Tigirseno felt the hairs rise on his neck. He was too sensible to ignore the warning. The Trinovantes had their own seers.
So, he thought, and the thought was cold and clear as an ice-block. I'm marked for death.
Death was nothing. Less than nothing. The soul, which was himself, was immortal, and death could not touch it. The Druids said so, and Druids could not be wrong. He swallowed down his fear and felt it replaced by a great feeling of calm.
'An oath is an oath,' he said quietly. 'I thank you for your warning, Doinos, but I'll go all the same, if you'll show me the way.'
Doinos sighed. 'Aye,' he said. 'Aye, well.' He turned away, so that Tigirseno could not see his face. 'You'll share my fire for tonight, at least?'
'If I may. I'd be honoured.'
He woke when the night was half spent to see Doinos sitting upright, still wrapped in his cloak, his eyes empty and blind, white in the starlight.
'Tigirseno?' he said.
'I’m listening.' Tigirseno spoke softly, but the hairs on his neck crawled.
'Beware the kite, boy! Beware the kite!'
Doinos lay down again beside the dying fire while Tigirseno stared into the darkness.
18.
Aper handed Pollux's rein to the slave outside the provincial offices and walked up the steps past the flanking guards. He was worried; more worried, even, than he would admit to himself. Montanus's slave had arrived just after dawn, and it was not like Quintus Montanus to send a messenger directly to the villa, especially an unofficial one who could give no explanation for the meeting or a reason for its urgency. The procurator's representative was a bureaucrat to his fingertips, and friend or not he would stick to the proprieties.
The Iceni. It had to be the Iceni.
Irus, the little bald-headed Sicilian Greek who had been the agent's principal clerk since he had arrived in the Colony six years before, was busy at his desk with a notepad and abacus. He looked up and smiled as Aper came in.
'Commander,' he said. 'Good morning. Not a pleasant day outside, but the snow seems to be shifting at last.'
'Aye. Not before time, either. How are you, Irus?' Aper unfastened the fleece-lined cloak that Ursina had bought him for the Festival and draped it over a stool near the brazier. It had been a cold ride from the villa, with more than a touch of rain in the air, but the provincial offices were well-heated and the room was warm as an oven. 'Montanus is expecting me, I think.'
'Yes, sir. If you'll bear with me a moment I'll go and see if he's free.' The clerk made a final entry on his pad, then laid it aside, rose and walked down the corridor in the direction of the agent's office.
Aper stretched out his hands to the brazier. Aye, it had to be the Iceni. Montanus had delayed as long as he could, but Prasutagos had been two full months dead and with Catus breathing down his neck he could not drag his heels indefinitely. Now the weather was showing signs of breaking up and the roads north were clearing, whether he liked it or not he would have to make a move. Aper hoped that that was the sum of his news, but he doubted it: the early summons with no information was ominous. Unless, of course, Montanus had had fresh orders from Rome...
Footsteps sounded behind him. He turned.
'You can go in now, Commander,' Irus said.
Quintus Adaucius Montanus was a small man in his late fifties with sparse grey hair like an unruly bird's nest. The childhood illness that had left him partially paralysed from the waist down and dependent on crutches had not touched his brain; cripple or not, Montanus had one of the sharpest minds in the province.
'Good morning, Titus,' he said as Aper closed the office door behind them. 'Have a seat. My thanks for coming so promptly. Ursina's well?'
'Aye.' Aper took the chair opposite. His worry deepened: there were lines round Montanus's mouth and eyes, and his face had the tired, pinched look that went with lack of sleep. 'She's fine.'
'Good. Good. And your son?'
'Marcus too, the last I heard. He's up at Braniacum, commanding the Foxes.'
'So he is. I'd forgotten.' Montanus lowered his eyes. He had picked up a message tablet in front of him and was turning it round slowly as if unsure what to do with it. Finally, he looked up. 'Titus, you must understand that we're not having this conversation. Most definitely we are not. And after the last time I don't even expect you to act on what I'm going to tell you. But someone should know and I'm afraid you've drawn the short straw.' Aper said nothing. 'This arrived for me by special messenger yesterday. Read it, if you will.'
He passed the letter over. It was from Catus: short, no more than a few lines. Aper read it and replaced the tablet on the desk.
'So,' he said. 'He's bypassed you.'
'Yes.' Montanus's voice was empty of expression. 'Well, I'd half-expected it. Perhaps it would have been better if I'd been more' – he hesitated – 'zealous in consulting the procurator's interests where Icenia was concerned, but there was always the hope that our masters in Rome would see sense and countermand his instructions. That, of course, has not happened.'
'Aye.' It must have been a faint hope at best; Aper knew that much already. 'Who's this Pompeius Homullus?'
'One of Catus's toadies. And if it's trouble he's after then he couldn't have made a better choice.'
'You still think he wants to goad the Iceni into revolt?'
'It's the obvious explanation. Otherwise why choose Homullus?'
'He's that unsuitable?'
'Oh, Homullus is efficient enough on his own ground.' Montanus toyed with a pen. 'But up to now his only contact with the natives has been with southerners like Cogidbnus's Atrebates, and he has no knowledge of or sympathy with the less civilised tribes. On a personal level he's touchy, self-opinionated and completely devoid of subtlety and imagination. He will do what he's told, exactly what he's told, by the shortest route, whatever the consequences. He's also venal, given the opportunity, and you know what that means in a procurator's agent.'
Aper sat back. Like any close-knit body of professionals, provincial administrators were careful not to criticise one of their own to an outsider, whatever the circumstances. He had never heard Montanus offer criticism of a colleague in any but the mildest terms, let alone damn him so thoroughly.
'In other words,' he said, 'he's totally the wrong man for the job.'
'Not at all.' Montanus was frowning. 'That's the whole point. Catus knows what he's about, you can be sure of that. He doesn't make mistakes. Yes, I think he wants trouble, and he's going to get his wish.'
'There's nothing you can do?'
'Not now. It's out of my hands. Catus is acting privately for the emperor, and he has the right to employ whatever agents he pleases. If he chooses to send a specially-commissioned deputy direct from London then he's fully empowered to do so.'
'Can't you lodge a formal objection?'
'Who with? Not Catus himself, certainly. The emperor? The more of Icenia Nero can get his hands on the better he'll be pleased. And if I tried to stop Catus from giving him it he'd have my head on a plate.'
'The governor should know, at least. I'll write to him myself.'
Montanus's lips twisted. 'Save your ink,' he said. 'Paullinus has other fish to fry at present. And I doubt if he would interfere in any case. He's already made that abundantly clear. Like I said, this time there's nothing either of us can do.'
'So if it will do no good then why tell me?'
Montanus looked away, towards the shuttered window that looked out over Residence Road towards the Annexe and the bulk of Claudius's temple.
'Because I'm a selfish coward,' he said quietly. 'Because I want the one man left in this bloody Colony who has an ounce of brain between his ears to be in full possession of the facts. And finally, because I need to know that there is someone who shares my knowledge and therefore my guilt. You understand me, Titus?'
Aper's anger died. He nodded. 'Aye,' he said. 'I understand.'
'Good. I’m glad.' Montanus cleared his throat. Reaching forward, he
picked up the message tablet and retied the lacings. His voice now was calm and matter-of-fact. 'If Catus gets his way and the Iceni rise then the province is heading towards a major bloodbath. The fact that most of the blood spilled will be native does not console me in the least.'
Aper collected Pollux, mounted and turned the horse's head towards the south gate. The wind was freshening, blowing in from the south and bringing with it a drift of rain. What patches of snow still remained banked against the north-facing walls of the provincial offices were rapidly turning to slush, and the eaves dripped water from the clearing tiles. In a day or so, three at most, the road to Coriodurum would be open; the procurator's deputy might be on his way already.
As he wrapped his cloak around him and settled back into the saddle, Aper tried not to think of Marcus at Braniacum. Most of the blood, Montanus had said. Aye, well, they were all in the gods' hands. And, as the agent had said, there was nothing, now, to be done. They could only wait.
Aper touched his heels to Pollux's flanks and rode slowly back to the villa.
19.
Severinus pressed the heels of his hands into his eye sockets and rubbed the stickiness out of them. Life at Braniacum was not quite what he'd expected of his first command. The pile of reports waiting to be read and signed seemed to grow daily, and the only action he'd seen so far had been a fist-fight between two troopers who had quarrelled over a dice game.
Clemens's estimate had been generous. Less than a month and he was climbing the wall already.
He picked up the next wax tablet in the pile, undid the lacings and began to read. It was a letter from a civilian corn-chandler, in reply to his complaint ten days before about a consignment of mouldy grain. Severinus sighed, added an instruction to his own quartermaster to look for a more reliable supplier, signed his name and reached for the next.
There was a knock on the door. He glanced up as the senior centurion came in and drew himself up to attention.
'Yes, Centurion?' he said.
'We've visitors, sir.' Modianus's voice was expressionless.
'Visitors?'
'The procurator's men. On their way to Coriodurum.'
'The assessment deputation?' Severinus laid the unopened tablet down. 'Mothers alive, Modianus! We've had no warning!'
'There's a dozen of them plus escort, sir.' The centurion was still standing rigid. 'The deputy would appreciate a word with you.'
'"Deputy"? 'Montanus himself?'
'No, sir.' Modianus cleared his throat. 'It seems the deputation's come straight from London. From Procurator Catus, personal. The deputy's a man by the name of Pompeius Homullus. Would you be free to see him, sir?'
'Yes, of course. Very well, bring him in.'
The centurion saluted and left. Severinus felt numb. Sweet Jupiter in heaven! he thought. If the deputation had come direct from the procurator it meant that Catus had decided to take the matter into his own hands; and that was bad news. The worst.
Modianus reappeared with a man in a civilian's plain white mantle and travelling cloak.
'The procurator's agent, sir,' he said.
'Thank you, Centurion.’ Severinus indicated a chair while Modianus closed the door behind him. The man was in his mid-forties with a pinched face, sour mouth and hard eyes. Severinus disliked him on sight. 'Have a seat, sir. Welcome to Braniacum.'
Homullus sat, carefully arranging the folds of his mantle as he did so. It showed no trace of dampness or mud splashes; he had either travelled by litter or changed for the interview. Severinus doubted if it had been the second: Catus's envoy did not look the type to take special pains over a meeting with a junior commander of auxiliaries.
'Julius Severinus,' he said. 'Sextus Pompeius Homullus, deputising for Procurator Decianus Catus. I'm delighted to meet you, Commander.' He brought out a roll of parchment and handed it over. 'My credentials.'
Severinus opened the letter and read it quickly. Apart from the simple accreditation it gave no other information.
'You're from London?' he said.
‘I am.’ The narrow lips parted just sufficiently to allow the sound out.
'I understood that the assessment was being carried out from the Colony by members of Adaucius Montanus's staff.' Severinus rolled the letter up and handed it back.
'That was the original intention, yes.' Homullus's smile did not touch his eyes. 'However the procurator thought that under the circumstances a more direct representation was required. Between ourselves, he considers Montanus not to be, shall we say, wholly committed to the project. Able though that gentleman is in his way.' His hand strayed again to his mantle. Plain or not, it was best lambs’-wool, probably – from the quality – bought in Burdigala or even sent out from Rome itself. The signet ring on his middle finger would have cost Severinus a month's pay. 'Procurator Catus's decision being rather a sudden one it was not possible, I'm afraid, to apprise you of the imminence of our arrival. You have my apologies.'
Severinus nodded without comment. 'You've had experience of the Iceni before?'
'No. Most of my dealings have been with the more civilised tribes south of the Thames. The Cantii and Atrebates particularly.'
'I see.' Severinus kept his expression and voice neutral. 'Then you may find the situation up here rather different, sir. Coriodurum isn't Calleva, and Queen Boudica is no Cogidubnus.'
'Oh, I don't think that affects matters to any great degree, Commander.' Homullus was still smiling. 'Natives are natives, after all. I would prefer to be dealing with an amenable ruler like King Cogidubnus, naturally, but I'm prepared to put up with a little hardship in the course of duty.'
'That wasn't exactly what I meant.' Hardship was clearly a relative term in Homullus's vocabulary: Severinus was careful not to look again at the man's immaculately-laundered mantle. 'The southern tribes have accepted Rome and Roman culture. The Iceni haven't.'
'So I have always understood, although I am of course glad to receive confirmation from one as experienced as yourself.' The agent's tone missed sarcasm by a hair's breadth, and Severinus felt himself flushing. 'But frankly, Commander, that is the Iceni's problem, not mine. My duty is quite clear, and I have enough to think about without bothering with petty tribal sensibilities. I'm sure Queen Boudica will appreciate that and extend me every assistance. She is, so I've been told, quite an intelligent woman.'
Severinus leaned back, trying to conceal his growing anger. 'She is, sir,' he said carefully. 'Very intelligent. She also rules according to British, not Roman, traditions. I think you might do well to bear both of these facts in mind. Especially the second.'
Homullus's smile disappeared. 'Rome is quite used to handling native rulers,' he said. 'She has been doing it for quite some time now and I don't believe she needs any instruction from you on how to improve her technique. I thank you, however, for the advice. Be assured it has been carefully noted.'
Their eyes met and locked. Severinus stood.
'Very well,' he said. 'Then I wish you every success in your task. I won't keep you from it any longer.'
Homullus, too, was on his feet. 'Oh, I'm sure there will be no difficulty, Commander,' he said. 'We'll meet again, no doubt, although I hope under rather more congenial circumstances. Meanwhile may I take your best regards to the queen?'
'Certainly.'
'Good.' Homullus turned to go. 'I'll keep in touch, of course. With you as well as with Legate Cerialis at Dercovium. It's always reassuring to know the military arm are close at hand, should they be needed.'
Severinus walked with him out onto the verandah to where the procuratorial deputation and its military escort were waiting. Sure enough, there was an empty litter with four well-groomed slaves in matching green tunics. Homullus got in without a backward glance and nodded to the litter-men. Severinus watched while they shouldered their poles and set off towards the camp gates, the deputation following.
Modianus was loitering in the parade ground, talking to one of the cohort's farriers, obviously waiting f
or Homullus to leave. Severinus beckoned him over.
'Sir?'
'A word or two, please, Modianus. In my office.'
They went back inside. Modianus closed the door behind him. Severinus sat down at his desk.
'There's going to be trouble shortly,' he said. 'Serious trouble.'
'Aye, sir.' The centurion scratched his ear. 'I thought so from the gentleman's attitude when he first arrived. And that fancy chair of his won't help matters, either. The stuck-up beggar's going to go down with the locals like a mouthful of goat's piss.'
'That's one way of putting it, Centurion. Although perhaps not altogether in words I'd've chosen in respect of an imperial representative.'
'Sorry, sir.' Modianus straightened, his face bland. 'Your orders?'
Severinus hesitated. He might be in danger of overreacting, but it was better to be safe than sorry. And he felt instinctively that Clemens would have done the same. 'Tell the NCO's to tighten up,' he said. 'Keep the men on standby, alternate troops alternate days. A word of warning to Cerialis at Dercovium wouldn't go amiss either, even if he probably does know about our friend already. Arrange a messenger and I'll draft a letter.'
'Aye, sir.' Modianus paused. 'That Druid, by the way. He's still at Catuvernum?'
'Last I heard.' Severinus had taken Clemens's advice and had the man watched by two of the cohort's native scouts.
'Then I'd pull him in fast if I was you, Commander. If there is trouble a loose Druid could make things worse. These buggers have a nose for an opportunity, and they get themselves listened to. Someone like Pompeius Homullus throwing his weight around in the kingdom...well, he’d be a godsend.'
'Fine.' Severinus nodded. 'See to it yourself. But keep a low profile. And for Jupiter's sake make sure you get him.'
'We'll do that all right, sir, no problem. I'll go now and take half a squadron with me.' He paused, his hand on the latch. 'Do you want him alive or dead?'
'Alive. If at all possible. But take no chances. None at all.'
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