Hammer of Rome

by Douglas Jackson

  ‘They call me Arafa.’ Rufus invested the word with pride and something Cathal couldn’t read.

  ‘This is like no Roman name I have ever heard.’

  ‘It means giant.’

  It started low in his belly, a heaving that expanded into his broad chest and eventually exploded in an enormous guffaw that threatened to blow the thatched roof from the hut. When the choking laughter faded Cathal reached out to pinch Rufus’s arm. The little man stared at him.

  ‘I was just checking that you truly existed. A man who made me laugh on the worst day of my life.’

  ‘I exist,’ Rufus assured him. ‘For now.’

  ‘For now,’ Cathal acknowledged. ‘And this Colonia. How did it end?’

  ‘They would tell you there were no survivors. Boudicca ordered the slaughter of every living thing in the town. They even hunted down the rats.’

  ‘Yet you survived.’

  ‘We survived.’

  ‘And that is your bond?’

  ‘After Colonia, every day is a gift from the gods. I should have died twenty years ago. Valerius is the same. Men who have stared death in the face need never fear it again. Do your will, King Cathal.’

  Cathal nodded slowly. ‘You are brothers. Brothers of the sword.’ He heaved himself to his feet, a towering presence that dominated the room. His gaze was drawn to the flames again and for a moment it appeared his eyes were on fire. ‘I have not finished with you, Arafa. We will talk again.’

  XXV

  They were mother and daughter. The evidence was in the wild, corn-gold hair, the same intelligent, wary eyes, a distinctive mix of emerald and blue. It reminded Valerius of the colour of the Mare Internum where the shallows met the deeps, when the sun hit the water in a certain way. The same uptilted nose and the same delicate chin, set at just the right angle to show lack of fear, but not the outright defiance that might provoke some reaction from their captors. The girl would be a little younger than Lucius, long-limbed and gawky, with fine white teeth that seemed too big for her mouth. In the mother, the combination of features produced what Valerius could only call a sort of rustic Celtic prettiness. No conventional beauty in Roman eyes, but enough to make a man look twice in the hope of provoking a smile. Her cloak was slightly open at the neck and Valerius caught a glint of gold.

  ‘Atticus, escort the ladies inside. I suspect you did well. Very well. And send for someone who can speak the Selgovae tongue.’

  He smiled and stepped aside to let them pass through the curtained door of the pavilion. All he received in return for his gallantry was a glare from the elder and a look of aristocratic disdain from the daughter. Atticus met his eyes and shrugged. ‘They’ve been like this since we took them. Not a hint of fear after the initial capture, and they look at us as if we’re something that’s escaped from the sewer.’

  Valerius followed the pair into the relative warmth and Quintus Naso appeared in the doorway behind him. ‘I heard about Rufus. What do you plan to do?’

  ‘Nothing, for now,’ Valerius admitted. ‘Once the snow stops we’ll see, but …’

  The camp prefect grimaced. ‘He could be dead already. It’s difficult …’ For the first time, he noticed the cloaked woman and child standing in the centre of the room. ‘What’s this?’

  ‘I’m not certain, but I hope to find out soon.’ A guard ushered a man into the tent. He was probably the ugliest person Valerius had ever seen, the bulbous features and bulging eyes of a mating toad twisted into an obsequious, fawning grin. Short and squat, he held a leather cap twisted in his hands and his bowed head bobbed up and down with such regularity that Valerius wondered it didn’t fall off.

  ‘Is this the best you can do?’ he demanded.

  ‘No prisoners who speak the local tongue have volunteered, sir,’ the guard said apologetically. ‘Not that we’ve taken any. We picked this fellow up while we were still in Brigante country and he offered his services. Says he was a merchant, which is how he speaks the local lingo, but Arafa – the scout, I mean – thought he was on the run.’

  Valerius ushered the interpreter forward. ‘Ask them to sit down.’ He waved a hand at a padded couch. ‘And tell them we mean them no harm.’ The man spluttered a string of unintelligible words, but neither the woman nor her daughter even looked in his direction.

  ‘Then ask them if they would like food or drink.’ The interpreter complied, this time accompanying his words with an eating motion, which made him look even more revolting. Again there was no reaction.

  ‘Their names?’ Valerius persisted.

  Not even a flicker of an eyebrow.

  ‘What will you do with them?’ Naso eyed the prisoners warily. ‘You know the standing orders are to send the best-looking women captives to Agricola immediately.’ His words were accompanied by a suggestive grin.

  ‘It’s not like that.’ Valerius didn’t often feel forced to defend the governor, but he couldn’t let this pass. ‘His wife likes to surround herself with beautiful things.’ He pursed his lips. ‘I’m not sure.’ That gleam of gold at the woman’s neck again. Welcome evidence that the Ala Petriana took his orders seriously. Another unit might have decided that a little light plundering didn’t add up to molestation. It was also a hint of something that required some thought. ‘You could argue that she was a little old to be a house slave.’ Did he detect a flicker of emotion? ‘There’s plenty of room in the stockade,’ he mused. ‘Of course, they’d have to share it until the spring with the legion’s defaulters and that century of Usipi auxiliaries who tried to desert. Still, they’d have a tent over their heads through the worst of the winter and it’s better than what’s waiting for them at the slave market.’

  Naso nodded. He turned to the interpreter. ‘Tell them …’

  ‘There is no need,’ the woman spat. ‘This vile creature’s grunting hurts my ears. I have pigs that speak the Selgovae tongue better. Yes,’ she acknowledged the looks of surprise, ‘I speak Latin as well as you do. I am a princess of the Brigante, descendant of Queen Cartimandua, and when I was young I spent time in Londinium as a hostage. I am also a queen.’ She drew the cloak back to reveal an ornate Celtic neck torc of twisted strands of gold. ‘And I had been led to expect better manners from the Roman officers I met in Londinium.’

  Valerius and Naso looked at each other before bowing their heads in acknowledgement of the prisoner’s rank. A guard hurried the interpreter from the tent, provoking a squeak of outraged dignity.

  ‘Lady.’ Valerius bowed again. ‘Allow me to introduce myself. I am Gaius Valerius …’

  ‘I know who you are.’ She pointed to the wooden hand and the blue eyes flashed. ‘That alone marks you as the killer of my uncle, Guiderius, even if your rank and status did not.’ Valerius bit his tongue to stifle his denial. How had she known? Of course, Calgacus would be aware of Guiderius’s fate, and the Brigante refugees who fled north would have confirmed it. ‘I am Olwyn, wife of Cathal, king of the Selgovae, and this is my daughter the princess Berta. I ask that in all conscience you return us to our people, or at least allow my daughter to go.’

  ‘I’m sorry, but you know that is not possible. Even if I were minded to do so, I would not expose you to the perils of the winter in this wild place …’

  ‘This wild place, as you call it, is our home.’

  ‘And your arrival poses certain political questions which I must consider. I am afraid you must stay with us over the winter.’ He raised a hand to still the inevitable protest. ‘You will have a room in this pavilion which will provide privacy and comfort for you both. In the spring I will send emissaries to your husband. Perhaps it is possible to end this unfortunate conflict without further bloodshed.’

  ‘Cathal will not wait for the spring, Roman.’ Olwyn’s fury was so impressive her daughter laid a hand of warning on her arm. ‘He will come for me when you least expect it, and when he does it will be your blood he spills, and that of all your hired killers.’

  ‘That would be unfortunate,’ Va
lerius said quietly. ‘Because if it came to that all he would find would be the bodies of his loved ones. If I believed this fort was about to fall, lady, I would have one of my men cut both your throats. Goodnight. We will speak again tomorrow when you have rested. I will arrange for food and water to be sent to you.’

  ‘Keep your food. I would not touch the filthy stuff.’

  ‘Perhaps not.’ Valerius met her gaze. ‘But your daughter may feel otherwise. I will send men to prepare your quarters.’

  He turned away and walked towards the doorway with Naso. ‘I’ll put together a dispatch to inform the governor of our catch.’ The camp prefect grinned. ‘Perhaps for once he will have reason to praise the Ninth.’

  ‘No, Quintus,’ Valerius said quietly. ‘You will forget you ever heard the word queen. As far as this fort is concerned our guest is a lady of rank, a hostage for the life of Gaius Rufus.’

  ‘But Rufus is most likely dead. The governor’s orders …’

  ‘Dead or not, I won’t send Olwyn to Agricola,’ Valerius insisted. ‘As long as she is here she is worth her own weight in silver. Either her presence will tempt Calgacus to attempt a rescue, in which case I will kill him or take him and break the Selgovae power for all time, or in the spring I will use her as a bargaining chip to drive a wedge between Calgacus and his people, perhaps even persuade him to give himself up in exchange for her life.’

  Naso stared at him. ‘You wouldn’t kill her, Valerius, for all your threats. You’re not that kind of man.’

  ‘Perhaps I’m not the man I was, Quintus. In any case, make sure young Atticus knows to keep his mouth shut.’

  ‘The trader?’ Accompanied by a look that said: Should I cut his throat?

  ‘Send him out with the next patrol into the wastes and make sure he doesn’t come back.’ He saw the look again. ‘No, don’t have them kill him. If the snow doesn’t get him, the Selgovae will, and if by chance he survives … well, that will be up to the gods, won’t it?’

  Since the day they’d first met and he had heard Rufus’s story he’d sensed that their fates were intertwined. How could they not be? The only two men to survive the destruction of the Temple of Claudius and the slaughter that followed. It seemed to Valerius that the gods had brought them together for a reason, just as they had saved them from a death that should have been inevitable. The knowledge that the scout was probably dead left a hollow feeling inside him. In a way, it was like the loss of his hand. Rufus, who had endured fire and slaughter and the loss of everything he loved, had become part of him. It was difficult to believe he was gone. Valerius still held out a slim hope and he intended to find out for certain. Tomorrow he would send a messenger under a flag of truce to inform Calgacus his wife and daughter were safe and that no harm would come to them as long as he didn’t attempt a rescue. The threat would mean nothing to a man like the Selgovae king, but the messenger might get some hint of Rufus’s fate. Of course, the messenger might not return, but that in itself would send a message. Every messenger knew the risk, and that was what messengers were for.

  *

  He left her for three days, ordering that no one who entered their quarters should communicate with the prisoners in any way. The servants who carried in their food and removed their night soil reported that both mother and daughter had ignored their offerings on the first day, but on the second attacked their rations with voracious appetite. Anyone who entered was plagued with demands to carry a request to the legate for their immediate release, or, at worst, an audience with him to discuss their situation.

  It was mid-morning when he walked into the room. Olwyn’s face switched to a mask of fury when she recognized him, but, oddly, the look softened as quickly as it appeared. The girl Berta barely glanced up, and she showed the listless quality Valerius had seen in animals caged for too long. He felt a pang of conscience when he remembered his son Lucius’s boundless energy and the effect that being trapped for days on end like this would have had on him.

  ‘I hope I find you well, ladies?’

  ‘All the more so if you have come to tell us we may return to our people,’ Olwyn snapped.

  ‘Unfortunately, as I have said, that will not be possible, but’ – Valerius waved towards the doorway where Shabolz had appeared carrying a large bundle of clothes across his arms – ‘your husband has sent some changes of clothing and other essentials he felt you might require for your comfort.’

  Before he could continue Berta leapt to her feet and rushed to inspect the skirts and tunics. ‘Look, Mother,’ she cried. ‘My blue dress and your thick plaid cloak. He has even sent Mairaid.’ She held up a worn cloth doll with straw-blonde hair. Olwyn didn’t move, but Valerius could tell she was having to restrain herself.

  ‘There is more outside still being unpacked,’ he said. ‘You may inspect it at your leisure. Cal— King Cathal sends his greetings and assures you that arrangements will be made for your return.’ He missed out the part where the Selgovae chief promised her that if any harm came to them he would personally remove her captor’s extremities one by one, leaving the choicest to be harvested by Olwyn herself. ‘I have assured him your welfare is safe in my hands and he bids you make yourself as comfortable as possible. He is sorry he is unlikely to be able to negotiate your freedom before the spring.’ He saw the gleam in Olwyn’s eyes and knew her thoughts mirrored his own. For different reasons they both hoped he would come long before the first thaw.

  The messenger he’d sent to Calgacus, Dagwalda, one of Shabolz’s Pannonian comrades, had recounted how he had been met by a Selgovae patrol mounted on the big Roman horses stolen at Brynmochdar. ‘They blindfolded me and spun me round so I had no sense of my position before they led me to their camp. Some lesser lord questioned me, but treated me with courtesy. Eventually I was taken before their king, who questioned me again, and I answered as you had instructed, lord. I did not see Arafa, but there was an outbuilding beyond the perimeter of the settlement that I took to be a latrine, and I saw tracks the size of a child’s leading there. A child accompanied by two adults and wearing what I took to be nailed sandals.’

  Valerius knew it was possible the caligae had been taken from Rufus’s dead body, but he chose to believe the little man was alive. The question was how to get him back. But that was for the future.

  ‘Please let me know if there is anything else I can do to make your stay more comfortable,’ he said to the queen. ‘At least within the limits of this crude temporary camp.’

  ‘Do you expect us to stare at four walls for the entire winter?’ Olwyn demanded. ‘Whether they are walls of cloth or walls of timber they are still walls. At least give us spindles and thread to help us pass the time.’

  ‘Of course,’ Valerius agreed. ‘I should have thought of that. And when the weather is reasonable you may walk the streets of the camp under escort.’ A faint hint of a familiar scent reached his nostrils. ‘I will also arrange for a separate latrine to be built for you.’

  Olwyn got to her feet and Berta ran to her side. ‘Then I thank you.’ The Selgovae queen’s head twitched in a nod of acknowledgement. ‘I doubt you treat all your female prisoners with such courtesy.’

  ‘Not all prisoners are so noble in birth and bearing,’ he assured her. ‘Through no fault of your own you have become counters in the game of diplomacy. It is possible your presence here may be instrumental in saving many hundreds of your people’s lives. Your husband seems an intelligent and not unreasonable man …’

  ‘For a barbarian, you mean?’

  ‘Lady, my opinion of what constitutes a barbarian changes with every contact I have with the people of this island. King Cathal has a particular regard for you. I have a mission to complete. If that mission can be completed without further delay and bloodshed so much the better.’ He turned to leave, then hesitated. ‘You will have noticed that I do not require your promise that you will not try to escape. That is because I also have regard for your intelligence. Even if you managed to get beyond the gate
s, either you would freeze to death within a few hours or Shabolz and his men would ride you down before you had gone a mile.’

  XXVI

  Over the next few weeks Valerius would often see Olwyn and her daughter walking the circuit of the fort’s walls, staring up at the three hills, or with their eyes on the south-west where Calgacus had his refuge. Wherever they went either Shabolz or another member of Valerius’s escort would accompany them, at first dogging their footsteps like a faithful but unwanted hound, but later as part of the group. He noticed that the soldiers were shy in their company, but Olwyn would always engage them in conversation and set them at ease in a way that puzzled him. In his experience this wasn’t the way prisoners, not even the most favoured hostages, treated their captors.

  When he asked Shabolz about it, the Pannonian grinned. ‘If the lady is here much longer she’ll know more about this fort than you do. Aye, and the legion too. At first she’ll talk about the weather, then she’ll entertain you with tales of those great hills, sacred places she says. But then you’ll find yourself talking about the fort and when the sentries change and where the armoury is. I hope I didn’t do wrong, lord. I didn’t think it would do any harm. Come the spring, when they leave us,’ he gave Valerius a sideways glance, ‘one way or the other, we’ll be marching against these Selgovae barbarians and teaching them not to give us the runaround.’

  Valerius shook his head. ‘She has eyes and ears, trooper. Anything you tell her she can either see or hear for herself. She’s only doing what I would do in her place.’

  The next day he took the cavalryman’s place beside Olwyn and her daughter at the start of their walk. Snow coated the hills in pristine white and the thin winter sun made them shine as if they were studded with diamonds.

  ‘I did not expect to see you today, legate,’ she said, but she didn’t seem displeased. She wore the thick plaid cloak her husband had sent against the cold, with the wide hood draped across her shoulders so her hair glowed gold in the sun.