In the Shadow of the Wall by Gordon Anthony Page B

stomach.
    Curtius was astonishingly fast for such a big man and he nearly avoided the blow but Brude caught him with enough force to drive the wind from him and make him step back, doubling over. Brude quickly stepped back into line, remembering that he was allowed only one punch. To try another would be to invite punishment. Even now he was anxious that he had done the wrong thing, but Curtius had not actually said they should hit him on the chin, just that they should hit him.
    The big man straightened up, rubbing his belly where Brude’s fist had caught him. He grinned hugely at Brude. “Well done, lad. What’s your name?”
    “Brude.” He was astonished. No Roman had ever asked his name before.
    Curtius thought for a moment. “That’s no Roman name. I think we’ll call you Brutus.” Then he moved on to the next man.
    He went down the line but only three more men managed to come close to hitting him. At the end he picked out four men in total, including Brude. Then he counted out some coins, which he gave to the overseer. A clerk scribbled out a receipt while Curtius beamed at his four new slaves. “You may live to regret this, my lads,” he told them gleefully. “But you’ll be well fed, well clothed and well trained where we are going. You’ll have names and if you are good enough, you’ll have some respect. If you’re really good, you’ll be able to earn your freedom.” He was looking straight at Brude when he said that and must have seen the sudden spark of interest in Brude’s eyes. He walked closer. “Do you want to ask me a question, Brutus?”
    Brude lowered his eyes. “No, Master.”
    Curtius grabbed his chin and lifted his head. “Yes you do. And that’s the first thing you have to learn. From now on, when you’re with me, you can ask questions. You are still slaves and you behave like slaves with others but with me you can ask a question as long as you ask permission first.” He stared into Brude’s eyes. “So what do you want to ask me?” He released Brude’s chin from his iron grip.
    “Do I have permission to ask a question, Master?” Brude asked him.
    “Clever boy. Yes you do.”
    “Where are we going?”
    “To Rome . To the amphitheatre. You are going to become gladiators.” He paused to let that sink in, then he added with a laugh, “Even if it kills you.”
     

 

    A.D. 209

 
    Broch Tava had changed. He supposed it was inevitable but, somehow, it seemed so different from the way he remembered it, not like his home at all. One of Colm’s men had galloped ahead to bring word of his coming and of Castatin’s safe return so there was a crowd gathering as they approached, villagers keen to see a man come back from the dead.
    Most of the other riders had taken their lead from Colm and were rather cool towards Brude, barely speaking to him. One of them, a young man who introduced himself as Seoc, asked him who his father was.
    “The old head man?” Seoc asked when Brude told him.
    “That’s right.”
    “I remember him,” said Seoc. “I vaguely recall he had a son but I don’t really remember you. I was just a kid when you all went off to war.”
    “You’re making me feel old,” said Brude with a wry smile. Seoc was in his early twenties so would probably have been around nine or ten years old when Brude had marched off with the war band. At that age Brude would hardly have had anything to do with him.
    Seoc looked as if he was going to ask another question but Castatin interrupted with a question of his own. “How old are you?” the boy asked him innocently.
    “Not as old as I feel,” Brude told him. He saw Castatin looking puzzled as he tried to figure that out. Brude explained, “I’m the same age as your father.”
    “You don’t nt s as old as him,” Castatin told him.
    Brude laughed. “Thank you for that,” he said. He liked the boy, which he thought was only right as the lad was Mairead’s son and her gentleness and inquisitiveness would have