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Faustus marched between his two comrades, his companions’ shields on the outside of their line of three. Sandals thudded against the muddy ground in perfect time; one, two, three, four. The well-oiled war machine marched through the darkened forest and closer to the fortress of Caratacus. Yet Faustus felt his sword slip within his sweaty hand, his heart pounding away in his chest. He didn’t know what could be waiting for them, hidden behind the thick, towering trees.

Caratacus and his troops had spent the last year attacking them from behind rocks and tiny, primitive houses. Logs had tumbled down from hills, trying to break their organisation and ranks. Maybe the druids were waiting behind the trees. He had heard rumours about them; painting spells upon British warriors or turning nature against the Roman invaders. He had even heard that they had abducted a member of another legion and sacrificed him to their heathen gods. And he wasn’t even considering the strange and unusual creatures that were said to exist across this strange island.

He would much prefer the men of flesh and blood that he knew existed in North Africa and Gaul, Faustus decided. He knew how to beat those men and they didn’t hide within rainy and cold mountains. Faustus couldn’t understand why the Emperor Claudius was so determined to capture the entire island and yet he had taken the trouble of even bringing elephants to the island to help with the attack; not that they would have been any good within these trees.

Nothing came for them from behind the darkened trees though. Within the hour the wooden walls of Caratacus’s fort came into sight and Faustus felt his heart swell. The native rebellion was about to be defeated. An order was yelled down the line by a general and the Roman war machine swung into action. Tightly packed, shields held above their heads and to their sides, the legion slowly marched upon the fortress. Spears and stones rained down upon them, clattering helplessly against the metal shields.

Once they reached the walls, the battle truly began. The British warriors were brave as they charged forward time after time. However they were no match for the Roman’s quick, sharp and decisive stabs. Eventually the fortress fell; the few remaining unharmed British pleading for forgiveness as Caratacus himself was shoved roughly to the floor. For all the trouble the Briton had caused, Faustus hoped that Claudius would sentence the man to death.

A few months later.....

“… and for inciting a rebellion, Caratacus is charged with these crimes. What shall be made of him, Emperor?” a man said within the city of Rome; Caratacus and his family stood, chained and bound in front of Emperor Claudius.

“May I speak?” Caratacus asked, speaking before Claudius could give his punishment. The Emperor nodded and the former leader of the British rebellion sucked in a large gasp of breath. “You would be quite right to have my family and I killed for the apparent crimes that I have committed. However if you were to grant me a pardon then it would truly show your clemency, kindness and intelligence.”

Emperor Claudius looked down upon the Briton, a smile upon his face as he turned his thumb into the air. “The noble and brave warrior, Caratacus, and his family will be spared. But they shall live forever in exile in this city so as to witness the culture of their people’s new rulers.”

Here is Richard reading the story to you.

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