The Horse Coin

by David Wishart

  'Only the one, sir. A youngster in Carus's century took a spear in the eye. Just cuts, otherwise.'

  'Fine. Well done.'

  'You did well yourself, sir. I reckon you can call yourself a Fox now, good and proper.'

  The battle had already been joined when Tigirseno reached it. The Wolves' barges were drawn up in the shallows beyond the mouth of the Afon River and their soldiers were streaming towards the shore like ants, in solid columns each behind its wolf-pelted leader holding his standard aloft. They had already smashed through the first ragged screen of defenders, and the sand-banks were littered with corpses and a jetsam of spears and shields.

  Tigirseno, his lungs bursting, felt the first hard sand beneath his feet and water splash against his calves. This time he felt no fear, only anger. He took a firm grip of his spear, bracing it for the thrust and shouting a war-cry that even his own ears could not hear above the din and the shouts of those around him. The tribesmen were massing now, flowing down from the dunes in their thousands, a screaming, solid wave that threatened to envelop the Wolves like a thrown cloak.

  From one of the barges, a trumpet blared. The columns halted, then spread from rear to front until they formed a double line of shields that matched the wave in length and curved beyond it. The trumpet sounded again, and the Wolves came on, more slowly this time, foot by foot.

  The human wave struck, taking Tigirseno with it.

  And suddenly, for Tigirseno, there was no ordered line of Wolves but a wall of shields and grim helmeted faces that became one shield and one face. He screamed at the face and thrust at the gap between shield-top and helmet-strap. The shield lifted, catching the spear-point within its rim, and then was thrust forward, brushing his own shield aside as easily as a leaf. The metal boss smashed into his unprotected ribs like a punch from an iron fist, and he screamed again, in pain this time, as the ribs snapped like dry twigs. He hardly felt the sword as it darted round the shield's right edge, in and out; and after the sword he felt nothing at all.

  Gaius Milvius, the Kite, legionary first class of the third cohort, Fourteenth Legion, stepped over the body of the young warrior and brought his shield back into line; just as – although he did not see them – the first of the cavalry which had crossed further up the strait fell on the shattered British from the rear and cut what remained of them to pieces. When Severinus and the Foxes arrived, the battle was already over and the killing proper had begun.

  30.

  The road to the dun, and the farmland on either side, was deserted. There were no carts and no people, nothing at all; even the animals had gone.

  Aper's sense of unease increased as he approached the gates. He knew he was acting stupidly, but he had no choice: the first of the refugees had arrived in the Colony the day before, carrying with them news of the revolt and of the approaching Iceni; small-time traders, packmen who had worked the villages near the Icenian border. Gauls and Spaniards mostly, foreigners certainly. There had been no natives among them, no Trinovantes. And if the Trinovantes were thinking of joining the revolt then only Brocomaglos could stop them.

  He could see the gateway now ahead of him. It was blocked across its width with hurdles and piles of drying gorse and whins. Aper slowed his horse to a walk. His eye caught a flicker of movement on the rampart to one side, and the glint of metal. Twenty feet from the barrier he stopped.

  'I've come to see your chief,' he said. There was no need to raise his voice. The silence might be total, but he was not alone: the feeling of eyes watching him was like ants on his skin.

  He waited for an answer, but there was none. Carefully, he lifted himself in the saddle.

  The spear came without warning, straight at his face. Aper wrenched his horse's head round, feeling the wind of it on his cheek as it flew past and buried itself in the ground behind him. Digging his heels into Pollux's side and crouching low, he rode for safety, expecting every moment to feel the bite of iron in his back.

  But there were no more spears; only, as he reined in to catch his breath, the silent dun behind him and a blackbird singing on a hawthorn branch.

  The council-room was unheated, and chilly. Through the open windows high in the wall opposite where he sat came the sounds of the market-place.

  The councilmen were grouped into two parties, veterans and merchants. The ex-army men, Hasta, Bassus, Columella and Radix, stood together in a tight knot by the door, grey-stubbled and hard-faced. All of them had fought in the last Icenian revolt, Hasta and Columella as centurions, Radix as a First Spear, Bassus, the only cavalryman, as decurion with his own Thracians. At least, Aper thought sourly, they would understand the situation; whether they would appreciate its gravity was another matter. He was under no illusions as to how veterans viewed the natives.

  The merchant group was more numerous: smooth, prosperous-looking men with well-shaven cheeks and well-laundered mantles. Aper ticked off the names in his mind: Uricalus and Vegisonius, who between them owned or controlled the biggest slice of the Colony's retail businesses. Fidus, the banker from Rome, smelling of barber's talc and money: a big fish, by his own reckoning, in a small pool. Agrippa, the only Spaniard, younger than the rest, whose family owned half the tanneries and shoe factories in Corduba and had sent him to open up a market in the new province. Natulis, whose cargo boats ran between the port and the Rhine mouth. Finally Carillus, the Sicilian horse-dealer and the outsider of the group, who grew his hair to hide a clipped ear and even in summer wore long-sleeved tunics to cover the slave-brand on his arm. Carillus, Aper knew, would take no part in the discussion. Despite the fortune that had paved his way onto the council, as an ex-slave he was beneath the others' social notice. He stood apart while the rest chatted together in low voices.

  Uricalus laid a hand on Vegisonius's shoulder and went over to the portable altar in the centre of the room.

  'If you'll be seated, gentlemen,' he said, 'then we'll make a start.'

  'Load of damn' nonsense,' Natulis, the oldest of the merchants, grunted as he lowered himself onto one of the benches. 'All for the sake of a pack of bloody riff-raff. Holy Augustus, I've a business to run.'

  There was a general murmur of agreement. Uricalus scattered incense onto the coals of the altar's small burner, murmured the obligatory prayers, and settled himself on the chairman's bench.

  'We're now in session, Commander,' he said. 'You asked for this meeting at extremely short notice, and we all have pressing business elsewhere. Perhaps you'd care to explain your reasons.'

  Aper looked at the bored faces around the room. He was already finding it difficult to hold on to his temper: only the veterans were giving him their full attention. Vegisonius was still in conversation with Agrippa. Fidus, the Roman banker, had a wax tablet on his knee and was making notes in the margin.

  'I would have thought they were obvious,' he said. 'With the Iceni less than four days' march from here the Colony's ruling body might like to consider defensive measures.' He paused. 'And as for taking up your valuable time, gentlemen, if you expect me to apologise for that then you're even bigger bloody fools than I thought you were.'

  The room was suddenly silent. Radix, sitting with the other army men to Aper's left, whistled softly and tunelessly between his teeth.

  Uricalus puffed himself up and cleared his throat. 'I really don't think, Commander –' he began.

  'Aye, I know,' Aper said. The cavalryman Bassus snorted, and Uricalus glared at him. 'None of you do. Or not with your heads anyway.'

  Uricalus's face froze. 'Commander Aper,' he said. 'If your sole purpose in coming here is to indulge in insults then I will adjourn this meeting forthwith.'

  'Very well.' Aper sat back; at least they were listening now. 'Let's get two things clear.' His eye moved to Natulis. 'First, the Iceni are not riff-raff. And this, the Mothers help us, is no damned nonsense. If you can get those two facts into your heads now, gentlemen, then perhaps we'll all live into old age.'

  Fidus put down his pen.

&n
bsp; 'Commander, I'm sorry, but really!' he said in his cultivated Roman drawl. 'Aren't you being just a touch alarmist? There've been problems with natives before, after all, it happens all the time, all over the empire. The Iceni may be causing a bit of a stir at present but they have nothing in their favour but numbers, and those are probably exaggerated. Native unrest is the army's concern, and they're quite capable of dealing with it, without our help.'

  'I agree.' Agrippa was twisting the heavy gold ring on his middle finger. 'We're civilians, Commander. Businessmen. It has nothing to do with us.'

  'Perhaps you'd like to explain that to Queen Boudica,' Aper said.

  'Oh, for the gods' sakes, man!' Fidus snapped.

  'Perspective,' Vegisonius grunted. He was examining his fingernails. 'That's what we need. No point running around like headless chickens just because a few hooligans start kicking over the traces. Cerialis will sort them out fast enough, don't you worry.'

  Aper turned on him. 'The Ninth's doing a full-time garrisoning job,' he said. 'It's spread thin enough already.'

  'Come, now.' Fidus looked down his straight Roman nose. 'You're exaggerating again, surely. The Coritani have given no trouble for years. They pose almost as little threat as our Trinovantes.' He smiled. 'Or would you include them, too, in your list?'

  'Aye, I would.'

  'Oh, now really!'

  'When was the last time you were up on the dun, Fidus?'

  Fidus gave him a blank look. 'My dear fellow,' he said, 'why on earth should I go there? The place is full of bloody natives.'

  Aper waited until the laughter had stopped. Then he said quietly, 'Then I suggest you don't start now. I tried it myself this morning and got a spear thrown at me for my trouble.'

  Shocked faces stared back at him. The room was totally silent. Then the storm broke.

  'But that's –' Uricalus began.

  'Jupiter's holy mother!' Bassus was on his feet. 'One of the monkeys attacked you, sir?'

  Aper had not moved. 'Aye,' he said. 'And now I've finally got your full attention perhaps we can discuss what to do about it.'

  Bassus glanced at the other soldiers. 'Give us an hour, Commander,' he said, 'We'll get some lads together and teach the bastards a lesson they won't forget.'

  'Too right,' Hasta growled.

  'Don't be a fool, man!' Aper snapped. 'Leave well alone! Either you'd find your head on a pole or you'd bring the whole tribe down on us. Probably both. Now sit down and act sensibly.'

  'Perhaps we should all start acting sensibly.' Fidus straightened a fold in his immaculate mantle. 'Aper, I appreciate what you're saying, I do indeed, but there are hotheads on the dun as much as anywhere else. One spear doesn't make for a rebellion, certainly not where the Trinovantes are concerned.'

  'The dun was closed off. There's a barricade across the road, and Brocomaglos has brought all his folk inside the ramparts. Doesn't that tell you something?'

  'Frankly no, except that Bassus is correct. We cannot ignore an attack on one of our most distinguished citizens. About that, at least, something should be done.'

  'Bloody right it should!' Bassus had sat down, but he was still scowling.

  'Fine.' Angry as he was, Aper kept his voice level. 'Then go ahead, Decurion. Only don't forget that the Iceni will be knocking at our door in a matter of days and that there're several thousand Trinovantian warriors up on the Dun who already hate our guts. I suggest you bear these facts in mind.'

  'Commander.' Fidus leaned back. 'Your argument might be valid if the Colony were defenceless, but we have two thousand armed and experienced veterans here. That, together with the auxiliary cohort stationed at the port, is almost half a full legion. Trinovantes or not, it would be sheer suicide for the Iceni to attack us even if they were considering it.' He glanced at Bassus. 'I'm right, am I not?'

  'Aye.' Bassus turned to Aper. 'I'm sorry, sir. I can't back you on this. From all accounts not one in four of them's armed with anything better than a knife, and they've brought their women and kids with them. You know what that means. Numbers is nothing. They're not an army, they're an effing rabble. Our lads could take them without breaking sweat, even without General Cerialis's help.'

  'I agree.' Radix, the First Spear, bunched his huge fist on his chair arm. 'The Iceni are no problem, sir. You've fought them yourself, they're brave enough but they've no discipline. And like Bassus says with the women and kids along they're a rabble, not an army. Cerialis'll go through them like a spade through a rotten beetroot. As for the monkeys on the Dun they'd fall down if we so much as fart.'

  There were several chuckles. The Spaniard Agrippa coughed and put his hand to his mouth.

  'Radix!' Uricalus snapped. 'Your language, please! This is a council chamber, not a wine shop!'

  'Man's got a point, though.' Natulis was scowling. 'If you ask my opinion, Uricalus, we're wasting our bloody time here. Fidus summed the thing up right at the start. The Iceni are the army's concern. Let Cerialis deal with them; that’s his job. Once they're beat the Trinovantes'll come to heel soon enough. They're fence-sitters, they always have been.'

  'Hear hear.' Agrippa was nodding. 'Come on, Uricalus, call the meeting closed and let's all go home.'

  Uricalus placed his hands palm down on the table. 'Is that the general feeling?' He paused. 'Very well. Commander? With your permission?'

  Aper stared round the ring of closed, hostile faces. Aye, well, he thought, I've done my best. It's out of my hands now.

  'Perhaps I can propose a small compromise,' Fidus said. 'That we ask London for some supporting troops. I'm sure Procurator Catus would be sympathetic, and it's the least that gentleman can do in the circumstances. He is partly responsible for this mess, after all.'

  'Jupiter, Fidus!' Vegisonius had already got up. 'Why should we bother Catus? We've got men enough already, and Cerialis will settle the beggars' hash long before they get here.'

  Natulis hitched irritably at his mantle. 'Oh, let Fidus have his way, Vegisonius,' he said. 'It might make the bastards up the hill think twice before they throw any more spears.' He got to his feet. 'Now I don't know what your immediate plans are, gentlemen, but I've a shipment due in this afternoon, and time is precious.'

  'A moment, Natulis,' Uricalus said. 'The motion stands. Your votes, please.' He looked round the room. There was a perfunctory raising of hands. 'That's agreed, then. I'll put the request to the Procurator on your behalf. The meeting is adjourned.'

  Aper stood up. He had never felt so angry, or so helpless.

  'Thank you, gentlemen,' he said quietly. 'For your time and your indulgence. And the Mothers rot you all.'

  He left without waiting for a reply.

  31.

  Petilius Cerialis rose in the saddle and massaged his aching buttocks; the day and a half's journey from Dercovium had rubbed more than his temper raw. He'd cut it fine, too bloody fine, that was becoming more obvious by the hour. Still, the beggars couldn't be far away, and once his scouts had them in sight it would be all over bar the shouting. He eased himself back down onto the cushioned leather and glanced over his shoulder at the column of infantry, stretching from the cavalry's rear half way to the bridge and posting station at Duroliponte three miles behind him. Three thousand men; all he could spare without stripping the outlying garrisons but still more than half his Eagle. More than a match for the rabble ahead. His jaw tightened against the leather strap of his helmet. They’d pay, by the sweet gods they would! And after the battle...well, victories got a man noticed. He might even claim to have saved the province; Jupiter knew that might be true enough with Paullinus off in Mona. The governor was a fair man by his lights. He wouldn't grudge Cerialis his due, and he'd have laurels enough. Then, after his tour of duty expired, it would be back to Rome, a consulship and eventually a province of his own. Not Britain, though. Never Britain.

  Life was full of opportunities. The trick was to grasp them. He leaned back gingerly against the saddle horns.

  'Scout coming, sir.' His
aide pointed. Cerialis's eyes followed the man's finger.

  He was riding hard; a single horseman in an earth-stained jerkin and leathers, galloping across the open ground between the road and the trees a hundred yards to the left.

  Cerialis reined in as the man pulled up and saluted.

  'We've got them, sir,' he said. 'About ten miles off to the south-east.'

  'Numbers?' Cerialis felt the first stirrings of excitement.

  'Can't say exactly, sir. They're too well spread out.' The scout's horse fidgeted, and he pulled it in hard. 'Foraging, most likely. But I'd reckon eighty, a hundred thousand.'

  'Sweet Jupiter!' The aide, a smart young tribune, had edged his horse up on the man's other side. 'That's practically the whole bloody tribe!'

  'All the better, Gaius, lad.' Cerialis had taken off his helmet and was wiping the sweat from his face and neck. It was almost noon, and the April sun was hot enough for midsummer. 'It'll save us trouble later.' His lips tightened. 'Ten miles, you say?'

  'Aye, sir,' the scout said. 'Moving south. But you're level with the last of them now, and they're going slow.'

  'Terrain?'

  'The woods clear further on, sir. Five miles down the road there's a big stretch of open country to the east. I reckon if you press on hard and cut across where the road starts to bend you'll catch them nicely. But we haven't checked that way yet, sir. Perhaps it'd be safer to wait until –'

  'We're in a hurry, man. We don't have time to waste on technicalities.'

  'Yes, sir.' The scout frowned. 'But that's a lot of ground not to know about, and being as to how you're in marching order –'

  Cerialis flushed. 'Mars's holy balls, soldier, are you trying to tell me my job?' he snapped.

  'No, sir.' The man stiffened in the saddle. 'Of course not, sir. But –'

  'They're a pack of goatherds from the sticks, man, not Hannibal and his bloody elephants! Dismissed!' As the scout brought his fist up in the salute and rode off he turned to his aide. 'Tribune. Orders to infantry commanders. Double the pace, column to stay tight. Cavalry to move forward at a canter.' He smiled suddenly: the tribune's father was a prominent senator, and a drinking partner of the emperor's: an acquaintance to cultivate. 'You're a hunting man, Gaius, I believe?'