Brigantia

XI

THE MORNING PASSED slowly, sitting on an uncomfortable stool in the archives, his sides, arms and back aching, sifting through the tablets brought by the clerk, who was enjoying himself.

‘Thought you might like these,’ he would say, ‘once you have finished with that lot.’ Soon there were stacks of tablets neatly laid out on and underneath the table, awaiting his attention. Ferox ploughed on, hour after hour, and saw nothing out of the ordinary. It was amazing just how dull reports written weeks or even days either side of battles and other great moments often were. That was the army for you, and sometimes he wondered whether its real purpose was to create these mountains of records, a task occasionally interrupted by having to fight someone.

By noon he was hungry. An hour later he was hungry, in some pain and fed up. Then he saw a simple entry in a strength return which the overeager exactus had brought him after a foolish comment about that being the last place to look.

escort to Prasto 28 including 2 centurions

He glanced at the top of the page. This was an entry in the return for Cohors IV Batavorum on the Ides of August in the consulship of Nero and Cossus Cornelius Lentulus. It was an odd thought that only in military archives did no one bother to erase the name of an emperor whose memory had been formally damned by the Senate. The army needed to keep its records straight and clear, politics or no politics.

Prasto? He had seen the name before, noted it as odd, but passed on without thinking any more about it. It was Celtic, and likely enough he was a Briton, but that was too early for Britons to be serving in the army, especially in a rank that warranted an escort. Two centurions was a lot for so few soldiers, but twenty-eight was more than most of the procurator’s staff or other officials would get.

Ferox realised that he was drumming his fingers on the table. He had heard the name before somewhere. It was not common. Then he remembered a boy a few years older than him at his grandfather’s dun all those years ago. A lean, fair-haired youth taken as a captive on a raid and raised as one of their own. He never quite fitted in among the dark Silures, but was always willing to follow someone else’s lead and beat up anyone who was smaller. In one of his visits, Acco the druid had dubbed the lad Prasto and the name had stuck. His grandfather used to make a sign to ward off evil whenever he heard the name spoken, but Acco was Acco, even then when he could not really have been so ancient. He had heard whispers, no more, about a druid who had aided the Romans.

‘Fetch me back the returns for ala Petriana for the same year,’ he said to the exactus. ‘And of all the Thracian cohortes equitatae for the consulship of Novius Priscus and Commodus.’ The clerk limped away, a happy expression on his face as he carried tablets to re-shelve and went in search of more.

Ferox was close to giving up when he found another mention of Prasto, this time given twenty horsemen from an ala as escort. After a while he found the name again, in the first year of Agricola’s term as legate, when he fought the Ordovices and crossed to Mona. A Prasto was there, guarded by a decurion from a mixed cohort and seventeen troopers.

‘Have you a fresh tablet?’ he asked the clerk. Surprisingly in this building packed with documents, a blank writing tablet took a while to be found, and Ferox was toying with the idea of warming his stylus and melting the wax on the book he was using to make notes. Just then the clerk returned, with a folding page, slightly battered on the edge, but good enough. Ferox wrote a note to Ovidius, explaining what he had found and asking him to search in the reports of Suetonius Paulinus and Agricola for mentions of a Prasto, perhaps a renegade druid. Slipping the exactus the price of another few drinks for carrying this to the old man, Ferox got up. If he did not hurry now he would be late.

It took a while to get anywhere in Londinium, at least in the daytime. In Rome there were more people, ten or even twenty times more, but the main streets were wider and there were more restrictions on where stallholders could set up. Today was a market day, even busier than usual, as some of the harvests had only just come in. The stalls overflowed with vegetables, sacks of grain, and cages with poultry squawking or hares staring round-eyed through the bars. The larger livestock were in pens, and he avoided the streets behind the basilica where they were being auctioned, but the signs of their passage were everywhere, the earth of the alleys and side streets churned up into clinging mud, and great piles of dung even on the main roads. Today, Londinium smelled like a farmyard, and he wondered if that would make Vindex feel more at home. The scout kept complaining about the reek of the town, so Ferox had told him and the others that he would take them all to a bath-house later today. Much to his surprise, they had agreed.

The exactus had told him about a short cut through the courtyard of the basilica, and Ferox found it, for the moment leaving behind the shouts of the market traders and replacing them with the shouts of petitioners and the grander merchants, yelling at each other. He had never fully understood how commerce functioned, but it clearly required a lot of shouting regardless of the scale. Up on his tribunal, under a canopy in case the weather turned poor, he saw a stone-faced Neratius Marcellus, sitting on his chair of office, listening to a tall, lanky man making a speech. No doubt he was asking for some favour or other, and had dressed up in a toga for the occasion, although he was clearly unfamiliar with the garment because twice it slipped off his left arm.

Ferox went through an arch into one of the halls, then out towards the main entrance. In the shadows by the gate he saw the short red hair of Arviragus, talking to a tubby figure in a dark tunic and Greek cloak. As he passed he recognised Vegetus, the freedman whose cart had been attacked by Rufus and the others what seemed like an age ago in another land. A big slave cleared a path through the crowd, and he glimpsed the stocky figure of the procurator joining the two men.

The house was on one of the hills, some way back from the river. There was more space up here, where the air was a little clearer, and the houses were big and surrounded by substantial, well, groomed gardens, some containing big trees whose leaves were just beginning to turn brown. Ferox was trying to get more sense of the layout of the town, so took a route he had not used before and soon got lost. Streets that appeared straight never quite seemed to lead where he expected, and so many of the buildings looked alike. There was less noise here, and the roads less muddied by wheels and hoofs, but the belief that if he kept climbing he was going in the wrong direction soon proved false when he reached the top of the wrong hill, occupied by a few workshops and some larger fields and open spaces. He gave up and asked the way, and ten minutes later was in the right place.

A slave he did not know answered his knocking, but as he was led into the house he saw a maid he knew, and as he was led through into an inner garden heard the familiar raised voices of the children at play. When excited, young Brocchus had a shriek as shrill as any girl’s, while Cerialis’ oldest son was given to loud howls of uncontrollable laughter. They were playing catch, dropping more than they took, the younger ones bustling around their feet, and they all sent up a delighted cry when they saw Ferox, and then threw the ball at him. He caught it, pretended that the force sent him staggering back and spun around before finally slumping to the ground. In a moment the children were battling each other to climb all over him. His bruises and broken ribs complained, but Ferox did not really mind.

‘You are a bad influence, Flavius Ferox,’ Sulpicia Lepidina said.

‘Atrocious,’ Claudia Severa agreed, looking up a moment from her knitting. The two friends sat in high-backed chairs. In front of them, Marcus rolled and gurgled to himself on a spread blanket.

‘Men are just children at heart,’ Claudia Enica declared. She sat a little apart, under a parasol held by a slave, even though that side of the garden was shaded by the buildings. She was carding wool, working with two boards, but not putting in enough effort to achieve very much. Once again she was in silk, this time coloured sea green, and matching stockings showed through the patterned tops of her shoes.

‘Of course they are, my dear,’ Sulpicia Lepidina explained, ‘that is why we let them have their politics and their wars to keep them amused, while we get on with the important things in life.’

Enica struggled to free the carding combs, which had become stuck fast. ‘That does not sound very fair,’ she said, pressing her teeth against her lower lip as she tried to pull them apart.

‘It isn’t, dear.’ The other Claudia spoke in a stage whisper. ‘So we have to be careful not to let them know.’

The red-headed Brigantian chattered away, frowning as she battled with the wooden combs. Ferox did not really listen, for it was talk of clothes and colours and jewellery, subjects on which he had few opinions. Apart from that, the children were trying to roll him across the grass, and he pretended to resist, while helping them in their task. While they drew back and gathered their forces, he undid the clasp on his belt so that in the next roll it came free and he left it and his weapons behind. Much to his surprise, it was obvious that the friendship between the three women was genuine, however unlikely. Sulpicia Lepidina had a sharp, incisive mind, and if Claudia Severa was not the brightest, she was nobody’s fool, and yet they chuckled and smiled at the rapid flow of trivial conversation pouring from their companion.

‘Away from the water!’ Claudia Severa barked the command as forcefully as any centurion, and Ferox realised that he was getting close to the edge of a sunken pond. ‘You have all got soaked once already today, and that is quite enough. Leave our guest alone.’

‘Yes, the poor fellow was attacked by a lion yesterday,’ Sulpicia Lepidina said. ‘We don’t want you finishing him off! Now help him up.’

Ferox wondered how she had heard about that, and guessed that Crispinus had called. The children took his arms and he started to sit up and then roared like a lion and pulled them down onto him again amid plenty of giggling and shrieks of delight.

‘You really are worse than they are.’ Sulpicia Lepidina had walked to stand over him, arms on her hips as she smiled down at them. She was in pale blue, a colour she often wore, and with her golden hair she was like the serene statue of a goddess. His fevered dream flashed into his mind, and part of him wanted to pull her down as well. Instead he eased the children off and sat up.

‘I try my best, lady.’ Little Flavia was sticking her tongue out at him. He cupped his hands around his mouth and roared again.

Enica was shaking her head. ‘And the emperor pays you a generous wage. Extraordinary.’

‘He does indeed, and it is worth every last coin.’ Claudia Severa came alongside her friend and grabbed the little girl by the arm. She grinned at Ferox. ‘Looks really can be deceiving.’

‘That’s true,’ the Brigantian allowed. ‘One of my tutors once said that I would grow up to be wise like a philosopher.’ She sniffed back a laugh. ‘Silly old fool.’

Sulpicia Lepidina had grabbed the smaller Flavius, but turned. ‘There’s still time, my dear, if you ever do grow up.’

‘Oh, I hope not!’

The mothers led the children away, asking Enica to watch the baby for a moment, and leaving a slave woman, waiting discreetly in the shadows in case there was need. ‘Perhaps you can take care of our guest for a few moments? We shall not be long, but these urchins need to be cleaned and prepared for their meal,’ Claudia Severa said.

Enica finally abandoned her combs and dropped them on the sleeping Achilles. He stirred, and when his mistress gave a flicking gesture with one hand he scampered away.

‘Well, centurion, how shall I take care of you?’ She stood, the silk dress shimmering with every movement. It was high necked, with short sleeves and although it hinted at the outlines of her figure, it was nowhere near as sheer as the dresses that had caused such a scandal in Nero’s day. Her hair was carefully arranged, if a little less ornately than when he had last seen her and apart from a pair of small earrings and a couple of rings she wore no other ornament.

‘Shall I dance?’ She walked past him towards the infant. ‘Or sing? You would be better off asking dear Lepidina in that case, for she has a true gift.’

‘Yes, my lady. I have had the honour of hearing the prefect’s wife play and sing.’

‘So what’s this about a lion? Does the army make a habit of battling with beasts? Or is this how you occupy your time when off duty? Oh, do not worry,’ she went on before he could answer. ‘I am sure you had good reason. The tribune said it was a lioness. Seems cruel to pick on a girl, and you such a big fellow.’ She frowned. ‘You know, you are not easily teased, prince of the Silures.’

‘I’m just a centurion, my lady. Haven’t seen my tribe for twenty years and probably won’t for another twenty. And as to teasing, I should say that you are doing a good job.’

‘Of course I am, for I am of the blood of Cartimandua – and what’s more, I am also a Roman lady so must occupy my time somehow or other. Have you met my brother?’

‘No, lady.’

‘He is even more of a Roman, as solemn as a Cato when he needs to be. Has served as a prefect of a cohort, as narrow-stripe tribune with a legion, and in the last few years has commanded the royal guard for our late father.’ She stooped down and scooped up little Marcus. The baby gave the briefest of protests at being disturbed, but then nestled contentedly against her. Enica was wearing less makeup this morning, although her lips were still rouged. She pursed them now, blowing noisy kisses to the baby and shaking her head from side to side.

Ferox stared at the son he could not acknowledge, longing to hold him, but not knowing any decent way to suggest it.

‘Huh, he’s a weight,’ Enica said. For the first time Ferox thought she looked both natural and happy, which made him wonder whether Ovidius was right and maybe this was another act. ‘Still, his father is a big man, a brave and handsome soldier, so we should not be surprised. I hear he resembles him a good deal.’

‘The prefect is a fine man,’ Ferox said, trying to judge whether or not she was hinting at the truth, for the baby had a mop of black hair just like his.

‘I have not had the pleasure of meeting him as yet.’ That seemed to settle the matter, until she went on. ‘Dear Lepidina has a picture, of course, and in that I am afraid I cannot see the likeness. Still, often art robs the life from someone’s face.’ Enica glanced at him just once, before gazing back down at the baby. She started to let him grab at her fingers. ‘Lepidina and Claudia both speak very highly of you, do you know that? Much of it is surprising, some rather hard to believe. Have you really saved Lepidina so many times and others too?’

‘They exaggerate, my lady. Perhaps a couple of times I have helped. Others were there as well.’

‘A modest hero? Well, that is something new indeed. Men usually brag about anything, and the boldest surely have something truly glorious to brag about. It would be like expecting me to be modest about my beauty and charm.’ Her eyes darted up to watch his reaction, her face briefly glaring in mock annoyance. ‘That was your signal to say something about the radiance of my beauty and how it must be praised at every opportunity! Hmmm. For a man who has spent time in Rome you lack many of the graces.’

‘I am merely a centurion, and was there for less than a year, training with the praetorians and the horse guards before I was sent to a legion. Before that I was four years in Lugdunum.’

‘Oh, that hole. It was such a joy to be taken from there to Rome. Still, the people were welcoming. I stayed with the Fulvii, do you know them?’ Before he could reply, the baby was beginning to nuzzle against her, lips starting to suck with enthusiasm. ‘Oh dear, I fear he wishes for something I am unable to give. Take him for a moment, while I fetch the nurse.’ The baby was thrust into his hands and he took him, amazed at his lightness. Marcus was still making earnest attempts to suckle, and Ferox gave him his finger and felt the surprisingly strong suction. His eyes started to prickle.

‘I will do my very best for him.’ The voice was soft, little more than a whisper. He had not noticed Sulpicia Lepidina return. ‘And so will Cerialis. He is a good man.’

‘Is he well?’ Ferox knew the child had had some bouts of sickness.

‘Strong as an ox, and greedy with it.’ She smiled and pressed his arm. Ferox felt he was in a dream as impossible as his encounter with the bathing goddess. Here he stood, under the afternoon sun, with his son in his arms and this beautiful, beloved woman beside him. Yet she was as unattainable as a goddess, even if she had been free, for a senator’s daughter might deign to wed an equestrian, but never someone of his lowly rank. What they had done put them both in danger, for the law was severe and the emperor known for his strictness in adhering to it.

The lady glanced quickly to make sure that the garden was empty. ‘I am sorry about what happened. It was not my doing.’ The words were so faint he could only just hear them. ‘But I do need your help. My brother is in trouble and may ruin us all. He is playing foolish games and has not even been discreet.’

‘You know you have only to ask.’

‘It may mean a death,’ she whispered, just as Enica and Claudia reappeared, the wet nurse following.

The Brigantian laughed to see him holding the child. ‘Be careful, he will drain you dry! And being a soldier no doubt your blood is more wine than anything else and we shall have a drunken infant on our hands!’

Ferox handed Marcus to the nurse, who had already removed a brooch so that one breast was exposed. He gave the slightest of nods, hoping that Sulpicia Lepidina would see and understand. Somehow the expectation that he would kill for her did not surprise him. All along he had known that their love was as absurd as it was impossible. She was not some slut of an aristocrat, of the type he had seen hanging around the training grounds in Rome, watching the guardsmen and foreign youths like him at the exercises, or drooling over the gladiators in their ludi. He thought that she loved him, but she was clarissima femina, her duty to her family greater than anything else in life. Probably she knew that her brother was a pompous halfwit, but he remained her brother and honour and family were everything. Now Ferox could be useful and she expected him to do her bidding. The price for loving a goddess was never cheap. For some reason he imagined what Vindex would say. ‘So I get to hump her and all I have to do is kill some poor bugger! Is there a queue?’ Ferox guessed that he would do what she asked, but for the moment all he could do was wait.

It was time to go, and he made his farewells and was forced to promise to pay another visit, tomorrow or the next day at the latest.

‘Yes, you absolutely must, my modest hero,’ Enica declared. ‘If you do not come then I shall send Achilles to hunt you down. He may be small, but he is implacable – and he can bite in some truly unpleasant places! Oh do not frown like that, dear Claudia, none of the children are in earshot and it was merely a jest. How do you know I was not talking about his knees anyway?’

‘Do not shock our guest,’ Claudia Severa said, trying her best not to smile.

‘I should feel a great sense of achievement if I managed to shock a centurion of the legions. Especially this one.’

Ferox gave a slight bow. As he left he saw Longinus and three other Batavians arrive, one of them Cocceius and all carrying packs and tools. The one-eyed veteran explained that they were planning to build a little fort and pitch a tent inside for the children.

‘Will it be to keep us out or keep them in?’ Ferox joked. He talked to them for a while, but was once again late, so he invited them to join the party going to the baths. The three soldiers were obviously enthusiastic.

‘We’ll see,’ the veteran said. ‘Work to do first.’

Ferox left and started off downhill towards the river. The streets were barely less crowded than earlier, and soon he was surrounded by bustle and noise, as people talked and yelled in half the languages of the empire. Almost at once, he sensed that he was being followed. He carried on, as if he had noticed nothing, hoping the pursuer would draw close. His cloak was tight around him again, and he kept his hand around the handle of the pugio, a handier weapon than the sword in such a crowd. Nothing happened, but once he turned suddenly and was sure he saw the face of the slave who had brought the message the night before. The man blinked, realised he had been seen and vanished into the crowd.

‘Alms for an old soldier.’ A man missing a leg and supporting himself on crutches stood in front of him. ‘Please, sir, for the sake of the aquila.’

Ferox gave the man a couple of coins. So many beggars claimed to be old soldiers and more than half were probably lying, but this man had the air of a former soldier about him.

‘Which legion?’

‘Hispana, sir. Fifteen years until I lost this.’

‘Good luck to you, legionary.’

‘Thank you, sir. Best fortune to you for your kindness.’

There was no sign of the scarred slave, and the press was too thick for there to be much hope of finding him. Ferox went on, soon reaching the streets nearer the quayside, where the scent of fish filled the air.

The others were waiting by the main bridge, as they had promised.

‘Time to introduce you to civilisation and cleanliness,’ he said.

Vindex rubbed his chin. ‘Are you sure this is a good idea?’