The Caledonian hit the turf and swung round with his sword, stabbing at Flaminius’ unshielded chest. The blade thumped into the tribune’s mail shirt, feeling like a battering ram. The steel links did not give—the sword point was far from sharp enough to pierce them—but Flaminius was left winded and gasping for breath. Wincing with pain, he bashed the blade aside with his shield then brought down his longsword.
The Caledonian danced backwards and the tribune’s sword slashed through the air in front of his face. He lunged again with his own blade but Flaminius parried the attack.
All around them, the Selgovae and Carvettians were fighting fiercely. The Caledonians and Roman auxiliaries had been halted by the sight of the single combat but now fights were breaking out between chariots and mounted troopers. The battlefield was a nightmare of smoke and death.
His tendons shrieking agony, Flaminius deflected another blow, then followed it up with a lunge that bounced off the Caledonian’s chest then ploughed straight into his face, smashing teeth and jaw and sinking into his skull. As the body fell to the turf, Flaminius ripped his sword back out with an expression of disgust. He turned and at once was knocked backwards as a Selgovian warrior crashed into him. He hit the turf with a thump and the Selgovian towered over him, spear lifted to spit him. A blade flashed in the sunlight and blood spattered Flaminius as Drustica cut the warrior down.
Flaminius grinned up at her, his face slick with blood. For a moment, everything went black.
He recovered to find Drustica kneeling beside him.
‘Gaius? Gaius, are you wounded?’ She anxiously dabbed away the blood that covered his face.
He pushed her away and sat up, feeling weak. Around him the turf was littered with fallen bodies. In the distance, auxiliaries were galloping after hurriedly retreating chariots. A few Selgovians still fought Carvettians. More Carvettians were rushing from the village. The Selgovians, realising they had been abandoned by their Caledonian allies, broke and ran.
‘We must pursue them!’ Drustica said as Flaminius rose to his feet.
‘We will not,’ Flaminius said. The auxiliaries were riding back.
Hrodmar wrested off his helmet and reported, ‘They got away into the trees, sir. Shall we ride after them?’
‘Our policy makers do not want open war with the Caledonians,’ Flaminius stated firmly. ‘We are here to defend the Carvetti against the Selgovae. Those are our orders. We are to step lightly where Caledonians are involved.’ He turned to Drustica, who looked disappointed. ‘With luck, though, the provincial governor may now be more inclined to aid you against the Selgovae, instead of planning to make peace with them. I can’t guarantee anything, though.’
‘I would much prefer that, Gaius,’ the warrior woman said heavily. She turned away to organise the tending of the wounded and the extinguishing of the fires still raging within her village.
Flaminius went with her.
—6—
Eboracum, province of Britain
Tigernos the Caledonian sat back easily in the chair in Falco’s office, smiling coldly.
‘Governor,’ he said, ‘my king has no wish to go to war with Rome. The Selgovae people are clients of my own folk, and their rule over their hills is undisputed. Should tribesfolk from the Brigantian confederation enter their territory without permission, they have no option other than to retaliate, and if this retaliation means crossing over into the Carvetti country, so be it! You suggest my people are involved? Yet it was your own auxiliaries who slew Selgovian warriors when you have not declared war on that tribe. If any Caledonians, working on their own initiative, came to the aid of the Selgovae when you had attacked them without provocation, then they are merely upholding their obligation to a subject tribe. However, they were not working on the orders of Brennos the High King, and we have made no attempt to follow up with an attack on your own lands.’
Falco smiled back, gravely. ‘Should you or your subject tribes have attacked Roman lands, then the legions would have been mustered and they would have marched to repulse you. Your people know this, of course. Maybe that’s why you didn’t follow through.’
‘In which case, it would be your people declaring war,’ Tigernos replied. ‘Has your emperor given you the authority to initiate hostilities?’
‘Caledonians have attacked the Carvetti,’ Falco replied, ‘a sept of the Brigantes, a tribe that is under Roman protection. It seems to me that your people have already begun a war.’
‘As I said,’ Tigernos replied, ‘any Caledonians who accompanied the Selgovae into battle were working independently. Young men looking for adventure, perhaps. The Selgovae themselves were retaliating after Brigantian incursions into their territory.’
Falco’s expression grew graver. ‘Some autonomy is allowed to frontier provincial governors in order to settle local disputes with military force. It means they do not have to send messages back to Rome before they can retaliate against border infractions. This is not the same as war, however. Rome’s only interest is in achieving peace. Perhaps we can seek to change the rules, in the case of your own people, but this will only be in return for concessions on your own part.’
‘Concessions?’ Tigernos laughed. ‘Of course, I’m only a merchant, but I keep in regular touch with our king, and I understand that he’s anxious that you release your prisoners.’
‘I don’t believe we have any Caledonian captives,’ Falco said blandly.
He knew that they had taken prisoners after previous engagements, and that Probus was still interrogating them—not torturing them, though, if he knew what was good for him. But Falco honestly wasn’t aware of any Caledonians held captive after the recent encounter. Was the commissary centurion keeping things from him? ‘I shall look into the matter,’ he conceded.
Tigernos thanked him. ‘As for your Brigantian allies, what’s their opinion on recent events? What do they wish to do?’
‘We have no allies,’ Falco said, ‘since we’re not at war. We have client tribes of peregrines[11], much like your own people. But we are not in a state of war in Britain.’
‘Of course not,’ Tigernos said. ‘But my king wishes it to be known that we of Caledonia will not rest idle if our subject tribes are attacked by you or your… clients.’
‘We are currently doing what we can to ensure the Brigantes do not make retaliatory raids on your Selgovae,’ the provincial governor replied testily, ‘if you must know. Taking security measures.’
Tigernos said nothing. His eye twitched. ‘Security measures?’ he said at last.
Falco nodded. ‘A cohort of the Ninth Legion will be despatched to the Brigantian border with Selgovian territory. That’s no secret. They will only enter into hostilities in self-defence, should the Selgovae make any further border incursions.’ He smiled. ‘I do hope that none of these hot headed young men of Caledonia will be tempted into fighting alongside the Selgovae. Sadly, we will have no option but to intervene if they do.
‘Obviously this would not be a move against Caledonia, since they are not representatives of your king. The cohort will primarily be involved in seeking a truce and a cessation of hostilities between our Brigantian friends and the Selgovae.’
‘I see.’ Tigernos nodded slightly.
‘We know very little of the Selgovae, of course,’ Falco added, ‘but we hope to earn their cooperation and trust. I’d be obliged if your people could use your influence to encourage them to listen to us.’
‘Then you want Caledonians present?’
Falco shook his head. ‘No, the mission will be entirely Roman. We will be doing the spadework. After that, perhaps…’
‘You mean that Lucius Aninius refuses to work alongside Caledonians?’
Falco shook his head, although indeed the legate had not wanted to take the peace negotiations that far. ‘We simply want to avoid any confusion,’ he dissembled. ‘I’m sure your Selgovian friends will keep you informed as the negotiations continue. Rome needs to become much more familiar wi
th the Selgovae—friendly with them—before we are able to ensure peace along our borders.’
‘I see,’ Tigernos repeated doubtfully.
‘The border tribes must remain at peace, a lasting peace, with no more of these “traditional raids”, before Rome and Caledonia can work together. Assuming that’s what you want.’
‘A gradual process,’ Tigernos said.
Falco nodded. ‘Indeed. I want nothing more than peace and security on the northern borders, and I’m sure all right thinking people want the same. But we can start here. We can work together to ensure that the Brigantes remain peaceful, or in your case the Selgovae. Neither side wants to see an escalation of hostilities. You have that much influence over the tribe? Or your network does?’
Tigernos nodded. ‘We have influence over their chiefs, for the most part. But although they are a subject tribe, they are free to make their own decisions in these matters. We cannot tell them how to act.’
‘I’ll be talking to you again,’ Falco said, rising, his hand extended. ‘This meeting is merely to establish communications to liaise with your king on the matter. You can contact me again while I’m still in Eboracum, or send messengers to my location should I go elsewhere.’
Tigernos nodded and also rose. ‘Farewell, provincial governor,’ he said, shaking hands with him, and allowed two legionaries to escort him from the headquarters building.
Falco sat back and clicked his fingers for a drink. A slave stepped forward with a brimming goblet and he sipped it. What now? Well, now he would remain in Brigantia, reading reports in Eboracum, making tours of inspection among the lesser camps. No doubt his presence would be resented by Lucius Aninius and his men. The legate clearly thought that Londinium was the right place for the provincial governor, not here on the frontline. But the action was here, or within a hundred miles or so, and where the action was, it was imperative that he should be too. All the same, for the moment things would be quiet. He was glad he had brought Medea with him to keep him company of nights. He rose and went into the private living quarters.
The girl lounged on a couch, looking bored as a slave read aloud Catullus’ poem about his lover’s sparrow. She glanced up in surprise as he sat beside her. He caressed her shoulder. Her gown was thin and flimsy and he could feel the warmth and firmness of her young flesh. Discreetly, an expensive perfume trickled into his nostrils.
‘Catullus again?’ he asked as the slave girl’s recitation ended. ‘By Jove, do you never tire of him?’
She shook her head. ‘Reminds me of sunnier climes… We’re so far from Rome here,’ she added with an involuntary shiver.
Falco shrugged. ‘We were like them once. My people were. Your people were! Don’t the Britons remind you of Homer’s Greeks? Admirable, perhaps, when you consider the corruption of the empire in these latter days.’
Medea pursed her lips. ‘Perhaps…’ She sighed. ‘I never did like the Iliad. Too warlike, too aggressive. Your Roman Catullus is much more to my taste. Warm days, sunshine, and love. Not all this hyperborean gloom and sudden violence. And loneliness.’
He stroked her hair. ‘You have company.’
‘Slaves,’ she murmured. ‘I can talk to your officers, but what about? They’re ambitious, some of them, but they’re all careerists, though. They bore me.’
‘Do I bore you?’
She laughed. ‘No! Not at all. But you’re so busy here.’
The provincial governor shrugged. ‘We may have other company.’
‘Oh yes?’
‘Centurion Julius Probus will join us on the expedition deeper into the barbarian lands,’ Falco began. ‘He’ll be an asset on the expedition—he’s currently involved in establishing a strongpoint in Selgovae country. Oh, and he’ll bring along a few aides. Handsome young officers, like that auxiliary tribune you were so fascinated by the other month. Perhaps Flaminius—was that his name?—himself, in fact. I understand he’s been seconded to the Commissary.’
‘You’re not so old—or ugly,’ she told him. ‘You’re much more handsome than Gaius Flaminius Drusus .’ But doubt lingered in her big eyes. She pouted.
He smiled, leaned forward to kiss those pouting lips. Dutifully, Medea surged up to meet him.
—7—
Luguvalium, Carvetti territory
Hat-like, the fog sat on the hills above Drustica’s village. Lichen-hung bushes and the thatched eaves of the bothies dripped. The air itself was dank as Flaminius and a small group of Romans waited in the middle of the settlement, watching as one of Drustica’s people opened the doors of a small lockup. With Flaminius was Probus, who had arrived from Eboracum the other day.
His face was set, intense, as he watched the Selgovian warrior being hustled out into the cold air. Drustica’s man forced the enemy to his knees before Probus. The prisoner was a burly man in middle age, bare to the waist and heavily tattooed, with a drooping moustache and long hair.
Probus spoke to him quietly in his own tongue, a dialect similar to Drustica’s but with certain differences that made it closer to Caledonian. The Selgovian looked startled by this foreigner’s knowledge of his tribal jargon, and answered in sullen grunts.
After a while, Probus nodded. ‘You can let him go,’ he said.
Flaminius turned to the auxiliaries accompanying him and nodded to them. They took the Selgovian to the edge of the village and set him free. He hurried away into the dripping trees.
‘Hail and farewell, Carbantovolcos,’ Probus murmured.
Flaminius looked askance at him. ‘Is that his name?’ He hoped he wouldn’t be expected to pronounce it.
Probus nodded. ‘We were getting on quite well,’ he said. ‘I don’t think he would have opened up so much to his tribal enemies, but his first meeting with a Roman—off the field of battle—seems to have made quite an impression on him.’ He turned back towards Drustica’s village. ‘They won’t show up for some time. But be prepared.’
He went to the tents the auxiliaries had pitched on the village field and stepped inside his own. Flaminius stood alone, looking after him. He wondered how much Probus had learnt. Had it been any more than he had got from the prisoner in Eboracum?
The auxiliaries were relaxing, rolling dice with some of Drustica’s men. Flaminius felt lonely, miles from anywhere and with very little in common with his companions. Here he was, hero of two skirmishes, the man who Falco was relying on to make peace between the Selgovae and the Brigantes, but it seemed he was expected to do nothing more than stand around looking pretty—something he personally found difficult.
Drustica’s people trusted him. But sometimes his auxiliaries seemed to regard him as no more than an over enthusiastic puppy.
He crossed over to Drustica. At least the warrior woman appreciated him.
‘I don’t want you going into Selgovian territory,’ she told him with a frown.
‘Personally, I’m looking forward to it,’ he replied breezily. ‘Few Romans have ventured so far since Agricola’s day.’
Drustica shuddered. ‘It is a terrible land—where the druids still hold sway, where the skulls of our forefathers adorn the trees of the sacred groves, where the Carvetti’s restless dead wander at night. Fighting is better than peace with such people. Don’t go.’ She laid a hand on his brawny forearm.
‘I won’t be long. This is just to negotiate the reoccupation of one of the camps we built in earlier days, during the campaign against Calgacos. Once that’s done, my people will take control of the situation.’
‘Will you remain in this camp for long?’
‘I don’t know,’ he replied. ‘If things go well, I won’t be needed so much. You know that they have come to respect me. Your doing, I should imagine? Anyway, I’ll be needed elsewhere once things are settled.’
‘I will not be here when you return,’ Drustica said. ‘I must go to speak with my chief about all these matters.’
‘You’ll be back, though, won’t you? Send a messenger to me in Eboracum and I’ll co
me as soon as I can.’
Drustica looked sullen. ‘One day you will leave Britain for good.’
‘My career may take me elsewhere, yes. To other parts of the empire.’
‘I would like to see Londinium,’ she said, her tone wistful. ‘I have heard so much of the city. So far away. It sounds like a place where gods walk. Like the Otherworld. Is it?’
Flaminius grunted. ‘Not really,’ he said. He looked round at her dank village. ‘It’s a provincial capital. Nothing much. You’d like Rome, though,’ he added enthusiastically.
Not that he understood what this other-world she spoke of really was. They knew so little about these tribes and their beliefs. Only that the druids had once reigned supreme over all these lands, until the Romans had wiped them out. Or so they had thought. It was evident that druids still clung on in the North, even though their superstition had been extirpated completely among the southern tribes, where the people resembled those of Gaul, and proper Roman religion had taken its place.
But the further north one went the stranger it all became. These people were nothing like the Gauls, they were more like Hrodmar’s tribe in size and strength—although Hrodmar denied any connection and regarded them all as inferior specimens. And the druid network seemed to stretch everywhere. He wasn’t sure it didn’t have influence among the Brigantes. Certainly it would pose a threat when they were negotiating with the Selgovae.
But few people in Rome cared anymore for learning about the ways of barbarian tribes. The empire seemed more concerned with shoring up what it had got than with venturing into new territory. Here in Britain they had already given up a lot of ground and their control over the Brigantes was debatable, although in Agricola’s day the empire had stretched much further north. Of course, this was a symptom of a malaise that gripped the entire empire. The new emperor, this Hadrian, had marked his accession by abandoning his predecessor’s conquests in Mesopotamia. Flaminius hoped the same would not happen in Britain. It would be bad news for Drustica’s people if Rome withdrew. Bad news for civilisation in this island. If Rome abandoned Britain, it would sink back into the mire of barbarism.
On Hadrian's Secret Service Page 8