Rome in Flames Read Online Free
Author: Kathy Lee
from bad weather. But there was no chance of escaping. Each time, we were locked in the hold of the ship until it put to sea again.
âDonât lose hope,â Conan said to me. He always knew when I was feeling bad, although I tried not to talk about it. âThere will be a way to escape. Weâll do it somehow â even if we have to go to Rome first.â
We came at last to an enormous harbour. All around were ships of every shape and size. Some were preparing to sail; others were being unloaded. Up and down the gangplanks, dozens of men moved endlessly, like lines of ants. They carried sacks and bottles into the tall buildings by the dockside.
âIs this Rome?â I asked, awestruck.
But the journey wasnât over yet. We were marched off the ship, under guard, and made to walk along a busy road. A never-ending stream of ox carts rumbled down towards the port, returning filled with grain.
Then, by the roadside, I saw something that filled me with horror. There was a tall, upright, wooden cross, and a man was fixed to it by nails which had been hammered through his hands and feet. He was still alive, groaning in agony.
Andreas noticed my horrified gaze. âThatâs what the Romans do to thieves and murderers,â he said. âThey get left like that to die. Sometimes it takes days.â
There was more than one cross. There was a whole row of them â a row of men, dying slowly, in dreadful pain. The people walking past hardly glanced at them, but I couldnât look away. I felt sick with fear. If the Romans treated their own people like that, what would they do to us â their enemies?
At last, in the distance, I saw what looked like snow-sprinkled hills. But I slowly realized it wasnât snow: it was a city, a vast city built over hills and valleys. The stone walls shone white in the sun. And it was huge . Londinium, compared to this, was like a pimple on the face of a giant.
I didnât need to ask again. This must be Rome.
Two days later, we found out why we had been brought here. There was to be a great procession to celebrate the Roman victory in Britain. We were all to be led through the streets in chains, as defeated enemies, conquered by the power of Rome.
At the head of the procession there were soldiers, rank upon rank of them. There were important-looking men in robes edged with purple. There were carts piled high with stolen things â Celtic weapons, gold necklaces, silver cups.
Sitting proudly in a chariot was the Roman leader who had caused our defeat. He was smiling, enjoying his day of triumph.
âLet his horses stumble and fall,â muttered Andreas. âMay his chariot overturn. May he break his neck! Let him lie in the gutter for the dogs to eat!â
Trumpets sounded, and the procession moved slowly forwards. Soon we were in a street, with high buildings on either side. Crowds of people watched us, cheering the soldiers and jeering at us.
âIgnore them,â whispered Conan, trying to sound brave. âWalk like a warrior, not a captive.â But itâs hard to walk like a warrior when you are in chains, your clothes are filthy, and you have no weapons except your pride.
The procession halted now and then for prayers and offerings to the Roman gods. These gods were made of stone. They stood in front of their houses, which were also made of stone, with stone tree trunks to hold up the roof.
Each time we stopped, I looked around. I had never imagined a place like this city. Did people actually live in those tall buildings, which were four times taller than my home? How did they get up to the top? And how could so many people find food and water? There were no woods to hunt in, no fields, no streams.
At last, the parade reached the top of a hill. There was another god here, clearly an important one, for he was huge and covered in gold. A pure white bull was led forward. The Roman leader killed it as an offering to the
âDonât lose hope,â Conan said to me. He always knew when I was feeling bad, although I tried not to talk about it. âThere will be a way to escape. Weâll do it somehow â even if we have to go to Rome first.â
We came at last to an enormous harbour. All around were ships of every shape and size. Some were preparing to sail; others were being unloaded. Up and down the gangplanks, dozens of men moved endlessly, like lines of ants. They carried sacks and bottles into the tall buildings by the dockside.
âIs this Rome?â I asked, awestruck.
But the journey wasnât over yet. We were marched off the ship, under guard, and made to walk along a busy road. A never-ending stream of ox carts rumbled down towards the port, returning filled with grain.
Then, by the roadside, I saw something that filled me with horror. There was a tall, upright, wooden cross, and a man was fixed to it by nails which had been hammered through his hands and feet. He was still alive, groaning in agony.
Andreas noticed my horrified gaze. âThatâs what the Romans do to thieves and murderers,â he said. âThey get left like that to die. Sometimes it takes days.â
There was more than one cross. There was a whole row of them â a row of men, dying slowly, in dreadful pain. The people walking past hardly glanced at them, but I couldnât look away. I felt sick with fear. If the Romans treated their own people like that, what would they do to us â their enemies?
At last, in the distance, I saw what looked like snow-sprinkled hills. But I slowly realized it wasnât snow: it was a city, a vast city built over hills and valleys. The stone walls shone white in the sun. And it was huge . Londinium, compared to this, was like a pimple on the face of a giant.
I didnât need to ask again. This must be Rome.
Two days later, we found out why we had been brought here. There was to be a great procession to celebrate the Roman victory in Britain. We were all to be led through the streets in chains, as defeated enemies, conquered by the power of Rome.
At the head of the procession there were soldiers, rank upon rank of them. There were important-looking men in robes edged with purple. There were carts piled high with stolen things â Celtic weapons, gold necklaces, silver cups.
Sitting proudly in a chariot was the Roman leader who had caused our defeat. He was smiling, enjoying his day of triumph.
âLet his horses stumble and fall,â muttered Andreas. âMay his chariot overturn. May he break his neck! Let him lie in the gutter for the dogs to eat!â
Trumpets sounded, and the procession moved slowly forwards. Soon we were in a street, with high buildings on either side. Crowds of people watched us, cheering the soldiers and jeering at us.
âIgnore them,â whispered Conan, trying to sound brave. âWalk like a warrior, not a captive.â But itâs hard to walk like a warrior when you are in chains, your clothes are filthy, and you have no weapons except your pride.
The procession halted now and then for prayers and offerings to the Roman gods. These gods were made of stone. They stood in front of their houses, which were also made of stone, with stone tree trunks to hold up the roof.
Each time we stopped, I looked around. I had never imagined a place like this city. Did people actually live in those tall buildings, which were four times taller than my home? How did they get up to the top? And how could so many people find food and water? There were no woods to hunt in, no fields, no streams.
At last, the parade reached the top of a hill. There was another god here, clearly an important one, for he was huge and covered in gold. A pure white bull was led forward. The Roman leader killed it as an offering to the