The Encircling Sea

by Adrian Goldsworthy

  Probus was a man of medium height who seemed a lot taller until you stood beside him. Both the king and queen of the Darinoi topped him by several inches, but it seemed that they had met him before and he greeted them warmly. As Crispinus had said, Probus still had the air of a soldier, his movements neat and controlled, his long tunic hitched up high by a decorated belt, and his hair kept short. There was an old scar above his right eye, and others on his shins and arms. He spoke clear and precise Latin, the sort learned from a tutor, with only the odd word hinting at a Rhineland accent. His face was round, his frame big, like a lot of men with some Germanic blood. For all his careful manners and courtesy, it was when he had come in from the estate, smelling of damp wool and sweat, that he seemed most natural and, even when still, there was a sense of restless energy and sheer force about him.

  Ferox did not trust him, and was not sure why. Genialis was with his father, urged into a lifeless speech of thanks to the centurion for saving him. It was enough to content the father, but the youth was always on the edge of things, looking sullen and resentful, except when he saw the queen, when his expression changed to one of blatant desire. On the second day, Ferox went to the stables to check on Bran and the horses. As he was coming through the door, he heard a shriek of pain. In one of the boxes, Genialis lay on the ground, with the Novantian boy on top of him, bending one of his arms back so that the youth shrieked again. Bran noticed him, twisted the arm once more, and then sprang up. Genialis, who was almost twice his size, pushed himself up, darted a look of hatred and then ran away, not saying a word. Bran nodded, leaned over to pick up a brush, and went back to cleaning Frost.

  That afternoon, Ferox took the boy and his two horses over to the fort. It lay on the rise above the beach, an old temporary camp that had over time been kept in use, even though it was laid out for a mixed force a little smaller than a cohort. Detachments from various cohorts spent a year or six months here, and sometimes even legionaries came to the base, but a few months ago all of them had been posted back to their parent units to take part in the legate’s planned manoeuvres. Apart from a small number of clerks and men to perform essential fatigues, the fort had lain empty until a week ago, when Aelius Brocchus brought five turmae of his ala Petriana to act as escort to the Hibernians. There were also twenty Batavian horsemen to accompany Cerialis, and the two prefects had declined Probus’ hospitality. Instead, they and their families occupied the praetorium. It was a good deal smaller than the one at Vindolanda, and when a slave led him out into the central garden it was filled with excited noise.

  Young Aelius was eight, thin and gangling, and seemed to be the leader, although Flavius was just a few months younger and did his best to keep up. The boy had flame-red hair, far more vivid in colour than his father, but otherwise the face was a smaller version of the prefect. Both boys were crouching over the central pond, using nets to fish out the leaves floating in the water, and because of this Ferox might not have noticed the slight crook in Flavius’ back unless he had been looking for it. Two smaller children, a girl and another boy, kept trying to push their way through and help, but were resisted with much splashing and merriment. The younger boy had a squeal that echoed around the courtyard. Two nurses were doing their best to stop the children from getting soaked. One of them bounded forward, when she thought the little boy was too close to the edge, but her foot slipped on the stones edging the sunken pond and she fell headlong into it with a great slash. The two oldest boys laughed so much that they had to lie down.

  ‘Welcome, Flavius Ferox.’ Sulpicia Lepidina had been sitting on a bench, reading a letter, but rose to greet her guest. ‘It is good to see you.’ She was in pale blue, one of her favourite colours, without a cloak for the afternoon was warm. Her golden hair was pinned back in a bun, the simplicity of the style only adding to the delicate beauty of her face. As she stood, the bright light of the afternoon sun fell on her, shining so brightly that neither dress nor under-tunic could hide the darker lines of her limbs and body.

  ‘Indeed, yes, it is good to see an old friend.’ Aelius’ mother Claudia Severa sat, rocking a baby in her arms. She had not looked up, and was making faces and little noises as she calmed the child. Ferox had not noticed her. ‘He really has your eyes.’ Claudia Severa always had a pleasant, gentle expression on her round face, its open kindness making her an attractive woman. Now she smiled up at her friend with great fondness.

  ‘They may go dark,’ Sulpicia Lepidina said. ‘Are you well, Ferox?’

  ‘Quite well, thank you, my lady. I trust that you are both well, along with your families.’

  ‘We are indeed. This is scarcely Baiae, but it is nice to be close to the sea.’

  ‘Pity the water is so cold,’ Claudia Severa lifted the baby to her shoulder and patted his back. ‘Come on,’ she said encour­ag­ingly and was rewarded with a remarkably loud belch.

  Sulpicia Lepidina wrinkled her nose in shock distaste. ‘I am tempted to say that you can tell that he is a man, if I did not know that little girls can be quite as vulgar in their emissions.’ She noticed that Ferox was staring at the child and his head of thick black hair. She smiled.

  ‘I think he’s ready to nap,’ Claudia Severa said. ‘Do you want him inside or out?’

  ‘Inside, I think. It will start getting colder soon and we don’t want him getting a chill.’

  Claudia Severa stood up. ‘You keep an eye on these other rogues. And possibly our guest as well! I shall make sure the girl settles him properly.’ She carried the baby away, his head resting on her shoulder. His eyes were closed by the time she walked past Ferox.

  ‘Now, what can I do for you, centurion?’ Sulpicia Lepidina’s blue eyes sparkled.

  ‘I come to ask a favour, lady.’

  She smiled again, raising an eyebrow. ‘Indeed?’ The sun glinted on one of the brooches fastening her dress. Ferox stared at it, and the smooth pale skin of her shoulder and neck. The lady coughed politely. Behind him there was another shriek and the sound of more splashing.

  ‘I was wondering whether the Lord Cerialis would let a servant boy and a pair of horses join your household in the fort?’

  ‘Certainly.’ Cerialis appeared at one of the entrances to the garden. ‘That will be no burden at all, and they are welcome.’ He grinned, coming forward. ‘It is good to see you, Ferox. For all that we owe you this is a slight thing.’

  ‘Yes,’ his wife agreed. ‘Although I was about to reprove the centurion for neglect. It is more than a year since he last saved me from ambush or murder. He is slipping.’

  Cerialis laughed. ‘Well, do not worry, my dear, he saved me a couple of weeks ago, so he is keeping in training.’

  ‘If I remember rightly, my lord, you were doing pretty well before I turned up. I saw you jump that barricade.’

  The prefect was pleased at the compliment. ‘Well, we were all there. Pity we couldn’t catch them.’ The chase had found no more than a couple of warriors who must have died of their wounds and been left behind. ‘I fear that the Novantae will be back and Brocchus agreed. We will mount regular patrols along the coastline for as long as we are here.’

  ‘That is wise, my lord.’

  ‘We thought so.’

  ‘May I ask why you wish us to take your man and your horses?’ Sulpicia Lepidina asked. ‘Is the stabling not good at the villa?’

  ‘It is fine, my lady, but the company is less conducive.’

  She gave a slight nod. ‘Genialis?’

  ‘That little shit!’ Cerialis hissed the words. ‘My apologies.’ He looked at the children still playing around the pool. ‘I do not think they heard.’

  ‘He stayed in our house at Vindolanda for two days,’ the lady explained. ‘It was two days more than he was welcome. He has an unfortunate manner, and an even more unfortunate tongue.’

  ‘It wasn’t his tongue that bothered me,’ Cerialis cut in, anger flaring again. ‘That little…’ He paused, controlling himself. ‘That lad treated our slaves as i
f they were his, and if he treats his own that way, then it is only a wonder that he has not been murdered. If it were not for his father I would have…’ He glanced at his wife, whose expression suggested that she had already heard this and much more. ‘I assume he has taken a dislike to your slave.’

  ‘He is not a slave, but a freeborn boy in my service. But, yes, and my boy gave him a beating in return.’

  Cerialis brightened. ‘Then he is truly welcome.’ He chuckled happily. ‘Wonderful news. Still, I am sure you are right and the little tick will return with some of his own slaves to repay the compliment.’ A soldier appeared, stopping at the entrance and saluting. ‘I must go, I am afraid. Flavius,’ he called. ‘Try not to drown everyone!’

  ‘He dotes on the children,’ Sulpicia Lepidina said after her husband had gone. ‘All of them.’ The same maid slipped again and ended up back in the water.

  The lady came close, for there was no else in the little garden. ‘I hope you like the look of the child? He has your hair, I think, although I assure everyone that he takes after my father. He has been grey for twenty years, so I doubt anyone here would remember that his hair was more brown than black.’

  Ferox did not know what to say. She was close, and he longed to reach out and hold her closer still, just as he feared that anyone seeing them now would be sure to suspect something.

  ‘My husband does not have the slightest idea that he is not the father.’ She was whispering, and her eyes flicked around to make sure that there was no one paying attention, before they stared up into his. ‘He came to me one night, just a few days after that Samhain. It was the first time for many months and he has not come back since then. In truth he was drunk, but so drunk that he does not know that he did not really perform. Since then he has gone back to the slaves or his whores. Genialis angered him because he struck one of his favourites.’

  Sulpicia Lepidina gave a thin smile at his surprise to hear her speak so bluntly. Then she sighed. ‘He already had three children, enough to satisfy the law, and did not want the cost of raising another one, but when I told him of my condition he was pleased. I think it flattered his vanity that he was so potent. Men are…’ She did not finish the thought. Her eyes stared into his, imploringly. ‘I have missed you.’ They did not touch, but the words were like a caress and his skin seemed to tingle.

  Ferox felt a fool, and wondered whether she believed him to be uncaring, deliberately avoiding her. ‘He is the most wonderful thing I have ever seen,’ he said, and saw relief in her eyes. ‘I have stayed away because it is dangerous, and I could not bear the thought that I brought harm to you or to young Marcus.’

  ‘And to you.’

  ‘That does not matter. It has not mattered for many years.’

  Something tugged at his tunic. He looked down, to see the smallest boy clutching at him. The other three children hung back, clearly believing that the licence granted to the smallest would not extend to them. One of the maids stood with the main group. The other was in the pond, skirts lifted high as she squeezed the wool to wring out the water.

  ‘Please, sir, would you help us lift the bucket?’ They had filled a bronze pail with water and it now stood in the pond.

  ‘Of course, young man.’ Ferox did as he was bidden. Claudia Severa reappeared and laughed to see the centurion playing with the children. He was soon very wet.

  ‘I had better go,’ he said, when the mothers declared that it was time to dry off and get ready for their food. Both ladies wished him well. Privatus, the head of the slave household, had already sent someone to lead Bran and the horses away, so he strolled back the quarter-mile to the villa. There was a ship in harbour, unloading supplies to be carried by wagon up to the legate’s main force. Gulls swarmed in the sky above the vessel, which made him think they were carrying food of some sort. A warship was further out to sea, riding under sail with its oars drawn in. The sail was dyed a blue-grey, and the hull painted in the same colour. Ferox wondered whether they could arrange for the Hibernians to take a look at the ship, for he doubted that they ever been on board a trireme.

  *

  Crispinus liked the idea. ‘I shall write to the legate. Three tri­remes from the classis are due to arrive next week, so there ought to be an opportunity.’

  ‘There was one off-shore today.’

  The tribune frowned. ‘Really. I did not know any ships were around. Oh well, these sailors do dislike telling anyone else what they are doing – and use words no one else understands even when they do! Sometimes I feel they do not think that they are part of the army like the rest of us.’

  There was supposed to be a dinner that evening in honour of their royal guests, but Epotsorovidus was ill and the Hibernians remained in their rooms. Crispinus was impatient, although there was nothing that could be done. The next morning the king was recovered, and the guests were taken to the parade ground outside the fort. Brocchus had prepared a Hippaka Gymnasia, the display of horsemanship and weapons handling that was the speciality of the cavalry alae. One turma performed first, in polished armour and helmets. They began by throwing light training javelins at posts set up on different sides of the square. Then the best men did the same drills with full-weight spears.

  The next turma arrived in a cavalcade of colour and noise. The men wore brightly coloured tunics, decorated armour, and silvered helmets with masks covering their faces and shaped like characters from the mimes. Long yellow crests rippled in the wind, and two men carried dracones, standards fashioned like the open mouths of dragons, which whistled as they galloped, sucking in air and making the striped fabric tubes attached to them shake and hiss. The horses wore chamfroms of leather, bright with studs and with bulbous domes dotted with holes over the eyes, making them look like the helmets of gladiators. Everything was done fast and with precision, the riders split into two teams who weaved across the whole parade ground, taking turns to lob blunt-headed javelins against the other team’s shields.

  The Hibernians sat cross-legged to watch and openly showed their delight.

  ‘Pity we haven’t a water organ,’ Brocchus said. ‘It’s even better to music.’

  ‘Never mind, they’ll hear all that when we take them to the games.’ Neratius Marcellus was staging a festival at Luguvallium, partly for the entertainment of the Hibernians but mainly as some relief from work and training for his soldiers. There would be beast fights, gladiators and executions. The Red Cat and his brother, who had survived his fever, were among the prisoners to be killed as a warning to others. Ferox was determined to try to speak to the brothers one more time.

  ‘It will be a grand show, my lords,’ Probus assured them. He was supplying the gladiators for the fights, for it appeared that he owned a school in Londinium. ‘None of your rural rubbish. We’re bringing up some prime men – Falx among them.’

  ‘The Dacian?’ Crispinus said. ‘Fights as a Samnite? Yes, I saw him last summer. Could hardly believe the speed in such a big man. Surprising enough when a Samnite wins at all, but he is lethal.’

  ‘I cannot remember when I last saw a really good fight.’ Brocchus sounded wistful, and soon the three men were deep in a conversation about fighters past and present. Ferox had little interest in the subject. He could admire skill with a sword, but there was a pointlessness about gladiatorial fights that depressed him. On the other hand, he enjoyed the display of the ala Petriana, even if it was rather theatrical, for at least these men would fight real enemies, and when Epotsorovidus asked a question about the draco standards, he was happy to answer, even though it brought back memories of Dacians and Sarmatians hunting his men as they tried to escape from the great disaster under Fuscus. They went on for a long time, before Probus announced that he must leave to help with the arrangements for the games.

  That night the dinner was held, and he had spent time explaining to their guests how the Romans dined reclining on couches. Neither of the kings were enthusiastic, but they were guests and obeyed. Brigita wore the dress she had been
given, striding into the dining room like a tiger with a pink ribbon around its neck. The kings lay on either side of her on the couch, both awkward and uncomfortable, switching from one elbow to the other as they twisted and turned. She lay flat, pushing up on both arms whenever she wanted, so that the front of her dress hung very low. Three warriors stood behind them, although in deference to their hosts none carried weapons.

  ‘An under-tunic might have been wise,’ Sulpicia Lepidina whispered to her husband. Ferox was on the couch with them, looking straight at the Hibernians – and sometimes trying not to look straight at the queen.

  Crispinus, Brocchus and Claudia Severa occupied the central couch, and the tribune gave a little speech of welcome, which Ferox translated, doing his best to fix on the eyes of the Hibernians and not let his gaze drop. The kings made noises of gratitude, while the queen just glared at him, head cocked to one side. All the while the yellow silk sagged down, exposing much of her breasts. Her skin was pale, yet clearly saw a lot of the sun for it was covered in freckles. Between her bosoms was a tiny scar, straight and neat as if it came from a blade and was deliberate.

  The Romans spoke during the meal, and when Crispinus gestured or he felt it appropriate, Ferox put the thoughts into the language of the tribes, speaking slowly because the Hibernian dialect differed in many ways.