Beric the Briton : a Story of the Roman InvasionHenty, G. A. (George Alfred)
History
Beric the Briton : a Story of the Roman Invasion
Henty, G. A. (George Alfred)
Britons -- Fiction; Great Britain -- History -- Roman period, 55 B.C.-449 A.D. -- Fiction; Historical fiction
"Men are carried as well as women, Beric, and as you are a wounded
man you have a double right to be carried. Here is a bag with all
those ornaments you got. It is quite heavy to lift."
The bearers protested loudly at the weight of their burden when they
lifted the lectica, but the promise of a little extra pay silenced
their complaints. They were scarcely beyond the city when Beric,
who was weaker from loss of blood than he imagined, dozed off to
sleep, and did not wake till the lectica was set down in the atrium
of the house on the Alban Hills.
Next morning he was extremely stiff, and found himself obliged to
continue on his couch.
"It is of no use your trying to get up," Scopus said; "the muscles
of your flank are badly torn, and you must remain quiet."
An hour later a rheda or four wheeled carriage drove up to the door,
and in another minute Norbanus entered Beric's cubicle. There were
tears in his eyes as he held out both hands to him. "Ah, my friend,"
he said, "how happy you must be in the happiness you caused to us!
Who could have thought, when I entertained, as a passing guest,
the friend of Pollio, that he would be the saviour of my family?
You must have thought poorly of us yesterday that I was not at the
exit from the amphitheatre to meet and thank you. But I hurried
home with Ennia, and having left her in charge of her mother and
sister came back to find you, but you had left, and I could learn
no news of you. I searched for some time, and then guessing that
you had been brought home by Scopus, I went back to the child, who
is sorely ill. I fear that the strain has been too much for her,
and that we shall lose her. But how different from what it would
have been! To die is the lot of us all, and though I shall mourn
my child, it will be a different thing indeed from seeing her torn
to pieces before my eyes by the lion. She has recovered from her
faint, but she lies still and quiet, and scarce seems to hear what
is said to her. Her eyes are open, she has a happy smile on her
lips, and I believe that she is well content now that she has done
what she deems her duty to her God. She smiled when I told her this
morning that I was coming over to see you, and said in a whisper,
'I shall see him again, father.'"
"Would she like to see me now?" Beric said, making an effort to
rise.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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