The Encircling Sea

IV

HOW MUCH do you know about Hibernians?’ Crispinus asked him almost as soon as he came into the little room. Ferox had ridden to Vindolanda the next morning as instructed, arriving just before noon. He did not glimpse the prefect or his wife on his way through the fort, and felt the usual mix of relief and disappointment because he did not see her. A clerk at the principia sent him to one of the side chambers, where he found the tribune waiting.

‘A little, my lord,’ Ferox said. ‘I have never been to their island, but have met a few over the years, coming to raid, coming to trade or just running away from enemies at home. You recall the ones we met at Tincommius’ feast?’

Crispinus snapped his fingers. ‘I had half forgotten. They wore long tunics, did they not, instead of trousers like the rest of the…’ He trailed off.

‘I believe barbarians was the word you were looking for, my lord.’

‘I had also forgotten your refreshing impudence. And no, that is not what I was about to say. I was trying to remember whether or not I could describe the Venicones and Vacomagi as Caledonians, and indeed whether all might be termed Britons.’

‘Many Romans would, my lord.’

‘While others, including your good self, Titus Flavius Ferox, would know better and would not. Yet what would such a Roman say?’

‘He would assume that his listener had the wit to understand that all the peoples of these islands were different, just as there is no such thing as a typical Hibernian. They have their tribes and clans, many of them very different even to close neighbours. Language unites them and us up to a point, although sometimes it is hard to follow the different dialects.’ The tribune watched him in silence, so after a while he added a respectful, ‘my lord.’

‘It is not courtesy I am looking for, centurion, but enlightenment and understanding. You always remind me of an oracle, giving answers that are as precise as they are unhelpful, even misleading. And so, as with an oracle I suppose I must frame each question as precisely as a lawyer, but it would be nice if you trusted me.’ From their first encounter the tribune had time and again asked for trust, which made Ferox all the more reluctant to give it.

‘Perhaps it would be simpler if you explained what this is all about?’ Ferox knew how much sheer delight the chance to launch into a great speech gave to a well-bred Roman. Crispinus loved asking question after question about each thing that caught his attention. Yet he seemed to listen to the answers and remember a lot of what he heard, even if he could not quite come to think like someone who was not Roman. He was well into his second year in the province as tribune of the legion, and had grown a lot in that time, if not in stature then in strength and confidence.

Crispinus gave his great bray of a laugh, still surprising in someone so small and normally so poised in every movement. He was dressed in a bright white military tunic and boots, with a bronze cuirass heavily decorated with embossed sea creatures and nymphs and girded with the thick purple band that marked his rank. ‘Very well. And of course you are right, and I have plunged in without telling you of what will happen next month. Well, I should tell you that two kings are coming from Hibernia to visit us, one each from the Rhobogdioi and the Darinoi, although they claim to speak for other peoples as well. As far as we can tell they are seeking our friendship, presumably some form of recognition, and no doubt other things that shall become obvious. The noble Neratius Marcellus has placed me in charge of arranging this business, and has also decided that it should take place near the coast, at the time when much of the army in the north will be training and preparing for his inspection. The legate feels that a display of our might cannot do any harm. After all, Hibernians have sometimes come across the sea to raid us, have they not?’ Neratius Marcellus was the governor of Britannia and a shrewd man, as was his nephew Crispinus, for all his facade of languid charm.

‘Yes, my lord, sometimes. When I was a boy they came along our coast a couple of times – and we sent boats across to plunder them. I hear it is rare now, but a few years ago there were several landings up here on the west coast near Alauna and even Maia.’

‘We have garrisons in both, do we not? In fact, thinking about it, didn’t the cohort at Maia catch a couple of boatloads of raiders last summer? I was down south at the time, but I like to take an interest in what goes on in this part of the world and I remember reading of it in a report that came to the legate’s office in Londinium. Claudius Super wrote that the men they caught and executed were Hibernians.’

‘Yes, I know.’ Ferox did not add that Claudius Super was a halfwit who could not tell a Hibernian from a turnip. The man was the senior regional centurion, supervising a handful of other regionarii here in the north, including Ferox.

‘Then I take it from your tone that you do not agree.’

‘They were Novantae, my lord, with a couple of stray Selgovae tagging along, not Hibernians. The Novantae have been coming across the bay in their little boats for generations. They stopped for a while when we garrisoned their lands heavily, but since most of the posts were abandoned, they are growing confident again. I am guessing that the report did not mention a couple of other raids that got away with captives and plunder a few weeks later.’

‘It did not.’

‘Thought not. We managed to catch one lot out of three, and to be honest were lucky to do that. They’ll be back this summer and in much greater numbers.’

‘Why?’

‘Because they think they can get away with it.’

‘Well, given that a lot of troops will be on manoeuvres in the area, I suspect the legate may want to do something about that. For the moment, let us put that aside. As I explained, I need to arrange the reception for these visiting kings, and I shall need you by my side to help in the negotiations. Neratius Marcellus will conclude any agreement, but the details will be left to us.’

‘As I said, my lord, I only know a little about them.’

‘Such modesty is unbecoming, and might even be mistaken for a reluctance to be in my company, were such a thing possible to conceive. It does not matter. You know more than anyone else to hand, and you are a junior officer who will do what he is told!’

‘Sir.’

‘That’s better. As you have proved in the past, your suspicious and untrusting nature ideally suits you for diplomacy. Any ideas at the moment?’

‘Women, my lord.’

‘An admirable thought, and always welcome, yet I struggle to see the relevance.’

‘A lot of the peoples of Hibernia are ruled by queens as well as kings, and all revere them. Did the governor’s wife ever come to join him in Britannia?’

Crispinus gave a wry smile. ‘I fear my aunt lacks a robust constitution and, with great reluctance, decided that three or four years apart from her husband would be for the best. From all I can tell, neither of them regrets that decision. Still, I see what you mean and will think on it, for we might be able to find some suitable ladies to help host our guests. After all, we have a senator’s daughter here at Vindolanda. Have you seen the noble Sulpicia Lepidina lately? I know the two of you are good friends since our escapades back in the first tribunate of our lord and emperor.’

Ferox tried to spot any hint of irony, but saw nothing apart from the mischief and amusement that was the young aristocrat’s normal expression. ‘I have not, my lord.’

‘Well, this might be a problem with which she can assist. I must say motherhood suits her, for she is in even finer bloom than before, and that is saying something.’ The compliment was genuine and appeared innocuous. ‘A truly remarkable woman.’

‘It is not my place to judge such things, my lord,’ Ferox said, and regretted it instantly. It would have been far better to have said nothing.

Crispinus ran a hand through his almost white hair. He was not yet twenty-three and the old man’s hair was an odd contrast with a face still not formed into the rigid lines of adulthood. ‘Your idea of your proper place continues to baffle me, centurion.’ Ferox wondered whether the pause before the young aristocrat spoke had been unnaturally long, and tried to assure himself that he was imagining things.

‘Well, no matter,’ Crispinus resumed. ‘I think that is enough for the moment. You will hear more at the consilium to be held in two hours’ time. This is to be a busy summer, as you may already have guessed that there will be a lot for us all to do. Especially you, so all in all it is a relief to find that the rumours are not true and that you are not dead.’

Ferox could not think of anything witty to say, so contented himself with a simple ‘Sir’, which prompted another quizzical stare.

‘The little farm girl is safely reunited with her folk, I trust?’

The sudden change of topic caught Ferox off guard. ‘Yes, my lord.’

‘Aelius Brocchus is due to attend the consilium this afternoon so he will be able to take back his own property. He is a fine man, and from what I hear the horse was expensive, while the girl is a favourite of his wife. The girl is not too damaged I take it?’

‘Terrified, mauled about a bit. As far as I can tell they did not rape her, if that is what you are asking, my lord.’

‘Ah, the old quick anger. I thought you Silures were supposed to keep a stony reserve, immune to provocation?’ Ferox said nothing. ‘And I also suppose that that is the answer I deserve,’ the tribune added after a moment. ‘It is hard to imagine the life of a slave, and yet one would think the absolute lack of control over your own life helps to make them immune from fear when abducted. After all they have no freedom to lose. Still, perhaps it is different for a slave with kind owners and a comfortable life. Losing that must bring a pang.’

‘They butchered her lover in front of her,’ Ferox said.

‘Unpleasant, of course. Oh yes, I had forgotten one thing I wanted to ask. How did you hear about the taking of the horse and girl – Artemis, is that her name?’

Ferox guessed that the mistake was deliberate. ‘Aphrodite, my lord.’ Crispinus shrugged as if it was no matter, but Ferox knew that he had a very good memory for detail. ‘We did not find out who they were until we got them back. There were tracks of a horse unlike one of the local ponies, and from the prints and others of feet we guessed at two girls as captives, but that was all we knew.’

There was another pause. ‘The oracle speaks again, without really answering.’

‘Does the tribune wish to know why we were hunting raiders when all they had done was steal a farmer’s daughter?’ Ferox spoke louder than he had meant, and was annoyed at the look of amusement on the tribune’s face, but at least it calmed him. ‘I went north,’ he said, choosing his words with care, ‘because the family live in my region and these men had come into my region to kill, steal people and property. I will never permit that if I can help it. Never. And I went because the family are good people, and could not spare one of the children, especially this one.’ The anger was coming back and he fought it.

Crispinus was smiling broadly. ‘I have missed your fire, Flavius Ferox. You truly are an unusual man. So unusual that you would fight one against five for the sake of a family of no importance, and a child whom you barely know. Ah, for once I surprise you!’ the tribune added triumphantly. Ferox realised that he must have spoken to Vindex, which meant that he had probably known all about it in the first place. Crispinus was playing his usual games, working towards something else.

‘Well, that is all very admirable, and it has had a fortunate outcome for Aelius Brocchus, who as I said is fine man. It is also a source of delight for Claudius Probus, who may not be a very fine man but is a rich one and, like all rich men, well connected. People whose names might surprise you – well, they surprised me – wrote letters on his behalf to me, let alone more important men like our legate.’

Ferox had a feeling he knew what was coming next and his face must have shown it. Crispinus must have seen something in his face. ‘Yes, I share your view of young Genialis, and I have only met the lad once, and that briefly. To me he seemed as appealing company as a louse laying eggs in your tunic, so that I dread to think what weeks in his company will have been like. Still, miraculous as this may sound, his father dotes upon him, and Probus is a man worth indulging, for it is always better to have the rich as friends than as enemies.’

‘Vindex wanted to kill him,’ Ferox said.

‘I know, he told me, and I for one do not blame him, but certain courtesies should apply.’

‘We kept him tied up for most of the trip back.’

Crispinus waved his hand dismissively. ‘I am sure it did him the world of good. But do not worry about a sulking child. The father is a practical man of business, and he will be grateful.’

‘Sir.’

‘Oh, we are back to that are we? Go away, Flavius Ferox, for you make me tired. Try to be more forthcoming whenever your opinion is required at the consilium.’

In the event he sat in silence for most of the council. Crispinus was the senior officer present, even though he was the youngest, although at times he deferred to Cerialis as their host. The commander of the Batavians looked full of vigour. He was a tall man, even taller than Ferox although less heavily built and more in the proportions a sculptor would give to a statue. His face was conventionally handsome, enhancing an expressiveness that was refined by long practice in oratory. His hair was red gold, its thick growth lightly trimmed by his barber every few days. He was twenty-five, and with his good looks, expensive uniform and cuirass, and that sense of a man performing a role, it would be easy to mistake the man for a mere dandy, like many of those who served in the army as a stepping stone to prominence in society. Like some, but not all of those, Cerialis was a brave man, and also a more than decent soldier, while his Batavians were devoted to him, and not simply because he was from the house of their kings. In the brutal campaign two years ago he had proved himself to be a leader that his men could trust. Ferox could see no ill effects from the wounds he had suffered in the battle where they had defeated the Stallion’s army.

The others were all men he knew, and most had served in that same brief and bitter conflict. Aelius Brocchus was of average build, slim and hawk nosed, his deep brown eyes keen and his statements always precise. He was a Baetican from Gades, his skin a rich brown hinting at as much Carthaginian as Iberian blood in his ancestry. Beside him was Rufinus, prefect in command of the cohort stationed to the west at Magna. He was an African, with the precise, slightly antiquated Latin of that province, and had a narrow, eager face and a short, well-groomed beard.

‘I wondered whether it would make me look more martial,’ he joked when the others asked him about it. All three men were equestrians, the class below the Senate, and were following the usual career. Cerialis and Rufinus were in their first command, each placed in charge of a cohort of auxiliary infantry, whereas Brocchus was at the third stage and, having already led a cohort and served as one of the five junior tribunes in a legion, was now in command of one of the prestigious alae of cavalry. He was thirty-three, which meant he had risen through the posts reasonably quickly, making him senior in years as well as rank to the others in spite of the fact that all were called prefect.

Crispinus was the son of a senator, and when he finished his term as the senior tribune in Legio II Augusta he would go back to Rome and soon be enrolled as a senator. A man with ambition would seek a range of civil and military posts, commanding a legion around the time he was thirty, a senatorial province without much of a garrison a few years later, and a military province with a fair-sized army in his forties. Ferox had no doubt that the young aristocrat had ambition, and probably the connections, perhaps even the money to rise so high. His birth and his likely future made him the most important man in the room, but none of the others gave any impression of deferring to the younger man, not least because of his courtesy and fondness for self-deprecation. This was the way the empire worked, and in this case the four men trusted each other.

Ferox was junior in rank and class and had never seen any point in resenting a world he could not change. He was relieved when Crispinus announced that Claudius Super was unable to join them, owing to illness.

‘Nothing serious, I trust,’ Cerialis said, showing a genuine concern that Ferox could not find it in his heart to share. The prefect and his wife often entertained the senior regionarius to dinner. Claudius Super was another equestrian and, unlike the other men, actually from Italy. Yet his family’s wealth and influence had not been sufficient to secure him command of an auxiliary unit, so that instead he had been commissioned as a centurion in a legion, with lower pay, prestige, and in all likelihood a far less impressive career ahead of him. Claudius Super never missed an opportunity to remind others of his high birth. Ferox did not dislike the man for that, but he despised him for his crassness, stupidity and arrogance, which too often caused trouble and disturbances when none were necessary.

‘I do not believe there is cause for worry,’ Crispinus replied, ‘and in his stead we can raise any appropriate matters with Ferox.’

They spent the first hour planning the assignment of troops from each garrison to join the spring and summer’s training programme and exercises. None of the forts were to be wholly stripped of soldiers, for there was always work and administration to be done, and there was no harm in keeping just enough to mount the odd patrol and respond to any minor problems.

‘Our noble legate is of the opinion that there is no prospect of serious uprisings in this area during the rest of this year. This judgement is based on all the reports he has received, including those of the regionarii. I take it there is no reason to change this assessment?’ Crispinus and the others all looked at Ferox.

‘No,’ he said, still unsure what was meant by the abduction of Genialis, but unable to see in it hints of trouble on any great scale. ‘There is no reason to alter it. After all, the distance is not so great. Within a few days all the troops could return to their garrisons.’

‘Indeed – and come with plenty of company from the other detachments involved in the training. Good,’ Crispinus concluded, and went back to the details of how and when to move each contingent and ensuring that it would be properly supplied wherever it went. Cerialis’ cornicularius acted as the main recorder of their decisions, although there were several other military clerks with him to make copies where necessary.

Halfway through the second hour they turned to the census that was to begin around the time of the army exercises, in the region to the north. ‘We may be called upon to provide some soldiers to assist in the process,’ Cerialis informed them. ‘And I seem to remember from history that the first census on a conquered people is sometimes resented, perhaps violently.’

‘Would you like strangers coming around asking lots of questions about your family and your possessions, all the time knowing that the mongrels want to tax you?’ The room went silent save for the surprised gasp of the cornicularius. Ferox had not realised that he had not just thought the words but spoken them out loud. After a moment Crispinus and the three prefects all burst into laughter, the soldiers following their lead.

‘Fair enough,’ the tribune said, ‘the tax gatherer or the one who paves the way for him is bound to be an unwelcome guest. Reminds me of that little poem of Catullus about the worst wind blowing at a man’s house being his mortgage.’ There was more laughter. ‘Finally, there is one more matter, in fact one directly from our most noble princeps, who instructed the outcome of a trial to be read out in every army base since it concerned military discipline as well as other matters.’ Crispinus paused, deliberately overacting in feigned discomfort. ‘I fear it is all a little sordid,’ he went on.

‘Well, that should brighten things up.’ Rufinus was smirking and the other two prefects chuckled.

‘Yet it is a sad tale, of betrayal and infidelity. I almost feel I should set it to verse!’ That brought open laughter. Ferox clenched the fingers of his right hand as tightly closed as he could.

‘There is – I am tempted to say was as it sounds like a story – a young aristocrat just come back from his time as tribune in a legion. Now where have I heard that before.’ There was more laughter, and the prefects were enjoying it. The clerks looked bored and were still scratching away to finish their notes. Ferox decided a smile was appropriate.

‘In this case the legion was in Syria. Hot climate, you know, eastern passions and dark appetites, so the setting will give you warning. Now our young tribune was married to a young lady called Gallitta. Well, there’s no law against that, although the wise young tribune remains unattached so that he can devote all his strength and intelligence to serving as a soldier.’

‘Of course,’ Brocchus cut in, the words dripping with sarcasm. Most senior tribunes did as little work and spent as little time with their legion as possible.

‘They were young and in love.’ Crispinus almost sang the words as he ignored the interruption. ‘And the thought of parting for months or years was too much to bear, so the dutiful wife packs up all her perfumes, her silks, her intimate things, and follows her husband to Antioch. Little more than a blushing bride, her innocence left her unprepared for life in that den of iniquity.’ Ferox felt his heart sink at the obvious direction of the story.

‘You’ve been there then,’ Brocchus interrupted again.

‘How could you think such a thing?’ Crispinus smiled happily, then frowned as if pondering something. ‘Ah yes,’ he said at last. ‘Gallitta, I recollect her now. No more than seventeen. Small girl, a little plump, but in the right places. Generous hearted, if I recall. That, I fear, is part of the tragedy.

‘Alas, when he arrived our young hero did his best to be diligent, working hard, and accepting missions away whenever he was ordered by his superiors. That was the problem. Poor little Gallitta was left at his house in the legion’s base, so close to Antioch, alone with her perfumes, her intimate things, and her silks. Fortunately, there were kind folk to console her. One was a centurion – well, we all know what they’re like.’ He pretended to notice Ferox sitting in the corner of the room for the first time. ‘Of course, not all of them, dear Flavius Ferox.’

‘Centurions are the pillars of the army,’ Brocchus said flatly, while the others grinned.

‘Well, the pillar in question was a bit crooked, but a mature man and vigorous in every way, while ardent in his determination to console the lonely wife.’ Crispinus spread his hands apologetically. ‘I am tempted to add consoling her several times a night and in the afternoons as well, but that would be to embellish too far the raw judgement and summary sent from Rome. Such lewdness is inappropriate, for I have no wish to shock the delicate mind of the cornicularius either.’ The prefect’s clerk had been giving the speech his rapt attention for some time now, his work forgotten.

‘As comedy must teach us to beware, the husband came home earlier than expected, in time to see this pillar of the army scrambling out of the window. Once again, I shall refrain from adding details from my sordid imagination.’

‘You can leave it to our sordid imaginations,’ Rufinus said.

Cerialis grinned. ‘Speak for yourself,’ he said, patting the other man on the shoulder.

‘The tribune went to the legate of the province to complain, and the governor wrote to the emperor to report this breach of discipline, which so undermined the hierarchy of the army – not to mention the sacrosanct and honoured institution of marriage. To cut a long story short…’

‘Bit late for that,’ Rufinus whispered loudly.

‘As I say, to cut a long story short, the centurion is dishonourably discharged, and sent in exile in perpetuity, unless the emperor chooses to change his mind. He’s gone to Tomi, so can no doubt console himself with following in the footsteps of Ovid.’

‘One shagger after another, and good riddance to them both,’ Rufinus said. For the first time Cerialis looked a little shocked, evidently at the word not the sentiment.

‘What distressed the emperor was that the betrayed husband now thought the matter solved. With his rival packed off to dwell among the barbarians, he settled back to domestic bliss – no doubt several times each night and so on… It was up to the Lord Trajan to remind him that adultery cannot be committed by one person on their own. Back in Rome the former tribune was ordered to make a formal accusation against the affectionate Gallitta, who was of course found guilty. As a blushing new divorced woman, she is now in exile – of course somewhere a long away from Tomi as well as from Italy.’

‘Any chance it’s Britannia?’ Rufinus said, licking his thin lips underneath his beard and laughing with the others.

Crispinus hushed them and made his face serious. ‘The point of all this is to emphasise the dangers to military discipline and the good of the empire that come from such gross misbehaviour. The centurion brought shame on his rank and the army. Not only has the emperor decreed that his offence and punishment be announced throughout the army, but he is also to be named, so that all shall know of his dishonour. And that name is…’ He paused, shook his head and reached down for one the tablets on the table. ‘Ah yes, it is Titus Flavius Ferox.’

Ferox jerked upright in his seat before he could stop himself and banged his knee against a table leg, hissing with the pain.

‘Dear me no, that’s the wrong note,’ Crispinus said as the others roared with laughter. ‘It is Caius Julius Similis. My apologies, friend Ferox, of course no one would ever imagine that you would behave in so shameful a manner. Will you forgive me?’

‘Of course, my lord,’ he said, laughing along with the others because it would have been odd if he had not joined in. Junior officers were obliged to share the humour of their superiors.

The consilium finished on this cheerful note. Ferox left, heart still pounding, and trying to convince himself that it was all just coincidence. Crispinus was a clever man, a politician to the bone, who loved intrigue. The year before last Ferox had wondered whether he was one of the men conspiring to replace Trajan with another emperor. The tribune’s uncle, Neratius Marcellus, had been willing to consider the possibility, believing that his nephew was the sort of man to end up on the winning side, whichever side it might me. Ferox was still not sure that the young aristocrat was wholly innocent, and suspected the governor also harboured a few doubts. Could Crispinus know about his night with Sulpicia Lepidina? Was all this long oration meant as a hint, just like their earlier conversation? The tribune was a man to store knowledge, keeping it for when it might be useful.

Ferox left the principia, thinking that everything had been so much simpler when he was far off in the north away from Rome and Romans.