The Legions of the Mist

by Damion Hunter

  ‘I feel as if I’m picnicking on Vesuvius,’ Justin said to Licinius. But the disintegrating morale of Eburacum Fortress could not quite destroy the solace he found with Gwytha and the baby in the house below the walls.

  Young Justin – Marcellus Justinius Corvus, for Justin’s father – was now two months old, a golden-skinned baby with Gwytha’s red brown hair and eyes that were gradually changing to the amber color of his father’s.

  Justin was as proud of him as any new father could be, and was content to spend his evenings lounging beside the cradle, watching him wave his fat baby legs in the air and discover his toes. Gwytha too seemed to have a softer, rounder look to her, although she said disgustedly, eyeing her waistline in the mirror, that came from all the weight Licinius had told her to gain. Justin wrote Julia Valeria a glowing description of her grandson, sent it off by military post, and was rewarded by the return of a letter much softened in tone from her last one and the gift of a fine shawl of pale green wool to swaddle small Justin in.

  He had just dropped both package and letter on his bed in the barracks (this letter he would show to Gwytha) and was about to strip off his armor and head for the bathhouse when there was a commotion on the ramparts, and the young centurion in charge of the sentries came flying down the steps in a shower of snow. Justin shrugged his breastplate back on as an Optio pounded on his door. He caught up his helmet and joined the crowd heading for the main gate.

  The transport Nausicaä, the same one which had brought Justin to Britain, was nosing her way up the river, oars dipping to the beat of the hortator’s mallet and an honor guard of troops standing at attention on the deck. A short, spare man with greying hair and a lined but not unhumorous face stood leaning on a staff in the bow. A dark-haired girl of about nineteen stood beside him, one arm draped affectionately about his shoulders. Her figure was muffled in a cloak, but the hood had fallen back to show a cascade of black ringlets ruffled by the wind. On the deck, a tall, sober-looking man and a plump, middle-aged woman bustled about giving orders to a half dozen marines wrestling with as many trunks and boxes.

  The Nausicaä nosed expertly up to the dock, and the Captain of Marines signaled to make her secure. The grey-haired man nodded approvingly.

  ‘A most pleasant passage, Captain, especially for midwinter. I trust you will be able to join me at dinner tonight.’

  ‘Thank you, sir. I should be honored.’ The captain saluted and stood at attention as the honor guard marched briskly down the ramp, followed by his passengers. Metius Lupus stood on the dock to greet them, and Justin slipped in among the senior officers gathered behind him.

  ‘I trust you had a pleasant crossing.’

  ‘Indeed, most enjoyable,’ Aurelius Rufus smiled, and one or two of his guard winced slightly. The Channel seas were rough in January, and the new Legate’s delight in ocean voyages was evidently unshared. He beckoned to the girl, and she slipped an arm through his. ‘My daughter, Felicia.’

  Justin looked at her curiously as she made her compliments to Metius Lupus. He had heard that Aurelius Rufus, a widower, took his household with him wherever he was posted. Her skin was a fine, soft gold with a tinge of pink in the cheeks which might or might not be her own, and her eyes a soft, deep brown. She wore a pair of coral eardrops of a style suitable for a young, unmarried lady, and her cloak and boots were of the serviceable traveling sort. Metius Lupus escorted the pair of them up the dock and presented the senior officers of the Ninth.

  ‘… Claudius Galba, Primus Pilus of the First… Fulvius Martius, with the Sixth Cohort… Lucius Favonius, who commands the Third… Justinius Corvus, commander of the Eighth… Gaius Licinius, Senior Surgeon… Marcus Hilarion, with the Ninth…’

  Behind them the tall man, who was evidently a servant, dealt with the luggage with the firm hand of one who was used to uprooting his household on short notice.

  ‘No, no, no, are you mad? There is wine in that crate, and you heave it about like hay bales!’

  ‘Take that trunk first.’ The plump woman directed two of the luggage carriers to a mountainous leather case. ‘My lady will wish a clean gown.’ She fluttered up the dock, shooing her transport ahead like reluctant chicks.

  Aurelius Rufus, pacing beside his daughter, gave Eburacum Fortress the once-over and did not look impressed. However, the senior surgeon and the cohort commanders, as well as the retiring Legate, were invited to join him at dinner that night. Metius Lupus had insisted that the new Legate install his family in the Praetorium immediately, moving his own bachelor household to rooms in the officers’ quarters. Formal change of command would take place the next day, and Metius Lupus would depart gratefully on the Nausicaä.

  Justin, polished and shining, joined Licinius and the little group of senior centurions heading nervously for the Praetorium. The captain of the Nausicaä fell into step beside him as they reached the courtyard.

  ‘Didn’t you take transport with me sometime back, Centurion? I seem to remember you.’

  Justin laughed. ‘I’m sure you do. I was sick all over your deck.’

  ‘Ah, yes. You elected to travel north by road, I recall.’

  ‘I merely chose the lesser of two evils. I hope the Legate’s stomach was stronger than mine.’

  ‘Oh, yes, he enjoyed himself thoroughly.’ The captain smiled reminiscently. ‘Said he’d been fond of thunderstorms since he was a boy, and invited his escort up on deck to watch. They, uh, declined.’

  ‘What’s he like? As a commander, I mean?’

  ‘Hard to say. I command on my own ship, so I don’t know what it would be like serving under him. The escort seemed to like him well enough. His daughter dotes on him, and vice versa. And the servants seem happy – that’s often a good sign.’

  The elderly majordomo, whose name turned out to be Theodore, swung the doors open at their approach, divested them of their cloaks, and led the way to the dining room. The trunks and boxes had either been unpacked or stowed out of sight, and both Legates and Felicia awaited them, the men in uniform and Felicia in her semiformal best.

  She took little part in the dinner conversation which consisted mainly of the situation at Eburacum and the news from Rome, but she listened attentively, friendly brown eyes resting on each speaker in turn. Aurelius Rufus had produced an excellent dinner on short notice (Justin decided that Theodore must be invaluable to him), set out his best wine, and encouraged conversation. He himself had little to say, content to form a few opinions from the tone of each man’s talk.

  ‘So there you have it,’ Metius Lupus sighed, ‘and I wish you good luck to the work.’

  ‘So, of course, do we all,’ Cassius murmured, and the look which the surgeon and two of the cohort commanders gave him was not lost on the Legate.

  With the fruit and cheese, talk turned from the military to more diverse matters, and Felicia began to add a comment now and then, in a soft, clear voice. When Licinius murmured a complicated and rather vulgar pun in Greek to her father, she capped it happily, and he blushed.

  ‘I beg your pardon, my lady. I didn’t realize…’

  ‘Of course you didn’t or you wouldn’t have said it, and then I should have missed it. Don’t look so worried, my friend. I have lived with the Army all my life, and I’m not easily upset. Why do you think I travel with my father? It’s the only way I know to acquire an education in the world.’

  ‘I should have warned you,’ the Legate said, stretching out his arm for an apple. ‘My daughter has not had the normal schooling for a girl of her age. We decided it between us long ago, when her mother died, that we would both be happier if she traveled with me.’

  ‘You didn’t feel the Army was rather a rough life for a girl?’ Favonius asked.

  ‘She also speaks Syrian, Aramaic, and several Gallic dialects, hunts like Diana, and rides like a Centaur. I fully expect her to be conversant with the local British tongues within six months.’

  ‘Papa, you’re embarrassing! Here, let me do that, and brag abou
t something else.’

  The Legate gave up wrestling with an apple far too small for the grip of his hands, and handed her the fruit and a little knife. ‘I merely wish these gentlemen, and hence the men under their commands, to be warned. I might add that she also uses a dagger expertly. In fact, she used it on a drunken Gaul who attempted to, uh, take liberties with her person. The camp surgeon managed to patch him up, but he has walked oddly ever since.’

  Felicia chuckled but kept her eyes on the small spiral of peel unwinding from the apple. ‘The only thing I occasionally miss is the company of other women. I’ve always thought it a pity that the Army discourages marriage. I’ve never felt I was a distraction to my father.’

  ‘My dear, we could hardly have every soldier in the Army trailing a wife and children and mountains of baggage along with him. I get away with it because I am the only one. The others must shift their families about as best they can.’

  ‘Well, not all the men perhaps, but I do think the officers ought to be allowed their wives in camp. That would provide me with enough company, I think. I assure you my motives are entirely selfish.’ She dropped the apple peel back into the bowl, neatly removed the core, and presented the fruit to her father with a little bow.

  ‘Perhaps, my dear, but I can hardly rewrite the regulations for your own sweet sake.’

  ‘Of course, some officers marry where they’re stationed,’ Martius said, a shade too loudly.

  ‘Shut up, you idiot,’ Licinius hissed.

  ‘Why, I think the lady ought to know what kind of women officers are likely to marry on campaign.’ Martius raised his goblet to his lips unsteadily, slopping a trickle of wine down his wrist. ‘She might change her mind about having them in camp.’

  ‘One more word out of you, Centurion Martius, and I’ll rearrange your face!’ Hilarion made as if to make this offer good.

  ‘Knock it off, both of you.’ Justin sounded weary, as if he had heard it all before.

  ‘My officers do not fight at table, especially not my table,’ the Legate said quietly, while Felicia sat startled, feeling a little guilty for having stirred up what appeared to be an old grudge. ‘Now what is all this?’

  ‘I did marry out here, sir,’ Justin said, ‘although the Army doesn’t recognize it, of course. Any more than they recognized my father’s… or any of you who come from Army families.’ He ran his eye over the officers reclining about the table. ‘What these gentlemen object to is the fact that my wife is a freedwoman.’

  ‘She sold wine – and other things, no doubt – in a shop in the town,’ Martius said.

  ‘Now see here, Martius…’ This appeared to be a bit much even for Favonius.

  ‘Dunno why he had to marry her,’ Martius laughed. ‘She’d ’a been happy enough with a necklace and a kiss good night.’

  ‘That’ll do! Lay off the wine, will you?’ Favonius removed his goblet, and Martius sat staring sulkily at his plate.

  ‘I’m afraid most of it’s true,’ Metius Lupus sighed. ‘I tried to dissuade him…’

  ‘My wife is of the Iceni,’ Justin said, ‘and wellborn in her tribe. When she was ten, a Gaulish slaver found her alone. And don’t think it couldn’t happen to any of us, in a wild country where Rome’s protection would do us little good. Her last master was a time-expired man of the Ninth who kept a wineshop called the Head of Neptune. He freed her when he died.’

  ‘And you married her?’ Felicia asked.

  ‘She had no one but me. Her people would not be likely to want a grown woman, with her past, back. All the girls of her year would have husbands and children by now –’ (What man of the Iceni would ask for me now?) ‘What would she do? The Britons can be very harsh. And she had no way to live in Eburacum. There are few men who would hire a freedwoman when there are slaves in plenty.’

  ‘You took her from pity?’

  ‘No. I loved her.’

  ‘Then you did right,’ Felicia said.

  ‘Good girl!’

  Felicia looked at Licinius, startled, and realized that he had not meant her to hear his comment.

  ‘Then let us make an end of the subject,’ Aurelius Rufus said. ‘As the centurion has said, I can’t recognize his marriage, therefore it does not concern me… or any of you. I don’t care if my men are wed to she-apes, as long as they perform their duties. They might do better than some I’ve seen, at that.’

  Martius retrieved his goblet and subsided into a glum silence. Favonius tipped the contents of his finger bowl into it when his compatriot wasn’t looking, and Theodore, who had formed his own conclusions already, saw to it that the centurion’s next glass was well watered.

  The conversation moved on again, carefully, to other subjects, but after the last course of small, hot sweets had been served the officers began to yawn and take their leave. Martius left under his friend’s guidance and Cassius alone. The others filtered out in twos and threes. As Justin was bidding his host good night, flanked by Licinius and Hilarion, Felicia took his hand and smiled.

  ‘Your wife must be a lovely lady indeed, Centurion Corvus, to have so many defenders.’ She glanced at Licinius and Hilarion. ‘I should like to meet her.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Justin said gravely. ‘I rather think she would like you too.’

  The sky was clear and cold as black glass as they walked back to quarters, and the diamond pinpoints of the stars flickered in its bowl. Justin had recovered his temper and was trading rude rhymes with Hilarion while Licinius walked in silence, apparently wrestling with some private puzzle. The two centurions turned into the officers’ quarters, making the night hideous by rendering the last of their impromptu rhymes in song, while Licinius walked on toward the hospital to make a final round. One of his patients had relieved his boredom the night before by attempting to smuggle in one of Venus Julia’s girls, to the delight of one and all; he had succeeded in rebreaking his healing arm, and the senior surgeon was in no mood for a repeat performance.

  The entire Legion, and a good part of the town as well, assembled for the change of command in the morning. Afterward, Justin found Felicia waiting for him outside the parade ground, wrapped in a pale yellow cloak with a soft green border that could only have been bought in Rome, and her black ringlets dancing in the wind.

  ‘I have come to make you keep your promise to introduce me to your wife,’ she said, taking his arm. Justin led her to where Gwytha and Januaria were standing, with small Justin swaddled in blankets and clasped to Januaria’s massive bosom. He made the requested introduction and stood back to see how they would take to each other.

  The contrast between the two women was immense. Gwytha, tall and stately and unmistakably British even in her Roman finery, seemed to tower over the shorter, fine-boned daughter of the Legate. Where Gwytha was white-skinned, Felicia’s complexion was honey-colored, and her hair seemed to take naturally to the curls which Gwytha’s luxuriant mane abandoned at the slightest mist. They seemed to accept each other on the instant, however, and Justin realized that Gwytha too might have been lonely for the company of a woman her own age. The interview ended with an invitation to lunch on Felicia’s part and a pleased, if nervous, acceptance on Gwytha’s.

  ‘I like her,’ Gwytha said, strolling back to the house on Justin’s arm. The Legion had been excused from duty for the rest of the day in honor of the new Legate. If they knew what was good for them, however, they would gather to give the retiring one a fitting send-off.

  The Nausicaä was loading cargo at the dock, and the Optio was already supervising the stowing of the Legate’s trunks. A harassed-looking legionary was trying to persuade the Legate’s horse down the ramp into the hold, assisted by cheers and advice from the crowd on the dock.

  ‘Yes, I liked her too,’ Justin said. ‘A most extraordinary girl.’ He favored her with the Legate’s description of his daughter.

  ‘It seems that what she really burns to do is drive a chariot,’ Gwytha said. ‘Perhaps I’ll rent one and teach her.’


  Justin looked surprised. ‘I didn’t know you could.’

  ‘I was taught as a child. Among my people, the women also learn to fight, against the time when every spear might be needed. But it is only in great need that the king calls out the women, or puts his mares in the chariot line.’

  When they reached the house, Januaria began to set out a lunch, and Gwytha put the baby to her breast, where he sucked greedily and with much noise.

  ‘Small pig,’ said an approving voice from the doorway. ‘If all your babes are as healthy as that one you’ll have more family than Justin can support.’ Licinius pulled a parcel from his tunic front. ‘Here. I have brought him a present.’

  The baby eyed the small leather cat curiously but refused to be distracted from his meal.

  ‘I had it from a British trader who came in this morning,’ Licinius said. ‘He had a cargo I didn’t care for.’

  ‘What cargo?’ Justin asked.

  ‘He covered it up quickly enough as soon as I began poking about, but it was a shipment of Gaulish blades. And it was not for sale.’

  ‘Not to us at any rate, you mean. As I recall, there was an injunction against buying weapons in that treaty young Vortrix signed. If he is getting them sub rosa, the Legate had better know about it.’

  ‘He does. He was digesting that news along with a report that the Picts seem to be up to something in the north, when I left him. My trader friend was gone by the time they could send for him for questioning. Probably hightailed it out of here as soon as I turned the corner. He wasn’t too happy about my seeing those blades.’

  ‘There is talk in the town already of the Painted People,’ Gwytha said. ‘Will there be trouble again this spring?’

  ‘Perhaps.’ Justin was noncommittal.

  She jumped to her feet clutching the baby. ‘Justin, I am no man’s fool!’ she flashed. ‘Now tell me the truth!’

  Justin sighed. ‘Very well, yes, there will likely be trouble, if not this year, then the next… and if not with the Brigantes, then with the Picts. There have been rebellions already in the eastern Empire, and one seems to breed another. I suspect our new Legate was sent to try to pull this Legion together before it happens.’