The Horse Coin

by David Wishart

  Brocomaglos glared at him.

  'And do you think I would have it otherwise if I could?' he said. 'If so you're a fool yourself.'

  'Then help me!'

  The anger slowly left Brocomaglos's face. He sighed and turned away.

  'It is not a question of help,' he said. 'You know it is not. I'm not like your Nero Caesar, to give an order and have it obeyed without question. The Trinovantes are their own men, and they make their own paths. I will ask you something in my turn. Tell your people to pull down Claudius's temple and give us back our lands. Tell them to let us live by our own laws and customs, and when they have done it come back and ask again. Perhaps then my people will listen to both of us.' Aper said nothing, and Brocomaglos nodded. 'Aye, well, there it is. I've said all I have to say. Go back to your Colony, Julius Aper. Go as a friend.'

  Slowly, Aper got to his feet. Without looking at Brocomaglos he crossed to the door and opened it. Then, remounting his horse, he rode home.

  27.

  The forward base at Segontium dominated the coastal plain opposite Mona; a ditched, palisaded camp bigger than the Colony, with space enough for two full legions plus half as many auxiliaries. The land rose behind it, up and up, until it ended in a distant line of mountains half way to the sky, with the winter snow still glistening white on their summits. The mountains stretched to the province's borders: a hundred miles eastward, more than twice that south to the Sabrina estuary, in an almost solid mass. It was no wonder, Severinus thought, looking at them, that Paullinus had been so doubtful of Rome's chances of a rapid conquest. If they kept to their mountains, the western tribes might hold out for years.

  So long as they had Mona. Mona was the key, the granary of the west: an island of fields protected by its strait and mountain barrier. Even warriors had to eat, and without Mona there would be no corn. If Mona fell then the rest would follow.

  And Mona was about to fall. That was clear. The proof lay all around him.

  Segontium – the Place of Power – deserved its name. Used as he was now to Braniacum, Severinus felt dwarfed by it, not only by its size but by its air of purpose. From the moment the Foxes had disembarked from the barges that had brought them up from Deva he had felt himself part of a unique, intricate machine. Everything he saw as he walked up from the quayside and through the fortress's gates towards the headquarters building at its centre was geared to a single aim, and organised to the last detail.

  The headquarters building was as busy and as noisy as the rest of the fortress. Finally, Severinus managed to push his way through to the duty clerk's desk.

  The man looked up.

  'Yes, sir?'

  Severinus removed his helmet. 'Marcus Julius Severinus,' he said, 'commanding the First Aquitanians. I'm reporting in.'

  'That's fine, sir.' The clerk consulted a plan. 'You're in the south-west corner, two blocks down, beyond the Sabinians.'

  'The Sabinians? Commander Publius Clemens?'

  ‘That's right Friend of yours?'

  'My predecessor.'

  'You’re in luck, then.' The man made a tick on a roster. 'Stable your horses with theirs, outside the back gate. Commander Clemens has the watering schedule.' He consulted a flimsy on the desk beside him 'Oh, and you're to have a word with the general. Straight away.'

  'I'm to do what? What about?'

  'I couldn’t say, sir, but he left instructions he was to be told as soon as you got in.' The clerk got up. 'I think he's free at present, but I'll check with his adjutant.'

  He disappeared through a door behind the desk. Severinus waited anxiously: a private interview with Paullinus, especially when the governor insisted on seeing him as soon as he arrived, spelled trouble.

  The clerk reappeared. 'That's all right, sir,' he said. 'Just go on through.'

  Severinus stepped past the man into a smaller room in which clerks were working. One of them got up and knocked at a second door, opened it and stood aside. Paullinus was sitting behind a desk reading a message tablet.

  Severinus drew himself up to attention and saluted.

  'Ah.' The governor looked up briefly. 'Julius Severinus, isn't it?'

  'Yes, sir.'

  'Bear with me, if you will. I'll be with you in a moment.'

  Paullinus added a note to the bottom of the tablet, then laid it and his pen to one side.

  'So,' he said. 'You had a good voyage down from Deva?'

  'Good enough, sir.' Severinus kept his voice expressionless.

  'Fine.' Paullinus's fingers tapped the desk. 'Commander, forgive me if I come straight to the point. This is in no way a reprimand; however I was more than a little concerned about your recent dealings with the emperor's representative at Coriodurum and the two rather – not to put too fine a point on it – alarmist reports I received from you subsequently. I thought that perhaps you might care to explain in person.'

  'Certainly, sir.' Severinus felt the muscles of his face stiffen. 'It was and is my belief that Procurator's Agent Homullus is acting in a way likely to goad the Iceni into revolt.'

  'So I gathered, young man.' Paullinus's voice was dry. 'I'm asking you now to justify the beliefs you expressed in terms of hard fact. Pompeius Homullus is a highly-experienced civil servant. He is also, as I said, acting for the emperor himself within strict legal parameters well known to the Icenian queen in the execution of a will signed by that lady's husband. Accordingly, if the Iceni feel put upon in any way then that is their problem, not ours. And certainly they have no option but to accept the situation or suffer the consequences. Do I make myself clear?'

  'Yes, sir, of course. But–'

  Paullinus raised his hand. 'Listen to me, please,' he said. 'You have by my reckoning something less than three months' experience as an officer in the imperial army, and that of a very limited nature. Just how much weight do you think that lends to any opinion you may hold on the niceties of provincial government?'

  Severinus flushed. 'None whatsoever, sir.'

  'Exactly. None whatsoever. So don't bloody well try to tell me my job.'

  'That wasn't my intention, sir.' Severinus could feel the flush spread to his neck.

  'So I should hope. Although I’m afraid that was very much the impression your reports gave, especially the second, which was, to say the least, ill-judged in the extreme.'

  'I'm sorry, sir.'

  'So you damn well should be.' The governor sat back. 'You have, I think, an excellent career ahead of you. You may even, given the modern trend to encourage provincials, find yourself commanding a legion eventually, if not here in Britain then elsewhere. And since any legionary commander may under certain circumstances find himself deputising for a provincial governor in his absence it is essential that he appreciate the importance of detachment. You understand me?'

  'Yes, sir.'

  'Good. That's something, anyway. Then pin your silly ears back, boy, because some day what I'm about to spend valuable time and effort in attempting to dun into your thick skull may prove useful to you. Still with me?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘A governor's duty is to use the resources at his disposal as efficiently as possible to keep his province secure and when instructed to do so to extend its borders beyond their current limits. You’d agree?'

  'I would.' Severinus felt himself beginning to sweat.

  'Fine. That, and note this well, is his prime and only duty, superseding all other considerations, not least the attitude or feelings of the provincials. That last may be an unpleasant fact, but fact it remains, and it is only by observing it strictly that we have an empire at all. Still with me?'

  Severinus shifted. 'Yes, sir.'

  'Congratulations. Now you will have noted that I said "as efficiently as possible". For my part, my resources, like any governor's, are limited. I have to balance and prioritise, and make my decision accordingly; and that is no easy task. In the present instance I must take the longer view. Britain can never be secure until the mountain tribes on her borders are
brought to heel and the Druid priesthood is destroyed. A constant threat calls for constant defence, which ties up valuable resources unacceptably. It is better to deal with it when the time is ripe once and for all, to one's utmost ability. That is the first factor. Clear?'

  'Yes, sir.'

  'Second, and allied to this, a province must pay its own way. So far Britain has not done so, and accordingly, as you may or may not know, there is a strong lobby of opinion at Rome at the highest level which advises cutting our losses and dropping the place down an extremely deep hole.' Paullinus paused. 'No. I see you didn't know. That is part of the difference between a provincial governor and the commander of a junior cohort. The reason we're not all on our way back across the Channel, Severinus, is that current intelligence indicates that the mountain regions which I am now in the process of subduing contain gold and silver deposits which brought under our control would tip the economic balance considerably. Conquest thus becomes not only a military but a fiscal priority.'

  'I see that, sir.' Severinus kept his voice level. 'Nonetheless, the eastern tribes –'

  'Good gods alive, boy!' Paullinus's hand slammed down on the desk. 'That’s enough! You haven't been listening to a word I've been saying, have you? Or are you an even bigger fool than I took you for?’ Severinus stiffened. ‘Don't you talk to me about tribes! Even if the Iceni do decide to cause trouble, there’s a whole bloody legion camped on their doorstep. And as for the Trinovantes the Colony has enough armed veterans to wipe their noses for them twice over That's why we put the beggars there to begin with.'

  'Yes, sir. I'm sorry, sir.'

  Paullinus drew a hand over his mouth. 'There's one more thing. I told you that the policy-makers at Rome have seriously considered abandoning Britain. Personally I think it would be a mistake. We have too much invested here to give the province up, and it has a great deal of potential. That is relevant. Your friend Homullus may be a little overzealous in carrying out his duties but he is acting for the emperor. Anything that will persuade that –' he stopped and went on more carefully 'persuade Nero Caesar to retain Britain as a viable proposition must be encouraged, and the presence of a major imperial estate here would go a long way towards doing it. Whatever the initial difficulties might be. Again, do you understand?'

  Severinus did not trust himself to answer. He nodded.

  'Good.' Paullinus's lips twisted. 'Note that I said "understand", not "approve". Neither your approval nor mine or that of any individual is relevant. Sometimes, my boy, a governor has to turn a blind eye to certain actions for the good of his province as a whole. That's not to say he approves of the actions themselves, only that other considerations must take precedence. That is another unpleasant fact.' He took a deep breath. 'Now. Have you followed what I have been saying, or would you prefer me to draw you a bloody picture?'

  'No, sir.'

  'Very well. That, you will be relieved to know, is the end of the lecture. Remember it, please. In your own interests.'

  'Yes, sir.'

  'You may now go back to your cohort and see them settled in. Don't forget what I said: you show great promise, and once you gain a proper sense of perspective I'm sure you'll go far.' Paullinus picked up another tablet from the pile on his desk and reached for his pen. 'You’re dismissed, Commander. Oh, and welcome to Segontium.'

  'Thank you, sir.' Severinus saluted and turned to leave.

  His teeth did not unclench until he had reached the Foxes' lines.

  'The man's insane!' Severinus hit his knee with his fist.

  'Of course he's insane.' Publius Clemens leaned over from where he was sitting on the camp stool in the lee of the tent flap and poured army-issue wine into both their cups. 'All governors are. It’s a prime qualification for the job.'

  'Don't bloody joke. He actually wants that bastard Homullus to encourage a revolt so the emperor can have Icenia as his own private park!'

  'Aye, well.' Clemens shrugged. 'Look at it his way, Marcus. The reasoning's fair enough as far as it goes. Nero can't see further than his own pocket, and if giving him Icenia to help finance a few more dinner parties is the price of keeping the rest of Britain then that's that. He's right about priorities, too. If we don't deal with the western tribes now, worse still if we abandon a campaign that’s well under way, we'll pay for it later.'

  'If there is a later.'

  'Marcus, we're talking days here,' he said. 'The army's ready. You and the Foxes are among the last to arrive, and the attack plans are already made. Once Paullinus has Mona the campaign's over. He isn't going to change things now, whatever happens. Not unless the whole east goes up. He's got too much to lose.'

  'The attack's that soon?'

  'It's that soon. We're expecting the final briefing any time now. You didn't see the barges when you docked? Normally they'd be sent back to Deva for supplies, but the governor's given orders for them to be kept.' He grinned. 'Us cavalry are all right, we can swim the horses over, but the squaddies'll have to be carried.'

  Severinus's brain was buzzing. Clemens was right; a quick campaign would change everything. Once Mona fell there would be no more need for Paullinus to keep a full army in the field; with the mountain tribes beaten and the Druids stamped out a single legion based here at Segontium would be garrison enough, and that would free the second Eagle and most of the auxiliaries, more than enough of a threat to nip any revolt in the bud. Perhaps the governor's balance would hold after all. Also there was the prospect of action; his first action, and in command of the Foxes.

  Despite himself he felt a rush of excitement.

  'How's old Modianus, by the way?' Clemens reached for the wine jug. 'He got you trained yet?'

  'More or less.'

  'Aye. He would have. Still, I'll bet the bugger's chewing nails at being left behind. Make sure you bring him back a crown for the Foxes' standard or he'll never forgive you.'

  'If I can I will. If not maybe he'd settle for a Druid's staff.'

  'Don't joke.' Clemens was suddenly serious. 'There'll be enough of those around when we go in, certainly. More than enough for my liking.'

  'Jupiter!' Severinus grinned and set down his winecup. 'You believe that the Druids have special powers?'

  'What I believe or don’t isn’t important.' Clemens's tone had not lightened. 'What is, is that the British do, absolutely. Worse still so do most of our lads, and that's really bad news. The governor's right there as well; we have to smoke these bastards out now and kill them where the natives can see it done, or the province will never be safe.' He held up the wine jug. 'Another cup? Then we can go over to the Thrushes' tents and I'll cut you in on a dice game.'

  'Not for me.' Severinus rose. 'I've the guard to inspect. Goodnight, Publius.'

  It was a clear night. As he walked back to the Foxes' tents, the constellation of Orion shone brightly in the south-west above the peaks of the Ordovican mountains.

  28.

  It was time to go back.

  With the thought came the movement. Dumnocoveros felt himself slip downwards, pulled by the golden thread which linked him to the body waiting beneath. As always the first touch of enveloping flesh brought with it revulsion and the temptation to go no further. It would have been easy to break the thread: a simple act of will would have allowed him to rise again, leaving his physical husk to stiffen and rot...

  Sighing, Dumnocoveros put the thought aside. Death was a privilege, not a right, and the gods would have little welcome for a soul who chose personal gratification over duty. Like all those trained to walk in the star-country he had learned that lesson early, and although the price was high it allowed no bargaining.

  The rejoining of soul and body was agonising. As feeling returned to muscles locked since sunset, he bit his lip until it bled. Then, slowly, he unhooked his right foot from where it lay across his left knee and straightened the leg. Carefully, gradually, as the pain lessened, he pushed himself upright. When he could walk again he stripped and washed in the pool at the grove's ce
ntre, then dressed himself in a new white woollen robe and braided his hair for the ceremony. The knife lay where he had set it the previous night, its blade, honed to razor-sharpness, now wet with dew. He tucked it into the cord of his robe.

  It was full dawn; the sun's disc shone like a gold coin between the bars of the easternmost trees. Dumnocoveros turned to face it, stretching his arms wide, soaking up the god like a sponge, allowing him to fill the empty shell that he had made of himself. Beyond the trees, the men were already waiting to bring him to the dun. They were painted for war and their hair was carefully braided. As he stepped from the circle of the grove they rose to their feet, fist to their brow, eyes nervously averted. None spoke: to speak to a Druid at this time meant death, not simply bodily death but the death of the soul. Turning, they moved ahead. Dumnocoveros followed.

  The host of the Iceni was waiting in front of the gates, filling the broad space and extending the length of the ramparts as far as he could see. It parted as he approached, the women and warriors on each side knuckling their foreheads as he passed.

  Boudica stood with her daughters on a platform in the gate's shadow. Round her neck was the massive torc of a king and war-leader, and she was wrapped in a cloak of thick wool dyed scarlet. Like the girls beside her she held herself straight, her eyes fixed on a point beyond the host. Dumnocoveros's guard halted, and he climbed the steps alone.

  The host was completely silent. Suddenly above Dumnocoveros's head a lark rose, pouring its song into the clouds. Dumnocoveros glanced upwards, then turned to face the folk.

  There was no sound now. The world was empty, waiting for the gods to fill it.

  He struggled as they brought him forward, a wild-eyed little man in a filthy tunic who threw himself from side to side between the warriors holding his arms. The steps were wide enough for three, and the guards mounted them without changing their grip. Dumnocoveros stepped back to allow the first to pass, drawing the knife from his sash as he did so.