and then she held you and cried and I thought her heart must truly be broken.

"She howled with grief when she had to leave you, and she told me, no, begged me to look after you, to watch over you, and to be your friend.

"She left one last message for you," Quintus said, watching as Britannicus' eyed filled with tears that then ran down his face unchecked when Quintus spoke his mother's last message to him:

"She said," Quintus said, tears forming in his own eyes and his voice cracking as he spoke, so that he had to repeat himself, "she said 'I will always be proud of you, Gwion, little weaver of stories.'"

The End

Send feedback to the author through this feedback form with Calvinus – Ludus in the subject line.

Do you enjoy having access to all the great fantasy material and also having a place to share your own stories without having to censer them for a general audience? Please donate to ASSTR to help support and maintain this free service. Go to http://www.asstr-mirror.org/donations.html