Vellocatus looked disappointed. "He described it in fair detail but as to its exact location he wasn't much use. The boy has never seen a map in life. All he could tell me was that his village was on the coast to the north. But maybe I will be able to persuade him to act as our guide," Vellocatus grinned.
Agricola looked thoughtful. Then he nodded.
"Fine, bring the boy to my tent at dawn tomorrow. That will be all."
Vellocatus bowed, turned and stepped out of the tent.
“Prick," Agricola muttered to himself. He would deal with the other matter concerning Vellocatus later he thought. Despite his dislike for the slaver, the man's tale had intrigued him. If the story was true he would need to give some careful thought on how to handle the information. Yes he would need to be careful. Once the news got out, many ambitious and dangerous men would be coming north. He would have to deal with all sorts of trouble.
***
That night Agricola's personal cook prepared the finest and most lavish dinner that he could afford from the provisions that he had taken on campaign. There was door mouse, freshly baked bread, olives, cabbage, hard Batavian cheese, duck and mutton all flushed down by the Governor's finest wine. Agricola lay at the head of the table watching his fellow officers eating and talking. His officers were in a good mood and their laughter and boisterous voices filled his tent. A couple of slaves, clad in simple grey tunics, stood to one side, their faces expressionless. One place along the table however remained empty and the plate of food before it remained untouched.
"Where will you take us next Governor?" one of the young Tribunes cried.
Agricola smiled but said nothing.
"Maybe to Hibernia?" the Irish prince replied smoothly. "A single Legion would make the high king shit himself. Once ashore I would be able to raise an army to fight at your side Sir."
"Would you really slay your own brother?" another Tribune asked turning to the Irish noble.
"That plan was discussed and rejected two years ago," the grey haired camp commander of the Twentieth Legion and oldest soldier around the table, snapped.
"But it was the reason why you built the great fortress at Deva," the Irish noble exclaimed.
"I have already been to Hibernia," Agricola replied with a smile.
"Maybe we are to withdraw," Tacitus, Agricola's son in law and the only civilian in the party said. The young man's words were met by a howl of protest but Tacitus persisted, raising his voice. "The word in Rome is that it is on the Danube frontier that we face our greatest and most dangerous enemy. The Dacians are causing trouble, a lot of trouble. Domitian will have to go to war against them soon. Many of you may find your next posting along that frontier."
"I thought you only liked the company of actors and whores?" the Legate of the Ninth exclaimed.
The tent erupted in laughter and Tacitus smiled good naturedly. "You must all be nice to me," he retorted, "for I am here to record your deeds. One slip of my pen could see your achievements erased from history."
The officers banged the table with their fists and roared with laughter. Tacitus grinned and spluttered as a hand slapped him hard on his back.
"What about Thule, Governor," another Tribune cried. "Our fleet may have sighted the island but no Roman has ever set foot that far north. We could be the first. That would give Tacitus here something to write about."
Suddenly Agricola rose to his feet and as he did the tent fell silent.
"Gentlemen," he said looking around the table at his officers, "If I may raise a toast to an absent friend."
All eyes turned to look at the empty seat and the untouched meal.
"Tonight he dines with us one final time," Agricola said raising his cup in the direction of the empty place. The officers rose noisily to their feet and raised their cups.
"To Atticus," they murmured.
They lay down again with their joviality dampened. Agricola took his time to study their faces. He had known some of these men for nearly twenty years.
"I shall tell you what our next move is going to be," Agricola said at last. He was just about to speak when he was interrupted. The tent flap opened and the watch commander of his bodyguard entered. The man halted and saluted.
"There is a visitor here to see you Sir," the soldier said with a hint of excitement in his voice.
"What, who is it?" Agricola exclaimed looking annoyed.
"Baldurix, a tribal leader of the Decantae, Sir."
The tent fell silent as all turned to look towards the entrance in surprise. The silence lengthened. The watch commander cleared his throat.
"Shall I show him in Sir?"
Agricola looked thoughtful. Then he nodded. "Bring him," he ordered.
A moment later a tall, big and clean shaven man stepped into the tent. He wore a black woollen cloak, underneath of which he had a finely made coat of chain mail armour. On his arms he sported two golden bracelets and tattoos. Around his neck Baldurix was a wearing a beautiful Torc. The Roman officers rose noisily from their benches. Baldurix took a step forwards. He looked unconcerned as his eyes took in the plates of food and jugs of wine on the table. Then he turned to look at Agricola and nodded.
"I see that I have disturbed your dinner," Baldurix said in heavily accented Latin.
"You have," Agricola replied.
"My men have not eaten in two days. May they have some food?"
Agricola turned to his watch commander who had followed Baldurix into the tent. "Bring his men some food."
The soldier saluted and left. "Thank you," Baldurix murmured gratefully.
"I have heard of your name," Agricola said clasping his hands behind his back. "Your tribe are known for their skill in iron work are they not? You trade with the southern tribes around Eburacum and Deva."
Baldurix nodded.
"What brings you here?" Agricola said sternly.
Baldurix lowered his eyes. "I have come to seek the friendship and peace of the Roman people," he replied.
Agricola nodded in approval and glanced at the large map of Britannia that stood on a tripod in the corner.
"I remember once offering the friendship and peace of Rome to all the Caledonian tribes," Agricola said, "and none would accept my offer. Why should I believe you now?"
Baldurix glanced towards the tent entrance. "I will give you my son as a hostage and the Decantae will pay an annual tribute to Rome. In return you shall leave us free to govern ourselves by our own laws."
"A conquered people have no rights," one of the young Tribunes sneered, "You will do as Rome says."
"Silence," Agricola barked. The room fell silent. Agricola glared at the Tribune who had spoken out. The young man's face burned with sudden embarrassment.
"Agreed," Agricola said at last as he turned to face Baldurix, "But when you die, in your will, you shall leave the territory of your tribe to Rome. I want your oath, kneel."
Baldurix stared at Agricola. He was a proud man and Agricola's order was causing him a lot of difficulty. The shame seemed to burn right through his face. Then slowly Baldurix got down on one knee and bowed his head. "I swear on the spirits of my forefathers that it will be so," he muttered.
"Good," Agricola said looking pleased. "Now show me on this map where your people live."
Baldurix rose quickly to his feet. His face had gone red and he wore a resigned look as he followed Agricola to the map standing on its tripod. After a few moments Baldurix placed his finger on the map. "My people live here along the coast," he said.
"How many of you are there?" Agricola snapped.
"A thousand men will follow me," Baldurix said and there was a sudden hint of pride in his voice.
Behind them amongst the officers someone sniggered. Baldurix raised his chin, "My people are free born and follow me by choice," he replied as he tried to maintain his dignity, "My men are not paid to fight for me, they choose to follow me and they are fine warriors."
"No doubt," Agricola said smoothly, "and one day they wi
ll make a fine auxiliary Cohort. But what of the others, the other tribes, will they make peace? What about Calgacus? Where has he gone?"
Baldurix shook his head. "We are scattered now," he said staring at the map, "Calgacus's authority has been broken. The tribes will return to their homes but whether they will make peace I don't know. That is something each tribe will decide for themselves now."
Agricola looked thoughtful, then disappointed.
"There is something else," Baldurix said quietly, "I would like to have the support of your army. To the east of us live the Vacomagi. They are hostile to us. They are hostile to Rome and they are ruled by a druid. Their numbers are similar to ours but with the support of your army we will beat them."
Agricola glanced at Baldurix, "Why are they hostile to your people?" he inquired.
"There is a blood feud between us," Baldurix said lowering his eyes.
Agricola grunted in understanding and turned to look at his map. "Rome will not chose sides between two feuding tribes," he exclaimed, "But we will protect our allies if they are attacked." He jabbed his finger on the spot that Baldurix had pointed out earlier.
"Here," he exclaimed, "We will extend our line northwards to the coast. We will build a fort here at this place called," he peered closer at the map, "Cawdor," he said. "Yes that fort should sit right in between you and your enemy."
Baldurix nodded his gratitude. "Your soldiers will be welcome to buy supplies from my people as long as they do not insult my warriors or chase their women."
Agricola glanced round at his officers. "You have my word that they will behave themselves," he said sternly, "We do not want a repeat of what happened with Boudica. My men will be under strict orders to leave your people alone."
Agricola stepped across to the table and lifted up two cups of wine. He offered Baldurix a cup and the tall barbarian took it. Agricola looked at him.
"To your new found friendship and peace with the Roman people," he announced.
Baldurix raised his cup in salute and the two men drank the contents in one go. Agricola was wiping his chin with the back of his hand when the watch commander appeared once more.
"What is it now?" he growled.
"Another visitor Sir," the soldier replied, "It's that slaver, Vellocatus. He looks quite agitated. Insists he speaks with you at once Sir."
Chapter Eleven - The boy
Emogene sat on the ground munching on the strips of dried meat that Bones had found on a corpse. She was waiting for the light to fade. Across the barren hillside, still littered with the dead, she could see the Roman camp. Vultures were circling in the sky and swooping down to inspect the dead bodies with high pitched shrieks. Earlier that day she had glimpsed a pack of wolves too. The hunters had come down from the mountains to get their share of the bonanza of dead meat.
She had found shelter that night in the forest a mile away and had collapsed, exhausted and weak from hunger. She had been too tired to look for food and if Bones had not brought back the meat she would have had nothing. She had tugged, snarled and jostled with him for the meat he'd carried in his jaws. With one snap he could have broken her neck but she was not afraid of him. He was Bones, her dog, he would be loyal to her until death. Just like she would be to her husband she thought. Maybe he had made it back to the village by now. She smiled as she pictured him sitting around the hearth telling the older folk about how he had managed to escape from the Romans. After she'd eaten she had lain back on the pine covered ground and had glimpsed the moon through the trees. Bones had curled himself into a ball beside her. He would know if anyone or anything got too close. He would warn her. She wasn't afraid of sleeping out in the forest on her own.
The moon had reminded her of the druids. The druids were the guardians of all knowledge her father had told her. They alone knew how to talk to the gods and the spirits of those who had passed on. Do not fear death for the soul will never die her father had taught her. Only the body would perish, the soul would move on to rest in the other world until it would be born again into a new body. Only when you believed, truly believed that the soul was indestructible would you know the highest form of courage. The druids knew, they were fearless, truly fearless and because they respected no fear, nor threats, nor authority other than their own, the Romans hated them and killed them wherever they found them. That was why her father had come north into the wild and free land of Caledonia all those years ago.
She had woken early and for a while had searched for forest fruits amongst the trees. Her hunger however had not gone away. It was Bones who had once again saved the day. He'd padded up to her with a dead duck in his mouth and the two of them had feasted on the raw fatty meat. Later that morning he had returned with more strips of dried meat which she had stuffed into her tunic for later. Her strength had returned and with it her purpose.
She crouched watching the Roman camp in the distance. The question had been bothering her for a while now. How was she going to get into camp with its deep ditch and high wooden palisade? The Romans would see her coming. They would be guarding the place. It was impossible. She shrugged off her doubts. It would be best to try during the night when the darkness would give her some protection. But for every hour that she waited the higher would be the chance that Conall had talked. He was her nephew and she knew him well. The boy was weak and could be easily bullied. She knew because the girls in the village bullied him. They made him do stupid things. She bit her lip nervously. What if Conall had already told the Romans everything? What if they had already taken him south? She thought about Bodvoc's warning. Was she taking an unnecessary risk? Would it not be better to return to her village? But something drove her on. No, she thought, they had him, she knew it, she just knew it. The images that she had seen in her dream during Samhain came back to her. The welfare of her village depended on Conall keeping his mouth shut. She was going to find him.
The afternoon began to grow into evening. She was still watching the camp when she heard the thunder of hooves and the whinny of horses behind her. Startled she scrambled behind some rocks and a few moments later horsemen rode into view below her. There were six of them. She gasped as she recognised Baldurix. What was he up to? What was he doing here with just six men? The riders halted on the slope of the hill and for a moment all six sat motionless, staring down towards the Roman camp. Then Baldurix urged his horse forwards. Emogene frowned, then her eyes widened as she realised what he had come to do. She resisted the temptation to stand up and yell obscenities at her blood enemy. The man was despicable. He was worse than worse. He was going to surrender to the enemy.
Her anger made her throw caution to the wind. "Stay," she snapped at Bones. This was something that she could only do on her own. Baldurix and his men were picking their way carefully across the battlefield and she had no trouble in catching up with them. A few Romans were out examining the corpses. They paused to stare at the horsemen as they rode by but took no action. Emogene hurried on fifty paces behind the last of the riders. If Baldurix turned he would see her but she was counting on his attention being on the Roman camp they were approaching. The Roman ditch and palisade got closer. She plodded straight for the gateway and the sentries that guarded it. From observing the camp she had seen other women enter the fort. She would pretend to be one of them. With a bit of luck the sentries interest would be on Baldurix and not on her.
To her left outside the protective V shaped ditch and wooden wall of the camp she suddenly noticed the tents belonging to the camp followers, the merchants, whores, soldiers wives and shopkeepers who had followed the invaders and who made their living from the soldiers pay. The sentries were advancing towards Baldurix demanding to know who he was, when she caught sight of a group of half naked men sitting together on the ground beside a large tent. The men looked utterly dejected and miserable and each man's neck was shackled to a long iron chain that twisted through the group. The chain looked heavy and solid. A slavers chain she thought. She had seen one just like it in Tu
esis once, but it had been smaller. She veered from her path and strode towards the group. Two armed men stood guard over them. There must be seventy or eighty slaves. She felt her heart pounding in her chest. With every step she prepared herself to run but no one challenged her. She sat down beside a tree stump, close to one of the tents and pretended to fiddle with something on the ground. The slaves were a dozen paces away. They looked exhausted and in a bad state. No one spoke, it was as if the very life force had been ripped from their souls. Emogene worked fast, her eyes searching one face after the other but Conall was not amongst the slaves. She felt a spark of panic. Now what?
Just then a tall thin man wearing a beautiful white coat strode past followed by a couple of men.
"See that they are fed well and that their strength returns," the man in the white coat was speaking, "I want them all fit for the journey south. I do not want to lose a single one of them, do you understand?"
The men following on behind nodded.
Emogene stared at the white coated man as he disappeared into the large tent that stood alongside the group of chained slaves. The man had spoken in her own language. He was a Briton, a Celt. She lowered her eyes to the ground. Were her own countrymen helping the Romans? Were they profiting from her kinsmen's misfortune? She felt herself blush as she suddenly realised how little she knew about the world outside her village, how naive she was. Then she froze. One of the men guarding the slaves had noticed her. He approached holding a spear. She could see that he was a Briton. A long moustache covered his upper lip.
"Looking for your man," he said slyly gesturing towards the slaves. "Take a good look girl, this will be the last time that you see him."
Emogene crouched on the ground. Her knife was hidden in the folds of her clothes. She didn't know what to do. Without thinking she bared her teeth like Bones would sometimes do and hissed at the man. The Briton stared at her in surprise. Then as she hissed again he backed away with a guarded look.
"Stupid witch," he growled, "Get out of here. Go!"
Caledonia Page 5
