by Nhys Glover
‘A crone already!’ Leonis said with another hearty laugh, making fun of her gently.
‘No, but not a child, either. Though my body appears otherwise.’
‘We digress again. Tell me more about your dream this night while it’s still fresh in your mind.’
‘I always see myself standing at a distance from him, unable to reach him. I always see him at the age he is now. Not a toddler, but not yet a child free to run unsupervised. This time I saw him standing, surrounded by writhing snakes. But they are benign and protective snakes, and they tried to keep away the men who came for him. I hear the name, Annius, whispered by the trees overhead, and I see blood all around him. The town as I described it was in the background, but close.’
Leonis was silent for a few moments. When he spoke again from behind her, it was thoughtfully. ‘So Annius is a Roman name. A clan name, Livia says. One of the oldest and most respected clans of the Republic. It is unlikely Annius has anything to do with the warrior who stole him. One of your own people?’
‘Yes, but he was not dressed as any tribe I recognise. Definitely not my tribe, and yet it is into Brigantes territory that they’ll take him. It makes no sense.’
‘The Brigantes are to the north, so Allyn says. They’ve had a long history with the Romans, some of it good, some not. But they’re at peace now. Why would they threaten that peace by stealing a child of Rome?’
‘I don’t know. None of it makes sense. But war will come. That’s what I see. The Romans and the tribes of Albion will fight bloody battles. Men as plentiful as stars will fall on both sides. Because of my son. Because of the child in my dream.’
‘Decaneus, the Dacian warrior I used to be, would welcome the idea of driving the Romans from this land, but Leonis the Lionslayer, wants to keep his family and friends safe. And their safety depends on the continuation of Roman rule in this land. The Romans may be invaders but they’re not destroyers. They’re builders, and it seems, in the little time I have lived beneath the Roman yoke, that life for the conquered is a reasonable life. Better than war and chaos.’
‘Yes. Rome has brought stability. I remember many feuds and warring tribes from my childhood. The stories that were told around the fire were always of a past where one clan fought another. I prefer the peace and order the Romans bring, even if their ways are foreign to us.’
‘Mmm. Is there any more to the dream?’
‘No.’
‘So, we go to not only rescue a boy, but to stop a war. If my brother could only see me now!’ Leonis laughed again, and Brennwen felt herself relax a little more against him. If this man could see the humour in this, then it couldn’t be as dire as she thought it was.
And it was nice to be respected rather than feared for her dreams.
As the sun began to rise over the crystal water, Brennwen and Leonis boarded their vessel and stood, resting their arms on the railing, watched it’s arrival with delight. The liquid light seemed to bathe them all in its warm glow, driving back the chill of darkness.
For a timeless moment, Brennwen felt strangely at peace. Her course was set, her direction known. And she was not alone. Her companion was strong and trustworthy. For now, there was nothing to fear.
Then the boat began to creak and rock, the boards beneath her feet tipping so dramatically that she would have fallen if not for her death-grip on the splintered rail. Leonis laughed as he saw her look of horror, and patted her arm.
‘The wind is getting up and the sails have caught it. It makes our journey faster. You do want our journey faster, don’t you?’
‘Yes,’ she gasped as she stared up at the billowing square sail above them, and then down at the churning water and white froth below. ‘But what if we go too fast? What if we sink?’
‘This ship has sailed these routes for as long as either of us has lived, I would hazard to guess. I think we’re safe enough. Certainly, storms can sink ships, swamping them or blowing them into the cliffs, but the skies look clear. I think we have nothing to fear.
‘When I was given the Livianna Honoraria, Livia’s mother, she brought me here by sea. I’d never travelled by sea before. Dacia has little access to large bodies of water. When we arrived, I swore I’d never get on another ship again. Then Livianna set me the task of journeying back the way we had come, and further East still, to the island of Rhodos. I thought I would never survive it, especially as Nexus was not the easiest companion back then.
‘But by the time we reached Rhodos I had become quite content with sailing. When Cyra and I set out to find Galerianna we sailed backward and forwards across the Aegean. It was often beautiful, and so very different to my homeland. There’s white sand, blue-green water and mile upon mile of cloudless, vibrant blue sky. I miss that sometimes. This land is more like my home, dark and richly hued, damp and gentle. But I miss the brilliance of the light there. This sunrise we have witnessed is pale and delicate in comparison.’
‘I have no desire to see such brilliant colours and bright sunshine. I prefer the gentle shadows and soft fogs of my homeland. I burn even under a gentle sun.’
‘I understand. Dacia and Britannia are both beautiful places filled with spirits from other worlds.’
Brennwen turned to stare at him. ‘You are quite unexpected, Lionslayer. I have never met anyone like you before.’
Leonis laughed again, sending a gull that had landed on the railing, squawking back into flight. ‘I will take that as a compliment, little Snow Maiden. And I have never met anyone quite like you before, either.’
‘Snow Maiden?’
‘Yes, that’s what Allyn calls you. He says White Raven doesn’t do you justice.’
She blushed and looked away. She had always likened herself to the big-beaked, squawking ravens she’d seen. It seemed odd to have someone disagree with that comparison.
Snow Maiden sounded fragile and innocent, and she was neither. Her body might be easy to break but she wasn’t. Life had taught her that. No, the hardy raven was a better match for her. Not a pretty bird, but one more likely to survive than a creature made of ice and snow.
CHAPTER FOUR
10 April 86CE, Londinium BRITANNIA
Gaius Annius Bibulus raked his fingers through his short, dark hair and frowned. Bone weary, he wanted nothing more than to find his bed. But he knew that if he did, not long after, he would be wide awake and restless again. The only way he could keep his mind away from his problems was to work. Work at what he did best: Figures and budgets, the inglorious necessities that kept the Roman Empire expanding.
When he was a youth, he dreamed of glory as a tribune in Vespasian’s army on the frontiers of the empire. But, instead of war, he found administration – bringing civilization to the already conquered barbarians of Magna Germania. He oversaw the building of forts, roads and government buildings, and he was so good at what he did that he was encouraged to remain after his obligatory service was finished.
Then his sister ran from the fate their mother had planned for her and he undertook his first and only true adventure. A journey that culminated in the death of his younger brother.
After he left the army, he had high hopes that he might begin to have another kind of life, one like his sister had found with Vali. Calidia had been a love match, not chosen for political gain, although she was of good family and her paterfamilias was wealthier than his own had been at that point. For a year, they’d been blissfully happy.
The image of her deathly stillness as she lay upon the bloody birthing bed, cast out the bitter-sweet, happier memories from his mind. His idyll ended that day. His life ended that day. And, right then, he’d forced himself to face the ugly facts of life. He had no glorious career to be proud of, no loving wife who looked up to him, and nothing but the management of his father-in-law’s estate to occupy him, which any slave could have done just as well. Even the child that had cost him his wife was better off cared for by his wet nurse.
Then, two years ago, Lucius Sallustius Lucullus
was appointed governor of Britannia after Agricola was recalled. Suddenly, life held promise once more. He’d worked under Lucullus in Magna Germania and had been well respected by the son of a Celtic prince. He knew the new governor would need people he respected and trusted around him; people who understood the politics of the area, as well as the financial requirements of the post.
And, just as he thought, Lucullus had welcomed him as part of his inner circle.
But his position was not official. He was no longer part of the military, so his role as the governor’s representative gave him influence but no overt power. Yet again, he became the man behind the glorious leader, the lackey that oiled the wheels of the war machine and provincial government. His name would never appear in the annals of history.
No matter how much he wanted something more for himself, it seemed he was destined for failure and mediocrity. A deep malaise had settled over him then that made sleep difficult, drained him of life and had him going through his days like a sleepwalker.
Lara called it melancholia. He called it failure.
The only true success in his life was his son, Gaius, nickname Calidius after his now dead grandfather. Cal was the paterfamilias of his wife’s family, as the oldest surviving male member. He had wealth and position, and yet he was still only four years old. As his father, Gaius carried out the roles his son would someday take over. Yet again, he was the man behind the power, wielding none in his own right.
But Cal was the sweetest child he’d ever known. Thankfully, none of his own family’s bad blood seemed to run in his veins. He was most like Calidia in his sweet temperament, even while the boy took after him in appearance. Gaius only hoped that when he reached maturity he wouldn’t develop a receding hairline as he had.
Gaius was not yet thirty and already looked middle-aged. His only saving grace was that the muscular strength he’d acquired back in his first years in Britannia had somehow been maintained by working his son’s estate during the peak seasons. His body still stood straight and muscular, the skinny youth he had been in his army days, gone forever.
It wasn’t necessary for him to work alongside his slaves on his son’s estate. They were wealthy enough to maintain a large workforce. But he found he enjoyed the burn that heavy manual labour provided. It felt better than the pain he experienced as he bent over the piles of missives Lucullus assigned to him.
A governor had to be available to the people he governed, but the emperor provided few paid retainers to assist him in that task. So it was up to men like Gauis to carry out the diplomatic aspect of the role, while Lucullus planned and executed his military campaigns.
The North had been partially brought to heel by Agricola. Lucullus planned to increase Rome’s control of those wild territories, while Gaius was left to keep the peace back in the more civilized areas under Roman control.
And though Camulodunon, fifty miles to the north, was still considered the capital of Britannia, where the official residence of the governor could be found, Agricola had been wise enough to see the future of the better-placed commercial centre of Londinium and had relocated many of the vital administrative activities there. It suited Gaius well, as his son’s estate, as well as that of his own paterfamilias, lay only ten miles south of the quickly expanding township.
With a deep sigh, he rose from his desk and took up the lamp on the side table. The rest of his work could wait. In this moment, he wanted to see his son. Even if it was only to watch him sleep, he needed to see the only thing in his life that had significance.
On stiff legs, he exited the government building and headed across Londinium to the small villa suburbia he kept there. Most of the year, Cal stayed on his estate with his slave guardians and nurse, but over winter and early spring when the roads were too difficult for Gaius to traverse regularly, he kept Cal in town with him. He hadn’t seen nearly enough of his son in the last two years, because of his commitments to Lucullus, but he had always made sure that what time he did have with him was quality.
Of late, though, that had changed. The soul deep malaise that had been building for longer than he could remember had eaten away even his commitment to his son. It felt almost like he didn’t deserve to have the pleasure of his company. His sweet and perfect child was better off spending his time with people of quality, people he could respect and look up to, not a pathetic failure, good for nothing except playing the mask for a great man.
Vencuros studied the villa suburbia of G. Annius Bibulus with the watchful eyes of a wolf. His goal was simple. Lucullus, that son of the traitorous prince of the Cantiaci, Amminus, needed to die.
To make that happen, he planned to ambush Lucullus in Catuvellauni territory. By doing so, he would cast blame on Brigantes’ greatest enemies. Rome would retaliate, and wipe the Catuvellauni from the face of the earth.
This would leave the Brigantes in a position to rise up against Rome, with the support of the other tribes of Albion, and drive the invaders out once and for all. It could have happened twenty-five years ago when that Iceni bitch, Boudicca, led the revolt. Nero, it was said, had been close to abandoning the settlement then. But Suetonius had finally subdued the tribes and the Roman invasion had continued, never looking back.
Until now.
All he had to do was get the governor to the site of the ambush. That would involve the assistance of Lucullus’ civilian right-hand man, Annius Bibulus.
However, Bibulus was not a man who could be bribed or threatened in anyway. But he could be manipulated from his weakest point. He had a motherless son, a four-year-old child whom he adored. Even a virtuous man could be led into betraying his people, to save his child.
But taking the child was not a simple matter, as he’d discovered during the weeks that he and his men had watched. The boy was currently staying in Bibulus’ townhouse, surrounded by loyal slaves, many of them trained warriors.
Vencuros couldn’t just walk in and take the child, especially if he wanted to convince Bibulus that it was the Catuvellauni who had stolen his beloved Calidius. No, he’d been forced to watch the ways of the household for many weeks, looking for moments of weakness.
Now he had found just what he needed. He and his followers, the disenchanted rebels from the different sub-tribes of Brigantes he had gathered to him, would make their move the next day when the nurse took the child to the temple of Ceres. There, the boy made offerings for his dead mother. The nurse and child did this once a week, journeying to the edge of the township, accompanied by only one guard.
At that moment, Vencuros was drawn from his ruminations by the arrival of Bibulus to his villa. The man was attended by only one armed guard, and would have been an easy target had Vencuros wished to take him prisoner. The man either considered himself invincible or of no value. The latter was more likely, from all he’d found out about the man. But Bibulus would be wrong on either account. He was not invincible and he was valuable beyond measure.
The Roman patrician walked like an old man, as if he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. If not for the dark hair and fit body, Vencuros might have mistaken him for an ancient. What had this powerful man, a member of the elite class of Rome, and one of the inner circle surrounding the most powerful man in all Albion, have to feel weighed down by? His people were not under the heels of an oppressor? He himself wasn’t a rebel hiding from his own people? He had wealth, family and status. What more could a man want?
Shaking his head, Vencuros turned away. He had much to do before the morning. His plan was finally coming to fruition. And it tasted like honey on his tongue.
11 April 86 CE
‘Pater!’ Cal cried as he launched himself onto Gaius’ bed.
Groggy with sleep, Gaius drew his son into a bear hug as he tried to reorientate himself to the world. He’d finally dropped off to sleep a few hours before dawn, and now the sun was up. He’d overslept. How had this happened? He never slept past dawn.
‘Have you broken your fast?’ he asked his so
n as the child began to bounce on the hard soldier’s pallet he’d taken to sleeping on after Calidia’s death.
‘No, Pater. I wanted to wait for you. But you slept on and on, so I snuck away from Bellia to wake you up. Come on, Pater, there’s fresh milk and those sweet rolls Cook likes to bake.’
The child’s enthusiasm and energy were infectious, and Gaius found himself smiling for the first time in days. He missed this child. What kind of fool was he to deny himself the company of the one person in the world who adored him? No matter that he didn’t deserve such adoration. It was his by right of their shared blood. Why not make the most of it?
He climbed to his feet and stretched his still aching body. What he needed was exercise to stretch out his muscles, but he was already behind schedule. Lucullus would be arriving at the offices he maintained at noon, and he planned to have a full account of his activities ready for him by then.
Could he spare an hour to eat with his son? He hadn’t seen him during waking hours for several days. No, he had wasted enough of his day sleeping. Lucullus would not be pleased if Gaius was anything less than his usual efficient self. He wouldn’t understand Gaius’ need to be in the energising company of his son.
‘I’m late, Cal. I haven’t time to break my fast. Go along now, I have to dress and be away. I thank you for waking me.’
‘But Pater, I haven’t seen you in days. I wanted to tell you about the puppies Jax had. There’s four of them.’ Cal held up four fingers proudly. ‘And they’re so cute and wriggly. Bellia says I can’t go near them yet because Jax is protecting them. But she says…’
‘Cal, I have to get ready. Go to your meal. I’ll try to get home early this evening to see you. We can talk about the puppies then.’ He gently urged the child toward the door.
Where was Bellia? She should be keeping better control of the lad. And if not Bellia, what of the other slaves who served him here? Why hadn’t one of them checked his child’s behaviour, or woken him up? Maybe he was letting the discipline slide in the household. Maybe they realised what a failure their master was.