Ferox looped his own shield over the top of his opponent’s bigger, oval shield, yanking it down so that he could stab the man in the face. An instant before the point speared through the man’s eye, the pirate’s spearhead struck him on the right side and drove through one of the plates. The pirate fell, and Ferox was gasping for breath, feeling the pain but not yet weakened.
A pirate came from behind the mother, and she somehow sensed and spun almost like a dancer, going towards him and slashing her blade across his throat. Cniva drove his horse at her, and the animal’s shoulder knocked the woman over. She rolled away and was up in a moment, but a spear took her in the side. Cniva slashed down, cutting into her shoulder so that she dropped her shield.
Brigita saw her plight and screamed as she hacked lumps out of her opponent’s shield, her sheer fury forcing him back. The rest of her warriors were too hard pressed to see what was happening, but the queen shattered the man’s shield and then sliced into his arm. The pirate’s sword grazed her leg, but she ignored it, stamping forward, right arm out and most of her body unprotected by her shield as she drove the blade through the man’s armour and into his heart.
Ferox was sure that the mother looked at him for an instant, then she dived under Cniva’s horse, stabbing its belly with her sword. The animal screamed, rearing, and its hind feet trampled on her before it threw its rider and fell. A pirate had his spear in both hands as he ran it into the woman’s body. Cniva was up, helmet gone but sword still in his hands. His horse sank down on its front knees, steaming entrails spilling onto the grass.
‘Bastard!’ Ferox yelled, his voice croaking because his mouth was so dry, and his side aching. He lifted his shield, saw the pirate meet it by raising his own, and instead twisted his wrist to thrust down, missing the man’s face but digging into his neck. Cniva was not paying any attention to him but was looking over to the right and suddenly there was a shout and men were coming at the pirates from behind. He saw Vindex, and one-eyed Longinus, but out in front was Probus, his face very pale.
The merchant’s brother said nothing, but waited, and at the last minute dodged the attack, and cut at Probus as his momentum carried him past. Blood pulsed from where the shoulder of his mail split. The merchant turned, thrusting with his sword. Cniva was too fast, ducked down and then grabbed the other man’s arm, pulling him into the stab of his own sword.
Ferox tried to push through. A pirate appeared, his beard more grey than brown and speckled blood on his face. The man had a spear down low and although Ferox pushed at the shaft with his shield it gouged a line across his calf. He punched the man with his fist, then hammered his face with the pommel of his sword. A horn sounded from the buildings ahead of them, the distinctive brazen challenge of the army’s cornu.
The pirates were breaking. They ran, hoping to escape, and a few threw down weapons and begged for mercy. There was none. Vindex killed two men as they turned and ran, and Longinus beheaded another pirate who kneeled in supplication. The Brigantian stared for a moment as the bare-chested young woman hacked again and again at a body lying on the ground, and Ferox could not tell whether it was the savagery or her nakedness that drew his interest.
Cniva stood in a circle of enemies. Segovax was there, and the Red Cat, and Brigita and two of the Batavians who had held the tower. Already the pirate chief was bleeding from cuts to the legs and arms, not knowing which way to turn as the spears and swords came at him.
Ferox was about to force his way through when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Vindex grinned. ‘Leave ’em. They’ve earned it.’
Segovax drove a spear into Cniva’s thigh and twisted it free. Then he swung the shaft, making his brother duck and one of the Batavians swear in alarm, and the wooden pole hit the leader on the side of the head. The northerner dropped his shield from his bandaged hand. He swung the spear again, two-handed this time, battering the pirate chief on the head. Cniva fell. Brigita and the Red Cat leaped at the same moment and their blades punched through the man’s armour and through his ribs. Cniva gasped, blood bubbling at his mouth, and if he was trying to speak no words could be made out. The Red Cat stared at him for a moment, and then began hacking at his neck to take the head as a trophy.
Probus had managed to sit up. Blood pooled around him, so fast was the flow from the great gash in his body that it could not seep into the ground fast enough. Pale before, he was now white as the bleached toga of a political candidate. His face twitched when the northerners raised the severed head of his brother. Then he began to laugh, a bitter, haunting sound racked with sorrow as well as pain. It turned into a cough, and blood spewed from his lips before he fell back.
Brigita kneeled by the mother. Her eyes were glassy, but she did not cry, unlike the other survivors who held the dead to them and wept. Vindex stood by the corpse of the redhead and shook his head. Ferox was too tired to know what he felt, although he suspected that the vision of a pretty young woman lying dead in a pool of her own drying blood would return to haunt him in dreams, worse even than the usual ones that came when he remembered past fights. The Brigantian crouched down and spoke to the girl with brown hair, who was cushioning the dead woman’s head in her lap, ignoring the blood that covered her.
‘She was called Cabura.’ The scout spoke with great sadness, and Ferox felt guilty that he had not learned the names of any of the people who had followed him. ‘That’s my wife’s name,’ he added, voice filled with the sadness of old loss and fear of pain to come.
Ferox could not think of anything to say, and was spared by the arrival of Crispinus, Brocchus and Cerialis at the head of a mix of legionaries, marines and Batavians. The Batavian’s prefect whistled. ‘Seems like you have had a bit of a time of it,’ he said. In the background there were screams, as the Romans hunted the last surviving pirates out and killed them. The women and children were to be spared, but some of the cries suggested that some of the women were not to be spared everything.
Crispinus was panting, face black from the smoke apart from a few lines made by beads of sweat. He gathered himself. ‘Report, centurion.’
Ferox did his best to explain what he had done. He showed them Cniva’s corpse. The northerners had planted the head on a spear stuck into the ground.
‘Do you want to take it back?’ Crispinus asked the prefect.
Cerialis shook his head. ‘No, it’s unlucky. Leave it here for the crows.’
Then Ferox told them about Genialis. ‘I was going to leave him to his father to deal with. Well, the man who raised him,’ he added, remembering that the tribune knew that he was really Cniva’s son. Probus lay under a blanket just a few paces away.
‘Instead you lay the decision on me, centurion.’
‘Yes, my lord. That’s what comes with rank.’
‘So it does,’ Crispinus said. ‘Well, let’s have a look at the little cuss.’ He left, followed by Cerialis and several legionaries.
Ferox felt the wound at his side. At the moment, the surgeons were too busy with the badly injured for him to trouble them. He really ought to take off the scale cuirass and clean it up, but he knew that it would be painful to do, so delayed, telling himself that it was because he might be needed.
‘Centurion,’ Crispinus called a moment later, so that at present it was not simply an excuse. The short tribune had come out of the hall. His helmet was under his arm, and he ran a grimy hand through his white hair. ‘Would you come here, please.’
Ferox marched over. ‘My lord.’
‘Ah yes, centurion.’ Crispinus peered at him as if he had not just summoned him over. ‘Your capture of the former hostage and fugitive Genialis was well done. However, when you told me that you had the lad, I did expect to find him with a head still on his shoulders.’
Epilogue
ACCO HAD COME. It took a while to coax the story from the young warrior with the moustache, but it seemed that a boat full of warriors had returned to the island, landing on the little beach down below, where Ferox and the othe
rs had begun their ascent. The elderly druid had made the same climb, along with two warriors, and they had come to the hall. Neither of the boys left on guard had seen them as enemies. The great druid was a man of mystery and power, one to be honoured and not a little feared. So they had let him slit Genialis’ throat, and had watched as one of the warriors had cut off the corpse’s head and carried it away. Acco had also stripped some flesh from the boys’ thighs, stomach and off his penis.
‘Why?’ Crispinus asked. ‘I mean I’m not sorry to be rid of the pest, but why do this?’
Ferox was not quite sure. The strips of flesh would go into potions, that was obvious enough, although when he explained the tribune and prefects wrinkled their faces in disgust. The Romans spoke of magic with fear, and that was wise, but it did not do to pretend that such things did not happen. Yet why the druid had come for the boy’s head was less clear.
‘The boy has the blood of witches in his veins,’ Ferox suggested, thinking aloud. ‘Or rather had. Any head has power as the chamber of the soul. The power is greater with some, and perhaps that is why Acco wanted it? Men like him feed their own strength by taking such things.’ It was the best that he could do, for he did not really understand. Neither power nor strength were the right words, but he did not think Latin had any better ones to describe the mystical essence of a man or woman. They would not understand, not really, but Ferox knew that no chance had brought the druid here. Acco had seemed to know everything and known precisely the moment to arrive. Ferox had thought the capture of Genialis mere chance, and now he wondered whether something darker was at work. The timing was more miraculous than the simple truth that an old man had scrambled up a cliff and then escaped. Even with the rope they had left, Ferox did not relish trying the climb again.
He went out of the door and the first thing he heard was the harsh call of Morrigan’s raven, perched on the roof. There were plenty of carrion birds come to the island, but this was not chance either and the bird’s dark eyes watched him with a spirit not belonging to any mere creature.
Ferox went to the edge of the cliffs. There, a mile or more out to sea was a little dot on the waves.
‘It is a boat,’ Bran said, the lad appearing from nowhere beside him. During the last fight he had not glimpsed the boy, but was relieved to find him safe.
Crispinus burst out of the hall, face angry, but realised where they were looking and cupped his hand around his eyes to see better. He shook his head. ‘I cannot see anything.’
‘He has gone beyond our reach.’
‘That cannot be helped.’ Crispinus grasped his arm so that he turned to face him. ‘It is a shame, but we did not come here for him. We came to free our hostages and we have done that. We came to avenge ourselves on the Usipi and Harii and the rest and we have done that. You have made it happen.’ He gripped the arm even tighter. ‘It is over, apart from victory, and we will not talk too much of that because then we would have to admit that all this was caused by deserters and mutineers. It would not fit well with the dignity of the new era of Trajan if people knew that an equestrian officer and his even more distinguished wife could be abducted by such scum.
‘It is over. Be glad that we have won and not lost, and then do your best to forget all about it because this is a story that shall not be told.’
‘And Probus?’
‘Is dead, along with his son. No one need ever know that the prosperous merchant was a mutineer and murderer. Think how embarrassing that would be to all those influential men who wrote letters recommending him.’
‘Quite shocking,’ Cerialis agreed.
‘So shocking that it could not possibly be true,’ Crispinus went on. ‘Forget all of this. People die all the time, and it is surprising how quickly they are forgotten by all except their loved ones or those who hated them. Forget it all.’
‘It has not happened in secret, my lords.’ Ferox did not care that much what people believed, but he did wonder whether it would all be quite as easy as the tribune suggested.
Crispinus let go of his arm and shrugged. ‘There will be rumours, of course. There always are. But nothing anyone can prove. None of this should have happened, so it cannot have happened, can it?’
Ferox stiffened to attention, feeling a sharp stab of pain from his side. ‘Sir!’ he said.
‘Good. Now get that taken care of. Carry on, centurion.’ Crispinus smiled. ‘And well done. To be honest, I never thought that we would get away with it.’
‘And you have my heartiest thanks, once again,’ Cerialis added, offering his hand.
Ferox shook it, too tired to feel much guilt or sorrow. He was still on the edge of the world, but knew that once again a great chasm had opened to separate him from Sulpicia Lepidina. At least she was safe, and part of him wanted to gaze upon her, even though he knew that the pain would be crueller than any wound to the body.
Six corpses lay in a row near the top of the cliff. The mother was in the centre, the redhead to her right and then two boys on either side. Several of the other lads and girls were wounded, but the woman with brown hair had at last found a tunic and covered herself more effectively.
‘I will see that you are helped to do what is necessary,’ Ferox said to Brigita. ‘They all fought with courage.’
‘It was their fight, as much as ours,’ the queen said.
‘I am sorry about your mother. She did not deserve to die here, but I am not sure whether we would have won without her.’
‘To fight broke her oath, and she knew just what would happen, but did it anyway because it was the right thing. But the mother has not died, for the mother can never die. I am the mother now.’
Ferox said nothing. Her tone was firm, and there was no point stating the obvious. A woman who had been a queen was choosing to spend the rest of her life on a tiny island training young warriors.
‘I have a favour to ask,’ Brigita said. ‘Give the boy to me.’ She must have sensed his confusion. ‘Release Bran from his oath for the moment. Let him come with us and learn and in time he will return and serve you for three years. He has the makings of a great warrior, and you will always have the need of men who can fight.’
The boy’s eager expression made his desire clear.
‘So be it,’ Ferox said.
‘Now we must lament the fallen,’ she said. ‘It is not something that others may share.’
Ferox left them to it and walked back around the hall. As he left he heard a soft wailing song begin and found tears pricking at his eyes. Most of the troops were further down, clearing all the buildings of anything of value and then putting them to the torch. Segovax and his brother sat on the grass on either side of the spear topped by Cniva’s head, and Ferox went to them. Vindex sensed the moment and appeared beside him.
‘It is over,’ Ferox said. ‘You have kept your oath and I thank you.’
Segovax stood up, his hand gripping his sword. His brother stared at them for a moment and then got to his feet. He had been holding his sword across his legs. The blade was notched from the fighting and still stained with blood. A gust of wind whipped smoke over their heads and the raven cried out again.
‘They are all dead?’ the Red Cat said.
‘Every last one. So is Genialis. The druid killed him.’
There was no hint of surprise, so he guessed that word of this had already reached them.
The thief rubbed the blemish on his face. ‘There are tears to weep for our families,’ he said.
‘I know.’
‘But at least their spirits will know that they have been avenged.’ The Red Cat very carefully uncurled his fingers from the handle of his sword and dropped it on the grass
‘We will not kill you today,’ Segovax rumbled. ‘One day perhaps, but not today.’
‘I am glad,’ Ferox said. ‘There has been enough killing, and there are enough tears to shed.’ He felt Vindex relaxing beside him.
‘We will take a boat from the harbour and go,’ the Red Cat told
them.
‘Never bring the Romans to our land.’ his brother said. ‘If you do, we will fight until our last breath. Farewell, Romans.’
‘Did he just call me a Roman?’ Vindex whispered after they had gone.
‘Don’t worry, people call me that all the time.’
*
The journey home took longer than expected, for the weather turned against them and for days they had to ride out a storm, which blew them a long way out to sea. Food was running short in the triremes by the time they sighted Alauna. Ovidius travelled in the same ship as Ferox and Vindex and chattered for all of the voyage, apart from when he was seasick or in his rare hours of sleep. Cerialis and his wife were in another of the transport ships, and once or twice in the lighter winds, Ferox saw her golden hair as she stood on the distant deck. In the meantime, Philo fussed over him, shaving him whenever the sea was calm enough and changing the dressing on his wound even when it was not.
On the journey eastwards, they travelled as one company, and the Lady Sulpicia was lively, her laughter filling the air and lifting the mood of all around her. When they came in sight of Vindolanda, Claudia Severa had come out to meet them with the children and there were tears as well as joy. Both ladies in turn gave Ferox a chaste kiss on the cheek to thank him for all that he had done. He felt – or perhaps he imagined – a faint tremor in Sulpicia as she stood beside him. Then little Marcus began to cry and the mother rushed to hold him and calm him. Cerialis had thanked him several times, but now did so again.
Ferox rode to Syracuse alone. Philo had stayed at Vindolanda to buy supplies that he insisted were essential, and his master did not want to linger. Ferox had been wondering about giving the lad his freedom, but his fussy manner had begun to grate and he decided to leave that for another day. Vindex had gone to see his wife.
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