Five miles or so down the road Ostorius gently tugged on his reins and fell into step alongside Cato. The road had dipped down into a shallow vale filled with mist which closed in around the riders and made vague shapes of the trees and bushes on either side. They exchanged a nod before the governor began speaking.
‘I briefed my tribunes and the bodyguard before we left, but just wanted to ensure that you, and Centurion Macro, were put in the picture. As you can appreciate this is very much a make or break occasion. Our last chance to secure peace with Caratacus and his followers. Of course, there’s no guarantee that he will put in an appearance. But there will be some there who share his views and will doubtless report back to him. The vast majority are already firm allies. Some, admittedly, are more grudging. Even so there will be more voices raised for peace than war and, if nothing else, this meeting will serve to emphasise the isolation of those who still resist. That said, I am taking nothing for granted. You, and your subordinate, will at all times treat the native delegates with courtesy and respect. Is that clear?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And that goes for any Druids that are present as well.’
‘Druids? I thought they were our most implacable foes, sir. That was certainly the case when Macro and I last served here.’
‘Oh, they still hate us with a vengeance, and it is official policy not to take any of them alive, but if we don’t allow them to attend then there is no chance of peace. I hope that they can be persuaded to see reason.’
Cato clicked his tongue. ‘The Druids I knew were fanatics, sir. They would gladly die rather than give an inch to Rome.’
Ostorius turned to him with an irritated expression. ‘As I told you before, Prefect, that was several years ago. Men change. Even the most determined of enemies can grow tired of killing each other and desire peace.’
‘Most men, yes. But Druids?’
‘This is the kind of thinking that you must put aside. That is why I am telling you this. There can be no misunderstanding between us, Prefect Cato. You will behave as I have said, to all who attend the meeting, including the Druids. No, especially the Druids. And that goes for the centurion as well. I will not have either of you cause any trouble. That is an order.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Good. The same applies to Caratacus, if he shows up. Or any who represent the Silures or the Ordovices.’
‘I understand, sir.’
‘Then be so good as to make sure that Centurion Macro does as well.’
With that the governor urged his horse forward to resume his position at the head of the small column. Cato watched him with a sense of misgiving. It seemed that Ostorius might be staking too much on his desire for peace. Even if he could persuade Caratacus to lay down his arms, Ostorius must know that the terms of such a peace would be unacceptable to Rome if they could be construed as a humbling of the Emperor and his legions. However much Cato shared the governor’s desire for an end to hostilities, he feared that the most likely outcome was the continuation of the bitter struggle. Which would suit Macro nicely, Cato reflected with a grim smile. His friend thrived on it. Battle was as much his element as water was to a fish. It would be interesting to see how his friend coped with the governor’s orders.
Cato reined in and waited for Macro and the legionaries to catch up. Macro seemed to have recovered from his hangover and was telling a story as he clutched a wineskin that one of the men had handed him.
‘. . and I said, “That’s just too bad if she’s only got one leg.” And he didn’t get it!’
The others roared with laughter as Cato fell in alongside his friend. ‘That’s an old one. Must be at least the tenth time I’ve heard it.’
‘Jokes are like wine, they only improve with age,’ Macro replied, and hitched his reins over the saddle horn so that he could lift the wineskin and have a quick swig.
‘Is that wise?’
Macro smacked his lips and shrugged. ‘Hair of the dog and all that.’
‘I wonder what your dear mother would say.’
‘You can’t imagine. So what are you doing, slumming it back here with the squaddies?’
‘Passing on orders from the governor. He wants us on our best behaviour in front of the locals. So I’d go easy on the wine if I were you.’
‘Not a problem, I can handle it when I want to. Right now I’m just having a laugh with the lads. You can trust me to play my part when the time comes. Have I ever let you down before?’
‘Not let down as such. You’ve got me involved with a few brawls in your time. There’s a time and place for that. For now we have to be good boys. Model citizens.’
‘If I wanted to be a model citizen I’d never have joined the army.’
‘We’re under orders, Macro. That’s all there is to it.’
Macro nodded sullenly and dropped back to return the wineskin to its owner before he rejoined Cato, who was glancing warily from side to side as the column clopped through the eerie mist. Macro could not help an ironic snort.
‘I just hope the tribes are as keen to win prizes for good behaviour. This would be a fine spot for an ambush. They could hit us from all sides before we knew it.’
‘Thanks for the comforting thought.’ Cato’s eyes and ears were straining to pick up any suspicious movement or sound but there was nothing apart from muted conversation between the tribunes and the bodyguards and the steady, dull clopping of the horses. Above them the sky cleared a little and the sun appeared as a pale disc, providing light but little warmth.
Some hours passed and the sombre ambience was only briefly lifted as the road crested a low ridge before descending back into another valley and more mist. As the sun reached its zenith, the governor halted the column to rest the horses and allow his men a brief break from their saddles. Two of the legionaries trotted forward to hold the reins of the officers’ horses while they stretched their legs.
Ostorius smiled at Cato. ‘How does it feel to be back on British soil? There’s no place in the empire like it for making the hairs stand up on the back of your neck, eh?’
Cato recalled that the mists and fogs of Britannia could wreath the landscape for days at a time, playing havoc with the imagination of some of the men. Not something that plagued Macro, of course, but it left Cato feeling tense and anxious. He was about to respond to Ostorius when he heard it. The faint sound of hoofs pounding along the track.
At once Ostorius’s smile disappeared and he stepped off the road and looked back past his bodyguards standing silently by their mounts.
‘Centurion Macro, get those men off the road. And that servant of yours. Half on each flank, fifty feet out, and wait for my order before you move. The rest of you, mount up and form up across the track.’
As the soldiers moved into position, Cato and the others swung themselves up into their saddles and formed a line across the track. Ostorius stood listening, and was the last man to mount, easing his horse forward so that it stood in the middle of the track a short distance in front of his officers. Cato saw the governor’s left hand slip down to rest on the pommel of his sword as he waited. The sound of the approaching horses was much more distinct now and one of the junior tribunes at Cato’s side cleared his throat nervously.
‘How many of them, do you think?’
Cato was unsure who the question was aimed at but knew that the young officer needed reassurance. He had heard enough cavalry in his time to hazard a guess. ‘No more than ten, I’d say.’
The tribune nodded and, following the example of his commander, he rested his hand on the pommel of his sword. Cato noticed the nervous tremor in the officer’s fingers. He recalled his own fears in the early days of his army service when combat seemed imminent. The fear had gone, but he still suffered from the gnawing anxiety of letting his comrades down, Macro foremost. That and the terror of a crippling wound that would leave him as an object of pity and ridicule. Then his thoughts were distracted as his mount shied and tried to retreat from the
line. He dug his heels in firmly and gritted his teeth as he struggled to still the brute and get it back into position. By the time that was done the sound of hoofs was much closer and then a shadowy form emerged from the gloom, and there was a shout an instant later, in a tribal tongue. The rider reined in abruptly and then there were several more, forming up on each side, and others behind.
A challenge sounded, in the same language, and Ostorius raised his left hand in greeting. ‘Romans!’
There came a gruff muttering in response and then stillness and silence. A faint metallic scraping sounded close to Cato and he glanced aside to see the tribune’s sword emerging from its scabbard.
‘Put that back, you fool!’ Cato hissed. ‘We do nothing without an order from the governor.’
The tribune eased his blade down and the fingers of his hand clenched and unclenched.
‘Advance and be recognised!’ Ostorius called out. There was a tense pause before one of the Britons urged his horse forward and emerged from the mist, revealing a large man in a fur-trimmed cloak, beneath which mail gleamed dully. His hair fell across his shoulders and as he drew nearer, the governor lowered his hand and bowed his head in greeting. ‘King Prasutagus.’
‘Governor Ostorius,’ came the deep, rumbling reply. ‘I thought that it was maybe an ambush, for a moment.’
‘Who would ambush you here, in territory we control?’
‘We all have our enemies.’ Prasutagus turned and beckoned to his retinue and they trotted forward to join their leader, as Ostorius called out to Macro and his bodyguards to return to the road. The Iceni riders looked round suspiciously as the legionaries appeared from both sides. The governor edged his mount forward and clasped arms with Prasutagus.
‘I’d be honoured if you joined us for the rest of the journey to Durocornovium.’
‘As would I, if you joined us.’
Ostorius was silent for an instant before he nodded. ‘Very well, I should be pleased to accept your invitation.’
The tension eased and Cato heard the tribune next to him let out a long, low breath as he relaxed in his saddle.
Shortly afterwards the enlarged party of riders emerged from the mist as the track climbed gently up towards a more heavily used track running along the top of the chain of low ridges stretching away to the west. The overcast began to break up and the sun shone intermittently from patches of blue sky, causing shadows to glide across the landscape. The governor rode beside Prasutagus, occasionally attempting conversation. The Iceni warriors followed behind. Then came Queen Boudica with Cato and Macro on either side, and then the rest of the Romans.
‘I had hoped we would catch you up,’ she admitted. ‘After last night’s touchy atmosphere I wanted a chance to clear the air.’
Unlike her husband she had been taught the Roman tongue from a young age, by a merchant hired by her father who had foreseen the need to be able to converse with the great power that had reached the coastline of Gaul and stood poised to invade Britannia for so many years before taking the plunge.
‘It’s been such a long time,’ she continued. ‘But you’ve not changed much, Macro. Still the same handsome rogue.’
The centurion gave a non-committal grunt. It was a hard thing to re-encounter someone he had once had a physical relationship with. There had been affection too, but mostly it had been about raw desire. The situation was made more difficult by the presence of Prasutagus to whom Boudica had become betrothed the last time Macro had seen her. Now she was his wife, and he was a king. It was a bloody awkward situation and Macro was not sure how he should deal with it. There was no question of a return to their old ways. Equally, it was hard to treat her formally as befitted her new rank. Boudica’s friendly approach now was not making the situation any easier.
‘But you, Cato, you look every inch the seasoned veteran now, and that scar is quite fetching. It gives you a rather savage look.’
‘That’s what my wife says.’
‘Married too! I shouldn’t be surprised. Who is the lucky girl?’
‘Her name is Julia.’
‘And where is she?’
‘In Rome.’
‘Oh dear. That can’t be easy for either of you. Why not bring her with you?’
Cato paused before he replied. He wanted to explain, to say that Julia was used to the comforts and luxuries provided by her father and that, in truth, he feared that she would resent being obliged to live in Britannia, with its inhospitable climate and even more inhospitable tribes. He cleared his throat. ‘I would prefer Julia to remain where she is most content.’
‘Really?’ Boudica shot him a curious look. ‘I would have thought that a wife would be most content at her husband’s side.’
‘It’s different for Roman women.’
‘Not so much fun, you mean.’
‘They have a profound sense of duty. They are prepared to wait for their husbands to return from active service and keep the home ready for them.’
‘Oh yes.’ Boudica nodded. ‘I can see why your Julia would prefer to do that. I mean, she wouldn’t want to endure too much excitement in her life, would she?’
Cato bristled. He did not like this prying into his marriage. There were enough doubts already plaguing him on that front. He decided to turn the tables. ‘So, what about you? Are you happy in your new role? Is Prasutagus?’
Boudica’s smile faded and she turned to look ahead, at the broad shoulders of her husband riding at the head of the party. ‘He became King only two years ago.’
‘Lucky Prasutagus,’ said Macro.
‘Hardly. It was a choice between exile or accepting the title. Apart from being the placeman of Rome, Prasutagus has had to accept the presence of a line of forts along the frontier of our lands and give free passage to Roman patrols. Worse still, Ostorius has insisted that Prasutagus honour the debts of the old King, Bodominius, who had borrowed a fortune from Roman money-lenders. Now our people are taxed to the hilt to pay them back, and we are obliged to provide five hundred young men a year to serve in your auxiliary cohorts. I tell you, if this is how Rome means to treat the tribes of Britannia, it is only a matter of time before there is an all-out revolt.’
‘The Iceni paid the price of defying Rome,’ Macro said evenly. ‘They were only one tribe. What could they hope to achieve?’
‘The only tribe to rise up, yes. But not the only one with a sense of grievance. Our neighbours, the Trinovantes, have it even worse since the governor founded a veterans’ colony at Camulodunum. Your men have been given the surrounding land and they have taken even more for themselves. Anyone who tries to complain is given a beating. Some have even been killed. Then there’s the temple dedicated to Claudius that is being constructed in the heart of the town. I had no idea he was a god,’ she sneered. ‘He didn’t look like much of a god when I saw him during his brief visit to Camulodunum.’
‘Careful,’ Cato warned. ‘That kind of talk is dangerous if word gets back to Rome. Immortals have rather unpleasant ways of reminding others of their mortality.’
‘That may be so, but threats tend to lose their sting if you push people too far. The Trinovantes are already aggrieved about having their land taken from them. But to make matters worse they are being taxed to pay for the construction of the temple. Can you imagine? Being bled white to provide the silver to pay for a monumemt to your own oppression? If this is the Roman peace, then I fear your governor is going to have a hard time persuading the tribes of its value. I can see nothing good coming of this meeting.’
‘Then why are you here? Why has Prasutagus accepted the invitation to the gathering of the tribes?’
‘Invitation?’ Boudica let out a bitter laugh. ‘A summons is more the term I would use. As a master summons his slave, or his lapdog. We are here because the cost of not being here would earn the Iceni the further displeasure of your governor. I would imagine it is the same for the other tribes who are fortunate enough to be allies of Rome.’
‘He seeks peace
,’ Cato insisted. ‘Ostorius wants to put an end to the conflict in this province.’
She rounded on him with a glare. ‘Don’t you understand? I’ve just told you what peace means to those tribes already under the Roman yoke. And if that is, by some perversion of the meaning of the word, peace, then tell me, Cato, would you welcome it, if you were a native of this island?’
CHAPTER EIGHT
As dusk gathered at the end of the third day’s ride, the small company of Romans and Iceni left the road to Durocornovium and approached the outpost at Cunetio, some five miles from the sacred rings, where the gathering of the tribes was to take place. The small garrison comprised a half century of Gauls under the command of an optio who made his meagre quarters available for the governor while the rest of his men were ordered out of their barrack blocks to make way for the other visitors. The soldiers would be obliged to spend the night in the storerooms, or in the open. The optio had been briefed about the gathering and told to remain in the outpost and avoid any contact with any passing natives. Ostorius was leaving little to chance in his pursuit of an alternative to yet another season of bitter campaigning.
‘We’ve done as ordered, sir,’ the optio confirmed. ‘The men haven’t been out of the gates for the last five days.’
‘Good. Have you seen any of the tribal delegations passing by?’
‘Yes, sir. Plenty of ’em. And some of them as might be Druids.’
‘You can tell?’ Macro queried.
The optio thought briefly and nodded. ‘The tribesmen wore bright colours. The others were in plain cloaks. Not many of ’em, mind. But they looked different, and kept themselves apart from anyone else on the road.’
Macro turned to Cato. ‘Druids? Can’t say I’m pleased at the prospect of another run-in with their kind.’
Ostorius rounded on them. ‘There will be no run-in with the Druids, or anyone else. Is that clear? All who attend have been given free passage to and from the rings at Avibarius for a period of ten days. I’ll have the head of anyone who causes any trouble for the duration of the truce.’
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