Junio helped me to my feet and then ran to help him in his task. I panted after him and just reached the other side before the cart went over, depositing the cups and furniture and clothes in a tumbling heap across the track. The optio reached it even as it fell. He was nimble and he vaulted over the wooden chest that clattered at his feet, but it slowed his progress and the men were at his heels. He turned and drew his sword, and picking up a little table in his other hand he stood tall to face them.
They were more interested in him than us, and they wanted him alive if possible. Alive but not necessarily intact. They formed a semicircle round him, where he stood precariously on the pile, and very slowly they advanced on him.
Not for nothing was he a champion with the shield. The table flashed from left to right, parrying the stones they hurled at him, and he kept them at a distance with his sword. But it could not last. The men who had gone for weapons had by now arrived, and they were many, whereas he was one. He fought them bravely, step by step, until he was backed atop the heap against the cart, and even then he tried to vault over and escape, but they were too quick for him and a sword-thrust caught him through the leg. He stumbled, and they stabbed him through the arm. It was all over then. Two of the attackers tore the sword and the makeshift shield from him and began to drag him, bleeding, back up towards the gate.
Then the rest turned their attention towards us. I peeped out from my hiding place and saw Plautus scrabbling the objects from the path, ready to pull the cart away. As I looked at him he looked at me. I saw the recognition dawn.
‘Look out!’ he cried. ‘There may be others on the way! I know that man. He’s not a slave at all. There’s something else afoot, otherwise he would not be here. You, you, and you — get down towards the road and watch out for reinforcements on the way. The rest of you, get back behind the barricades — we’ll take this wretch in and force the truth from him.’
A dozen hands were helping him by now, and swords were slashing at the thorns beside the path. Others had found a way of skirting round, and soon heavy hands were pulling us upright from where we were cowering between the wheels. I found myself yanked along the track towards the largest house, where the optio was already being bundled through the door. For a moment I thought that everything was lost.
And then I heard them. Not from the direction where the lookouts had been sent, but from the farm itself. Shouts, whoops and galloping hooves. I looked up and saw the shapes of swords and helmets on the skyline swooping down on us.
It was all over fairly quickly after that. The rebels were good fighters, but they were not prepared, and scattered men on foot are no match for cavalry. They did try to push us captives into a hut and set fire to us, but a hail of javelins put a stop to that. There was a brief, brave skirmish, and there were several Silurian bodies on the ground before Nyros reluctantly laid down his sword — he had wounded several of his enemies, despite his age — and knelt at the feet of Regulus, who had led the charge. His remaining followers did the same. By the time the lookouts came running back to say that Marcus and his marching troops were on their way, the whole tribe had been rounded up and imprisoned in the largest roundhouse — all the women and the children as well. The scouts quickly found themselves prisoners too.
No attempt was made to question anyone till Marcus arrived, and when he did he took control at once. He had the optio, who was weak with loss of blood, taken to his carriage by his men, and gave orders that his wounds were to be cleaned and dressed. Then he installed himself in Nyros’s chair and demanded that the old man be brought to kneel in front of him.
‘So!’ he thundered. ‘We see you now for what you really are. A rebel and a traitor and a thief. You will soon learn the penalty for defying Rome.’
Even now, Nyros behaved with dignity. I could see why his distinguished ancestor had gained the admiration of his captors as he had. ‘I am no traitor, Roman. I am a patriot. This land was mine before you ever came, and I defend it and my people — that is all. I told you that your supporters had attacked my tribe — look at my nephews there.’ He indicated Subulcus and Plautus, who were tied up, side by side. ‘One slashed across the face so that he almost died, the other made an idiot for life. And these were children — babies — at the time. What those men did to the women, I’ll not sully my tongue with, nor how they treated the young men they captured. My brothers, my father — my wife and mother too. They burned our houses, killed our cows and left us all to die. I was not there — I was away from the roundhouse at the time — but when I returned and found what they had done I swore I would take revenge. I have done it, and I have no regrets. My own two infant sons were dead, but I raised my brothers’ children in the same desire, and they have followed me in every way they can. They demeaned themselves, as common butchers, market stall-keepers, prostitutes — even consented to be Roman citizens — so we could work against the oppressors and their ways.’
There was a little silence before Marcus said, ‘Well, it’s over now.’
Nyros looked at him. ‘I know. We expect no mercy from our conquerors.’
‘You will be given none.’
Nyros was still kneeling at his feet. ‘There is one favour, though, that I would ask of you. You are a fair man, I believe, and not wholly ignorant of Celtic ways. You have a close companion of our race. I ask you, then, before you take us off to meet our fate, to permit us to make a final sacrifice, a tribute to our great ancestor in whose service and memory we fought. A ritual feast of sacred venison to venerate the gods — we prepared some in your honour a day or two ago, so it will not take long — and with the remnants of the cooking-fire we’ll set light to the huts so that they cannot be desecrated when we’ve gone. That is the only boon we ask.’
Marcus looked doubtfully at me.
‘Why not?’ I said. ‘It seems not much to ask, and in a little while the soldiers of the rearguard will arrive and they can help us to march our prisoners back to town.’
Marcus nodded briefly. ‘Very well.’
‘Then, in my way, I bless you,’ Nyros said. He rose to his feet and clapped his hands. ‘The venison,’ he said, in Celtic, to the tribe. He turned to Marcus. ‘Some of the women will have to be released to heat and serve it to us.’
Marcus gave the word. ‘But not the men,’ he said. He saw that I was ready to protest. ‘They do not need to free their hands to eat. I do not trust these rebels. I would not be surprised if they still tried some other trick.’
He watched suspiciously as the bowls were brought, and the great pot was carried to the fire. However, all was reverence as the women worked. They stirred the pot in silence till slowly the warm smell of stew came floating through the hut and they poured a little of the liquid on the flames. Nyros muttered an incantation and a prayer. Only then did they take ladles and begin to serve it out. The men first, beginning with the old man himself — lifting the liquid in ladles to their lips, and allowing them to drink. Then the children and the women took their turn.
‘Would you care to join us? After all, we prepared the stew for you.’ It was only as Nyros turned his head that I remembered the old stories. I saw the touch of foam upon his lips. ‘Caractacus!’ he cried triumphantly, and I knew what they had done. I saw his eyes film and he slumped sideways to the floor.
It was not a wholly painless passing, even then, but only Subulcus made any murmur as he died. ‘I hope somebody takes care of the pigs,’ he whispered, and then he, too, was gone.
They had escaped our justice and preferred their own, and I was glad they had. They were both brave and foolish, but the future was not theirs.