The Wolf of Britannia Part II

by Jess Steven Hughes

  Porcius winced. “Why hasn’t Scapula moved on Caratacus?”

  “He was about to,” Bassus exhaled, “until the damned northern and western tribes rebelled. Scapula … I mean … the general, needed the entire spring and summer to quell the revolts. And then the bloody Dumnonii crashed through the western frontier and raided the area around Isca. He sent Vespasian reinforcements and threw them back. But his plans to fight Caratacus and his allies have been set back at least another year if not more.”

  “Is that why Scapula wants to negotiate with Cartimandua?”

  Bassus pulled the scarf wrapped about his neck and wiped the dust from his face. “Aye, so far the queen has proven her loyalty by holding the northern and eastern tribes at bay. If she continues, the commander would be free to undertake his campaign to get rid of Caratacus once and for all.”

  Porcius had known Cartimandua, Queen of the Brigantes, and her sister, Dana, since they were children. Cartimandua had been married to Venutios, Caratacus’s friend and second-in-command, at the age of fourteen. The union ended in failure, and she had gone through many lovers since leaving him. Her father died when she was twenty. Cartimandua was left in a dangerous position. The throne wasn’t hereditary, and she had many enemies. Only the tribal council could elect a new ruler. That didn’t stop her from becoming queen. Using beauty and intelligence, bribing some council members and sleeping with others, she was elected to the throne. Since that time, she has ruled with an iron fist.

  “And what does Cartimandua expect in return?” Porcius inquired after seeing the puzzled look in Bassus’s eyes.

  “She demands a great deal for her continued loyalty, far more than Scapula is willing to give.”

  “As I suspected.”

  *

  Porcius’s meeting with Scapula confirmed Cartimandua’s demands. Scapula looked from Porcius to Bassus, the only two present, and then around the plainly furnished office. His eyes paused at the open door where two sentries stood at a discreet distance, their uniformed bodies and javelins silhouetted as dark shadows in the afternoon sunlight. He turned back to Porcius who sat, along with the centurion, across a plain, wooden table from him.

  “The bitch demands control of Iceni and western Brigantian kingdoms!” the general roared, his bull face flushed from too much wine. He slammed his silver cup on the wooden table and yelled, “More!” to a slave standing just outside the entrance. His neck muscles bulged through the top of his gilded cuirass, as if they might explode through the skin’s surface.

  “Promise the whore anything she wants,” Scapula continued, exhaling through quivering lips. “We’ll renounce the agreement when it’s to our advantage. Then we’ll toss her carcass to the troops.”

  “No woman deserves it more than she,” Porcius replied.

  Bassus nodded. Porcius knew from military protocol the young centurion could not say a word until Scapula addressed him first. He was fortunate the general had allowed him to sit in his presence and only at Porcius’s insistence.

  “That’s why I requested you for this mission,” Scapula said. “Since you are a senator, it is only that, a request. However, I can tell you as imperial governor and fellow senator, it would be in your best interest.”

  Porcius cupped his chin with his thumb and forefinger. “I knew it would come to this,” Porcius said.

  “It’s common knowledge that you’re in Agrippina’s disfavor.” Scapula jabbed a ham-like hand in Porcius’s direction. “But the emperor still holds you in high esteem.” He lowered his hand. “I received a message soon after your arrival urging you to take this assignment as a favor to the emperor.”

  “You mean a command?” It seemed to Porcius the room had grown uncomfortably hot. His toes curled within his dyed, red-leather boots.

  “Call it what you wish,” Scapula said. “Nonetheless, I suspect it will strengthen your position and diminish Agrippina’s if you negotiate a favorable agreement with Cartimandua.”

  “Very well,” Porcius said, “it will be amusing to see her once again.” He paused and gave Bassus a knowing grin. “She was a lying strumpet before reaching age twelve, and over the years, she’s changed little. She would sell a dozen lovers if it would accomplish her ends.”

  “Then we are in agreement.”

  “Definitely.”

  Scapula turned to Bassus. “Centurion, you are to accompany Senator Porcius and provide security.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  A slave appeared with wine for Scapula and his guests. A crooked frown crossed the general’s lips. “It’s about time, you waddling fool. What took you so long?”

  The slave halted and lowered his head as Scapula snarled, “Never mind! I’ll deal with you later. Pour it and get out!”

  Porcius and Bassus glanced to one another. The senator observed that even Bassus appeared embarrassed by Scapula’s outbursts.

  To their surprise, the general composed himself. “You, gentlemen,” Scapula said in a calmer tone, “must forgive my rudeness. Britannia has been a very difficult province to govern. I don’t mind telling you this Caratacus has the army in turmoil. He instigated the rebellions, you know.”

  “So we’ve heard,” Porcius replied.

  “They’ve set back my campaigning for at least a year, maybe more,” Scapula said. “I promised the emperor I’d take the Silurians within the year, and Caratacus, too. That was a mistake. Claudius doesn’t tolerate mistakes or excuses.” He took a gulp of wine and continued, “My physician tells me to ease up on the drinking. He’s afraid it’s going to kill me. But it’s me and not him that has to deal with this savage!”

  “Knowing Caratacus as I do,” Porcius said, “I would say even he can’t hold out forever. He’s bound to make a serious blunder sooner or later. In the meantime, I’m certain I can negotiate an agreement with Cartimandua that will keep her and the tribes loyal.”

  Scapula narrowed his smoldering eyes. “For both our sakes, see that you do!”

  I shall see to more than that, Porcius thought.

  Chapter 15

  October, AD 47

  Before noon, after a three-day, coastal voyage, Porcius arrived by ship at the port of Eburacum on the Ouse River. Amid the usual noise and clattering activity found at any busy dockside, Porcius, clothed in a white tunic trimmed in scarlet and wearing the red, sandaled boots of a senator, debarked the naval Liburnian. He was escorted by forty legionaries led by Bassus, clothed in plain tunics concealing weapons. Should anyone ask the senator about the close-shorn, burley men surrounding him, he would answer they were his “retainers,” entitled by his rank. No Celt with an ounce of sense would believe him, but as long as their swords were kept out of sight, they were in little danger and among allies. Cyrus and a trusted scribe were the only other civilians who traveled with him.

  Porcius hated traveling by sea, but General Scapula gave him no choice. Despite the pacification of the Iceni and other tribes located between Camulodunum, from where he sailed, and Eburacum to the north, the general could not guarantee the senator’s safety traveling overland. He refused to allocate the large number of troops needed to protect him. “If you were to die by the hands of those savages while traveling to Eburacum, it would literally be my head,” Scapula had told Porcius when he was planning his journey. “The emperor is holding me responsible for your safety. You’ll go by sea. Once you reach Eburacum, Queen Cartimandua will see that you come to no harm.”

  The entourage entered Eburacum on a dusty market day. It was the major crossroads of northern Britannia. Trackways from Caledonia to the north and from the lands of the Silurians and Ordovices in the west led to this bustling trading center. Cartimandua had been expecting the Romans and had ordered the guards to pass them through the city gates. Porcius had visited Eburacum in the past and knew the way to the Great Hall.

  The city was alive with jostling crowds and hawkers. Tall Brigantians, wearing hooded capes and dressed in brightly colored, tartan tunics and trousers, mingled with pur
ple-tattooed Caledonians and Venicones. Among the crowds, from the mountainous west, roamed short, dark Silurians and Deceanglians, clothed in wolfskins and deer hides.

  Silence descended on the crowd as Porcius and his retainers passed. Then someone spotted the green sprigs on the standard carried before Porcius.

  “Look! They come in peace! They come in peace!”

  At first there was a murmur and then a din as the festive mood returned to the crowd. Natives and hawkers alike approached Porcius’s retinue attempting to sell their wares to him and his escort.

  Above the mob’s noise Porcius shouted to Bassus, who hiked alongside the senator. “Their hands are out for our gold, and they smile. But I see hatred in their eyes! They know we are Romans.”

  Nevertheless, the carnival atmosphere amused Porcius. Hawkers, trading from goatskin-covered stalls, bleated to the crowds. Bargaining was the amusement of the day as wares and foods of every description were sold. Brigantian master craftsmen offered their ornate jewelry of gold and silver designs. Fishmongers sold fresh and not-so-fresh shellfish, lampreys, carp, eels, smelt, and cod brought from the Ouse River or the sea.

  A stinking fishmonger slipped between the escorting retainers, ran to Porcius, and shoved a maggot-ridden eel into his face. The stench nearly made him tumble from his seat. “Get away from me, you lout!” he shouted.

  “But me lord, I got it just for you. I sell cheap.” He thrust it again towards Porcius’s face. Porcius instinctively grabbed the dead eel by its head and began flogging and cursing the merchant with it like a whip.

  Two husky, white-tunic-clad retainers grabbed the grimy-faced hawker, lifted, and threw him headfirst into a deep tub full of live, blue-clawed lobsters. One of the soldiers quipped, “At least with them lobsters he’s got a chance.”

  As Porcius wiped the slime of the eel from his hands onto the sleeves of his tunic, the retinue moved onward, passing ironworkers, making everything from cauldrons to daggers and swords, who displayed their wares along a dusty street set aside especially for them. Roman pottery was abundantly arrayed and purchased, especially by the richly dressed Britons. Taverns did a brisk business, and Porcius noticed flourishing prostitutes. Their red-and-saffron-colored booths, located near the city gates, had a steady stream of customers entering and leaving.

  The scent of freshly baked flat bread and honeyed cakes, roasting pork, chickens, and ringed sausages drifted over the bazaar, mixing with the choking stench of tanneries, slaughter sheds, and sheep pens. Porcius was at once hungry and revolted.

  Bassus, Porcius, and their retinue made their way to the Great Hall built of unmortared, close-cut stone in the fortress center. At a nod from Porcius, Bassus ordered the detail to halt.

  Porcius spoke to the two posted sentries in Cumbric, the language of the Brigantians. It was obvious by their startled expressions they weren’t expecting a Roman to speak their dialect. He told the guards the queen was expecting him.

  “The queen has known of your coming for the last couple of days,” the tallest of the two sentries said. “You are to pass without further delay.”

  “This is a diplomatic mission, Centurion,” Porcius reminded Bassus. “We shall take no more than ten of your men as honor guard escorts inside.”

  “Ten?” Bassus protested, who at once quickly tempered it. “Yes, sir. I’ll keep the rest at the alert.”

  “They are to keep their weapons hidden,” Porcius said. “I know these people, they’ll do nothing unless they are provoked.”

  Bassus grounded out the words between clenched teeth. “I’m responsible for your safety. If anything happens to you, my head will be sticking on a pike.” Bassus paused and added, “If I survive.”

  Porcius shook his head. “Nothing will happen. If they intend to kill us, forty legionaries in plain tunics won’t stop them. What I want you to do is what Caesar did in Alexandria.”

  “You mean go into the market and trade with the natives?” Bassus looked about. “Is that wise?”

  “Absolutely. They’ll know our intentions are peaceful.” Porcius grinned. “If I know Cartimandua, she can’t afford to have Roman blood on her hands. Not yet.”

  The centurion scowled, and a frown crossed his face.

  Porcius turned and lightly touched Bassus’s shoulder. “I know how you can handle it. Allow half of the troops to go to market place at a time. Give them orders not to drink, and if they have to be recalled, at least they will be mostly sober.”

  Bassus passed the order to his optio, the second-in-command, then marched into the Great Hall with Porcius and ten retainers armed to the teeth. The outline of their weapons showed from beneath their tunics, much to Porcius’s distress and Bassus’s glee. Porcius glared at his centurion, his annoyance tempered by the pleasure of the arrogant officer’s ingenuity. Bassus held eye contact knowingly, his smile just short of insubordination and one-upmanship.

  The senator entered the cool, dry hall. Smoky torches hung in wolf-headed, iron casings along the walls. The noisy crowd of chieftains, noblemen, and warriors grew quiet as Porcius approached in the hazy light. He and the escort slowly and deliberately crossed the Roman-style, mosaic floor. Bassus stayed to Porcius’s right and a couple of steps behind.

  Porcius took his time admiring the picture created from thousands of tiny pieces of colored stone. It was the story of the British God Lugh, an ancient legend Porcius knew well. Discovered by the three queens of the underworld who came upon him while riding horseback, they awoke Lugh where he slept beneath a tree and made him a god. Porcius found the picture and story an admirable blend of old British legend adapted to modern Roman artistry.

  Word had been sent ahead of the senator’s pending arrival, and Cartimandua and her court of chieftains and Druids were waiting. Beyond the great hearth the queen and one of her consorts brooded from high-backed chairs on an ornately carved, wooden dais. Shield bearers lined the wall behind and at each end of the dais. All, except the queen, viewed the Romans with suspicion, if not hatred. Her gaze revealed less than the craftiest chess player from Persia.

  At thirty-one, Cartimandua was a stunning woman, even for a barbarian, observed Porcius. Her curled hair was the color of a flaming sunset, tightly woven like a net, and combed in a wave along the sides. She wore a small, gold headband with a large, green emerald in the center. Light freckles covered her full but pleasant face, and her lips were the color of rowanberries. A bright, purple and white gown with long sleeves trimmed in gold covered her voluptuous body. Twin gold, torc collars, the shape of serpents, surrounded her neck. Regal in every detail.

  Behind the queen, and to one side, a bard played a soft ballad on a small Celtic harp, a melody of a lady who lost her love on a hunt.

  Famished from the long journey and the smells of the marketplace, Porcius was grateful they had arrived at dinnertime. After the usual greetings and salutations, he sat on the dais next to the queen in the place of honor. Bassus took a place between two lesser chieftains, but his ten men stood along the wall keeping a close eye on their surroundings.

  Accustomed to reclining in the Roman custom, Porcius found it uncomfortable sitting in a chair while he dined. Cartimandua was becoming more Romanized, but Romans hadn’t used these kinds of chairs for more than one hundred years!

  Nonetheless, it didn’t stop him from greedily munching on a large piece of venison from a roebuck.

  As he ate, Cartimandua inquired, “And how was your journey, Senator Porcius?”

  Porcius turned slowly and looked into her dark, green eyes. He searched momentarily for weakness, and was rebuffed by the liquid pools of sensuality. He swallowed his food and took a long swill of beer before answering. “Quite pleasant, my Queen.”

  As Porcius stuffed himself, Cartimandua asked, “Who is the handsome, young man with you—the one between the chieftains?”

  “Bassus. He’s one of our most valiant soldiers,” Porcius replied. He motioned with greasy fingers to one of the lower tables in front of them.
/>
  “Does … Bacchus … Bassus,” the queen rolled his name across her tongue like a juicy morsel, “usually send his men to market fully armed?” Obviously enjoying the portly senator’s discomfort, she continued, “And are his warriors accustomed to cracking open the wine gourds they buy with the heads of my peace-loving merchants?”

  Porcius glanced at Bassus, who busied himself with an invisible spot on his tunic. Unless Cartimandua spoke directly to the centurion, he would be forbidden to answer any comments related to him.

  She waved off Porcius’s attempt at a reply. “Then I assume he’s also slaughtered many of my cousin’s people?”

  Porcius winced. “It’s true that Centurion Bassus has killed many, but only in battle. In fact, he has great respect for the British people, treating the civilian population with kindness and praising the bravery and honor of British warriors in battle.”

  An approving murmur rippled over the assembly.

  She silenced them with an uplifted hand.

  “You mean he likes to bed our women,” she surmised.

  The diners laughed.

  A tight smile crossed Porcius’s lips as he answered slowly, “Well, I don’t know about his private affairs, but Caratacus himself spared his life.”

  “Is he the one?” She paused, turning to Bassus, her interest apparently inflamed. She studied him. “The same one,” she continued, “who killed Caratacus’s friend, Clud?”

  “The same.”

  “Hmm, he’s desirable in a rough way,” she remarked as if thinking aloud. “I want to meet him.”

  The Roman exchanged questioning glances with Bassus. A dubious expression crossed the centurion’s face.

  “Of course, my Queen,” Porcius said. “When?”

  “Later. Alone. In the meantime, we have business to discuss.”

  “I strongly urge that our discussion be private.”

  Cartimandua glanced about the hall, “By all means. There are too many among my own who would follow Caratacus given the opportunity. He may be married to my stupid sister, but that doesn’t make him less dangerous to me.”