Brigantia

XXV

THE CLANS ASSEMBLED at Brigantum in fields around the sacred grove of the goddess some called Brigantia, but most knew by other names never to be spoken aloud. Thirty days before the solstice, the chiefs of all the tribe and their kin were called to gather here for council, to discuss the matters of the day, reaffirm their oaths of friendship and service, and make sacrifices. In the old days, when Rome was a distant friend and not a presence in the north, the meeting went on for days, with feasts and warriors fighting duels to settle disputes that could not be agreed in any other way. Then all had come, unless too infirm to travel and then they had sent someone to speak for them. Lately so many chose not to attend that some of the chiefs there spoke on behalf of a dozen others. Usually they had little to decide, for Roman courts dealt with more and more matters each year. This time there was the question of naming a new leader for the tribe, even before Arviragus had announced that the emperor was dead and it was time to support his true successor.

‘They are all here,’ Vindex said wonderingly, before bowing to an old man with a thin face whose long moustache drooped far down past his chin.

‘I’d never realised how much you look alike.’ Ferox had never before seen the scout’s father at so close a distance. As one of the main chiefs of the Carvetii, Audagus was accompanied by a dozen warriors. Lesser men had fewer, while the heads of the main Brigantian clans each had a score or more

‘Always thought I was prettier.’

‘Prettier than what?’ Longinus wondered. The Batavian and the scout were the only escort allowed to Ferox, and Gannascus and the others were forced to camp outside the meeting place for the council. Enica was attended by thirty warriors, although Ferox could not help noticing that most of them were elderly. ‘Their words will count for more in council,’ she assured him, ‘and this is a place where wisdom matters more than swords.’ Ferox had heard similar pronouncements too often in too many places to find them very convincing. He tapped the pommel of his gladius for reassurance.

The journey here had been difficult, dodging bands of horsemen in case they were loyal to her brother. They had gone through the hills, along paths rarely taken at this time of year, and as the days passed the rain turned to sleet, and the icy wind cut through them. They slept in shepherds’ huts abandoned for the winter and once just jammed together around a fire, sharing each other’s warmth. There were few army posts along these roads, and they avoided the ones there were in case of awkward questions. Ferox even feared a few of the garrisons might have joined the prince.

‘Happens quicker than you think,’ Longinus had told him one day when they rode ahead along the heights and found themselves above the dark shape of a fort. ‘Once one or two take the plunge others follow. Fools like company. I know I did.’ He gave a grim laugh. ‘You just think it’s bound to turn out all right because it’s you and you’re the hero. Then once you’ve taken that first step you cannot turn back. If I was Arviragus I’d be sending riders out to all the praesidia, telling them that Trajan really is dead and there will soon be a new emperor, but it won’t be Neratius Marcellus and anyone who obeys him will soon be in hot water. Then if he turns up with a thousand men and they get the choice between joining him and standing siege in some bleak place where help may never come, well, sacramentum or not, it’s no more than a flip of a coin. Some will spit in his eye and dare him to fight, but others will believe because they’re afraid and they’ll march out and hail him as their leader. Seen it before. In fact, I’ve done it before. They’re not joining a rebel, you see. He will be a Roman in their eyes, an eques and a former prefect, who speaks their language and knows how to flatter them.

‘I’m droning on. Thought all those days were a distant memory, until folk started raking it up. Now it’s like seeing it all play out again before my eyes. Actors on a stage, but real, and me in the chorus.’

‘Who raked it up?’

The single eye had stared at him for a long while. ‘Does not matter now,’ Longinus said eventually.

The veteran was silent for most of the rest of journey, saying only what was necessary. The one patrol they stumbled across late one afternoon consisted of three troopers, none of whom wanted to challenge a man who said he was a centurion. When they came closer to Brigantum, it was Enica’s name that got them through. A few of the chiefs and their warriors fell in with them, although most were reluctant to commit themselves at this stage and merely bowed and let them pass.

‘Pity I have been away for so many years,’ Enica said sadly, after yet another nobleman had excused himself from joining them.

‘Have you become too Roman?’ Ferox asked.

‘I fear that they have.’ The chief who had refused her was around thirty, clean shaven, with short hair, so that even though he was dressed in tartan trousers, a heavy tunic and wore a checked cloak, he looked as if he would be more comfortable in a villa or even a city than the round houses arranged in a circle outside the grove. There were twenty of them, the two in the centre facing each other much bigger than the rest. ‘Those are for the king and queen,’ she explained, and after they had dismounted she led them to the one on the south side of the circle. Inside it smelled damp and musty, for these houses were occupied only for this festival, even though the nearest tribesmen followed tradition and kept them all in good repair.

The other large hut was empty. ‘My brother is not here yet.’ Most of the other houses were occupied, although a few clans were still arriving. The sleet had stopped, but an icy wind buffeted them as Ferox and Vindex took a look around.

‘Why do this at this time of year?’ Ferox complained.

‘We’re northerners,’ the scout replied.

Enica spent the rest of the day seated beside the fire, as in turn the chiefs came to greet her. ‘I wish I had the mirror,’ she said before the first arrived. For want of anything else, she was wearing the dress Crassus had given her, but had her hair unbraided so that it fell past her shoulders. A rider had come bringing her a package, and from it she had produced a slim gold torc, bracelets, and a brooch shaped like a galloping horse. There were more bulky objects wrapped in the cloth, but for the moment she left them there. The man had also brought a long sword, its handle shaped like a man and with a blunt tip. ‘Clumsy,’ Enica said as she drew it and gave a few cuts. ‘More like reaping barley.’

‘Have you ever done that, wife?’

‘Be quiet, husband. This sword was carried by my great-great-grandfather in the battle where he fell.’

‘Encouraging.’

On the next day the chieftains met around a fire in the centre of the circle. Enica stayed in the house. ‘It is the tradition,’ she explained. ‘First they must decide that the tribe needs a high queen.’

‘Or king?’

‘Now why would they want that, husband?’

‘Romans fear powerful women, and these men grow more Roman by the day. They’ve even had latrine pits dug.’

‘We are not Silures,’ Enica said, wrinkling her nose, ‘and do not live like swine.’ She sighed. ‘But you are right. The old ways are dying, and the leadership of mystical women is one of the old ways. If they are good Romans they may not want a queen any more.’

‘The Carvetii will,’ Vindex said firmly. ‘Audagus is for you, lady, and he is a tough old bird. Not Roman where it really counts.’

‘I know. Your father is a good man, but the rest… Tell me, husband, why are men such fools?’

‘Practice,’ Ferox suggested.

Longinus snorted with amusement. ‘Aye, true enough. Why is your brother not here, lady?’

‘Arviragus likes to be dramatic. He must be here by sunset to make a claim, so he will come at sunset or slightly before, just when the chieftains are wondering whether or not he will come at all.’

A dozen horsemen arrived just as the sun started to slip beneath the hills to the west. The prince was at their head, armour and helmet gleaming, riding a dark horse with a white star on its forehead. His red cloak streamed out as he cantered towards the ring of chiefs. Beside him one of the royal guards carried a standard with a bronze figure of a rearing horse on top. The other ten all had spears, each one with a severed head driven onto the point. More heads dangled from their horses’ manes. Each trophy had a yellow, waxy look, and some were missing eyes or showed other scars from the beaks of carrion fowl. Arviragus himself held up a chain in one hand, and behind his horse ran a scruffy, white-haired and bearded figure in a tinned cuirass.

‘Dramatic,’ Enica said as she peeked through the doorway. ‘Even a stallion with the same mark as Venutius’ favourite. And he led a tribune in chains just as he now has Crispinus.’

They rode round the seated chieftains three times. Then the escort peeled away and the prince walked his mount over to the remaining royal house, accompanied only by his standard-bearer and his captive. Some of the chiefs cheered.

‘Vindex.’

‘Yes, lady.’

‘Go to the chieftains and tell them that this night they shall come and share my meal. Tell my brother, as well.’ She noticed their questioning looks. ‘It is the custom. A royal lady must feed the gathering. Servants from the royal house will come soon with wine, beer, bowls and platters, and with some provisions. It is up to us to make the meal.’ Just for once the lady looked uncertain. ‘Can any of you cook?’

In the end Longinus took over, after swearing that Ferox would poison them all if he was not careful. The old veteran made a stew in a cauldron brought by the servants, and it certainly smelled appealing, which at least was something. Three wooden chairs with high, intricately carved backs were brought and placed on one side of the iron guard around the central fire.

‘You will sit on my left, husband, and you will wear these.’ Enica had unwrapped the bundle to produce a helmet and armour. The cuirass was simple mail, but obvious repairs with slightly smaller rings showed where rents had been made in past fights. The helmet was even older, perhaps centuries old, bronze, with triangular cheek pieces, a shallow neck, and high dome topped by a tall diamond-shaped plate. There were dents in the metal, and one of the cheek pieces was held on by wire, but both were surprisingly light and comfortable for all their age and hard use.

‘Venutius was a warrior,’ his granddaughter said, ‘and so are you. Sit beside me and keep silent unless you have no other choice. A Silure should be good at that.’

‘May I scowl at them?’

‘By all means.’ Enica sat in the central chair, having made sure that it stood on a pile of turves so that she would be higher than anyone else. Ferox felt oddly proud as he sat beside her. At times she was magnificent, and he was finding that part of him dreamed that this marriage was not a sham. Another part of him wondered whether any of them would leave here alive.

Audagus was the first to arrive, clad in cloak, tunic and trousers, and with a sword at his belt.

‘Greetings to the Carvetii,’ Enica said. ‘Come, sit, and dine with me.’ The old man bowed. A warrior was with him, his face strikingly similar to Vindex’s, and probably another son and perhaps legitiame. The chief unclasped his belt and handed it and his sword to his attendant.

As the chief took his seat, the warrior stepped back to stand by the wall. Enica leaned down to whisper to Ferox. ‘Bet I know what he’s thinking, the old devil. Look at her, nice ti—’ Another chieftain appeared, and she jerked upright. ‘Greetings to the Setantii. Come, sit, and dine with me.’

So it went on, each man greeted by his clan and not his name. The house soon became very full, the air growing warmer by the minute. When the last had taken his seat, there was just a narrow lane left between the sitting men, leading to the open space closest to the fire. No one spoke. Ferox noticed that Enica was flexing the fingers of her right hand as they rested on the arm of the chair. That was the only sign of impatience.

Arviragus appeared last, and unlike the chieftains, he too wore armour and helmet, as well as the gold torc brought from Mona. He led in Crispinus, still chained around the neck, and strode past the chieftains. In the space by the fire, he dropped the chain. ‘Sit,’ he commanded the tribune, who obeyed, eyes fixed on the floor. The prince turned to Enica.

‘Sister.’

‘Brother,’ she replied.

Arviragus stared for a moment at the central chair, then strutted across to the empty one on her right and sat down.

‘I have news,’ he announced. ‘Wondrous news that the council must know in full. Do I have your leave to speak?’

‘Aye,’ chorused the ring of chieftains.

‘Brigantia is at war and must fight. Trajan is dead without an heir. Neratius Marcellus falsely claims the purple, but is doomed to defeat once the Senate chooses the real princeps. We cannot declare for a traitor, and because I defied him he sent a legion against us. I met this legion and scattered them as doves flee the hawk. This man is Crispinus, tribune of II Augusta and nephew of Marcellus. He will tell you. Speak, worm!’

There was silence. The chieftains must have known about the battle already, and as yet they were not ready to acclaim or condemn him.

‘I said, speak.’

Crispinus staggered to his feet. ‘It is as he says,’ he said, eyes still staring down. Ferox could see none of the aristocrat’s usual restless confidence. ‘The prince is at war.’

‘Sit, dog.’ Arviragus swept the room with his gaze. ‘There is more. For months, there have been omens of war and chaos. The priests here have seen them.’ Several men nodded. ‘You others have heard of them.’ He reached for a cord around his neck, squeezing fingers past the torc, and pulled out a small pendant, shaped like an egg. Two of the chieftains gasped for this was a charm of the sort made by the druids. None doubted its potency, but all knew that to wear such a thing broke the laws of the emperors. Arviragus had their attention. ‘You all know of the last druid – the last true druid.’ Ferox saw a man frame the word ‘Acco’. They knew, even the most Roman of them, of the survivor of the old days, the one man who knew the old wisdom. ‘Acco gave me this armour and helm.’ There were louder gasps at the mention of the name. Arviragus raised a hand. ‘I speak of Acco, because now it is permitted. He gave me this torc, once worn by Cunobelinus, father of Caratacus. Acco spoke of the end of all that was past and the beginning of all that is new. Acco is dead.’

There was silence, until Audagus spoke. ‘You know this for certain?’

‘I know this, although I was not there. I am guessing my sister was there and saw it.’

Enica nodded.

‘You ask what this means?’ Arviragus shouted over the nervous questions. ‘The last druid has passed into the Otherworld. Such a thing cannot happen without unleashing a great magic – his magic. The old will perish and the new will rise. The new world ordained by the gods. We can resist and wither, or embrace the storms of change and fly on their wings.’ He snapped the cord of the pendant, raised it high, hesitated and then flung it into the fire. Something flared into bright green flame before it vanished. ‘This is old magic and now it must do its work.

‘War has come, whether you wished it or not. I bring this captive and other trophies. This son of a senator and nephew of a traitor will wait on us, the lords of Brigantia, as we decide what to do. I am Arviragus, grandson of Venutius who won battles against Rome and forced them to settle with him. I wear his helm and his armour for he is reborn in me, to lead us in this hour. Need I say more?’

‘You have said and done enough, brother.’ Enica’s voice was calm, and she did not shout, and perhaps it was the higher pitch that made the council fall silent. Or perhaps she truly had some of the power of her grandmother. Ferox thought of how Acco’s soft words had carried so far and swept over his hearers.

‘The war has come because you wished it. Tell me, noble Crispinus, who is it says that Trajan is dead? Tell me that.’

The tribune managed to meet her gaze. ‘I do not know, lady.’

‘It is a story and nothing more. Stories often lie, and we know this in our hearts even if we love to believe them. Stand, husband.’ She gestured with her left hand. Ferox stood, doing his best to scowl as requested. ‘This is Flavius Ferox, my consort. He is a prince of the Silures, grandson of the Lord of the Hills. He is a famous warrior, who has served the emperors and won so many decorations for valour that even he cannot remember how many there are.

‘Acco married us. At Samhain, on Mona, by the holy lake. The last druid did this. He told us that he would offer us both to the gods, and yet here we are.’ There were protests, but she stilled them merely by raising her other hand. ‘I do not speak impiety, since I speak only the truth. Acco knew. Before he broke the mirror of Cartimandua, I saw into his old heart. He spoke of the end because he knew that it had come. The druids have passed away. He was the last, and he could not send us into the Otherworld no matter how hard he tried. My husband slew Acco with the sword he wears tonight.’ They stared at him with a mix of fear and hatred. Several produced wheels of Taranis or other totems and kissed them to ward off evil.

‘Some of you here knew Venutius. I see before me faces of bold warriors whose chariots raced alongside my grandfather’s. See now the mail he wore and the marks of the wounds he suffered leading our people. See that helm with its high crest, and remember the days he slaughtered Selgovae, Parisi and even Romans. This is the true armour of Venutius, is it not?’

‘Aye, lady.’ One of the oldest men spoke. ‘I do not know what your brother wears.’

Arviragus glared hatred at the old man. ‘These came to me from Acco himself,’ he shouted.

‘Peace, brother. There is so much you do not know.’ Enica nodded to Ferox. ‘Sit, husband.’ Ferox tapped the pommel of his sword, gave the room another smouldering glare and did as he was told.

‘The druids are gone forever and with them the world they understood. Rome is here. Rome gives us peace and plenty. Rome means we do not steal each other’s cattle, rape each other’s women, or take the heads of each other’s warriors. You know all of this. Who truly wants to go back to the old days? Who wishes to challenge Trajan on a mere rumour?

‘War is here? My brother speaks the truth in this matter. Thus you must choose. Cleave to him and you will die. Tomorrow, next month, next year, it will not matter in the end. Cleave to me and I will lead you to life.

‘By dawn you must decide. You know the customs. Those of you with eyes will know whose spirit burns within me. Those of you with sense will know that I speak wisdom. By tomorrow eve you must all choose. Will you seek death or life? As my brother said – need I say more? You are the elders of our people. It is for you to decide what is best for them. That is all.’ She seemed to shrink a little in her seat as the speech was done, and she reached her left hand back towards Ferox. He took it and held it tight.

‘Come, brother,’ she said, and there was genuine fondness alongside the sadness in her smile. ‘Let us take a drink.’

‘Worm!’ Arviragus barked the word at the tribune. Crispinus rose, coming close as the prince beckoned. Arviragus pulled the bolt securing the chain, so that it fell, leaving the tribune solely with the iron collar around his neck. ‘Serve us each a cup of wine.’

‘I would be so grateful to you,’ Enica added softly.

Crispinus bowed to her, and then more stiffly to the prince. Two servants waited, one holding a silver cup in each hand and the other an amphora. The tribune poured out the wine, the sound loud in a room otherwise silent apart from the crackling of the fire. He reached out and spread a hand over the wide top of each cup to take them, then lifting them high, before he lowered them. Ferox gripped the lady’s hand hard, his senses telling him something was wrong, but her fingers slipped free as she and her brother stood to take the offered cups

The prince searched the faces.

‘Latenses, drink with me.’ A chieftain rose and walked forward.

Enica smiled warmly at Vindex’s father. ‘Carvetii, drink with me.’

Ferox was watching Crispinus. The tribune’s face hung down, but his eyes watched the scene unfold with an intensity that had not been there a moment ago. Then it changed to surprise, even panic.

The chieftains drank deeply. Ferox sprang to his feet, rushed forward and grabbed for the cups, spilling them both to the floor. Audagus’ mouth opened in a yell of rage, the prince was screaming something about treachery, and then Vindex’s father began to choke. Ferox drew his sword. Chieftains shouted in anger and confusion. Crispinus crouched down in a ball. ‘He made me!’ he babbled. ‘He made me!’ Arviragus had his own sword out, was slashing at his sister, and Ferox spun in time, grabbing her by the shoulders and pushing her down. Men called for their attendants and their swords. Some were jostled and turned angrily on their neighbours. One stocky old warrior with no more than a fringe of grey hair around his bald head slammed his fist into the man beside him, knocking the other chief and a couple more onto the ground.

Vindex cradled his father, who gasped for breath, froth bubbling from his lips. Longinus stood over Ferox and Enica, sword in hand, and Arviragus cursed him and ran, pushing his way to the door.

‘We need to go!’ the veteran said.

Audagus died, his face a ghastly pallor, yellow drool down his chin. Vindex was glassy-eyed, and Ferox took his shoulder. ‘I’m sorry, so sorry. Will you stay or come with us?’

The attendant was beside him, a younger version of Vindex, and the scout nodded and passed the corpse over onto the other man’s lap. ‘I’ll come.’

The hut was clearing, men running because they feared treachery and death. A servant girl shrieked hysterically, while another sobbed. Longinus led them out to the horses, Ferox supporting Enica, who was a little dazed after being flung onto the ground. ‘Poison?’ she gasped at last.

‘Yes.’ Ferox wished he had thought to bring Crispinus with him or just kill the man, but decided he could not risk going back. They saw their horses. Shapes came out of the darkness. Longinus grunted as a spear struck him in the side. Ferox let go of his wife, stamped forward and drove the tip of his gladius into a guardsman’s face. Vindex slashed at another man, hacking through the shaft of the spear that tried to block the blow, and then he cut again into the man’s neck and once more before the corpse fell. Blood spattered all over his face and he kept stabbing at the dead man. Ferox grabbed him.

‘We need to go.’

They mounted, Enica’s long skirts hitched up so that she could sit in the saddle, and urged the horses into a run. Men shouted at them as they galloped away, but it was hard to tell in the chaos whether they were enemies, friends or simply confused.

Ferox saw them first, when he glanced back to check that Vindex was with them. Five or six riders, it was hard to be sure in the darkness, but they were following fast and he had little doubt that they were the prince’s men.

He urged his horse to catch up with Longinus who was leading.

‘Trouble?’ the veteran said, his speech a little slurred. Ferox told him about their pursuers. ‘It’s the bridge then.’ On the way down this morning, they had crossed a narrow stone bridge, dismounting and leading the horses in single file. It was about a mile from where the rest of the men were camped.

‘Are you all right?’ Ferox remembered the spear hitting the veteran.

‘Just fine, ‘ Longinus hissed back, and kicked his horse to drive the animal faster. Ferox let the other two pass before he followed. The pursuers were getting closer. By the time they reached the bridge they were no more than three hundred paces behind. Longinus jumped down, grunting as he landed, and led his horse across, cooing to the beast when it tried to pull away. Enica did the same, the hem of her dress snagging on one of the pommels until she tugged it free, and crossed. Vindex rode, his knees barely squeezing between the walls on either side of the little bridge. Ferox looked back. The prince’s men had gained another fifty paces, and he wished that Sepenestus was with them, because even at night his bow would have killed anyone trying to cross.

Ferox leaped down, still holding the reins, and went over. Enica and Vindex were already riding on, and then he saw Longinus slap the rump of his horse to drive the beast away.

‘I’ll be Cocles,’ he said. He had taken his shield from its strap before he sent the horse away.

Ferox came alongside. ‘It’s my job. You take my horse, and I’ll catch yours when it’s done.’

‘No.’ Longinus reached out and brushed the palm of his hand across Ferox’s cheek. It was wet and he smelled the fresh blood. ‘I’m not going any further tonight – not quickly anyway. And you need to make sure your wife is safe. As long as she is, a lot of the Brigantes will back her or at least wait and see who wins.’

‘I’m not sure she’s really my wife.’

‘Please yourself. But she matters, and I don’t any more. We’ll see. They’ll have to come one by one and my strength will last a while yet. Farewell, Silure.’

‘Farewell, Batavian.’ Ferox hauled himself into the saddle. The pursuers had stopped, perhaps a hundred or so paces away. They must have seen the bridge and been wondering what to do next.

‘Go! Vindex is half-mad and she’s confused. They need you to get them away. If you see Lepidina again then tell her this was what I had to do.’

‘You love her, don’t you?’ The horsemen were walking forward.

‘Like the daughters I once had and lost.’

‘Did you kill Narcissus?’ he asked, because he had to know before it was too late. ‘And Fuscus?’

‘You planning on arresting me?’

‘Nothing serious.’ Ferox realised he was grinning. ‘But it could mean stoppage of pay and furlough cancelled.’ The horsemen were almost within javelin throw. They halted again and all but one dismounted. Ferox could see that there were six in all.

‘Yes. They were after her because of that idiot brother and you, you halfwit. They came after me too, although who would care after all these years? Both were better off dead, so I killed them. She told me about luring you to the amphitheatre, how she hated doing it, but had to. I said she was right to do it, and that you could look after yourself. And you did, didn’t you?’

The Brigantes began to walk forward, clashing spear shafts against the edge of their shields.

‘What about the slave girl at Vindolanda? The one who hanged herself.’

‘Nothing to do with me. Now go!’ Longinus hissed. ‘This is my time – or it isn’t and I’ll see you again. Go! I was a prefect and a prince and lord of the Empire of the Gauls and you are just a little shit of a centurion, so go or I’ll kill you as well.’

Ferox clicked to his horse and she answered readily. Vindex and Enica were dim shapes far ahead, but the path was an easy one. If they got to the camp of their men they might return in time.

‘I am Julius Civilis, prince of the Batavi!’ The voice boomed out across the little valley and Ferox’s horse slowed, either by instinct or because it sensed its rider reacting. He drove the animal on. ‘I am an eques of Rome, decorated for valour many times,’ the old man thundered his challenge. ‘I was lord of an empire, the man who broke legions and burned cities, and I beg you to come to my sword and be killed!’

The Brigantes stopped chanting. As Ferox rode into the darkness, he heard the first clash of weapons and a long scream.

‘Come, my sword thirsts!’ The veteran’s challenge echoed faintly.