It reminded him of the other initiation he had been through recently, into the cult of Mithras. Were all mysteries the same? Were all religions one? Were all gods one God? His head ached, and he sank down into the corner to vomit.
But the poison would not leave his system.
He looked up to see a boy had been brought out from somewhere. Cucullata took him to the altar and he knelt behind it, resting his head on the stone. He was a boy of eight or nine summers, with fair curling hair and a face like a young Apollo. Where he had been dragged from Flaminius didn’t know. He didn’t know what was happening. He caught only glimpses through the crowd.
Now Orgetorix approached, a bronze axe in his hand. He lifted it high. The crowd surged forward as he brought it down. Next Flaminius saw Orgetorix standing in front of the altar. He lifted something up and carried it to the far end. Behind him lay the boy’s body, headless.
Orgetorix turned to the crowd. On the altar sat the boy’s head, surrounded by a pool of blood. Its eyes flicked open, and it grinned.
As Flaminius vomited again, he heard Cucullata pronounce, ‘Death is but the mid-point in a long life. We will all live again.’
Orgetorix went to the altar again. Next thing Flaminius saw, the head was no longer there. Orgetorix returned to the headless body, and then the boy was on his feet again, his head miraculously restored.
The rest of the night was a phantasmagoric hell, of which Flaminius remembered little, a descent into animalistic savagery. It passed like a dream, lingering uneasily in his memories only to vanish like cobwebs in the wind if he tried to remember more. But that was later.
Now he lay against the drystone wall, body soaked with sweat. The torches had burnt down, and all was darkness except a shaft of light from the tunnel. He crawled towards it. Outside he found some of his fellow initiates there already, lying on the turf watching the sun rise over the mountains.
The next day, he and his fellow troopers were presented with serpent stones and told they had the freedom of the city. They were now allowed to come and go as they pleased among those winding lanes. Since they could not go beyond its gates, and any attempts to leave without permission were punishable by death, Flaminius concluded that they were still prisoners. Not that he had any wish to leave yet; he knew nothing. But it was a relief to walk around the city, such as it was, without trouble, rather than to be herded from place to place like cattle.
The stone walled place was little more than a fortified village. Clusters of circular huts were dotted about the slope, while other areas were uninhabited due to the steepness of the rock. The inner city was similar, although most of it was uninhabited, apart from the hall area. The top of the hill was empty of all except the cairns that topped its three summits. Short tough grass grew in the less stony areas, and heather was in bloom. There were no trees, but windblown gorse bushes lifted withered branches skywards, some reaching higher than head height.
Freedom of movement had other benefits. After training, he could walk alongside Segovesus and speak to him. They discussed trivia until they managed to get away from the main group of men.
‘Last night,’ he commented as they walked down the hill path, ‘I thought it was us who were going to end up on the banks of Phlegethon.’
‘We can’t talk here.’ Segovesus played nervously with his serpent stone.
‘Where can we talk?’ Flaminius was impatient. ‘You’re the agent. The Chief said you’d make yourself known when necessary. Well, you’ve made yourself known, and it’s necessary. What do you know?’
They took a short path between a group of huts where Caledonians lounged or squabbled or polished their weapons, out into a little sloping field between clusters of huts.
‘You were there last night,’ Segovesus said. ‘You saw what the druids can do. They’re magicians. Who knows what uncanny powers they have? They could be…listening.’
‘Trickery,’ said Flaminius dismissively. ‘I’ve seen it in the theatre. That altar was hollow. Probably wood and dyed cloth. There were two boys, one inside, one outside, twins, perhaps—and two holes. When Orgetorix swung the axe, the boy thrust his head inside of the first head. When Orgetorix went to the other end, the other boy popped his head out of the other…’
Understanding dawned on the Gaul’s face. For a while they were both silent.
‘I joined just before the procurator was murdered,’ Segovesus said at last. ‘They respected me. I’m a bit of a bruiser. I made my mark on them with my fists.’
‘Yes,’ said Flaminius with feeling. ‘On me, too.’
‘I didn’t know who you were back then,’ Segovesus apologised. ‘I had a role to maintain. You were the new boy, even newer than me, you needed taking down a peg…’
‘Never mind that now,’ said Flaminius. ‘Do you know what the druids are planning?’
The Gaul shook his head. ‘I know little more than you,’ he said. ‘What I do know is that this is not the only group. Other bagaudae are located across Britain and Gaul. They will rise at a given signal. The druids have a secret way of communicating, and they all communicate with the Archdruid, who is coordinating the whole uprising…’
‘Who is the Archdruid?’ Flaminius interrupted. ‘Where is he?’
‘He’s in Britain,’ said Segovesus, with a shrug. ‘I overheard some of the initiates talking when I was in Onnum, before you turned up. The Archdruid has come to Britain, they were saying. Then they saw me and shut up. But who he is, I don’t know.’
‘How do they communicate?’ Flaminius asked. ‘Cucullata says she’s received messages from the Archdruid when there’s been no messenger. Drustica’—his face clouded— ‘thought the Archdruid was an invention of hers; that she was in charge and no one else.’
Segovesus shook his head. ‘There is an Archdruid,’ he asserted, ‘although no one’s seen him as far as I know. He sends Cucullata messages using homing birds. You must have seen them.’
‘I see,’ said Flaminius. Something stirred in his memory, the cooing of pigeons. ‘Have you reported all of this? To the Chief?’
‘I reported everything I learnt while we were in Onnum, when I still had Commissary agents to send my reports. In Deva, I had no one, and of course it was impossible here.’
‘You’ve done a good job of intelligence gathering. Now that we’re initiates we should soon gather more. As soon as we have enough, I want you to escape the city and take the information to the governor.’
Segovesus shook his head. ‘Getting out will be impossible. They’ve doubled the patrols. And if I did manage to get away, I’d be missed. They would know that I was a traitor. Besides, the governor is a long way away, in Eboracum or on the Wall.’
Flaminius scowled. ‘I’m not asking you to go to Eboracum, only to Kanovium. Get your report there, use your authority to get it sent post haste to Platorius Nepos. Understand?’
Segovesus looked doubtful. ‘It might work,’ he said. ‘If I’m quick. You’ll have to cover for me in my absence.’
‘All that matters,’ Flaminius said ruthlessly, ‘is that you get that information where it will do the most good.’
A thought struck Segovesus. ‘We know this is not the only area where the bagaudae are based,’ he said. ‘The troop in Onnum had already been infiltrated when Pulcher was murdered. Who knows how many auxiliary troops are part of the conspiracy? Maybe even the one in Kanovium.’ When Flaminius stayed silent, Segovesus added, ‘It’s likely! Theirs is the closest auxiliary fort to this city, which is the centre of it all.’
‘The centurion in charge is unlikely to be in on it,’ Flaminius said. ‘He’s a Roman citizen. No Roman citizen would join the conspiracy.’
‘I see!’ said Segovesus. ‘It’s only Gauls that can’t be trusted?’
‘You know I don’t mean that,’ Flaminius replied. ‘But the conspiracy intends to “free” Gaul from the empire, Gaul and Britain. Why would any Roman become involved? What’s in it for them?’
‘Many Gauls
have become Roman citizens,’ Segovesus said. ‘But some may retain loyalties to the old order.’
That evening, the newly initiated bagaudae were admitted to a conference in the hall of skulls. As recent initiates, they were forbidden from making any contribution to the discussion, and it was made clear that they were there very much on sufferance. They squatted in the rushes alongside one wall, in the shadows, while Cucullata, Orgetorix, and various nameless druids and Caledonian chieftains sat on the far side of a sea of hairy heads. These latter were other rank and file bagaudae, less recently initiated, perhaps, but of equally low status.
‘My fellow countrymen grow restless,’ one of the Caledonian chieftains began. ‘We will wait no longer. The Romans have the island in a stranglehold, with this great wall of stone choking the life out. Our attack will begin as soon as we have marched south.’
‘This is against the Archdruid’s wishes.’ Cucullata’s soft voice resounded through the stone hall. ‘He would have us wait until the optimum moment. Our forces in the south are not fully prepared. Many need to re-infiltrate the Roman forces.’
The Caledonian shook his head. ‘My people were putting on their war paint when I took ship for this place. By now they will be wheeling out their chariots. If you do not rise in the south, our waves will break on the rock that is the Wall.’
‘The Archdruid…’ Cucullata began.
Another Caledonian broke in. ‘The Archdruid is a foreigner. All of you are foreigners, Romans or Gauls. We do not need you. This is our island.’
Orgetorix gave him a patronising smile. ‘Which you Britons have defended valiantly,’ he said. ‘We revere the island of the painted people, though half of it is under the heel of the Romans—oh, as is Gaul, I’ll admit. But you need us. We are all followers of the druids. That should unite our peoples, even if the seas divide us.’
The first Caledonian shook his head. ‘The wheels of our chariots are rolling. If we are to strike, we must strike now, and you in the south must back us.’
A druid shook his cowled head. ‘Gaul is not ready to rise. This province could manage it at a pinch, but Gaul must be freed as well.’
Down in the shadows, Flaminius and Segovesus exchanged glances. As the bickering continued between the Gauls and Caledonians, Flaminius felt hope.
It seemed the rebellion was scotched before it was begun. If the Caledonians made an attack on the Wall, the Romans would be waiting for them. Most of the military presence in the province was concentrated in that area. Unless the bagaudae and their allies could settle their differences, the Caledonian attack would founder, and the bagaudae could be rooted out as soon as was expedient. As soon as Platorius Nepos was alerted to their threat. Then Flaminius could go home and forget what had happened here. Forget what he had done.
Segovesus leaned forward. ‘Divided we fall?’ he whispered.
Flaminius remembered the fables of Aesop he had read as a boy. The Four Oxen and the Lion had been one of his favourites. He shook his head. He needed to wake up. He was in deep. Dreaming might well cost him his life.
The argument amongst the leaders stuttered to an end. ‘Very well,’ said Cucullata wearily. ‘We will consult the Archdruid. I do not have the authority to say that we will begin our attack now. It is up to the Archdruid. Your leaders would do well to remember that,’ she told the Caledonians.
‘Regardless of when we begin the war,’ said the Caledonian chief, ‘how will we fight? Where will we march? My fellow tribesmen will attack the Wall. That will draw the attention of the foreigners. Those reserves they have as far south as this will be sent to help the main force. That is when we should strike, and I tell you it will be soon! We can’t afford to miss this chance.’
‘We are not ready,’ Cucullata insisted. She paused. ‘Nevertheless, it is time you knew the main thrust of our campaign plans. We shall march on Eboracum as soon as the garrison departs to defend the Wall.’
Orgetorix’s voice split the ensuing hubbub.
‘Where else?’ he demanded of the warriors. ‘Eboracum is where the governor has his main base, and it is the central garrison of the Sixth Legion. The legion will not be there, of course, barring a few guards—they will be defending the Wall against the Caledonians, assuming King Brennos plays wisely. We shall seize that central point and defend it against all comers, then ride out and oust the foreigners from the north of the province.’
‘What about the south?’ a bagauda asked. ‘What of Gaul?’
‘That can come later,’ Cucullata said. ‘If Brennos is to force our hand, we must concentrate our forces where they are most needed. Then spread out. Once we hold Eboracum, we hold Britain.’
‘And when you attack Eboracum,’ said the Caledonian chieftain, ‘the governor of the foreigners will be caught between hammer and anvil. We can break him as a thrush smashes a snail on a stone.’ He nodded wisely. ‘My people’s fight will not be so one sided. You do not intend to abandon us.’
‘We never did,’ said Cucullata smoothly. ‘We are all equals under the gods. Together, we shall liberate our peoples from the hated foreigners.’
‘I thought you hoped to betray us,’ said the Caledonian, ‘to leave us and the foreigners to slaughter each other. Then you would move in and wipe out the weakened survivor. So I suspected.’
Orgetorix laughed. ‘Why would we wish that, friend? We are all followers of the old ways. And it is we who will forge that Celtic Empire foretold by the druids of Gaul.’
The Caledonian sat back. He exchanged glances with his fellow tribesmen. None of them spoke.
‘Very well,’ said the Caledonian at last. ‘We shall send a message to our king.’
‘Do not trouble yourself,’ said Cucullata, with a high laugh. ‘A message has already been sent. Your king’s druid will be delivering it tomorrow at noon.’
‘So now we know,’ said Flaminius.
‘Aye,’ said Segovesus.
‘Now we have something to tell Platorius Nepos,’ Flaminius said.
Segovesus nodded wordlessly. As they walked down the hill, they could see across the city; warriors were flocking among its drystone lanes.
The waning moon hung in the sky above the mountains.
‘One of us should remain here,’ Flaminius added. ‘The other must escape and make his way to Kanovium, and return as soon as possible.’
‘I’ll go,’ said Segovesus. ‘We already decided that. You cover for me. If I don’t return, do what you can to sabotage the attack.’
‘You’d better return,’ said Flaminius. ‘And you’d better get going now. If you go now you have a chance of returning before first light. After making your report requisition a horse from Kanovium and ride back as fast as you can. You mustn’t be missed or they’ll realise you were a spy. Then they’ll change their plans.’
‘What if I don’t make it back in time?’
‘I’ll think of something,’ said Flaminius, although his mind was empty of ideas. ‘We’ve got to get down to the lower wall and wait for a chance. Head out onto the moors and find the road as soon as you can. Then get to Kanovium.’
A quarter of an hour later, Flaminius watched from the wall as Segovesus’ figure vanished into the darkness of the moor. Would the Gaul return? Would he get to Kanovium? The moors were dangerous enough in daylight, let alone at night-time. It had taken about three hours to get from Kanovium to the city the first time. Six hours there and back. Add another hour for Segovesus making his report and requisitioning a horse. The horse would shave something off it…
Flaminius glanced up from his calculations when he heard booted footsteps from the parapet. Grateful for the darkness, he slithered down into the muddy wallow at the bottom of the wall and floundered back up the hill to the hut. Six hours’ time, and he’d go looking for Segovesus.
Until then, all Flaminius could do was wait.
—27—
Deva, July 30
Drustica was in agony. After the vengeful farmer had beaten her soundly, s
he had been bundled onto a pack horse and taken across country by the legionaries. Now she was in a prison cell in Deva.
She seemed to have been forgotten about. The camp was in its usual shambles, from what little she had seen; Tribune Priscus had not improved since her patrol vanished into the hills. She had no idea where in the fortress she was imprisoned, but wherever it was, there seemed to be some excitement up top, with much shouting and chanting from a large crowd.
The cell door opened. Silhouetted in torchlight was a small, portly figure. Was this the torturer?
It waddled inside, lit a lamp, and closed the door. Drustica sat up, although pain shot through her as she did so. ‘Sir!’ she hissed, recognising her visitor. ‘You’ve got to get me out of here!’
The man sat down heavily on the opposite paillasse. In the light of the lamp he held, Marcius Magnus’ face was wreathed eerily in shadows.
‘The legionaries who brought you in said you had attacked a civilian farm,’ he wheezed.
‘Sir, I have to see someone in authority,’ Drustica said urgently. ‘I have important information.’
Marcius Magnus frowned. ‘I came here tonight because Tribune Priscus is busy. A wild boar has been captured and it’s scheduled to be let loose on prisoners in the arena tonight. The bookmakers are giving it very good odds. Organisation of the show is occupying the tribune’s time. But I thought I’d pop in to see my old decurion.’
Drustica shook her head, confused. ‘Why didn’t you do anything before?’
Marcius Magnus leered. ‘I can hardly be seen associating with raiders from the hills. Your comrades took several heads. Quite the stuff of ancient legend. The old ways are returning, it seems.’
The Hadrian Legacy Page 17