The Horse Coin

by David Wishart

  'My father thinks Catus wants a revolt. So we can annexe the kingdom.'

  'Does he so?' Clemens frowned, but he showed no surprise. 'Then Catus is a damned fool. Or an even bigger damned fool than I took him for, especially now Paullinus is in the west with half the army.'

  'There's the Ninth at Dercovium.'

  'Aye, but Cerialis has his own problems. He has the Corieltauvi and the Brigantes to watch out for, and that shower's as slippery as they come, Queen Cartimandua or no Queen Cartimandua. In any case, the Ninth's mostly scattered throughout the outlying forts. We're spread too thin to play games, and that's the simple truth. If the Iceni rise we'll have our hands full.' Clemens's lips pursed. 'Or you will. I wish you luck.'

  'You're joining your new command soon?'

  'Before the month is out.' That brought another, sudden grin; a young man's grin, with the pride showing through. Severinus understood how he felt: a cavalryman's first Wing was always special. 'The Sabinians. Backing the Fourteenth in the west. The governor's –'

  He was interrupted by a knock at the door. Severinus turned as a stocky grey-haired man stepped into the room.

  Clemens looked up. 'Modianus. Just the man,' he said. 'Your second-in-command, Severinus. Juventius Modianus. He'll keep you right. He managed with me for five years, so he's had plenty of practice.'

  The cohort's senior centurion closed the door behind him and drew himself up to attention as far as his bandy cavalryman's legs would allow. His teeth through the smile were brown and uneven.

  'Welcome to Braniacum, sir,' he said to Severinus. 'A pleasure to meet you. I served with your father.'

  'You were at Alodunum?' Severinus's eyes took in the impressive array of discs on the centurion's chest.

  'Indeed, sir, that I was. How is the commander?'

  'Well enough. He told me to give the Foxes his regards.'

  'I'll tell the lads. There's still a few of the old-timers left, and they'll be pleased.' Modianus turned to Clemens. 'I'm sorry to interrupt you, sir, but I thought I'd better report straight off. There's word of a Druid in the fenland over by Catuvernum.'

  'Sweet holy Mothers!' Clemens looked at Severinus. 'Catuvernum's in Icenia, not five miles from the royal dun.' He turned back to Modianus. 'How long has he been there?'

  'A month at least, maybe longer.'

  'A month?' Clemens stared at him. 'Jupiter God Almighty! Why the hell didn't we know sooner?'

  Modianus's expression was wooden. 'You know the locals yourself, sir,' he said. 'It's not the sort of thing they'd talk about. Not to strangers. The trader who brought the news only had it by accident. We were lucky he took the trouble to report it.'

  'He's still here? The trader?'

  'Aye. I've got him outside.' The brown eyes twinkled, although the centurion's expression did not change. 'Not his idea, sir, and he's a bit upset about it, but I thought you'd like a word personal.'

  'Good. Give us a moment, Centurion, then bring him in.' Modianus brought his fist up in a crisp salute and left, closing the door carefully behind him. 'A Druid among the Iceni's bad news, Severinus. Very bad, especially now. I'm sorry to land you with the problem.'

  Severinus shrugged. 'It can't be helped. We'd one ourselves a few months back.'

  'Did you indeed? You caught him?'

  'We tried. He got away. This may be the same man.'

  'Not necessarily. With Paullinus on his way to Mona the beggars will be going all out to stir up trouble at his back throughout the province.'

  'You'll bring him in?'

  'No.' Clemens shook his head. 'This isn't the Colony, or even the frontier. Icenia's a client-kingdom, even with Prasutagos dead. Oh, aye, we'd be within our rights, technically, anyway; Druids are enemies by definition, and dealing with them is the army's concern. But it would cause a lot of bad feeling, and we can do without that at present.'

  'So what can you do?'

  'Me?' Clemens's mouth twisted. 'Nothing. As of tomorrow he’s not my business. What you can do is send word to Queen Boudica, maybe even go to the dun yourself. Let her know you know he's there, and Rome's not happy about it. If you're lucky, that'll be action enough; certainly it would've been in the old king’s time And the other thing you can do, Severinus, is be careful. Be bloody careful. Find the man and have him watched.'

  'You think Boudica already knows?'

  'Oh, she knows, all right. Forget the helpless widow, that one's twice as sharp as her husband ever was, three times as tough and ten times the better ruler. In that sense Catus is right, we'd be a hell of a lot safer without her.'

  'Prasutagos left the kingdom to his daughters.'

  'Aye. So he did. But it'll be five years before the elder girl's old enough to rule. Meanwhile Boudica's regent, and as a daughter of the old royal house she had the better claim to begin with. That was why Prasutagos married her. Boudica's no Cartimandua, Severinus, never forget that. She has no love for Rome, and as far as her own people are concerned she doesn't need our backing. Taken with ability, that's a dangerous combination.' There was another knock at the door. 'All right, Modianus, we're ready. Come in.'

  'The trader, sir.' Modianus stood to one side to allow the man to pass. He was a southern Gaul, big and fleshy, and he did not look happy.

  'Very well,' Clemens said. 'That's all, Centurion. Thank you.' Modianus saluted and left, closing the door behind him. 'I'm sorry, sir, I wasn't told your name.'

  The Gallic trader stood glaring.

  'Titus Carvilius,' he said stiffly. 'Commander, I have a schedule to meet. I've already given your centurion what little help I can in this matter, and I really feel that –'

  'Yes, sir. I realise you're busy, and we're very grateful.' Clemens was smiling, but his voice was firm. 'This is my successor, Julius Severinus. He's just arrived and will be handling the situation, but because he's unfamiliar with local conditions I thought perhaps a first-hand account would be preferable to a subordinate's report. If you can spare the time, naturally.'

  'Well, I suppose that's reasonable.' Carvilius's stiff expression relaxed. He nodded and sat down on the room's only other chair. 'Certainly a few minutes won't make much difference to me. And I'm always ready to place what slight local knowledge I may possess at the disposal of those less experienced than myself.'

  'Quite.' Clemens did not look at Severinus. 'You travel in wine?'

  'Wine and oil. Not the best quality, naturally, but the Iceni aren't connoisseurs.' He patted the smooth lambs’-wool tunic over his large stomach. 'I do well enough. Three trips a year, and a full order book each time. This is my sixth year.'

  'You supply the royal dun?'

  'And the outlying aristocracy, yes. At least when they pay in coin. Salt pork and pickled fish are all very well in small amounts, but by the cartload they're hardly negotiable currency.'

  'I see.' Clemens looked down at his desk for a moment, then raised his eyes again. 'Tell us about the Druid, if you would.'

  'There's little to tell. I was at one of the outlying farmsteads negotiating a sale when I overheard two bondsmen discussing one of their fellows who had been cured of a persistent headache. They mentioned a Druid at Catuvernum. That's all.'

  'And the month?' Clemens said. Carvilius frowned. 'You told my centurion the man had been in the kingdom for a month, did you not?'

  'Ah.' The trader looked smug. 'That was later, and my own doing. I had it from old Veloriga, Comuxovalos's mother, over by Aballiacum. She's in her seventies and getting a bit' – he twirled his forefinger against his temple – 'you know. I simply asked in passing how long Icenia had been blessed with a holy one and she told me. Mind you, as I say, I wouldn't put much credence on anything Veloriga said. Some days she doesn't even recognise her own kin.'

  'You heard nothing at the royal dun itself?'

  'No. Mind you, I'd gone there first, before I knew of the man's existence. I always do. Coriodurum is my largest market. The outlying areas are secondary, and I don't always bother with them.'


  'And you have no other information?'

  'None. That's all I know, Commander. I hope it's been of help.' Carvilius stood up. 'Druids are bad for trade, and I'm always happy to assist our army. You do a splendid job. Splendid.'

  'I'm sure the governor will be gratified that you approve of his efforts.' Clemens stood also. 'My thanks, sir. I won't keep you any further. A safe journey to you.'

  'Thank you.' The man nodded to Severinus and turned to go.

  'So.' As the door closed behind him, Clemens smiled. 'We can sleep secure in our beds knowing that if the Iceni revolt the merchant community at least is on our side. But I don't like the smell of that Druid. I don't like the smell of him at all.'

  . . .

  Dumnocoveros cradled the nine pebbles in his cupped hands. Each was a perfect sphere, its surface smooth as milk, and they had taken him all day to find. He looked up. He had timed it well: the sun was setting below the trees which marked the slightly higher ground of the royal dun an hour's journey to the west. The day-flying birds had already gone from the sky, but in the reed pool nearby two black-backed terns were still feeding, their beaks darting here and there, making tiny ripples in the water.

  Carefully, deliberately, he shut them out from his mind. Then he did the same for the whispering of the reeds and the touch of the chill evening wind on his exposed skin. When he felt himself beginning to drift from his body, he stretched out his hands that still held the pebbles and opened his eyes.

  The hands felt nothing; the eyes saw nothing. That was as it should be.

  Ogmios, be my hands' cunning, he prayed silently. Be the cunning of my eyes, Ogmios, and of the brain within my head. Ogmios, I am empty. I open myself to you.

  Time passed. Somewhere nearby a dog-otter whistled, but Dumnocoveros did not hear him.

  The god came suddenly. Dumnocoveros felt the hollow of his skull swell up like a bladder with too much air and the plates of bone grated as they were forced apart from within. He screamed as his outstretched hands sprang open and the pebbles fell to the ground between his knees, taking the god and the pain with them like a birth.

  The pebbles bounced and rolled, then settled.

  Dumnocoveros opened his eyes and breathed deeply, letting the world flood back. The terns had gone, disturbed by his screams, and the cold air had turned the sweat on his face to a thin film of ice.

  He stood up, careful not to disturb the pattern which the pebbles had made on the ground at his feet. Their message was clear and unambiguous, leaving no room for doubt.

  Druid though he was, Dumnocoveros wept.

  16.

  Two days later along with Modianus and a half squadron of the Foxes' cavalry Severinus rode to the royal dun: sixteen men, the centurion had advised him, was the optimum number.

  'Any more, sir,' Modianus had said, 'and you'll set the bastards' hackles up so high it'll take six months to calm them down. Any fewer and we'd be showing too much consideration, which would make the whole ruddy exercise pointless. I'll pick the men myself so you get ones that look good in the saddle. They're very strong on a decent turnout, are the natives.'

  Severinus had left him to make the arrangements. He was beginning to have a great respect for Modianus.

  The road to Coriodurum was Roman-built. It ran straight as a spear across the fens, ignoring the land around it: a causeway of hammered earth laid on logs half-sunk into the marshes. Round about in all directions Icenia stretched flat and green.

  'Fine countryside, Centurion.' Severinus had enjoyed the ride. Either spring had come early or the dull grey weather of the past few days had lifted temporarily.

  'Aye, it's not bad, sir.' Modianus grinned. 'Some of the best grain and grazing land in the province. Nice horses, too. Beautiful. You have to watch yourself, though.'

  'How do you mean?'

  The centurion pointed. 'See that stretch there? Between the two branches of the river?' Severinus looked. The rough square of grass was a brighter green than the rest, with shimmering pools of water showing here and there on the surface. 'Try riding over that and you'd never reach the far end. I've seen it happen more than once. Some places, there's nothing a couple of inches below the grass but muddy water, and the first thing you know you're six foot down and still going.' He spat with disgust. 'The land's two-faced as Janus, sir. That goes for the ruddy natives, too. I'd not forget that in a hurry, if I was you.'

  The dun lay on a low swell of dry ground deep in the marsh. Unlike Camulodunum it had few man-made outlying ditches or ramparts: before the causeway had been built the natural maze of waterways, pools and marshes that ringed it had been defence enough, and now Rome kept the peace there was no need for them. The causeway ran straight to the gates.

  They were shut.

  'Bloody effing Jupiter!' Modianus muttered under his breath.

  'This isn't usual?' Severinus brought Tanet up beside him.

  The centurion shook his head. 'No, sir. But there's nothing to worry about. They know we're here, and why.' He raised his voice and, still speaking in Latin, he shouted: 'Marcus Julius Severinus, commanding the First Aquitanian Mounted Cohort for the Caesar Nero Claudius Drusus Germanicus, to talk with Boudica wife of Prasutagos of the Iceni. Bloody open up, you buggers!'

  The last words were spoken in an undertone. Severinus grinned into his helmet strap.

  The gates swung open.

  'That's better,' Modianus murmured. 'You lead the way, sir. Go straight ahead and don't stop for anyone.'

  There were guards inside. As he rode past them Severinus was painfully aware of their hostile eyes on his back.

  'Centurion?' he said.

  'Aye, sir.' Modianus, a length behind, brought his horse up level.

  'These men had spears and shields. Natives aren't allowed weapons; the queen must know that.'

  'Aye.' Modianus nodded. 'It's all right, sir. They're an honour guard.'

  'A what?'

  'For the queen. Governor Scapula let King Prasutagos hang on to them after Antedrigos was beat and he took over. There's barely a dozen of them, but it keeps the tribe happy. Like I say, the natives put a lot of store by appearances.'

  'They're mean-looking beggars, whatever.' Severinus jabbed his heels into Tanet's flanks and the mare increased her speed. He could see the palace ahead: a sprawling complex of wattle-and-daub buildings that stood out from the jumble of other huts more by size than construction. The acrid stink of male goats and the smell from the pigsties and dung-heaps within the rampart, mixed with the odour of human sewage, caught at his nostrils. 'Mothers alive, what a stench!'

  'You're lucky it's a cold day, sir.' Modianus was grinning. 'You should smell it in summer.'

  Eyes were following them, blank, incurious, or frankly hostile. Severinus was reminded of the Trinovantian dun, but here there were no signs of Rome at all. Prasutagos may have been an ally but it seemed that where he could he had kept Roman civilisation outside his borders.

  The beaten earth track led straight to the palace. There were no gates, but two more armed guards stood by the ditched entrance to the compound. They leaned on their shields, watching.

  'You get used to it.' Modianus had not spared them a glance. He nodded towards the tall man obviously waiting for them at the doors of the palace itself. 'That’s Ecenomolios. One of the local princes and the queen's chief adviser. Watch out for this bastard, sir. He doesn't like us at all.'

  'Is that so, now?' Severinus took in the man's confident stance and his well-muscled arrogance. 'Just an adviser? He looks like he owns the place. The queen as well.'

  'Aye, and if he doesn't it's not for want of trying. There've been rumours, but the queen's no fool. She'd think more than twice before she let that one into her bed.'

  Severinus grunted. He saw what Modianus meant: Ecenomolios radiated hostility. If Boudica had any political sense at all she would choose a lover or a husband less obvious in his dislikes.

  They dismounted, and Ecenomolios came forward. He was taller and br
oader than he had looked at a distance, topping Severinus by a head and outweighing him by half as much again. The massive gold twists of a warrior's bracelet shone on his upper arm.

  'The commander honours us.' He spoke in Celtic. 'His business must be pressing, to come so soon after his appointment.'

  'Pressing indeed, Ecenomolios.' Severinus kept his tone equable, and his Celtic as formal as Ecenomolios's own. 'But not quite pressing enough to be given out at the door with dirty hands and a throat full of dust.'

  Behind him he heard Modianus chuckle. Ecenomolios flushed. He made a sign and two bondsmen hurried inside, to reappear shortly with a basin and towel and a cup of honey beer. Carefully, without looking at Ecenomolios, Severinus washed his hands, face and neck, dried them with the towel and drank the beer.

  'I am overwhelmed,' he said gravely, handing Ecenomolios the empty cup. 'Your house's courtesy blinds me.'

  The bondsmen's lips twitched. Ecenomolios's colour deepened.

  'The queen is waiting.' He turned abruptly. 'You'll follow me, please.'

  'Stay with the troop, Modianus,' Severinus said.

  'Aye, sir.' The centurion saluted.

  Once over the threshold, Ecenomolios stepped to one side, allowing Severinus to pass. After the brightness of the open air the room was dark and stuffy, and the smoke from the torches around the walls and the log fire that burned in the huge hearth at its centre caught at Severinus's throat. He stopped and looked around him while his eyes adjusted to the dimness. The reception hall was huge, with a beaten-earth floor and plain undecorated walls. The roof – there was no ceiling – was supported by four massive wooden pillars, and the rafters were black and caked with soot.

  The queen was sitting on a raised formal dais beside the hearth. On either side of her were two girls, the elder no more than eleven, the younger seven or eight. Severinus had expected a tall, red-haired, big-breasted woman, but even seated Boudica looked small and ordinary. In the market at the Colony, he would have taken her for a Gaulish matron with her mind on the price of eggs.

  Then he noticed her eyes.