‘I think we’d better find our horses before she changes her mind,’ Sabinus said, retrieving his sword from the ground.
‘She won’t change her mind,’ Caenis asserted. ‘Not a woman like that; not with her strength.’
‘Well, I ain’t about to stick around and find out,’ Magnus said, having retrieved Castor and Pollux.
Vespasian watched the Queen go. ‘We’re perfectly safe; Caenis is right: she won’t change her mind. There’s great strength in that woman; what stupidity for Decianus to have directed it against us. Let’s go.’
‘Which way should we head?’ Sabinus asked as they mounted their horses. ‘Decianus is on the south road and I don’t much fancy getting captured by that little shit seeing as he’s already tried to feed us to the Britons.’
Vespasian steadied his high-stepping mount with a couple of sharp tugs on the reins. ‘South would be no good for us anyway; there’re only a few auxiliary cohorts there and undefended towns. We go west and then when we’ve cleared the marshland we head north to the Ninth Hispana’s camp at Lindum; Cerialis will be able to get a message to Paulinus. Unless the legions mobilise before the Iceni can muster, the province will be lost.’
CHAPTER XII
IT WAS EXHAUSTING because it was relentless, and it was relentless because there was no time to lose; the journey had to be completed as quickly as possible. They rose and retired with the sun, using all its precious light to navigate, pausing only to rotate the horses, fill their water-skins and relieve themselves; meals were taken in the saddle. The saving factor was that the way, for the most part, was flat; this made the going easier for the horses but, at the same time, did nothing to impede the passage of a cruel east wind that clawed at their backs as they drove west, hurling sheeting rain after them and inveigling its cold fingers into damp clothes, chilling them despite the exertion of riding. The terrain was low-lying and riddled with brooks, streams, drainage ditches and marshes, paradise for water fowl, of which there were uncounted amounts, but treacherous for the delicate legs of horses, and by the time they had made the passage south of the marshes and had begun to head northwest, two of the beasts had already succumbed to leg-breaking troughs; they had been put out of their misery and steaks had been cut from their rumps to be broiled hanging over the campfire in the evening. The meat was not to the Roman taste but outrunning, as they were, the rumour of rebellion, they had no wish to allow news of the Iceni’s muster to overtake them for the sake of hunting game. Only Castor and Pollux managed to vary their diet but with creatures so mangled that they were not fit for human consumption.
On the third day they came to the road running north from Londinium to Lindum; their pace increased as they raced alongside it in the well-cared-for shorter grass to either side of the gently cambered stones, passing the occasional military supply vehicle but very little else and certainly not the thing that Vespasian and Sabinus were keeping a lookout for. Grim-faced and silent they rode, each immersed in his, or her, own thoughts or finding respite by retreating into the numbness of no thought at all, having allowed the ceaseless beat of horses’ hoofs to drive all from their minds.
The miles sped by in pace but trudged by in time, each more painful on the raw thighs and bruised buttocks than the last; the sheepskins covering the saddles a torment now but far better than the hard leather and wood constructs that they protected against.
Magnus looked down at his dogs, bounding along beside them, tongues lolling from loose, saliva-flecked lips, exposing vicious teeth. ‘My boys don’t know how lucky they are,’ he mused to no one in particular, shifting his position on the saddle for the hundredth time in the last hour. ‘Not only they don’t have sore balls and arses but even if they did they could lick them better.’
‘They lick them whether they’re sore or not,’ Vespasian pointed out, truthfully.
‘Yeah, well, that’s because they can. I mean who wouldn’t if one could.’ He grimaced, sucking the breath between his teeth. ‘Saving your presence, obviously, Caenis.’
‘That’s all right, Magnus,’ Caenis said, adjusting herself and making a point of showing just how uncomfortable she was too. ‘I’m just as sore as you and if I could I would too.’
Magnus muttered something unintelligible and would have gone red had his face not already been ruddy from exertion.
Vespasian essayed a laugh but found that his heart was not in it.
‘Vespasian,’ Sabinus said, peering ahead and shielding his eyes from the drizzle. ‘Look!’
Vespasian stared for a moment and then looked with relief at his brother. ‘At last.’
They stopped the imperial courier by lining their mounts across the road; the trooper was not amused. ‘It’s an offence to obstruct an imperial courier,’ he said, looking Vespasian and his companions up and down and, unsurprisingly after their many days in the saddle, not liking what he saw.
Vespasian was not in the mood to explain himself. ‘Where are you headed, trooper?’
The man stared in shock at his temerity and was about to give his opinion of such insolence when something caught his eye; he shut his mouth and saluted. ‘Camulodunum, sir.’
Vespasian glanced at his senator’s ring and made it more visible to the trooper. ‘Good; you will go to the Urban prefect there, Julius Paelignus, and you will tell him that Senators Vespasian and Sabinus urge him to complete the town’s defences in whatever way he can by the new moon and then look to the north. The Iceni are being roused and will fall upon him first. He should advise all the colonists in the area to gather in Camulodunum and then pray that they can hold out until the legions arrive; do I make myself clear?’
The trooper gawped at him and then saluted again. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘And he should send urgent messages to the Governors of Gallia Belgica and Germania Inferior telling them the situation and beg them to send whatever troops they can spare.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Repeat the message.’
‘One more thing,’ Vespasian continued once the man had done so to his satisfaction. ‘You must stress to Paelignus that this is not a joke at his expense or a hoax but a genuine warning; tell him that I said that if it was just him there I would gladly let the Iceni arrive unannounced to carve him up, but in this case I’m sending him a warning in order to save other Roman lives, not his. Understand?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Good. How many miles is it to the next imperial rest post?’
‘Seventeen, sir; the new fort of Durobrivae.’
Vespasian looked at the sky and judged that they could make that by dusk or at least soon after. ‘May our gods go with you, trooper, and do not go near any bands of natives.’
The man swallowed hard, scanning the road ahead for any danger, saluted and then, as Vespasian and Sabinus moved aside for him, sped away.
* * *
That night Vespasian, with Caenis next to him, slept more deeply than he had for a long time such was his exhaustion; the modern facilities at the fort, designed to hold, at the maximum, a cohort, had done much to relax him. The prefect in command, Quintus Mannius, had been most generous – once he had found out who his guests were. The bath house had been reviving, the food and wine sustaining and Caenis entertaining – although her saddle-soreness did preclude some manoeuvres.
Rising before dawn, to the blare of bucinae sounding reveille, Vespasian wiped the sleep from his eyes and looked at his lover, curled up next to him, her skin aglow in the light of the night-lamp. ‘I’m going to get Mannius to provide an escort for you back down to Londinium, my love.’
Caenis stirred and opened an eye. ‘Hmm?’
Vespasian repeated himself.
‘And what good would that do?’
‘It would see you safe; Galla could get you passage to the mainland and you would be away before the Iceni head south.’
‘What makes you so sure that they are going south? They could head west and try to cut all the north to south and west to east
roads to prevent the legions from converging.’
Vespasian acknowledged the feasibility of such a strategy with a nod. ‘They could do; and indeed that might be their best course. But they won’t think in those terms. Boudicca’s business is first and foremost with Decianus; she’ll go for him and her warriors will support her in that. The men will see what was done to their Queen and her daughters as an affront to all their women; they’ll want vengeance on the man responsible. No, she’ll go south; firstly to Camulodunum and once her warriors have got the taste for Roman blood and loot they’ll be hard to stop and hundreds more will flock to her every day. Londinium will be next and then Verulamium and after that probably Calleva and thus she will control all the roads north and west. If she does that before Paulinus has consolidated his forces, the best that we could hope for is that she allows our legions to embark peacefully, and the gods help the civilians and colonists left behind.’
‘Do you think that will happen?’
‘Yes, I do; there is more than a fair chance when you consider who would be in charge of the defence down here until Paulinus arrives.’
‘Decianus; I see what you mean.’
‘So go, then, Caenis; go to Londinium and take a ship out of here before panic starts to spread and ships become a rarity.’
Caenis smiled, her eyes reflecting the flame of the lamp. ‘Not without you, my love; I’ll go where you go. Having had a life almost exclusively confined to the palaces of the Palatine, this is an adventure that I wouldn’t let go of for as long as we can be together; and besides, without me we would all be dead by now.’
‘How so?’
‘It was for me that Boudicca spared our lives; a woman thing, as it were. Had we all been men she would have flung honour aside, just as Decianus did, and probably have had us whipped to death. But because I’m a woman she didn’t want to let down our sex in either her eyes or mine.’
Vespasian was incredulous. ‘She let us all go so you wouldn’t think badly of her?’
‘Yes and no; it was more than that: she let us go so that I wouldn’t think badly of her for stooping to the same level as Decianus and therefore justifying his broken sense of honour. She also wanted you and Sabinus to see just what an honourable woman she is before she … what were her exact words to me? Ah, yes, before she tears the heart out of every Roman in this province and takes their heads.’
‘So you still want to stay knowing that is what she intends to do?’
‘Oh, yes, my love; I respect her and I’m looking forward to seeing how you men deal with her.’
Vespasian kissed her full on the mouth. ‘Let’s hope you don’t have to wait too long; just time enough for Paulinus to assemble four legions.’
Cerialis did not look convinced as he paced around the newly constructed permanent praetorium of the VIIII Hispana’s camp at Lindum Colonia; behind him the legion’s Eagle, surrounded by its honour-guard, glistered in the glimmer of many oil lamps. ‘How can you be sure they’ll rebel, Father?’ His words echoed dully off the plastered brickwork and high ceiling.
Vespasian struggled to conceal his impatience at his son-in-law’s caution. ‘Because she told Caenis that she would rip the heart out of every Roman in the province and I believe that she will do just that. What would you do in her position, Cerialis?’
Cerialis thought for a moment, looking between Vespasian and Sabinus, both sitting on very un-military, comfortable chairs, sipping heated wine. ‘I would avenge myself even if it amounted to suicide.’
Vespasian blew into his cup. ‘It’ll only be suicidal if we manage to mobilise in time, which is why you must send a message to Paulinus telling him that you’re marching south immediately and he should follow as soon as he can, otherwise there’ll be no province left to govern.’
‘But he’s ordered me to look to the north so as to keep the Brigantes in order now that Venutius is trying to usurp his wife again.’
Sabinus had little patience. ‘Fuck the north; the trouble is in the south right now and unless it’s quelled quickly it’ll spread to the north and west and then we’ll all be fucked for lack of decisive action, Cerialis.’
‘But my orders—’
‘Fuck your orders!’
‘That doesn’t get us anywhere, Sabinus,’ Vespasian cut in, putting his cup down on a table and standing in one movement. ‘How long does it take for a messenger to get to Paulinus and back again?’
‘If I’m lucky, two days.’
‘Good. Now, do you remember what I told you about delay when we were listening to Corbulo’s despatch being read out in the Senate?’
‘Always speed in reaction. Hit the bastards before they get a chance to consolidate; or something like that.’
‘Exactly, and that’s what makes Corbulo such a good general: he doesn’t dither. So write to Paulinus and say that you are marching south and should he wish to stop you the messenger will catch you up and you will turn the legion around immediately.’
Cerialis contemplated the suggestion. ‘That way I suppose I’m covered: I can’t be blamed for not acting precipitously and yet I acknowledge that I’m going against my standing orders but am quite happy to revert to them should the Governor require me to do so.’
Sabinus scoffed at Cerialis’ transparent attempt to avoid any blame for his actions or lack of them.
‘You’d think the same way, brother,’ Vespasian said, ‘if it were your career at stake. You know exactly how easy it is to make a miscalculation; that incident in the Pontus Euxinus when you let the Parthian embassy slip through your fingers springs to mind.’
Sabinus did not like to be reminded of his mistake whilst serving as the Governor of Moesia and Thracia. ‘It was a fake Parthian embassy, anyway.’
‘But you didn’t know that at the time, no one did and it caused our family a lot of difficulties. If Cerialis, my son-in-law, is seen to have made as grievous an error as you did then the family will suffer again; so don’t scoff, it’s not helpful.’
But Cerialis was no longer listening to the brothers. ‘Pasiteles!’ he called and a thin, stooped-shouldered clerk, with ink-stained fingers, emerged from the shadows. ‘Pasiteles, send word for the prefect of the camp.’
‘At once, sir,’ Pasiteles said, scurrying off.
‘If we work through the night we could be ready to march at dawn,’ Cerialis informed the brothers who had ceased their bickering. ‘I’ll leave a couple of my auxiliary cohorts here to garrison the camp and to watch our backs as we head south; Cartimandua or Venutius would both love to occupy this place.’
‘Agreed,’ Vespasian said. ‘How many cavalry alae have you got?’
‘There’s one here and then there are another two ten miles to the west, plus the hundred and twenty legionary cavalry here in the camp of course.’
‘Good, can we take half your legionary cavalry to escort us back to Camulodunum to make sure that little runt, Paelignus, is doing his bit?’
‘Of course.’
‘Thank you; we’ll leave in the morning. In the meantime have the auxiliary ala here start to head back down the road as soon as possible to scout and report back; we need to know whether there is anything ahead of us.’
‘They wouldn’t dare stand up to a full legion.’
‘It depends how many of them there are; but it’s the possibility of an ambush that concerns me.’
Cerialis looked nonplussed for a moment and Vespasian wondered whether his son-in-law had what it took to make a good legate; his suitability to the job had not been something that he, Vespasian, had taken into account when manoeuvring to ensure that Cerialis got the position. Vespasian’s only concern had been that his daughter should have a successful husband; he hoped that it too would not prove to be a miscalculation on his part.
‘Yes, you’re right, Father,’ Cerialis agreed as a weather-beaten veteran resplendent in full uniform, topped with a crimson horsehair crest on his bronze helmet, stomped through the door followed by the clerk, ‘I hadn’t
thought of that.’
‘Prefect Quintus Ogulnius Curius,’ Pasiteles announced causing Curius to crash out a salute. As the camp prefect he was the third most senior man in the legion after the legate and his second in command, the thick-stripe military tribune; both of these men were from the senatorial class and may well have had little or no military experience. The camp prefect, however, would have started his military career as the lowest of the lowest legionary and earned his promotion through the ranks becoming, eventually, the primus pilus, the most senior centurion, commanding the first century of the first cohort of the legion; after that he could become the legion’s prefect of the camp. His knowledge and experience were therefore invaluable to the younger men set above him in rank – should they choose to listen to it; and there were many who were too proud to do so.
‘Prefect,’ Cerialis said, returning the salute without as much of a flurry, ‘I want every tribune and centurion assembled here in half an hour.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And have the quarter-masters get ready to issue seventeen days’ rations to every man at dawn.’
Curius did not so much as blink at this order. ‘Sir!’
‘And have them issue the tents, mules and carts ready for the march tomorrow.’
‘Sir!’ Another salute. ‘Sir, may I ask where we’re going?’
‘You may, Curius. We’re going south; if my father-in-law’s information is correct we have a tribe of savages to put down.’
Curius’ lined face cracked into a lopsided smile. ‘Good, sir!’
‘Good?’
‘Yes, sir, good. The lads haven’t had a decent scrap for a couple of years, not since that Venutius business; they’re getting a bit soft. This should toughen them up.’
Vespasian did not like the sound of that; he would have preferred that they were toughened already.
In unison, an hour before dawn, almost five thousand men stamped to attention, guided by the bellowed commands of their centurions taking their cue from the primus pilus. The resulting crash of thousands of hobnailed sandals hitting the ground echoed around Vespasian’s head clearing any last vestiges of the deep sleep that he had been roused from far too soon after he had fallen into it. He fought to control his horse, spooked by the noise, as he cast his eyes across the lines of grim faces, breath steaming from them, assembled on the torch-washed parade ground just outside the camp’s main gates.
The Furies of Rome Page 24