Claudius

XVII

Verica’s skin was flushed and his eyes were lit by the fever of victory. He sat by the cooking fire surrounded by a cocoon of self-satisfaction that protected him from the glares of two people making a huge effort to let him know he was unwelcome without actually saying so. Britte stirred the cooking pot and gave Rufus a significant look that said: You’re the man, why can’t you get rid of him?

When they had first halted, the mood among the baggage slaves had been almost festive. The demands upon them on the march were incessant, but with the column at a standstill and safe within the ramparts of their latest temporary marching camp there was little for them to do, save a little mending and fixing of harness, sandals or clothing. Then the centurions had marched up the column calling out every third century of the Augusta and the atmosphere changed. As the soldiers marched off, in full armour and with enough food for three days, the non-combatants watched in uneasy silence; it was clear these were men heading towards a fight. When the Fourteenth Gemina, situated behind them in the column, followed in their footsteps Rufus realized this was a major engagement.

He had hailed Narcissus as he was riding by on his way from Vespasian’s headquarters.

‘Plautius has his battle at last, it seems,’ the Greek confirmed. ‘The Britons have formed a defensive line beyond a river four miles ahead. The place has been well chosen, because the banks are thickly wooded, and it is impossible to count the enemy’s numbers. Our general is keen to get to grips with them, but he knows he cannot afford a setback, so he will wait until his patrols return before he moves. It may take a day or two.’

‘Will we win?’

Narcissus smiled. ‘Of course we will win. These are the legions and our enemies are ill-disciplined barbarians. Plautius will force the river and if the British commander is foolish enough to make a stand he will be destroyed.’

The Greek rode off and Rufus made his way back to the bullock cart trying to look more confident than he felt. He didn’t share Narcissus’s confidence. The memory of his ordeal at the hands of the Britons was still sharp, and he remembered only too well the suicidal courage of the enemy warriors who had attacked the column in the pretty valley. Nothing was certain in war. He also understood what would happen to the baggage train if the legions were defeated. They would be hunted down and slaughtered like sheep, or end up as slaves in a British village with a life worse than any dog’s. But now here was Verica roaring his triumph like a young lion fresh from its first kill and dispensing sour wine to anyone who would accept it.

‘We cut them down like sheaves of corn in summer,’ the Atrebate exulted. ‘It was a joyous thing to behold. They stood beyond the river screaming their defiance. The clash of sword upon shield rose until it was enough to deafen you; then their champions came forward into the shallows and challenged our commander to single combat. But Plautius was unmoved. Instead, he waited and watched, studied their line and counted the hours until his scouts returned with word of their numbers. At first he believed it must be a trap, for the force opposite him was only half what he had expected to find. He called me to him and asked me to point out Caratacus, if I could divine him among that great host. I did not see him in the midst of the line, though his brother, that carrion bird Togodumnus, was there at the heart of his Dobunni. Bodvoc of the Regni stood by him, and I could identify elements of the Trinovantes by their colours. If the Catuvellauni were with them they were not visible to me. When I told him this, Plautius looked thoughtful, and turned to the legates of the Twentieth and the Fourteenth. “This is naught but a blocking force sent here to waste my time,” he declared. “Take your legions forward and they will melt away in front of you. But I wish you to harry them and keep harrying them until darkness. Nothing must delay the crossing of the column.”’

Verica grinned with that inane foolishness that comes with too much wine. ‘You see how I was of service to our commander?’

‘I see a puppy barking at a new moon,’ Britte spat, but Verica pretended not to hear her. He turned to Rufus as if they were old friends who had been parted for too long.

‘Then the general turned to me and said, “Prince Verica of the Atrebates and his auxiliaries will accompany the attack and identify the enemy chieftains. If there is any opportunity to take them alive, do so, and bring them to me so I may put them to the question.” By now, the enemy had his forces by the water’s edge. I think Togodumnus overestimated the power of the river. It was wide at this point, more than a bowshot, but it has been a dry summer and the water is shallower than normal. When the legionaries advanced line by line, it only reached to their tunics at the deepest point, enough to hamper their movement, but not to halt their advance. The warriors defending the water’s edge watched them come and were overcome with battle madness. Togodumnus could not have moved them even if he had wished it.

‘They charged the Romans in the shallows and it made my heart soar to see them. If courage was the currency of victory we would never have fought our way to the far bank. But the British way is not the Roman way. You saw the shield line hold in the battle of the valley? Well, it held again, and the little swords did their work, and the river ran red with the heartblood of their finest warriors. I was supporting the right flank of the attack with my horsemen and I saw the bodies float past me on the current. Among them were men I knew by sight or by fame, great men whom Caratacus will never replace.’ He shook his head and took a deep draught of wine before offering the jug around the fire. Rufus would have taken it, but the icy glint in Britte’s eyes stopped him.

Verica wiped his lips. ‘Fought, did I say? No. It was a massacre. First the Roman shields held, then they forced their way forward and pushed the British line back to the far bank, and then further, on to the mass of warriors on the hill behind. Some men, more sensible than brave, tried to organize a withdrawal, but they were hampered by those who wanted to fight. I saw Togodumnus urging his men into battle even when their defeat was certain.

‘We were as close as our fire is to Bersheba, and I challenged him to single combat, but Togodumnus has ever been a coward who lives on past fame. He sneered at me and shouted that I was the fruit of the union between a diseased sow and a wild boar, which I took as a compliment coming, as it did, from him. Yet my challenge had shamed him, because he sent his bodyguard to kill me. Five men.’ Verica’s voice was close to ecstatic and his eyes shone with the memory of it. ‘Five men, warriors all, and I cut them down one by one. Flavius Sabinus, commander of the Fourteenth, saw them fall, and honoured me with his praise. “Hail, Prince Verica,” he called, even as the battle raged around us. “Had you been a Roman citizen the Emperor would have awarded you a triumph, but I fear a throne must do in its stead.” It was the best moment of my life.’ His eyes were locked on the flames, mesmerized by the dancing tongues of orange and red and gold, and the multitude of tiny sparks spawned by the crackling branches.

‘You are a hero, Verica. You should be with your friends, not with us slaves,’ Rufus said quietly. ‘There must be great rejoicing in the auxiliary camp.’

‘Rejoicing, yes.’ The Atrebate prince gave a puzzled smile and his spirit seemed to shrink within his body. When he spoke his voice had a flat, lifeless quality that matched his words. ‘But not among my men. By now the general had ordered in his cavalry and they rode ahead of the legions, giving the enemy no respite. We watched as the defeated warriors were hunted down one by one, fleeing this way and that like deer caught in a stockade, but never escaping the swords. Mile after mile we rode in their wake, and mile after mile of slaughter we passed. Eventually we came to the British camp and that was where we found them.’ He took another long drink.

‘Them?’ Rufus asked.

‘The women and children. They had spared none.’

Rufus nodded. ‘It is the Roman way.’

‘Some of the dead were of the Atrebates. My people. I saw one woman with a small baby. She had tried to protect it with her body, but the spearman had stabbed her through so often it was difficult to tell where mother ended and babe began. It seemed… excessive.’

‘Yet you have put your faith in Romans,’ Rufus pointed out. ‘You should not be surprised there is a price to pay.’

Verica shook his head to clear it. ‘You are right. My restoration comes at a cost, but it is a higher cost for my people than I would have believed. Yet I must harden myself against pity in the knowledge that when I am their king they will no longer have to bow to the Catuvellauni or the Regni. I will give them everything Rome can provide: great palaces and fine temples, gold, silks, wine and oils. Every family will have a house of stone and every man will be a lord among Britons. Narcissus has promised it.’

Britte had been sitting quietly, listening, and she spat in the fire at mention of the name. ‘Do not put your faith in the Greek. Where Narcissus goes, the carrion birds are not far behind.’ Rufus stared at her. In all the time he had known her, he had never heard Britte put together a dozen words. Her dark eyes glittered and met his, and he realized that, though he was seldom aware of it, she was always there, listening and watching, and that she probably knew Narcissus better than he did himself.

Verica looked up, his eyes red with exhaustion. ‘I am not a fool, whatever you think. I do not trust Narcissus entirely.’ He paused and pulled a dagger from his belt, the blade glittering in the light from the flames. ‘If he betrays me I will kill him.’