Revolt Against the Romans

By Tony Bradman

"I've fought every kind of barbarian, but the Britons are by far the worst..."

Marcus is excited about travelling to Britannia, the island at the edge of the world. But the Britons are savages who tattoo themselves and take the heads of their enemies in battle. They won't bow down to the rule of Rome.

As Marcus travels to meet his father he meets a barbarian chief instead and his destiny is changed forever, along with that of Britannia...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bloomsbury Publishing
• Release date: Apr 6, 2017
• ISBN: 9781472929334

Tony Bradman

Tony Bradman started working life in the music press. In 1979 he joined Parents magazine where he launched their highly successful children’s book pages and, in 1985, the Best Books For Babies Award. He went freelance as a children’s author in 1987 and by 1992 was among the top 20 children’s authors borrowed from UK public libraries.

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In memory of Rosemary Sutcliff

CONTENTS

A Note on Dates

Historical Note

Glossary of Place Names

A NOTE ON DATES

The Romans had a different way of numbering their years from us. They dated everything from the time the city of Rome was founded. So for them, the events of this story took place between the years 800 and 804 AUC (Ab Urbe Condita, which means ‘from the founding of the city’ in their language, Latin). We count our years from before and after the presumed date of the birth of Jesus Christ, so for us the city of Rome was founded in 753 BC (Before Christ), or what we also now call 753 BCE (Before Common Era). What happens in this story took place between the years 47 and 51 AD (Anno Domini, which is Latin for ‘in the year of our Lord’), or between 47 and 51 CE (Common Era).

CHAPTER ONE

A True Roman

Marcus felt his stomach fluttering with nerves as he hurried down the corridors of the villa. His father had arrived back from Rome that afternoon, and had sent a slave to find him. It seemed that Gaius Arrius Crispus wished to see his son without delay, and that couldn’t be good news.

Marcus crossed the central courtyard of the house –​ the atrium –​ with its small fountain. His father’s study was just beyond, the door closed. Marcus stopped in front of it, his heart pounding now too. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Then he knocked.

‘Enter!’ called his father, and Marcus did as he was told.

The study was a small square room with a window that looked out onto the hills beyond the villa and the road to Rome –​ a half day’s ride away –​ which cut through them. Two walls were covered with shelves bearing thick rolls of papyrus: his father’s official documents and letters. The noble himself was sitting at his desk, head bowed, closely studying a roll.

Marcus waited. ‘You wanted to see me, Father?’ he said after a while.

Gaius looked up. People often remarked that there wasn’t much of a resemblance between father and son. Gaius was tall and thin, his face narrow and bony, his nose like the battering ram of a warship. Most of his hair was gone, and what remained was black. Marcus was stocky and his hair was light brown, like his mother’s. It was said he looked like her, although he didn’t know if that was true. She had died when he was very young, and he could barely remember anything about her.

‘Stand straight, Marcus,’ said Gaius, twisting the signet ring bearing his initials that he wore on the little finger of his left hand. ‘You’re slouching like a slave. And what are you wearing? That tunic has certainly seen better days.’

‘I’m sorry, Father.’ Marcus blushed and squared his shoulders. He never thought about what he wore when his father wasn’t around, and he hadn’t had time to change into something more presentable. His father set great store by appearances –​ his own tunic was smooth and perfectly white, even though he had ridden from Rome through the heat and dust of a summer’s day.

‘Well, being sorry isn’t good enough, I’m afraid.’ Gaius sighed. ‘Sometimes I wonder what goes on in that head of yours, Marcus, I really do. Now, tell me what you’ve been doing since I was last here. Be sure to leave nothing out.’

Marcus relaxed a little –​ this was a familiar routine. He spent most of the year at their house in Rome, the great city with its temples to the gods and its streets of rich houses and its teeming slums. But he spent every summer at their villa outside the city, even though his father was usually too busy to leave Rome for more than a few days at a time.

Staying at the villa wasn’t much of a holiday for Marcus. In Rome he went to school with the boys of other rich families, but in the country he was alone, with no friends of his own age to play with. He had to keep doing his lessons as well –​ every year his father engaged someone new as his tutor. This year’s tyrant was a grumpy old Greek called Stephanos. Marcus liked some lessons more than others. He didn’t enjoy mathematics, but he loved studying poetry, especially the epics from long ago. He liked The Odyssey, but his favourite was The Iliad, the great Greek poem about the siege of Troy.

‘The battle scenes are absolutely amazing, Father,’ said Marcus. ‘Sometimes when I’m reading them it almost feels like I’m there, right beside the warriors...’

His father snorted. ‘I don’t think so, Marcus. I’ll grant you that Homer is good on the subject of war. But believe me, there is nothing like the reality of battle.’

‘No, Father,’ said Marcus. Gaius knew what he was talking about. He had served with the legions before the emperor Claudius had taken him onto his staff.

‘I would prefer it if you spent your time studying our country’s history and its