Legions of the Eagle

Henry Treece

Description

A young boy at the time of the Roman invasion of Britain in the reign of Claudius leads a good life, since his father is a leader in service to Caratacus. But when his father goes missing in action, everything changes...

Sujets

• Fiction
• War
• Military

Informations

• Publié par: Rare Treasure Editions
• Date de parution: 06 novembre 2021
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781774643181
• Langue: English

Extrait

Legions of the Eagle
by Henry Treece

First published in 1954
This edition published by Rare Treasures
Victoria, BC Canada with branch offices in the Czech Republic and Germany
[e-mail]
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system, except in the case of excerpts by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.
Legions of the Eagle


by
HENRY TREECE








About This Story
This is the story of a boy who lived at the time of thefirst real Roman invasion of Britain. Julius Caesar hadvisited this island twice before, but largely as a means ofobtaining information about it. However, in A.D. 43 theEmperor Claudius sent his general, Aulus Plautius, to do thejob properly!
Now, the British peoples with whom Aulus Plautius hadthe most trouble were the Belgae, a warlike group of tribeswho had only recently come from Gaul themselves, and soalready knew something of Roman methods. The boy-hero ofthis tale, Gwydion, is one of these Belgae. His father is afarmer near Colchester, though when he is needed, he formsone of the warband of the young Belgic king, Caratacus.
The Romans broke the strength of these Belgae near Colchester,using those strange animals, the elephants, as a meansof terrifying the native charioteers. After this, Caratacus fledto what is now South Wales, and soon became ruler over thepeople there. He continued to give the Romans a great dealof trouble until, with the help of a British queen,Cartismandua, they captured him and sent him to Rome. There hisproud bearing was such that the Emperor Claudius pardonedhim and even allowed him to live out his days peacefully as apensioner.
It should be said that many peoples had been coming toBritain since the dawn of history, and that they were eachrather different in race and outlook. Some were small anddark, some sturdy and brown-haired, some red-haired, andsome tall and fair-haired. They were as different from eachother as a present-day Swede might be from an Arab. Yet weknow them all by the name of Celts! The fact is that we classthem according to the language which we think they spoke,Celtic; and this is represented in modern times by IrishGaelic, Scots Gaelic and Welsh. In Gwydion's time thislanguage would be spoken over the greater part of Europe,and even understood as far as the borders of the country wenow call Greece.
This is a story of battle and treachery, as might be expectedwhere so many peoples were living together, each with itsown kings and heroes and beliefs. But at the end you will seethat the point the tale tries to make is that it doesn't matterwhat colour your hair is, or what language you speak. Theimportant thing is—what sort of person are you?
If you feel that you need to, turn to pages 171 and 172 .Some words that might be new to you are explained there.Though actually they don't matter, as long as you enjoy thestory!











For Joan Proctor who suggested that I should write this book
Part One—A.D. 43.

1 A KNIFE FOR A HARE
It was high summer and young Gwydion of the Belgae ranexcitedly among the trees, his dog at his heels, hunting.Gwydion, who was almost thirteen, and a big boy for his age,was the only son of Caswallawn, a lord who rode at the righthand of Caratacus the king, so the boy's dress, even whenhunting, was rich and colourful, as befitted his father's rank.A fine sight he made, as he ran among the oak and thehornbeam, on the green slopes above the city of Camulodunum.His long fair hair swept behind him in the afternoon breeze,and his heavy linen cloak, coloured red and blue and green toshow which tribe he belonged to, swung out behind him, heldto his shoulders by round bronze brooches with brightlyenamelled centre-pieces. He wore a tunic of thin deerskin,supple and pliable, its edges sewn with silver thread; a broadred belt about his middle, and light, fawn doeskin shoes on hisfeet.
The dog which trotted behind him was of the greyhoundtype, but smaller and shaggier. He wore a narrow bronzecollar round his neck, inscribed with Gwydion's tribal sign.
So the two ran through the late afternoon of summer, thesun's rays glinting on them both, lighting up the dog's metalcollar and the polished gold neck-ring and shoulder-broochesof the boy. Together they made a fine pair; yet such a pair asmight have been seen almost anywhere in southern Britain atthis time, for the Belgae were powerful and rich, and had thesecret of working metals and of weaving fine cloth. Moreover,they were a people who loved finery almost as much as theyadored battle, and that was a great deal!
At last the boy stopped and sat down, breathless. "It's nouse, Bel," he said. "We shall never run down a deer today!We are too fat and well-fed, my friend! Let us call through thewoods and see if Math has been lucky!"
Bel, the hound, seemed to understand his young master'swords, and rose again, wagging his long tail at the mention ofMath's name.
"Math! Math! Where are you?" called Gwydion, his handsto his mouth to make the sound carry through the densewoodland. Bel began to bark at the echoes that came back tothem, eerie and startling from the dark shadows of the woodwhere the sun never penetrated.
They waited for a while, and then Gwydion shrugged andbegan to walk towards his father's house, which he could justsee, set high on a terraced hill, perhaps a mile away.
But before he had gone far, the sound of shuffling footstepscould be heard from the dim wood, and in a few momentsanother boy stumbled out into the sunlight, gasping for breathand looking afraid.
"Where on earth have you been, Math?" asked Gwydion, alittle cross from waiting. "I bet you're the only slave in theseparts who is allowed to go running off like that, on his own,and keeping his master's son waiting, as you have kept me!"
Math, who was a little older than Gwydion, and very dark-haired,gave a little salute, as though apologising, and thenbegan to gasp again. He was dressed in a simple linen tunic,with a raw-hide belt, and light running shoes of cowskin. Hewore no jewellery, but was clean and obviously well cared for.Gwydion smiled when he saluted, for that small gesturesatisfied the boy's pride, and now he was quite friendly toMath again.
"You must be in a terrible state, Math," he said, kindly,"when you forget to give me my proper due! And where areyour bow and arrows? Have you lost them?"
Math looked at his companion with wide brown eyes and anexpression of fear on his swarthy face. "I flung them away," hesaid hoarsely, almost as though he did not wish anyone to hearhis words.
Gwydion stared at him in surprise. "Flung them away!" herepeated. "But, Math, how could you; my father brought youthat bow all the way from Londinium. It was a Scythian bow,made of many strips of horn, not like an ordinary wooden bow.It cost him quite a lot of money, you know. Why, I'd haveliked it myself. Why did you throw it away? Can I have it ifI find it?"
Math fell on his knees before his friend. "You must nevertouch it, Gwydion," he said. "It is taboo now. I had to fling itaway."
Gwydion looked down at him in consternation. "What haveyou done, Math?" he said in a whisper. "Have you killed aman?" Gwydion knew that though a free man could kill an opponentand even be praised for it, a slave had no right to take humanlife, not even in his own defence.
Math began to weep as he crouched among the grass. Thenhe looked up and gazed at Gwydion with terrified eyes. "I havedone worse than that," he said. "I have killed a—hare."
His friend gave a small gasp of astonishment and for amoment seemed to draw away from him. Then he said, "But,Math, that is a sacred animal; only they may kill it." He did notname the druids as the only men who might kill the creature;he was afraid that they might hear him, in their strange, magicway, if he did, and know what Math had done straightway;and Gwydion was afraid of the druids, although one of hiskindest uncles happened to be a druid.
"It wouldn't be quite so bad," Gwydion went on, "if the harewere not our own animal, yours and mine; the animal of ourBrotherhood, the Brotherhood of the month we were born in,the two of us."
Math dropped his head in his hands and wept withoutshame. "Something dreadful is bound to happen, now,Gwydion," he said. "The gods are certain to punish me. I feelsure of it! Oh, what shall I do?"
Gwydion went to him and helped him up, putting his armround him, and trying to sound brave. "The worst cannothappen," he said, "for your hair is black, and they, the holyones, only sacrifice red-haired ones under the greatMidsummer Stones. So it won't be that. Besides, an idea hasstruck me—you have no rights in law. In fact, as far as thelaw of the Belgae goes, you don't exist, for you are a slave."
Math was a dark-skinned Silurian from the far west, whohad been captured when he was a small boy, on some foragingraid that Gwydion's father had made. Therefore he did notcome under Belgic law, which was laid down in the CouncilChamber of Caratacus in Camulodunum. Math listened, buthis face was still clouded.
"That is all right for the law of men," he said. "But the godshave their own laws, and it is one of