Brigantia

by Adrian Goldsworthy

Ferox had managed to loosen the knot slightly. ‘He does not, because you have.’ He felt her stiffen. ‘You paid Rufus and the others for them, and then watched as they rode off with the girl.’

  ‘It was unfortunate, but I saw no other way.’ Her voice was soft.

  ‘Then you were the one who met them and rode off carrying the spoils. And who ambushed the two men I sent after you.’

  ‘I did not know who they were and could not take a chance. Domitius wanted the helmet and the mail. Some folk loyal to me were in debt to him and to Narcissus. They were to be payment for this year and the next and would give time to gather enough to pay the rest.’ She laughed again, grimly this time. ‘I knew who he really is, but that only made it more important to help my people. The faith of the Brigantes.’ She shrugged as well as their bonds allowed. ‘I switched the helm and armour with the ones brother is now carrying away. The real helmet is a lot plainer. I thought it odd at the time that Acco did not realise the trick. Now I guess he knew all along.’

  ‘Perhaps he did not care?’ Ferox suggested. ‘Do you have them still?’

  ‘They are safe. You have stopped work, centurion. Have you given up, or are you poised to grope me again?’ Ferox resumed his task. ‘Good. We may not have much chance of getting out, but any chance is better than none.

  ‘Narcissus had promised to give me the only record of one loan made to a chieftain and to cancel the debt. In return I had some trinkets belonging to grandmother that he wanted. Nothing very interesting or valuable, but they were what he wanted.’

  ‘And you met him at Vindolanda and found him already dead,’ Ferox interrupted. The knot refused to come free and almost felt tighter again. ‘He was stuffed in the latrine, and you, noble lady and princess of the Brigantes, jumped down into the filth and searched the corpse.’

  ‘You have worked it out, then? Yes, I wanted that papyrus. And found it as well, so for all his greed he had at least been honest about that. One of my people is released from a great burden.’

  ‘And you heard Cocceius coming, so ripped open your tunic and flashed your breasts at him to make sure he did not look closely at your face.’ Slowly, Ferox felt the end of the rope work free.

  ‘Was it that poor boy?’ Enica was not much older than the dead Batavian soldier, but easily assumed a superiority. ‘I wondered why he kept staring at me. Still, most men do – even the ones who don’t think I notice, centurion!’ She sighed. ‘Poor, poor fellow. He remembered, I suppose, and that is how you know.’

  ‘Did you kill Caratacus?’ She pulled her arms away. ‘Don’t be foolish. This is no time to argue. I merely asked a question.’ She relaxed, and painfully slowly he started to pull the knot until it began to loosen.

  ‘No.’ Enica spoke loudly. ‘I did not, neither would I have done save at direst need. I liked him, and did not know he was in danger until news came of his murder. I am not the only woman in the world, although I dare say by comparison the rest must fade away.’ Her heart did not sound as if it was in the self-mockery. ‘It was another who killed and stole at Bremesio, and another who went to Rome, murdered the old king, and then brought the torc to Domitius. She and her thugs served him and were well paid. Her name was Achillea.’

  ‘Was?’

  ‘We had a disagreement,’ she said mildly. ‘It was after I had saved you from the fire. A worthless deed, since it has brought me no thanks, and I wonder now why I bothered. After that I found her on a ship in the harbour. She died. One of her men joined her. The other dived into the river and so escaped.’

  Part of Ferox felt revulsion at the thought of a woman killed by the sword, until he wondered whether it was so unlucky if another woman did the killing. Given that Enica now lay captive and likely to be sacrificed in the next few hours, then perhaps it was.

  The thread came loose, but the knot was double and all that meant was that he had to start work on the next one. ‘Your man was the one of the ones who helped lure me to the amphitheatre. Was that on your orders?’

  ‘No. It was not. He did that for another, although if she had asked I would have told him to obey her.’

  A truth he had long fled forced itself upon him at last. Sulpicia Lepidina had sent word for him that night, knowing that because she had asked for his help he would go without question. The woman he loved had sent him into a trap where he ought to have died.

  ‘Lepidina.’ He said the name softly, as if he still did not want to believe the truth.

  Enica leaped to the defence of her friend. ‘She did not have any choice. Fuscus had letters implicating her brother in fresh conspiracy. At first she hoped that you could kill him, but then he said that he had more evidence, enough to convict her of adultery with you. The procurator said he had statements from witnesses, and that they would swear Marcus was your child. You know the price of that? The child declared a bastard, disowned and even killed. Fuscus offered to let her have the statements, but his price was your death, and probably more later, although she did not say what. Neither did she understand why you had become important.’

  ‘Lepidina.’ He spoke as a man might about a goddess, beautiful, wonderful and implacable.

  ‘I was not at the house when the word came, but arrived after she had sent my man to you. She told me what she had done, saying that she believed it was a price you would willingly pay for the boy. Perhaps even for her.’

  Ferox nodded in the darkness. He had always known that she was a clarissima femina, a senator’s daughter whose sense of duty and honour would come before her feelings for him. She felt affection, even love for him, that was real, but never as real or important as her duty. Ultimately he was expendable.

  ‘I agreed,’ Enica said. ‘She did what she had to do, and did not expect forgiveness. Then I did what I had to do and I followed you and helped, wearing the helmet in the hope that Domitius would not realise Claudia Enica could be the Thracian gladiatrix.’

  ‘I did not realise then.’ Acco spoke from the darkness, making Ferox jump and bang his head on the roof. The druid chuckled. He must have been there a long time, perhaps from the very start, waiting behind in the darkness as his men left and listening. ‘My eyes are not as good as they were,’ he explained, ‘especially at night. But when I realised it amused me. You do not disappoint, child.’

  ‘What do you want of us?’ she asked.

  ‘For you to fulfil your destinies.’ The faint glimmer of flame seemed like the rising sun and made Ferox blink. Warriors appeared, some of them carrying torches, and he had to turn away because it was so dazzling.

  Acco said no more as a pair of warriors gently lifted Enica out of the small room and into the main chamber. Two more brought Ferox out, far less gently. The bonds on their legs were cut, and both of them swayed to stand upright on stiff and lifeless limbs. A blade was pressed to his throat as they undid one manacle and brought his hands round in front before they clicked it shut again. All of the objects had gone, but Cocceius still lay near the door, eyes staring up at nothing. As he passed, the druid reached down and closed them with something akin to tenderness. They were led along the winding passage, and saw one of the prince’s guards impaled on the stakes of the trap.

  Outside it was well past midnight and very cold after the close atmosphere of the barrow. Ferox tried not to shiver, for he did not wish to seem afraid. Slowly life was returning to his legs and they were no longer so stiff as he walked. Around twenty warriors stood in silence on the grass, most of them the small men of the island, their club-carrying leader in the centre. One handed the druid Ferox’s sword as he passed and the old man swished at the long grass as he walked. Ahead of them the artefacts were laid out in a circle next to the lake, with a big fire blazing high in the centre. The druid led them to stand in the front of the blaze in the vey midst of the powerful objects. The heat was scorching, the pyre taller than he was, and Ferox wondered whether their fate was to burn.

  ‘You cannot escape,’ Acco told them, ‘so do not try. Raise your arms out, ch
ild,’ he commanded Enica, who obeyed. The druid walked behind her and, using his other hand to steady them, he sliced through the rope. She brought her arms around, rubbing her hands on them with pleasure, as the druid came round and stood in front of Ferox. ‘You shall not be released. You are too much of a fool for me to take that risk. Few Silures know when to lie down. Yet you should kiss my feet in thanks, because I am about to give you a gift that other men will envy.’

  The druid held up the rope that had tied the lady’s arm. ‘Enica of the Brigantes, granddaughter of Cartimandua, the caster of spells and weaver of enchantments, you did not know, but I was there when you were born and saw your destiny written in the stars and whispered on the winds. There was never any doubt.’ He flicked the sword hard so that it spun and sank its point into the earth. ‘You must be queen of your people and for that you must have a consort.’

  ‘I know.’ Enica’s voice was faint. She turned her head and gave Ferox a pitying smile. ‘I know,’ she repeated firmly.

  ‘Blood of king, blood of queen,’ Ferox mouthed the words, not that it made any difference now. He wondered whether he could swing the manacles and knock down the old man and then dive into the lake before the warriors slaughtered him. He would not be able to swim, so must drown. Simple pins held the metal bracelets closed. Could she move fast enough to free him? Would she? To his amazement she looked almost happy, perhaps believing that this was her fate.

  ‘Give me your arm, child.’

  Enica stretched her right arm out towards the druid.

  ‘You too, boy.’

  Ferox did not move. Acco gestured at one of his own warriors. Gingerly the man stepped into the circle and went over to the centurion. He grabbed him firmly by the arms and raised them up.

  ‘Thank you,’ Acco said, and bound Enica’s right arm to Ferox’s left with the same rope that had bound her. ‘So the gods make two into one,’ he intoned, and began a long prayer calling upon gods and goddesses by name to bless this union. Ferox did not really listen, although the thought came to him that Crispinus had once suggested this unlikely alliance. The tribune was helping Arviragus, although it was hard to say how willing his assistance was, and what the young aristocrat really intended. At present it really made little difference, much as it did not seem to matter whether he died married or still on his own. Hazy cloud veiled most of the stars, and he could do no more than guess that it was around the fourth hour of the night. Acco did not seem to be in a hurry to complete his ritual.

  The prayer ended. ‘Kneel.’ Enica did as she was told, arm held up awkwardly because Ferox stayed as he was. He had not been listening, so one of the warriors hit him hard in the back of the knees, using the flat of his long sword. Ferox knelt. Enica smiled again.

  ‘Greetings, husband.’ Her smile was broad, her eyes glinting in the firelight. He wondered whether she thought this marriage was all the druid wanted from them. One of the warriors undid the cord binding them.

  ‘Huh,’ she whispered. ‘Is that take your things and go?’ Ferox could not help smiling at the traditional Roman formula for a divorce.

  ‘Begin,’ Acco told his warriors. Two of them went to the stone head with its three faces and lifted it. They were tall, strong-looking men, and yet they struggled, walking slowly to the edge of the water. Once there they stopped, glancing back. Acco nodded. The men swung the head once, twice and then flung it into the lake, the splash soaking them since it did not go far. ‘This is the end and the beginning,’ Acco intoned.

  Next they took the Spear of Camulos, and one snapped the shaft across his knee. Then the other took the part with the head and hammered the iron until it was bent. Again they faced the druid and again Acco nodded. The two fragments of the broken spear flew further before they sank into the dark mere. The skull of the witch was shattered with the hammer and tossed into the water. When they came to the cloak, they threw it into the fire.

  Ferox wondered whether he could reach the gladius stuck in the ground. It was not much more than a yard away, so the chances were good and if he would not be able to wield it properly with these manacles, at least it would give him a chance to take one or two of them with him. Should he kill Acco first? For all that the man wanted to kill him and the woman beside him, he shrank from the deed. It was Samhain still, and he felt as if his ancestors watched him from the shadows of the night. The druid’s power was growing almost visibly as the heat of the fire stirred his hair and made it stand on end. Killing these artefacts one by one, sending them down through fire or water into the Otherworld, fed Acco’s spirit and his magic. Would the iron even bite if Ferox got the chance? Instead of acting, he watched and waited.

  The mirror of Cartimandua was next.

  ‘Please, no.’ Enica sounded like a child, so unlike her usual confidence, let alone the chatter of Claudia.

  ‘It is just a mirror, child,’ Acco told her. A warrior struck the bronze back with the hammer, bending it. Another took it and threw it far into the lake.

  ‘They say the cauldron of the Morrigan can raise the dead,’ Acco said. Ferox wondered why he was taking so long to do everything. Perhaps that was the nature of magic. Unlike the Stallion, Acco had patience. ‘Place a corpse inside the bowl, say the right words, and he will leap out, able to run, fight, make love, in fact do anything, except he cannot speak.

  ‘I never saw it done. There were plenty killed when I came to Mona that first time. My comrades, my commilitones if you will, died one by one.’

  ‘Domitius,’ Ferox said, as the last pieces slid into place, and he knew the old druid had once been a Roman and Gaul, and an officer in the legions.

  ‘You understand at last. You should, you know, for like both of you I have two lives intertwined. I was born Cnaeus Domitius Tullus of Lugdunum and can become him again when need be. That … ’ He glanced at the sword sticking in the grass and Ferox felt the druid saw into his mind. ‘That sword was the sword of my family, although for some reason my father did not give it to me when I went to serve as a tribune here in Britannia and was captured by the Silures, who sent me to Mona with their other prisoners.

  ‘The gods shaped their plans and I followed the path set me. Truth can speak to the right mind. My comrades died one by one. Some were brave and cursed back, and some died screaming or begging for mercy. Days passed and they did not come for me. They hung me up by my arms from that tree and sliced at me with knives, and I made no sound at all. That was not why they let me live. The truth came to me and they knew it, for they were old druids, men who knew the true ways of the gods. Now and again they found a pupil who had not come willingly, and found that he learned faster and more deeply than those who chose themselves. They saw that I was such a one, and I saw at last that Rome was a poison, but that here in Britannia Rome did not have to win, not in the end.’ He nodded to the warriors and they took the cauldron and sent it into the lake.

  ‘It is almost time.’ Acco walked round behind them, raising the flint knife he had used to kill Prasto. He stood there, both arms above his head. A warrior came and stood in front of him, his long sword held low and blocking the path to his gladius. Still Acco waited. At least they were not to go into the fire, and a cut throat would be quick. Yet it was strange that they were to be spared the triple death of sacrifice, for the druid was not in a hurry. They should have eaten the grain and beans with their slow poison, have the cords at their throat ready to tighten, and suffered the death blow with knife or club just before their last breath left them.

  ‘It is the last day,’ Acco screamed at the night sky. ‘The end of the past.’

  Ferox waited. In a moment he would spring up, knocking into the warrior and then hoping to break free and reach his sword. If Enica was quick she might get away. Her arms and legs were free and she was a good swimmer. She could cross the lake and then… ? The boats were surely gone and even the best swimmer would struggle to cross the sea to safety. The most he could hope for was to let her live a little longer and perhaps by some m
iracle find a way out. That was all he could do for his new ‘wife’.

  ‘The last breath is spent,’ Acco wailed at the heavens. The little warriors started clashing spears against their shields, going faster and faster. The moment was coming. He could not wait any longer, for his plan had obviously failed. Then a warrior a few paces away sprouted a long shafted arrow from his face and spun around. Ferox flung himself forward, struck the man in front just below the waist and knocked him down. He raised his arms and slammed them down. It was a small blow, but the weight of the iron manacles gave it force and the man’s nose broke in bloody ruin. Enica tried to bound forward, then snapped back with a hiss. The warrior standing behind her had whipped a rope around her neck and was pulling hard. Acco raised his knife.

  ‘Morrigan!’ he screamed. One of the warriors by the lake was knocked over as an arrow buried itself deep in his chest. The islanders had stopped clashing their weapons and instead there were screams and grunts as a line of Batavians charged into them. Gannascus was in the centre, towering over the little men, his blade carving down through bone, muscle and flesh. Blood jetted high as he beheaded the chieftain.

  Ferox pushed up, his knee hard on the warrior’s chest, winding him. He reached the sword, pulled it free and was up. Enica’s eyes were bulging, hands grasping at the rope as it tightened. Acco stepped towards her. The flint knife was ready to thrust down.

  ‘Lugh, take this soul!’

  Ferox stamped forward and thrust awkwardly into the druid’s back. The long triangular point of the gladius slid into the old man’s body, and if the blow was poorly aimed there was the power of both hands and all his hate behind it, driving the iron so hard that it burst out of Acco’s stomach. The old man arched his back, limbs flailing, and the knife flew through the air.

  The warrior behind Enica gaped at the dying druid, and must have loosened his grip for she slipped free and slumped to her knees. Ferox left the sword in the old man and ran at the warrior, screaming in rage. He swung his manacled arms at the warrior’s face and he fell. Ferox pounced on top of him. Enica was gasping for breath. Ferox slammed the bracelets and his fists into the warrior’s face again and again until there was only a bloody ruin.