Crispinus appeared to be about to make another joke until he thought better of it.
‘What happened to him?’ Ferox asked.
‘He was murdered, his throat cut from ear to ear. It was very messy, and of course he was the one who normally did the cleaning.’
‘Inconsiderate,’ Crispinus said, but Ferox was more interested in when this had happened.
‘In Londinium,’ Ovidius explained. ‘Barely a few days after we arrived in the province. There was a break-in to the mansio where we were staying. Yet nothing was taken and he was the only one hurt. Everyone else swore that they saw nothing.
‘Now perhaps you will tell me that I am a poet and that I am letting my imagination run away with me, but in the last week I have been thinking. When the mutiny occurred the pay chest of the cohort was full, because the centurion had been withholding their pay. Apart from their salaries there was most of the viaticum each man had been given on enlistment, and that should be in gold, should it not?’
‘Yes,’ Ferox said. When a soldier joined the army he was given road money, three gold aurei, the equivalent of seventy-five silver denarii, as a bounty and to help pay the expenses he would incur. Even conscripts were given this gift in the name of the emperor.
‘On top of that there was the convoy bringing the pay to the legion. All in all, there must have been hundreds of thousands of denarii, mostly in silver, and none of it has ever been seen again.’
‘Probus,’ Crispinus said, snapping his fingers just as Ferox came to the same conclusion. ‘He was the leader who abandoned the others.’
Ovidius smiled. ‘Perhaps we are all poets. But it did occur to me that all that money would have been a wonderful start for a man going into business. My guess is that he hid it, went for a while to where he was not known, took a new name, and did not come to reclaim it for years.’
Crispinus sat up straight. ‘The boy,’ he said.
‘Young Genialis is of an age to be the son of that priestess. Probus does say his wife died giving birth to his son, so maybe that is what happened. It would make the lad part of that sacred bloodline, so that might explain why they want him.’
‘It may also be chance, and I thought no more of it until these last days, but Probus was among the town councillors, merchants and other good folk welcoming the legate when we reached Londinium. I wonder if he saw Felix and recognised him. There is no proof, of course, none at all, but it does fit together very neatly.’
‘It does,’ Crispinus agreed, nodding his head several times. ‘It truly does. We should inform the legate.’ He caught Ovidius’ expression and smiled. ‘I am sorry. May I presume he already knows? Good. It would have been nice to have to have been told about all this.’
‘That is why I am here.’
‘And to see whales.’
‘And to see whales and monsters and the wonders of Hibernia. The legate felt that it is better not to broadcast the story – wheat always flies further than the sower intends, as they say – so I have waited until there was a chance for some privacy. We still have little more than suspicion.’
‘It all sounds right,’ Crispinus said.
‘Assuming that the trireme carrying the Harii was not lost, and left the others deliberately,’ Ferox said, trying the idea out as he spoke, ‘then they must have settled somewhere.’
‘My guess would be an island of their own,’ Ovidius says. ‘I read that there are many of them off the coast of Caledonia.’
‘Yes, that seems likely. So at first there were a couple of hundred at most. Some were women, so they may have had boy children and a few of them would be old enough to fight by now. The rest would be older, like that corpse we discovered on the beach.’
‘Why reappear now?’ Crispinus asked the question without looking at either of the others, and Ferox was not sure that he was expecting an answer. No one spoke for a few minutes. ‘Who can say,’ the tribune said at last. ‘Perhaps they did not learn of Probus and Genialis until recently?’
‘That is assuming that our guesses are right,’ Ovidius said, sounding even more like a schoolmaster than usual. ‘We may be quite wrong and it is all just chance. Oh yes, there is one thing I forgot to say. Felix said that the Harii prefer to fight at night. They wear dark clothes, carry black shields and paint their skin black. Curiously enough, only the other day I read the same thing in Cornelius Tacitus’ book on the people of Germania.’ Ovidius chuckled. ‘The mutinous cannibal and the famous orator in agreement.’ His laugh became deeper and his thin body shook with mirth.
‘It really does all fit,’ Crispinus said. ‘Although at the moment I am not sure how it helps us.’
‘Do not trust Probus,’ Ferox said.
‘I never have,’ the tribune replied.
‘Yes, but if we are right, he is an even more dangerous man than we thought.’
XV
THE PLACE OF the kings was vast, stretching for miles between great monuments raised long ago. Several tracks led towards the sacred hill at the heart of it all, and as they came closer the land filled with people. Most were warriors, following their chieftains, who in turn followed petty and greater kings. They wore bright tunics, tartan cloaks, helmets of polished bronze with high nodding plumes and here and there shirts of mail or scale. Many rode in chariots, first dozens, then scores and finally hundreds thundering across rolling fields awash in a sea of wildflowers. Ferox had never seen so many, or such fine teams of ponies, even though his own tribe had dearly loved such things.
‘It is like the Iliad sprung to life before our eyes,’ Ovidius said in genuine wonder. Philo was close enough to overhear the comment and showed obvious delight. Ferox was often surprised at how well read the young slave was. All the more because they had spent little time in cities or towns, let alone near libraries. Bran was simply wide-eyed, for the Novantae were not a numerous people and never gathered in such numbers.
‘It must have been like this in the old days at home,’ Vindex said softly. ‘Before the Romans came and brought us peace, of course.’ He had spoken in Latin, but did not bother to hide his wistfulness. This was a world of proud kings and folk who seemed much like his own kin. No doubt his father, or certainly his grandfather, had seen great gatherings of all the Brigantes, which must have looked much the same.
‘Were the old days always so noisy?’ Crispinus asked and grinned. Alongside the chariots and the warriors walking on foot there were trumpeters everywhere, carrying the same tall bronze trumpets they had seen at Aballava. The long curving tube came apart, so that it could be screwed up as one great curve or as an S-shape. Either way the musicians played long, throbbing notes, each taking turns to lead the group so that the sound never ceased.
It was like seeing an army gathering, save that none of the warriors carried spears or standards. A lot of men had scabbarded swords at their belts, and all carried brightly painted shields, but there was a truce for three times seven days and for the same number of miles in all directions for this festival and the raising of a new high king. Much of the time Epotsorovidus and Brennus rode in their chariots on either side of Crispinus, and bands of warriors had come to swell their following so that the Romans were part of a much bigger procession, thousands strong.
Epotsorovidus said little, his already meek spirit shattered by his wife’s abduction. If word had come asking for something in ransom, then he had not shared it with his new Roman allies. From what Brennus said and he overheard from others, Ferox suspected that without Brigita by his side, Epotsorovidus was now unlikely to be named as high king. That in itself might explain her abduction, and perhaps the Harii or Usipi, or whatever the men of the night now called themselves, were in league with a rival.
The different approach roads merged together close to where a great mound rose out of the plain, surrounded with a grassy rampart and ditch. It was a lot like many he had seen all over Britannia, although bigger than most. Men said that they were tombs of great kings of long ago or of gia
nts, and were filled with silver and gold, but bound by terrible curses. He did not know if this was true or when they were built, but he had never seen so many close together, for others lay across the plains ahead of them, leading to the biggest of all, unless it was a real hill, even though it seemed very round and was surrounded with a similar rampart.
Even Crispinus seemed to sense something of the awe of this place, which did not stop him cursing at how long everything took. At the spot where the main paths met, lines of men dressed as animals danced to the beat of wooden drums and the blasts of the great horns. After two hours of this, a black bull and a white calf were led round and round in a circle for some time, before they were sacrificed by priests.
‘Druids?’ Crispinus whispered to Ferox.
‘Like druids,’ was the best answer he could give. He did not know why, but it had been many generations since men from Hibernia had travelled to Mona to learn the lore of the druids.
It was a little after noon, but they went no further that day and camped near the place of sacrifice. Ferox guessed that there were more than twenty thousand people in tents or lying under the stars, with the scent of the burned sacrificial animals mingling with that of many meals being prepared. He saw Vindex sniff in distaste.
‘I know,’ Ferox said, his mind dragged back to the place where Claudius Super and his men had died, ‘I know. But you have to eat.’
Probus was already known to quite a number of the chieftains and kings. He explained that he had twice sailed to Hibernia on trading ventures. ‘Horses,’ he replied when Crispinus asked what it was he wanted from the tribes. ‘You only have to look around you to see how fine their horses and ponies are. I sell mounts to the army, and this looked to be a good place to pick up plenty of fine animals at a very good price. They don’t really use money much over here, but the kings will give you a lot for wine, spices and silks.’
Half a dozen leaders came to visit Probus that evening. He rose to greet each one, led them back to sit with him around a campfire and eat roasted meat. Each chieftain was accompanied by a warrior, while Falx, the gladiator, stood silent and motionless behind the merchant, a gladius on his hip. He was taller than Ferox and a good deal broader, with the massive arms and legs that came from years of weight training of the sort only done by wrestlers and gladiators. His nose had been broken more than once, one of his ears was a mangled remnant, and there were scars on all his visible skin. The man almost never spoke, and rarely let any noise escape his surprisingly small and thin lips. When Probus gave an order it was instantly obeyed. With anyone else he was slow to the point of surliness. The falx was a two-handed sword favoured by the Dacians, curving forward like a sickle and ending in a heavy point. A skilled warrior could lop off a man’s arm, head, or even both legs with a single blow, and the name was an apt one. Falx’s eyes were small, with all the emotion of well-wrought iron. He was a weapon, and nothing else, and he was in the hands of Probus.
Ferox had been surprised when he learned that the gladiator was to accompany them, and even more surprised that once they were on the ship there was no sign of Probus being held against his will – or being closely protected for his own good, as Neratius Marcellus might have said.
‘He wants his son back,’ Crispinus assured him when Ferox raised the matter. ‘As I said weeks ago, the gods alone know why, but that’s a father’s love for you. He will do anything to bring the boy home.’
‘Anything?’
‘Be surprised if he is keen on sacrificing himself, especially given all that Ovidius has said. Doubt these pirates have anything too pleasant planned for him. He’ll try to free Genialis and get away, and I doubt that he will care too much about the prefect and his wife if it comes down to a choice. With his sort of money, he can always disappear somewhere in the empire, or even beyond it.’
‘What is to stop him slipping away from us, my lord?’
‘Too soon for that. Reckon he will want our protection for a while yet, so I should not think that he will wander off until word arrives about the exchange. Even then, he might decide that he is better off sticking with us and trying to plan his way out at the last minute. I’d be much obliged if you kept a close eye on him. At least that great lump of a fighter shouldn’t be able to vanish too easily.’
Ferox told the Red Cat and his brother to watch the trader. The order did not seem to surprise them and they simply nodded, not asking for an explanation.
‘Do we kill him if he runs?’ Segovax asked. He was sitting down, rubbing his leg. The break had healed well given the time, although he limped a little.
‘Not unless I tell you to. Just make sure you know where he has gone.’
*
The great gathering did not go far on the next day, simply advancing to a grove of oak trees. There were more dances, and a sacrifice of a stallion and a mare. The trumpets rarely stopped, and the different leaders set up another camp and cooked another meal. As the day wore on they drank beer from barrels and wine from amphorae.
People were always moving around the camps and after a while Ferox began to see a pattern. Individual warriors went to other encampments, greeting men they knew with simple verses of praise, for everyone seemed to know everyone else. Later some of the chieftains did the same thing, but they went to men of similar rank and the compliments were fuller and took far longer.
On the third day they processed along a path lined with holly bushes, which led past another mound. The priests appeared again, although this time there were no dances. Three ewes and three sows were sacrificed by an ancient woman dressed wholly in black. Crispinus glanced at Ferox when he saw her, but the centurion shook his head because he was sure that her dark garb was coincidence and not anything to do with the Harii.
That afternoon and evening the senior chiefs started to visit each other, each one accompanied by a bard to sing praises of his master and the men he visited. A little after sunset a few of the kings rose from their own campfires and went out. Brennus was one of the first to do this, avoiding everyone’s gaze as he strode through the camp, followed by a young bard. A priest was waiting for him and led him away. Epotsorovidus sat by a fire, staring into the flames and said nothing, but he seemed to shrink in on himself.
‘Ah, this is politics,’ Crispinus said softly to Ferox. ‘That is something I understand.’
An hour later a king came to them. Epotsorovidus looked up, hunger in his eyes, but the ruler, his bard and one of the priests ignored him and went to where Crispinus sat on a folding camp chair. The praises took a while, and Ferox did his best to translate the flowery language. He was surprised at how well they had prepared verses about the young tribune, praising his birth, courage, prowess in battle, and his hair, which marked wisdom exceptional in one so young. A second king arrived after the first had left, and this one’s bard even knew the name of Crispinus’ father and praised him as a great warrior and leader of warriors.
‘They do not ask for anything,’ Crispinus said afterwards. ‘So I presume that it is the visit that is important. Like a candidate being seen with influential men in the Forum. It is a mark of support.’
Ferox had spoken to some of the chieftains and felt that he understood. ‘It takes a long time. Those who choose to call on another show their willingness to support him. The more visitors a leader has, then the greater his influence and importance. Everyone is watching what is going on. Usually they predict whose opinion matters, but sometimes there are surprises and it shifts. As one leader’s prestige rises, then the rest must decide whether they will adhere to him or try to build up another to counter him.’
‘As I said, politics.’ Crispinus smiled. ‘It is not so very different. Brennus has gone to call on someone else, so that means he does not expect our friend over there to become high king. And so far no one has come to visit Epotsorovidus. Is he finished?’
‘My lord, he was finished the moment he lost his wife.’
‘She was the steel in the partnership, there i
s no doubt of that,’ Crispinus said.
‘That is true, my lord. But how can a man who cannot keep his own woman keep a kingdom? Let alone rule over other kings and tribes?’
‘Poor devil, no wonder he looks so down.’ The tribune’s sympathy did not extend beyond words. ‘So if he is no use to us, how do I judge where our support will be best placed? Is the matter already decided?’
Ferox shook his head. ‘No, not yet. As far as I can tell there are three or four being considered. There is still a lot of time. Tomorrow night more of the kings will call on each other. They are paying you a compliment by treating you as a monarch.’
‘I’m the son of a senator, how else should they treat me?’ Crispinus said, but his pleasure was obvious. ‘We shall have to find out as much as we can about the rivals, so that we can best judge what is to our advantage.’
Ferox said nothing.
‘I have not forgotten our main purpose,’ the tribune assured him. ‘But until we hear from these pirates there is little we can do. Do you not agree?’
‘Sir.’
‘Go away, Flavius Ferox.’
‘Yes, sir.’
*
Bran was waiting for him outside his tent. Ferox had asked the boy to keep his eyes and ears open for any sign of the men of the night, for no one was likely to pay much heed to a servant boy looking after the horses.
‘It is an island, further north, off the coast of Caledonia. Not big, but near a larger one and very close to a smaller one. The small one is ringed by cliffs and hard to reach, but someone special lives there. Warriors go there to learn.’
That was an old legend, known even among the Silures. It was said that far to the north an old woman lived who knew more about weapons and killing than anyone else. Whenever she died she was succeeded by another chosen woman. Only the best were accepted as pupils, and only the very best lived through the ordeals she set them. Quite a few heroes of the old tales were said to have honed their craft on that distant island, but Ferox had never heard of a man who had been there.
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