Brigantia

by Adrian Goldsworthy

  The speculator tapped the hilt of his gladius. ‘Best you come along, sir.’

  Ferox did not have the strength to argue and let himself be led. Prince Arviragus rode past him, accompanied by two troopers and a heavily tanned warrior whose nose had been bent and flattened years before. The prince noticed Ferox enough to sneer.

  ‘Should have seen that bugger fight,’ the older soldier said after the riders had passed. ‘The ugly one. They used to call him Brigantus in the arena. That was before the prince there bought him. Fastest man I’ve ever seen with a gladius.’

  At the principia all was bustle, far more than was normal, and no one on duty had any idea why he was wanted or what to do with him. In the end, a beneficiarius had him locked in one of the side rooms. There was some light from a little window too small to climb through and a stool, so he sat and waited, or sometimes paced up and down and waited. Trumpets sounded the start of the second and third hours of the day and still no one came. Ferox was hungry, sore and so weary that he was tempted to lie on the cold floor and try to sleep.

  At last the door opened. A legionary he did not know appeared. ‘You are to come with us, sir.’ Two others were waiting outside.

  Ferox did as he was told and again there was no explanation. The soldiers led him out of the principia, which was worrying, until he realised that they were going to the praetorium. Even better was the sight of Vindex, Gannascus and the others, waiting near the entrance, fully equipped and standing by their horses.

  ‘What’s up?’ the scout asked.

  ‘I’m under arrest.’ Ferox tried to sound cheerful.

  ‘About time.’ Vindex nodded to the legionaries. ‘Chain him up, lads.’

  There were more armed men than usual standing outside, and guards in the main corridors of the house. None of them saluted as he passed, but neither did they try to stop the escort leading him through. Even more to his surprise they went to the back of the house, which was residential rather than official, where even the corridors were finely painted and had mosaic floors. As they approached a door a slave appeared, his tunic of good quality and his manner suggesting that the legate trusted him with considerable authority. ‘You’re to go right in, sir,’ he said. ‘You will not be needed, soldiers.’

  The legionary in charge stared at the slave for a while, just to show that he was only obeying because he chose to do so, and then led his men off.

  ‘Ah, Ferox, my dear fellow, it seems we have both been in the wars.’ Ovidius was propped up in bed, his face pale, almost grey, in the lamplight. The legate’s own physician, an Alexandrian whose fame almost equalled his self-esteem, worked at a table mixing something in a bowl.

  ‘The bastards stabbed him.’ Ferox had not seen Crispinus sitting on a stool and working alongside a clerk at a table they had somehow crammed into the room.

  ‘No need for vulgarity,’ Ovidius said. He coughed and winced because the movement obviously caused him a lot of pain.

  ‘They stuck a knife in you, old friend,’ the tribune said softly. ‘And murdered two of my uncle’s slaves.’

  ‘Did they?’ Ovidius frowned with the effort of thought. ‘Yes, of course they did. Bastards.’

  Crispinus smiled, but his face betrayed his worry. It was the first time Ferox had seen the tribune with stubble on his chin and a tunic that look crumpled and dirty.

  ‘And where the hell have you been?’ Crispinus glared at the centurion. ‘The legate wanted you last night and you were nowhere to be found.’ The story came out quickly. A report had arrived of a large band of rebels or bandits threatening the roads near Verulamium and even the town itself. Neratius Marcellus had taken most of his mounted singulares, supplementing these picked men with any other horsemen who could be rounded up and issued supplies in a matter of hours, and ridden off to see what was going on. ‘He wanted you with him, but no one could find you.’

  After the legate had gone, someone had broken into the praetorium, getting in by prising open the shutters on one of the top windows. ‘There’s building going on behind the house, so we reckon they took a ladder from there. We do not know who they were or how many.’

  ‘There were three,’ Ovidius cut in. ‘Two men and a woman.’

  ‘Do not tire yourself,’ the doctor said without looking up from his work. ‘And do not put strain on those stitches. I refuse to let my patients die until I say so.’

  Ovidius managed to laugh. ‘This is important, good doctor, and soon I trust that your potion will give me blissful sleep.

  ‘I was on my way to the legate’s room. He had taken one of the documents I have found and I needed to check something. There were voices, a man and woman talking, though I could not catch the words. I called out, thinking it must be some of his household and not wanting to alarm them by appearing suddenly. Slaves can be nervous if you surprise them when they are doing something they should not, so it is always better to warn of your approach. Then the woman started screaming for help. I ran in…’

  ‘Of course, our aged Hector.’ Crispinus was grinning.

  ‘Well, I ran in. Saw a man, his arm raised to strike a cowering woman, and I punched him. I’d forgotten I had a stylus in my hand and the point was sharp enough to draw blood. He yelped and jumped in the air, then another one came at me and as I turned to face him, I was struck in the side. The woman had stabbed me.’ The old man sounded truly puzzled.

  ‘What did they look like?’ Ferox asked.

  Ovidius shook his head. His skin seemed even paler apart from the dark rings around his eyes, but there was a proud defiance in his face. ‘I do not really know. It was dark in there, and everything happened so fast. Their clothes were drab. The one I stabbed had a shaven head, the other dark hair. The woman was pretty, I think, quite tall and full figured.’

  Crispinus smirked. ‘You are not that old then.’

  ‘What colour hair did she have?’ Ferox asked.

  ‘Dark, probably. I think so anyway. There was not much light, and it is hard to say. I am sorry, but what matters is that they stole the cloak. The chest was in that room, and they prised it open.’

  ‘Was that all?’

  ‘Yes. Well, apart from a scroll that was on the table. It was written by Prasto, but I believe would not be much use unless you already had a good understanding of this matter. But you know what this means?’

  Ferox nodded. Someone close to the legate must have told the thieves what to take and where to find it. ‘Acco is in Londinium.’

  Crispinus gasped, and then recovered his poise almost immediately. ‘Here. Are you sure?’

  ‘He tried to burn me to death last night.’

  ‘That sounds definite.’ Ovidius laughed and it did not seem to cause him pain. ‘Well, we are glad he failed in his attempt. Are we not, noble Crispinus?’

  ‘Fairly glad.’ The white haired young aristocrat was grinning broadly. If he had recognised Ferox at the warehouse then he was hiding it well.

  ‘Quiet, all of you.’ The doctor had come over to the bed and was holding a bowl. ‘That is enough.’

  ‘Not yet, doctor, I pray you.’ Ovidius pushed himself to sit up a little more. ‘This is important. The legate left orders for the centurion, but I must explain some of them.’ He was struggling for breath, but waved the doctor back.

  ‘We are to go to Mona,’ Crispinus said. ‘We will take your men and an escort of Batavians, but we must go within the hour. If Acco was in Londinium a few hours ago then we may have a chance to beat him there. The legate wants us to find the last of these treasures and keep them safe or destroy them. He has written our orders, and we are just making up the passes and letters instructing all garrisons to aid us.’

  ‘I have made notes, some from memory.’ Ovidius winced and closed his eyes The pain was obviously growing, but he struggled on. ‘Prasto returned to the island when Agricola attacked. He describes an old shrine and I am sure he believed that items of the greatest value were buried or somehow hidden there. It is the best I can
manage, I am afraid, but hopefully will guide you.’ He was gasping for breath.

  ‘That is enough.’ The doctor was a small man, yet somehow managed to loom over the room. He crouched beside the old man and held a small bowl to his lips. ‘Drink this. It will help.’

  There was the sound of shouting from outside and the door was flung open. Crassus stood in the doorway, his face red. He saw the doctor and the injured man and sagged a little, but then noticed Ferox and the anger returned.

  ‘This man is a murderer. He should be under guard until the trial and punishment can be arranged. Hercules’ balls, why is he here and not in a cell?’

  Ferox stiffened to attention. The young tribune stood up, and Crassus flinched slightly because he had not seen him in the corner of the room. ‘Noble Crassus, it is good to see you.’ The tribune smiled warmly. ‘I shall personally ensure that the centurion is kept under close watch, but for the moment the legate has need of him, and so do I.’

  ‘Neratius Marcellus is no longer here, and left before the crime was known. I am now senior, and thus in charge until the governor returns. I shall take full responsibility.’ Ferox got the impression that Crassus did not much care for the younger man. ‘He is to be locked in a cell and that is an end to it.’

  ‘I have written orders, if you would care to read them, signed and sealed by my uncle. He requires Ferox for a special task, the importance of which overrides everything else – at least for the moment.’

  ‘What task?’

  ‘I am sure that in due course the governor will confide in his senior and trusted subordinates.’

  ‘Not good enough. Not good enough at all, dear Crispinus. This is too delicate a matter for me to take a risk, surely you must see that. I have authority and I have made the decision.’

  ‘Servilius.’ Ovidius croaked the word. He had pushed himself up, glassy eyes fixed on Crassus. ‘Servilius,’ he said again.

  Ferox was close enough to see Crassus blink several times. He had no idea who Servilius was, but the power of the name was obvious.

  ‘The legate’s orders are specific and in writing.’ Crispinus was holding up the tablet. ‘There are copies here so that there can be no doubt that you act according to his instructions.’ He stepped closer. ‘Come, obeying them is the prudent course. Time is pressing and the legate will not take kindly to needless delay.’

  ‘Very well. But make sure this rogue does not escape.’

  ‘You have my oath on that, my dear Crassus. Justice will be served.’ There was a hard edge to the tribune’s voice. Ferox still wondered how much he knew or suspected, and whose side the young aristocrat was really on. ‘Let me call a couple of soldiers to watch this fellow while he returns to his quarters to collect a few things.’

  ‘This is a risk, though,’ Crassus said. ‘A great risk.’

  ‘And one the governor is taking, not us.’

  ‘In my experience blame spreads a long way. I want it on record that I am against this course of action.’

  ‘It shall be set down.’ Crispinus turned to the clerk. ‘See to it.’

  *

  Less than a hour later, they started to make their way through the streets on their way out of the town. Seventeen horsemen, most heavily armed, and led by the tribune in his polished cuirass and high plumed helmet, ought to have been sufficiently impressive to clear the path, but Londinium was Londinium and trade was trade, and the stall holders yelled and haggled, and there was no quick way through the crowds. Some people watched them with suspicion. The legate had left late at night, taking almost half the soldiers in the town with him, and there were rumours of war and rebellion. Another senior officer riding away was not encouraging, and it added to the nervousness all could feel. Even sadder was Gannascus’ slave girl, who walked with them to the edge of the town, weeping and kissing the big warrior’s boot and leg as he rode. Philo walked beside her, and he would take charge of her while they were away. Crispinus had been clear that the boy was not to go with them, for they would be riding hard into who knew what perils, and they could not take care of him. Ferox was glad that he had not had to give the order, and at least there had been time for the lad to shave him before they set out.

  ‘Must be love.’ Ferox rode with Crispinus at the head of the little column and the tribune was his usual talkative self. The sight of the slave girl following the big German amused him. ‘And you say he won her at dice? I’ve only ever won money – and lost more often than I would like. Pretty thing, though, very pretty. Although you cannot beat a true lady.’ They had turned a corner, and to his surprise he saw Sulpicia Lepidina and the two Claudias with their maids looking at material in one of the stalls, and discussing it in great detail. He had heard her say that the best buys were often found away from the expensive, fashionable shops near the basilica. ‘Well,’ the tribune continued, ‘the old laws say a husband can beat his wife or a father his daughter, and there’s one or two out there who’ll let a man whip them and thrill to it, but you know what I mean.’

  Claudia Enica noticed them, gave a broad smile and waved. The other two were a little more restrained, Sulpicia Lepidina favouring them with a simple nod. Achilles scampered out from behind the stall, a piece of red silk draped over his shoulder, and he must have made some tart comment because his mistress slapped him around the ear.

  ‘Fine-looking woman, and of royal blood as well.’ With all the hubbub of the crowd, Crispinus spoke without worrying that the ladies would hear. ‘Much to my surprise I am rather taken with that red hair of hers. Striking, although one wonders whether it speaks of a fiery temper. Must be twenty, though, or even older. Needs a husband.’ He smiled at Ferox, who was baffled until realisation set in and then he was simply aghast. ‘No need to look like that. Probably missed the chance now.’

  When they passed the ladies, Ferox had not recovered from so bizarre a suggestion. Crispinus made formal greeting, and he simply nodded and gave as much of a smile as he could muster. Enica stared up at him, head on one side almost in the same way as she examined goods on the stall. Claudia Severa wished them luck on their journey. Sulpicia Lepidina was stiff and formal, but then she was in public. Ferox could not stop himself from glancing back after they had passed. The others had returned to their shopping, but she was watching them and when she saw him turn mouthed, ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Do you think he will take her back home with him?’ Crispinus interrupted his thoughts. After a last burst of sobbing, Philo had led the slave girl away.

  ‘No idea.’

  ‘Of course not, you never have an opinion on anything, do you, centurion? Eh? Well, you must have some thoughts on the task at hand.’

  ‘Mona is a big place, my lord. I have not yet seen my lord Ovidius’ discoveries, so cannot judge how easy it will be to find these things.’

  ‘You really do not want to go there, do you?’

  Ferox sighed. ‘No.’

  ‘Surely it is a place like any other.’

  Ferox said nothing.

  ‘Talkative as ever.’ Crispinus lowered his voice. They were almost at the gate and a handful of bored auxiliaries stood guard. ‘You will feel better when you have a sword at your side. Have to keep up appearances while we’re here for the sake of that fool Crassus. Once we are properly clear we can forget about all this arrest nonsense.’ Ferox was wearing his mail and helmet with its feathered, transverse crest, but under his cloak he had a belt bare of any weapons. His old felt hat was lost, and he knew that he would miss it as the journey went on. There was a borrowed sword on one of the four pack ponies they were taking with them. He had not hefted the weapon yet, but it was bound to be a poor thing after his own sword. He wondered whether that was melted inside the ashes of the warehouse or stolen by whoever it was who had led him out and then vanished.

  ‘So can I go where I like once we are outside?’

  ‘Ferox, you are a centurion under orders and will obey. The orders say you are going to Mona. After that, who knows, but there w
ill be new orders and fresh tasks. From all I can see, we are going to be busy.’

  ‘Perhaps you should have applied to return to Rome, my lord? Your service has already been long.’

  ‘What, and miss your sparkling company?’

  A trooper trotted forward, informed the sentry who they were and they were waved through. The gateway was built of stone, with two low towers, and joined onto the timber and earth ramparts surrounding the greater part of the town. It was not much of a defence, and Ferox hoped that it would never be tested. Outside were more houses and taverns, for the wall had been built thirty years ago and was now too small for the town. It was a good quarter of a mile before the buildings were replaced by gardens and graveyards. Mourners were shrieking and priests and priestesses of Isis wailing and swinging rattles as a woman’s corpse was laid on a pyre.

  ‘So who did I kill?’

  ‘Curiosity at last. Most men arrested and charged with murder would have asked at least a few questions.’

  ‘I’m under orders, my lord. I speak when I’m spoken to.’ More priests joined in the noise, clashing cymbals. Ferox wondered whether the woman had been the one caught up in the attack on the temple. That was only a few days ago, even though it seemed like an age. A torch was put to the piled wood and the flames shot up from the oil in which the pyre was drenched. He shuddered. ‘So who did I kill?’

  Crispinus studied him for a while. The noise of the funeral rose to a crescendo and then stopped abruptly. ‘You really do not know, do you?’ he said in the sudden silence. The mourners sent up a great shriek and his horse stirred, its ears twisting back and head flicking up. He patted its neck. Ferox was riding a docile animal that did not seem to care.

  ‘You still have not told me the answer, my lord. Last night I fought with men on a rooftop, and hurled them to their deaths without ever knowing their names. That does not sound like murder to me. Afterwards I was knocked unconscious, trussed up and held for who knows how long, threatened by Acco who set the place on fire with me in it. I’m still not sure who helped me out.’