‘But they fight their own countrymen.’
‘Countrymen who two years ago looked down on them as the spawn of a defeated kingdom and treated them little better than slaves.’
Vespasian stepped back into the light of the brazier. ‘Rome is here to stay, Alienus, and it makes no difference to us how harsh the terms of surrender are for each tribe or each individual; that’s something that your cousin here has realised. Help me get my brother back and you can live under the supervision of Cogidubnus with the chance of reconciliation with Rome. Thwart me and I shall burn you bit by bit not for your submission but for the pleasure of doing it. You have my word on both of those assertions.’
Alienus glanced at Cogidubnus and then back at Vespasian. ‘Why should I trust you?’
‘Because I want Sabinus back more than I want you dead, and if giving you your life is the price that I have to pay then so be it. I won’t go back on the bargain, as Mars is my witness, because to do so would put Sabinus’ life in jeopardy.’ Again he nodded at the optio who once more took up the glowing iron. ‘So, I’ll ask you one final time as an intact man, who has my brother and where are they holding him?’
Alienus’ eyes flashed around the room, looking at each man in turn; indecision played in them.
‘Take the hair,’ Vespasian whispered to the optio, who smiled.
With a quick jab, the iron was thrust into the thick growth of pubic hair; with a flash it ignited, encircling Alienus’ genitals with a brief ring of fire. The young man yelped, looking down at his burning crotch. ‘The druids! The druids have him!’
‘That’s better. Where?’
‘I don’t know!’
‘Of course you do. Optio.’
Alienus watched the iron being withdrawn from within the brightly burning charcoal and brought slowly towards his singed groin. He looked in terror at Vespasian who raised his eyebrows questioningly.
Alienus broke. ‘I left him with the druids at the Great Henge of Stone, up on the plain, east of here. They’re keeping him for sacrifice at the summer solstice. I was meant to lure you after him to this place where we were going to crush your legion and capture you so that it could be a double sacrifice.’
‘Which druids did you give him to?’ Cogidubnus demanded, stepping forward.
‘Druids from the sacred springs.’
‘Does that mean anything to you?’ Vespasian asked Cogidubnus.
He nodded slowly. ‘Yes, they maintain the rituals of an ancient goddess, one our forefathers found already here when we arrived. She lives in a valley about thirty miles to the north and never leaves it; she constantly has to tend to her five hot springs and her sacred groves. She commands great power – she can heat water so that it’s too hot to touch. Her name is Sullis.’
‘We could be there and back in two days; three at the most,’ Vespasian said, holding his arms out for Hormus to untie the straps securing his back- and breastplates.
‘Assuming we don’t run into the remnants of that army that fled in the same direction,’ Magnus pointed out, slumping down on a couch.
Cogidubnus looked dubious. ‘It’s one thing travelling to and fro; it’s quite another snatching your brother, if he is there, from Sullis’ valley. Who knows what powers protect it; you felt the malevolence that surrounded those druids last night.’
Vespasian rubbed his sore shoulders as Hormus bent to remove his greaves. ‘But you managed to break through whatever was shielding them.’
Cogidubnus pulled a pendant from under his tunic. ‘This is the Wheel of Taranis, god of thunder.’ He held out a golden, four-spoked wheel, the size of his palm, which Vespasian recognised as having belonged to Verica. ‘Taranis is a true god of the Celts; he rules the heavens and spins his celestial wheel to produce thunder and lightning. He has great power and my people have worshipped him since we came out of the east, long before we crossed the straits from Gaul to Britannia. My uncle gave me this on his deathbed; every king of the Atrebates and Regni who wears it can expect Taranis’ protection, even against the dark gods that the druids awoke on this isle. So wearing this I had no fear when I attacked those druids; the power they wield is only effective if men are frozen by its malice and fear to oppose it.’
‘Frozen? That’s exactly how it felt; it was a deep chill in the very marrow of my bones, creeping up me so that all I could think of was the horror of being engulfed by it. I was helpless. But tell me, is it a trick like their luminous robes or is it real?’
‘It’s real, I can promise you that, but what dark gods they conjure to create it, I don’t know; the druids keep the secrets of their lore buried deep.’
‘Next time I shall sacrifice to my guardian god before facing them.’
‘That might help against the power we experienced last night but against Sullis in her own valley? I don’t know.’
Vespasian sat as Hormus took his armour away for cleaning. ‘What do you suggest then, Cogidubnus? I have no choice but to go; it’s my brother.’
‘Firstly, if we go we can’t take a large force; if they suspect we’re trying to rescue Sabinus, they’ll kill him. Ten men at the most; I’ll pick the best of my auxiliaries and get some clothes stripped off the dead for us all. Secondly, we need to protect ourselves somehow. There is a man that I’ve heard about but never met; he came here from one of the eastern provinces of the Empire about eight years ago. I’ve been told that he has an understanding with the druids; for some reason they fear him. Perhaps he could help us.’
‘How?’
‘He preaches a new religion and is said to have great power; not the cold power of the dark gods of this land but power of a different sort, a power that helps him withstand malevolence.’
‘Is he a Jew?’ Magnus asked.
‘A Jew? I don’t know what that is but if it’s someone who believes in just one god then he could be, for that’s what I’ve heard about his beliefs. He prays to one god and believes that a crucified kinsman of his was that god’s prophet.’
Vespasian looked at Magnus, understanding dawning on his face. ‘You don’t think that it’s him, do you?’
‘I certainly hope it is because he owes you a massive favour for freeing him from those slavers in Cyrenaica.’
‘And he owes my brother for releasing the body of his crucified kinsman to him and not the Temple Guards when Sabinus was a quaestor in Judaea. He’s honour-bound to help us if he can. Where is he, Cogidubnus?’
‘I’m told that he was given land on a large tor by Budoc, King of the Dobunni, between here and Sullis’ valley, about fifteen miles away. If we leave at midday, after a couple of hours’ sleep, we could be there before dusk.’
‘Do you know this man’s name?’
‘It was a name like I’d never heard before.’
‘Is it Yosef?’
The King thought for a few moments. ‘Yes, that sounds right, Yosef.’
Vespasian walked into his sleeping quarters to find Hormus still wiping the congealed blood from his armour with a damp cloth. ‘Leave it, I won’t be needing it during the next couple of days; you can do it while I’m away.’
The slave rose, keeping his eyes to the ground. ‘Yes, master. Shall I prepare something to eat?’
‘Let me sleep for two hours first.’
With a deferential bow of the head, Hormus turned to leave.
‘Hormus,’ Vespasian said softly, stopping his slave. ‘What’s the greatest achievement in your life?’
‘I’m sorry, master, I don’t understand the question.’
‘Yes you do; tell me what it is.’
‘I have never achieved anything other than to stay alive.’
Vespasian sat down on the low bed, undoing his belt. ‘And in achieving that today you’ve also achieved much more, Hormus; it was your warning to me last night that saved almost five thousand legionaries and nearly the same number of auxiliaries. Although they don’t know it, every man in this camp owes you his life. What do you think of that?’
Hormus looked baffled. ‘If what you say is true, then I don’t know what to think.’
Vespasian smiled as he lay down and closed his eyes. ‘You’ve got a couple of days to think about it. Send a message for Maximus and Valens to report to me when I wake.’
Vespasian rubbed his temples, trying to alleviate the headache that had assailed him since waking as Maximus and Valens marched smartly up to his desk and saluted. ‘Sit down, gentlemen; some wine?’ He indicated that they should help themselves from the earthenware jug on the desk. ‘What’s our situation, Maximus?’
‘All but the fourth cohort from the legion could be considered combat ready,’ the veteran replied, pouring a cup. ‘However, the auxiliaries are a different matter: the two Gallic cohorts you left with Caepio to guard the camp took a battering as they prevented a flanking move and then had a hard time of it removing a band of long-hairs that had broken into the camp. The damage wasn’t as bad as it looked, it was mainly the palisade that was burning; the Gauls kicked them out before they got to the tents.’
‘I’m pleased to hear it; I shall personally commend Caepio and the two prefects.’
‘They’ll be busy for the next day; between them they lost nearly a third of their centurions and nearly as many optios and standard-bearers. They could fight if pressed but the chain of command is fractured. Of the other two Gallic cohorts only the one that was with Valens here is fit for immediate action – the other one lost nearly fifty dead and almost two hundred wounded plugging that gap.’
Vespasian grimaced even though he had known that the toll would have been high. ‘What about Cogidubnus’ Britannic auxiliaries?’
‘Minimal casualties; and I think they proved their willingness to fight for Rome.’
‘They certainly did; they have no love for Caratacus. And the Hamians?’
‘They’re fine, better than the cavalry; the Gauls need a hundred and forty remounts to bring them up to just over half strength and the legionary cavalry are down to an effective force of two turmae.’
‘Just sixty-four left?’
‘I’m afraid so; only the Batavians came out of it relatively unscathed. They came back in about half an hour ago reporting the enemy scattered over a large area; most seem to be heading northwest. And there’s no sign of Caratacus.’
Vespasian digested the information for a few moments. ‘Well, it’s not as bad as it could have been, gentlemen. Tomorrow morning we’ll probe northwest to make sure they don’t regroup and double back. Then we’ll head back down to the sea and rendezvous with the fleet to resupply before moving west along the coast to this season’s objective. I’ll leave Blassius here to garrison the fort with the badly mauled cohorts. Valens, you take five legionary cohorts, the Britons and Batavians and head northwest for a couple of days; I want every male of fighting age you come across in chains. Maximus, you take the other four fit legionary cohorts and the Hamians and the Gallic infantry and push north. There’s a valley thirty miles in that direction – Cogidubnus will lend you some scouts to help find it. All being well I’ll rendezvous with you there at dawn the day after tomorrow.’
‘May I ask where you’re going, sir?’
‘I’m going to get my brother out of that valley and when I have done that we’re going to destroy everything in it.’
‘That must be it,’ Cogidubnus said as a high tor, devoid of trees, about three miles distant and standing apart from other hilly features, came into view as they crested a hill. ‘If we hurry we should be there well before sunset.’
‘Provided we don’t run into any remnants of that army,’ Magnus grumbled, adjusting his sore behind in the saddle of the stocky native pony that had borne him, stoically, the last ten miles.
‘We’re safe enough with the scouts ranging around us!’ Vespasian snapped, fed up with Magnus’ complaining, which had been going on ever since he had donned the chafing trousers four hours earlier.
During the course of the short journey they had seen a few groups of straggling warriors from the defeated army but had paid little heed to them other than to avoid them; dressed in their Britannic disguises, they passed as just another unremarkable band of fugitives heading home.
Having dismissed his officers that morning, Vespasian had prepared for the journey and the coming encounter with the druids with a carefully observed sacrifice to Mars of a young ram. The animal had willingly come to the altar and had not struggled unduly under the threat of the blade; its liver had been in perfect condition and there had been no tumours or unsightly blemishes on any of the other internal organs. It had been a perfect sacrifice and yet his unease at facing the strange power of the druids again had not abated; indeed it had grown with every mile they had travelled from the camp, hence his short temper. He looked sidelong at Magnus who sat hunched in his saddle scowling, refusing to meet his eyes, and he berated himself for taking out his nervousness on his friend. It was in sullen silence that the small column made the last part of the journey.
They ascended the tor from the less steep western side, passing through ancient abandoned earthworks, on up towards a rectangular wooden building perched right on the very summit; smoke spiralled up through a hole in the centre of its thatched roof. Whilst still fifty paces away from their destination the door opened and a middle-aged man with a greying beard and a black headdress stepped out; he wore a long white robe and had a black and white patterned mantle over his shoulders. In his left hand he bore a staff which he held up as a greeting. ‘Welcome, Legate Vespasian, I’ve been expecting you for some time now, but when I saw the fugitives from Caratacus’ beaten army this morning I felt sure that you would be here by nightfall.’
Vespasian looked into Yosef’s kindly dark eyes, dumbfounded; he had only been told of the man’s presence in Britannia a few hours ago and yet he had been expected.
Yosef turned to Cogidubnus. ‘And welcome to you, King of the Atrebates and Regni; I am told that of all the kings on this isle you are the one that has your people’s interests paramount in your heart. I pray to God that it is true because the Britons will have need of strong leaders if they are to submit to Rome and not be trodden under.’
‘You do me honour.’
‘No more than a man who stood up to Rome before bowing to her irresistible strength deserves.’ Yosef held out his right hand to help Vespasian from his pony as he dismounted. ‘You look surprised that I knew you were coming; you shouldn’t be. I’ve known that you and Sabinus were here in Britannia since the day you both landed at Rhudd yr epis, or Rutupiae as you Romans call it. I’ve watched your progress west with interest.’
‘Then you’ve heard about Sabinus?’
‘Yes, I have and I know that’s why you are here and what you require of me. And although I am well aware of how much I stand to lose, I will help you and honour the debts that I owe you both.’ Yosef smiled at Vespasian and put his arm around his shoulder, as if he was an old friend, and led him to the door. ‘Righteous men like you and your brother can always expect help in the dark.’
Vespasian’s eyes took a short while to get used to the gloom of the interior, which was lit solely by a fire burning in a hearth at its centre and a single oil lamp on a table next to it that was prepared for four people. The rest of the room was sparsely furnished: a couple of benches laid out opposite what looked to be an altar at one end and a curtained-off sleeping area at the other.
Yosef indicated the chairs around the table as Magnus and Cogidubnus followed them in. ‘Please sit, my friends.’ As his guests took up his invitation, Yosef walked up to the altar and retrieved two jugs, a loaf of bread and a shallow earthenware cup. ‘If you would humour me, I’d like to offer a prayer for the safe return of Sabinus.’ Yosef placed the items on the table and then poured wine into the cup and mixed it, Roman style, with water from the second jug. He then picked up the loaf of bread and said a prayer over it in the language of the Jews before breaking it into four pieces and handing one each to his guests; he placed a morsel of h
is portion in his mouth. ‘Eat.’
Vespasian tore off a hunk and chewed on it as Yosef picked up the cup and raised it to eye-level whilst reciting another prayer; having finished he placed the cup to his lips and drank. ‘Share this with me,’ he said, proffering the cup to Cogidubnus; the King took a sip and then gave it to Vespasian.
Vespasian took it; it felt rough to his touch and it had a dent in the rim as if the potter had mistakenly put too much pressure on it with his thumb as he placed it in the kiln. Vespasian drank and then passed the cup to a puzzled-looking Magnus who drained it in two mighty gulps; its residue dribbled down his chin, which he wiped with the back of his hand while handing the empty vessel back to Yosef.
Apparently satisfied with the ritual, Yosef sat down and poured wine into the cups placed in front of each of his guests while they ate their remaining bread. ‘We will sacrifice a lamb before we leave tomorrow at dawn. Yeshua has gone to fetch one.’
Vespasian recognised the name. ‘Yeshua? Wasn’t he your kinsman who was crucified?’
‘Yes, you have a good memory, that was his name, but it’s his son that I was speaking of. He and his mother and sister have been living with me here in Britannia for the past couple of years.’
Vespasian remembered the woman, Miriam, kneeling before him in gratitude after he had saved her and her children from the ravaging mob of Jews in Cyrene who had howled for their blood, urged on by the agitator, Paulus. ‘I thought she said that she was heading for southern Gaul?’
‘She did but even there it became too dangerous for her. You remember that Paulus of Tarsus was sent by the High Priest in Jerusalem to kill them in order to wipe out all trace of Yeshua’s bloodline.’
‘Yeah, that was some riot the bow-legged little arsehole caused,’ Magnus put in from behind his cup.
‘But we saw him four years later in Alexandria,’ Vespasian said, ‘and he had become a follower of Yeshua’s; he was preaching something about eating his body and drinking his blood to gain redemption and the kingdom of heaven through him. It seemed to be complete nonsense.’
Masters of Rome: VESPASIAN V (Vespasian 5) Page 11
