Brigantia

XX

SEGONTIUM WAS MUCH like Vindolanda and the many forts dotted around the provinces, so familiar that any slight differences were oddly jarring. Built to house a cohors milliaria of some eight hundred men, there were barely half that number there at the moment, even though winter was approaching and many detachments had returned to barracks. They had missed the prefect by only a few days, for he had left to take up a post as narrow-stripe tribune with a legion in Syria, and his replacement had not yet arrived. The senior centurion in charge was welcoming, especially after he had read the letters Crispinus carried signed by the legate himself, although the news he passed on was bad. Neratius Marcellus had crushed a group of several hundred bandits near Verulamium, but had been wounded. The centurion did not know how badly. He had heard rumours of banditry and rebellion among several tribes, although so far the Ordovices and Deceangli were quiet enough.

The garrison maintained several boats, big enough to carry a dozen men and fitted with oars and a sail, and the centurion was willing to put one at their disposal if it would be useful. The main group would need to use the ferry or swim their horses across the straits.

‘It’s a little late in the year,’ the centurion conceded, ‘and there won’t be many more cattle coming across that way until next spring, but you should be all right. Batavians know what they’re doing on water, don’t they?’

Arviragus and Crispinus decided on the ferry and Ferox was glad. His own mount was tired after weeks of travel, and as he looked across at the far shore it seemed a long way. Yet to his surprise the island appeared innocuous enough from this distance, although he could not see a single house. Somehow he had expected mist and sinister shadows, and instead there was sunshine, which was warm as long as you were sheltered from the gusty wind.

The ferry was shallow-bottomed, rowed by four big sweeps on either side and steered by a rudder. Half a dozen men and horses could squeeze onto it, so the crossing would take a long time, especially as the current tended to take them over to the right, and it was hard work to bring it back to the jetty on the return trip. Yet the soldiers operating it were cheerful for this was a break from routine and the unit’s tradition meant that they would be given a pass to stay out in the vicus as long as they returned when the fort gates opened at dawn. Until then they were free to drink, gamble, whore, or do whatever they liked away from their officers. The same applied to the soldiers in the boat, who shadowed the ferry in case of accidents, although they would have to wait for their orders were to stay with the expedition until it returned. There were no other detachments on the island and no permanent outposts there.

‘We don’t have enough men,’ the centurion explained. ‘Wouldn’t really be worth it even if we had. There’s really not many people over there, and they don’t make trouble. Besides, no one ever really wants to stay there. Too many dark memories. I’ve seen things over there. Maybe they were lemures or other unquiet spirits and maybe they were just my mind playing tricks. This side of the island is the worst. Up north its bleaker and just empty. Here there are patches of scorched grass where the groves once stood. You’d think after forty years there would be no mark, but there is. They should send a legion and give it a year to burn everything, every tree, every bush, every blade of grass, and then in a hundred years the whole place might be clean.’ He smiled. ‘Sorry, been here too long and a man gets to brooding. You will be fine. Just don’t let your minds play tricks. Be careful with the current, sometimes the sea misbehaves. The boat will stay with you in case anything happens. If it does, then the horses will only make it if they swim, but maybe we can catch any of you before you drown.’

Ferox was glad that he was not on the first few trips. Arviragus led, standing tall at the front of the wooden ferry, with Crispinus looking tiny by his side. The next boats took an equal number of Batavians and Brigantes. The prince had given orders that Ferox and his men were each to go separately, and flat-nosed Brigantus decided that he would wait for the final crossing, so kept Ferox with him.

‘I shall cross with you as well,’ Claudia Enica declared.

‘As you wish, lady.’ The bodyguard did not sound happy.

In the event Longinus accompanied them, and that was all, for they had the lady’s two horses and a skittish pack pony that did not want to go up the ramp onto the ferry. Longinus tried and failed to calm the animal, and then Enica came to it, whispering soothingly, smoothing its ears.

‘She’s special, that one,’ the veteran said softly to Ferox as they leaned on the rail above the rowers. The two Brigantes were on the far side of the ferry, the animals in between.

‘Did you swim it last time, when you came with Agricola?’ Ferox asked, not wanting to discuss the lady.

‘Yes. And the first time with Paulinus as well. We were Batavians, so had to show off.’

‘Was it a hard fight?’

Longinus unbuckled his helmet and took it off, hanging it on the corner post of the ferry. He rubbed his grey hair. ‘Hard? Not really in the end. They were waiting on the beach over there.’ He pointed and then waved his hand along the shore. ‘Up to the headland there, you see it? They were silent at first, and that’s uncanny among the tribes. Then we got closer and saw them. Old men with robes to their feet and hair and beards almost as long. Women in black waving torches, and some naked as a babe, but writhing in a wild dance. There were warriors too, behind the rest, although only a few thousand. They had lines of our lads shackled. Men they’d taken in fights, some of them years ago. The old sweat riding his horse in the surf next to me saw an old mate of his they’d lost three years before. Once we were close enough to see them then the chanting picked up, and druids ran forward to curse and scream their magic.

‘One went along the lines of prisoners. He was all in red, the only one like it on that whole beach. Even his face was painted red and his hair dyed that colour. A couple of others pushed a prisoner to his knees, then the red boy put his hand on the poor devil’s head. After that the women took over. Sometimes they cut the throat. Sometimes they ran at him and drove a big spear right through and then watched him writhe. They even castrated a few of them. Then all of a sudden, silence again until red boy whines this song in Latin if you please, and the words didn’t seem to go together, but it was full of magic and hate.

‘The army stopped. Men at the oars just stopped. Never seen anything like it before or since. We were lagging behind by this stage. I mean the cavalry. Look at it. It’s a hell of a way to swim a horse and the tide was getting stronger. Seemed to be holding us back, and even the old sweat said it was magic and red boy was pushing us away.

‘You’ve read Caesar, haven’t you. First time he came, his lads balked when they saw the Britons waiting on the beach for them. Then the aquilifer of Legio X jumps over the side and shames the rest into following.’ Longinus had been holding fast onto the rail, lost in his memories. He let go and gave a grim laugh. ‘Caesar doesn’t give the fellow a name. Always wondered about that. Makes me think he was one of those soldiers who was very useful in a fight and a humping nuisance the rest of the time. Or maybe he was just some peasant whose name no one back in Italy would know or care about.’ He sighed. ‘Like those poor sods on the beach. As our whole army hesitated, the shouting burst out again, and one by one they killed the rest of the prisoners. We watched.

‘It wasn’t a standard-bearer or a centurion or anyone else who should have given a lead. One eager tribune was trying to urge them on, but even he faltered. Words wouldn’t make them go on. And it wasn’t vengeance either, not then. My horse seemed faster than the rest. She was a good one, could keep running all day. Swam quickly too and soon I was ahead of the rest of the turma and alongside one of the barges full of legionaries. I could see their faces. They were pale, teeth clenched. As the last prisoner died it went quiet again and red boy strode towards the surf. Two of the women came with him, both naked and pretty enough if you don’t mind crazy. Red boy raised his arms and opened his mouth to curse us again, and it was as if even the waves were deathly quiet.

‘Then someone on the barge farted.’

Ferox laughed. ‘What?’

‘I’m telling the truth. It was like thunder and went on and on. This lad broke wind. You know what army bread is like, especially on campaign. Red boy stopped. Maybe he heard it too or maybe it was greater magic than his. ‘Longinus, you mongrel,’ someone said. Men groaned, and then they laughed. It broke the spell. I don’t know why or how, but it did. ‘Now they know we’re coming!’ someone said, and they laughed again. There was noise again, our noise – the clank of armour, the little jokes and curses the lads make when they’re nervous. I didn’t hear any order, but the rowers started to pull again on that barge, and when they saw it go so did the others. Then the whole army was moving and I felt the current pulling me and the horse into the shore. Red boy turned and ran. The rest didn’t and started shrieking again, but even they did not sound so convinced. I reckon they really believed their magic would stop us, turn us into smoke or something. When it didn’t they couldn’t quite believe as hard and as we splashed ashore they just stood there yelling. That was when the rage for vengeance really started. Only time I saw anything like it was weeks later when we smashed Boudicca. The lads just wanted to kill. At least Boudicca’s warriors fought back hard. These lads, and those mad lasses too, they just died. We hardly lost anyone in the fight – that day or in the nine days we were on Mona. Warriors would ambush us, then seem to give up and let themselves be slaughtered.’

‘Longinus?’

‘I reckoned it was as good a name as any when I needed a new one. That lad’s bowels did the empire a service, but you won’t find it in Paulinus’ report or any history. You won’t find red boy either. He ran fast and we didn’t catch him, that day or afterwards. Some of the lads were saying he was a Roman who’d joined them. I guess because he spoke Latin. Still, you know that there are more rumours in a camp than flies buzzing around the horse lines.’

They were almost at the far shore. Ferox realised that Claudia Enica had gone to reassure one of her greys so must have heard most of the story. She noticed his gaze and winked.

‘Ever thought you would come back here, Longinus?’ she asked.

‘No, lady, but life’s like that. You rarely get what you expect.’

The ferry ground onto the shingle of the beach. The boat did not come quite so far in, and one of its occupants splashed through the water to reach the shore. He was to guide them to a campsite further along the coast, and the boat would pull up on the beach near there.

Some of the Batavians helped shove the ferry off. Ferox watched it go. The mainland was clear, little plumes of smoke from farmsteads and a bigger cloud where Segontium lay out of sight. Over all stood the mountains, the sides dark with shadow, the edge of a different world.’

‘Yes, I know.’ Vindex had appeared beside him. ‘Back when we were in the tower I didn’t feel so cut off.’

‘Come on, centurion. We have work to do.’ Crispinus was eager as he sat on his horse next to Arviragus. ‘May as well take a look around while the rest make camp.’

Mona was bigger even than Ferox had expected and they did not stray far that first day. They came across the patches of scorched ground the centurion had spoken of very soon. There was a lot of woodland, every few miles a hut or two. The inhabitants were small as a rule, the men with beards, which was a rare thing among the tribes. Their dialect was odd, so that the Brigantes understood very little of what they said and even Ferox struggled.

For two days they spent most of the time in the saddle, as Ferox tried to make sense of the descriptions left by Prasto. They went inland to the higher ground, which helped, although there were so many folds and little valleys that he knew that he was missing a good deal. There were also few tracks and a lot of trees as well as thick, thorny hedges that criss-crossed the country and seemed to make little sense as field boundaries. Since it was almost the end of October, the days were getting short, which gave them less time to search. The fourth day began with driving rain. The prince and the tribune insisted that they keep searching. That was the only day Claudia Enica did not ride with them, and instead she stayed in the little tent set aside for her. The next day was the same, with no reward for long hours of suffering. Two of the Batavians and one of the Brigantes developed a fever overnight.

‘The prince is worried that you are not really trying,’ Crispinus told Ferox as they ate a cold meal. ‘We seem to be getting nowhere.’

‘What would you have me do, my lord?’

‘Find a way, Ferox, as you have done before. Get lucky if that is what it needs.’

‘This is not a place for good luck, my lord. And I have little to go on.’

Crispinus took a spoonful of stew and then wrinkled his nose in distaste. He stood up, short enough to do so without crouching, and went to the door of the tent to empty the rest of the bowl outside. Coming back, he patted Ferox on the shoulder. ‘Do what you need to do. But know that this matters more than I can say. The price of failure will be high. Not just for you, but for the one you care about most. Think on it. Now, I must brave the elements to answer a call of nature.’

The sun shone the next morning, although a high wind kept driving rain clouds across the island. For a while there would be a deluge, then clear blue skies before the next one came in. Ferox led them to marshland covering miles. The soldiers from Segontium said that they had never been in there, although they did know that the boggy country stretched to the sea. A shepherd was no more informative.

‘We don’t go in,’ he said through his wild beard. ‘If a sheep strays we leave her, for it means that the gods demanded payment.’

‘Ask him about the old days.’ Arviragus was leaning down from his horse, looming over the small man. ‘Was this a holy place?’

Ferox tried, but could sense that the man’s fear of speaking far outstripped any fear for his life. That meant that the place was special, and it could fit with Prasto’s description – as could half a dozen other spots they had seen already. Would it match what Acco had said? ‘I don’t think he can tell us any more, my lord,’ Ferox said, looking up at the prince.

‘Soon find out.’ Arviragus gestured to his bodyguard and another Brigantian. ‘Persuade this fellow to talk. When he is ready, call us and we’ll come and ask questions.’

Ferox watched glumly as they dragged the man into the trees. ‘We won’t learn anything we don’t already know, my lord.’

‘We shall see. May as well eat while we are waiting.’ The soldiers gathered wood to make a fire.

Ferox went over to sit beside Vindex. The scout was unimpressed. ‘Useless bastard,’ he muttered. ‘Give me the sister anytime.’ Once again the lady had remained in their camp.

‘She kills people,’ Ferox said.

‘If they deserve it.’

A scream split the air. ‘Come on, let’s take a look up there!’ He nodded towards a conical hill about a mile away, its top covered in trees. They walked, and the only one to see them was Cocceius who grinned and made a show of turning the other way.

‘How are you at tree climbing?’ Ferox asked as they neared the top. He saw the expression. ‘Fine, stay here and I’ll go.’

The oak was bare of all but a few shrivelled leaves and looked bigger than all the trees around it. Vindex crouched and made a cup for the centurion to put his foot in and Ferox managed to swing up onto the first big branch. For a while it was easy, the boughs solid and conveniently spaced, even though the rain had left them slippery. Ferox could not remember when he had last climbed a tree, and found that he enjoyed it far more than he expected. It was like being a child again. So far there was nothing to see save more trees and a squirrel that eyed him suspiciously. He pressed on, taking a while to choose his path. The little red-brown creature kept ahead of him, watching closely with its black eyes, and he fought the urge to throw something at it.

Ferox could not reach the next branch, even with his foot on a well-placed fork. He put all his weight on it, lifting the other boot in the air and gathering himself for a leap. As he jumped, the sole of his boot slipped. Fingers brushed against the branch above, but could not grasp it and he was falling, dropping five or six feet and landing astride another bough.

‘You all right?’ Vindex sounded distant, although he had obviously heard his friend’s yelp. The squirrel raised its front paws and scrutinised him. Then it bounded upwards, until it vanished.

‘Easy for you,’ he muttered.

‘You there yet?’

‘Yes!’ he shouted, and could not think of anything witty to add. After getting his breath back, he started again, finding a different way. Soon there were no more trees on either side, and he worked his way out wider until he could see properly. The branch bent under his weight, going lower and lower until he decided not to risk any more.

It took a while to get his bearings, although the camp and its smoking fire helped. That was sloppy, and he had found the Brigantes to be casual even by army standards when it came to concealing their presence. Beyond them, closer than he expected, although it was partly an illusion, was the rich blue of the sea. The mainland was so clear he could tell rain was coming without having to look at the brooding clouds rushing in from the west. To the left of the camp was the marsh, a richer green than the fields around about, but otherwise hard to tell apart until it turned into the pale brown of tall reeds. Deeper in there were glints of sunlight off water, perhaps from ponds or streams, then broader patches of blue free of reeds. There were two lakes, each a couple of hundred paces across and in between a spit of land rising into a low hill. A single tree stood at the highest point, and perhaps it had been the sapling Acco had mentioned. Three low stone huts stood a little apart, but there was no sign of life.

Ferox took a long time climbing down, ignoring Vindex’s increasingly impatient shouts. All the while he wondered whether to tell what he had learned. Crispinus’ threat might be a guess or mean that he had evidence for his affair with Sulpicia Lepidina; enough to humiliate and ruin her.

‘Oh, you haven’t gone,’ the scout said as he jumped to the floor. Vindex saw his expression. ‘Bad as that, is it?’

‘You know what tomorrow night is?’

‘Aye.’ It would be a day before the Kalends of November, but that was not what Ferox meant.

‘And do you want to be here then?’

‘I don’t want to be here at all. Still, we need to protect the lady.’

‘Who’ll protect us from her?’

The shepherd lay moaning on the grass when they returned. He was badly bruised all over his face and chest left bare by his torn tunic. They had carried him off to one side and dumped him there.

‘Where have you been?’ Crispinus barked angrily as he saw them.

‘Doing my job, my lord. I take it the prince learned all he needed to know.’

Arviragus appeared from behind a bush, straightening his trousers. One of his guards stood by holding his armour. ‘Don’t be insolent, centurion. And remember that you are a prisoner.’ He glanced at the shepherd and then back at Ferox. ‘So what have you learned?’

‘We will need the boat,’ Ferox said, and began to explain. An hour and a half later he sat in the prow as the soldiers rowed. Crispinus was behind him, as well as Cocceius. ‘In case we need a good swimmer,’ he had told the boy, who had almost burst with pride to be chosen. They headed around the coast to the east. First there were cliffs, then another beach, before rounding a headland they came to the edge of the marsh. They went in closer, looking for streams to take them inland. After a while they found one and followed it until in ended in reeds too thick to push through. The second one got them a little further before the keel hit mud, and then one of the soldiers remembered seeing something that might give them a chance over on the far side. Another cloudburst came in, drenching them afresh, but they found the mouth of the stream and although it wound back and forth it was wide and deep enough for them to keep going. On either bank were reeds so high that they could not see out. Ferox struggled to judge how far they had gone in a straight line, but although it became narrow and they had to paddle rather than row, they were still moving, ever deeper inside.

‘We need to turn around,’ the senior soldier said. ‘Otherwise be dark before we get back to sea.’

‘Just a little more,’ Ferox said, and Crispinus nodded his approval. They turned another bend and the reeds were sparse ahead of them. Ferox took a spear and thrust down into the water. It was only a couple of feet deep, but the mud below was loose. He tried again and hit something far more solid.

‘Ready, lad?’ he asked Cocceius. The boy grinned. Both men stripped off their clothes. Neither had come in armour. Ferox went first, dropping over the side. The shock of the cold water was appalling, but his boots sank only a little into mud before they stopped. He reached up for the spear, and prodded down through the water in front of him. As he took his first step, Cocceius came into the water behind him.

They waded on, the Batavian close behind. After a few paces the water deepened again and reached their chests. Ferox could feel the flow plucking at his legs and running out the way they had come. Mud sucked at his feet each time he lifted one, and he leaned on his spear to pull himself out. Another step and the water was at his chin, but the spear prodded and it was shallower ahead. He warned Cocceius, who grinned again, and pushed ahead. Then he was climbing, for there was almost a bank under the reeds, and as he pulled himself up, slipped, breaking the reed he was holding, and recovered, he suddenly saw it. The lake was smooth as glass and dark as night, and beyond it was the low hill and the tree. The huts must have been on the far side of the hill because he could not see them. Still, this was surely where Acco claimed to have sacrificed the man who had once carried Ferox’s sword, and his instincts told him that this too was the most sacred place Prasto had searched for and never found. If they were to find what they were looking for then it would be here.

‘Can we swim it?’ he asked the young Batavian.

The lad gave another big grin. ‘In our sleep.’

‘We need to go,’ Crispinus called. ‘Now, centurion, before we lose the light. If you have found what we want we shall return tomorrow.’

Ferox sighed, for he had known all along what would happen. For the Romans tomorrow was merely the last day of October. Yet here, and among all the tribes, it was Samhain, the night when the gates to the Otherworld opened and the dead walked abroad. Nowhere on Mona would be a good place to be when the sun set tomorrow, but who knew what horrors would come here, where once a sacred and very secret grove had stood and bloody sacrifices taken place.