The Queen's Brooch

by Henry Treece

  Marcus scratched his chin, then said slowly, ‘Which of the tribes would want to use them in battle against us? In any case, the chiefs have their own light-built ponies that they seem to prefer.’

  The Legate said quietly, ‘Let us suppose that the chiefs were getting dissatisfied with the native ponies. Let us imagine that some young chieftain, relatively close at hand, dreamed of playing us at our own game and thought of using heavy cavalry on us, for whatever reason. Who comes to your mind? Come on, speak up, you know all the local princes, or whatever they call themselves.’

  Marcus looked away for a while. The Legate tapped impatiently on the table, so at last the Tribune said, ‘I could name a dozen young princes. But it is not just, to name names in a case like this. One needs proof before laying charges, sir.’

  Quintus Petillius Cerialis gave him a most stark look, then said with difficulty, ‘Tribune Marcus Volusenus, I did not ask you to visit me so that I might be given a lecture on law. We can leave that to the lawyers. We are soldiers, always remember that. Very well, give me some names.’

  Marcus said coldly, ‘Under protest, sir. The most active of the princes are Gwyn son of Nudd, Cynwas son of Tringad, Osla Longsword, and Togodumnus the Younger.’

  The Legate gazed at him for a while then nodded. ‘I already have them on my list, Tribune,’ he said, smiling shrewdly. ‘Yes, you know the tribes, I will agree. Now, of these, who is the most fond of horses?’

  Marcus thought for a moment, then said, ‘Why, Cynwas, sir. He thinks of nothing else. He claims to have horses in his ancestry.’

  Now Cerialis sat down on his chair and signed for Marcus to take the stool that stood before the long table. And when they were both seated, he said, ‘If you were looking for Cynwas at this time of the year, where in Coritani territory would you seek him?’

  Marcus said, ‘That is not easy, sir. These horse-herders move about a great deal to find grazing.’

  The Legate said sharply, ‘I know that, Tribune. I am not a fool. Come to the point; if it Were a matter of life or death, where would you look for Cynwas?’

  Marcus frowned and then said quite abruptly, ‘Beyond Ratae, where the Fosse Way cuts the Viroconium road, eight miles north of Venonae across the Trent. He keeps his best stock there.’

  Cerialis smiled now. ‘Well done, Marcus,’ he said. ‘At noon today I want you to go down there and see what sort of stock this Cynwas has tucked away over the Trent. Tigidius will go with you, mounted, and you will take that young decurion Novantico and his ten men. He is an ambitious fellow and deserves to see a little action if there is any going. He will make a centurion one day, in my opinion. What do you think of him?’

  Marcus drew his chin back and almost sulked for a while. He said, ‘Is this an official request, sir? If so, I will have the scribe set down my report in writing.’

  The Legate said, ‘You are far too touchy this morning, Tribune. Very well, if you do not wish to speak about the decurion, so be it. Sometimes a commander learns about his men from private word-of-mouth discussions, as you will find.’

  Marcus rose from the stool and said, ‘Sir, my father never spoke about his men, unless to them personally or on the army reports, officially. It is not a soldier’s business to discuss a man’s character behind his back. ”

  Cerialis forced himself to smile now and said, ‘I am corrected, by my newest Tribune. Once again, so be it. I asked for it. But tell me one thing - do you like Novantico?’

  Marcus stared straight ahead and said stonily, ‘He is a good soldier.’

  Then the Legate said, ‘Very well, Marcus, I will dismiss you before you teach me more of what a General should or should not ask. May you have good luck in your mission. See that the men have adequate rations and do not let them sleep in the damp. A sick soldier is no soldier. Make them take their cloaks. I always come back with a cough when I have been along Trentside.’

  Marcus saluted and went out to the courtyard. The centurion was waiting for him and said, smiling, ‘Did he tell you to make them wear their cloaks?’

  Marcus nodded furiously. ‘He did,’ he said gruffly. ‘To be an officer in the Ninth is splendid training for becoming a nursemaid when your time is up.’

  Tigidius put on a sympathetic face and nodded. ‘You take the words right out of my mouth, little one,’ he said.

  ‘Now go and see that your own cloak is packed properly behind your saddle.’

  Then Tigidius stumped off leaning on his oak staff, to see that his servant had packed up all his gear correctly, according to the manual. And that included his cloak.

  [5]

  The Men in the Wood

  Soon after they had left the flat water-meadows north of the river the thirteen men lost track of any roadways and came to a halt before a mass of tangled green woodland that seemed to creep over the billowing countryside as though smothering it with foliage.

  Novantico the decurion looked past Marcus, a smile on his thin pale face, and said, ‘Centurion, in my opinion we should not take the men among those trees.’

  Tigidius looked at him from under lowered brows and said, ‘Address your remarks to the Tribune, soldier. He is in command.’

  Novantico sniffed just audibly then said, ‘I need not repeat what I said. The Tribune will have heard my words.’ Then Tigidius went up to him quite slowly and said, ‘I am a patient man, soldier. So I will tell you again - address your remarks to the Tribune.’

  Novantico was about to answer in annoyance, but just then the centurion dug down with his oak staff and leaned on it heavily. The decurion flinched, flung back his head and stifled a groan. Then he collected himself and said, ‘Sir, ought we to take the men through the woods where there might be an ambush?’

  Marcus stared over the man’s head and said, ‘I know the people here. We shall proceed according to orders.’

  When they went on, the decurion was limping quite painfully. None of the legionaries offered to carry his shield and spear for him, however.

  Tigidius, riding at the front with Marcus, whispered quietly, ‘It’s all right. He will settle down before we get back to Lindum. He’s too ambitious, that’s all. We will train him, you and I.’

  It was a sultry day and gnats swarmed under the overhanging branches of oak and alder and ash. The men sweated with their heavy packs. The two horsemen soon found that it was easier to walk beside their mounts because of the boughs;, but Tigidius called out a warning to all that they should keep clear of bracken and old heaps of sticks in case there were adders nesting in them.

  At the bottom of a sandstone gully they came on a wide pool of dark water. It was green-scummed with mosses but the men were so thirsty that three of them broke ranks and ran down to it. Tigidius bawled out, ‘Keep away from that water, you fools.’

  Novantico glared and said quite loudly, ‘Centurion, who is to give the orders here?’

  The centurion drew a deep breath and said, ‘I am sorry, decurion. But it was an urgent case. We don’t want them down with water-sickness so early on in the mission.’ Novantico drew himself up stiffly and said, ‘Thank you, centurion. I shall put this in my report to the Legate when we return.’

  Tigidius lost his temper a little and said, ‘You can have it engraved in letters of gold for all I care, fellow. These men have cost good money and time to train. I will not have them wasted needlessly.’

  The decurion said, ‘Are you alleging that I am indifferent to the health of the men, centurion? If so, I would like you to say so before the Tribune as a witness.’

  Suddenly Marcus flared up and said, ‘This is not a school for dancers, soldier. Keep your tantrums for another place and let us get on with our work.’

  Novantico half-turned as though he meant to ask the legionaries to bear witness for him. But he suddenly realized that they were all looking away, or pretending to catch butterflies and gnats; so he shrugged his narrow shoulders and then saluted ironically. ‘I am at your command, sir,’ he said.

  The
centurion answered, ‘Of course you are. That is what Rome pays you for being. Now start the men off again and they shall have a measure of marching-wine at the end of three miles. But no more water. That is an order.’

  Then all at once, as the squad moved away, there was a quick rustling in the thorn bushes beyond the pool. The men fell flat to the turf, swinging their heavy squarish shields over their heads in case a flight of arrows followed the noise. Marcus sprang away from his horse so that it should not be shot in any attempt to hit him, and dived behind a flat stone that would hardly have protected a hedgehog.

  Novantico did not fall with the men, but slinging his shield before him, pounded with his javelin at the ready into the thorns. Tigidius shouted out to him, but he did not seem to hear.

  He was back within a count of twenty, dragging with him by the flaxen hair a girl of about twelve, who was striking at him and trying to kick him with her bare feet. He almost flung her towards the Tribune and said, ‘Here is the enemy, sir.’

  Marcus got up from the stone and said, ‘I see only a little girl, decurion.’

  She wore a long shapeless robe of grey wool, tied round the waist with a thong of untanned leather. Her light grey eyes were wide with anger and her russet face screwed up. About her neck swung a clumsy amulet of iron looped onto a cord of cow-hair.

  Marcus beckoned her to him and said in Celtic, ‘Who are you? Are you all right? He did not hurt you, did he?’

  The girl gazed at him for a moment then answered in stiff Latin, ‘It would take more than that beanpole to hurt me. If my brother Cynwas had seen him with his hand in my hair, that Roman would be shorter by a head’s length now. I am Aranrhod. Who are you?’

  The Tribune answered, ‘I am Marcus Volusenus, son of Ostorius.’

  Then she began to laugh and to show her even white teeth. ‘What funny names you all have!’ she said. ‘Our names are so easy to say - but you take a delight in having names that no one can say.’

  Marcus said, ‘That is a matter of opinion, lady.’

  Aranrhod gazed at him then and said, ‘Are you a Roman, though? You sound like a man of the Coritani. Are you British?’

  Marcus smiled and shook his head. He said, ‘I have lived here most of my life, lady. You were away with your kinsfolk in Deva when I visited your tribe last. That is why you do not know me.’

  She said, ‘I saw you all fall down. You thought there would be arrows next, didn’t you? Cynwas will laugh when I tell him.’

  Marcus answered, ‘And I shall tell Cynwas to make his sister wash her hands and face before she goes out into the woods wandering.’

  She looked down at her hands and said, ‘I dropped my lizard and got dirty, feeling for him under the bushes. I love my lizard, just as you love your horse. I saw you jump away from him so that he should not be hit.’

  The centurion came closer then and said gently to the girl, ‘Has Cynwas got horses, princess? Has he got some new horses?’

  She stared at the centurion boldly and then shook her mane of yellow hair and shrugged her thin shoulders.

  ‘Perhaps he has and perhaps he hasn’t,’ she answered. ‘You must ask Cynwas. I am not the chief.’

  Marcus said, ‘We will do that, happily, if you will take us to him.’

  The girl suddenly sat down on the stone that Marcus had tried to use as a shelter and drew a small green lizard from inside her robe. It stayed for a second or two, motionless on her bare arm, then all at once it ran up on to her shoulder and then down her back. She twisted round, as fast as a snake and caught the little creature before it could drop to the ground. Then she smiled at Marcus and said, ‘See, he is a very lively fellow. He needs all my care and attention. I am his mother now because he is the only one left of his family. One of the new horses trod on his nest and killed the others. So it is my duty to care for him.’ Tigidius leaned over and said, ‘The new horses, Aranrhod? What colour are they?’

  The British girl pursed her lips together and frowned at the centurion. She said severely, ‘You are an inquisitive man, aren’t you? Do I ask if you have a new cloak and what colour it is?’

  Novantico stepped forward then and said sharply, ‘Leave her to me for a few minutes, centurion. I will make her talk sense.’

  Tigidius turned to him slowly and said, ‘Do you understand what such information would cost us, soldier? Do you know what Cynwas would do if he thought we had laid hands on his sister? I can tell you, the Ninth would have empty beds for thirteen men by dawn tomorrow. Now stand away from her and remember your place.’

  The decurion started with shock at this and said, ‘They are Britons, sir, not Romans. You treat them as though they were Romans.’

  Tigidius nodded and answered, ‘Yes, and you may put that in your report also when you get back to camp. It just happens that you have manhandled a princess of the royal house in these parts. It also happens that this little girl who struck fear into us all with her game will be considered as being of greater importance to her kinsfolk than the whole of the Ninth. And, if we have the good fortune to stand before Cynwas, I would like you to remember that he and his sister are noblefolk. I have yet to hear that anyone named Novantico has ever risen above the rank of municipal roadsweeper at Camulodunum.’

  The decurion flushed and clenched his teeth. He stepped back to the men and began to form them into squad, speaking to them roughly.

  Aranrhod said smiling, ‘I understood all you said, centurion. I know camp Latin too!’

  Marcus took her by the hand and said, ‘Very well, we have no secrets from you, and that is good because we are all friends here. Now will you take us to where Cynwas is?’

  She got up from the stone and did a little dance, all by herself, her long bedraggled skirt and yellow hair flying out behind her. Then she stopped and said, ‘Does Cynwas want to see you? Have you important business with him? He is very busy with the other chiefs just now.’

  Marcus put on a serious face and said, ‘In a way, Tigidius and I are chiefs also, and we would like to talk to Cynwas about important things.’

  Aranrhod thought for a time, then said, ‘If I do not lead you to him, you will never find Cynwas. That is worth something, is it not?’

  Novantico snorted and said loudly, ‘There, they are all the same! Beggars, all of them. And you call them noble-folk!’

  Marcus ignored him and said to the girl, ‘Yes, it is worth something. What is the price, lady? But do not ask for too much because we have not come bearing gifts today.’

  She looked him up and down with a strange smile on her face, then said, ‘This is the price; let all the men swing their swords behind their backs and give their spears to one man to carry. Then it will be seen that you come in peace, that is the price.’

  Marcus glanced at the centurion, who nodded. ‘Very well, lady,’ he said. ‘We will pay that price. But do you swear that we shall be taken to see Cynwas?’

  She did a few more steps of the dance then, and said, ‘Of course you will. I have said so, haven’t I?’

  Marcus sat her on his saddle and they led the straggling column. The man with the spears walked at the tail end.

  When they had gone down a long winding path covered with rotting beech leaves and overgrown with ferns, Aranrhod suddenly pointed with her forefinger up the slippery slope towards a small grove of oaks. ‘There is a man in there,’ she said. ‘He is a man of the Iceni, a very fierce warrior.’

  Marcus whispered, ‘How long has he been there? What does he want?’

  She shrugged and said, ‘Two days, but I don’t think he wants anything. He is just there. I saw him when I was running after my lizard.’

  Novantico immediately broke from the column and raced up the slope. They saw him push through the lower boughs of the oak screen, then come back with his hand over his mouth and looking paler than ever.

  He slid down the slope again and said, ‘He is there all right. Hanging from a branch by a noose.’

  Marcus looked very severely at Ar
anrhod and said, ‘That was not a pleasant trick to play, lady. Well-mannered girls do not jest like that.’

  She said loftily, ‘You can tell that to Cynwas. I am not interested. No, I am very bored with you all. Let us be on our way. You must all go through that little tunnel of thorns. There is no other way. I shall not speak to you any more for the moment. I am displeased with you all now.’

  They did as she said and went, bending low to get through the dark tunnel of leaves. And when all were through except the man carrying the javelins, twenty Celts wearing helmets and war-shirts rose up from the ferns with drawn swords in their hands.

  Aranrhod kicked the horse along and drew away from the skirmishing. She shouted back to Novantico, ‘Let this be a lesson to you, beanpole.’

  One of the tallest of the Britons came forward and said, ‘Unfasten your sword-belts, all of you. Do not hesitate, we do not wish to kill you, yet. When, is for Cynwas to decide.’

  Tigidius said wryly, ‘Do as he says, men. And from this time, never let me hear any of you boasting of our Roman Wisdom. That little girl and her lizard are the equal of thirteen picked men of the Ninth.’

  Novantico was biting his knuckles and glowering about him desperately. A Celt wearing a blue cloak and leather breeches took him easily by the arm and pushed him forward. ‘Move,’ he said. ‘You wanted to visit Cynwas, and so you shall.’

  [6]

  Cynwas

  The girl had been right; no one could have found Cynwas without a guide. His Dun stood, partly hidden by creeping plants and brushy undergrowth, halfway up a steep sandstone slope, and was largely formed by the roots of the many trees that flourished on the ridge-top. The clan of Coritani that Cynwas ruled now that his father, Tringad, was dead had so skilfully used the tree roots, interweaving and plaiting them together, that a great nest of basket-work had been formed, like the hanging homes of gold-crests or of wild bees; and this nest, now covered by mosses and lichens so that it seemed like a part of the rock face bulging outwards, was the fortress hiding-place of the chieftain and his most trusted henchmen.