Ferox said nothing. The decision was made and there was a logic to it all. Like Caesar at the Rubicon, going ahead put them all in great peril, but there was nothing to be gained by holding back.
‘You have not asked about my nephew.’ The legate stared intently at Ferox. ‘And whether or not I think him a traitor or a captive whose spirit is broken? The law would probably say he is a slave now, assuming we count Arviragus as a foreign enemy.’ Neratius Marcellus sighed softly. ‘The boy often says your obstinate silences are more frustrating than your open impertinence.’
‘In Londinium I saw him at a secret meeting with Fuscus and other conspirators, including Domitius, who was really Acco.’
‘Would it surprise you to learn that the tribune has been acting on my orders all the time?’
‘No, my lord.’
‘Then I am obviously less inscrutable than I had hoped.’
‘My people are not inclined to trust others,’ Ferox said.
‘Your people are the Romans, Flavius Ferox. And I dare say our history should teach everyone to be suspicious all the time. Well, let me tell you that for almost a year reports have come in of discontent and wild talk among the chieftains of many tribes and especially the Brigantes. Over the summer it became more definite, and there were signs that the procurator was involved. Crispinus discovered some of this, and came to me with the idea that he seek the conspirators out and become one of them. As the weeks passed – broken only by your adventures over the summer – it grew obvious that there would be trouble at some stage, and it seemed best to bring it to a head. My nephew came up with the idea of urging them to spread rumours that Trajan was dead and that I sought the purple for myself, but was doomed to fail. That would give them the confidence to act and reveal themselves. Better now than in a year’s time, for orders have arrived to send more troops away from the province. In the spring Trajan will attack Dacia and he is assembling a bigger army than we have seen for almost a century to undertake the task. He must have a clear, unambiguous and grand victory to prove his fitness to rule and a defeat here, even a small one, would be embarrassing. Our emperor remains vulnerable, but we had to gamble and provoke rebellion before we became even less able to cope with it.’ The legate bounded to his feet, the suddenness making Ferox flinch, and then the governor was pacing about again.
‘The first great gamble! Then Acco helped by preaching a great change, but I began to worry that the revolt would turn into something too big altogether. What would victory mean if the province lay in ruins? Yet the pebbles were already rolling down the cliff and more and more boulders joined them. Someone killed Fuscus, but he had already done his mischief, driving chieftains into debt before offering them a way out if they joined the plot. My nephew thought we could weaken Acco by beating him to the treasures on Mona. It rather sounds as if that old rogue was reading our purpose and waiting. Still, since he was also Domitius and part of the conspiracy, perhaps we should not be so surprised. Arviragus made it all more complicated, and I do not know whether my nephew colluded with him from the start. What do you think of my nephew?’
‘An able man, my lord, clever and ambitious. I should not say that he is ever troubled by conscience.’
The legate spun around, grinning. ‘Yes, that is about right. I would like to believe that he still feels he is doing his best for me and our princeps, if only because he must realise that we remain most likely to win. Yet who knows?’
Ferox wondered whether Crispinus was acting under the prince’s orders when he tried to poison Enica. Did he think the murder would strengthen Arviragus or make the chiefs hate and distrust him? He did not like to think of her choking her life out, and Audagus had been a good man, who had not deserved that death. He sat there, making no answer, for it was clear the legate expected none.
‘I have orders for you, Ferox.’
He stood obediently. ‘My lord.’
‘When we win, Arviragus must die. A prisoner might be inconvenient, so I need his head and nothing else. Your task will be to bring it to me. Find him on the battlefield or hunt him down afterwards. You may have as many men as you wish, but find him and kill him. My nephew I would prefer alive. His presence with the enemy would be embarrassing if it become common knowledge. His death would be disturbing. He needs to be found in one piece and then perhaps we can learn what he has been doing, and make sure no one else ever learns of it. If he has to die, it will be in the weeks to come. Perhaps a fall while riding or a sudden fever.’
‘My lord,’ Ferox said, his voice flat.
The legate rubbed his chin. ‘Go and rest. Soon I shall have a word with your wife, if that is what she is. Do you know that Crispinus suggested months ago that you become her consort to strengthen her claim to rule the tribe?’
‘He hinted, my lord. It sounded improbably bizarre.’
‘Yes, that is what I thought, so I was inclined to dismiss it. And I felt sorry for the poor girl – well, wouldn’t anybody? Still, now that I learn she is so fluent with a sword, perhaps it is too dangerous a task for anyone else.’ The governor smiled.
‘I am not sure we are married, my lord.’ Each time he repeated it, the words seemed a little more hollow, but he was too tired to explore the idea.
A legionary led him to a tent on the far side of the row of horses and mules brought by the legate and his staff. It was one of the larger ones, the type given to a centurion on campaign, and to his surprise it was empty of other occupants. A wide straw mattress lay on the floor, with blankets and furs. There was a platter with fruit, bread and wine, and a bowl of water. The fatigue was overwhelming him, but when Philo appeared, it somehow did not seem strange.
‘The legate brought me from the south,’ the boy explained. ‘Gannascus’ girl as well, although she is safe at Coria.’
Ferox let himself be shaved and cleaned, for he no longer had the will and strength to resist. Philo took his clothes, nose wrinkling even more than usual in his disgust at their state. He had brought his master a long tunic for the night and everything he needed for the next day. Eventually the boy left and Ferox sat cross-legged on the ground and poured a cup of wine. It was expensive, a present, he guessed, from the governor, and he shuddered a little as he sniffed it. In the old days when he had drunk to cover his emptiness, he knew that he would not have shuddered and that encouraged him.
He was just about to go to sleep when the flap of the tent was lifted and she came in, closing it behind her. She was wrapped in a heavy fur cloak, but her hair was coiled and curled like a Roman lady and when she let the cloak fall she wore a sleeveless dress. There was something bunched in her hands.
‘Are we married, do you think?’ Claudia Enica asked in a soft voice.
‘I do not know. What do you think?’
‘I do not know either, but I think it is meant to be.’ Her seriousness surprised him, but then she managed a smile. ‘You are mine, as I have said.’ She opened her hands to show a piece of material. ‘It is more red than orange, but the best I could find.’
Claudia Enica lifted the veil and covered her head. A Roman bride wore the flamma, an orange veil. She was more nervous that Ferox had ever seen, even when Acco had stood by them with the sacrificial blade. He sensed that she was afraid, and a wave of tenderness swept over him.
‘Ego Gaius, tibi Gaia,’ he whispered. Where I am Gaius, you are Gaia – and it sounded so natural that it surprised him. They were the old words of two become one, male and female halves of the same whole. He wondered whether Acco laughed from the Otherworld.
‘Ego Gaia, tibi Gaius,’ she replied.
Ferox lifted the veil and they kissed. Enica was enthusiastic, if clumsy like a child, and he felt her body stiffen nervously. He pulled away a little.
‘It will be all right,’ he whispered.
Claudia Enica hung her head, knowing that he was surprised. ‘I talk a lot,’ she said.
‘I’d noticed that. Do not worry.’ He ran his fingers lightly over her arm. She must h
ave been cold with her short sleeves, but she did not shy away from his touch. He leaned forward and kissed her again, and their bodies merged, Gaius and Gaia become one.
Ferox woke before dawn, to the sound of the camp stirring. Enica was gone, but the veil lay beside him. He reached out and held it tightly.
XXVII
The army marched south under a grey sky, and most of the time Ferox rode with the legate, for in spite of Tertullianus’ pleas for an additional centurion with his first cohort of II Augusta, Neratius Marcellus wanted an extra officer for his own small staff.
Enica had gone, not just from his tent but from the camp, and Vindex had gone with her, as had Sepenestus and Gannascus. The legate obviously knew where they had gone, but said nothing other than to assure him that they would be as safe as they could be with the column. ‘Some loyal Brigantes went with them.’ Ferox wondered why the legate had changed his mind about the advantage of trumpeting the presence of the high queen with the column. Even more he hoped that the legate had judged the loyalty of the tribesmen well.
Last night was a like a dream, save that it had not faded in memory. Ferox felt a contentment he had not known for a long time, deeper even than the thrill after the first time he had lain with Sulpicia Lepidina. Oddly what little anger he had felt at Lepidina’s betrayal had gone as well, leaving the fondness of happy memory. Their son was a wonderful gift, even if Ferox could never declare his love openly, and he still trusted the lady to care for him.
Early in the day Ferox was sent back with orders for Cerialis, who was in command of the infantry forming the rearguard, mostly composed of his own Batavians, with their moss-topped helmets looking like fur until you came very close. The prefect was affable, and Ferox felt an odd relief that the affair with the man’s wife was now over forever. He had always liked Cerialis too much to enjoy cuckolding the man, even though he knew the marriage was one of advantage rather than affection, let alone love.
‘There are worse deaths,’ Cerialis said, after receiving the warning that they would be crossing a bridge soon, so that the rearguard was to halt and wait while this brought its inevitable delays. The legate suggested that he let his men light fires and cook. The Batavians had returned to their cohort and spread the word of the death of Longinus. His true identity was a jealously guarded secret, and Ferox was one of the few outside the unit to be admitted to it. ‘In a way, I am relieved,’ the prefect said. ‘He went out bravely, and performing a good act. All his family are long gone, and he had already stayed with the cohort long after he should have retired. Where could he go?’ He reached out his hand. ‘The lads know you were not to blame. They know too that he liked you.’
Ferox shook the proffered hand. Amused tolerance was more his sense of Longinus’ feelings towards him, but perhaps he was wrong. As well as prefect, Cerialis was of the royal line of his tribe, and he spoke as both on a matter all the Batavians felt deeply.
‘No hard feelings,’ the prefect told him. ‘You did your best for him, and you brought most of the lads home.’
As Ferox rode back to the legate he found himself wishing that the prefect’s generosity extended to his affair. As far as he knew, Cerialis had not the slightest idea of any of it, and it was surely best that he never did. How could any husband forgive a man who slept with his wife and fathered a child with her?
Ferox brooded as he rode, and then as he waited for the baggage train to file slowly across the bridge, poorly greased axles screamed on the wheels of the carts. The drivers always claimed the noise warded off evil spirits and he did not know whether this was true. The galearii were slaves owned by the army, given a basic uniform and menial tasks like driving the transport. They were a strange, insubordinate bunch who kept themselves to themselves, jealous of the rare freedom they received. On one of the nearest carts a woman sat suckling a baby, and he guessed she was probably the ‘wife’ of a galearius rather than a soldier. She had a sullen expression and deeply lined face, whether from the harshness of her life in general or the more recent rigours of giving birth.
An image formed in his mind of Claudia Enica holding a newborn babe as he stared down, brimming over with love for them both. It was strange to realise that he had come to love her, even if he had not the slightest idea of when this had happened. Desire had been there from the start, but that was no more than the natural instinct of any man seeing an attractive woman. Respect had grown over time as they had travelled together, but the love he now knew was altogether different.
The woman on the cart lifted the baby and placed it on her shoulder, patting gently until it belched with surprising loudness. She glared at Ferox, perhaps thinking he was leering at her uncovered breast.
It was all a dream, for how could they have a future? He could not imagine the elegant Claudia living as the wife of a mere centurion, let alone one who had long since ruined his career and found himself on the edge of the world. Neither could he see himself as her consort, the pair of them puppet rulers of an allied tribe. The Brigantes would surely not accept him and he could not spend all his life scowling to order. That way lay only boredom, despair and drink. Enica deserved better, as the legate had said; certainly better than a man who had seduced another’s wife. She was beautiful and young, a queen now, at least assuming the legate won his battle and she survived it all. What was he? He felt the blackness grow inside him, the despair and self-pity and hate that made the oblivion of drink call out to him.
The wind picked up and as it made the covering on the cart flap noisily, he half thought he heard Acco’s laughter and his grandfather’s scorn. ‘Live with what you have done, whatever it is,’ the Lord of the Hills had said. ‘No magic in this world can change the past and wishing things were otherwise is the part of a fool and a coward.’
The cart was across, and before the oxen on the next one were goaded into lurching forward, Ferox cantered across, ignoring the protests of the weary optio guiding the traffic. Once across he left the road and gave the animal its head, pounding past the transport as the draft animals plodded along in an unearthly chorus of squeaking metal. At least the sight helped convince him that the legate was as well prepared as possible for such a hastily planned campaign. There were more than ninety carts and wagons, some of them big four-wheeled affairs pulled by a team of eight. Almost all were drawn by oxen, so that they were lucky to make ten miles in a day, but along with the hundreds of mules and ponies they carried bread, flour and salted meat. He was pleased to see that some also had bundles of firewood, for they could not be sure to find enough wood for fires along the way.
Everything about the little army was reassuring in a way so different from Crassus’ force. It was hard to believe that was only a few weeks ago. Neratius Marcellus marched with more of everything, soldiers as well as supplies, and that was part of the difference, but only part. As it went south the column torched no farms, great or small. The legate had given strict orders that no one was to be treated as an enemy unless they attacked the Romans. Even the sight of men carrying arms was not to be seen as a mark of rebellion unless they made use of them. These were the lands of allies of the Roman people, old friends to be treated with respect and courtesy, for the soldiers were here to protect them, not fight them. Anything taken from the land, from livestock, hay or food, was to be paid for in coin. Ferox wondered how many people would risk coming forward to speak to the soldiers, and was surprised when during the day several farmers appeared. The column had followed the legate’s orders since the march began and word was spreading.
He rode past the contingent of II Augusta, Julius Tertullianus waving to him as he passed. The princeps posterior commanded his own cohort, the double-strength First, its numbers topped up to almost its regulation strength of eight hundred by volunteers from the rest of the legion. They carried the eagle, but since today it was their turn to take second place to the vexillation from Legio XX Valeria Victrix, the gilded bird was concealed behind a protective leather cover.
The Victri
x supplied almost as many men in two cohorts, and both contingents had spent the last year in the north, drilling and training. The governor had gathered a major force to hold manoeuvres over the summer, ready for a campaign if necessary and for grand exercises if it was not. Now they had their campaign, and Ferox had to wonder whether the legate had had this possibility in mind all those months ago. Tertullianus and some of his men had fought against the pirates during the attack on the island in the far north so had a recent victory to feed their confidence. Some of the auxiliaries were even more experienced, having fought in several campaigns. Cerialis’ Batavians and Rufinus’ Vardulli each mustered six hundred infantrymen as well as turmae of cavalry. There were two hundred and fifty more from cohors IV Gallorum, and three hundred and fifty archers, lean Syrians from cohors I Hamiorum. Supporting these were just over a thousand cavalry, drawn mainly from ala Petriana and ala I Hispanorum Asturum and the cavalry of the cohorts. It was not simply that Neratius Marcellus had more men, they all marched with an assurance and ease that had been utterly lacking in most of Crassus’ force.
*
On the next day the outlying cavalry patrols saw bands of horsemen watching them. There were more of them the day after, and once or twice javelins were thrown on each side, with no more result than a horse taking a graze. Neratius Marcellus had his army march in agmen quadratus, the main force moving in a long rectangle, the baggage in the centre on the road and the fighting units ready to turn outwards and face an attack from any direction. Bands of tribesmen were visible from time to time, especially on the hills to the west, watching and waiting. The legate ordered his own cavalry never to push too far away from the main force, and not to be too aggressive unless they were pressed. The warriors did not press close, so that the two sides watched each other as the Romans trudged south.
Halfway through the morning of the fourth day since Ferox had joined the column, Brocchus with the advance guard sent a rider back to say that there was an army waiting to meet them. The prefect estimated that the enemy numbered at least twelve thousand men, and when Ferox was sent to join him he judged the number about right. This time Arviragus had not blocked the road, and instead his army stood on hills to the west. It was a decent position, the left flank strengthened by the grassy walls of a long-abandoned fort and the right with good, gently rolling ground ideal for cavalry and beyond that thick woodland. Any attempt to outflank would be seen long before it posed a threat, and in any case would mean attacking up even steeper and more difficult slopes. Ferox saw men at work in front of the main line, finishing off a turf rampart that would cover much of the slope.
Brigantia Page 33
