Brigantia

by Adrian Goldsworthy

  ‘Did you kill Narcissus?’ he asked, because he had to know before it was too late. ‘And Fuscus?’

  ‘You planning on arresting me?’

  ‘Nothing serious.’ Ferox realised he was grinning. ‘But it could mean stoppage of pay and furlough cancelled.’ The horsemen were almost within javelin throw. They halted again and all but one dismounted. Ferox could see that there were six in all.

  ‘Yes. They were after her because of that idiot brother and you, you halfwit. They came after me too, although who would care after all these years? Both were better off dead, so I killed them. She told me about luring you to the amphitheatre, how she hated doing it, but had to. I said she was right to do it, and that you could look after yourself. And you did, didn’t you?’

  The Brigantes began to walk forward, clashing spear shafts against the edge of their shields.

  ‘What about the slave girl at Vindolanda? The one who hanged herself.’

  ‘Nothing to do with me. Now go!’ Longinus hissed. ‘This is my time – or it isn’t and I’ll see you again. Go! I was a prefect and a prince and lord of the Empire of the Gauls and you are just a little shit of a centurion, so go or I’ll kill you as well.’

  Ferox clicked to his horse and she answered readily. Vindex and Enica were dim shapes far ahead, but the path was an easy one. If they got to the camp of their men they might return in time.

  ‘I am Julius Civilis, prince of the Batavi!’ The voice boomed out across the little valley and Ferox’s horse slowed, either by instinct or because it sensed its rider reacting. He drove the animal on. ‘I am an eques of Rome, decorated for valour many times,’ the old man thundered his challenge. ‘I was lord of an empire, the man who broke legions and burned cities, and I beg you to come to my sword and be killed!’

  The Brigantes stopped chanting. As Ferox rode into the darkness, he heard the first clash of weapons and a long scream.

  ‘Come, my sword thirsts!’ The veteran’s challenge echoed faintly.

  XXVI

  The next morning they buried the veteran at the top of a pass. There was little time, for more pursuers were bound to be on their trail, and Ferox hoped the old man’s spirit would forgive him, as he dropped back a half mile to stand guard. When they had got back to the bridge with the rest of the men, three of the Brigantes were dead, another moaning softly as he lay with blood pumping out of his thigh, and the other two fled. Longinus was propped against the wall, and as they arrived, he opened his mouth to say something, but only blood came out. He slid down and did not move again. His horse had not gone far and they put his corpse on it. An hour after dawn they halted, and the Batavians dug a shallow hole, using their swords to cut the turf and their cloaks to carry the spoil. Gannascus and the others gathered stones to pile into a cairn. The dead man was wrapped in his own cloak, fully armed and his shield at his feet. Claudia Enica took a ring from her finger and placed it on his chest, and if it was not really an equestrian ring, the troopers understood the gesture and were grateful.

  All this Ferox learned later, as they rode north, driving the animals as hard as they dared.

  ‘Where are we going?’ Enica asked, breaking the solemn silence that seemed to envelop them all.

  ‘My people have a saying,’ he said. ‘Tomorrow for mourning, today for revenge.’

  ‘Charming, although I suppose it is apt.’

  ‘Let’s get back to the army and be with them when they take that revenge.’

  ‘Aye,’ Vindex growled. ‘Blood calls for blood. Where will the army be?’

  ‘Let’s head home and find out.’

  Enica frowned. ‘Home?’

  ‘Close enough anyway,’ Ferox said, meaning Syracuse and he guessed Vindolanda, and soon they lapsed back into silence. The death of Longinus bothered him less than he expected, and not simply because the man had confessed to helping Sulpicia Lepidina betray him. As the veteran had said, he had survived, and it was done. There was no going back for any of them.

  Ferox spent most of his time riding ahead of the rest, searching for the best route and trying to pick up any rumours from the few folk he saw. The murder of Audagus, the attempt on Enica’s life and the bloodshed at the tribal council was spoken of in whispers, and some went on to speak of Acco and the end of times. ‘Brother set against sister, friend against friend and kin against kin. It is not good.’ Everyone he met was armed, even if it was simply with a wooden club or stave sharpened into a crude spear, and many openly carried swords, shields and spears. Without the conspicuous helmet, the rest of his clothes covered by his cloak, Ferox could have been any traveller, at least when he was on foot. His horse with its brand and harness was too obviously an army mount. Several times he walked down to farms to speak to the occupants. They eyed him nervously, for a hard-faced man wearing a sword at his belt could mean danger at the best of times, let alone now. The call to war had gone out, and he was sure some would soon walk or ride away to muster under their chief, who in turn would lead them to a greater lord. Few seemed sure whether they would then serve brother or sister or someone else. That was not their place to decide.

  Ferox saw no Romans, let alone soldiers, but since they kept away from the roads and the better paths that was not so surprising. On the third morning they woke to find snow covering all the fields, stiffening their blankets for they no longer had any tents. There was food for them for another day, perhaps with a little left, but the last of the grain was given to the horses that morning. The ride was hard, for they climbed to yet another high pass and the snow grew deeper and deeper until it reached the horses’ bellies. Most of them got down and led the beasts, half dragging them through some of the drifts. Gannascus walked ahead of Enica, stamping a path through so that she could ride. The German gave every appearance of enjoying the whole thing.

  Around noon they saw a dark shape moving behind them. It was steadily catching up, until Ferox could make out the little figures of horsemen, with bronze helmets, heavy cloaks and blue shields. As they climbed into the snow, the riders slowed down, and for the rest of the day no longer gained.

  Ferox pushed ahead once again, although the snow forced him to keep to the main track. The path led down, and gradually the going grew easier, taking him through patches of fir trees, still green amid the white. Rounding a corner, he saw two troopers walking their horses towards him. They both were on bays, had drab cloaks and shields covered in calfskin to protect the painted design.

  ‘Halt!’ one called. Both riders levelled spears.

  Ferox stopped, and his hand slid underneath his cloak and checked that his gladius was ready to draw. It should not have been cold enough for it to freeze in place, but it was better not to take a chance.

  One of men trotted towards him. The other came more slowly, riding around between the trees to come at him from the side.

  ‘Who are you, and what is your business?’ The man’s breath steamed as he spoke. A thick black beard peeked between the cheek pieces of his helmet and he did not look much like one of the Brigantes. ‘Centurio regionarius at Vindolanda.’

  ‘It is too.’ The other trooper had come out of the trees and was staring at Ferox. ‘Served alongside him two years ago. And saw him when he called on the prefect.’

  Ferox sighed with relief. ‘You’re with Petriana?’ He guessed, for the man did seem vaguely familiar and so did the size of the horses. Ala Petriana was one of the finest alae in the province, the proud command of Aelius Brocchus. They were based at Coria, a good few days’ ride to the north. ‘What are you doing here?’

  The one with the black beard glanced at his comrade who nodded. ‘We’re marching south, sir. With the legate. Going to sort out the rebels.’

  ‘Which legate?’

  ‘The governor, sir. They say he came by sea and just popped up. Someone’s certainly been lighting fires under everyone’s arse ever since.’ His comrade coughed. ‘Sorry, sir, forgetting myself. We’d better take you in, sir. The turma is back a short way, and the m
ain force a couple of miles on from that.’

  Ferox finally brought his hand away from the handle of his sword. He smiled. ‘First I have to fetch some friends.’

  *

  Brocchus pumped his hand so hard that Ferox wondered whether the arm would come out of its socket. He beamed even brighter when Claudia Enica was introduced.

  ‘An honour, a true honour. My wife has told me so much about you, my dear.’

  ‘Indeed it is,’ Neratius Marcellus agreed. ‘Especially as we had heard that you were dead. In fact, that you were all dead, even if we were more concerned about some than others!’ He arched his eyebrow as he nodded to Ferox. ‘Though I confess I might almost not have recognised you. A princess of the Brigantes in truth as well as a fine Roman lady.’ Enica was in breeches, heavy tunic and her Thracian boots, with her long hair loose around her shoulders.

  The provincial legate had a bandage just above his right knee, and scars on his left hand, but neither seemed to slow him down. As the trooper had said, the governor had come north by sea eleven days ago, landing at the tiny fishing port of Arbeia with an escort of twenty of his singulares and half as many officers and staff. They had ridden hard for Coria, and on arrival the legate sent gallopers off with orders for all the posts to the west and south. They were to muster every man able to march, issue hard tack, wine and smoked bacon for fourteen days and bring them to Coria by the third day after the Nones of December.

  Some four and a half thousand fighting men had marched south from Coria at dawn on the next day.

  ‘If the Selgovae or Novantae decide to be lively, we could be in trouble,’ the legate said cheerfully as a tribune summarised the situation for the benefit of the newcomers. Around the folding table in the legate’s grand tent were Brocchus, Cerialis, Rufinus, commander of cohors I Vardulli, who had shaved off his beard since their last meeting, and three more prefects he did not know. The tribune was from Legio XX, while the vexillation of II Augusta was commanded by its newly promoted princeps posterior, who nodded affably.

  ‘With the legate’s permission, I’ll happily take Ferox here back to Augusta. I’ve only one other centurion, since Pudens went down with fever.’ Julius Tertullianus was a burly man with an incongruously high-pitched voice. ‘I could do with another lad who knows the score.’

  Neratius Marcellus raised his a hand and smiled. ‘Peace, my dear fellow, peace. We shall see in due course. Give the poor fellow a chance to rest – and shave – before we set him to new labours.

  ‘Gentlemen, I shall bid you all good night. Rest, for soon we will have need of all our strength.’ The legate was not the sort of man to give unnecessary reminders to attend to their duties. ‘Orders for tomorrow’s march to be issued at the start of the sixth hour of the night. Good night to you.’ He glanced at Ferox, who understood that he was to stay.

  Cerialis and Brocchus stopped on their way out. ‘You have seen our wives?’

  ‘Yes, my lords, although it is many weeks since I was in Londinium. When I last saw them they and the children were all well.’

  ‘Thank you. It is a great comfort. No letters have come for some time.’ Cerialis smiled warmly as he spoke. Brocchus said nothing, but there was moistness in his eyes when he patted Ferox on the shoulder.

  Claudia Enica hesitated, looking questioningly at the legate. ‘Dear lady, please refresh yourself.’ A slave appeared without any obvious sign of being summoned. ‘Give the lady everything in our power,’ the governor commanded. ‘There is a tent set aside for you with hot water, food and wine.’ Seeing the challenge in her expression, he smiled. ‘We shall speak later. First I must get a full report from the centurion.’

  That took a long while, and Ferox sat by the table while the governor of the province circled him, pacing relentlessly. He asked few questions, and mainly listened, apart from a roar of laughter when he spoke of Acco marrying them on Mona.

  ‘Truly! How extraordinary. The old rogue married you and then planned to kill you straight away! I suppose some would count that as a mercy. Sorry, my dear fellow, one should not be flippant. And do not worry, although it is an offence for a centurion to marry without his commander’s permission, we can let this one by! Please go on.’

  Ferox spoke of Acco’s strange hesitation, his suspicion that the druid wanted to be killed, and their rescue, escape and how he had killed the old man.

  ‘He is dead then,’ the legate grunted, pausing in mid-stride. ‘After all the trouble he has caused it will be a relief, although I suspect a part of me will grieve.’ He saw the puzzled look. ‘With him passes another world. Such things are always sad, whether or not the vanished world was a good one.’ The legate stood still while Ferox told him about who the druid really was. How he had once been a narrow-stripe tribune, was captured by the druids and somehow became one of them. He guessed that he was the red boy Longinus had seen on the beach at Mona.

  ‘Strange, the twists of fate. Ovidius would no doubt say something about the gods having a sense of humour. A more serious mind might wonder who each of us really is, deep down. No matter. Oh, the old fool is recovering well by all accounts. I dare say he will outlast us all.’ He sighed. ‘Especially if I make a mistake in the days to come. For the moment, let me hear the rest of your tale. You met up with Crassus, did you not?’

  ‘Yes, my lord.’ Ferox kept his account of the battle plain, trusting the legate to understand. Neratius Marcellus was on the move again, and punctuated the narrative with snorts.

  ‘Well, it could have been worse,’ he concluded. ‘And perhaps will all turn out better in the long run. Perhaps. Please continue.’

  On their arrival, they had said only a little about the tribal council, but now Ferox told all that he could remember, adding in things Enica had explained in the days that followed. He held nothing back, telling of the governor’s nephew being led in chains into the assembly and Crispinus’ attempt to poison Enica.

  ‘Bad business,’ Neratius said once he had finished. ‘Very bad, although again it could have been worse. If she had died leaving him as sole choice for high king…’ He trailed off, and paced in silence for long while. Ferox knew the legate’s ways well enough to wait.

  ‘Very well,’ Neratius Marcellus said at long last. ‘Yes, very well. We might wish things were different, but they are not so let us not waste breath lamenting them. So be it.’ The legate stopped pacing and sat on a chair opposite Ferox. In him, it was a gesture of serious intent.

  ‘I am glad that you were surprised to find me here,’ he said, fingers drumming a rhythm on the table top. ‘Arviragus will have known for days, of course, for one cannot hide an army of this size. Still, it is to be hoped that we gave him a scare when he first got the news. Yet more chiefs are bound to have joined up with him after his victory. The tribe must be divided even more after the treachery at the council. We must spread the word that the princess – no, of course high queen – is alive and well and on our side. That may deter some from joining him, and perhaps even win us allies willing to fight.

  ‘Some chieftains still send me word, wherever their sympathies truly lie. None say that the prince has fewer than ten thousand men in his army, and some claim there are many more. Reports from the garrisons are fewer. Perhaps because the commanders are scared and perhaps because the messengers have been intercepted. As yet I do not know definitely of any defections to the prince and his ‘”true emperor”, and it is to be hoped that none occur. The little that has come through says much the same as the chieftains.

  ‘So I can assume that he has twice my numbers at the very least, although most of them will be warriors, who are brave enough but lack discipline.’

  Ferox thought back to Crassus’ contempt for his opponents until they routed his force. The legate’s column was bigger and all he had seen suggested that the troops were in better shape for a campaign.

  ‘Yes,’ the legate said, as if reading his thoughts. ‘Those are tall odds. The royal guard are real soldiers, and the Brigant
es as a people are formidable. Not like the rabble who followed the Stallion and that was a hard enough fight. We cannot afford to make a mistake. Still, neither can Arviragus. He is near Cataractonium. I have not heard from the prefect in command there for nine days, so at best the fort is under siege and perhaps it has fallen. Crassus is marching north from Eboracum with nine thousand men, including most of the Ninth. Yes, I know the man is a fool, but he is a vengeful fool and this time he has a far bigger force, but knows he must be cautious. He has orders to move slowly. I want Arviragus to see his chance. If he strikes quickly he can face just me, with numbers on his side. If he faces Crassus he will be about even. If he waits then the two of us meet and we will have the bigger force. I sense you have a concern?’

  Ferox was a little disappointed to think his expression had betrayed his thought.

  ‘Food, my lord. It’s December and it will be hard to stay in the field for long, even if the snows hold off.’

  ‘For the prince as well as us. In that sense his numbers count against him. We have enough for another eight days and after that will rely in reaching a fort with its brimming granaries. I do not think the prince is a patient man. And he believes in his destiny. My spies have watched the conspirators for months. The prince has always urged swift action. He acts as if he is sure of victory and great things.’

  ‘He believes that Julius Caesar is his ancestor.’

  ‘Hah!’ Neratius Marcellus slammed his hands down on the table. ‘Truly? I had not heard that before. Explains a lot. Yes, it will make him more likely to strike hard and fast and trust to his luck. Venus bringer of victory, or the Morrigan?’ The legate pronounced the word haltingly, but was pleased when Ferox nodded. ‘He will be all the more eager when word gets out that his sister is with us. We will march straight down the road and let him pick his spot, and, however strong it is, I must attack and smash him. Everything comes down to that. It is really simple, and once again I must “fish with a golden hook”, as you used to be fond of saying. You and the divine Augustus!’