The mingled torchlight lit up the turf around her as bright as day. She could hear that the patrolling sentries had halted—directly above them! She tensed to run, then felt the centurion’s hand on her arm. She looked at him, eyes wide.
Junius Italicus shook his head shortly, rolled his eyes upwards. ‘Listen.’
She caught a few words of Gaulish followed by more from another speaker. Gaulish was like the British tongue but sloppier in pronunciation, and she had to strain her ears to understand it. The first few words sounded like challenge and response. Now the two patrols seemed to be talking. Had they not seen the two fugitives crouched at the base of the wall?
The sentries went silent and Drustica tensed again. They had seen her! Seen both of them! Maybe if they both ran now, one of them would survive. As long as someone got out of the city… And what then? Something else she hadn’t considered. Getting out of the mountains. They were still a long way from the road. Or would it be quicker to go down to the shore and steal a boat? Then where? Deva? Get a message to Eboracum…But they had to get away first.
She cocked her head, puzzled. Was that…? Yes. Footsteps up on the parapet, moving away. And the light was draining, leaving the two crouching figures in darkness again. They hadn’t been seen after all.
They remained unmoving for some time. At last, the centurion lifted his head. He gave a little whoop.
‘They didn’t look down,’ he said.
Drustica rose to her knees and stretched exultantly, her joints popping. She rubbed at her back and gazed up at the wall. Now she could see properly, she realised that although they had been hiding in plain sight it had worked—a sentry would have had to peer out over the edge of the parapet to notice them. As luck would have it, the luck of the gods, the two patrols had met directly above them, and the giving of challenge and response, and general gossip, had preoccupied them. Still, it had been a close-run thing.
‘Don’t get too jubilant,’ she whispered, leading him towards the huts down the slope. ‘We’ve still got another wall to cross.’
He grabbed her wrist and twisted her round to look at him. She stared into his urgent eyes.
‘You heard them talking,’ he said. ‘They gave a password and the response. I couldn’t understand the jabber. Was it British?’
She shook her head. ‘Gaulish. I didn’t follow all of it.’
His face fell. ‘But you heard the password?’
‘I think so,’ she said. ‘It sounded like “Gaesum.” And the response was “Isarno”.’
‘What in Hades does that mean?’ he demanded.
She shrugged. ‘Spear and iron.’
‘Right,’ he said. ‘Thanks for your help. I can make my own way out of here now. You get back to Flaminius, girl.’
‘What do you mean?’ she demanded.
‘I’m going to walk straight out of this place. The sentries say gay-some so I say sarnie, right?’
Despite herself, she laughed. ‘No! Listen to me.’
Crouching in the cover of the hut, speaking in whispers, she tried to teach the centurion basic Gaulish. It went badly.
‘No,’ she hissed, rising, and dusting off her clothes. ‘We’ll have to go together. I’ll give the response. Then we both walk out.’
‘And what about you?’ he wanted to know. ‘How will you get out?’
She noticed it was getting lighter.
‘Camulos!’ she swore tiredly ‘It’s almost dawn! They’ll be looking for you!’
A hubbub broke out from within the inner city. ‘They already are,’ said Junius Italicus grimly. ‘I’d better get going. You don’t want to be found with me.’ He rose.
‘No!’ she said, following him. ‘You’ll never get away without my help.’
‘Thanks, but better one of us dead than two.’
‘I don’t want either of us dead,’ she said.
He raised his eyebrows. ‘I’m touched.’
She shook her head. ‘You’ve got to get that message to the governor!’
Guards were hurrying along the walls. The two of them ducked back into cover as warriors burst out of the gates.
‘It’s not looking good,’ the centurion muttered. ‘Any ideas?’
Something came to her. ‘When I was on the other side of the hill,’ she said slowly, ‘I saw another way out of the city. One that they would not expect.’
‘The other side of the hill?’ he said. ‘But there’s nothing that way except…’
‘Except a cliff overlooking the sea,’ she said. ‘It goes almost straight down. You could escape that way! If that part of the parapet is clear.’
‘If I slipped, even once…’
‘It’s starting to get light,’ she said. ‘If you stay here, you’re risking your life. If you go that way, you’ll also be risking your life, but…’
‘And who else will be able to take the message to the governor? Assuming I can get to Deva, let alone Eboracum! I don’t even know where I am.’
‘It’s a risk,’ she agreed, ‘but you have to get out of here, and no one is going to let you through that gate even if you do know the password, not now it’s getting light. The place is up in arms. You’ll be sacrificed and my head will end up in a niche in the hall of skulls. Unless you get away.’
‘And you get back to Flaminius,’ the centurion said. ‘Very well, I’ll chance the sea cliff. You must show me the best place to climb down.’
They hurried down the overgrown back lanes of the city, keeping in cover as much as possible. A quarter of an hour later they both stood on the parapet overlooking the cliffs.
Far below, breakers crashed against the rocks. The wind howled around them, playing spiritedly with their hair and their garments. The cliff led straight down to the spreading waters of the Hibernian Ocean.
The centurion scrambled down the drystone wall onto the narrow ledge at its base. He looked back up at her.
‘Go!’ he instructed. ‘You’re needed here. Never mind me, I can make it.’
He started climbing down the cliff. Despite his words, Drustica stayed there, peering down to gauge his progress. The wind howled and moaned around the crags. The grey waters grew bluer as the sun rose from behind the hill of the city. Sea birds circled below her, wings stretched as they floated above the ocean.
The centurion’s descent was slow and painful. Several times he slipped and almost fell but saved himself by seizing a hardy shrub or jutting outcrop. Each time Drustica’s heart leapt within her as if it wanted to join him. But he never fell.
He passed around a great beetling crag. The wind plucked and tore at his distant figure. He had no ropes, no help. He must be very cold, so cold his fingers would be turning numb. He would fall to his doom on the sea rocks far below, and with him would go any chance of alerting Platorius Nepos.
When he had finally vanished from sight, Drustica turned to go.
Two guards stood there, watching her in silence.
—25—
‘What are you doing?’ the taller of the two guards demanded.
Drustica stared at him. ‘I was looking for the escaped prisoner,’ she blurted. ‘Did you not know? There’s a prisoner on the loose.’
‘Yes, we’re looking for him.’ The second guard glanced over the side. ‘Epona help him if he tried to escape that way.’
‘People have tried before,’ said the first guard as they led Drustica down off the walls. ‘There’s a sheer cliff halfway down. You fall, and there’s nothing to stop you before you hit the rocks. Hey, what’s up? You’re looking pale.’
The place bustled with patrols and crowds of slave women, busier than she had seen it before. She hadn’t realised that so many people lived here.
‘We’ve got to continue the search,’ said the second guard. ‘You’d be best returning to your troop. You’re one of the new recruits, aren’t you? Trying to curry favour with the druids, eh?’
Drustica hurried away, grateful that she had escaped suspicion, but their earlier words
rang in her skull. Had the centurion fallen to his doom? She’d heard nothing, but with the wail of the wind and the crashing of the breakers far below, a cry, or the sound of him hitting the rocks, would be inaudible.
She found Flaminius outside the hall of skulls.
‘Where did you get to last night?’ he asked. Bellomarus and Segovesus came up, with a few others. ‘Do you know what happened?’
‘I was tired,’ she said. ‘I went back to the hut. When I woke up, there was a lot of noise so I came out to see what was happening.’
‘You don’t look like you’ve had a night’s sleep,’ said Bellomarus suspiciously. ‘Besides, we had an important ceremony at dawn. Why did you not attend it?’
‘We would have had an important ceremony,’ Flaminius corrected him. ‘But the victim escaped.’
‘The victim?’ she said. ‘You mean that centurion?’
A group of bagaudae marched in. Cucullata and several other cowled druids came to meet them.
‘We’ve searched the entire city,’ said the bagaudae leader. ‘No sign. He must have escaped in the night.’
‘Slaughtering two men with his bare hands?’ Cucullata said.
‘It seems he had a confederate,’ said the leader. Drustica tensed. ‘No doubt they both escaped. Shall I despatch patrols?’
Cucullata nodded. ‘Yes. They’ll have been heading for the road. By now they could be half way to Kanovium.’
‘If he lives,’ Drustica murmured.
They’d be better searching for a broken body on the seashore. He was as dead as he would have been had Flaminius gone through with the ceremony. In many ways, she was glad. Flaminius would not have the crime of murder, of participating in druidic rites, on his conscience. But the centurion was dead—there was no hope he could have survived the fall—and they were no closer to fathoming the conspiracy.
Riders were mustered and they rode off into the moors beyond. Drustica took little comfort in the knowledge that their search would be fruitless. Cucullata turned to Bellomarus.
‘Your new recruits must still be blooded,’ she intoned.
Bellomarus shook his head. ‘Find them another sacrifice.’
Cucullata eyed Flaminius in a way that Drustica did not relish. ‘The moon is no longer full, the time is no longer ripe,’ she said. ‘No, it is time they proved their devotion in more immediate ways. Only then will they be allowed to enter the inner circle of our mysteries.’
‘A headhunting raid? But that would mean initiating the final phase sooner than was planned. Have you the permission of the Archdruid?’
‘I received word from him at dawn. Our allies in the North are ready to make an attack on enemy positions, and all our bagaudae across the province are now at full strength. He has determined the best target. It will surprise you, I think. But before the main push, we will soften up our enemies with surprise attacks, hit and run raids going far into the province, returning to the safety of the hills as soon as enough damage is done. This will be a brief phase. Before the Romans can react, we will carry out our main strike.’
Flaminius’ face was blank, but Drustica knew he was listening as closely as she. So this was the druids’ plan—to attack the province, beginning with a series of raids. If only she had known this before she helped the centurion escape. Even if he lived, which seemed unlikely, he would have only the vaguest of stories to tell to Platorius Nepos. And if the Caledonians were preparing an attack on the Wall, which seemed to be what Cucullata was saying, the governor would be too busy fighting to concern himself with vague rumours of enemies at his back.
Cucullata decided that the recruits would be accompanied by one of their toughest Caledonian contingents, on the understanding that the recruits would be expected to do most of the killing. Soon Drustica and Flaminius were fully armoured and mounted, drilling on the open patch of turf that functioned as a parade ground.
Drill continued for much of the day, but they finished early and returned to their hut for food and rest. Bellomarus took Drustica to one side.
‘I know we don’t see eye to eye, you and me, decurion,’ he said. ‘But I want you to fight your best fight. We’ll be riding down into the lowlands, the hinterland of Viriconium. As soon as we come to an outlying farm, we will attack, burning rick and cot, and cutting down anyone who shows fight. No prisoners, understood? But everyone must bring back heads if they want to prove themselves. Tell the others.’
If Drustica was ever to learn the druids’ battle plans, she had to show her dedication to the cause. But it went against the grain, attacking peaceful farms and villas owned by Roman citizens.
‘I understand,’ she said. ‘When do we leave?’
‘At midnight,’ said Bellomarus.
‘This will be a preliminary to the campaign?’ He nodded. ‘What position will we attack when the campaign proper begins?’
‘I can’t tell you that. It’s known only to Cucullata and the Archdruid, and their closest confidantes. You know better than to ask questions. You’ll be told when you’re initiated. Now get some sleep.’
He went to find his own bedroll. Drustica passed on the information to the others and then lay down to rest. But she couldn’t sleep.
Half a watch before midnight they were awoken by messengers from Cucullata. Bellomarus took them to the hut that doubled as an armoury where they were equipped with mail, helmets, shields, lances, and longswords. The city was almost silent, and it was pitch black, but the messengers, bagaudae by the look of them, carried torches.
Next trip was to a stable, where they chose horses for the raid, study creatures since they would be seeing a fair bit of riding. Mounting them, they rode out into the field at the centre of the inner city, where more men sat their horses waiting.
These were Caledonians, blue painted warriors with spears and swords on shaggy ponies who eyed the troopers with insolence and truculence. A pair of cowled druids waited beside them, shivering in the night air. These gave Bellomarus his orders, and the two troops to ride for the gates.
They rode down the winding lanes of the outer city. The gates stood open. Guards stood on either side, and torches blazed on the walls. The massive stones of the gateway resounded as the raiders rode out. In the light of the waning moon they galloped across the heather.
Mountains bulked blackly against the starry sky, dark against darkness. They rode down muddy hill paths flanked by scrub. The moon passed behind clouds and their progress continued through an almost impenetrable darkness. The stars vanished, and all was dark. It began to rain.
Drustica was weary, reduced to a trance by the monotony of the journey, by the time they reached the Roman road. They followed it eastwards, passing Kanovium’s walls without incident—the sentries were sleeping on duty, it seemed; things were very lax—as dawn was breaking.
Crossing the river by the bridge they soon left the road itself and took to tracks that led through the dank woods and out over the purple heather. Here were few signs of life other than circling ravens and occasional herdsmen.
Near noon they camped deep in a wooded valley. Bellomarus posted scouts on the edge of the camp. Flaminius was one of them. Drustica joined him where he stood beside a tree overlooking the main path.
‘How long do you suppose we’ll be riding?’ he asked her. ‘Where is our target?’
‘Bellomarus tells us we will be attacking a farm outside a town called Viriconium,’ she told him. ‘I don’t know these southern places.’
‘It’s the tribal capital of the Cornavii people,’ Flaminius informed her. He would know, of course. ‘Deva is in their territory.’
‘We’re returning to Deva?’
He shook his head. ‘Viriconium is further south. I doubt many farms in its vicinity belong to Romans.’
That evening, as shadows fell, the raiders continued their journey. They rode on into the night, down ancient trackways far from the Roman roads, through the hills and out into the plains beyond. Finally, Bellomarus called a halt and th
ey gathered in a grove of oaks. Smoke drifted into the night sky from a large clearing.
Caledonians went to scout, and soon returned with reports of a middling sized farm surrounded by tumbledown outbuildings and several fields of spelt.
‘Built in the Roman style,’ the lead scout said, and he spat on the ground. ‘Maybe Romans, maybe Britons, but no friends of ours.’
‘I’ve heard that some folk in Britain have taken to Roman ways,’ said Bellomarus, ‘even as they have in Gaul.’
‘Not the Caledonians,’ said the scout defiantly. ‘We never gave up the old ways.’
‘Soon all of us will follow them,’ Bellomarus promised. ‘But we must first make a strike for freedom.’ He gestured to the gathered troopers and Caledonians. ‘Fan out until we surround the place on three sides. Keep in cover until I give the sign on this.’
He produced a horn of the type used by Roman trumpeters. Drustica, smarting from the scorn they had shown for Romanised Britons, was amused that their hatred of Rome did not extend to a rejection of its military equipment.
She rode through the trees, ducking low to ensure her helmet was not knocked off by stray branches; it was difficult to make them out in the darkness. On the edge of the woods she reined her horse, gazing out at the deserted fields. All around, the wood was alive with the padding of horse hoofs, the jingle of equipment, whispered orders.
The farm was visible across the fields, low rectangular humps of shadow. Although it was hard to make out anything, she could tell from the angular lines that these buildings were indeed constructed on a Roman pattern.
She sat her horse, sweating under her armour, Flaminius in brooding silence on his own mount nearby. Soon she would be attacking this farm, killing people like her, Britons who had taken on the ways of the Romans. Maybe the Romans had protected them from local tribes who had been their traditional enemies, maybe that was the source of their loyalty. And now men who once fought for Rome would be killing them.
The Hadrian Legacy Page 15
