by Griff Hosker
Caronwyn had found a bed with one of the sisters in a small hamlet just north of Eboracum. She had disguised her stunning hair with a dull linen hat and she kept her gaze towards the ground. She and the priestess of the Mother with whom she was staying spent their days at the market listening to the complaints of those who came to sell their goods. Morwenna had been quite emphatic about her daughter’s mission. She was to find someone with money and power, someone who was willing to act as a leader against the Roman invaders. They had spent three weeks so far and Caronwyn was beginning to doubt that they would find anyone who fitted the precise requirements of her mother.
The Priestess was a widow called Morag. Her husband had died in the earlier rebellion led by Morwenna and Decius Sallustius. Rather than making her hate Morwenna, it had driven her to hate the Romans. She was delighted to have been given the mission and worshipped Morwenna as the embodiment of the Mother on earth. After another fruitless foray into the Forum they trudged back up the Northern road to the hovel they shared. They ate well for Morwenna had provided gold for food and clothes. To the other customers they looked to be a mother and daughter eking out their last coins when the reality was they were haggling as it enabled them to stay longer without drawing attention to themselves.
As they walked back to their lodgings they discussed, as they had each day, the people they had met. They needed to choose their leader soon. “There was one trader who seemed a little more belligerent and vocal than the others.”
Caronwyn nodded, “Yes Morag, the fat man with the thinning hair. I have not seen him before.”
“Neither have I.” She hesitated, wondering if she ought to question the plan devised by the High Priestess. “I am not sure how we will be able to speak with these traders for we are little more than slaves to them.”
“Fear not Morag. We will seek employment with the one we wish to entice. We both have skills which would be valuable. We will return on the morrow and if this man is there we will seek employment with him.” She shrugged. “Time is not important. If this man is not suitable for our purposes then we shall leave and seek another.”
*******
Antoninus Brutus had quickly learned that, to do business with the Romans, one had to become Roman. He had changed his family name to a Roman one and affected the Roman style of dress. His farm in the valley to the north of Eboracum had mosaics and a bath house but Antoninus was still the son of the Brigante chief, Tadgh, below the skin. He despised the Romans; having brought civilisation they had greatly benefited the Brigante but now that they were bleeding them dry with their ever increasing taxes, many businessmen like Antoninus felt that they should go. His son, Gaius, was even more vociferous. He wanted to fight against the Romans. The blood of the Brigante ran deeply in his veins and he yearned for the chance to wield a sword as his grandfather had. The Roman soldiers he had encountered had not seemed the vaunted, invincible killing machine that the rest of the province feared. The ones he had seen were lying in the streets of the vicus, puking their insides out having drunk too much unwatered wine.
Father and son spent each evening firing each other up with fantasies about life in Britannia without the burdensome yoke of Rome rule. “Their legions have left and the ones who remain are the leftover warriors from the defeated parts of the Empire.”
Antoninus was a little more cautious than his son. “Perhaps but they have managed to put down each rebellion my son.” His son was his only reminder of the wife who had died in the last harsh winter, taken by the coughing sickness. He cherished the handsome young warrior and did not want to lose him as well. He wondered if it was time to take another wife or at least a mistress for the farm. Antoninus was very successful; the farm was more than profitable but it was the sale of stone from his quarry which really made him rich. The Romans could not get enough of the rocks his grandfather had hated. Now it was Brigante who wished to emulate their conquerors and build stone built villas but Antoninus had a contract with Eboracum. He could make far more gold from his countrymen than the parsimonious Romans who made money from Antoninus’ profit.
“Could we not begin to prepare for the day when the Romans leave? The barbarians from the north are raiding along the Tinea and Dunum. Perhaps we should do as some of the farmers further north and arm our own men.” The farm and quarry had many slaves but also skilled freemen. They were mainly the remnants of the old clan which had been ruled by Antoninus’ grandfather. Gaius knew that many of the younger ones also wished to use the weapons of the tribe. “We are making enough profit and it would ensure that, if there were more raids then we could defend what we have.”
The business man was proud of his son. His father and grandfather would also have been proud. He was intelligent and what he had said made sense. Rather than putting the profit into the banks of Eboracum which charged exorbitant amounts he would invest in arms and training. “We will return to Eboracum tomorrow my son. I will try to negotiate a better contract with the Romans and you can find out where we can acquire weapons.”
Gaius’ face beamed like a room suddenly lit by a fresh lamp. “I already know. In the vicus there are some men who served in the Roman army and they sell old weapons captured from our people.”
******
Caronwyn and Morag waited by the Forum for the angry man they had seen the previous day. He had spoken angrily to those who were his peers but Brynna had noticed that he had changed his tone whenever an official chanced by. He was a duplicitous man and in that character trait lay her hope. Morag had asked around and discovered that he was very rich but, more importantly, descended from a chief and, as such, could command respect in any rebellion. Morwenna had made it clear to her daughter that they merely needed to fan the flames of rebellion rather than take part and lead. She had learned, to her cost, the dangers of such action and the rebellion was only one part of her plan for Morwenna and her daughters were still intent upon bringing death and destruction to Macro the son and half brother they all loathed.
When Antoninus entered the busy market place, Caronwyn noticed the handsome young man with him. She took an instant decision. “Morag. You follow the older fat man and I will watch the young man with him.” Morag glanced at the handsome young man and a half smile played around the edge of her mouth. Morwenna’s daughter had an eye for a buck.
“Yes my lady. I will return here.”
Antoninus headed towards the fortress and the invisible Morag shuffled along behind. Caronwyn was intrigued for her prey moved purposefully away from the market towards the seedier and less reputable parts of the vicus. She was not intimidated by the potential danger; she carried a knife and her mother’s bodyguards had taught her how to use the weapon. It would be a foolish man who tried to take advantage of the stunningly beautiful red head. She kept to the shadows as he moved around the vicus. He was behaving furtively and she wondered where he was heading. He was taller and younger than most of the others in the area and she was able to keep far enough back to avoid detection. It was obvious that he had reached his destination when he looked all around him to see if anyone was watching. He disappeared inside. It seemed to Caronwyn that he would never come out but eventually he did, a huge grin on his face and he almost ran past Caronwyn to head back to the market. The witch’s daughter had a dilemma; she was desperate to know what had pleased the young man so much in a visit to a grubby hut tucked away far from prying official Roman eyes. In her mind she had assumed it was a whorehouse which would explain his joy but not the short time he had spent within the building. She could find out later. She hurried back to the market where she saw Morag. Morag gestured with her eyes and she saw that the young man was reunited with the angry man. The two of them looked pleased and, arms around each other’s shoulders, they headed for a tavern.
“I have found out who they are my lady. The younger man is Gaius Brutus, the son of the angry man, Antoninus Brutus.”
“You have done well Morag. We will have to visit a house in the vicus later but I
think that we will seek employment with the two of them.”
“There is no lady of the house. She died last year.”
“Did she? That bodes well. You can cook?” Although phrased as a question Caronwyn implied that Morag would cook for the two of them. Morag nodded. “Good, then we present ourselves as a mother and daughter who have come from the north, fleeing the barbarians who killed our family. I will play the tearful and distraught girl.”
The tavern was crowded with men who had successfully concluded their business and were celebrating. Caronwyn knew that there would be no women in the vicus and their appearance would attract attention. They slipped into the crowded room and made their way to the barrel of a man who was obviously the owner. The room hushed as the two of them entered. Caronwyn had already rubbed herbs under her eyes to make them weep. The owner began to make his way towards them. “Out!”
“Oh sir, take pity on a widow and her daughter. Have you no work for two hard working unfortunates such as us? My mother is a good cook and I am a diligent worker.” The hood over her head prevented the tavern keeper from getting a good view of the girl but he could see that the older one was a hag who would not be able to earn a little extra for him as his workers had to serve drinks and entertain the customers.
“Go, before I have you thrown out!”
Caronwyn and Morag left, having done their work; they had seen all the eyes, including their two targets, watching and listening. Once outside Caronwyn began to make herself look more attractive, lowering her hood and pinching her cheeks. They waited patiently for their targets to emerge. The other traders and visitors who left assiduously avoided them which suited Caronwyn. As soon as she saw Gaius leave she prostrated herself before the two men. “Oh please sir, take pity on a widow and her only child!” Her green eyes flickered beneath her long lashes and Gaius felt himself become aroused.
Antoninus was about to wave them away, much as the tavern keeper had done when Gaius said, “We need a cook father. The slop the slaves serve is not fit for our pigs.”
Antoninus was not convinced. “I will go to the slave market and buy a better one then.”
Morag held her hands out in supplication. “Sir, we are free, we will work for seven nights for no pay and if you do not like my food we will leave and you can then buy yourself a slave. What have you to lose? All we need is a roof under which to sleep and food.”
Gaius turned to his father. “What have we to lose? If the hag cannot cook then we throw her out.”
Antoninus shrugged. “Very well.” He pointed to their cart. “Get aboard the cart you have three days and nights to impress me!”
Caronwyn nodded gratefully. “Do not worry sir. You will not regret your decision.” She had succeeded in the first part of her plan. Now she would need to work on the young man and find out what the curious hovel contained. That would have to wait until she next visited the vicus. It was important that they spend the next three days impressing Antoninus and, once established in the home, they could begin to manipulate the two men.
Morag had not lied, her food was excellent, and within two days Antoninus had decided that they would be an asset to his home. He could begin to entertain the other minor chiefs who had also turned to trade. His home was the most impressive one outside of Eboracum but hitherto he had been unable to invite others there because of the paucity of the food. Now he saw an opportunity to build his power base.
For his part Gaius was besotted with the lovely Caronwyn. Once ensconced in the villa she had discarded the dirty and dishevelled look she had adopted and used every wile taught to her by her mother to enhance her beauty and attraction. The herbs and perfumes she used to improve nature’s bounty proved too much for Gaius. His eyes followed her around the room and his body told him that he wanted her. Had she been a slave then he would have taken her the first day but she was free. He approached his father to ask his advice.
Antoninus smiled; he remembered when he had been a lusty youth and he understood the young man’s attraction. He too had felt his slightly more ancient loins stir when the lovely auburn haired vision served their food making what was delicious seem like ambrosia. “You will have to woo and court her.” He shrugged apologetically. “It is the way of women. They need to be assure of your continued affection. Speak kindly to her, take her for walks, and bring her flowers. You are a fine young man and she will soon do your bidding.”
So Gaius began his courtship. Caronwyn for her part knew how to play the virgin and she fluttered her long eyelashes and giggled at every inanity which came from the Brigante mouth. Inside she was cheering for she knew that within a few days he would be under her spell and she would be able to create her own rebellion.
Chapter 2
Julius Demetrius felt strange as he stepped from the boat at Eboracum this was not just down to the crossing from Germania which had been rougher than the seas in the Mare Nostrum. The main reason was it had been many years since he had left the shores of Britannia. It smelled and felt very different even from Germania Inferior which he had just left and a world away from his villa at Surrentum. It was, somehow, greener. He couldn’t explain it. More importantly it felt like coming home. As he stepped from the bireme he regretted, not for the first time since he had left Rome, that he had not brought Hercules and his own ship, The Swan. It was somehow reassuring to have the old sea captain looking after him. He decided that he would send a message back to Ostia and have the old man bring the ship here. It struck the senator that travelling by ship would save much pain from the backs of saddles. He left instructions for his baggage to be sent to the fortress; his Imperial warrant ensured that there would be no thefts.
As he walked through the vicus he noted the changes in the old legionary fortress. The vicus was enormous and seemed to spread over a large area. The fortress itself now had dressed stone replacing the wooden palisade he remembered. The towers looked solid and, unlike Rome itself, bristled with ballistae and scorpions. This was a frontier fortress. The sentries were auxiliaries this time and he wondered when the Sixth legion would arrive. Hadrian had ordered it to leave Vetera but Julius was certain that the Emperor would wait until the province had settled down a little more before the reliable force was despatched to police yet another frontier. The sentries recognised the senatorial purple and, almost before he had flashed his warrant, had allowed him speedy entry.
The Prefect, Octavius Saturninus, had been expecting the Senator for a few days. He was wary of the politician for he knew him to be an intimate of the Emperor, a friend of the new Governor and, more importantly, he knew the area well having served as a cavalryman. He was unusually impressed when he met the man for the first time. He looked far younger than his real age and did not affect the mannerisms of a courtly man. His first words put the nervous Camp Prefect at his ease. “Sorry to have to put you out Camp Prefect. I know that having your own quarters is a perk of the posting and I promise I won’t be a nuisance for too long; when the Governor returns I shall head north to Coriosopitum.”
Octavius was taken aback, how did this newly arrived visitor know that the Governor was inspecting the frontier? Julius saw his look and smiled. “I am no magician Prefect. The Emperor told me that the Governor would not be in residence for our task is not in Eboracum but north where we intend to build some limes.”
The Prefect sighed with relief. “And about time too sir. We have had too many raids in the past few years and not just from the north but across the sea.”
Julius leaned forward. “I had not heard that report. Whence do these raiders come?”
“From the icy lands north of Germania. They have fast boats and they raid for slaves and booty. The fleet is too thinly spread to stop them. You may not have heard because the last Governor thought it merely an inconvenience.”
Bradua again! “You did not share his views I take it?”
The Prefect was a military man and not a politician but he felt, instinctively, that he was speaking to another man with
a strategic brain. “The raids made the people worried and that means less productive. Also we had to react to the raids ….”
“But you would have had men closer to the coast to prevent them?”
“Just so.” The Prefect was right Julius Demetrius knew his stuff.
“The Ala we despatched is it still based at Morbium?”
“No the Decurion Princeps moved it to Coriosopitum to be closer to the Votadini and Selgovae.” He looked keenly at the Legate. “You know him I believe?”
Julius smiled at the diplomatically phrased question. The real question was, ’is this one of your favourites?’ “Lucius is a good friend and I served with him but, to put your mind at rest, I have no self interest in the officer. He is to be promoted to Prefect rather than appointing one from Rome.”
“That makes a change; a sensible appointment.” Realising that he might have spoken out of turn he blushed and held up his hand. “Sorry sir, that just came out.”
“Don’t worry about it Prefect. You will soon learn that I did not take to politics and duplicity. I still prefer those who speak the truth and their mind. And now…” He stood and spread his hands, “I assume there are quarters for me?”
Relieved the Prefect stood, “With the Governor still on his travels his quarters are available.”
“Excellent. Lead on.”
******
Governor Falco was impressed with his frontier troops. He had been worried about the lack of a legion this close to the frontier but, having spent a month travelling the Stanegate, he knew that the auxiliary soldiers based there were sound troops who were well led. He was worried about the strength of the opposition to Roman rule. In Moesia, where he had been governor, and in Rome where he had received his orders, he had been led to believe that Britannia was a conquered province and people. He now knew that to be false. He could not understand why a succession of Emperors had taken away good legions to fight abroad. Had the province been peaceful there may have been a reason but he was under no illusions, this was a war zone. He looked at the officer next to him, Decurion Princeps Livius Lucullus Sallustius. He had been told of the man’s exploits before he arrived, the way he had thwarted an invasion, his time as an Explorate, his adventures in Aquitania and a vague rumour about Capreae and the Emperor Hadrian but nothing had prepared him for the modesty of the man. He had waved away the compliments for his exploits and pointed out that it was the ala and their officers which deserved the credit.