Red Queen, White Queen

by Henry Treece

  A young Captain made a step forward, his flushed face moved with emotion. ‘But, Prefect,’ he began, ‘we are Romans. We are…. ‘

  The Prefect stared him to silence.

  ‘You are an inexperienced puppy, sir,’ he said. ‘A puppy whose father I have known all my life, and who begged me to take you on for training as a Staff Officer. You will be silent when I speak.’

  The young Captain saluted and stepped back into the shadows, his head bowed.

  Suddenly the Prefect looked up at Gemellus and said, ‘Why do you think I am telling you this?’

  The Roman shrugged his shoulders and half-smiled.

  ‘I hardly dare try to answer your question, Prefect,’ he said, ‘for I have seen that you count as nothing even the opinions of your Tribunes.’

  For a moment it seemed that the Commanding Officer might flare up at the young Decurion’s words. But he controlled himself his tired muscles working in his grey face, and, putting the tips of his fingers together, he said, ‘I will tell you. A divine chance has been presented to me this day, just as it has been presented to you. On your part, you might have been flogged to death for brawling within the precincts of this fortress; on my part, I might have been left as hopeless tomorrow as I was yesterday. But the gods have seen to that; they have saved you from flogging and me from utter despair.’

  Gemellus gazed at the old man, uncomprehending. He would have spoken, to ask what the officer meant, but was waved to silence again.

  The Prefect said, ‘You are the son of my most trusted Centurion; so is this savage here, Duatha Ennius, the horseman. What chance was it that brought you together in my presence? The gods willed it, my friend. That is clear to me now. And why should I be so pleased? Because you are both warriors, men who will carry out the will of Rome when the need arises, trained soldiers. Within you both burns the flame of courage which your father once held; yet you are different men—one a true Roman, with a true Roman’s caution and ability for organisation and self-control; the other half a Celt, with all the speed, the sensitivity, even the madness, which such blood carries in it. Together, you might achieve great things—you might even put an end to this rebellion in the East.’

  Duatha looked up now in astonishment.

  ‘Two men against the tribes, sir?’ he said. ‘What could we do that the whole of the Second Legion could not do?’

  The Prefect began to shuffle the scrolls of parchment on his table.

  ‘Two men can often get where two thousand may not,’ he said. ‘The Legion cannot move from Glevum, partly because, if it did, the Western tribes would spill over the river and into our territory like flood-water, and partly because it would take us five weeks to be ready for such a campaign. We dare not move; we cannot move; yet if we did, spies would carry word of our preparations to the bloody queen, Boudicca, and we should be cut to shreds before we had marched ten miles. But two men could go tomorrow, tonight, even; and two men could go secretly, could hide in woods and march at night, without even the badger or the birds being any the wiser. Two men such as you, one who understands soldiering and one who knows the country and the people, who speaks the language…. Yes, two men could go—even four, if they were chosen rightly.’

  Gemellus said, ‘You want us to go to Boudicca, sir? What are we to do when we find her?’

  The Prefect said quietly, ‘Take a present from me, friend. Take her two presents.’

  And as the brothers gazed down at him in astonishment, the old man reached under his table and brought out a soft deerskin

  case. He unrolled it carefully, and then sat back as the two men gasped with amazement at the beauty which lay unfolded before them.

  Bright as the day they were forged, lay two daggers, their blades long and thin, engraved their length with curling arabesques, inlaid with gold, their points fine and wickedly sharp, their edges so keenly ground as almost to be invisible in the light of the flickering lamp. Gemellus gazed at the delicate red coral of the hilts, carved into the shape of a stag rising on his hind hooves—two knives for two brothers….

  The Prefect watched them carefully, like an old wolf lurking in the den which sickness prevented him from leaving, as his prey walked into the trap.

  ‘Take these two knives to the Queen, Boudicca,’ he said. ‘And leave them where she will not forget them. It would be a shame for two such beautiful things to be lost, would it not?’

  6: Orders from Two Sources

  In the little anteroom to the Prefect’s office, Gemellus and Duatha were allowed to sit, as a young Captain outlined the plans they had to follow.

  He was a naturally humorous man, thin in the face and scarred about the arms, as though he had seen some service in the ranks before being elected to his high office. Gemellus took to him without knowing why.

  As he spoke to them, this young Captain strolled about the little room like a caged wolf or a trapped lion.

  ‘You two are damned lucky,’ he said, smiling. ‘Mithras has smiled on you, I must say! I wish I were coming with you myself, confound it! But I have to stay with the old man in there; he trusts my judgment, for some reason or other, I can’t think why. All I’ve ever done is to get my legs crushed in a chariot charge!’

  Gemellus saw the seven gold medallions that jingled on the man’s breastplate, and he knew that the man was a veteran.

  The Captain went on, ‘This is the nicest punishment I’ve ever known, damn it! You, Roman, will get a Centurion’s wristband out of it; and you, Celt, will get a Captaincy of Horse— that is, if you do find her, and if you do plant those little bodkins where she can’t pull them out again!’

  He tapped the table with his scabbard to emphasise his words. ‘It won’t be easy,’ he said. ‘She moves among a crowd of dedicated warriors all the time. If you make a mistake, well, I cannot imagine that her warband will leave as much as would feed a fox-cub, of you both!’

  He paused for a moment and then said, ‘Perhaps it would be better to go back to the Prefect and say you had decided to accept the flogging?’

  Duatha rose from his stool and thumped the table. Papers fell to the floor, but he disregarded them.

  ‘By the Lord of Light,’ he said, ‘but no one shall flog me! I am a…’

  The Captain waved him down and said gently, ‘Yes, we all know you are a Prince. But just now, Duatha Ennius, you are a horseman in the Roman army. No doubt your noble blood will assist you when it comes to dealing with. another member of the Celtic aristocracy.’

  Duatha said sullenly, ‘Boudicca is a bitch. She slit my grandfather’s tongue because he brought an unwelcome message to her once. I would kill her as I would a snake, without pity.’

  The Captain strolled over to a cabinet in which many pieces of armour hung. He seemed to study these for awhile. Then he turned and spoke, just as gently, but with a strange bitterness in his voice.

  ‘That is why I would wish to come with you,’ he said. ‘She has just burned the veteran’s colony, near Camulodunum. A runner came in with the news while you two were still trying to let out each other’s guts. She and her thousands of savages have burned the place so that it might never have been. They have slaughtered all within the walls.’

  Gemellus half-rose, his dark eyes wide with disbelief.

  ‘But that was a sacred place, Captain,’ he said. ‘No one would dare. It would be like burning down Rome herself!’

  The Captain looked straight into the other’s eyes.

  ‘I shall never see Rome again, friend,’ he said, ‘I do not greatly care what happens to Rome. But I do care what happens to my own folk. My father was at Camulodunum, a pensioner, an old dog gone in the teeth after a lifetime serving under the Eagles. They settled him there in a little house with cherry trees in the garden, and he thought to eke out what was left of his life in peace. Boudicca first had his hands cut off for having been a Roman soldier. Then she had him flayed, for she said that an old wolf’s hide would be just the thing for a new hunting jacket she needed.
The runner who brought the news, a Celt like your brother here, heard those very words. He saw the whole thing happen. You understand now why I would come with you, if they would allow me?’

  Gemellus nodded. He thought of his own father and a wild bitterness overwhelmed him. ‘What are we to do, Captain?’ he asked at last, The soldier sat down wearily before them at the table and drew out a map. With his long, scarred finger he traced the I paths they should take to avoid ambush or recognition.

  ‘And so,’ he said, ‘in five days you must be here. She will have set up camp at that time, not far from the Ermine Street. No doubt she will have burned Verulamium and even Londinium in the meantime, but we cannot do anything about that, placed as we are. Then, on the night of the fifth day from now, at sunset, you will have delivered the daggers to the Queen. And when her encampment is in a state of confusion at the loss of the she-devil, you will make your way on to the Ermine Street, and wait while a detachment of the Ninth comes in to finish them off.’

  Gemellus said, ‘But the Ninth is at Lindum Colonia, many miles from Verulamium!’

  The Captain said, ‘The Legate of the Ninth is an old friend of my father’s. He will be there with five maniples and a shock force of horsemen. They will wipe out the Iceni, once their queen is dead, and then they will pick you two up and take you back with them to make your report. You will return to Glevum under safe escort as soon as you are fit to travel. I have sent word to the Legate of the Ninth to that effect already. The runner set out an hour ago.’

  Duatha said, ‘The Legate is a good man, I hear. Quintus Petillius Cerialis is his name. I have heard him spoken of well, Captain.’

  The Captain nodded. ‘He will avenge his old comrades, you may be sure, Duatha Ennius. Now you may go, to make ready.’

  The two men rose then and saluted.

  As they reached the door the Captain called after them, ‘Take two others with you. I suggest that you select them from your own Troop, Duatha Ennius. They must speak Celtic and be entirely trustworthy. You will know the men you can trust. See that they do not look like Romans. That is all. Tell them nothing about this, since they may have to be used as decoys, sacrifices to the main cause. If you bring them back here again — which I doubt—they will be given citizenship. But do not tell them that.’

  The two soldiers nodded and saluted. The Captain rose to his feet and extended his hand above his head.

  ‘Vale!’ he said. ‘May the Lord of Light protect you. And may you have luck!’

  Then he sat down at the table again and began to shuffle the maps about, as though the two men did not exist.

  Outside the door, in the long corridor, a young negro girl was waiting. Her eyes were hidden under heavy dark eyelids, which were lowered in respect. But the white teeth displayed by her broad grin showed that this respect was but a mockery.

  ‘Lord Roman,’ she whispered to Gemellus, ‘my mistress, the Lady Lavinia, has ordered me to wait here until your business with the Captain was finished. She awaits you in her room, she says. She says, too, that she expects you to obey her invitation to visit her. I speak the words of my mistress, Lord Roman’ Then the girl opened her heavy eyelids, so slightly, and glanced up at Gemellus.

  He thought that he had never seen so wicked a glance, no, not even from those girls of the streets who haunted the passage: ways where gladiators in training had to pass at night-time.

  7: Lavinia

  Gemellus turned to his half-brother, wondering, The Celt bowed to him sardonically and whispered, ‘I should go, if I were you, Lord Gemellus - for certainly if you play your cards correctly, you may come to be that—a Tribune I at the least. When you have finished what you may have to do there, I shall be waiting for you in the third cubicle of barrack room seven. Since we are on a mission together, it will be appropriate that we spend some time together, making arrangements for the morrow.’

  He paused for a second, and then he added the word, ‘Brother.’ Gemellus looked up at him, not knowing whether the Celt was speaking seriously or in jest. But the young Captain of Horse merely saluted, half-mockingly, turned on his heel, and strode down the narrow passageway.’

  The negro girl waited until Gemellus had watched the Celt out of sight, then she touched his sleeve gently.

  ‘Follow me, sir,’ she said. ‘The Lady Lavinia is waiting to talk to you. She does not like to be kept waiting too long.’

  At the far end of a long corridor there was a narrow door, painted in white and gold. The negro girl knocked quietly and then opened the door, standing aside to let the Roman soldier enter. When he had done so, she closed the door softly behind him. He heard the shuffling of her feet along the corridor.

  The room was spacious and square, its stone walls covered by hanging fabrics, woven in the gay colours and designs of the Eastern Empire. A gold-meshed cage of pretty birds stood at the far end of the room. The tiny creatures fluttered about in it, cheeping prettily and almost unceasingly. An incense-stand, carved from black marble, stood on the golden feet of a lion before a small alabaster altar dedicated to Mithras.

  In the exact centre of the room was a long couch, in the shape of a dragon, its head forming the head-rest, its tail coiled round to support the feet of its owner.

  Its owner half-lay, half-sat on the couch, engaged in studying a roll of papyrus. As Gemellus stood before her, she looked up slowly, her dark eyes narrowed, her black hair falling from its braid and covering her forehead.

  She put the papyrus behind the couch and held out her hand towards the soldier. He saw that it was a very narrow, fragile hand, tapered and olive-skinned. He bowed above the hand, in the customery manner, and then, standing stiffly to attention, waited for what the Lady Lavinia would say.

  She was a long while before she spoke. Gemellus felt almost as though he was standing on the parade ground, so searching were her eyes, along every inch of his body.

  And when she had looked him up and down, she rose from the silken couch and walked behind him, as silently as a cat. Though he could not see her, he sensed her every movement, for the perfume which she wore spoke as clearly as words to his heightened senses.

  And at last, when she had sat down again, she said softly, ‘The Decurion, Gemellus Ennius, late of Germany, late of the Imperial Guard, son of the Centurion Gemellus Ennius, half-brother to Duatha Ennius, the Celt, who sometimes calls himself Ambrosius!’

  Then she gazed up at him with narrowed eyes, smiling wickedly, so that he saw the tips of her white teeth between her slightly parted lips.

  Gemellus nodded, feeling very foolish, and said ‘Yes,’ in a voice which he did not recognise just then.

  The woman waited for a while, then she said, ‘You are a brave man to fight Duatha on your first day here, or on any day here. Duatha, your brother, has killed four men of Glevum, all of them Romans, since he took service with the Second. Did you know that?’

  Gemellus said, ‘I did not know, and I do not care, Lady. I would fight with a stallion if he offended me.’

  The Lady Lavinia smiled and clapped her hands together lightly. ‘But you are so quaint, soldier!’ she said. ‘It is a pleasure to have a quaint Imperial Guardsman here, after all these years of stolid peasants from Tuscany, out to earn a sweaty living, or those nancy-boy Tribunes, who only got their crowns because their fat old fathers knew my thin old father!’ Gemellus looked at her in mild shock. He had never heard a lady of the ruling-classes speak so before. But she did not seem to notice his surprise, and went on talking in her low, almost hoarse voice, using the most correct Roman pronunciation, and not the camp Latin that all the men spoke, ‘I have lived here, in this midden, for eight years, soldier. Think of that, eight years! And all because my mother died and my father could not bear the thought of me living with an Aunt in Lugdunum. He said that plague was prevalent there and that I should come and be with him here, in Britain, where the climate was bracing and the natives friendly. Yet all I have seen since I have been in Glevum are native women, big with
the bastards of Roman Legionaries, old men and women with eye-diseases, and young officers out for promotion, however they could get it.’

  She paused for a moment, looking wickedly into Gemellus’ eyes, and then repeated, ‘Yes, however they could get it!’

  Gemellus felt a little faint. This woman was so tiring, so intense after all the events of the day. He passed his hand over his eyes and said, ‘May I stand at ease, Lady?’

  Suddenly the face assumed the mask of gravitas which he had seen before, behind the stables when he was fighting Duatha. Her voice had that ivory masklike timbre too, when she spoke,

  ‘No, I think not, soldier. I find it nicer to talk to you while you are standing still, like a dead statue. If you moved, I should not want to talk to you freely. I should not even like you. As you are, you remind me a little of a Greek statue my Aunt had in her garden. Though, alas, it had lost its major attraction, for the village boys would throw stones at it, for its indecency, they said! We Romans are more broad-minded, are we not? Not like these silly, mutton-headed Celts, eh?’

  Gemellus looked down at his feet. ‘I do not know, lady,’ he said, swallowing.

  The room was silent then, except for the cheeping of the pretty birds in their golden cage.

  Then the Lady Lavinia said, ‘You do not like being teased, do you, Decurion?’

  Gemellus said, ‘It is not that, lady; I am tired, that is all. I have travelled far in the last days, and today, I have had almost as much as I can manage.’

  The Prefect’s daughter laughed, lightly and without effort.

  ‘But, you silly fellow,’ she said, ‘why then did you agree to go out and kill Boudicca? A tired man should not do a thing like that—it needs a whole man to deal with Boudicca! Haven’t you heard of her? She is big, like this, with breasts like pillows, and she has three men before breaking her fast on any morning….’