Gannascus slashed his way through the line of islanders. Vindex was on one side and Longinus on the other. Their chieftain dead and the druid cut down, the little men broke, dropping spears and shields in their flight. There was nowhere for them to go and they were slaughtered one by one.
Ferox kept hammering the warrior’s face, but he no longer moved. A hand touched his shoulder.
‘He’s dead,’ Enica croaked. There was a livid mark around her neck, but she was breathing more naturally again.
Ferox stopped. His hands and the manacles were filthy with blood, pieces of flesh and bone. He stood up, panting.
‘Sorry it took so long to find you,’ Vindex said, as he wiped his sword on the hem of his tunic. Ferox went over to the druid. Acco was on his side, face pale, his white tunic dark with his own blood. The druid looked up, and Ferox was sure he smiled.
‘The beginning,’ he gasped, and died.
XXIII
Crassus’ horse flinched as its rider slapped its neck repeatedly. The legate of VIIII Hispana did not appear aware of what he was doing and just as unconsciously shifted in his seat and calmed the animal. Like his sister, Crassus was a fine horseman. Yet there the similarities ended, for it was hard to imagine her face so alight with sheer joy of destruction as he watched the villa’s roof collapse and send up a great gout of smoke and dust. Ferox sensed that the legate was not really listening to his report.
It was the second day after the Ides of November, and the villa belonged to a Brigantian nobleman believed to have joined Arviragus in rebellion. Ferox was not sure whether this was true, and it was clear no one at the farm had resisted. Two men had still died because they had held farm tools in a threatening way – at least, that was according to the cavalrymen who had first reached this place. The remaining score or so of workers, men, women and children, sat and watched as their home burned and took most of their few possessions with them. No one seemed interested in what they had to say about their absent lord and his family.
‘You appear to have dawdled, centurion.’ Crassus did not bother to look down. More of the roof fell in and a wave of heat washed over them, reminding Ferox of the bonfire on Mona, and the druid praying, knife held aloft. That was fifteen days ago and the journey since then had not been easy. If Vindex and the others had not arrived just in time, then there would have been no journey at all. Before the prince had set out, Ferox had spoken quietly to the scout and the big German. He did not trust Arviragus or Crispinus – and was far from sure about the prince’s sister. So he asked them to wait until they were sure the boats were well away and then to overpower the Brigantes still with them. Once they were secure, leave as small a guard as possible for the prisoners and the horses, and lead the rest into the swamp. Gannascus’ homeland was a place of marshes and bogs, and he had trusted the warrior to find a path through to the island between the lakes. The German had managed it, prodding with a long pole, wading where he could, and even swimming where it was safe. It had taken many hours, doubling back on themselves half a dozen times, but in the end he had led them all through. Smeared with mud, they had arrived and saved them. At least, that was the simplest explanation. Ferox wondered whether Acco had guessed what he would try and had delayed to give help plenty of time to arrive.
Leaving Mona was harder than he had hoped. Following the same path, they had gone back to the camp to find the Brigantes gone, the two Batavians and the rest of the soldiers from Segontium dead, and the horses killed or driven off. Only two hours after dawn did they find one of the pack ponies cropping the grass a couple of miles away. A Batavian volunteered to swim the animal across the straits. No one was keen on staying longer on Mona than necessary, for the local warriors might be small, but they were bound to want vengeance for the slaughter of their chief and his men. Even so, the pony was small, its rider big, and the rest of the Batavians placed bets on whether both would drown as they watched him ride into the sea. The odds against them making it started out very good and soared when he fell into the water. Yet somehow he kept hold of the mane and clung to the animal, swimming beside it. Longinus scooped most of the bets as they saw the man and pony clamber up onto the far shore.
‘Don’t worry, boys. Forget about it,’ he told them.
Eventually boats came from the fort and took them off. A merchant ship had stopped at Segontium the day before, and then come and carried away the prince and his men. The liburnian based at the fort was away, and when it arrived late in the day the rowers needed rest. Thus it was not until the next morning that they set sail, a gusting westerly wind at least in their favour. Ferox stared at the beaches and cliffs as they passed Mona, still puzzled by Acco’s intentions. It was almost as if he had wanted to be killed and for them to escape.
When the wind shifted, the liburnian lowered sail and the rowers took over, heading steadily east, until a storm rolled in and they had to work their way out from the shore. The night was grim, but the optio in charge knew what he was doing and kept them safe until the weather cleared. Late on the next day he landed them on the coast. After that they walked to Bremetennacum, and found only the rump of the cavalry ala normally stationed there. The prefect was away, and a decurion in charge of the barely one hundred men present. Ferox’s rank impressed him less than Claudia Enica’s connections and charm, and eventually convinced him to loan them some of his horses.
The news he gave them was not good, adding to all the stories they had heard since landing. ‘Rumour, the swiftest of all evils’ as Claudia Enica called it, quoting the Aeneid again, had flown across the land. People said that Trajan was dead, although while some said that fever had taken him, others spoke of assassins’ knives. The decurion had heard nothing official, but said that a trader passing through had been sure that it was true. Neratius Marcellus remained crippled by his wound. Yet it was said that he had proclaimed himself princeps and that II Augusta had already declared its support and it was likely the other two legions would soon copy that. Arviragus was the only one to oppose him in public, declaring himself for the true emperor, who would be recognised by the Senate, and was rallying forces to fight if necessary.
In the farms, the Brigantes told everything in their own way. Arviragus was to be high king and lead his tribe and all their neighbours to victory. His sister and her consort had gone into the Otherworld to speak for him and rally all the souls of the dead to spread terror into his enemies. Who was emperor mattered little as men prepared for winter and its hardships. Glory for the tribe was good, plenty far better, and that was what he would bring after a struggle. In whispers men spoke of Acco, the last of the true druids, who had worked great magic at the most sacred lake on Mona. Paying with his own life, the old man had brought an end to one age like a season. Much would wither and die in the months to come, as so many things perished in winter, but spring would renew the world.
Rumour ran faster even than Ferox had expected, each story growing with every re-telling. They stayed in farms and more than once saw shields freshly painted, spears and even some swords cleaned and sharpened. He did not think their owners were sure why they did this.
‘They are frightened,’ Enica said. ‘Change is coming and strife with it. They remember past wrongs, whoever did them, and soon they would fight anyone who appeared.’ Their welcome was always greater once folk realised who she was. One or two of them even asked her about the Otherworld and what she had learned on her journey. ‘That my brother will die soon, and that I am to be queen,’ she told them, and Ferox wondered whether that story would take on a life of its own. Sometimes she introduced him as her consort, a prince of the Silures and friend of Rome, something all good Brigantes should be.
It was the only time she spoke of their marriage. At the start of the journey, any talk pained her, for her neck was swollen and tender, and she spent days in uncharacteristic silence. Later they were all so tired and never alone. Gannascus thought it hilarious. Vindex was amused, if a little envious. ‘It will be hard to show you res
pect. I mean, I know you too well,’ he said.
Rain and wind ensured their long rides were tests of endurance that left little energy for talk. At Verbeia they found fresh mounts and the news that the Brigantian royal guard had acclaimed Arviragus as king, that a few chieftains had already joined him with their followers. Some army detachments were said to be obeying him as well, so that already he had several thousand men under his command.
Crassus, lately arrived from Londinium, had reached Lindum and gathered an army to crush the rebel, for that was what the prince undoubtedly was – at least unless he won. The bulk of Legio VIIII was at Eboracum, gathering supplies in case it needed to take the field and waiting for orders. ‘Crassus is marching north along the road,’ the prefect at Verbeia told them. He had received no orders to move as yet, and was keeping a wary eye on the hills in the distance. Patrols reported little bands of horsemen watching them. ‘I’ve barely three hundred fit men, and not enough mules to carry tents for half of them. It’s been quiet here for years, apart from the odd bandit. No one expected this.’ He was cautious about their plan to ride to join Crassus. ‘Your funeral,’ he said. ‘The lady ought to stay here, though, where she is safe.’
‘I go where my husband commands,’ Claudia Enica assured him, and almost sounded convincing.
Riders shadowed them, but the only time a petty chief and twenty warriors barred their path, he quickly bowed to the lady and helped them with a guide. They came down from the hills a few miles behind Crassus’ column as it approached Danum. Ferox started to worry when they got very close before a couple of cavalrymen confronted them. He announced who he was, saying that he needed to see the legate straight away and that his companions needed food and fodder for the animals.
‘I should come too,’ Enica said, her voice almost back to normal.
Ferox grinned. ‘Obey me, wife.’ He leaned across the neck of his horse to whisper, ‘Crassus is less likely to take advice if he thinks it comes from a woman.’
She frowned, and then nodded.
As he rode along the side of the road, passing the main column, Ferox felt his concerns growing. The decurion who led the escort guiding him to the commander was young and eager, but his answers only added to the worry. Crassus’ army amounted to fewer than fourteen hundred men, plus a few hundred lixae. Just over half the fighting strength came from a vexillation of VIIII Hispana, which for eighteen months had been undertaking construction work in and around Lindum, and before that most of the men had worked on the road. It was a long time since they had been soldiers, able to drill and train for war. They marched reluctantly, obviously feeling the weight of shields, armour and the packs hanging from the pole over each shoulder. He spotted a fair few who did not have a pilum, and who marched with a javelin instead, and even a couple without helmets. Crassus can have given them little time to get ready for a campaign.
The seventy men from XX Valeria Victrix stood out, even though they marched behind an optio and did not have any standard. They were veterans still with the colours, serving the last few years of their twenty-five years under the oath, and until recently in garrison at Lindum. Older by far than most of the work party, they almost swaggered along, crests mounted on their helmets, all equipment as it should be, but worn or carried comfortably.
As well as his legionaries, Crassus had mustered some three hundred auxiliary infantry from several different cohorts, and two hundred and twenty cavalrymen, again small detachments and strays from three alae and four cohortes equitatae. Most looked in better shape than the Hispana, but it was never a good thing to ask men to fight alongside strangers and under officers they did not know. If Arviragus really had a force of thousands, at least some of them disciplined and well equipped, then this was not many to face them. Whatever the Roman column did it would have to do quickly. Judging from the score of wagons and several hundred mules and ponies, the Romans were carrying food for little more than a week.
‘The legate is confident the towns along the road will supply us until we can reach the granaries at Eboracum,’ the decurion said loyally, when Ferox made a comment. ‘And we have confiscated cattle from the enemy.’
Ferox was not sure who the enemy was. Plumes of smoke rose from three clusters of huts to the right of the road, and he wondered what they had done to deserve this punishment. There was no sign of a people in rebellion as yet.
None of this appeared to bother Crassus, who brimmed with confidence and even seemed pleased to see Ferox. ‘Come in for the kill, have you, Ferox? Splendid. Must make a change from killing procurators!’ The nobleman threw his head back and roared with laughter. ‘Turns out that fellow was plotting rebellion after all, so we shan’t say any more about arrest, at least for the moment anyway.’ Crassus slapped him heartily on the back and laughed for a good long while. ‘You may even get a reward, for it turns out he was part of a conspiracy with this Arviragus.’ He pointed at the burning buildings. ‘This will send him a message and scare anyone foolish enough to think of joining him.’ The legate revelled in the destruction as his men burned the main villa and barns and huts around it. It was easy enough to understand. Twice disgraced, the man had come to Britannia and then found himself perfectly placed to crush a rebellion, winning glory and proving his loyalty to the princeps. The latter, at least according to the legate, was most certainly alive and well.
‘So the scoundrel is saying Trajan is dead, is he? Damned fool. And the noble Neratius Marcellus too. I can assure you our noble legate is recovering. Be up on his feet soon enough.’ That helped to explain Crassus’ haste to confront the enemy and win the war before the governor arrived to take charge.
‘Do you have a good idea of Arviragus’ numbers, my lord?’
‘Doesn’t matter too much. Rabble mostly. Those tribal guards are fine for parading around, but have never fought a battle. The rest will be a mob of half-naked barbarians. The only hard part will be to find him and make him fight. Doesn’t matter where as long as it is soon. My biggest fear is that he will run.’
Ferox reported what he had heard, and what he knew of the prince and the prestige he might gain from the blessing of Acco and wearing what he claimed was the armour of Venutius and the torc of Caratacus. Crassus watched the burning villa exultantly and showed little interest. ‘Good, I want him puffed up with pride, then he will come to me and I can kill him.’
‘He has the tribune Crispinus,’ Ferox added.
‘Prisoner or ally?’
‘I am not sure, my lord.’
The main column was close now. A centurion saluted the legate and asked what he was to do with the people from the villa.
‘Spoils of war,’ Crassus said, condemning the prisoners to slavery. ‘Just like the cattle.’ As the decurion had said, the force was gathering a fair herd of cattle, which at least meant they would have meat for a while. The seventy or so head from the villa swelled the numbers again.
A trooper galloped up, splashing across the muddy yard behind the ruined villa and reining to a halt beside the legate.
‘Decurion Simplex’s compliments, my lord. He has seen two hundred head of cattle three miles away. He asks whether he is to confiscate them, and if so, could he have another turma to support his men.’
Crassus slapped Ferox again. ‘Hear that man, more beef for our bellies! Tell Simplex to snap them up as soon as he is reinforced.’
‘Do we know whose herd it is, my lord?’ Ferox asked. ‘Should we not be careful to make sure that the owner is a rebel before punishing him? And cautious that this is not an ambush?’
‘Caution is for cowards!’ Crassus snapped, face red with anger, until he managed to control himself. He gave a little laugh, although his eyes stayed hard. ‘I have enough men to march through all the lands of the Brigantes and kill anyone who tries to stop me! The people here have not come in to submit and show their loyalty. I will treat them all as enemies unless they do that.’
‘But, my lord, is that not the way to create rebels where ther
e are none.’ The face was flushing red again, and Ferox knew there was no point saying more, but could not stop himself. ‘People are frightened and do not know what is happening, there is a danger…’
Crassus had raised his riding whip above his head, ready to strike. ‘You forget yourself!’ he yelled, frightening his horse again. ‘I gave you a chance, centurion, but I shall not be lectured by you. You could have shared a little of the glory and cleared your name, but you are too arrogant to see my clemency. Decurion?’
‘Sir.’
‘Place this officer under guard. He is to be watched at all times and go nowhere without my permission.’
‘Yes, my lord.’
XXIV
‘So, am I married to a criminal?’ That night Enica came to the tent where Ferox was held. Longinus was with her, but even so a legionary came inside to watch them. Under her cloak she wore a dress rather than her travelling clothes. ‘A gift from the legate,’ she added, seeing him notice. ‘Plunder from the villa, I expect, and a little vulgar. And not silk, more’s the pity. I feel alive with vermin.’ Rain pattered against the roof of the tent as they spoke.
‘Are we even married?’
She placed her hands over her heart and feigned a sob. ‘How can you say that?’
‘Did the cavalry come back?’ he asked. ‘The ones sent after the herd?’
Longinus shook his head. ‘Two turmae gone.’
‘Crassus expects them to return by dawn. Probably had to go further than expected, he says.’ Enica kept her tone flat. The legionary was young and seemed nervous. ‘There is no need to panic over so small a matter.’ She sighed. ‘Of course, I asked Crassus to release you. I think he was shocked to hear of our wedding. Seemed best not to say anything about the ceremony. As far as he is concerned, we are both citizens, lawfully and properly wed, even though he clearly feels I have married beneath me. That is quite something given that I am sure he feels I am half-barbarian still.’
Brigantia Page 28