CHAPTER 1

I remember the last day with my parents as if it were yesterday.My father woke me well before dawn to go hunting. He put his handgently on my shoulder and said, "Korre, wake up. Do not go backto sleep."

I can still feel your loving, soft touch on my shoulder andremember how your hand lingered there.

I rolled out from under my rough blankets in our family hut,making sure not to awaken my sister. I felt proud that we wereCornovii, a tribe in the middle of Britannia, which had thus fareluded Roman slave hunters whose aim was to capture and sell us.Though we had remained free, we were now in more danger thanever before, as our neighboring tribe to the east, the Catuvellauni,had allied themselves with the Romans and begun capturing usand delivering us into the Roman slave market. As a result of thisbetrayal, we no longer felt free to share hunting grounds with theCatuvellauni.

My father had built up the fire in front of our hut and had cookedsome deer meat. We also ate hardened bread and a nondescript mushfrom a carved-out wooden bowl. I sat on a log next to the fire, andmy mother came to sit next to me to heat some broth. Both myparents were uncharacteristically eager to feed me.

I think Mother knows she may not see me again.

We sat in silence in the dark, and Mother gently rubbed myshoulders. The current of love flowing between us needed no words.At one point, my mother gently stroked my cheek.

My mother almost always wore deer skins. Her hair was longand braided, and her skin was brown from the sun. She was lean andhad big, capable hands.

How I love you, Mother.

I was just grown up enough to go on the hunt with the men,but Mother was nervous, as the deer had become scarce in our ownterritory, and we were being forced to venture closer to the forestsof the Catuvellauni.

It was still dark when my father and I left the camp of crude huts.

Mother, I remember how you watched me leave, holding onto mewith your eyes.

When we approached the rest of our hunting party in a clearingto the east, we saw that some of them were nervously fingering theirspears and knives, bows and arrows, and leather bags for water.Others were sharpening their weapons on smooth stones, and stillothers were eating. Dawn was about an hour away. No one spokemuch. We all knew the danger involved in this hunt.

The party started out along one of the well-worn paths throughthe woods. I walked directly behind my father, happy to be on mysecond hunting expedition and happy to have been trained by myfather, who had in turn been trained by his father in how to usethe large spear and the bow and arrow. Like my father, I had spenthours practicing throwing the spear, shooting arrows, and honingcombat skills with the spear. I had learned well and had a tough andhardened body.

And, Mother, I inherited your large, capable hands.

I watched my father ahead of me on the path—his strong, stoopedshoulders and the way he tipped his head slightly to one side whenhe walked. I watched his swaying gait and how his deerskin clotheshung loosely on his frame.

Is this the last hunt for me? Will I ever walk behind my fatherthis way again?

The Cornovii hunting party came to a clearing just as dawn wasbreaking. Seeing fresh deer tracks, the hunting leader motionedfor two men to form an arc to flush the deer toward the rest of us.Running soundlessly, they came up where they thought the deerwere hiding, and stopped. The rest of the men hid in the bushesand behind trees, and we all waited so long that I dozed off on myhaunches behind a tree. My father stayed alert next to me.

Suddenly there was a shout! Several deer came bounding out ofthe woods into the clearing, followed by our two yelling Cornoviihunters. One deer was coming right at my father and me but swervedjust before he reached us. My father threw his spear and I shot anarrow. Both spear and arrow wounded the deer, and it stumbled butkept on going. Father and I sprinted after it. We ran hard for a longtime, branches cutting at our faces. Just as we were reaching theend of our endurance, the deer faltered and fell. My father thrust hisspear into the deer's neck two or three times. The deer struggled,convulsed, and died.

It was only in the silence following our extreme exertion that werealized we were dangerously far from the rest of the hunting party.

We are in the Catuvellauni forest! And there are only the two ofus!

The deer was too large for us to drag or carry, so my father tookout his skinning knife and began cutting the deer into sections, whichwe would sling over our shoulders. This took time.

Too long, Father! Hurry!

When the carving started, the sun was already up in the sky. Afterawhile, we stood with difficulty, our knees stiff from crouching.Then we saw two Catuvellauni, their faces painted dark green forhunting and warfare, approaching us from across the field. Therewere two other Catuvellauni behind Father and me. My father andI grabbed our weapons, but we had no chance to escape. The lastthing I remembered was a large, hard object hitting my head.

CHAPTER 2

I awoke to find my hands bound. There were large ropes aroundmy middle and neck. My father was bound the same way, and ourbodies were bound together. Our captors were motioning for us toget up and move with the slave hunters down a footpath. A largeCatuvellauni tribesman, the head of the slave-hunting party, carriedthe lead rope. With dismay, we watched our precious deer meatbeing carried away.

We walked until the sun was high in the sky and were eventuallybrought into a large Catuvellauni camp, untied, and placed in acage-like dwelling held together with stakes and rope. Here we weregiven some water and were not treated badly, for the Catuvellauniwanted us to bring a good price as slaves.

My mother is cooking now, waiting expectantly for her mate andher son to return home. She and my sister are looking down thepath for us to appear. The other Cornovii hunters are returning andtelling her what they know.

I started to cry quietly.

I am only fifteen years old.

I huddled next to my father.

How I fear for my mother and sister.

Both my father and I tended to each other's superficial woundswith pieces of cloth. As I did so, I was comforted by his familiarsmell—a mixture of sweat, animal skins, and the home campfire.

Oh Father, I hope nothing worse than this befalls you, thoughwhat you have feared most has already happened.

My father whispered to me in an intense, nervous manner, asif he wanted to impart words of wisdom that would enable me tosurvive. "Korre, my son, hold fast to the blue sound.".

I had heard what I came to call the "blue sound" in my dreams.Yes, it was only a sound, but if it were given a color, it would beblue—bright, true, pure azure blue. This sound is more real to methan the world around me.

Father, you remember that I told you about this sound! Youremember that I told you I felt a warm glow in my heart for daysafter hearing the sound in a dream. You told me that this dream wasa wonderful thing and would give me strength. You told me to thinkof the sound as a friend and to hold onto it. You knew that this soundis a spark of the Divine and is a great blessing.

My father and I, along with two other Cornovii caught elsewhere,were taken to the coast of Britannia and sold to a Phoenician slavetrader and put into the airless hold of a slave ship with others caughtfrom all over Britannia. The ship was propelled by slave rowers.

We were at sea for days, and many of us were seasick.

In his misery, my father asked me to tell him again about theblue sound from my dreams. We sat huddled as closely together aspossible in the ship's hold and talked of our life back in Britannia.

Father! How bittersweet this time is!

At fifteen, I was unusually quick and adaptable. I was slenderand deceptively strong from years of running in the woods, buildinghuts, working in the Cornovii camp and, most recently, hunting withmy father. All these had made me a tough survivor. The slave huntershad chosen well.

Father, I am more of a survivor than you are. Slavery may killyou! You are already beaten down by guilt and shame.

We arrived at a coastal city north of Rome where there was anactive slave trade. My father and I were sold to a man who ran minesstill further north, and were set to work in a white marble mine.Though we were given new clothes and acceptable food, the workwas dangerous and so exhausting that at night we were often tootired to eat.

Father, you are so sad that you seem to be fading from me. Letme tell you stories from our past! Let me kiss you!

I tried to cheer my father, but the effect was only momentary. Hewas failing. He felt terrible about having been caught, abandoningmy mother and sister and leading me into slavery.

One day after about six weeks, while we were working deepinside the dark and dank mine, my father, now not caring whether helived or died, made a remark to a one-eyed, red-bearded guard abouthow terrible the mine smelled. Insulted, the guard began calling myfather names. He even spat on my father. As we were using picksfor the mining work, it was all too easy for my father, who couldnot tolerate the insults, to retaliate. He hit the guard in the stomachwith his pick. Blood gushed from a large, ragged wound. The otherguards came running and dragged my father away.

I started screaming that the guard had insulted and spat upon myfather. Then I ran to catch up with the guards who were dragginghim away. I was caught, tied up, and led out of the mine. Once inthe bright daylight, I saw my father being brutally whipped by oneof the overseers. I yelled, "Coward, if I challenge you to fight to thedeath, will you let my father live?"

The whipping guard looked at me and laughed, "You are just aboy crying for his papa."

I yelled again, "Will you fight, or will you kill a defenselessslave with a whip, you coward?"

The guard kept whipping my father and laughing at me at thesame time. I screamed and howled like a dog. Finally, I broke loosefrom my captor and raced forward. My hands still tied, I rammed thewhipping guard with my head and tried to bite him.

"You shall have your vengeance then, young son," growled theguard. "Tomorrow, you and I shall fight, if that is your wish."

"Then let my father go!" I demanded.

The whipping stopped. My father was so exhausted that I had tocircle my arms around him, still bound at the wrists, and carry himto our hut. I laid him down gently, and he smiled his thanks as hewinced in pain. Before falling asleep, my father murmured, "Korre,my fine son."

These were the last words I heard from my father.

CHAPTER 3

At dawn the next day, I was led to a clearing at the mouth of themarble mine to fight. The guard who had been a soldier in the Romanlegion was waiting for me. He seemed twice my size. All the otherslaves and guards stood around to watch, and my father was broughtout, so weak that he had to be helped by another slave. The guardand I were given spears, Roman short swords, and round shields.

Okay, Korre! Remember the hours spent with Father, practicingfighting with big sticks and using both ends. Yes, that guard is biggerthan you are, and he is probably a lot stronger. But you are fasterand have more stamina, and you know a few tricks. Use them now!

Suddenly, the guard rushed at me, calling me foul names andmaking fun of my father and mother. I deflected his spear and hithim in the face with a quick, back-end stab with my spear. Thisdid not do much damage, but it did bring a howl of laughter fromthe crowd. The guard was now so enraged and humiliated that helost control and started rushing wildly at me. I hit him on the kneewith my shield, again not causing much damage but enraging himfurther.

As if in slow motion, I jabbed the guard again and again onhis right side with my spear. Blood spurted from his wounds. Hestaggered and began bellowing at me. At that moment, the ownerof the mine stepped in and stopped the fight. I was pulled away andput in chains.

Within the hour, I was put in a cart with another slave from themine, and we were taken to a city to be sold to a gladiator school.

I never said good-bye to my father.

CHAPTER 4

The trip to the gladiator school took many days. From behindthe cage-like bars in the cart, the other slave and I watched as wepassed crowds of people, shops with merchants selling their wares,men riding by on horseback, and formidable Roman soldiers onhorseback and on foot. The whole world seemed cruel and harsh,full of greed and filth and teeming with frenzied people.

My fellow slave was a black African. The guards called himNiger. He had tribal scars and teeth that had been filed to points.Although he looked fierce, he was gentle. We talked using the Latindialect slaves used in the slave camps.

"Niger, what did you do to get yourself sold to the gladiators, ifyou do not mind my asking?"

"I attacked a guard who was insulting me and my mother in afoul way."

"Did you see the fight I had with the guard?" I asked.

"Oh, yes, indeed, I did. And some fight it was! You know, theowner provokes those fights to find candidates to sell to the gladiatorschools. He encourages his guards to make the slaves angry so hecan see which slaves are tough fighters."

"Niger," I asked, "what is your African name? I should like tocall you by your real name. And my name, by the way, is Korre."

"Korre. Greetings. My tribal name is Ngongi."

"Then may I call you Ngongi?" I asked, touching his arm.

"Yes, Korre, you may call me by my tribal name. Do you knowthat not one person in the whole mine has ever asked me my realname? And what does Korre mean as a name?" he asked.

"There is a legend that my people tell that when God comes tous in human form, He brings along various helpers. One of them isa street dog who defends God in this human form. This dog is calledthe Cur, which in my language is Korre. Before I was born, myfather dreamed that I would be a man fulfilling the role of a korre,so he named me that. What does Ngongi mean?" I asked.

"It means 'water,'" he answered.

"Well, Ngongi," I said, "let us be good friends. If we help eachother, we will both have a better chance of survival. What do yousay?"

Ngongi smiled and said, "I fear having a friend, for we may haveto fight each other to the death in a gladiator arena."

CHAPTER 5

The gladiator school was run—I was told for a handsome profit—bya Roman citizen named Chilo. He was short, bald, fat, and hesweated a lot. His school trained about sixty slaves at a time to begladiators for the Roman arenas. Since gladiators were continuallybeing killed, he needed a steady supply of new ones. Over the years,he had secured a good number of fighters from the mines.

Ngongi and I were put together in a cell that had two woodenbeds, a bucket for a toilet, and a small window with bars. Our cellblock was surrounded by stone walls, and the cells themselves weremade of stone. In the middle of our block was a courtyard wheremost of the training took place. The entire gladiator school was dankand filthy.

Since we were told that our training would not begin until thefollowing week when a new batch of fighters would arrive, we wereput back in our cells after meals. I slept most of the time that week,often dreaming that I was home with my parents.

The noise in the building sounded like a human jungle. We heardendless screams, cries, loud talking, and metal clanging against bars.Just as Ngongi had suggested, one slave might eventually have tofight against another, so no slave trusted any other. I was miserableand escaped into sleep whenever I could, only to awaken with thehorrible shock that I was being trained to fight to the death. I spentmuch time feeling nauseated with fear, and I tried to alleviate thereptile-like, dank atmosphere that threatened to swallow my spiritby conjuring up and then thinking about the blue sound, for which Ithanked the Divine.

When the week was over, about twenty of us inceptors, or novices,were brought out into the courtyard one morning. In contrast to ourdark cells, the light was so bright that it made our eyes water. Chilo,the owner of the gladiator school, appeared and gave us a speech.

"Listen, you all. You have to realize that you are already dead, soyou might as well die for the glory of this school and for Rome.

"You will be trained for ten to twenty weeks, whereupon the'season' of gladiator games will begin in the arenas. You will thenfight in an arena."