The Horse Coin

by David Wishart

  'And if they're discontented enough to rebel?'

  'That is most unlikely. The province has been quiet for years.'

  'Aye. But now Paullinus is withdrawing troops for the spring campaign. And with Mona under threat the Druids are active again.' Aper looked at Agricola. 'You didn't catch the man, Tribune, did you?'

  'Unfortunately not.' Agricola's face was expressionless. ‘But we will.'

  'I wouldn't be too sure of that. I heard he disappeared into thin air. If he can do that once he can do it again.'

  'There was no "disappearance"' Agricola gave him a cold look. 'The centurion in charge of the detail was careless. He's been disciplined.'

  'Is that so, now?' Vegisonius said. 'Seems to me there was probably not a lot the poor sod could do.'

  'Quintus!' Regulina snapped.

  Vegisonius shrugged and helped himself to a handful of pickled walnuts. 'As you like, my dear,' he said. ‘But they’re unchancy beggars, Druids. Everyone knows that.’

  'Then everyone is wrong. ' Catus spoke quietly. ‘And one Druid is no great matter. Hardly enough to hang fears of a revolt on, certainly. Aper, you surprise me. I had not thought the former commander of a cavalry wing would be quite so...well, shall we say quite so negative in his views.'

  Severinus saw his father's face harden. Quickly, he said, 'You mentioned a prospective windfall earlier, sir. What might that be?'

  'Ah.' Catus had been lifting his wine cup to his lips. He hesitated, then continued the movement, took the barest sip and set it down. 'Well, I suppose it will be common knowledge soon, in any case. We – at least, the governor, and through him, I – have just been informed of the death of the Icenian king Prasutagos.'

  There was complete silence around the table. Only Agricola seemed unsurprised.

  'Holy Mothers!' Aper set down the spoon he was holding.

  Catus reached for his napkin and wiped his fingers carefully.

  'Naturally the political implications are considerable,' he said, 'although these are none of my concern. In fact, although I said "our" windfall – meaning the province's – my only involvement is as administrator of the emperor's private estates.'

  'Prasutagos has left Icenia to the emperor?' Like Uricalus, Vegisonius was obviously keenly interested. Understandably so: if Icenia were to become part of the private imperial estates the implications for trade were huge.

  'No.' Catus had pushed aside his plate. 'Prasutagos's will, I understand, names him as co-heir with his two daughters. Which means in effect, the girls being minors, that the property is held in trust by his widow Queen Boudica.' Catus folded the napkin and set it down. 'Now forgive me, but that's really all I know myself at present. Perhaps we could change the subject.'

  Meaning that Catus didn't want to say any more, Severinus thought. He glanced at his father. Aper's face was grim, and he could guess the reason. Prasutagos, originally ruler of only part of Icenia, had been Rome's ally since the Conquest. He had stayed loyal when the rest of the tribe had revolted eleven years before and been rewarded with the over-kingship; since when he had held the Iceni on a tight rein. If they had not been particularly open to Roman influence, as had the southern tribes, then they had at least caused no further trouble.

  But that had been wholly Prasutagos's doing. Now he was gone, the strong hand on the reins had gone too.

  Political implications was right.

  Severinus felt a dig in his ribs, and turned.

  'Marcus, I didn't bribe Delphidius to put us together just so you could make eyes at the procurator,' Albilla said.

  'Was I?'

  'Soulfully.' Her lips were no more than an inch from his ear and he could smell her perfume. 'Would you do something for me?'

  That depends what it is,' he said cautiously.

  'Pass me the pea-hen's eggs. Before my father guzzles them all.'

  Severinus laughed, and reached for the plate.

  11.

  'It's bad news, Marcus.' Aper was staring out into the darkness beyond the carriage windows. ‘Very bad. The worst I've heard for a long time.'

  'Catus seemed pleased enough.' Severinus remembered the procurator's dry, satisfied tone. 'And Uricalus and Vegisonius were delighted.'

  'Aye, they would be. Do you wonder? For the procurator and the merchants Prasutagos's death is a godsend. The Iceni have governed themselves up to now, and they've taken just as much from us as they want and no more. The will changes that. With the emperor as co-ruler the kingdom's wide open for the first time since the Conquest. And if I'm any judge of character Catus intends to make the most of it.'

  'But it's not that simple. Even Catus must see that.'

  'The man's a procurator, boy. A glorified accountant. Forget common-sense, they've minds like bloody abacuses. It's how they get where they are, especially with that posturing lout back in Rome throwing money around like nuts at a wedding.'

  Ursina, half-dozing next to him, opened an eye. 'Behave, dear,’ she said. ‘That’s no way to talk about the emperor, even in private, and you know it.’

  ‘Is it not, then? I'll bet my pension against a mouldy loaf that the greedy beggar will tell Catus to milk this for all it's worth. And Catus, being the bureaucrat he is, will do exactly as he's told.'

  'Come on, Dad,' Severinus said. 'Paullinus will have a say, surely. As governor he –'

  'It has nothing to do with Paullinus.' Aper shifted his back irritably against the cushions. 'Catus made that clear enough, and he's right. Prasutagos made a personal bequest to the emperor, which means that under law half of Icenia becomes Nero's private property. His private property, not just a part of the province. Oh, I can see the poor man's reasons. It's been done often enough in the past; give the emperor his share and he'll ratify the other terms of the will. Only Prasutagos was dealing with the wrong man. Hoping that Nero'll be content with half's like asking a dog not to eat the whole of a pudding.'

  'Catus isn't stupid.'

  'I never said he was.' Aper's voice was patient. 'I said he was a bureaucrat, and bureaucrats are order-mad. An Icenia under direct Roman control would be tidier than a client-kingdom. More profitable, too, and with men like Catus that's all that counts.' Aper puffed out his cheeks. 'Ach, perhaps I'm doing the man an injustice. Time will tell. How did you get on with Albilla, by the bye?'

  'Well enough,’ Severinus said cautiously.

  'Aye. Well enough’s what it looked like from where I was sitting, and better than well enough. You watch yourself there. That girl has her eye on you, and she isn't the kind to take no for an answer.'

  'Titus.' Ursina opened both her eyes this time, 'It may have escaped your notice, but Marcus is old enough now to handle that sort of thing for himself. He doesn't need your help. Or your hindrance.'

  'Is that so, now?' Aper chuckled. 'Well, if I'm to be related to Uricalus and Bellicia, Bear Cub, I'd like a little warning. Preferably a year or two’s worth, to get used to the idea. You hear me, boy?'

  'I hear you.' Severinus was smiling too. 'Don't worry. I’ve no plans in that direction, at present at least, even if she has.’

  'Oh, I'm not worrying.' Aper looked sideways at Ursina. 'She's a good lass, Albucilla, and lively enough. If I were you I wouldn't pass her over myself, even if it did mean having Bellicia for a mother-in-law.'

  Ursina leaned over and kissed him. 'Then perhaps it's as well that you're not,' she said.

  'Look, Dad,' Severinus said. 'I like Albilla, she's a good friend but that's as far as it goes. And if I'm to command the Foxes in another few months marriage isn't an option. Does that satisfy you?'

  'Oh, I couldn't care less about myself, lad, it’s no skin off my nose. But don't forget you've been warned, and you can't speak for the girl. If I'm right she has ideas of her own. Not to mention that family of hers.'

  'I think, dear,' Ursina said carefully, 'you may be wrong, about the family at least. Bellicia was definitely casting speculative glances at young Julius Agricola.'

  'Was she indeed?'
Aper's eye widened. 'Then you may be off the hook, Marcus. Or if you are interested you'd better get a move on. A senatorial tribune would be a prime catch, better than an auxiliary cohort commander, and unless I miss my guess that particular young sprig will go far and fast. Bellicia knows it, too. The girl's another matter altogether, though. Again I may be wrong, but she didn't seem exactly taken with our polished young namesake.'

  'She isn't.' Severinus felt a small unaccountable surge of satisfaction. 'Besides, Agricola's on the governor's staff. He'll be leaving with Paullinus when the campaign starts in the spring.'

  'So you have been thinking about it?' his father said.

  'Maybe. Just a little.'

  'Jupiter preserve us all!' Aper lay back.

  Five miles away, the Druid Dumnocoveros crouched amid the encircling reeds, preparing for his journey. It had taken him three days to find the roots and herbs that he needed. Most of them did not grow on the island, and he had had to risk capture by the Wolves who, he knew, would still be searching for him despite their Winter Festival. He offered up a quick prayer to the gods for their indulgence, then placed the tiny wad beneath his tongue.

  Its bitter juices began to fill his mouth and burn their way towards his empty belly: the rite had demanded fasting, and Dumnocoveros had not eaten for three days. Wrapping his rain-damp cloak tightly about his shoulders and lay down to wait for the magic to take him.

  Time passed, and slid imperceptibly into no-time...

  He was walking along a causeway; a road of hard-packed earth laid atop a substratum of half-rotted wickerwork and alder logs beneath which the mud oozed. All around him the land stretched beneath a dome of blue, shield-flat and empty to the horizon. The sun, low at his back, bright and cold as a coin, shone on a sparkling maze of water, rough grass and light green moss broken by clumps of willow, ash and osiers, tall reeds and bullrushes. Overhead, legs trailing, wings slow as heartbeats, a single heron flew, the tail of a fish projecting from its narrow bill. A brace of grebe paddled among the sedges, oblivious of his presence.

  Dumnocoveros looked around him. He was in the marshes, yes, but they were not the marshes of the estuary: there was no sea-smell, only the dark brown scent of river mud and standing fen-water. This was nowhere that he knew.

  A man was coming towards him, running along the causeway with the steady jogging trot of a hunter, a spear held loosely above his right shoulder. As he came closer Dumnocoveros noticed that, hunter or not, he was painted for war. Across his bare chest lay a huge belt, and the cloak round his shoulders was fastened with a double brooch.

  Dumnocoveros waited. As he came closer, the man slackened his pace. When they were no more than a spear's length apart he stopped, his hand raised palm outwards: the greeting of equal to equal.

  'Well met, Druid,' he said. His voice was soft and pleasant, and the three great jewels on his belt glinted in the light. Like Dumnocoveros himself, he cast no shadow on the road ahead. 'You're bound for the dun?'

  'Should I be, Lord?' Dumnocoveros said. He knew, now, where he was. And, more important, who the warrior was. The spittle had dried in his mouth.

  'How not?' the man said. 'The king is already dead and the wolves are sniffing at the corpse.'

  'Is it far?'

  The man shrugged. 'Not in days' travel, but with the wolves running no journey is short, and the safest roads are crooked ones. You should go now, if you do not wish to miss the start of the feast.'

  'You're not bound there yourself, then, Lord?'

  'No.' The man smiled: a cold smile, with no warmth in it. 'But it will follow me southwards, and there will be enough for all. Meanwhile I have my own hunting to do.'

  The hairs on Dumnocoveros's neck lifted. 'I wish you success,' he said.

  'Aye.' The man's mirror-bright eyes looked into his. 'Success to all of us, and a clean kill at the end.' He paused. 'You understand me, Dumnocoveros?'

  'Yes, Lord.' Dumnocoveros nodded, feeling nothing. 'I understand you completely.'

  'Completely?' The lips arced. 'A big word, that, and not one that I would care to use myself. But go to the dun with my blessing. Tell the queen I will be waiting to greet her and her folk when all is over. On the far side of the river.'

  'I'll tell her.' Dumnocoveros swallowed. 'She will be honoured, Lord.'

  'None deserve it more. And now time is short, and we are both hurried.' The man's voice shifted, taking on a strange, echoing quality. 'Bid Boudica follow the hare.'

  Something moved at his feet. Dumnocoveros glanced down at the white hare that had sprung suddenly from beneath the hem of the hunter's cloak and was already racing southwards along the line of the causeway. When he looked up, the man had again raised his hand. The cloak brooches at his shoulders and the jewels in his belt pulled light from the sun and caught fire, red, yellow and blue, spreading until the colours blotted out his body and the landscape around them. Dumnocoveros stepped back, hands raised to cover his eyes.

  When the light faded he found himself alone and in darkness, no longer lying wrapped in his cloak but standing erect, looking upwards. The clouds had cleared. In the night sky above him, etched silver on black, lay the Belted Hunter, his face towards the River and with the Hare running beneath him. As Dumnocoveros watched, the star that marked the point of the Hunter's leading shoulder seemed to pulse, momentarily outshining all the rest before fading to its customary dimness: Segovica, the Woman Warrior.

  His belly heaved. Crouching, wracked with pain, he spat the wad of herbs from his mouth, and with it a stream of bile mixed with specks of blood. The spasm passed, leaving him empty, hollow as an old snail shell.

  He scraped a shallow hole in the ground and buried the herbs, stamping the grass flat. The Wolves had no magic, but it was as well to be safe.

  Then he began the journey northwards.

  12.

  With the new year the weather grew drier and colder. Now, in mid-January, ice reached out from the banks towards the centre of the river and the reeds stood frozen in the estuary pools. It had snowed in the night, the first snow of winter, and the sweep of the dun's rampart was softened by a thin white blanket that sparkled in the late-morning sunshine.

  'You honestly don't mind me dragooning you like this, Marcus?' Albilla said as they rode towards the gate. 'I really am grateful. Father knows nothing about horses, and he wouldn't be seen dead out here. I had to fight like mad to get permission, and Catti's laid up with his back again.' Catti was Uricalus's groom. The cold wet weather always brought on his rheumatism.

  'Why should I mind?' Severinus smiled at her. 'It's a beautiful day, even if the horse does turn out to be a worm-eaten nag.

  'Oh, nonsense. With a name like Lacta I'm sure she'll be absolutely lovely.'

  'If that's your criterion for buying horses, Albilla, then you need all the help you can get.'

  'Beast,' Albilla said. She looked very beautiful here in the snow, her cheeks flushed with the cold air, her dark hair shining against the white ermine fur of her hood.

  They passed through the gate. Albilla pulled at her pony's rein, bringing Phoenix to a halt.

  'We should come here more often,' she said. 'It looks quite nice in the snow, doesn't it? Even the dung heaps are pretty.'

  Severinus pointed. 'If your directions are right then Mori's compound should be over there,' he said. 'Remember to let me do the talking.'

  'You’d have to in any case, Marcus. The poor man doesn't speak a word of Latin, my Celtic's non-existent, and I'm hopeless at bargaining to begin with.' Albilla's nose wrinkled. 'You'd think they'd build proper houses, wouldn't you, not these shack things. They're all very picturesque and everything, but it must be horrible actually to live in them. Do you think we'll be asked inside?'

  'Probably.' Severinus urged Tanet forward along the snow-covered track. With the hard frost of the last few days, the mud had frozen solid and the going was much easier than it had been when he had come this way a month before. 'And if you do decide to buy the horse the
n certainly.'

  'Oh, well, it'll be an experience. And I've never tasted fermented mare's milk.'

  Severinus stared at her. 'What the Mothers has that to do with anything?'

  'I thought that was what the natives offered to guests. Or am I confusing them with Germans?'

  'Aye, I think you probably are.' Severinus was trying hard not to smile. 'Although I'm sure they'd find some for you if you asked.'

  'No thank you.' Albilla made a face. 'I'd drink it, of course, out of politeness but that doesn't mean –' From the compound ahead of them came a furious squealing and grunting. 'Juno, what on earth is that?'

  They had the answer as they came through the compound gate. In the middle of the yard in front of the farm hut was a pig. Four men were hauling on the ropes that fastened its legs, while a fifth held a knife to the animal's throat. Nearby a woman waited holding a bronze bucket.

  'Marcus, they're killing it!' Albilla had reined up sharply. 'How horrible!'

  As they watched, the man with the knife slit the pig's throat. The squeals changed to a bubbling cough, and the men with the ropes leaned back as the animal's struggles grew more frantic. The woman held out the bucket and blood gushed into it, splashing her hands.

  Albilla was watching in fascinated horror.

  'Help me, please,’ she whispered. ‘I think I'm going to be sick.'

  The pig collapsed, twitching, its legs spread wide, and the coughing changed to a wheezing gurgle. Then that, too, stopped and the pig's head lolled. Severinus glanced at Albilla. Her face was white as chalk, with a greenish tinge about the mouth, and she was gulping. Quickly, he dismounted and helped her down. She turned away and vomited while he held her shoulders.

  The man with the knife came over.

  'Is the lady all right?' he said in Celtic.

  'She'll be fine,' Severinus said. 'Your name's Mori?'

  'Moricamulos, aye.' He wiped the knife on a scrap of straw and tucked it into his belt. 'You'll have come for Lacta? She's in the paddock behind.' He hesitated. 'My wife'll take the lady inside. It would be better.'