by Henry Treece
Suddenly he groaned in his despair.
‘What does life matter?’ he asked himself. ‘What does Rome matter? Damn the bitch, Rome! She sucks the life out of a man, the light out of his eyes, and leaves him a dry husk! Damn Rome! Damn Nero! May they both rot!’
He lay still for a while, trying to control his whirling thoughts in the unfriendly darkness.
Then he said, ‘Damn Boudicca! May she rot, too!’
Outside the owl hooted and the herds lowed, smelling disaster in the night air.
The Prefect said, ‘There is only Lavinia, my little daughter … only Lavinia…. If I had known she loved the young Roman so much, I would not have sent him. No, I would not have sent him.’
He paused for a while, wondering whether he would have sent him or not.
Then he said aloud, ‘If he comes back alive, I will make him a Centurion first; then after six months, I will send a special recommendation that he be made a Tribune. She and he can go back to Rome together. She can see him while he is doing his training at the Officer’s School. Yes, that would make her happy. That is what I will do. Her mother would have wanted me to do that. It is time the girl married or she will get herself with child. Just out of annoyance. Anybody’s child. A cowman’s child. Anybody’s child…. I will see her in the morning and tell her all this. No one need know, only she and I. Then she will perhaps love me again and call me the names she used to use when she was a little girl and I used to hold her hand when we went looking for primroses in the woods above Atillium….
She used to call me such comic things—“Grizzly Wolf” “Old Whiskers! ” But I think I liked it best when she just said “Daddy! ” Just “Daddy! ” Sometimes in the night, she would lie by my side, asleep, and dream something that frightened her. Then she would call out, “Daddy! Come quickly and kill it! ” I always” told her that I had killed the thing, but she never knew. She was always asleep and smiling by that time. Yes, first thing in the morning I will do that. I will send to Rome. But when I have done that, she will leave me. I shall be alone, with the Legion…. The Legion…. The bastard Legion I hate and that hates me…. I dare not think what will be left to me, when she has gone back to Rome with her Decurion…. Gemellus Ennius, wherever you are, you are a devil for stealing my daughter from me. Do you hear? You are a devil, a devil, a devil!’
Then he fell asleep, and dreamed that he was polishing his long cavalry sword, the spatha that hung in the cabinet, so that it would be fit to fall upon after the Governor, Suetonius Paulinus, had sent for him to demand why he had not put an end to Boudicca earlier.
It was not a pleasant dream. But had he wakened and known reality, that his daughter had left him to seek Gemellus on her own, that would have been equally unpleasant to him.
30: Meeting
The settlement of Boudicca was a place of savage confusion. In the flaring torchlight, dogs barked, running to and fro among the horses wagging their shaggy tails; hens scuttled under the very hooves, clucking in terror; the black cattle lowed from the steadings and corrals set here and there at the edge of the encampment; stallions neighed and whinnied, stamped their hooves as they scented the mares; men and women hurried this way and that, about their many tasks—some carrying food, or clothing, others sharpening swords, bill-hooks, chariot scythes or javelin-heads.
Fantastic shadows flickered madly between the reed huts, thrown by the animals and men of that strange maelstrom of effort. To Gemellus and Duatha, coming into the settlement from the open country, it was a place of utter bewilderment. They lurched forward, spurred on without mercy by the spear butts of the riders, led by the young tribesman, and at last stood, panting and weary, on the very steps of Boudicca’s summer pavilion.
‘This is a splendid place, friend,’ said Gemellus with irony to the young leader, shuddering inwardly to see the tottering pikes set about the dome, each with its ghastly heavy burden.
The boy sneered down at him: ‘You’ll find no bags of gold here, physician!’ he said. ‘The best you’ll get from the old woman will be a plate of mutton if you behave well—and the axe-blade if you don’t! Boudicca has no gold to give to anyone, not even her nephew, since that fat pig Nero has dipped his greasy hands into the money-bags here!’
Hanging from each wooden pillar was a wicker cage; and in each cage, a hawk. These creatures blinked in the torchlight, their fierce eyes throwing back the red and orange light so violently that they looked more than mere birds of prey. They seemed to be symbols of destruction, waiting to be released by the Red Queen, of whose house they were the signs.
Gemellus passed close to one of these cages, the canes of which were more widely set than the others. The falcon in it leaned forward from his stand, his cruel claws doubled about a gobbet of meat, and struck at the Roman through the bars. The hooked beak thudded against the leather jerkin harmlessly and the Roman halted and smiled at the bird.
The young man, who had dismounted now and stood behind him, said grimly, ‘That is an, omen, Thoramion Krastos of Alexandria! You may look for no milk and honey treatment in that house. ‘
Gemellus started a little, unused as yet to the name he had assumed, but then bowed his head and said, ‘You observe, young man, that the bird was powerless against my magic! ‘
The tribesman laughed, sneeringly, and answered, ‘Not magic, physician; just your thick coat. But Boudicca will strip the coat from you, friend! Then where will you be?’
He flung open the long hide curtains and pushed Gemellus and Duatha inside the summer pavilion. They were met by the sight of many crowding forms; by the sound of a score of voices, shouting, laughing, declaiming, arguing; by the many scents of sweat and leather, of cooked meat and horse dung, wood smoke and aromatic herbs.
Of the Queen, Boudicca, there was nothing to be seen. Her daughters, Gwynedd and Siara, sprawled at one end of the circular room, playing a game of knuckle-bones with other young women, pushing each other about, giggling and lifting up the kilts of the young tribesmen as they passed. The oldest counsellors squatted about the altar flames, arguing about war and chariot-charges, beating one gnarled hand within the other to emphasise their words. The chariot-leaders stood about, serious-faced men, who carried many scars, listening to what the old ones thought they should do when they came up against Rome in the last great battle. A score of hangers-on lounged, or laughed, or jostled, or gambled, here and there, on the floor of the summer pavilion, uninterested in tactics, looking on the whole campaign as nothing more than a holiday—but a holiday where the pickings could be great, the rewards immense, the resulting power incalculable.
Into this confusion, Gemellus and Duatha were pushed, unresisting. Gemellus made a mental note of the ways out of the pavilion, even as he was being jostled along towards the altar. Suppose there were such a crowd as this, on the following night, at dusk, when he and Duatha were to present the gift of red knives to Boudicca? Where best might one withdraw, after the sudden blow, he asked himself? It was not going to be easy, in such a crowded place, to make one’s retreat. At the best, there would be many wounds as one tried to break through such a serried mass of tribesmen; at the worst… Gemellus could not bring himself to consider that possibility.
Then he and Duatha were standing before the chief counsellors, the flames of the altar shining in their eyes, the black smoke almost choking them.
The young horseman who had captured them announced, ‘These are two wanderers we found on their way here. This one, with the medallion about his neck, is Thoramion Krastos, a physician of Alexandria; the other’s name I do not know and do not want to know. He is the doctor’s guide, some idiot from Siluria, of no worth.’
Gemellus smiled inwardly to hear Duatha so described. He could imagine the anger which would surge up in the Celt’s heart to hear that young fledgling speak of him in such an insulting manner.
One of the old chiefs looked up into the eyes of Gemellus, from under white brows. His glance was searching, but the Roman returned it with a pl
easant smile. The old man said, ‘You have travelled far, Greek, to visit a land such as ours. What made you come here—we have no gold? The Romans have taken that from us, you should know.’
Gemellus decided that this man was too intelligent to be easily deceived. He must be approached cunningly. So the Roman answered, ‘I come for three reasons, great one. First, a man I was treating for stomach-ache, in Cyprus, a great miser, died from the poison which his wife put into the medicine I left him; the blame naturally fell upon me, and not upon his wife, for, you see, he had named me in his Will.’
The old counsellor bowed his head mockingly, ‘I understand,’ he said. ‘One is often wrongly accused in this world. But what other reasons brought you here, Great Doctor?’
Now the tribesmen listened carefully and there was silence in the hall as this curious physician told his story. Boudicca’s daughters, especially Siara, were most entranced.
Gemellus said, with a wry smile and a shrug of the shoulders, ‘Secondly, I had heard that in Britain there were many great kings and queens, most of whom suffered from one little, ailment or another. I was anxious, being a professional man, to serve such great ones, to rid them of their mattering eyes, their impotence, their unexpected morning sickness, and what not.’ The old man was no longer mocking. He said thoughtfully, ‘My eyes are good, I see as well as the hawks that hang outside, nor do I suffer from sickness in the morning. Yet I would like to speak with you in private about something else, one day, soon, after we have dealt with the Romans, for example. I have many herds of cattle; I am able to pay well, physician. ‘
The Roman bowed his head. ‘It will be a pleasure, chieftain, to serve you,’ he said. ‘But I must tell you my third reason for coming here. I am a Greek, you understand, but I am not a warrior. Yet I wish for revenge for my country all the same. I am one who has read history, and I know that my country was once free, but is now free no longer. Need I say more, chieftain? Need I say that I too hate and despise Rome? That I too wish to serve the Queen Boudicca, by healing her warriors in battle, by tending the health of the Queen herself, so that she will be able to scatter the Legions in battle? I must confess, I do not love your people, for I hardly understand them, their words, their customs; but I hate Rome, and that is why I come to you now.’
The old chief nodded, a little cynically. ‘There will undoubtedly be great pickings, great gains, for anyone who is on the winning side, Greek,’ he said. ‘And I have always heard that you men of the East are good business-men, good bargainers.’
Gemellus bowed his head and smiled back equally cynically. ‘Which of us is free from the desire for wealth and power, chieftain?’ he asked gently.
The old man nodded and answered, ‘You are a realist, Thoramion Krastos of Alexandria. I like you well. You shall see our Queen, but not tonight, for she has gone to offer her homage to her own gods in the oak groves. That is why her Druid is not here to greet you. He is a doctor of great skill, and will undoubtedly wish to talk with you tomorrow. I will warn you, he is a searching man!’
As the old chief spoke these words, Gemellus felt a thrill of apprehension run through his body. But he smiled back and bowed, as though meeting Druids was an everyday occurrence with Greek doctors.
The old man signalled to a warrior, a broad-shouldered man who wore short yellow plaits and a shoulder-brooch as big as an oyster.
‘Conduct the Doctor and his servant to a guest-hut,’ he said. ‘One with stone walls and a small door. And see you guard that door till daybreak, friend, for if these precious birds fly from the nest in the night, the Queen will have something to say, and something to do, to you!’
Then he turned to the other counsellors and did not even bother to answer the bow which Gemellus made.
On the way to the door, Gemellus saw a woman pushing through the crowd towards him. It was Siara, daughter of Boudicca. She took him by the arm.
‘I heard your words,’ she said eagerly. ‘You spoke of certain sicknesses..
Gemellus bowed his head. ‘Yes, Lady,’ he said, ‘I spoke of a particular sort of sickness which assails some women in the morning.’ He looked at her coolly.
She half-turned her head. ‘I will speak with you tomorrow, when there are fewer folk about. I have a slight indisposition which you might give me medicine for.’
Duatha, who had been silent all this time, suddenly grinned, for he could not resist his opportunity.
‘This Doctor treats most women without medicine, Lady,’ he said. ‘And not one of them has yet complained that the treatment was ineffective!’
The daughter of Boudicca looked up at Duatha strangely. There was an expression of surprise on her face.
‘You speak well, for a Silurian peasant, fellow,’ she said. ‘And I do not think I have heard such an accent from a Silurian before…. I shall speak with you, too, tomorrow, if your master will permit it. There may indeed be others who would wish to speak with you, as well, Silurian.’
Then she went back to her game of knuckle-bones, and the guard hustled Gemellus and his brother down the steps and out into the village compound.
In their dim hut, lit only by a single rushlight, Gemellus said, ‘Your tongue may run us both into danger, brother. You should not have spoken.’
But Duatha only smiled and said, ‘I am not afraid, Roman. These are my own folk, though of a different tribe. I think I can understand them.’
He said no more, but rolled up in the hides which lay on the floor and was soon asleep. Gemellus sat against the stone wall for an hour or more, wondering about the morrow, and what they had better do. He heard the guard coughing outside, in the chill night air, and stamping up and down, calling out to passing tribesmen, clapping his hands to keep them warm…. Then Gemellus too went to sleep.
31: Morning of the Fifth Day
Quintus Petillius Cerialis, Legate of the Ninth Legion, sat up in bed slowly. There was a strange taste in his mouth and a sharp pain in his chest, on the left side. He gazed about him, bewildered. Then he looked up and saw the roof.
‘I am in a tent,’ he said. ‘I was not in a tent before; I was riding a horse. There was a soldier who spoke to me, like an old comrade. I remember liking him… I wonder where I am?’
He leaned with effort from the bed and struck the small gong which stood on the floor. A man ran in, the Camp Doctor. He saluted and said, ‘What is it, Legate? What can I get for you?’
Quintus Petillius tried hard to focus the man, but he seemed to grow and shrink, sway backwards and then forwards, become fat and then thin..,.
‘Doctor,’ said the Legate, ‘I have been sick, is that it?’
The Doctor said, ‘You have been very sick, lord. So sick that we thought we might lose you. Now you must rest and think no more of these things. You will recover if you are carefully, tended.’
The Legate passed his hand across his brow. ‘I should be riding with my two thousand men to crush Boudicca, Doctor. Are they here with me?’
The Doctor shook his head and said, ‘They have gone on, under the command of the Senior Tribune. He will carry out the plan which you arranged. He told me so. He will crush the Red Queen, and rescue the men of the Second who have gone to kill her. That is understood. Now try to sleep, sir. They will call for you when they return.’
The Legate nodded slowly, ‘You are a good fellow, Doctor,’ he said. ‘I will see that you are dealt with generously when I make my next report to the Senate in Rome.’ He waited awhile, then he said, ‘The Senior Tribune is not a bad fellow, either; a Bit aristocratic, but not a bad fellow. I will report well on him too, if he comes back alive, or even if he doesn’t. Has the makings of a good officer, that fellow, in spite of his airs and graces…’
The Doctor placed a wet cloth on the Legate’s forehead. At first the soldier made to throw it off, with a gesture of annoyance, but then he controlled himself and smiled.
‘I am getting to be an old man, Doctor,’ he said. ‘ I shall have to give up my command and go into poli
tics, or something, after this business is over.’
He sighed and then added, ‘I wonder if that young Tribune would like the job, when I am gone…. If he turns out well in this show, I’ll put in a recommendation for him. Not a bad fellow at all…. No, a very good fellow….’
Then the Legate slept.
It was a pity that Quintus Petillius Cerialis could not have spoken with the legionary who had jested with him the day before. That man could have told him a number of things the Legate did not know. He could have told him that the two thousand men had not marched, that most of them lay in camp, a mile away, waiting to retreat to Lindum Colonia without striking a blow; and that the Tribune was with them; also waiting.
He could have told him that they were waiting for two things —to see whether the Legate would die that morning, for if he did the Senior Tribune would take over the command and order the entire Legion back to Lindum; and they were waiting to see how the mere handful of horsemen they had sent south got on in their token meeting with Boudicca.
After all, they had to make some sort of show, if only a small one, for the Imperial Legate Suetonius Paulinus had commanded them to march; and he was not a kind man to soldiers who disobeyed him. Quite the reverse. It was said in the Mess Tents that he was the most hated man in Britain. If the average legionary had been asked who was ‘the enemy’, he would have said, ‘Suetonius Paulinus, blast him!’ Boudicca would have come second. And at a very good distance away, too!
But the Legate could not speak to the soldier, for the Legate was deep in his drugged sleep, watched over by the Doctor who looked to get the best of both worlds—praise from Quintus Petillius in his report to Rome, and a sizeable gratuity from the Senior Tribune if he succeeded to the Command when the old man died, as it seemed almost certain he would.
And the soldier did not want to speak to anyone, anyway; he lay in the guard-room groaning. For his back was really beginning to hurt now that they were rubbing salt into the wounds to heal them. And besides, he had just heard that his pay would be stopped for a month, and that was even worse than the salt. He looked forward miserably to twenty-eight days and nights of emptiness in Lindum Colonia, where the inn-keepers threw a man out if he could not pay on the spot; and the girls were concerned only with what a soldier had in his pocket, and not what he had elsewhere.
