Vindolanda

by Adrian Goldsworthy

  Only once did he slow, when he saw an old man with long white hair and hunched back coming from one of the alleys between the houses. He wrenched on the rains to turn the mare, but then the beggar looked up and he was a fatter, smaller man with a face scarred all across one side by burning. It was not Acco or the great druid or whatever the man called himself, and he did not spare him any more thought as the old beggar went and looked at one of the straw figures, this one of a great cow, tipped on its side and left by the side of the track.

  He went on to the big stone house beyond the settlement. There were more guards than usual at the door, and to his surprise he heard Flora as he approached. ‘Let him in.’

  She looked grave, but showed him through the hallways. ‘Not much business tonight,’ she said, ‘for Batavians hold it unlucky on this night of the year. Risks demons or evil spirits entering their bodies.’ The brothel owner stated this as a matter of fact, something she needed to know in her line of work, and did not pass comment. ‘There’s a couple of others upstairs, Tungrians, but no one downstairs.’

  Ferox guessed that Flora was explaining that the heavy guard was there for another reason. She wanted him to know that she understood everything. In his experience she usually did, and so he walked down the corridor as she pointed him towards her bath.

  ‘You look like you could use a clean too,’ she said, feeling a bit of his sleeve and grimacing. ‘Go on. It’s all right.’ She smiled, looking older than usual, and almost maternal in her fondness.

  He began to sweat as soon as he stepped into the room, for even though the bath was not heated to a raging temperature there was steam in the air that for a moment masked the erotic paintings on the walls and ceiling. Ferox blinked, heard the gentle sound of water being stirred and then a voice that was softer still.

  ‘This is a strange night.’

  Sulpicia Lepidina, clarissima femina, daughter of a consul and wife of the garrison commander, was floating on her back, now and then using her arms to push herself through the water. Its surface flickered in the light of many lamps supported on pedestals or bronze holders fitted to the wall. Her skin was pale, her limbs long and slim and her only covering was a red band around her breasts and a matching covering for her loins, the triangular material tied up with a thong on each hip. Once, during the months he was in Rome, Ferox had gone with some others down to Neapolis and the sea, and had seen the women dressed in the same way at the beach. It still baffled him that the Romans had devised a way to cover a woman’s modesty and yet somehow make her seem almost more naked than when she was naked.

  ‘You look as if you need a bath,’ she said, and there was no hint of reproof or hostility in her voice. He was already fumbling with the left shoulder fastening of his mail cuirass. ‘Did I tell you my family have estates near Bergomum? The country folk there have been Roman for centuries, but part of their hearts remain Cenomani. They celebrate Samhain, and when we were little we used to sneak out and watch. One of my nurses told me of how on this one night the dead walk among us and all the power of life and the world cannot prevent them, or hold sway with its laws and rules.’

  Sulpicia Lepidina turned over and swam to the far side of the bath. Her skin was smooth, utterly perfect and looked very pale. ‘A night without rules and laws,’ she said, sitting on the shelf that acted as a step, and stretching her long arms out along the lip of the bath. ‘A night like no other.’

  Ferox knew that one of the murals showed Pan charging out from some trees to chase naked nymphs and faced with such loveliness he felt as clumsy and ugly as the goat-legged and horned god. His armour seemed even more awkward than usual; his hands fumbled with the straps, but finally he dragged it off over his head and began to work on the quilted jacket underneath.

  ‘Lady,’ he said, for she had fallen silent and he felt that he ought to say something, but he struggled for words and it was a while before he tried again. ‘Lady, I am glad to find you safe.’

  ‘It seems that once again I owe you my thanks.’ She did not smile, and he struggled to understand her mood. She had not fled, like the nymphs from Pan, or grown angry and chased him to his doom like Diana, but she still seemed a distant vision, almost as if she was a dream in his waking mind. His jerkin was off, and the tunic came away far more easily. He sat on one of the wooden stools beside the wall to remove his boots and socks. Sulpicia Lepidina watched him, eyes unblinking. ‘I am grateful.’

  ‘Longinus did more,’ he said, emphasising the name.

  ‘Ah, Longinus.’ She gave the same weight to the word and smiled to show that she knew his secret. ‘He is a remarkable man. All of the Batavians would willingly die for him – even my husband, I think, and he is not usually a man to sacrifice for others. He tells me it is a great compliment that I was told. The clearest sign that the cohort accepted me.’ She sounded puzzled by this glimpse into a strange and foreign world. ‘But in truth he knew my family, and there are favours and friendship from long ago.’

  Ferox thought once again how often that was true, and prominent people knew each other or found mutual friends even in the far corners of the empire. He also thought that his feet were the foulest things he had ever seen and felt even more ashamed and unimportant. She was like a statue come to golden life, even if her fair hair looked dark and slick from the water.

  He stood up, still with his trousers on.

  ‘If you think you are bringing those filthy things in here then you are much mistaken, Flavius Ferox.’ The mockery was gentle, even if the tone was firm. ‘This is the best bath I have had since I arrived here, and since I cannot in decency visit a whorehouse I intend to make the most of it.’

  ‘Shall I go?’

  She tilted her head slightly to one side. ‘Are you truly such a fool?’

  He met her eyes, and began to undo his belt. ‘I think I am dreaming a hopeless dream,’ he said, ‘and fear that any wrong step will make me wake.’

  ‘I told you, this a night when laws and rules do not hold sway.’ She pushed herself back into the main pool and swam towards him. Her eyes looked bright and he could not tell whether it was fear or excitement.

  With his clothes gone he rushed forward and dived in, sending water flying and making her shriek.

  ‘You are a barbarian, are you not,’ she said, as her fingers brushed water from her eyes. ‘But at least that should tell you that you are awake. The dream does not have to spoil.’

  He came towards her, and it was difficult to swim because the pool was not really deep enough for him, but he did his best, toes now and then scraping the bottom. They floated, only a little apart.

  ‘I wish I had had a chance to shave,’ he said.

  Lepidina frowned. ‘And I wish that tonight would last, that I was not who I am and could act as I wished.’ She reached out and ran her hand over his cheek, grimacing. ‘It is rough, and I am not one of those women who take pleasure in roughness and vulgarity, but it does not matter now. I think you love me.’

  The change of subject shocked him as much as the directness, and he sought refuge in well-tried jokes. ‘I cannot help what you think.’

  ‘I also think you are a better man than you pretend to be,’ she began, ‘and I—’

  ‘This is not the time to talk,’ he said, interrupting, and he went forward, sliding his arm around her waist, pulling her to him. They floundered, heads dipping almost under the water, until they came up again and he kissed her. Her legs folded around him, gripping him tight, and they lost balance again, but it did not matter for they had each other and all that mattered was to hold each other close.

  Later, Flora herself guided them to her most opulent room. It was Samhain, the lady was safe from harm and the laws and rules did not apply.

  XXIV

  SULPICIA LEPIDINA LAY on one side, head on a cushion, watching him. ‘The sun has risen.’ Her voice was sad. ‘I guess that is no longer Samhain and the world will soon return to how it was.’

  Strictly speaking the festival
lasted until dusk, so it was still Samhain, but the daylight hours were a time for placating spirits set loose the night before and persuading them to return to the Otherworld and not haunt the realm of the living. There were more fires and more sacrifices and dances, but these were less of a celebration and the mood was always different, little better than that among the hundreds of hung-over Batavians who began the task of clearing up the debris of their own revels.

  Ferox reached out to touch her hair. For a moment her smile grew warm, although there was something brittle about her in the pale light that came into the room through the cracks in the high, shuttered window.

  ‘I am glad to have a good memory,’ she said. ‘Its sweetness will carry me through the days to come.’ The lady took his hand and kissed his fingers.

  ‘I am glad that you are safe,’ he said. ‘Last night I was…’ He struggled to finish, but then she leaned forward and he pulled her to him. They kissed for a while, until more might have happened if she had not pulled away.

  ‘You are a good friend,’ she said. ‘Someone I can trust.’

  ‘I have been from the start,’ he said, wanting to believe her in spite of his instincts that told him no fine lady would bother with a mere centurion unless she needed him for some dark purpose. ‘If you just want a friend, you did not need all that business last night.’

  She sat up, the covers slipping down so that she was naked to the waist. Her face was a mask except for the anger smouldering in her eyes.

  ‘What do you really want from me, lady? I am a nobody, and you have thrown yourself at me from the start.’

  ‘Bastard!’ she hissed the word. ‘I must be a fool to bother.’

  ‘As a matter of fact you are. I’m really not worth it.’

  The slap caught him by surprise. The lady swung her arm and hit him across the face with enough force to sting. ‘Bastard!’ she said again, but now her eyes were glassy, and Ferox still did not know what to think.

  There was a knock on the door before it opened and Flora appeared with the news that a carriage and escort was on the way to collect the lady. She hurried Ferox out, and he knew that there was nothing to be said even though he wished that there were. They left Sulpicia Lepidina to get dressed – her maid had appeared and must have spent the night in the place. From the next room Ferox heard Flora telling the soldiers that the prefect’s lady would be with them soon, and informing the decurion in charge that Flavius Ferox had stood guard all night outside the lady’s room, so that it was just moments ago that she had sent him off to sleep. The lie added to the sense of unreality, and it was already feeling like a dream save for the lingering taste of her lips and the smell of her hair.

  He stayed at Flora’s for an hour, for the sake of form and to help the story the brothel owner had told. One of her girls was a good barber and she shaved him, and it was strange that having a pretty and flimsily clad young woman fussing over him brought only mild arousal. He had not felt like this for many years, and even though any love was hopeless, even dangerous, it was still as if life was breathed into him, and all his suspicion and doubt could not quite hold it back. There was happiness in the world, even for him and even here near the edge of the world. It might be fleeting, already past, and was probably taking him down a dangerous road, but he had the memory to cherish and warm him. Better yet a vague hope of contentment was welling up within him, and when he glanced at the copper mirrors covering all of one wall he saw that he was smiling.

  Flora provided him with clean tunic, trousers and socks, so that he was more presentable when he went to the fort, heading for the principia. He forced his face into its usual impassive mask, but suspected that he walked with a jauntiness reflecting his mood. The sight of pale-faced and nauseous Batavians standing guard at the main gate added to his high spirits. He could guess how they felt, but sympathy struggled with amusement and lost. Others responded in the same way. A party of Tungrians marched out of the fort to go on patrol and the soldiers stamped louder than was necessary, while their commander yelled with all his might when he asked permission to leave the base.

  ‘You’re up then?’ Vindex appeared as he approached the big archway leading into the principia. He looked the centurion up and down and burst out laughing.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing.’ The Brigantian fell silent apart from the occasional snigger, but then stopped and clapped his hands on the centurion’s shoulders. ‘It is good to see you again.’

  ‘Huh.’ It was not a question. Ferox did not want to talk, but the scout ignored his mood and began to tell him what had happened. Three slaves and a freedman found dead in the praetorium, along with a sentry at the western gate. Another soldier wounded, along with Longinus, who was coming along well.

  ‘Tough old bugger, that one,’ Vindex said, and then explained that everyone else was safe. ‘The prefect’s got a bruise the size of an apple on his cheek from when he fell. Longinus’ men carried him to a barrack room and watched him all night.’

  ‘Attacked?’

  ‘No, beer.’

  ‘A couple of slave girls are missing, but that lad Privatus reckons they’ll have been out with soldiers during the night, so they’re probably just drunk or bow-legged by now.’

  A thought nagged him for a while, and it was only as they walked across the courtyard that he remembered Flora telling him that the Batavians abstained from women during their festival. Perhaps the women were just too drunk to return to the house.

  Morning reports were a good deal more subdued than usual, with less stamping and shouting. Flavius Cerialis sat at the table, chin resting on his hands, and apart from the bruise on his face his skin had a greenish pallor and his eyes were glassy and red-rimmed. His servants had done their best to tidy him up, but there were stains on his boots and trousers. Ferox wondered whether they had brought the commander directly from the barrack block to the headquarters. Of all the men assembled for the parade he looked the one closest to death. Several of the ordinary soldiers were turned out as perfectly as on any other day, even though he was sure they had drunk as much as anyone else. He had known a fair few soldiers like that, who could spend all the night drinking, get no sleep, and yet still look ready to parade in front of the princeps himself. What was the old tag? ‘Iron stomach, iron head, iron heart.’ Ferox wanted to smile at the thought, and it took an effort to keep his face rigid.

  The bad news came in gradually, and it was as if enemy soldiers were undermining the rampart of his good mood. An optio from the Tungrians came first, marching smartly and noisily into the hall and shouting out a request to deliver an important message. Cerialis winced as if the sky had fallen on his head. He struggled to speak, then satisfied himself with a beckoning wave that was meant to give permission.

  ‘The centurion Pudens regrets to report that cohors I Tungrorum has a number of men missing.’

  Cerialis gave a weak smile and coughed to clear his throat. ‘I dare say there are fifty or sixty of my men unaccounted for at the moment.’

  The optio did not smile. They had found two soldiers killed, the bodies dumped inside a workshop. Three soldiers were gone. ‘We fear that they have gone over the wall.’

  ‘Deserted?’ Cerialis was brutal in his reply, not sparing the junior officer’s shame. ‘I suppose you know who they are.’

  ‘Yes, my lord. All from the new draft that reached us back in the spring.’ The optio spotted the questioning look. ‘Yes, my lord, all three are Britons.’

  Cerialis nodded. ‘As before.’

  ‘I fear so, my lord. And the sentry wounded at the gate says that they were attacked from behind. Some men in uniform approached them. They were not men he knew, but he did think one was from the cohort. Then half a dozen men in trousers and tunics sprang out from the shadows. He heard them speak and thought that they were Brigantes.’ There was a murmur at that. ‘Britons at the very least.’

  ‘My lord! My lord!’ The shout came from the courtyard. Other voices answered in an
ger, but the man persisted. ‘My lord! I must speak with you.’

  Cerialis gestured to one of the soldiers. ‘Bring him in.’

  It was Privatus, the head of his household, and for once he did not display his habitual calm assurance. He ran past the soldiers and crouched beside his master, whispering in his ear.

  ‘She is not an early riser.’ Cerialis frowned as he spoke. The chamberlain whispered again, and although he spoke louder and with more force Ferox could not catch the words.

  ‘I did not see her last night,’ the prefect said, his face scanning the men around him in case they could offer an explanation. ‘She can drink a lot. Probably sleeping it off.’

  ‘She has gone, master. The Lady Fortunata is nowhere to be found.’ Privatus must have decided that he needed to speak out loud if the message was to get through. ‘You should see the room. Her slave is dead.’

  ‘We’re humped,’ Vindex muttered under his breath, but Ferox was more concerned when the prefect turned towards him.

  ‘I would be glad of your company, centurion.’

  Cerialis said little as they went to his house, and only once was there real emotion in his voice. ‘Do you know they slaughtered three of my dogs? Chopped ‘em up. Bastards.’

  Privatus led them through the entrance to the left wing of the house, where the rooms were better decorated and furnished. The wife of Vegetus had been given a room on the ground floor, away from the family. Sulpicia Lepidina waited by the door, wearing a spotless dress in the pale blue she favoured. The corridor was in shadow for the sun had not yet risen high enough to reach into the courtyard alongside it, and yet she glowed. Long ago Ferox had served with another centurion who was devoted to Isis and the man had spoken of the goddess appearing in visions, a perfect statue of ivory and gold, and for the first time he understood something of the man’s ecstatic description. Seeing such splendour was thrilling and terrifying at once. Mixing with gods rarely ended well for a mere mortal.