Brigantia

by Adrian Goldsworthy

  ‘Shall I dance?’ She walked past him towards the infant. ‘Or sing? You would be better off asking dear Lepidina in that case, for she has a true gift.’

  ‘Yes, my lady. I have had the honour of hearing the prefect’s wife play and sing.’

  ‘So what’s this about a lion? Does the army make a habit of battling with beasts? Or is this how you occupy your time when off duty? Oh, do not worry,’ she went on before he could answer. ‘I am sure you had good reason. The tribune said it was a lioness. Seems cruel to pick on a girl, and you such a big fellow.’ She frowned. ‘You know, you are not easily teased, prince of the Silures.’

  ‘I’m just a centurion, my lady. Haven’t seen my tribe for twenty years and probably won’t for another twenty. And as to teasing, I should say that you are doing a good job.’

  ‘Of course I am, for I am of the blood of Cartimandua – and what’s more, I am also a Roman lady so must occupy my time somehow or other. Have you met my brother?’

  ‘No, lady.’

  ‘He is even more of a Roman, as solemn as a Cato when he needs to be. Has served as a prefect of a cohort, as narrow-stripe tribune with a legion, and in the last few years has commanded the royal guard for our late father.’ She stooped down and scooped up little Marcus. The baby gave the briefest of protests at being disturbed, but then nestled contentedly against her. Enica was wearing less makeup this morning, although her lips were still rouged. She pursed them now, blowing noisy kisses to the baby and shaking her head from side to side.

  Ferox stared at the son he could not acknowledge, longing to hold him, but not knowing any decent way to suggest it.

  ‘Huh, he’s a weight,’ Enica said. For the first time Ferox thought she looked both natural and happy, which made him wonder whether Ovidius was right and maybe this was another act. ‘Still, his father is a big man, a brave and handsome soldier, so we should not be surprised. I hear he resembles him a good deal.’

  ‘The prefect is a fine man,’ Ferox said, trying to judge whether or not she was hinting at the truth, for the baby had a mop of black hair just like his.

  ‘I have not had the pleasure of meeting him as yet.’ That seemed to settle the matter, until she went on. ‘Dear Lepidina has a picture, of course, and in that I am afraid I cannot see the likeness. Still, often art robs the life from someone’s face.’ Enica glanced at him just once, before gazing back down at the baby. She started to let him grab at her fingers. ‘Lepidina and Claudia both speak very highly of you, do you know that? Much of it is surprising, some rather hard to believe. Have you really saved Lepidina so many times and others too?’

  ‘They exaggerate, my lady. Perhaps a couple of times I have helped. Others were there as well.’

  ‘A modest hero? Well, that is something new indeed. Men usually brag about anything, and the boldest surely have something truly glorious to brag about. It would be like expecting me to be modest about my beauty and charm.’ Her eyes darted up to watch his reaction, her face briefly glaring in mock annoyance. ‘That was your signal to say something about the radiance of my beauty and how it must be praised at every opportunity! Hmmm. For a man who has spent time in Rome you lack many of the graces.’

  ‘I am merely a centurion, and was there for less than a year, training with the praetorians and the horse guards before I was sent to a legion. Before that I was four years in Lugdunum.’

  ‘Oh, that hole. It was such a joy to be taken from there to Rome. Still, the people were welcoming. I stayed with the Fulvii, do you know them?’ Before he could reply, the baby was beginning to nuzzle against her, lips starting to suck with enthusiasm. ‘Oh dear, I fear he wishes for something I am unable to give. Take him for a moment, while I fetch the nurse.’ The baby was thrust into his hands and he took him, amazed at his lightness. Marcus was still making earnest attempts to suckle, and Ferox gave him his finger and felt the surprisingly strong suction. His eyes started to prickle.

  ‘I will do my very best for him.’ The voice was soft, little more than a whisper. He had not noticed Sulpicia Lepidina return. ‘And so will Cerialis. He is a good man.’

  ‘Is he well?’ Ferox knew the child had had some bouts of sickness.

  ‘Strong as an ox, and greedy with it.’ She smiled and pressed his arm. Ferox felt he was in a dream as impossible as his encounter with the bathing goddess. Here he stood, under the afternoon sun, with his son in his arms and this beautiful, beloved woman beside him. Yet she was as unattainable as a goddess, even if she had been free, for a senator’s daughter might deign to wed an equestrian, but never someone of his lowly rank. What they had done put them both in danger, for the law was severe and the emperor known for his strictness in adhering to it.

  The lady glanced quickly to make sure that the garden was empty. ‘I am sorry about what happened. It was not my doing.’ The words were so faint he could only just hear them. ‘But I do need your help. My brother is in trouble and may ruin us all. He is playing foolish games and has not even been discreet.’

  ‘You know you have only to ask.’

  ‘It may mean a death,’ she whispered, just as Enica and Claudia reappeared, the wet nurse following.

  The Brigantian laughed to see him holding the child. ‘Be careful, he will drain you dry! And being a soldier no doubt your blood is more wine than anything else and we shall have a drunken infant on our hands!’

  Ferox handed Marcus to the nurse, who had already removed a brooch so that one breast was exposed. He gave the slightest of nods, hoping that Sulpicia Lepidina would see and understand. Somehow the expectation that he would kill for her did not surprise him. All along he had known that their love was as absurd as it was impossible. She was not some slut of an aristocrat, of the type he had seen hanging around the training grounds in Rome, watching the guardsmen and foreign youths like him at the exercises, or drooling over the gladiators in their ludi. He thought that she loved him, but she was clarissima femina, her duty to her family greater than anything else in life. Probably she knew that her brother was a pompous halfwit, but he remained her brother and honour and family were everything. Now Ferox could be useful and she expected him to do her bidding. The price for loving a goddess was never cheap. For some reason he imagined what Vindex would say. ‘So I get to hump her and all I have to do is kill some poor bugger! Is there a queue?’ Ferox guessed that he would do what she asked, but for the moment all he could do was wait.

  It was time to go, and he made his farewells and was forced to promise to pay another visit, tomorrow or the next day at the latest.

  ‘Yes, you absolutely must, my modest hero,’ Enica declared. ‘If you do not come then I shall send Achilles to hunt you down. He may be small, but he is implacable – and he can bite in some truly unpleasant places! Oh do not frown like that, dear Claudia, none of the children are in earshot and it was merely a jest. How do you know I was not talking about his knees anyway?’

  ‘Do not shock our guest,’ Claudia Severa said, trying her best not to smile.

  ‘I should feel a great sense of achievement if I managed to shock a centurion of the legions. Especially this one.’

  Ferox gave a slight bow. As he left he saw Longinus and three other Batavians arrive, one of them Cocceius and all carrying packs and tools. The one-eyed veteran explained that they were planning to build a little fort and pitch a tent inside for the children.

  ‘Will it be to keep us out or keep them in?’ Ferox joked. He talked to them for a while, but was once again late, so he invited them to join the party going to the baths. The three soldiers were obviously enthusiastic.

  ‘We’ll see,’ the veteran said. ‘Work to do first.’

  Ferox left and started off downhill towards the river. The streets were barely less crowded than earlier, and soon he was surrounded by bustle and noise, as people talked and yelled in half the languages of the empire. Almost at once, he sensed that he was being followed. He carried on, as if he had noticed nothing, hoping the pursuer would draw close. His cl
oak was tight around him again, and he kept his hand around the handle of the pugio, a handier weapon than the sword in such a crowd. Nothing happened, but once he turned suddenly and was sure he saw the face of the slave who had brought the message the night before. The man blinked, realised he had been seen and vanished into the crowd.

  ‘Alms for an old soldier.’ A man missing a leg and supporting himself on crutches stood in front of him. ‘Please, sir, for the sake of the aquila.’

  Ferox gave the man a couple of coins. So many beggars claimed to be old soldiers and more than half were probably lying, but this man had the air of a former soldier about him.

  ‘Which legion?’

  ‘Hispana, sir. Fifteen years until I lost this.’

  ‘Good luck to you, legionary.’

  ‘Thank you, sir. Best fortune to you for your kindness.’

  There was no sign of the scarred slave, and the press was too thick for there to be much hope of finding him. Ferox went on, soon reaching the streets nearer the quayside, where the scent of fish filled the air.

  The others were waiting by the main bridge, as they had promised.

  ‘Time to introduce you to civilisation and cleanliness,’ he said.

  Vindex rubbed his chin. ‘Are you sure this is a good idea?’

  XII

  Ovidius was so excited that his words tumbled out almost as fast as Claudia Enica in full flow. He had worked on in the archives until the third hour of the night, a special order from the legate forcing a few of the staff to stay with him, do as they were bid, and make sure the old fool remembered to drink and have something to eat. The next morning they again waited on Neratius Marcellus, and while they did Ovidius scarcely paused to draw breath as he told his story. Ferox listened with patience, and because the only way to have interrupted would have been to grab the old man and shake him bodily.

  Did Ferox know that Agricola was a broad-stripe tribune under Suetonius Paulinus? Yes, of course he did. And that the legate took a shine to the diligent young officer and kept him with him throughout the expedition to Mona and when they turned around to meet Boudicca? Perhaps not. He trusted him with activities that were not generally made public, and one was to deal with this Prasto, who had been captured by chance a year before and decided that his hide was more precious than his cult. Agricola was tasked with keeping a close eye on the man and with learning as much as they could. There had been rumours of captives kept alive by the druids for years, including at least one narrow-stripe tribune, and the governor was keen to discover whether or not there was any truth in this. If there was, their rescue came second only to destroying the cult.

  ‘And as far as I can see, Prasto took with relish to the task,’ Ovidius went on. ‘It turns out that he was in dispute with many of his fellow druids, something to do with seniority, which he felt had been unfairly denied to him. So he was happy to see his old colleagues put to the sword, and the sacred groves cut down or burned. A man of strong passions, it seems! Yes, yes. More murderous in revenge than his fellow priests were in their grim religion. Led the Romans to Mona, and then guided them so they knew just where to strike and who needed to be caught and killed. Helped a lot in dealing with the rebels too, because he knew Boudicca and most of the chieftains quite well. The gods only know what they thought of him! Still, if he was a traitor, he was our traitor, and very useful too, more than justifying the reward of a plush villa by the sea and enough gold and silver to live in comfort. Agricola remembered him when he came back, and employed him again, and one of the results was this!’ The old man brandished a scroll.

  The usher had to raise his voice and repeat his message before the oration ceased and Ovidius realised that they were summoned. Ferox and the slave both had to hurry to keep up as the old man almost danced along the corridors.

  ‘No luck, I see,’ the legate said as his friend bounced into the office. Crispinus grinned. He was the only other person in the room once the slave closed the doors behind them.

  Ovidius went back to the beginning, starting with getting the note from Ferox, and then went through his search, the false starts, growing despair at another trail apparently leading nowhere, and then the thrill when he saw the name. Neratius Marcellus listened with patience and growing interest. ‘And when can we expect the first reading of the poem about this great quest?’ he said when the old man finally stopped and slumped down exhausted. ‘What about you, Ferox, anything to add?’

  ‘Only a little, my lord. I found a Batavian whose father had served and been one of Prasto’s escorts.’ In fact, Longinus was his source, speaking a little more freely than usual the night before as the wine had flowed. There was something about Gannascus’ huge and merry presence that made other men relax. After several hours in the baths they had gone to some bars, and spent a long time watching the dancers in one tavern, the lithe girls in skimpy leather costumes.

  ‘I must be getting old,’ Longinus said as he joined Ferox in a quieter corner. After a while he coaxed the story from the veteran. He had served in cohors IV Batavorum, one of the old units disbanded after the rebellion that Longinus-Civilis had led. ‘In those days they used to send us noblemen to serve as a trooper for a year or two before they made us prefect. Good system, since you got knocked about a bit – but not too much because they knew you would come back very senior – and at least knew a bit about soldiering when they made you prefect.’ He remembered the turncoat druid. ‘That bastard. An animal or worse. Never forget him even if I tried. I’ve met some wrong ’uns in my time – well, I knew Nero and Vitellius – but that sod didn’t even try to hide it. Wish I could forget.’ Ferox knew how the veteran felt, for now that he had heard what had happened he half wished he could forget.

  ‘Prasto was vicious,’ he told the legate, ‘even more than the noble Ovidius has told us. He tortured and killed with such glee that even the legionaries were sickened, and you probably know how much they loathed the druids, especially once the stories came out of what Boudicca’s warriors were doing. Prasto hated and desired many of the women who were part of the cult.’

  ‘I did not know that there were women druids,’ Crispinus said. The legate gave him a quizzical look. ‘Sorry, I am just trying to understand.’

  ‘There were not, my lord, although these days I have heard of women claiming to be druids. In the old days women acted as seers and performed some of the rituals, but they were not druids and did not have their learning. Some were old, and these Prasto had killed, usually through some inventive torture. The younger he took and toyed with, taking pleasures as he willed. I am assuming the details are unnecessary.’

  ‘Well…’ Crispinus began, before his uncle silenced him with a gesture of his hand.

  ‘Most he killed in the end,’ Ferox went on, ‘or they took their own lives if they had the chance, and the survivors he kept as slaves.’

  Neratius Marcellus sighed and stood up. Ferox had been impressed at how long he had kept still listening to his friend. ‘Bad business, but those were grim years, and if he was a dirty tool for us to use, he did serve a purpose. Now, where does this take us in our present need? I am not sure…’

  ‘Oh, I forgot about this!’ Ovidius bounded to his feet again, waving the scroll. The legate smiled and nodded for him to continue. ‘It was written for Agricola after he had gone to Mona and was preparing his drive to the north. He asked Prasto to record a good deal of the lore of the druids, in case the cult sprang up again. And the greatest was this list.’ Ovidius unrolled the scroll, coughed and began. ‘The Treasures of Britannia! Prasto calls them artefacts of great potency and symbolism – perhaps what friend Ferox here would call power?’ The centurion nodded.

  ‘Some will be all too familiar to us. Here we have the armour of Venutius, the mirror of Cartimandua, the cloak of Claudius – odd, that, but I suppose even the enemy has power. The torc of the high king of the Catuvellauni. Oh dear, that was what they took from poor Caratacus, I suppose. The Spear of Camulos and the cauldron of Morri
gan. Not heard of those so far, and he says that they are hidden in the cavern of the three-faced god. The shield of Boudicca, but he says that was buried with her corpse and no man knows where her grave was made. After that it is not so much specific items as objects with power, the blood of kings and queens, the tears of the gods – I wonder how you collect those for he does not say – and the skull of a witch or druid.’

  ‘Is this Prasto still alive?’ the legate asked. ‘I confess that I never heard his name until today, which makes me suspect that he is dead. Can we check?’

  Ovidius beamed. ‘Vanished at sea five years ago. He was a very old man, but liked to go out fishing in a little boat along with some of his almost as elderly slaves. One day the weather was bad and they did not come back. The body of one of the slaves and timbers from the boat washed up. One of the procurator’s men sent in a report about it because the emperor was heir to all his estate.’

  ‘Generous, since we’d given it to him in the first place,’ Crispinus said.

  ‘Do I take it you had to request this information from the procurator’s office?’ the legate asked, paying no attention to his nephew. ‘Yes, I thought so. Ah well, probably cannot do any harm.’

  ‘I invented a legal case involving property in the area,’ Ovidius replied. ‘And gave the usual sort of gift to encourage the efforts of the freedman.’

  ‘Fair enough, and it cannot be helped.’ Neratius Marcellus set off on one of his walks. ‘Let us assume Prasto is dead. Let us also assume that someone, probably Acco, has taken the cuirass, the torc and the mirror. The shield may be lost forever, and we have the cloak. What about this spear and… what was it?’

  ‘A cauldron.’

  ‘Truly?’ The legate paused to shake his head and then turned to pace in the opposite direction. ‘Does not seem so very dramatic, but there it is. Any idea where they can be found?’