Brigantia

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Brigantia Page 9

by Adrian Goldsworthy


  ‘Cicero’s trusted freedman was named Tiro,’ Ferox explained. ‘He prepared the letters for publication after his old master’s death. I’ve always suspected he snipped out a lot that was embarrassing to Atticus.’

  They did not nod or show any obvious signs of approval, and paid him the respect of not expressing surprised pleasure.

  ‘There will be two more weeks of this,’ Neratius Marcellus went on wearily. ‘Then it is almost four months of assizes, here, at Camulodunum, Lindum and a few of the civitas capitals.’ He gave a grim laugh. ‘The price of office.’

  Ovidius showed little sympathy. ‘If you had wanted to cling to the City as Cicero advised, you could easily have done so, my friend. We both know that dignified leisure has never really suited you.’

  ‘Neither is it likely to be my fate for several years at the least.’ The legate drummed his fingers on the table top. ‘Forgive me, Ferox, for not welcoming you with greater warmth, but it is not even noon and I have spent hours returning the morning greeting of visitors, reading or listening to petitions, both formal, and the “while I have your ear, my lord, may I ask…”, whether it is about business or justice, favours or little matters such as the leadership of a great tribe. Your failure to arrive kept me listeing to such tedious matters even longer than duty commanded.’

  Ferox did not bother to explain. With senior officers there was rarely any point unless they asked a direct question.

  ‘No matter,’ the legate continued. ‘When I sent for you it was for one reason, but now I find that I need you for something else, so it is convenient that you are here, for I will keep you busy. I only wish that you had arrived a few days earlier.’ The legate sprang to his feet. He was always happier talking while on the move and they made no attempt to rise and join him.

  ‘Something is wrong. I have been in Britannia long enough to sense it in the faces who greet me and come asking for favours. They are nervous. I remember seeing faces like that in the last years of Nero, when I was a mere boy, and again under the unlamented last of the Flavians, when I probably looked much the same. There is fear, a sense that things will change soon, without any clear sign of which way they will change. That was why I wanted you in the first place. I have come to value your instincts, your knowledge of the tribes, and your talent for sniffing out the truth.’

  ‘Although it means inflicting another letter upon you, my lord, I received this from Tincommius, the High King…’

  ‘Of the Venicones and the rest?’ Neratius Marcellus grinned. ‘I do pay attention, every now and again. Show it to Ovidius, so that he can be useful for a change, and tell me what was in it.’

  Ferox told him about Acco’s promises and the king’s warning about a plot among the Romans.

  ‘Hmm.’ The legate paced from one end of the room to the other and back again. ‘Yes, I fear that once again some fools in the Senate are restless. For some it will be sheer vanity, for a few probably the belief that they act for the good of Rome, even if that will cost us a civil war. “Where are you rushing to fools…” ’

  ‘That’s Horace, my lord,’ Ferox explained.

  Ovidius snorted in amusement. The legate frowned. ‘Well, perhaps I deserved that.’ He began pacing again, and his arms started to wave, the gestures apparently natural and yet always under control. Many senators were a great loss to the stage.

  ‘It is forty years since Boudicca burned this town to the ground, and others, and slaughtered a hundred thousand or even more. The owner of this house, who graciously loans it to the legate without charge out of duty to the res publica – and of course to show what a fine and rich gentleman he is – remembers fleeing with his parents, when Suetonius Paulinus abandoned Londinium to its fate, taking only those who could keep up with his cavalry, and leaving behind by the roadside any who discovered that they could not. It really is not that long ago, and yet all of my senior officers and all the tribal leaders assure me that it would be unthinkable now. The eagerness with which they assert this only makes me more sceptical.’ He turned dramatically to face Ferox, who wondered whether performance came so naturally to trained orators that they actually forgot that they were performing. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘I can only speak of my region, my lord, and the lands around it. There is discontent and worry. A rebellion is quite possible. Not inevitable though.’

  ‘Hmm. Not, inevitable. Inevitability is too big a question for my mind, and I shall leave such philosophy to idlers like Ovidius.’

  ‘The answer is perhaps,’ the old man said. ‘It nearly always is perhaps.’

  ‘As wise and unhelpful as ever,’ the legate said fondly. ‘What is certain is that the leading men in most of the tribes are heavily in debt. Oh, it is probably our fault as much as their own. Since Agricola’s day every legate has encouraged them to spend. Get Greek tutors for their children, fine clothes and jewellery, fashionable slaves and carriages for their wives, and to build, always to build. We praise them if they give themselves large houses in the towns or villas in the country. We praise them even more if they pay for temples, basilicas, statues and monuments in the towns, and when they give their fellow tribesmen festivals, races and gladiators. So they borrow to show off to us and each other, and deep down most borrowers believe that they will never have to pay back all that money. Something will turn up and the debt will simply go away.’

  Ovidius grinned. ‘The voice of experience.’

  ‘The voice of a man who has seen the world. Tell me, Ferox, do you know much about the rebellion in the Rhineland at the start of Vespasian’s principate?’

  ‘Something, my lord. I have spent a fair bit of time with the Ninth Cohort at Vindolanda.’

  ‘Of course, my splendid Batavians. Then perhaps you know that its leaders began by telling everyone that they were supporters of Vespasian against the false emperor Vitellius. Perhaps they were sincere. It was only later, as their power grew, that there was talk of an empire of the Gauls. So it seems to me that a plot against Trajan and a rising of the tribes might not be altogether separate. The leaders of the first might well be happy to encourage the second. Rebellion in Britannia would embarrass the princeps, and if it got out of hand it might even finish him. As you have informed us so many, many times, the army in this province is weaker than it has ever been. For all the brilliance of my leadership, we might fail to crush the rebellion before it gathers pace. The princeps is focused on his plans for pacifying Dacia and its king. Could we cope with a crisis here as well as a grand campaign on the Danube?’

  ‘In the end,’ Ovidius said. ‘We’d win in the end.’

  ‘Yes, Rome is big and they are a lot smaller, although they may not realise it. The empire will always win in the end, but at what cost?

  ‘As I said, Ferox, that is why I summoned you, and not simply because you Silures revel in silence, making you the perfect audience for my thoughts. However, since then events have galloped away with us and added to the tasks I wish you to perform. May I assume friend Ovidius has told you the news about Caratacus?’ Ferox nodded. ‘Nasty business, thoroughly nasty. I did not know him at all well, but he impressed me by his dignity. His grandson died fighting for us on the Danube. You knew him, did you not?’ Another nod. ‘Such is fate. But the deliberate killing of an ancient hostage has a viciousness about it that screams out politics. Since he could have no significance at Rome, I would guess his enemies were sent from Britannia. Why after so many years?’

  Ferox said nothing.

  ‘That is one question. And then on the Ides of October someone breaks into the Temple of the Divine Vespasian here in Londinium, bludgeoning the watchman to death. By sheer chance a couple of my beneficiarii came to make a vow – in the middle of the night they assure me, and for the moment I will choose to believe them. They saw three hooded figures climbing over the rear wall of the temple precinct and gave chase. The robbers escaped, but they dropped a box. That one over there, in fact. Open it for me, if you will, and show us what is insid
e.’

  Ferox did what he was told. The long iron key was in the lock and turned easily. He raised the lid and saw dark cloth folded. The box was little more than a foot square, but heavily bound with iron edges so that it must have been heavy. He lifted the cloth out, and as he stood up realised that it was a cloak, fringed at the bottom in faded gold. The rest was more dark brown than the bright purple it had surely once been.

  ‘The key was provided for me by the head priest,’ the governor explained. ‘He tells me that this is the cloak they place around the statue of the divine Claudius when he and the other deified emperors accompany the statues of Vespasian and Titus to the opening of the games. All of the statues have cloaks, and this is the least fine, though perhaps the oldest of them.’

  ‘Ferox knew about the theft of Caratacus’ torc before I told him,’ Ovidius says.

  The legate raised an eyebrow quizzically.

  ‘A guess, my lord, but the answer did not surprise me.’ Ferox told them about the thefts in the north, and about Acco. ‘It was the torc worn by the kings of the Catuvellauni for generations, even before it belonged to such a famous war leader. If Acco seeks objects of power from among the tribes, that would be a great prize.’

  ‘That villain still up to his tricks, is he? And with a long arm to reach out to Italy. That is worrying, since it would be likely he has influential friends. Still, shouldn’t think he cared one way or another who was emperor.’

  ‘No, my lord, but he might well try to use people who did.’

  Neratius Marcellus stopped mid-pace and spun around to stare intently at the centurion. ‘You really think he is that smart?’

  ‘I know he is, my lord.’ Ferox did his best to explain to them about a man’s power, and how not only what he did and who he was fed it or weakened it, but also the people and things around him. A man’s spirit grew as he took objects touched by the past and perhaps by the gods. At the same time the things themselves became more potent because of the one who possessed them.

  ‘Are we talking magic?’ Ovidius asked, genuinely curious.

  ‘Only in a sense,’ Ferox said. He knew these men were intelligent, more sympathetic than many Romans, and trying hard, but there were simply not the right words in their tongue, or even in Greek – at least all the Greek Ferox was able to remember. Romans did not think this way. ‘Acco is known as the last of the true druids and he is feared accordingly. Gathering these things will add a little to his reputation, but I suspect there is more than that. Druids – and many who would claim to be druids – always wanted to possess things of power. There is more to it than this. Why these things and why now unless he has some definite purpose?’

  ‘Why indeed? And I take it you have no idea of the answer.’ Ferox shook his head. ‘Ah well.’ The governor reached up and stretched like someone waking from sleep. ‘Then it seems we shall all be very busy. You and this old fool will begin by searching the archives here. Find anything we have about the objects they have taken or tried to take.’ He reached out for the cloak and stared at it as if it might reveal a secret. ‘Perhaps there is a connection.’ He must have seen the look on Ferox’s face. ‘And, yes, I realise that perhaps the records of past governors will have little interest or understanding of such matters, but you never know. Perhaps there is something, or even a clue to spark an idea. At the very least we must start with what we have in case there is something there. I also want you to find out all you can at the temple. And you are both dining here this evening.’

  Ferox stood up and to attention. ‘Yes, my lord. Are we ordered to enjoy ourselves at the dinner?’

  The governor glared for a moment, before his face softened. ‘I shall not go that far. It may even prove more of an ordeal than searching dusty rows of documents, but there are people you should meet. Before the year is out, we may even have to kill one or two of them. That is if they do not kill us first.’ Ferox could not remember hearing the legate sound so gloomy.

  VII

  Lucius sulpicius crassus was a couple of inches shorter than Ferox, his hair the colour of fine gold, eyebrows almost pure white, and had a round, face that was handsome in a very Roman way. Ferox disliked him from the first instant, and found this sentiment growing with every moment, in spite of all his efforts.

  ‘Flavius Ferox is a gallant and gifted officer,’ Crassus’ sister explained, ‘and I may say he has more than once placed us in his debt at great risk to his own life.’ Sulpicia Lepidina seemed to glow and it was all Ferox could do not to keep staring at her or to reach out to hold her. Her blonde hair was piled high in the simple style she preferred, which only enhanced her beauty. She had pendant earrings, a large necklace and bracelets on each wrist, and a deep blue dress that in places showed the paler blue of her under-tunic. Claudia Severa was in bright red, had more jewellery – if tastefully not too much – and had her thick brown hair arranged in one of the complex styles dictated by fashion. She was an attractive woman, and Ferox had found her to be a decent person, but whenever she stood beside her friend she paled in comparison.

  ‘The centurion is a veteran on the frontier,’ Claudia Severa added. ‘One might say a legend in those parts.’ That was generous, although until a few years ago it was more his drinking that had been legendary. ‘And having been born among the tribes he speaks their language and understands the way they think. My husband says that many times his insights have avoided bloodshed.’

  Crassus was unimpressed. ‘The sword is what matters,’ he declared. ‘In the end, it is all a barbarian can understand.’ He was just five years older than his sister, but was more heavily built, and might soon thicken out and become jowly. Apart from the colouring he had little in common with her. His expression was determined but dull, without any of the wit that sparkled in her gaze. Ferox was not sure whether the remark about barbarians extended to him, suspected that it did, but that the speaker did not consider him sufficiently important to be worth insulting with any vigour. Crassus’ eyes darted around, clearly seeking someone more useful to meet. As a senator, only the legate and Ovidius were his peers, and Crispinus and the two other broad-stripe tribunes were at an early stage of the same career. Therefore he hunted for people more worth his condescension, or who might be useful in the few years he would have to spend in this benighted province. Yet for the moment he must observe proprieties, and his sister was here, and had introduced him to these people. Each thought was obvious as it took shape.

  ‘Yes, my dear lady.’ Crassus leaned down to kiss Claudia Severa’s hand. ‘I am sure your husband is a noble fellow who keeps distasteful matters from his conversation whenever he basks in the brightness of your presence, but it will always be the sword. I for one am glad of it, and hope before long to lead my legion into battle, ideally with Aelius Brocchus and his horsemen covering our flanks! That will be a splendid day! Indeed it will, most splendid!’

  ‘You have a campaign planned, my lord?’ Ferox asked before he could stop himself. He saw the brief flash of annoyance in Sulpicia Lepidina’s eyes. Still, he thought that his tone was innocent enough. She glanced around the room, and used the motion to edge closer to his side.

  Crassus did not take offence and merely laughed. ‘Ha, eager for the fray as well, are you? You’re not one of my lads, though, are you?’

  ‘Legio II Augusta, on detachment as regionarius.’

  ‘Oh, sick of dull routine, I suppose. Don’t blame you,’ he went on, making it clear he had paid little attention to the earlier conversation. ‘Well, we shall have to see. As for plans of campaign, I have only been in the province five days so give me time. I am sure we can scare up a little war somewhere.’

  ‘You have seen a lot of service, my lord?’ Ferox felt a sharp jab as Sulpicia Lepidina kicked him on the ankle.

  ‘What? Oh, this and that,’ the commander of VIIII Hispana said airily. ‘Like a war horse waiting for the trumpet!’

  ‘Well, brother, since trumpets are lacking, let me sound a call. Over there is Claudiu
s Arviragus, likely to be the next king of the Brigantes. Since your legion is based among his people, it would do you no harm to meet him. Let me make the introduction. Please excuse us.’ The sister led her brother away like a mother hen towards the red-haired man Ferox had seen that morning leaving the praetorium. He had spotted him in the crowd, the fiery hair very distinctive, but had seen no sign of the woman who had been with him. The pair had looked so Roman that it was a surprise to realise that they were both presumably Brigantes, and from the royal line, descendents of Cartimandua herself. To his surprise he wished that he had gone with Sulpicia Lepidina and her brother.

  Instead Ferox asked about Claudia Severa’s children, knowing this was always a welcome subject and because he was genuinely interested. ‘I suppose it is for the best, moving the families down here for the winter,’ she said after a while. ‘It can be harsh in the north and children fall sick so easily. Yet I miss my husband. I know that must sound silly when it has only been a month.’

  ‘I saw the prefect only days after you had gone, and it was obvious to all that he was missing you every moment of the day.’ He smiled. Gallantry did not come naturally, but he had real affection and respect for Brocchus and his wife. ‘I cannot blame him.’

  Claudia Severa blushed and gave a smile, and for that moment looked truly beautiful. ‘Well, I can partly blame you for all this. You have him worried. All your talk of unrest among the tribes and Rome’s weakness. I believe a desire to put us safely out the way lies behind his and Cerialis’ plot to send us south.’

  ‘I had no idea. When I saw them we mostly spoke of the…’ Murder was probably not a fitting subject for a social gathering at the legate’s praetorium. ‘The unfortunate incident at Vindolanda,’ he finished rather lamely.

  ‘I have not shed any tears for that rogue. Someone who attacks my friends deserves no better.’ The bitterness was surprising, and instantly regretted. Before Ferox could react a voice interrupted.

 

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