The Londinium File

by Gavin Chappell

  The gaunt man sneered, and spat on the human bones that lay heaped around the foot of the tree. ‘You speak our tongue well, I’ll admit,’ he said, ‘but you know little of our ways. Your disguise was paltry, although you went to some trouble having yourself tattooed.’

  Flaminius had also allowed his hair and beard to grow. The Caledonian dialect was not so different from the tongue spoken by Drustica, the warrior woman he had encountered on his previous visits to Britain. He had not seen her in some years. She lived in the empire, south of the Wall, and he had been forbidden to enter the province of Britain by the man who governed it, Aulus Platorius Nepos.

  ‘What was it that gave me away?’ he asked at last.

  The man pointed savagely with the forefinger of his left hand at Flaminius’ brow.

  ‘That!’ he hissed viciously. ‘That brand in your forehead. Only a foreigner would wear such a heathenish mark.’

  Flaminius gave him a wry look. ‘The raven brand of Mithras is worn by any of his followers,’ he said. ‘I did not claim that I had not travelled in the Empire. For all you know, I could have been initiated before I returned.’

  ‘As part of your lying story that you were a travelling oculist?’ the gaunt man spat the last three words out. ‘A transparent ruse. It was plain that you were a spy.’

  Flaminius looked mournful. ‘Who are you?’ he asked. ‘You have got more out of me in a few seconds than your servants have over several days.’

  ‘My name is Dagodubnos,’ said the gaunt man proudly. ‘I am Archdruid of Caledonia.’

  He turned and held out his left hand, still holding the torch high in his right, and the black clad woman danced in rings around him, wailing and keening. She never drew close enough for the torchlight to shine in her eyes, which remained in shadow.

  Now Dagodubnos thrust the torch into a rusty iron bracket fixed to the side of the tree and left it flaming there. He returned to gaze up at Flaminius.

  ‘So we come close to the truth, now, do we?’ he murmured. ‘Those fools I sent here were wasting their time. Now I have your admission that you are a spy. A travelling oculist! Pah! We have examined the simples and potions you carried in your chest and pronounced them futile rubbish.’

  ‘Johannes of Alexandria sold them as genuine medicines,’ Flaminius protested. ‘I’ve tried them myself!’

  The Archdruid spat again. ‘Foreign filth,’ he said. ‘Only druidic medicine is trustworthy. Your primitive sorcery will not avail in this land.’

  Flaminius grunted. If this Archdruid, so puffed up with his own pride, could be transported in an instant to the grand boulevard of Alexandria, he would sing a humbler song. The hustle and bustle and heterogeneous population, the towering temples and palaces were all a far cry from the stinking wattle and daub huts of Caledonia.

  ‘Enough of this,’ the Archdruid said. ‘You have suffered much here, from the ministrations of my men, from hunger and from cold. You are shaking. You are unwell. Even if you had your medicines with you, you would not be able to save yourself. Only the secret arts of my folk will help you. But you will be left here to die.’

  The woman croaked ominously, echoing the crow that had perched in the tree, and the Archdruid looked approvingly at her. ‘Boduua is keen to scratch out your eyes,’ he added. ‘And that is not all she will remove from your body, if you do not speak.’

  Flaminius shrugged. ‘I suggest you get it over with,’ he said.

  The Archdruid drew closer, and peered into those very eyes. ‘Curious,’ he murmured. ‘You do not resemble a fool, even if your attempt at spying in my land was foolish. You would die here?’

  Flaminius yawned. ‘I’ve no wish to die anywhere,’ he said. ‘But I’ve not spoken under torture yet. Why should I speak now?’

  The Archdruid laughed. ‘You have already confessed that you are a spy,’ he said. ‘In the end, we will have the whole truth. Something brought you here from Rome or Alexandria, or whatever outlandish country it was. Something brought you here in a small boat that disembarked from near the estuary of the Taon. Something brought you up the winding paths from the coast, up to where a hill fort guards the way into the country of the Caledones proper. Where the burnt out ruins of a fort of the foreigners also lie. It was when you began poking and prying in those ruins that my men stopped watching you and intervened.’

  Flaminius must have betrayed something in his face, because now the Archdruid nodded triumphantly. ‘Oh yes, you were watched all the time! And it took you some days to reach that spot. Some days of travelling from village to village, bothy to bothy, peddling your foul foreign wares, casting your foul foreign spells over my folk.’

  ‘If your magic is so powerful,’ Flaminius said conversationally, ‘why do so many of your common folk have such appalling eye diseases? Why don’t the druids cure them with their famous magic?’

  The Archdruid shook his head impatiently. ‘We care naught for that rabble,’ he said, ‘and nor do you! We knew from the start that you were a spy. We watched you. When you began your prying, my men snatched you and brought you here to be questioned.’

  ‘With very little success,’ Flaminius commented. He was cold, he was weary, he was in pain. But when anger kindled in the Archdruid’s eyes, he felt a kind of satisfaction. The man was unsettled by the defiance of this interloper.

  ‘I know why you came here,’ the gaunt man said. ‘I know very well why you were exploring those ruins.’

  ‘So you say,’ said Flaminius. ‘Tell me, then. Why?’

  The Archdruid studied him. The woman danced and keened, eyes glinting lustfully. The wind moaned. But the Archdruid did not speak for a while.

  ‘Gold,’ he said at last. ‘Treasure! You’re a treasure seeker.’

  ‘I would have found gold, would I?’ Flaminius asked. ‘If your men hadn’t descended upon me, and carried me off here? I know where I am, incidentally. This island is well known. It’s no secret to my people. This is where you send all your… problems.’

  ‘How could you know of it?’ The Archdruid seemed disconcerted, or was it just an act? ‘No one who comes here has ever left.’ He indicated the bones. ‘That is your fate. But first you will talk.’

  ‘If I’m going to end up like that anyway, what incentive do I have to talk?’ Flaminius asked.

  The Archdruid drew closer. ‘A full confession could save you a great deal of unnecessary pain.’

  Flaminius pursed his lips. ‘Your men have already subjected me to needless torment,’ he said. ‘How could any more be worse?’ He knew full well, of course, but he was playing for time.

  So, it seemed, was the Archdruid. ‘How did you learn about the ruins?’ he asked.

  ‘Ruins?’ Flaminius said. ‘I knew them before they became ruins. It’s only a few years since Pinnata Castra[11] was a functioning Roman fort, if briefly.’

  The Archdruid stiffened. ‘You admit to being a Roman spy?’

  Flaminius shook his head. ‘You’ve already proved to your satisfaction that I’m not one of your own people. Why should I not have known Pinnata Castra when it was still in use?’

  ‘You seem to misunderstand the situation you are in, foreigner,’ said the Archdruid. ‘You are a Roman spy and I am here to question you. I am the Archdruid, and you will answer my questions!’

  ‘You must rate me very highly as a prisoner,’ said Flaminius. ‘If you, the Archdruid himself, feels the need to come and speak with me.’

  ‘How did you learn about my… about the gold?’

  ‘Your gold?’ Flaminius said. ‘It’s your gold, you say now?’

  The woman wailed and danced away in the darkness. The Archdruid flung out his arms in irritation. ‘You are not here to question me,’ he hissed. ‘You are a prisoner, a captive. And you will answer my questions. How did you learn about the gold?’

  ‘I didn’t know about any gold,’ Flaminius said. ‘It’s news to me that there was any gold there.’

  ‘Then why did you come here,’ the Archdru
id demanded, ‘from this Alexandria? To work as a, a travelling oculist?’ He guffawed.

  ‘That’s it exactly,’ said Flaminius. ‘My plan was that I would work hard, gain a reputation, work my way up to a position where I would be treating the family of King Brennos. Then I would be overloaded with Caledonian bearskins and I could make my way to civilisation and sell them at a profit.’

  The Archdruid laughed. ‘King Brennos?’ he asked. ‘Brennos is long dead. Your research has been very poor.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Flaminius. ‘Well, who is high king now?’

  The Archdruid shook his head. ‘There has been no high king since Brennos was murdered by men from another people,’ he began.

  His eyes narrowed. Flaminius heard a dismal wail from the windswept dark as the woman danced on in the distance. ‘What did I tell you?’ the Archdruid hissed. ‘Do not question me. I am questioning you.’

  Flaminius met his gaze and raised an eyebrow quizzically. The Archdruid scowled, and added, ‘Why were you exploring the ruins if you did not know about the gold?’

  ‘Oh, just poking about,’ he said. ‘I knew it was an old Roman fort. I just wondered if there was anything valuable to scavenge. The villages I’d passed through had had plenty of need for my salves, but they could pay me very little. A roof over my head, some gruel in my belly, no more. It looked like my medicines would run out long before I found any rich customers. Of course, this was before I knew the political situation had changed. Now, if I’d known there was any gold in those ruins… Tell me, how much gold is there?’

  The Archdruid went purple.

  ‘For the last time,’ he bawled, sounding like a doting old man throwing a tantrum, not like a majestic and mighty barbarian druid, ‘Why were you exploring the ruins? Did he send you? Was he planning a double-cross all along?’

  — 18—

  Pons Aelius[12], province of Britain, 14th June 125 AD

  Dawn had yet to break, but there was a line of red fire over the distant sea.

  With a rumble, the wooden gates of the fort swung open as the two auxiliaries on duty let pass a group of riders. Dust rose in clouds from the ill maintained roadway as the horsemen galloped away across the maroon acres of heather.

  For the most part they were auxiliary cavalry from some Thracian troop. But at their head rode two Roman citizens: a tall, craggy faced, olive eyed young man wearing a crimson cloak with all the patrician hauteur of a senator, and alongside him, galloping with equal skill and panache, a woman. They were dressed for hunting, and carried hunting spears and bows.

  Auxiliary Trooper Gnaeus Domitius Theodoricus of Trajan’s Own Cugernian Cohort stood watching them in amazement, clutching his long, leaf bladed spear tightly as he followed the progress of the troop into the dawn twilight. On either side of the fort, the long grey line of Hadrian’s Wall stretched away into the gloaming.

  ‘Where d’you think they’re going?’ he muttered to himself.

  ‘Get this gate shut,’ growled his comrade, Trooper Egbertus, and Theodoricus put his shoulder to the great wooden struts as they shoved it and shoved it back into place.

  With a thud, it settled into place, cutting off that disturbing sight of the endless wilds of barbarian country, beyond the empire. Barbarian country into which had vanished Romans dressed not for war, but for hunting. As the light was cut off Theodoricus scratched at his beard beneath the chinstrap of his burnished bronze helmet. Here was a mystery.

  He followed Egbertus up the wooden ladder and onto the observation platform above the gate. The dawn wind whipped at his cloak as he gazed out into the north, but his attention was fixed upon a distant plume of dust that marked the passage of the troopers. He glanced back at the fort, which stood atop a hill which sloped down towards a broad river spanned by the new bridge that give the place its name: Pons Aelius, the Bridge of Aelius Hadrianus. At most times of the year the fort was a sleepy place, with only a small garrison of auxiliaries. But recently it had been bustling with legionaries, Roman officers and even civilian clerks.

  The governor of the province of Britain had come north from his summer quarters in Eboracum to oversee the final stages of the building of the Wall. With him was the procurator, up from Londinium[13] in the south. In their train they had brought some genuine Roman eccentrics.

  Theodoricus, like his comrade Egbertus, was a Cugernian, a man of Germanic origin within the empire of the Romans, although his tribe had been granted Roman citizenship. ‘What are Romans doing riding out on a hunting trip into the wilderness first thing in the morning?’ he asked of the wind.

  Egbertus turned to give him a sardonic grin. ‘You mean Tribune Quintus?’

  ‘Is that the name of the fool?’ Theodoricus asked. ‘Goes hunting into Caledonian territory in the middle of the night, and takes his mistress with him!’

  ‘You shouldn’t go around calling the personal aide of the governor Aulus Platorius Nepos a fool,’ said Egbertus. ‘It might get back to him, and then you’d be flogged—if you were lucky.’ He gave sly grin. ‘I won’t say anything, but it’ll cost you.’

  Theodoricus grunted. ‘Is that who it is?’ he said, ignoring his fellow trooper’s wheedling. Egbertus had been an auxiliary for almost twenty years. He had survived by his wits, and his ability to turn a profit from the most unpromising situation. ‘And what does the governor think of his aide riding off on a dangerous hunting trip?’

  ‘Come now, trooper,’ said Egbertus. ‘We all know the Caledonians have been crushed. Their high king is dead, the tribes are now all fighting amongst themselves. Once this wall is finished, an expedition into the north is planned. Maybe that’s why the governor allowed this foolishness as you call it.’

  ‘An expedition into the north?’ Theodoricus tugged at his red beard. Egbertus kept his ear to the ground. ‘We’re not going to try conquering the Caledonians? They may be quiet at the moment, but they’ll regroup soon enough. And they know those lands; we don’t.’

  ‘Tell that to the governor,’ Egbertus commented. ‘Word is, he intends to lead an expedition to the fort where the Ninth Legion met their end. Means to raise an altar to their departed spirits, they say.’

  ‘And this Quintus,’ Theodoricus mused, ‘who we just allowed to ride out into barbarian country. Is he out on a scouting mission?’

  Egbertus shook his head. ‘No, he’s going hunting.’

  Theodoricus shook his head. Never would he understand these Romans, even if he was a citizen himself. For a moment, he revelled in his favourite daydream of leaving the troop and settling down on his own farm in some colony or other. He’d have a swanky wife from Rome, and barbarian slaves to order about. Never again would he stand in the freezing wind on night duty on a fort partway along Hadrian’s Wall, straining his eyes for… for what?

  If Egbertus was right, and he had an irritating habit of it, the Caledonians posed no threat. So why did Theodoricus find himself on gate duty so often? He wished he could go off on hunting trips, but if he could, he’d at least have the sense to remain south of the Wall, where it was comparatively safe. The Caledonians might have been neutralised as a military force, but there were no patrols north of the wall, nothing to stop robbers attacking unwary travellers…

  ‘Hunting?’ he said. ‘What possessed this Quintus to go hunting north of the Wall?’

  Egbertus gave a chuckle. ‘You should pay more heed of barrack room gossip, trooper,’ he said. ‘It was all over the garrison when I went on duty. At the banquet the governor held last night, Quintus’ wife—and she is his wife, not his mistress—dared him to ride out into the heather next morning on a hunting trip. Said she’d go with him if he was man enough to try it.’

  Theodoricus was shocked. ‘They allow women to join them at their banquets?’ he asked. ‘Noble women? Roman women?’

  Egbertus shrugged. ‘This Publia is a freedwoman of some sort, I should think,’ he said. ‘Not born a Roman citizen, you can be sure of that. She’s no shrinking violet, she rides like a man
and hunts like a man, seemingly. And she’s got Quintus round her little finger. She humiliated him in front of the guests and the governor—a man I know was there, on guard duty, he saw everything, heard it too.’

  Theodoricus leant on his spear and peered out into the gloaming. ‘What a fool,’ he said.

  He’d never let a woman join him at a feast. A drunken woman was a shameful thing, and they had their ways… And he’d never let a woman trick him into agreeing to such a dangerous course… Of course, there had been a girl once… It was because of her that he’d joined up.

  ‘At least he had the good sense to take a troop of Thracians with him,’ he added after some thought.

  ‘At Publia’s request,’ said Egbertus. ‘After Quintus vowed by the standard of the Sixth Legion that he would go a-hunting in barbarian country, right in front of the governor so he couldn’t back down, his woman seemed to change her tune. She said she would go with him, and see that they brought back the biggest boar north of the Wall—but she asked Platorius Nepos if he would assign them a detachment of auxiliaries.’

  ‘Seems she had some sense,’ said Theodoricus. ‘But I’d have dragged her back to my quarters by her hair and thrashed her black and blue if she made a fool of me in front of the governor, not pandered to her silly whims. Women! Pah!’ He spat, and the spittle whipped away in the wind.

  Egbertus shook his head. ‘You know as much about women as you do of Romans,’ he said disparagingly. ‘For all that our tribe has the citizenship.’

  Theodoricus was aggrieved. The boredom of sentry duty watching a country that posed no threat exacerbated his annoyance. ‘What do you mean?’ he barked.

  Egbertus grinned. ‘You can’t let a woman make fool of you in front of a superior officer—then just thrash her and leave it at that. No one would respect you. If you make a drunken boast, you fulfil it the next day, however foolish.’

  Theodoricus growled. ‘Romans aren’t like that,’ he said. ‘That’s the German way. The barbarian way, they would tell us. Romans are more civilised. They’re always telling us we ought to be...’