The Romans were surprised and the officer’s eyebrows shot up questioningly. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m a travelling merchant,” said Brude. “I have sold my goods and am on my way back. And you are?”
The officer growled. “Tiberius Servilius Cato, Decurion Speculatorum.” That confirmed Brude’s guess. A Decurion was normally in charge of one Turma, a cavalry unit with a nominal strength of thirty-two men. The Speculatores were scouts, the eyes of the army. Each man carried a lance and a long, heavy sword, a spatha, although their main job was not to fight, merely to find the enemy.
“The rumours are true then?” Brude asked, trying to chat pleasantly so as to keep the man at ease. “The emperor really has come north?”
Cato nodded. “He has three legions and as many auxiliaries. He is determined to crush the rebellious tribes and his army is not far behind us.”
Brude smiled. “Then perhaps I can help. I have travelled a fair bit around these parts and I have a fair idea of what is going on.”
Cato wasn’t convinced. He indicated Brude’s companions. “Who are they?”
“My slaves.”
Cato grunted noncommittally. “So what can you tell me of the locals round here? That’s our job. To find out what’s ahead. I was told there is a hostile village to the east.”
“Then it is just as well that you have met me,” Brude told him, “for I can tell you that you are wasting your time going that way. A lot has happened there in the recent days and things are very much changed.”
“Like what?” Cato demanded. He was listening to Brude but his eyes were constantly watching the surrounding area, wary, expecting a trap of some sort.
“Perhaps we should ride back and speak to whoever commands the troops who are following you. I can give him the full story.”
“Perhaps you can tell me now so I know I would not be wasting my time.” Cato’s voice was harsh and the threat of violence was clear in his stance.
Brude realised he would not talk his way past this man so he told him how the imperial navy had raided the village, killed many warriors and burned the houses. He explained that the rest of the villagers had fought among themselves, losing more men when the head man was challenged and killed. Now the few who were left were mostly frightened old men and women who wanted nothing but peace with their neighbours and with Rome.
“They have one of those stone towers there?” Cato asked.
The Romans had done their intelligence work well, thought Brude. There was no point in lying. If he did, he would be found out. Cato already knew about the broch. What else did he know? Keeping his face calm and trying to appear as much like the friendly trader he claimed to be, Brude said, “Yes, there is a tower but it is a bit of a ruin. The peasants will probably hide inside it if you approach. If you have some ballistae you could knock it down in a few days but I doubt it is worth the bother. If you ask them to come out and assure them you won’t harm them, they’ll probably hand it over to you without a fight. They just want to be left in peace.”
“You seem to know a lot about it,” said Cato, suspicion etched in his expression.
“I arrived there a few hours after your navy had raided the place. I spent yesterday evening, and this morning, speaking to them.”
Cato chewed his lips thoughtfully. He clearly wasn’t sure whether to believe Brude or not. Brude had hoped that the officer he met would be a young, inexperienced nobleman he could persuade easily but this gnarled veteran was a hard nut to crack. Turning to the interpreter at his side, Cato snapped, “Speak to the others. See if they tell the same story.”
The man nodded, tugging his horse’s reins. Brude said to him, in Latin, “Best speak to the woman. The man’s an idiot. Doesn’t know his arse from his elbow.” The man ignored him and he began asking both of Brude’s companions questions about events in Broch Tava. Brude’s heart was racing but he forced himself to remain outwardly calm. He had been over the story several times with Mairead and Fothair. He had to hope they would remember enough to back up what he had said.
After a short while, the interpreter came back. He told Cato, “Pretty much the same story, sir. It seems the navy did a right good job on the place. They killed all their best warriors.”
“The words of slaves shuld not be taken unless they are tortured first,” Cato mused, his dark eyes watching Brude as he spoke.
“This is hardly a court of law,” Brude replied. “I don’t think torture is necessary. I don’t want to lose my slaves.”
Cato snorted. The fate of two slaves was no concern of his. “Very well, come with us and we’ll have a look at this place together. Afterwards, if you’ve told the truth, you can come back and meet the legate. He can decide what to do with you. If you’ve lied.…” He left his words hanging but his meaning was clear enough. His tone made it plain that this decision was not a matter for discussion. The three Boresti were surrounded by Roman horsemen and made to ride back to Broch Tava. “If this is a trap, I’ll have your throats cut,” Cato promised.
The ride back was an uncomfortable one. The Roman cavalrymen were tough and hard, making Brude worry about Mairead riding in their midst. He saw the tension on her face as she tried to ignore the men around her. Even Fothair’s habitual good humour was dampened. He rode in stony silence, all too aware of the potential for violence.
As they approached the broch, Cato called a halt several hundred paces from the stockade. The troopers once again formed a line extending to left and right. Cato waved Brude forwards. “It looks deserted,” he said flatly.
“I expect most of them are hiding,” said Brude, matter-of-factly. He knew that his mother and Seoras were there, along with around two dozen others, mostly the elderly, but there was no sign of them.
The gates to the stockade lay smashed on the ground. The broch stood silent and empty but Cato was cautious. He sent a patrol of six riders round the north side, between the abandoned fields and the stockade, waiting patiently while they scouted around. They returned to report no signs of life. Then six more men were sent into the stockade. If there was a trap waiting, these men would trigger it. Brude, who had walked into the arena many times, admired the way the chosen men simply got on with the task. They were probably nervous and apprehensive but they showed no outward signs, simply walking their mounts cautiously through the broken gates, lances at the ready. Two of them stopped at the gate while the others went deeper into the village.
Time seemed to drag. Brude sat, his heart in his mouth, watching the stockade, dreading to hear the sounds of people screaming which would tell him that the soldiers were slaughtering the few villagers who remained. But all remained peaceful. One of the soldiers turned his mount and rode back to Cato. Sitting next to the Roman officer, Brude could hear every word. “There are some old folk in there,” the soldier reported. “No weapons and precious little of any value.”
“Have you checked the tower?” Cato demanded.
“Not yet, sir. We could do with some more men for that. And an interpreter.” He shot a glance at the small man who spoke the Pritani tongue.
Cato nodded. He snapped his fingers at the interpreter. “Mata, go and speak to the peasants. Find out what you can.” Then he said to the soldier, “Take ten more men and check out the tower.”
Again they waited, the horses flicking their tails to ward off the flies that swarmed around them. Cato turned to Brude. “So how did you learn their language?”
“My father was of the Boresti.” Brude explained. “That allows me to move among them. It’s a living, but I’ll never be rich. I thought I could bring them some of the wealth of Rome but most of them aren’t interested in much apart from gold and silver.” He hoped his tone was pitched so that Cato would hear the usual contempt of a Roman for barbarians.
“Savages, that’s all they are,” Cato said scornfully. “There’s precious little loot to be had on this campaign, that’s for sure. It’s no wonder the Picti are always raiding south of t
he Wall. They’ve got nothing of value themselves.”
Brude hoped his silence would be taken as agreement.
After what seemed an age, the soldiers returned with Mata, the interpreter. “Tower’s empty, sir. It’s been looted by the looks of it. And most of the people have gone.”
Mata confirmed it. “There are only a few of them left, all too old or too stubborn to leave. They say the rest went northwards.”
Cato twisted his head to stare at Brude. “What lies northwards?”
This was the moment Brude had dreaded. This was the lie that might save the people of Broch Tava but condemn their fellow tribes people in Dun Nechtan. But Brude could think of no way of avoiding it. The Romans would learn of Dun Nechtan soon enough, if they did not know of it already. And if they went there, they might leave Broch Tava alone. He looked at Cato, using the blank expression he had learned as a slave. “There’s a hill fort. It’s where most of the Boresti live.”
Cato considered this news. “And east of here?”
Brude shrugged. “A few small farms, the odd, tiny village. Nothing of any great note. It’s mostly woodland and foresthoreline is either sand or cliffs. Not many people live out that way.”
Cato looked meaningfully at Mata who simply shrugged. He could speak the language, but he did not know the country. Cato made a decision. “Right! That tower has to come down.” He turned to the soldier who had led the advance party. “Take your contubernium and garrison the tower. I’ll send some engineers to knock it down. Once that’s done, you rejoin us.”
The soldier nodded. “Yes, sir. Where will you be, sir?”
“With the legions. Probably somewhere to the north. Find us.”
The soldier snapped a salute then he and seven other men rode back to the stockade to guard the broch. Cato rode with them to see the village for himself, taking Mata with him, but the rest of the Romans stayed where they were while Brude, Mairead and Fothair sat nervously watching. Mairead nudged her horse alongside Brude. “What’s going on?” she asked.
“They are going to leave some men to guard the broch until they can send some more soldiers to knock it down.”
“Why?” Mairead had lived all her life in or around the broch. The thought that it would be destroyed filled her with anguish.
Brude had no words of comfort to give her. “They know that most of the people went northwards to Dun Nechtan, so that is where the Roman army will go. They don’t want to leave a stronghold behind them for anyone to use against them.”
“But it’s our home!” Mairead insisted.
Brude could only clasp her hand. “The people are more important than the place,” he said softly.
Cato and Mata soon returned. The officer rode up to Brude. “It looks like your information has been correct.”
Brude shrugged it off modestly. “So can I go now?”
Cato’s mouth twitched in a grim smile. “Oh, no! You are coming back with us. The legate will want to speak to you.”
The legionaries of Legio XX Valeria Victrix were marching along the north bank of the Tava when Cato’s troop found them. They must have crossed he river at Peart and were heading eastwards, five thousand soldiers, with as many auxiliaries and a baggage train that included artillery. The legate, Gaius Folconius Priscus, called a halt when Cato brought Brude and the others to meet him. He gathered his officers to hear Brude’s story.
“You say the Boresti will not oppose us?” the legate asked Brude after he had heard Cato’s report.
“I don’t think they will. Their main centre is a hill fort about twenty miles north east of here. The chieftain knows he cannot face you in battle. If you send emissaries, he will seek peace.” This was the best he could do for Nechtan and his people; try to persuade the Romans to seek peace with them. He tapped a finger on the map, which the legate’s aides had spread out on a small wooden table. “Your main problem lies further north. The Maeatae are a powerful tribe. They are the ones who have been sailing down the coast to raid the province. The Boresti are afraid of them, too. If you want my opinion, you would be better served going that way than wasting time on the Boresti.”
Priscus stared at him icily. “When I need the advice of a merchant freedman, I will ask for it,” he said coldly. “Still, Cato says your information has been good so far, so I will think on this.”
“Thank you, sir,” Brude said, knowing he had misjudged his man. “Do I have your permission to go south? I would prefer to return to civilisation as soon as I can.”
Priscus did not even look at him. “No. You will stay with the legion. I may have need of you later. Porcius will show you where you can sleep.” A young tribune snapped a salute then ushered Brude out of Priscus’ presence. Brude knew enough about high-class Romans not to protest. No doubt the main topic of conversation between Priscus and his staff would be whether to trust him or not. His manumission papers had been studied carefully and his status had been accepted. Whether his trustworthiness was accepted would determine what happened next.
Porcius, young and earnest, told him to ride with the baggage train. The tribune found a quartermaster who was able to unearth a spare tent, which was loaded onto Brude’s pack-horse. Porcius signed for the tent, telling Brude to stay near the baggage train at all times. Then he spoke to the quartermaster again and Brude was certain that the guards would not only be protecting the baggage but would be watching him and his alleged slaves as well.
While the legion rested for a light meal, he sat with Mairead and Fothair. They dug out some of their own meagre rations.
“They’ve got a few interpreters with them,” Fothair told Brude. “Mostly men from the Votadini. They’ve been asking questions.”
“What do you think is going to happen?” Mairead asked, her concern clearly showing.
“I think I have convinced them to bypass Broch Tava and head north. I suggested they avoid Dun Nechtan as well, but I’m not sure whether they’ll listen. The Romans are always nervous about leaving fortresses behind them. What I don’t want is for them to keep us with them, but that seems to be their intention at the moment.”
“Why would they do that?”
“I expect they will want to see if I’ve told them the truth before they let us go. What really worries me is if they send people to speak to Nechtan. With Irb and his men having gone there, he might tell them a different story to the one we’ve been giving. We’ve told them more or less the truth but if they find out I am not a trader, we could be in trouble.”
“And we cannot go back to Broch Tava either?” Mairead had never been so far from her home and the thought that the broch was to be destroyed was still troubling her, as was the fear of what might happen to the villagers. On top of all that, her greatest worry was that Castatin was being taken further away from her with each hour that passed. She was a strong woman, a woman of the Pritani, but the strain was evident in her face.
Brude’s fears were proved correct. The three of them were to accompany the legion as it turned to march north eastwards towards the hills. Having brought the bad news, Porcius rode with them for the first part of the journey.
“Are we under arrest?” Brude asked him.
“Not at all,” said Porcius with an affable smile. “But I’m afraid you are not free to leave either. At least, not until the legate is sure you are not part of an elaborate trap.”
“I thought it might be something like that, but I’m keen to get as far away from any fighting as I can. That’s why I was heading south in the first place. War is not good for business. Has your navy confirmed my story yet?”
“Indeed they have,” Porcius confirmed.
The tribune seemed pleasant enough so Brude decided to take a chance. “Did they happen to say anything about some villagers they captured and took away?”
“No. Why?”
Brude gave Porcius as innocent a look as he could muster. “I had my eye on one of themthat’s all. Pretty young thing.”
Porcius wasn’t sure h
ow to take that, but he said, “Well if they did take any slaves, they’ll be on the way south by now. There have been fairly regular batches sent back to Eboracum.”
“Really? I might try there then. You know, get in and buy up the pick of the bunch before they ship them all off to Rome.”
“You won’t make much money on them,” observed Porcius. “There will be a glut on the market. Anyway, these Picti are usually too unruly to make good slaves. I’m surprised you let your two roam around without keeping them in irons.”
Brude laughed amiably. “Well, I have been fortunate, I admit. The woman had a miserable life before I got her and she’s just happy to stay with me. And her brother’s a simpleton. He’ll do what she says.”
Porcius turned in his saddle to look at Fothair and Mairead who were following close behind. Neither of them could understand what he and Brude were talking about but Brude had warned them how to act around Romans, so they both lowered their gaze when the young officer looked at them. “Well I can see why you want the woman,” Porcius said. “A bit too barbaric for my tastes, though.” He gave Brude a knowing look, adding with a wink, “Still, I suppose that doesn’t matter in the dark anyway.”
In the early evening the legions halted and the legionaries set about establishing a marching camp. Each man was laden down on the march with a spade and some wooden stakes. While some men stood guard and others set up tents, the majority began digging a ditch, using lines of small marker flags which the legion’s advance party had laid out for them, showing where the camp was to be set up. They rapidly threw up an earth rampart, on top of which they planted the stakes to make a wooden palisade.
Fothair was impressed. “We should get them to rebuild the village,” he commented dryly. “They’d have it done in no time.” He had been amazed at how many soldiers there were. When the Pritani spoke of an army, they meant any number of warriors over thirty-five. Fothair admitted that he had not really believed the stories Brude had told of the power of Rome. Now, though, he was starting to realise just how many men the Romans could put into the field. When Brude told him that this was just one legion, Fothair could only shake his head in wonder.
In the Shadow of the Wall Page 35
