Brigantia

III

A BATH WAS ready in the simple but private room maintained by the prefect and his wife in their house. Before he was permitted inside, Ferox was taken to the courtyard of the praetorium and instructed to dunk himself thoroughly in a tall and wide barrel filled with water. His mind, always prone to wandering away, thought of the story of the Hound, one of the great heroes claimed by his tribe and just about everyone else. The stories were almost the same apart from some of the names and the identity of the enemy wherever you went and he had even heard ones very similar told in Gaul. After one battle, where the Hound had gone into his battle frenzy and butchered hundreds of enemies, he returned to the stronghold still lusting after slaughter. Terrified that he would kill all the men he found, even his kin, they sent out bare-breasted women to meet him. Modestly, the young hero turned aside – a part of the story that had never made much sense – and while he was distracted the men grabbed him, and plunged him into three barrels of water. The first burst asunder, the second boiled, and the third merely bubbled as the frenzy left him.

The only woman in the courtyard was an elderly slave, fully clad and smirking as the centurion stripped off his tunic and climbed into the water. Philo waited impatiently with a fresh cloak and a pair of the wooden slippers worn in a bath-house. The prefect’s private bath did not have the heated floor, something impractical in a timber building, but when he reached the pool and shuddered as he lowered himself into the hot water, it was with an almost spiritual joy. Philo fussed, until Ferox sent him away, promising to let himself be shaved once he had finished. A hint that the boy was to make discreet enquiries among the other slaves and freedmen put a jauntiness in his step as he left. Philo dearly loved to be useful and thrived on gossip.

An hour later, clean shaven, dressed in his finest tunic, new breeches and best boots, Ferox was ushered in to a room Cerialis kept as an office. Only the prefect and tribune were there, which was surprising because normally the prefect’s cornicularius would keep a record of the meeting. After a few questions about his wound and his welfare they let him report. They appeared to have known or guessed much of it already, and the fact that the freedman had been stabbed rather than smothered made little real difference. It was murder either way.

‘Was it the woman?’ Crispinus asked once he had finished.

‘She may have killed him, but I very much doubt she could have heaved him down into the drain. He was well built, and a corpse is always awkward to handle. So either she had help or she got there after the real murderer had gone. The floor was too scuffed from soldiers’ boots for there to be any clear prints.’

‘Any idea when he was killed?’

‘Sometime during the night.’ Ferox doubted that the medicus would be able to make any better guess even after examining the corpse more carefully. ‘The body was no longer stiff, so he probably had been there a few hours. Hard to say any more than that.’

‘Indeed.’

Ferox could sense that both men were uncomfortable, even nervous, and some of that was surely because the dead man was no ordinary freed slave, but one of the emperor’s household and a servant of the procurator. The procurator of Britannia was an equestrian, just like Cerialis and several score other officers, officials and wealthy people in the province. Lucius Neratius Marcellus was the legatus Augusti pro praetore of Britannia, the supreme representative of the emperor in the province, a former consul and a distinguished member of the Senate. Yet the procurator was also the emperor’s man, charged with overseeing the finances in the area, from taxes to the revenue of imperial estates, and was in direct communication with the emperor. Friction between legates and procurators was not uncommon, especially under the more nervous emperors. Back in the days of Domitian, it was the procurator who had reported on the activities of Sallustius Lucullus, then legate in Britannia, accusing him of dangerous ambitions, and citing as evidence his naming a new pattern of lancea after himself. That episode ended in the legate’s execution. Even his bodyguard, who carried the offending javelins, had been formed into a special unit as a punishment and sent to Moesia on the Danube. What was written in the procurator’s confidential reports mattered a lot, even under the enlightened rule of Trajan.

‘I take it that no trace was found of the woman?’ Ferox asked.

‘None,’ Crispinus replied. ‘The description was not exactly precise, and it does not sound as if you were able to coax any more from this soldier.’

‘He is young, was tired and on his way to the latrine. Then a half-naked woman barges into him. What do you expect him to remember?’

Cerialis snorted with laughter. The prefect was in his late twenties and a vigorous man, who kept a number of attractive young slaves to attend to his needs, as well as making frequent visits to the special staff at the brothel on the edge of the vicus outside the fort.

‘Do you think he is hiding anything, this soldier?’ Crispinus ignored the commander of the Batavians and his gaze was hard.

‘Cocceius has an excellent record.’ The prefect spoke loudly, quick to defend one of his men. ‘There is no reason to doubt him.’

Crispinus paid no attention and stared intently at Ferox.

‘I believe he has told us all he knows, and he stumbled on all this by pure chance.’

‘You are sure. Some women can get even good men to do what would otherwise be unthinkable.’

‘I am sure.’ Ferox glanced apologetically at the prefect. ‘He’s not the brightest. Certainly not to lie consistently over something like this.’

Cerialis chuckled. ‘He’s a good soldier. He doesn’t need to be bright.’

Ferox bit back a suggestion that intelligence was equally not essential for senior officers. Instead he raised the matter that the others had oddly left out. ‘Why was Narcissus here, my lord?’

The two officers exchanged a glance. ‘If you are asking why he was in the north of the province,’ Crispinus began, a hand smoothing his unnaturally white hair, ‘then the answer is that he was assisting with the census in the Anavionestan districts, as well as helping Vegetus collect revenue from tenants on some of the emperor’s estates, and also well as some matter of a legacy from the Brigantian royal family.’

The census had begun this summer, and in time would cover most of the Brigantes and their kin as well as those of the Selgovae and Demetae who were considered formal allies of Rome. As soon as he had heard the plan, Ferox had worried that it was needlessly provocative at a time when discontent was already bubbling away and the Roman garrison of the province was known to be weak. Plenty of rebellions throughout the empire had been sparked when census officials came around asking lots of questions that everyone knew were a prelude to fresh levies.

‘I know you consider the census unwise,’ Crispinus continued, making Ferox worry that he had betrayed his thoughts. He was tired, and everything was too much effort. ‘However,’ the tribune added, ‘if you mean why he was at Vindolanda, he came to attend a dinner last night held in honour of our emperor’s birthday.’

Ferox had lost all track of the date and was surprised to learn that yesterday must have been the sixth day after the Ides of September.

‘I was the host, and issued the invitation.’ Cerialis cut through his thoughts.

The tribune patted him on the arm. ‘At my prompting, dear Cerialis, and it was a perfectly reasonable thing to do. So it does mean that the prefect and I, along with his dear wife and their guests, were among the last people to see Narcissus before his untimely death.’

‘When did you last see him, my lords?’

‘The dinner finished sometime before the end of the second hour of the night,’ Cerialis said. ‘Several of the guests had an early start the next morning, so there was no taste for a late night. And most of the men had been hunting for the last few days and came back later than we had planned. We had ridden hard and while that gives one an appetite for food, none of us were in a mood for prolonged discourse. And then…’ He trailed off. ‘It was not the most successful of dinners.’

‘Scarcely your fault, my dear friend. I invited him.’ Crispinus stared at Ferox for a while. ‘Your lack of curiosity can become tiresome. I had never met Narcissus before, but he carried a letter from my uncle, the noble Neratius Marcellus, and from other connections of mine. No doubt they had their reasons for writing,’ he added sourly, ‘but it was not because the fellow was a congenial companion. When he spoke it was often barbed.’ The tribune glanced at the prefect.

‘Perhaps you are aware, centurion, that my wife’s brother has a somewhat…’ He paused searching for the right word. ‘Shall we say unfortunate past.’

‘I am aware, my lord.’ Ferox knew that Sulpicia Lepidina’s older brother had been a young tribune much like Crispinus when he was caught up in Saturninus’ plot against Domitian. That episode was a dark memory for Ferox, who had been tasked with investigating a number of senior officers accused of being involved. All had died, whether he had shown them innocent or not. Later, recalled by Nerva, the fool of a brother had been part of another conspiracy, this time by the provincial legate in Syria. That had meant a second disgrace. This, and the huge debts of her family, seemed the main reason why a senator’s daughter had married a mere equestrian, and one of provincial stock. Petilius Cerialis was rich and known to have the favour of Trajan.

‘Good,’ Crispinus said, ‘then we have no need to speak of such distasteful matters. Sadly, Narcissus displayed a vulgarity exceptional even for a freedman come into wealth, and thought it fitting to make jokes about this and other matters.

‘My wife’s brother is shortly to take up command of Legio VIIII Hispana,’ Cerialis explained. ‘That fellow hinted that he was on trial, with a last chance to prove his loyalty.’

That might or might not be true, Ferox thought, although it would seem a considerable risk unless the emperor was confident that the man would pass the test. Either way it was a surprising rehabilitation. Perhaps the brother had something of the ability and charm of his sister. From all he had heard, this seemed unlikely.

‘Worse than the jokes were the silences,’ Cerialis added and then went quiet. His normally cheerful face was grim.

‘Narcissus listened too closely to be polite,’ Crispinus explained. ‘It gave the impression that we were all on trial.’

‘Who else was there, my lords?’

The other guests were familiar. Aelius Brocchus commanded the cavalry ala at Coria, and he and his wife Claudia Severa were old friends, as was Rufinus, who led the cohort at Magna to the west. ‘Oppius Niger is new to these parts,’ the tribune went on, ‘having just arrived to take charge of the cohort at Aballava. While you will remember Attius Secundus from when we stopped at Trimontium two years ago.’ It took Ferox a moment to remember the tribune who had entertained them at that northern outpost. ‘In contrast he is on his way home at the end of his tour.’

None of the guests appeared the type to stab a freedman and shove his body into a latrine, however vulgar the fellow was. On the other hand they might just order someone else to do the business.

‘Do we know who was the last one to speak to Narcissus, my lords?’

‘I believe it was that dubious character, the tribune Crispinus,’ the young aristocrat said with an exaggerated raise of the eyebrow. ‘He hurried after me as I went through the courtyard and begged leave to ask a favour.’ Noting Ferox’s questioning look, he went on. ‘Nothing out of the ordinary. Did I happen to have an acquaintance who might introduce him to the king of the Coritani. I said that I would see what I could do.’

‘And would you have done anything?’

‘Impudent as ever. Well, centurion, I probably would have found someone. One does not have to like a fellow like that to realise that there is no harm in having him well disposed.’

‘And perhaps great harm in having him ill disposed?’ Ferox finished the thought.

Crispinus grimaced. ‘Either you do not ask or are too direct for true courtesy. Better to say harm rather than great harm, but it is generally a sound policy to grant a favour if you can. Why run a risk even of that lesser harm unless it is necessary?’

‘May I speak to the other guests?’

‘Rufinus and Niger are still here,’ Cerialis explained. ‘Everyone else left before dawn. My wife and Claudia Severa are taking the children south for a few months, perhaps even for the winter if it seems likely to be a severe one. Brocchus and I may join them for a while, and for the moment he will take them part of the way and provide an escort of troopers for them. Secundus will ride with them to Coria, but planned to go ahead with his own servants from there.’

‘That is unfortunate.’

‘I doubt that you would learn much from them,’ Crispinus replied archly. ‘If your mystery woman was incapable of hefting a corpse about, then I trust that you are not hinting two noble ladies might have been capable of such a feat!’

‘Of course not, sir. Perish the thought, sir!’

The tribune shook his head. ‘Ah, the flat insolence of a soldier. How truly tiresome.’ He let out a long breath. ‘I dare say we can write and ask them if they know anything of importance.’

‘Of course,’ Cerialis said, bristling with dutiful eagerness. ‘It is unlikely to be much, but you never know. I will write a letter before the day is out and send a swift trooper to carry it.’

‘Does that satisfy you, centurion?’ the tribune asked.

It did not, but there was no use saying so. ‘Of course, my lord. Very generous of you, sir, to trouble the ladies.’ Ferox hoped this face was an unreadable mask. ‘What I do not yet fully understand is what you wish me to do.’

‘I should have thought that would be obvious.’ Crispinus spoke like a teacher addressing a slow pupil. ‘Find out what you can about this affair. You will have to stay in the hospital for some days so you may as well earn your pay while you are there. Learn whatever you can. It may not be much, but you have a nose for the truth as good as those of friend Cerialis’ hounds for a scent. Learn what you can and write us a report. As full a report as possible in the finest tradition of this scribbling army. Do it as fast as you can and then we can send it to the procurator and that should help shape his actions, and more importantly the story he chooses to tell to others.’

‘Do you want the truth, or simply a truth fit for the procurator, my lord?’

Cerialis chuckled again. ‘We shall make a philosopher of you yet, prince of the Silures.’

‘More likely a legal advocate,’ Crispinus muttered. ‘I have asked you to do this because I want as much of the truth as you can find. My fear is that there will be little to learn, but that is neither here nor there. If this is somehow connected to the attack on Vegetus’ people, then we should know. Do I detect surprise? Since you have failed to mention the possibility that our mystery woman was the same one who killed the two men you sent in pursuit, I felt that I ought to raise it. At this point it would at the very least be courteous to register surprise at my perceptive and suspicious mind.’

Ferox patted his brow with one hand. ‘Wisdom of the gods, my lord. Too much for a mere mortal.’

‘I truly hope not. Learn what you can. Perhaps this is to do with the census, perhaps not. You have spent the last weeks warning of trouble brewing among the tribes. On the other hand I have never met an imperial freedman who was poor, and I know this one was not. Money tends to complicate everything and that may well be behind this. I do not know, Flavius Ferox. All I do know is that I did not kill the wretched man, and I will lay you good odds that neither did any of the guests at dinner. So try to find out who did and why, and we may be able to smooth this whole business over. Will you do that for me?’

Ferox sprang to his feet. ‘Sir!’ The obedient shout was louder than he had meant it to be. Crispinus winced and Cerialis jumped in his seat. Then the prefect smiled.

‘I shall check with the medicus, but I am sure that he would not object if you stayed in the praetorium rather than the hospital.’

‘Thank you, my lord.’

‘Now, if the noble tribune will excuse me, I shall enquire whether Rufinus and Niger are free to see you.’

Both of the prefects were indeed free, although they had little to say. Rufinus had met the freedman a couple of times, but the dinner was the first social encounter. ‘Bit of a tick, but you have to be polite,’ was his verdict.

Oppius Niger was from Antioch, almost as impeccably neat as Philo and with the same olive skin and eyes so dark that they were almost the black of his name. He had a slim face and an abrasive manner. ‘Couldn’t stand the little shit. Too oily. Reckon the shithouse was the best place for him.’ He looked around twenty-three, just starting his first posting in the army after years of education and idle indulgence. Like of lot of equestrians at this stage in his career, he overdid the brusque fighting man act. ‘No, never met him before. Never been comfortable around geldings, even to ride. They lack spirit.’

Little the wiser, Ferox decided to have a look around outside. Vindex appeared from nowhere, probably sent by a nervous Philo to persuade the centurion to make use of a wooden crutch or at least a staff. Ferox took only the stick and the scout said nothing, but carried the crutch with him. For a while they wandered around on the rampart either side of the latrine and he was shown where the torn dress was found. They left the fort and walked along to the same point beyond the ditch. The ground behind them sloped sharply down into a valley, and he soon found the trail. They followed it down, over the brook, crossing by a number of big logs laid there and then climbed the far hill up to the old abandoned hill fort.

‘Wasn’t hiding anything, was she?’ Vindex commented as his friend struggled up the steep side of the hill, pushing his way through the heather. Broken fronds made the trail very clear. It was probably deliberate.

At the top there were prints from two horses and from the boots of a man. The woman had come here, met a companion, and most likely dressed herself before they rode away to the south.

‘No point following on foot,’ Vindex said. ‘And the sun will be down by the time we could fetch horses.’

‘Yes.’ Ferox stared down at the fort and the vicus beyond it. It was easier to think up here away from the busy army base. Even so, he heard the clear call of a trumpet sounding the last watch of the day.

Vindex came to stand beside him. ‘None of this makes much sense,’ he said. ‘So, are we already humped, or are we waiting for it?’

‘Maybe both.’

‘Same as usual then. Lovely.’