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today there was no training. Captains and generals with high plumes on their helmets rode on horses. They galloped through the gates, as excited as children playing in the streets.

    I was sure I was on my way to a slow death, but I had to ask: “What’s going on?”
    The soldier grunted. “A special prisoner’s just been brought to Rome. There will be a great parade to show him to the people. It will be more popular than the chariot races.”
    We passed guards who unlocked gates and doors for us until we reached a block of cells. They stank like Roman toilet rooms in summer – the ones I had to clean out.

    At last, a heavy door was opened and I was thrown into a dark room. I stumbled and crashed into someone who was already there.
    He steadied me with his huge hands and said, “Careful, boy!” And he wasn’t speaking Latin like the Romans. He wasn’t even a Gaul.
    My heart seemed to stop for a moment. “You’re from Britannia!”

    There was a tiny window in the top of the cell to let in air and a little light. As my eyes grew used to the dimness, I could see he was a tall man, dressed like a British warrior though they’d taken away his weapons. “I’m Deri,” I said.

    â€œThey’re going to execute me for being a rebel slave.”
    â€œAh, that’s the Roman way,” the man nodded. “I am a British chief … and they’re going to execute me for daring to fight them. My name is Caratacus.”

SIX
    This time I was sure my heart wouldn’t start beating again. “Caratacus? The mighty chief? My father told me about your amazing deeds. You are the greatest hero Britannia has ever seen. You are a god … they could never capture you, my lord!”
    The man chuckled softly. “Not in battle, no. But the Romans have other ways. And I was a fool.”
    â€œNo, you’re a hero,” I argued. “The Celtic leader of leaders!”
    â€œA warrior can be a hero and a fool, Deri. When Emperor Claudius invaded Britannia ten years ago, I led the tribes who wanted to fight. But they defeated us time and again. Of course, some tribes welcomed the Romans and fought for them. Maybe we should have made peace like the cowards. But we did not. They drove us west till I ended in the land of Wales.”

    â€œAnd you led the Welsh into great battles. You were a hero there, too,” I reminded him.
    â€œNot really. I robbed a few Roman supply wagons. But when it came to battles, they beat us again. Finally, after years of fighting, we fled to a fortress on a cliff top in the Welsh mountains. From there, we could pour stones on to their heads if they tried to attack us,” he told me.

    â€œSo you beat them in the end?”
    â€œNo. They put those great curved shields over their heads to make a roof … they call it a ‘tortoise’ … and they marched on us till they captured the fort.

    â€œI was lucky. I escaped. But they took my family. I didn’t know what to do, so I went over to the Brigantes in northern England for help.”
    â€œThe Brigantes?” I gasped. “But I’ve heard that they are friends with the Romans … they are traitors! They make peace and the Romans protect them. Their queen Cartimandua is a witch!”
    Caratacus snorted. “I know that now . But I believed she was a true Celt at heart. When I arrived at her fortress, she welcomed me as a friend. Then, that evening, she drugged my wine and when I woke I was in chains and a prisoner of the Romans.”

    â€œThe Iceni tribe would never have betrayed you. Queen Boudica will fight to the end. I wish I was back in Britannia to fight with her. Instead, I’ll die in Rome,” I said.
    Caratacus wrapped a powerful arm around my shoulders. “You will die bravely like a Celt. I’ll show you how.”

    My mouth was dry with fear, but I knew I mustn’t show it. I would show the evil