He did not answer.
‘You know who my grandmother was, and you know of her power. Do you know of her grandmother? No. She was Mandua, daughter of Manubracius, King of the Trinovantes, at least until Cunobelinus defeated him. You know of him, at least, the father of Caratacus, although from all I hear the son was the greater of the two, though the father was great enough. I liked Caratacus, although of course I only met him when he was very old. We spoke of Britannia and he liked that, and I joked with him and he told me I was a naughty child and that next time if I did not behave he would spank me.’ She laughed. ‘I was so sorry to hear that he had passed.’
That could mean anything and nothing, and Ferox let her talk.
‘Mandubracius was ally of Julius Caesar in his war against Cassivellaunus. Heard of them?’ She pulled a face that was pure Claudia the Roman. ‘At least you must have heard of Caesar?’
‘I have.’
‘Silures.’ She shook her head. ‘My family say that Caesar took a shine to Mandua. That was his way, they say, and of course she was a beauty because all the women in my family are beauties. Soon afterwards she was sent north to marry the high king of the Brigantes – he was only a man so his name matters little – and at the end of the year she gave birth to a daughter.
‘My brother believes that the girl was the daughter of Caesar and not Mandua’s husband, so that we are of the line of Caesar himself.’
‘And what do you believe?’
‘I do not believe; I know. Some of Mandua and Cartimandua is reborn in me, each of us a different part of the same soul, and we see things that others do not. Caesar was my ancestor, and that is honourable enough, if of little consequence compared to being part of them.’ She reached up and plucked two pins from her hair, letting the ponytail drop down behind her back. ‘I know other things as well.’
‘We ought to rouse that snoring ox and tend to the horses. It will be time to leave very soon.’
‘You are mine.’ Enica took hold of her braided hair and toyed with it. ‘You are mine, prince of the Silures and centurion of Rome, as surely as if I were to tie you with my hair. It is the will of the gods. Your soul kneels to mine. I shall have to think what to do with you, shan’t I?’
Ferox was in no mood for more games. For all the confidence in her voice, this woman had seen just twenty-one summers. ‘Shall we go?’
Enica shook her head again. ‘Silures. So used to hiding the truth that they often cannot see it when it stares them in the face. Very well, let us go. But do not forget what I have said.’
Ferox bent his knees as if to kneel, then stopped and shrugged. He strode away and did not look back.
XIX
‘Two,’ vindex said softly, giving a big smile. ‘One on either side.’
Ferox rubbed his face and grinned in return. ‘Five. Two on the left, one high up on the right and the other two behind those boulders near the base. Three have been following us since dawn.’
Vindex patted his horse’s neck. ‘What colour eyes have they got?’
Claudia Enica stared at the narrow defile. The setting sun sparkled for a moment on something metal in the heather up on the right. Hours before they had come across the track left by her brother’s men. It was almost a day old. They had followed because for a while it offered the easiest route down. For two miles they had gone along a valley that grew narrower and narrower until it came to this gap, with steep, heather and rock covered slopes on either side. It was an obvious place for an ambush, so obvious that Ferox doubted even a Silurian child would use it, but the Ordovices were not the wolf people.
‘Only five,’ she said after a while. ‘Are you sure they are waiting for us?’
‘We have good horses, weapons, and you,’ Ferox said. ‘They will want all of those. The Ordovices are not kind to women.’
Enica sighed. ‘So do you two want to wait while I kill them?’
‘I think we should go back and find another path.’ There were too many birds in the sky beyond the defile. Most were too far away to recognise, but something was wrong. ‘If they follow us, you can always kill them later.’
A figure leaped up from the heather on the right, closely followed by another. They pushed their way through the fronds, climbing higher up. Then the man on the left did the same. A horseman appeared in the gap, his oval green shield uncovered, and the top of his bronze helmet dark with fur. He trotted through, almost casually deflected a thrown spear with his shield, threw his own javelin in reply, spitting a warrior just as the man stood up from the boulder. Another tribesman scrambled up and ran. The horse went into a canter, the rider drew his sword, came alongside the fleeing warrior and cut back just once. Blood spurted high as the corpse dropped, head hanging to the neck by little more than a thread. The Batavian brought his horse to a dead halt and raised his dripping blade in triumph. Even from this distance, Ferox could see the empty eye socket as Longinus waved to them.
‘Come on!’ he shouted.
‘We should run,’ Ferox said, and was not quite sure why. Vindex frowned.
‘It’s Longinus,’ Claudia Enica said. ‘I trust him.’ She set off at a smooth trot, leading the second grey. Vindex’s horse stirred and he let it follow. Ferox hesitated for a moment and then gave in.
Longinus was beaming. Ferox had never seen the old man smile as broadly, but then perhaps he had never seen him welcome Claudia Enica. As she approached, the veteran wheeled around and set off to lead the way through the defile. It proved longer than Ferox had expected, and curved to the left so that they blinked as they rode straight towards the burning red sunset. Suddenly they came out into a wide pasture.
Horsemen waited in a semi-circle, spears held ready and shields up. In the centre was a tall man, wearing an ornately crested helmet with a gilded face mask. Crispinus was behind them, looking awkward, and then Ferox realised that his hands were tied behind his back. A cavalryman with a blue shield and tartan cloak stood his horse next to the tribune, a naked blade in his hand. There was movement on either side, and Ferox looked up to see dismounted troopers on the slopes on either side of him. He dragged at the reins to pull his horse around.
‘Move and she dies!’ The leader with the face mask had his spear point inches from Claudia Enica’s chest.
Ferox jerked the reins hard, and his gelding reared and fell. He pushed out of the saddle, hurling himself away as far as he could and striking the rocky side of the defile.
Vindex dropped his spear. ‘No trouble, lord. No trouble.’
Ferox managed to push himself up and like the scout he raised his hands in the air. A dismounted trooper came behind him and undid his belt and took it along with his sword. Longinus had turned and was bringing his horse back.
The leader slowly raised his spear and then held it out until one of his men took it. Ferox saw Batavians among the blue shielded men, and they did not look happy. He could not see Gannascus or Sepenestus. The men with blue shields looked much like ordinary troopers, save each wore matching shirts of scale, with silvered and gilded pieces alternating, and even in the wilds they were polished so that they flickered whenever a man shifted and caught the light of the setting sun. Their helmets were tinned, scabbards, belts, and harness fittings more ornate than the wealthiest, most ostentatious soldier in an ala, and their horses taller and finer. Most sported long moustaches and their lean faces reminded him of Vindex. These must be the royal ala of the Brigantes, many of them sons of chieftains. A vicious, flat-nosed man he remembered as Brigantus, former gladiator and now the prince’s bodyguard, swung down from his horse and strode towards Ferox. By now Longinus had turned and was walking his horse back.
With an easy gesture, their leader flicked up the face mask, which was hinged and rigid enough to stay open. Arviragus smiled. ‘Did you really think I would kill my own sister?’ Claudia Enica laughed, a sweet sound even when it mocked him. Ferox took a step forward, the rage brimming up inside him, as much at his own stupidity as anything else. The bodygua
rd drew his sword, but Ferox did not stop.
‘Don’t be a fool!’ Crispinus yelled.
Longinus kicked his horse on and swung the flat of his sword, pounding it against the side of Ferox’s head and the darkness engulfed him again.
*
Ferox doubted that he was unconscious for long, and awoke draped over a horse, wrists and ankles tied and a sack over his head. Soon afterwards they stopped, and someone pitched him off onto the turf.
‘Shall I cut him free?’ The voice sounded like young Cocceius.
‘No. Drag him over there with the others. He can have his hands free to eat, but tie them again until you’re told otherwise. They say he’s dangerous.’ Someone kicked him hard in the side and he groaned as the pain shot through his bruised and battered body. ‘Doubt it myself.’ Ferox rolled up into a ball. ‘See, can’t take it. Southerners are all the same.’
Ferox was lifted rather than dragged, which suggested that the Batavians were the ones doing the work, and set down on the ground. The sack was pulled away. It was dark, but he saw the big shape of Gannascus, someone else behind him and Vindex on the other side.
‘Bit of a bugger, this,’ the scout muttered.
‘Sir,’ Cocceius whispered by his ear. The young soldier was leaning down, pretending that part of the sack had caught on the shoulder buckle of Ferox’s mail shirt. ‘Think she’s the one, sir.’ He glanced nervously to either side, then dropped the sack and cupped both his hands over his chest. ‘Do you get me?’
Ferox gave a tiny nod.
‘Not sure, but reckon it is,’ the lad went on. ‘Could do with another look.’
Brigantus glared down at them, fingers hooked in his belt. ‘Clear off , lad. These prisoners are not to talk to each other or anyone else without my say so. Wait here. Be silent.’ His voice was a whisper, as if his throat had once been badly hurt.
A little later they were brought bread and some weak beer, but instead of freeing Ferox’s arms, the bodyguard sliced through the ropes on his legs. ‘The prince wants to talk to you.’
He was led to a leather tent, one of the larger ones normally given to centurions on campaign. He had noticed that the Brigantes had half a dozen mules to carry their baggage. The bodyguard lifted the flap and gestured for him to go in.
The air was heavy with the smell of stale oil burning in a little lamp and making too much smoke. Arviragus sat on a camp stool, as did Crispinus, his hands no longer tied. Claudia Enica sat cross-legged on a blanket behind them, her baggy clothes and boots giving her the air of a Sarmatian or another of the wandering races as much as a Parthian. They had all just finished a meal, the odour of a fine stew competing with the smoke.
Arviragus smiled and got to his feet, offering his hand, then realising that Ferox was still tied. ‘There is no need for bonds,’ he said, and glanced around.
‘Here.’ Crispinus held out a clasp knife.
The Brigantian prince flicked the blade out and cut the rope. Ferox wondered why neither the prince nor his henchman bothered simply to untie a knot.
‘This afternoon was a regrettable mistake,’ he said. His smile was broad, showing his perfect teeth, but did not extend to his eyes. ‘In days like these we must all be careful, and you have the reputation of a dangerous man, perhaps even an impulsive one. Now that I have had time to speak at length with the noble Crispinus, I believe I understand better.’ He held out his hand once more. Ferox massaged his fingers for a moment and then shook it.
‘Good. Please sit. I fear we do not have another stool. Unless you are stiff and prefer to stand for a while?’ Ferox sat down on his haunches, after the manner of his tribe.
‘Like you,’ Crispinus said, ‘it seems I too am a prisoner.’
‘You may as well explain,’ the prince agreed, taking his seat again. ‘Are you hungry, centurion? I can send for food? No? In a moment then.’
‘No doubt the whole matter will soon be cleared up,’ the tribune said airily. ‘Indeed by the sound of it your innocence is well on its way to being established.’
‘One of Fuscus’ people produced documents implicating him in treasonous plots,’ Arviragus interrupted.
Crispinus smiled. ‘Indeed he did. Our old friend Vegetus, no less. Which would mean that even if you killed the little swine you were doing the res publica a favour.’
Arviragus interrupted once more. ‘Sadly, some of the letters could be interpreted by a malign judgement also to implicate the noble Crispinus. Obviously mistaken or deliberate fraud, of course, but I was sent to take him into custody.’
‘By whom, my lord?’ Ferox was sitting straight-backed, trying to be as formal as possible. ‘If you will forgive my curiosity.’
He was not sure whether there was a flicker of anger before the smile reasserted itself. ‘Of course. And I understand your meaning. No, the legate had not returned. This was early morning of the day after you left. In his absence my orders were given to me by the Lord Crassus. Most of the mounted soldiers in Londinium had gone with the legate or were needed, which meant my men were best suited for the task. I obeyed as was my duty.
‘However, since the legate had confided in me something of your mission and its importance, I judged it prudent to follow at a discreet distance. Only when you went into the mountains did I begin to worry that I might lose you. Prudence dictated that I catch up, and then decide how best to proceed. Unfortunately we came on each other rather more suddenly than I had anticipated, and suspicion led to blows. That German knocked down three of my men with his bare hands, and had to be restrained. At first I had to threaten the tribune until he ordered his soldiers to obey me. It was all deeply unfortunate, but thankfully no serious harm was done.
‘Now, since we have had time to consider the matter, the noble Crispinus has convinced me that we must do our best to accomplish his task on Mona. He has agreed to place himself in my charge until this is done, and then until I bring him to the legate and other matters can be investigated properly. Will you now give me your word to do the same?’
Crispinus nodded encouragingly.
‘What of my men?’
‘They will all be free, as long as you stand surety for them. Come, centurion, let us all serve the legate and our princeps. I have heard that you are a great warrior, and my sister tells me that you treated her with… what was it you said?’ He turned around to stare down at Enica.
‘Surly respect,’ she said.
Crispinus nodded. ‘Sounds about right.’
Arviragus laughed. ‘Well, knowing my sister, I dare say there was a good deal of patience as well.’
‘Indeed, my lord, that was the longest I have known the lady go without speaking.’
The laugh became a great roar.
‘Why is the lady here, my lord?’
‘My sister goes where she wills. If she has not explained her purpose, then I fear I cannot. No matter. We shall all go on this quest together.’
‘That is the will of the gods,’ she said flatly.
‘Of course it is, my dear,’ her brother said like an indulgent parent, ‘so let us not disappoint them. Do I have your word, Flavius Ferox?’
Crispinus leaned forward eagerly. Enica was staring at the floor, apparently paying no heed.
Ferox nodded. ‘Yes, my lord.’
XX
Segontium was much like Vindolanda and the many forts dotted around the provinces, so familiar that any slight differences were oddly jarring. Built to house a cohors milliaria of some eight hundred men, there were barely half that number there at the moment, even though winter was approaching and many detachments had returned to barracks. They had missed the prefect by only a few days, for he had left to take up a post as narrow-stripe tribune with a legion in Syria, and his replacement had not yet arrived. The senior centurion in charge was welcoming, especially after he had read the letters Crispinus carried signed by the legate himself, although the news he passed on was bad. Neratius Marcellus had crushed a group of several hundred bandits n
ear Verulamium, but had been wounded. The centurion did not know how badly. He had heard rumours of banditry and rebellion among several tribes, although so far the Ordovices and Deceangli were quiet enough.
The garrison maintained several boats, big enough to carry a dozen men and fitted with oars and a sail, and the centurion was willing to put one at their disposal if it would be useful. The main group would need to use the ferry or swim their horses across the straits.
‘It’s a little late in the year,’ the centurion conceded, ‘and there won’t be many more cattle coming across that way until next spring, but you should be all right. Batavians know what they’re doing on water, don’t they?’
Arviragus and Crispinus decided on the ferry and Ferox was glad. His own mount was tired after weeks of travel, and as he looked across at the far shore it seemed a long way. Yet to his surprise the island appeared innocuous enough from this distance, although he could not see a single house. Somehow he had expected mist and sinister shadows, and instead there was sunshine, which was warm as long as you were sheltered from the gusty wind.
The ferry was shallow-bottomed, rowed by four big sweeps on either side and steered by a rudder. Half a dozen men and horses could squeeze onto it, so the crossing would take a long time, especially as the current tended to take them over to the right, and it was hard work to bring it back to the jetty on the return trip. Yet the soldiers operating it were cheerful for this was a break from routine and the unit’s tradition meant that they would be given a pass to stay out in the vicus as long as they returned when the fort gates opened at dawn. Until then they were free to drink, gamble, whore, or do whatever they liked away from their officers. The same applied to the soldiers in the boat, who shadowed the ferry in case of accidents, although they would have to wait for their orders were to stay with the expedition until it returned. There were no other detachments on the island and no permanent outposts there.
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