Brigantia

XVI

THE WEATHER WAS good for the first week, crisp in the mornings and overnight, and bright and clear in the daytime. They took the north-west road, following the same route as the legate and his cavalry, whose passage was marked by more piles of horse dung than was usual from trade. Before they caught up, Crispinus ordered them to leave the main road and follow farm tracks heading westwards over the rolling hills. It was a well-trodden route, the going good after a dry summer, and if the tribune wished to avoid the legate then that was his business.

They went quickly, sometimes riding, sometimes leading the horses, past tilled fields, cattle fat from summer grass, and plenty of farms, almost all the buildings rectangular and built in Roman style, whether of timber or stone. Large posts stood at the boundaries of clan lands and larger ones at the edge of tribal territory, each bearing a carved Latin inscription of ownership. This was good land, territory of the Atrebates, a people who had thrived as part of the province. It was hard to see any hint of brooding rebellion, and the farmers and their families were friendly, welcoming them with food and drink when they camped near their houses.

On the second day, Ferox saw the riders following them, mere spots in the distance, keeping more than a mile back, and sometimes all he saw was a little plume of dust from the hoofs. Yet they were always there, and the same was true the next day. By then Vindex had spotted them, and showed it by a quick glance at Ferox, who shook his head as a sign that he was to say nothing yet. Longinus must have noticed, for he hung back behind the column and stared for a long time, hand cupped over his one eye to shield it. Ferox doubted he saw anything, but it did not take great imagination to guess what they had been looking at. That night they were given shelter at a villa owned by a local chieftain, a man clearly eager to prove how Roman he was, and thrilled beyond measure to have a senator’s son as his guest.

The morning brought thick fog, and if their host had not obliged them by acting as guide they might well have got lost, for it did not lift until noon. Ferox saw no sign of pursuers that day or the one after, and the fog returned for the next few days. More than once they got lost, even when guided by locals, and spent a lot of time travelling in circles, until they came to a river and followed it. The nights were damp now, and they were glad of their tents, and gladder still when they were offered shelter indoors. They had reached the lands of the Dobuni, the dreaming folk, who seemed part of the land itself. In the old days the Silures had often raided them, for the Dobuni were never renowned as warriors, although stubborn and brave enough, and the Lord of the Hills used to joke that they were his herd to do with as he wished. Some of them still dwelt in round houses, although the bigger farms and barns were after the Roman fashion. Carved figures, vaguely human in shape, stood as markers, and at times Ferox felt that he could have been in northern Gaul.

‘We’re not taking you home,’ Crispinus announced. ‘Not this time.’ They were only a few days’ ride from the borders of the Silures. Ferox was relieved. He was no longer sure that it was his home. There would certainly be no welcome for him, and he could expect only malice from his cousins, however much Acco had dismissed them. They had supplanted him and would never trust him because of it. Besides, it was surely better to keep the memories of childhood and not sour them by seeing places now.

Before they reached Corinium they went north, and the weather turned dull and cold, with a sharp wind. As they had gone further and further west the trees they passed had browner leaves, and now their horses’ feet crunched through mounds of fallen leaves. Crispinus continued to avoid garrisons and towns, but had plenty of coin to buy provisions from the farms. Some of the locals were not keen, for people in these parts had less need of silver or bronze than elsewhere, but the presence of armed men and the obvious importance of the tribune usually tipped the balance. One of the ponies had gone lame, an injury that ought to heal well enough in time, and they bartered him for beer, bread and strips of salted beef.

The pursuers had caught up with them, for the trail was not a hard one to follow. They came a bit closer now, so that a few times Ferox glimpsed them. They were both hooded and cloaked, riding greys. Later in the day he saw a blur, much further away, like a shadow on the hills, though moving against the wind, of several dozen horsemen at least. Otherwise they mostly saw shepherds leading their flocks down from the high pastures, and drovers with herds, many of the animals destined for slaughter to feed the tribe through the winter months.

Drizzle grew stronger and turned into driving rain as they reached the lands of the Cornovii, and the bad weather persisted day after day. Some of the Batavians muttered when Crispinus told them that they were not stopping at Viroconium. Longinus’ face was expressionless, although later that evening he followed Ferox when he left the camp and wandered down near the stream. Each man carried a dolabra and after making a suitable hole in the ground they lowered their trousers and squatted. Ferox smiled at the thought that it was just like being in a fort, until the sour memory of the filthy corpse at Vindolanda came to mind.

‘You reckon he knows?’ the one-eyed veteran asked.

The rain meant Ferox had not seen any of their pursuers for days, but he guessed what Longinus meant. ‘Hasn’t said anything, and you know how he talks. Maybe he’s guessed?’

‘So either he isn’t surprised, isn’t worried, or reckons he can keep ahead.’

‘Aye, that’s how I see it.’

‘The ones behind are cavalry, no doubt about it.’ Longinus sensed some surprise at his tone of certainty. ‘I may only have one eye, but I can see straight. It’s the way they move. Army or close enough. Not sure about the others. Our lad Arcanus isn’t the brightest and not one to speak out of turn to a nobleman, but he’s spotted them and bound to say something soon.’ Arcanus was the duplicarius or ‘double-pay’ soldier in charge of the detachment of Batavians. He was neat, reasonably efficient and obligingly willing to obey any command. Other than that, he was not a man to be noticed in a crowd. From the start Ferox had wondered why they did not have a decurion in charge. Still, with the flap on and the legate charging off to Verulamium, there may not have been any available. That was the straightforward answer and he suspected it was wrong.

Longinus whistled softly, one of those army songs as old as the legions, and for a while this was the only sound. ‘Reckon a couple of us could hang back and scrag them?’ the veteran said at last.

‘Reckon I could.’

‘Are you going to?’

‘I’m a prisoner. It’s not up to me.’ Ferox finished and picked up some of the leaves he had gathered.

‘You didn’t kill him, though, did you?’

Ferox said nothing.

‘Little shit deserved it.’ He glanced around to make sure they were alone. ‘She told you about the trouble he was causing her. Did she say what he wanted?’

Ferox shrugged. ‘Money, I guess.’

‘Oh, that, yes, he did, but he wanted more.’ The one eye was hard as flint. ‘What else does a man want from a woman? He wanted to take it soon, but wanted to enjoy her fear and hate first.’

Ferox froze as he was fastening his belt. For a while he stared at nothing. His hands clenched until the knuckles went white. ‘Wish I had killed him,’ he said softly.

‘Well, someone beat you to it. If he was trying it on with her there were probably others. That’s the way I see it. One of them got to him. Thetatus.’ Longinus drew a finger across his throat. Army clerks when they updated a unit’s rolls marked the names of dead men with the letter theta. It was not long before soldiers turned that into a slang word for died.

They heard Crispinus calling for Ferox. ‘Better go.’

‘Aye.’ Longinus grunted as he stood up and shook his head. ‘I’m too old to be living like this. Maybe too old for living. What was it Caesar said, “I have lived long enough for either nature or glory”? These days I know how he felt.’

‘Better than being dead.’

‘Maybe. Sometimes it feels more like punishment.’ The veteran grinned. ‘If it is then I’d better commit some more crimes to make it worthwhile.’

‘You could always start another rebellion.’

‘Nah, done that before, my lad. No future in it.’ He finished cleaning himself and hitched up his trousers. ‘And by the sound of things they don’t need me. Perhaps I’ll just look for whichever god keeps raining on us and try and kill him.’

Crispinus shouted again, the voice a bit nearer. ‘I’d better see what he wants,’ Ferox said as he swilled his hands in the brook. The tribune appeared, trailing the duplicarius.

‘Ah, there you are. Been looking for you. Carry on, trooper.’ Longinus was holding his dolabra and still had filthy leaves in the other hand, so he gave the tribune a respectful nod. ‘You too, Arcanus.’ The duplicarius was lean for a Batavian, although far taller than the diminutive tribune. ‘Back to camp and tell everyone we will set out two hours before dawn.’

‘Sir.’ There was great no enthusiasm in Arcanus’ voice.

Longinus washed his hands and then sauntered back to camp.

‘Cerialis thinks very highly of that man,’ the tribune said once they were out of earshot. ‘And we know he can fight, but I do wonder whether he was the right choice for a journey like this. There’s something about him that isn’t right. Oh well, no matter.’ Ferox doubted that the young aristocrat knew who the one-eyed trooper really was, although it was hard to be sure. ‘The duplicarius strikes me as steady enough, and wholly lacking in imagination, so eminently suitable for the task at hand. But it does make me think that he may be right in his belief that we are being followed. That would not surprise me, and since you appear unmoved, I am guessing that he is right.’

Ferox told the tribune what he had seen.

‘And it did not occur to you to say something, centurion?’

‘Sir?’

‘Never mind. You are not sure whether the pair of riders scout for the others?’

‘Do you wish me to find out, my lord?’

Crispinus sniffed. ‘Not yet. We shall hope to lose them in the mountains.’

‘Mountains, my lord? I understood we were heading for Mediolanum and then Deva.’

‘No longer. If Acco is on our trail then we must make haste. You shall find us a route through the mountains as straight as you can. It’s only the third day after the Kalends of October, so we should not have much trouble with the weather. I have great faith in your skills as tracker and guide and we can seek help from the locals.’

‘The Ordovices?’ Ferox tried and failed to keep the contempt from his voice. ‘They are not generous folk or trustworthy.’

Crispinus was dismissive. ‘Agricola taught them a hard lesson and they have not made much trouble since then. It is the fastest and most stealthy route. If we can reach Segontium before anyone knows where we are going then I’ll be much happier.’

‘I’m sure Acco will be pleased once he realises we are going this way.’ Ferox hesitated for a moment before he added, ‘My lord.’

‘Captivity has made you even more surly, Flavius Ferox. My hope is that he will not realise until it is too late. While we might get help in a town or from Legio XX at Deva, we might get delays as well, and gossip. At the moment it is hard to know who to trust, so I shall rely on my own wits – and your skill and knowledge as well. This is my decision.’

‘I’m sure that will be a great consolation if the Ordovices cut off our balls, my lord.’

For an instant Crispinus’ eyes flashed with anger before the charming, impassive face of the politician reasserted itself. ‘Carry on, centurion.’

‘Sir.’

They turned north west, riding over hills and through valleys of thick woodland that at least gave some shelter from the driving rain. Late in the next day they passed one of the Cornovii’s boundary markers. Half a mile on stood another post, carved with a fat body and round head and obviously, even abundantly, male.

Gannascus’ booming laughter echoed around the dell.

‘The symbol of the Ordovices,’ Longinus said when the German finally stopped.

Ferox shook his head. ‘They are a little people, braggards who lie about everything, break their oaths and are foul of habits and speech.’

‘Sound a lot like much of the Senate,’ Crispinus said happily, and ordered a halt. They camped next to the marker, and inevitably someone hung a helmet on the wooden phallus. Ferox insisted that they post four sentries, relieved every two hours, and ignored the groan as the order was conveyed. Up until now they had made do with just two, so that most of them had an undisturbed night at least every other day. Crispinus looked as if he was about to countermand the order and then nodded.

As if to show their blessing of the tribune’s choice, the next day the sun rose bright and they made good progress towards the mountains. Longinus acted as guide.

‘Spent two years here, back in the days of Frontinus and then with Agricola,’ he explained. ‘Hasn’t changed much in twenty years.’

Crispinus frowned when the veteran made this announcement, but since asking why the man had not mentioned this before had invited an unhelpful response, he smiled broadly, clapping the old soldier on the back. ‘Splendid.’

For a few days Ferox did not spot their pursuers. Now and again warriors stood on the high ground and watched them. They passed only one farm built in Roman fashion, and everyone else lived in round houses, small even by the standards of Ferox’s region and the other lands to the north. As they climbed higher there were fewer farmsteads. Then Longinus began leading them along valley floors and there were more people living in these. Twice chieftains came to greet the strangers. Neither were important men, the first accompanied by four warriors, and the second by just two. Only the chieftains had swords, just one wore a battered bronze helmet and neither they nor their warriors wore any other armour. At Ferox’s prompting, Crispinus presented each chief with a gift of one of the light javelins the Batavians carried in a long quiver suspended from the right rear horn of the saddle.

The tribune had been doubtful at first. ‘If your fears are right, won’t we need every weapon we can muster?’

‘If my fears are right, my lord, it really won’t matter.’

The gifts were accepted with grunted thanks, the closest the Ordovices ever came to cheering. Ferox hoped that he looked just like any other Roman centurion, for he had little doubt that the folk here would remember the Lord of the Hills and have no love for his kin. Even so he caught the chieftains staring at him closely and could not make up his mind whether they gave as much attention to the rest of the party. Gannascus was hard not to notice, for the Ordovices were small and slight, and although their hair was often fair or reddish it was usually smeared with mud to make it spiky or simply so filthy that it seemed the colour of the dark earth. They stared up at the tall Batavians, and were in awe of the German giant. Ferox noticed Cocceius watching the warriors with that mixture of fear and longing for battle so common in young soldiers. He hoped the boy’s curiosity would not be satisfied, at least until they were through the mountains. For all his contempt for the Ordovices, he knew that they were fierce enough in their way, and could easily massacre a party as small as this.

There was a reminder the next day, when Longinus reined in as they came to a ford across the stream bubbling along the bottom of a valley. ‘This is where the last of ala Indiana died,’ he said, solemnly. ‘There were nearly two hundred of them when they started, maybe ten miles that way.’ He pointed in the direction they were heading towards high peaks on either side of an ever-narrowing vale. ‘The prefect was hit in the face with a sling stone early on. The Gauls tried to carry him, and got him halfway here, but were losing horses and men every few paces. And if a man lost his horse, thetatus. Must have been thousands of warriors, nibbling away. They’d flee at each charge, but this is not cavalry country, and they always came back, throwing javelins, slinging stones, in some places just rolling boulders down from the heights. We found about twenty bodies on the far side of the stream. They were the ones who had kept together. None had horses by this time, and there had been fifty troopers when they started marching in an orb from that hillock over yonder. The rest of the Gauls didn’t make it. Maybe they were too tired to go on, maybe the stream was too high with winter rain, but they stopped and they died here. We found the bodies a week later. These ones by the stream were the only ones the Ordovices hadn’t mutilated. Even left them their heads and just stripped them naked and left them near enough where they had fallen.’

Crispinus curled his lip up at the corner. ‘A cheerful story, and no doubt an inspirational reminder of discipline and loyalty.’

‘Begging your pardon, my lord, it’s a reminder of what happens when a bastard procurator gets too greedy and ramps up the levy from a tribe for no reason. He wasn’t here, was he? Course he wasn’t. Fat bugger was a hundred miles away in Deva, surrounded by walls and half a legion. Useless prick. Fine to order other poor sods to do the dirty work and die.’ Ferox noticed that Longinus spoke more like an old sweat than usual and wondered whether he was determined the tribune should never guess at his past as an eques and prefect of auxilia, let alone as leader of the Batavian revolt.

Arcanus nodded. ‘Procurators, I’ve shit ’em,’ he muttered, and then realised that he was beside a senior officer. ‘Sorry, sir, didn’t mean anything.’

Crispinus smiled. ‘Well, the past is the past. Agricola avenged them all – with your help, Longinus.’

‘Aye, my lord. A lot of them died for what happened here. Some more of our lads too, to get it done. And all because one man got greedy.’

‘They make a desolation and call it peace.’ Crispinus intoned the words as if they were a quote, although it was not one Ferox recognised. ‘The consularis Publius Cornelius Tacitus has lately written a book about his father-in-law.’ Seeing Ferox’s blank expression, the tribune explained. ‘Agricola himself. You should keep a closer eye on the breeding arrangements of the senatorial class, you really should. Anyway he gives those words to Calgacus, commander of the Caledonii at Mons Graupius.’

‘We killed a lot there as well,’ Longinus said in a low voice.

‘Indeed you did, most gallantly, and in loyal service to the empire.’ Crispinus kept his tone flat. ‘Well, let us hope we can get on for the moment without any more killing or making desolations.’

At noon the next day they reached the top of a high pass. It had taken hours to climb the slope, in the end leading the horses and ponies by hand and going single file, Ferox, Vindex and Longinus finding the best path. They rested and ate a little at the top. Ahead and behind the views were magnificent, a few clouds in the blue sky casting shadows over the grey and purple mountains. Down in the valley behind Ferox spotted two tiny white-grey dots. Some way behind, at the very edge of vision, he half saw, half sensed the bigger group.