The Encircling Sea

by Adrian Goldsworthy

  ‘What about Vindex?’

  She grinned. ‘He says that you want to be the hero in a tale, but that the gods love fools and might just let you get away with it.’

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘That I do not have the right to tell you what to do.’ Sulpicia Lepidina ran her fingers lightly over his hand. ‘But that I do not want to lose you. You mean too much to me.’

  Ferox pulled her close again, and this time she let him. He wondered about her words. His heart thrilled with love, especially now, when she was in his arms and he could pretend that it would always be like this. She had longed for mother­hood, but given up real hope, and now he was the father of her only child, even if no one could ever know. Her marriage was one of convenience, a business arrangement made by her indebted father, passion wholly absent on each side. It was not unpleasant, for Cerialis was kind and decent, but it was a life of duty and he knew that she felt trapped and always forced to play a part rather than live as she would wish. She might truly love him, or at least love him enough that their rare encounters lifted her spirits and gave her memories to treasure, a glimpse of another life.

  Yet he still wondered whether there was more. She was a femina clarissima, daughter of a man who had once been important and still was a senator and friend of many of the greatest men in the empire. Her brother was an exile, and that was another reason for the marriage to Cerialis, only an equestrian, but favoured by Trajan as well as being a wealthy man. Politics was the lifeblood of senators and their kin and he sometimes wondered whether she saw him as useful, a tool to save for some future struggle for power. He was a killer and she knew it, and politics sometimes required the keen edge of a sword.

  ‘Don’t die,’ she whispered, as he ran one hand through her hair and the other traced the outline of her hips. ‘Please don’t die.’ They kissed again, and he longed to peel off her dress, but knew that there was not the time. Both of them were breathing quickly, gasping as they held each other.

  The door opened, and they started like children who were not quite children anymore surprised by a suspicious parent. It was Brigita and her face was solemn. She was not wearing a mail shirt, just a dark blue tunic.

  ‘Lady,’ she said in Latin. ‘I must speak with the centurion. It is important.’

  Sulpicia Lepidina stood away from him, straightening her hair. ‘I should check on the stew.’ She nodded to Brigita as she left, shutting the door behind her.

  ‘You do not seem surprised,’ Ferox said to the queen.

  ‘No.’ At first he thought that this was all that she had to say, but after a moment she rubbed her hand over her chin, an oddly manly gesture in spite of the sword at her belt. ‘We spent days chained up in a tiny room. She spoke about her husband one way. When she spoke of you…’ The tall woman trailed off. ‘A high-born woman rarely can choose a husband for love.’ Ferox thought of her vague, elderly consort. ‘When I met her, I thought that she was beautiful, but soft. I was wrong. She said that you would come for her – for us even – and you did.’

  ‘I did not come alone.’

  ‘No, you did not. Nor can you do what you wish alone.’

  ‘And what do I wish to do?’

  The queen ignored the question. ‘How well can you swim, Roman – or should I call you Silurian?’

  ‘I can swim,’ he acknowledged.

  ‘There is enough wood to make a raft for the weapons and the clothes,’ she said. ‘I have found some reeds and if we cut one or two of them then I can swim under the water. Perhaps you can do it too?’ He nodded. ‘We leave from the rear of the tower and go in the direction of the sea. I have looked and they rarely have more than one or two men watching from the shore on that side. We kill the men, the others come behind us with the raft. Then we leave.’

  ‘If the weapons are on the raft how do we kill the guards?’

  She sniffed scornfully. ‘Daggers, but you know that blades are not really necessary, are they?’

  ‘It is too dangerous.’

  ‘You have seen me fight.’ The words were matter-of-fact, neither angry nor a boast. ‘Here, in the narrow entrance or inside the tower, strength and size matter more than anything else. In the open skill counts. And I have been on this island once before, many years ago. I know where we are going.’

  ‘You are a queen,’ he said. ‘It is too great a risk.’

  ‘I was a queen.’ Once again there was no emotion, no regret, just the clipped speech the Hibernians practised. ‘My husband is dead by now, or a nothing who might as well be dead. There is no reason to go back.’ She pulled at the top of her tunic, revealing much of her breasts and the scar between them. ‘This is the mark of the sisterhood. I spent three years on the island over yonder, learning to be a warrior. The mistress is as a mother to me, the women and girls there are my sisters, the lads my brothers. Cniva wanted to use me to make her submit to his rule. He and his men must all die.’ For the first time there was anger in her voice.

  ‘Revenge?’

  ‘He threatens my family, the only real family I have now. What would you do?’

  Ferox stared at her and the queen met his gaze and held it. It would leave Longinus with one less sword, but she was right. Now that they were shut in, her speed and skill would count for a lot less. The veteran would probably not mind if she left.

  ‘We will go at midnight,’ he said.

  XXIV

  THE RAFT WAS prepared in one of the ruined round­houses beside the tower. They entered through a door off the main corridor, while one wall was low enough for them to lift everything out and make their way round the edge of the little island, but for the moment they prepared in the slight shelter provided by the stone walls and few remnants of the roof. Ferox wrapped the sack in rags and straw and then wound their clothes around it and placed the weapons on top in the hope of keeping it dry. With great reluctance, he decided against taking a mail shirt or two as well. Bran was wide-eyed as the queen lifted her tunic over her head and added it to the bundle of clothes. She stood there, completely naked like the rest of them, and started to rub soot onto her skin. Ferox smiled, thinking that with her long black hair she must fit the lad’s wildest dreams. Once they were in the water the soot would start to come off, but it might help them to sneak round to the back of the tower without being spotted.

  ‘You all ready?’ Vindex said. He had come to assist, or so he claimed, but made no effort to hide his scrutiny of the queen.

  ‘You’re a married man,’ Ferox told him.

  ‘Aye.’

  A scream of sheer horror split the night air, rising over the drumming of the rain. Ferox pushed Vindex out of the way and ran. The door into the corridor was ajar and he burst through, knocking into one of the Batavians and slamming him against the wall. Ferox ran on, sprinting around the sharp bend, feet echoing on the stone. A man was yelling in surprise and anger, and then Sulpicia Lepidina was in front of him, screaming again and with blood on her dress. Fear and raw anger surged inside him. She pointed into the side room, and as he came closer he realised that the blood was not hers. In the little room Falx lay out in the floor. His throat was cut, the top of his tunic stained dark where it had flowed. Worse was the great gash across his belly, a new wound, and someone had dragged his entrails out of the hole and then bitten into them.

  Sulpicia Lepidina stopped screaming and leaned back against the wall, panting as she struggled to breathe. Ferox ran past, turning again to reach the entrance. Probus was sitting with his back against the low wall, clutching at his thigh, which was pumping blood. Longinus knelt beside him, trying a strip of cloth tight above the wound. A Batavian was standing at the rampart, shouting angrily. ‘Little bastard’s got away!’ A shriller voice was calling something over and over again, but he could not catch the words.

  Ferox came up beside the auxiliary, but could see nothing in the darkness. ‘Little shit Genialis has stabbed his own father,’ the auxiliary said. It was the man with the broken nose and for the
first time he seemed genuinely shocked. ‘His own dad. Then ran off into the dark. It was so quick I let him go.’

  ‘He’ll be all right,’ Longinus said. ‘Leastways if you stop waving that in his face.’

  Ferox had forgotten that he was naked. He crouched down to see the merchant better. In the dim light from the torch back in the corridor, Probus looked stunned.

  ‘He murdered Falx,’ Ferox said. ‘Then I think he ate some of his guts. I know what he’s done, but I don’t know why.’

  ‘Don’t reckon he thought we could win,’ Longinus suggested.

  ‘Cniva will give him power.’ Probus’ voice was barely more than a whisper.

  ‘He’s got wealth,’ the veteran said. ‘That brings a fair bit of power.’

  Probus shook his head and then winced at a spasm of pain from his leg. Longinus finished adjusting the bandage. ‘I told him about going to Hibernia,’ The merchant explained. ‘Said he could come or that I’d try and make sure he kept some of the land if he wanted to stay in Britannia. I don’t think he listened.’

  ‘So he’s joining them.’

  ‘Maybe I told him too much about them.’ Probus’ voice was only just audible above the driving rain. ‘Cniva will let him kill, let him do what he likes. That’s more than I can offer.’

  Longinus placed his hands on Ferox’s shoulders. ‘Listen. The boy will be over there telling them everything. If they didn’t know already, then he’ll tell them that Brocchus could be here any moment now. He probably will say that you are planning something as well, even if he does not know the details. You cannot keep secrets in a place as small as this. So either you go this minute or forget the whole thing and we wait here.’

  ‘We go.’

  ‘Then let’s hope the gods love a great fool.’ Longinus stood up, and stared out into the night. ‘You might make through in this, especially if he distracts them. Good luck.’ He offered his hand, and Ferox rose and took it.

  He passed Vindex in the corridor. ‘You’ve got something on your face,’ the Brigantian said.

  Ferox reached up and soot came away on his fingers. Sulpicia Lepidina laughed nervously, until she glanced down and took in his lack of clothing. She started to giggle and could not stop, fright turning into hysterical laughter. She tried to speak, but could not say anything and simply waved at him.

  When he reached the others, he gave a quick explanation and chivvied them on. He and Brigita crept along behind the tower and lowered themselves into the water gently. It was cold, and deep in this spot, and as he pushed out he soon stopped feeling ground under his feet. With the reed in his mouth he ducked under the dark water and swam, the surface shimmering above only a little lighter than the gloom of the water.

  It took longer than he expected, and then suddenly the ground was shelving and when his feet kicked out they brushed against pebbles. He surfaced, spitting out the reed, and as the water cleared from his eyes he could see the bank only a few paces away. There was no sign of a sentry. He waded slowly towards the shore, all the while scanning the darkness. A leather belt, tightened to make it short, was over one shoulder, and he looped it free, drawing the pugio from its sheath. A vague white-ish shape slithered onto the bank beside him and he realised that the queen was already there. She tapped him on the shoulder and pointed to the right. He nodded. The rain was hard, stinging his skin until he felt almost numb, and making him blink all the time so that he could see.

  Ferox kept low, a hunched shape that might just confuse any watching eyes. Whenever he had looked in the daytime, the sentries here were some way back from the shore. No challenge came from the darkness and he saw no sign of movement apart from the long grass swaying in the wind. Still crouching, he went on, knife held down. The ground was boggy, so that his feet squelched into the mud.

  He did not see the warrior until it was too late, and he tripped against him, toes hurting from stubbing against a man wearing mail. The pirate lay, face down in the grass, and a quick exploration showed a wound at the back of his neck. It was a neat job, from someone who knew just where to strike, and that was not true of most soldiers or warriors.

  A shape appeared, white and naked, with her long hair plastered down over her back and some on her chest. ‘There is another over there,’ Brigita hissed. ‘Like that one. I think they are the only ones.’

  Ferox whistled, and then they both kneeled down to wait. ‘Your brothers and sisters?’ he asked, for it was hard to know who else might have killed these men, unless Cniva was facing a challenge from within his own band.

  ‘Perhaps.’

  Bran and the Red Cat appeared, carrying the equipment. They dressed, although Ferox was so drenched that he did not feel much warmer. It was good to have boots on again, to feel a sword on his left hip and pull a dark cloak around him. At the very least the dull clothes made them less visible.

  They headed for the beach, taking them almost in the opposite direction from where they wanted to go, but the hope was that this should also take them away from any sentries or patrols. The Red Cat went first, and Ferox and the others followed, just keeping him within sight. All the while the rain hammered against them and showed no sign of relenting.

  Like the swim, the walk towards the beach seemed to take far longer than it should. That was the way of things at night, especially in weather like this. Apart from a few animals scurry­ing across their path they saw no sign of life. Neither was there any sign of boats on the beach. Still, there was no particular reason for Brocchus to land on this beach, just because they had done so.

  Swinging to the left, they followed the coastline. Ferox planned to reach the midway point on the island before heading inland towards the anchorage on the far side. After an hour the rain stopped, so abruptly that his battered face took a few moments to register the change.

  The Red Cat halted and dropped to one knee. Ferox had felt the same thing at almost the same moment, that instinct that they were not alone. He gestured for the other two to stay, and went forward, squatting beside the northerner. Nothing was said and they both peered into the gloom, listening for any harsh note as the wind hissed through the grass and stunted bushes. They were on a low bluff, above a stony beach, the whitecaps of the incoming tide very bright in the darkness.

  Something moved ahead of them, a shape briefly silhouetted against the sky, before it went down behind a fold in the ground. Ferox stared after it and then thought he heard a moaning that was not from the gale. He drew his sword, worried that it might betray them with a glint but not wanting to be unprepared. The Red Cat did the same. He pointed for the northerner to go around to the left, while he looped to the right, onto the edge of the beach. The other two would have to catch up, and he hoped that they would be careful. The wind howled, plucking at his cloak even though it was soaking wet and heavy. It slackened and once again he heard moaning. There was a grunt and the moaning stopped. A man laughed.

  The beach opened out behind the low rise. Ferox touched the hide frame of a small rowing boat as he walked past it, stepping as lightly as he could to avoid making noise as he crossed the shale. There was a little rocky headland, and he kept close to it, using its shadow. Then a yellow light that seemed brilliant sprang to life on the beach. It was a lantern, suddenly unveiled, and he saw a cluster of dark figures around it, looking down at something on the small patch of sand at the edge of the pebbles. There was more laughter, and one of the figures got down on his knees in front of the others, and he glimpsed someone lying down. The sound of ripping was loud until it was lost in more laughter.

  Ferox started to run, no longer caring as his boots crunched on the stone. All of the last days, the worry, the horror, the sight of Sulpicia Lepidina screaming and covered in blood, and seeing good men cut down at his side erupted in an all-consuming rage. One of the men turned and saw him, shouting a warning, but by then Ferox was close enough to stamp forward and lunge, and the superbly balanced gladius took the pirate in the throat. Twisting it free as a second man c
ame at him, Ferox cut first, a furious blow that chopped through the warrior’s right arm, so that his hand was still clutching his sword as it fell onto the beach.

  There were three of them left, one still on the ground, bottom bare where he had lowered his trousers, another holding the lantern up, sword still in his scabbard, and a third who took one look at Ferox and ran. He went to follow, but saw a shape coming out of the night and the fugitive ran onto a glinting blade that ripped into his stomach.

  The pirate dropped the lantern. ‘We were going to share,’ he said. ‘Honest. Just having fun before we took her back.’ Ferox guessed that he thought they were Harii, and then remembered their black clothes. Yet it was surprising that he seemed to accept the slaughter of his comrades so readily, but perhaps failing to share plunder or captives was one of the band’s greatest crimes. Ferox kicked the kneeling man hard in the back, pitching him over. A woman lay in the sand, shaking her head as if in a daze, her tunic torn open to reveal pale skin. She was not tall and had a delicate figure.

  ‘Drop the sword,’ Ferox commanded the other man. Brigita came over to them, wiping her sword on her cloak. She said nothing, walking past the woman on the ground. The man who had been about to rape the girl was struggling with his trousers, pulling at them as he lay on his side. The queen looked at him for a moment, and then darted her sword forward, aiming carefully so that the point speared into the man’s crotch. He squealed, an awful, high-pitched cry of agony, more like an animal than anything human.

  ‘Fight,’ she said to the last pirate.

  He licked his lips. ‘Who are you?’ He started to draw his sword, for he had made no move to drop it. Brigita bounded forward and slashed across his face before jumping back. It was not a deep wound, and the man licked his lips again and spat blood. His finished drawing his sword, but before he had it ready she came in again, the sword carving a gouge across his right arm. He dropped his gladius, clutching at the wound with his left hand.