Brigantia

by Adrian Goldsworthy

  ‘Ready, lad?’ he asked Cocceius. The boy grinned. Both men stripped off their clothes. Neither had come in armour. Ferox went first, dropping over the side. The shock of the cold water was appalling, but his boots sank only a little into mud before they stopped. He reached up for the spear, and prodded down through the water in front of him. As he took his first step, Cocceius came into the water behind him.

  They waded on, the Batavian close behind. After a few paces the water deepened again and reached their chests. Ferox could feel the flow plucking at his legs and running out the way they had come. Mud sucked at his feet each time he lifted one, and he leaned on his spear to pull himself out. Another step and the water was at his chin, but the spear prodded and it was shallower ahead. He warned Cocceius, who grinned again, and pushed ahead. Then he was climbing, for there was almost a bank under the reeds, and as he pulled himself up, slipped, breaking the reed he was holding, and recovered, he suddenly saw it. The lake was smooth as glass and dark as night, and beyond it was the low hill and the tree. The huts must have been on the far side of the hill because he could not see them. Still, this was surely where Acco claimed to have sacrificed the man who had once carried Ferox’s sword, and his instincts told him that this too was the most sacred place Prasto had searched for and never found. If they were to find what they were looking for then it would be here.

  ‘Can we swim it?’ he asked the young Batavian.

  The lad gave another big grin. ‘In our sleep.’

  ‘We need to go,’ Crispinus called. ‘Now, centurion, before we lose the light. If you have found what we want we shall return tomorrow.’

  Ferox sighed, for he had known all along what would happen. For the Romans tomorrow was merely the last day of October. Yet here, and among all the tribes, it was Samhain, the night when the gates to the Otherworld opened and the dead walked abroad. Nowhere on Mona would be a good place to be when the sun set tomorrow, but who knew what horrors would come here, where once a sacred and very secret grove had stood and bloody sacrifices taken place.

  XXI

  ‘We shall need another boat,’ the tribune decided, and the prince readily agreed, but the wind had picked up as they had battled their way against the tide, and the senior soldier refused to try going to Segontium during the hours of darkness.

  ‘Not in this weather, sir, begging your pardon.’

  Ferox sensed Arviragus was itching to send them anyway, but for once the tribune stood up to his ‘captor’ and talked him round. The storm that blew in an hour later proved that this was the right decision, and the wind did not drop until the third hour of the day. Ferox sensed the inevitability of it all, since this meant at least a couple of hours before they returned with the second boat, and hopefully with a small punt he had requested. By the time the rowers had taken a little rest and parties been organised, the afternoon was well advanced. If they got there in daylight they would be lucky, and he knew they would not get back.

  At least the delay gave him a chance to have a quiet word with Vindex and Gannascus, for it was no surprise that none of his men were to accompany him. Only Brigantian guards would go, apart from Crispinus, young Cocceius and the soldiers needed to row the boats, although half of these were replaced by the prince’s men. As they were getting ready to leave, Claudia Enica appeared, swathed in her heavy cloak, and strode towards the boats. The bodyguard looked questioningly at Arviragus, who just nodded and then held out his hand to his sister

  ‘As you wish, my lord.’

  Enica did not acknowledge him in any way. Neither did she even glance at her brother, but instead waded to where Ferox sat in the other boat and reached out her hand. He took it, and helped her aboard. She was barefoot, and as her cloak parted he saw that she was wearing a tunic much like the one she had worn to fight. Cocceius stared wide-eyed at her legs as they came over the side. Once she was in, she took her boots from where they had been tied round her neck and pulled them on.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said. They were the only words she spoke during the journey, and the rest of the time she stared fixedly out to sea, watching the gulls as they swooped and dived. Ferox found her uncharacteristic stillness and silence vaguely unnerving. Cocceius spent the trip in smiling worship, perhaps helped along by memories of their first encounter back at Vindolanda.

  There was much more of a swell today, and before long all the Brigantes were suffering, faces deathly pale or touched with green, so that the soldiers cursed them whenever they missed a stroke. Arviragus sat next to Crispinus in the other boat, and although he did his best to look unconcerned, his hand gripped the side of the boat tightly. Cocceius grinned as he so often did, at least whenever he could prise his eyes away from the lady, for now and then the wind parted her cloak and showed off her legs. Then his gaze reminded Ferox of the squirrel. The lady paid no heed to anyone, and showed no sign of any sickness.

  Ferox’s boat led the way upstream, towing the punt. As they went between the reeds, they entered a world of shadows, for the later afternoon sun was already low in the sky. They went quicker across the smooth water, winding round a path they knew. Ferox had made sure that his was the same boat with the same steersman and some of the rowers who had made the journey yesterday. At times the second craft struggled to follow.

  The light lasted, if barely, and they reached the thin line of reeds between the stream and the lake. Ferox and Cocceius stripped again, the boy self conscious and blushing this time because the lady was there. She ignored them. The two men waded back to the punt and unfastened it. With some effort, and the help of two Brigantes who had joined them in the water, they managed to drag it up and through the reeds onto the lake.

  Claudia Enica pulled off her boots and then stood up, still paying no attention to the men around her. She unfastened her cloak and dropped it, undid her belt with its weapons and then pulled the tunic off over her head. Cocceius gasped, eyes wide and mouth gaping. Underneath she wore a wide calfskin breast band and two soft leather triangles tied together with thongs around her hips. Ferox had seen outfits like this on the beach at Baiae, and sometimes even in the baths, but they appeared a revelation to the young Batavian, although it was hard to tell whether or not he was disappointed or thrilled that she was not quite naked. He blushed a violent red and crouched, then turned and dived into the lake. Ferox laughed and did the same.

  ‘You should cross with us, lady,’ Crispinus called.

  ‘Or wait for the second trip,’ her brother suggested.

  Enica’s only answer was to hand the bundle she had made by wrapping her things up in her cloak to one of the guards. ‘Have them take this across for me.’

  The punt was long enough for five, but one needed to take it back again for the next party, so it would carry the tribune, the prince and two of his guards across on the first trip. With some reluctance Ferox let them take his sword, belt and boots as well. Cocceius had brought an old shield, and they piled their clothes and a dry blanket on top. The lad exaggeratedly showed the hilt of the pugio he had slipped in at Ferox’s request. Thankfully the two Brigantes were too busy watching Enica as she climbed over the bank and then dived gracefully into the water. Without waiting for the others, she swam straight out towards the hill ahead of them.

  ‘Come on, boy,’ Ferox said and they followed.

  They were halfway across the lake before the punt set out, although it had nearly caught them up by the time they reached the far shore. Enica was first, striding up from the waves like Venus. The gracefulness of her movements truly was remarkable, and Ferox felt like some ungainly aquatic monster as he waded ashore. Cocceius was beside him; he rather felt the boy had been polite and kept to his pace, for the Batavians tended to be superb swimmers. They used the blanket to dry themselves a little and then started to dress.

  ‘Don’t on my account,’ the lady told them. Cocceius’ blush spread again, almost as pink as the clouds around the setting sun. Ferox shaded his eyes against its light. Night was coming. He shivered
.

  Arviragus bounded off the punt and came rushing up the slope. Crispinus trailed behind with the two guards, one carrying the lady’s bundle.

  ‘So, where now, centurion?’ The prince was brimming with enthusiasm.

  He pointed to the tree. ‘Up there, then the huts on the far side,’ he said, even though he had no real idea what to expect. My lord, has one of your men brought my sword and boots?’

  The prince did not bother to ask. ‘Sorry, Ferox. Got left on the boat. They’ll bring it with the next trip.’ The punt was already a fair way out from the shore.

  Ferox led them to the tree. Close up, he was no longer sure that this was a hill, for it had an even look, like one of the mounds left by the forgotten people, the users of flint and the makers of the stone circles.

  ‘I see a yew tree,’ the prince said. ‘I am assuming there must be more.’

  They could see the huts now and walked down to them. Enica caught up, dressed again in tunic and boots and with her gladius and curved sica at her belt. The huts were strange, even the roofs made from stone, reminding Ferox of the houses built by the folk in the far north of Caledonia. Perhaps that was no surprise, since by sea Mona was not so very far away. It was often said that the people who lived there were more akin to the northerners and the Hibernians than they were to their neighbours the Ordovices.

  The huts were in poor repair, gaping holes in their roofs and walls, but there were tracks by the doors of each one and some of them were fresh, no more than a few hours old. He could not say more in this light and decided not to mention it. None of this felt right. Ferox bent down to go through the door into one. It was dim and all he saw was broken pots and rotting pieces of wood.

  ‘Be dark soon,’ he said. ‘We will need light. Did you bring the torches?’ The Brigantes had remembered this and when the prince snapped his fingers they set about using a flint to light some kindling.

  The second hut had even less inside it. Set in the stone were a number of thick rings, the iron heavily rusted. They might have been meant to tether animals rather than people, but Ferox doubted it. The third hut stank and was full of old sacks, bones and dung. There was a dead fox, belly burst open and covered in maggots, and no doubt the source of the worst smell. Arviragus ducked his head in after Ferox and then pulled back, face screwed up in distaste.

  ‘Nothing here,’ he said.

  ‘I need a light,’ Ferox said. ‘And a spear. Come on.’ He kicked at some of the rubbish to clear it. There was no reason for all this to be here unless it was hiding something. Arviragus took a torch from one of his men and came back inside.

  ‘You,’ Crispinus commanded the other guard. ‘Your spear, man.’

  Ferox used the shaft to drag aside some of the filth and debris. There seemed to be bare earth underneath. Then he tapped the butt of the spear down. It did not have a spike and the wood hit the floor and threw up dust.

  ‘Hollow?’ The tribune crouched down to see better. ‘Hercules’ balls. It is hollow!’

  Turning the spear around, Ferox used the head to dig into the earth and scrape it away. It was loose, not packed hard, which made him think that it had not lain very long. He scraped again, and this time it was so easy to push the muck out of the way that he wondered whether it had only been there a few hours. ‘Post a sentry.’

  ‘Yes, I see,’ Crispinus said. ‘If someone has covered this over they may be around outside somewhere.’

  The prince thought, nodded, and gave the order. Four more of his guards had joined them.

  ‘Have they seen anything?’ Ferox asked.

  The Brigantes claimed to have seen nothing untoward, so he kept on clearing the earth and debris aside until the wooden trapdoor was uncovered. It was about two feet square, of thick pieces with almost no gap between them, and with a large iron ring.

  ‘Stand back,’ he ordered, and used the spearhead to hook under the ring. It needed very little force to lift, confirming his suspicion that they were not the first to come here. As it opened, all he could see below was darkness. ‘Let’s have some light.’ Crispinus came up, holding a torch, and Ferox could see that there was a drop of some four feet to a mud floor of what looked like a long tunnel. There were prints of several people. ‘Someone’s been here within the last day, perhaps even within a few hours, my lords,’ he said, just in case they all continued to ignore the obvious signs.

  ‘Acco?’ Crispinus suggested. Neither he nor the prince seemed surprised. ‘Has he beaten us to it?’ The tribune frowned. ‘Then why hide this tunnel?’

  ‘We’ve come this far, my lord, so we may as well find out. I need my sword and a torch,’ Ferox said. ‘This spear will be no use down there. And my boots.’

  The footwear was readily provided.

  ‘We’ll pass the rest down to you, centurion.’ Crispinus grinned. ‘For a moment I was worried you would suggest the shortest of us should go first.’

  Ferox sat on the edge and them jumped. Crouching, he stared into the darkness and reckoned that the tunnel was heading underneath the mound. Stories told of ancient tombs filled with gold and gems, but protected by monsters and terrible spells. At least he would not be the first to visit. He reached up and the tribune gave him a torch. ‘Just the blade, my lord,’ he said, when Arviragus appeared, holding out his belt and scabbarded sword from one of the guards. The tunnel might get smaller, and it was better to carry the gladius in his hand than wear it.

  The prince of the Brigantes slid the blade out. He felt it, hefting the sword, and flexing his wrist. His eyes glinted in the torchlight.

  ‘Beautiful,’ he said, and Ferox sensed a reluctance to hand it down, but if there was, then the prince swiftly got over it. The centurion’s fingers closed around the familiar bone handgrip. He did not trust any of the others, and was sure this was a trap of some sort. He had not expected to be given a weapon, least of all his own sword. Somehow the gesture made him even more suspicious. ‘Wait here until I take a look.’ Hoping they would obey, he ducked his head, thrust the torch ahead of him and walked on.

  The floor was soft mud, the passage little more than a foot and a half wide, and so many booted and bare feet had passed along it that it was hard to make out individual tracks. The walls were flecked with stone and slate, and in places carved out of more solid rock. There was a harsh smell faint behind the damp, musty odour.

  There was a soft thud as someone jumped down behind him.

  ‘You should wait, lady,’ he said without looking around.

  ‘What?’ Claudia Enica tried to make her voice as deep and manly as possible, and Ferox was glad he had guessed correctly. No one else followed her.

  ‘Come on then.’

  The passage went straight for ten paces, then turned left, making a long curve, before turning back to the right. It was higher now, just high enough for him to stand almost upright and only now and then brush his hair against the roof. Just around the first bend a skull grinned at him from a niche carved into the wall. He waited, hoping for a nervous gasp when the lady came around the corner. In the event, it was barely more than a soft hiss of surprise, but he smiled to himself anyway. After the next turn there was another skull. This time he heard no hint of surprise. The smell was getting stronger. He coughed, for it stuck in the throat, like smoke, yet it tasted bitter. Ferox was not sure whether he saw dust or smoke or both in the air. Water dripped from the roof.

  It grew narrower, and at times he had to turn sideways and edge along. His torch was in front of him and when he glanced back Enica was a faint shape. Still, he suspected Vindex would have made some comment about it being too narrow for her.

  ‘Do you want me to go first?’ she said as he paused for just a moment.

  ‘Wait.’ The floor in front of him was smooth, unbroken by any footprint. With difficulty he swapped his torch and sword. Leaning over, he prodded the earth with the long tip of the gladius. He sidestepped forward and then did it again. The third time the point drove through the thin straw and m
ud covering a small pit. In the centre was a stake, perhaps no more than six or seven inches, but sharpened to a point and no doubt smeared with filth. The army called a trap like this a lillia, after the vague resemblance to the lily flower. For the Silures they were gnat’s bites. They did not kill, at least not quickly, but a man with a hurt foot was slower and made others cautious.

  ‘Watch where you tread,’ he whispered.

  Ferox found three more lilies, the last where the narrow passage made another sharp turn, but then grew wider before another abrupt corner. He still had the torch behind him and the sword in front. Even with his body masking a lot of the light he could see that there were footprints on the earth; a clear trail, one person walking towards them. Enica stepped over the last of the little stakes and was only just behind him. He glanced back. Her skin seemed very pale in the torchlight and her face was eager.

  ‘What now?’ she asked.

  ‘Hold my sword.’

  ‘What here? Now?’ Sometimes the sense of humour of the Brigantes was tiresome, although he could imagine Vindex cackling at this, especially since such vulgarity was surprising in a lady.

  With difficulty and a few grazes he brought his right hand back and held the sword for her to take. She leaned forward, brushing against his left arm as it held the torch. Then he eased that forward and lowered it close to the floor in front of him. There was nothing to see. Ferox edged forward, feeling exposed in the wider passage. He kept the torch low, inching along. The Lord of the Hills always said that to set a trap or escape one you had to outthink the other man. They had just come past the lilies into a passage that was wider and easier. He doubted the philosophers with their logic ever considered such a problem, but to him it was natural to expect them to feel relieved and relax their guard.

  There it was. Just before the next corner a cord was stretched across barely an inch off the ground, where someone holding a torch at normal height was unlikely to see it. He knelt down next to it and beckoned to her.