Brigantia

VII

LUCIUS SULPICIUS CRASSUS was a couple of inches shorter than Ferox, his hair the colour of fine gold, eyebrows almost pure white, and had a round, face that was handsome in a very Roman way. Ferox disliked him from the first instant, and found this sentiment growing with every moment, in spite of all his efforts.

‘Flavius Ferox is a gallant and gifted officer,’ Crassus’ sister explained, ‘and I may say he has more than once placed us in his debt at great risk to his own life.’ Sulpicia Lepidina seemed to glow and it was all Ferox could do not to keep staring at her or to reach out to hold her. Her blonde hair was piled high in the simple style she preferred, which only enhanced her beauty. She had pendant earrings, a large necklace and bracelets on each wrist, and a deep blue dress that in places showed the paler blue of her under-tunic. Claudia Severa was in bright red, had more jewellery – if tastefully not too much – and had her thick brown hair arranged in one of the complex styles dictated by fashion. She was an attractive woman, and Ferox had found her to be a decent person, but whenever she stood beside her friend she paled in comparison.

‘The centurion is a veteran on the frontier,’ Claudia Severa added. ‘One might say a legend in those parts.’ That was generous, although until a few years ago it was more his drinking that had been legendary. ‘And having been born among the tribes he speaks their language and understands the way they think. My husband says that many times his insights have avoided bloodshed.’

Crassus was unimpressed. ‘The sword is what matters,’ he declared. ‘In the end, it is all a barbarian can understand.’ He was just five years older than his sister, but was more heavily built, and might soon thicken out and become jowly. Apart from the colouring he had little in common with her. His expression was determined but dull, without any of the wit that sparkled in her gaze. Ferox was not sure whether the remark about barbarians extended to him, suspected that it did, but that the speaker did not consider him sufficiently important to be worth insulting with any vigour. Crassus’ eyes darted around, clearly seeking someone more useful to meet. As a senator, only the legate and Ovidius were his peers, and Crispinus and the two other broad-stripe tribunes were at an early stage of the same career. Therefore he hunted for people more worth his condescension, or who might be useful in the few years he would have to spend in this benighted province. Yet for the moment he must observe proprieties, and his sister was here, and had introduced him to these people. Each thought was obvious as it took shape.

‘Yes, my dear lady.’ Crassus leaned down to kiss Claudia Severa’s hand. ‘I am sure your husband is a noble fellow who keeps distasteful matters from his conversation whenever he basks in the brightness of your presence, but it will always be the sword. I for one am glad of it, and hope before long to lead my legion into battle, ideally with Aelius Brocchus and his horsemen covering our flanks! That will be a splendid day! Indeed it will, most splendid!’

‘You have a campaign planned, my lord?’ Ferox asked before he could stop himself. He saw the brief flash of annoyance in Sulpicia Lepidina’s eyes. Still, he thought that his tone was innocent enough. She glanced around the room, and used the motion to edge closer to his side.

Crassus did not take offence and merely laughed. ‘Ha, eager for the fray as well, are you? You’re not one of my lads, though, are you?’

‘Legio II Augusta, on detachment as regionarius.’

‘Oh, sick of dull routine, I suppose. Don’t blame you,’ he went on, making it clear he had paid little attention to the earlier conversation. ‘Well, we shall have to see. As for plans of campaign, I have only been in the province five days so give me time. I am sure we can scare up a little war somewhere.’

‘You have seen a lot of service, my lord?’ Ferox felt a sharp jab as Sulpicia Lepidina kicked him on the ankle.

‘What? Oh, this and that,’ the commander of VIIII Hispana said airily. ‘Like a war horse waiting for the trumpet!’

‘Well, brother, since trumpets are lacking, let me sound a call. Over there is Claudius Arviragus, likely to be the next king of the Brigantes. Since your legion is based among his people, it would do you no harm to meet him. Let me make the introduction. Please excuse us.’ The sister led her brother away like a mother hen towards the red-haired man Ferox had seen that morning leaving the praetorium. He had spotted him in the crowd, the fiery hair very distinctive, but had seen no sign of the woman who had been with him. The pair had looked so Roman that it was a surprise to realise that they were both presumably Brigantes, and from the royal line, descendents of Cartimandua herself. To his surprise he wished that he had gone with Sulpicia Lepidina and her brother.

Instead Ferox asked about Claudia Severa’s children, knowing this was always a welcome subject and because he was genuinely interested. ‘I suppose it is for the best, moving the families down here for the winter,’ she said after a while. ‘It can be harsh in the north and children fall sick so easily. Yet I miss my husband. I know that must sound silly when it has only been a month.’

‘I saw the prefect only days after you had gone, and it was obvious to all that he was missing you every moment of the day.’ He smiled. Gallantry did not come naturally, but he had real affection and respect for Brocchus and his wife. ‘I cannot blame him.’

Claudia Severa blushed and gave a smile, and for that moment looked truly beautiful. ‘Well, I can partly blame you for all this. You have him worried. All your talk of unrest among the tribes and Rome’s weakness. I believe a desire to put us safely out the way lies behind his and Cerialis’ plot to send us south.’

‘I had no idea. When I saw them we mostly spoke of the…’ Murder was probably not a fitting subject for a social gathering at the legate’s praetorium. ‘The unfortunate incident at Vindolanda,’ he finished rather lamely.

‘I have not shed any tears for that rogue. Someone who attacks my friends deserves no better.’ The bitterness was surprising, and instantly regretted. Before Ferox could react a voice interrupted.

‘Severa, my dear, it is good to see you. We Claudias must stick together after all.’ Smiling warmly, the red-headed woman came from behind him, stepped up to Claudia Severa and kissed her on both cheeks. ‘My name is Claudia, as you may have heard, although in my experience most men rarely listen to anything said by a woman; probably too complicated for their little minds. Claudia Enica to give it in full and avoid confusion with dear Severa here. Or you may prefer red Claudia and green Claudia if that is simpler for you.’ A sweeping gesture indicated her own sea-green dress and the other woman’s red. ‘Though perhaps there may be confusion given the shade of my hair. Not very Roman, is it, although I should guess the Domitii Ahenobarbi had the same affliction or distinction as you prefer. Not Nero, though, dare I mention him, even though he came from that line. Well, sir, if you are still confused, perhaps tall Claudia and short Claudia, or nice Claudia and Claudia with goddess-like beauty – my friend here of course, or should I dare you to choose like Paris? Or shall we stay with the mos mairum – our ancestors by adoption if not blood – and stay with Claudia Prima and Secunda?’

Claudia Severa was trying not to giggle. ‘Peace, my friend, you must give poor Ferox a chance.’

‘Why should I, Prima, my friend?’ she said, looking him up and down. ‘He does not appear frail.’

Ferox guessed that she was a year or two past twenty, and the hairstyle she had adopted was even more ornate than Claudia Severa’s with pearls dotted along the green ribbon arranging the coils of her hair and between some of the ringlets. She was quite tall, long boned like most of her tribe, with a slim face and surprisingly full-lipped mouth. More pearls were in her neat ears. Her eyes were pale, more green than brown, and they continued to inspect him. Her Latin carried no accent, and was precise and sophisticated even as the words galloped out. The dress was of shimmering silk, expensive, although modestly cut with a high neck and, like all the other ladies in the room, no sleeves. Her arms were fashionably white, although lacking the slight hint of plumpness considered perfect in a lady. A Greek sculptor would have wept with joy if he had carved limbs like that on the statue of a growing boy.

‘My lady, it is an honour to meet you.’

‘I shall not bother to deny the truth,’ she replied.

Claudia Severa chuckled, and then remembered where she was. ‘You are as mischievous as Cupid, my dear. So to restore decorum I shall formally introduce Flavius Ferox, centurio regionarius, and a friend of mine and of Brocchus, and dear Cerialis and his wife.’

‘I have heard of you,’ Enica said. ‘Still, it may be that the worst stories are not wholly true.’

‘They probably are,’ he said, and thought he saw delight in her eyes.

‘Ferox, yes, now it comes back to me. Your grandfather was Lord of the Hills, or whatever it is you Silures call your greatest chief.’

‘He was, my lady.’

‘And you do not have kings, only princes and chiefs.’

‘Something like that. Now we have Rome and peace, or so I am told.’

‘As have we all.’ Enica smiled. Her teeth were neat and very white against her rouged lips. She put her head slightly on one side as she looked at him. ‘You answer, but you do not ask? Is it then true that Silures simply take whatever they want, not bothering to ask first?’

‘We try our best, my lady.’

The legate’s chamberlain pounded his staff on the flagstone floor for silence and then announced that dinner was about to be served, inviting guests to take their places. There were three triclinia, three sets each of three couches laid in a U-shape, the open side to allow slaves to bring in successive platters. Ferox was unsurprised to find himself with the least prestigious. Arviragus was with Crassus, Sulpicia Lepidina, Ovidius, the three military tribunes and a squat figure he had learned was the procurator of the province. Enica and Claudia Severa were among decurions of Londinium, a number of prefects and a couple more women he did not know. The last group had a couple of senior centurions, neither inclined much to speak, and traders and other local worthies. The wife of one, an elderly lady with a vague expression, was convinced they had met before, and spent most of the meal trying to work out where.

‘Were you ever in Colonia Agrippiniensis?’

‘I fear not, my lady.’

‘Noricum, perhaps. We lived there for a couple of years.’

‘Afraid not.’

‘Was it here in Londinium, oh, a good thirty years ago it must be.’

‘I regret that I was but a child then, my lady.’

‘Of course, of course, my apologies, I meant no offence.’ Her husband, happy to be relieved of the responsibility of amusing his wife, conversed enthusiastically with another trader on the opposite couch.

Ferox listened politely, stole glances at Sulpicia Lepidina, and now and then at the red-haired Brigantian princess, since that presumably was what she must be. Once he looked to see that she was already watching him. She shook her head like a mother disappointed at a small boy surreptitiously dropping food he did not like.

The dinner ended, and Ferox wondered whether Vindex and Gannascus had got into trouble. He had said that it was fine for them to explore, but did wonder whether they were ready for a big town. Or indeed whether Londinium was ready for them. He hoped that he would not have to go looking for them.

Near the end a slave slipped him a small roll of papyrus, tied tight and sealed with unmarked wax. As servants fussed to bring cloaks and the company prepared to leave, for just a moment Sulpicia Lepidina caught his eye.

To his relief, all of his companions were back at the house, smelling strongly of beer and already snoring away. By the light of a lamp he opened the letter.