The Fort

XXVIII

PISO WAS LUCKY that he was hit by a falx swung one-handed rather than brought down with full force. The blow dented the top of his borrowed helmet and knocked the tribune out cold and the Dacian bounded over his body, calling for the others to follow.

This was the second attack of the day at the line of barrels and filled sacks between the praetorium and principia and there was little space to fight. Bran was limping, and was knocked off his feet when the warrior swung his shield. He rolled as he landed, and slashed his gladius at the Dacian’s ankle and felt the edge bite. The man screamed, dropping his shield and cutting down, but Bran rolled again out of the way, and Vindex chopped into the Dacian’s neck.

‘Up you get, lad. Between the two of us we’ve still got a pair of good legs.’

Another Dacian came at them, then hesitated as the two men spread as far apart as was possible in the alleyway. Vindex could see that the Brigantian and the legionary at the barricade were holding back the rest. He feinted to the right, drawing the man’s gaze, but the warrior was quick and parried his real attack. Then Bran slashed behind the Dacian’s right knee and he fell. Vindex stabbed down to finish the job. He was panting, his chest sore from a blow in the first attack that had not penetrated his mail, but had probably broken a rib or two.

The Dacians gave up for the moment, and judging from the quiet they had withdrawn everywhere else as well. An arrow zipped between Vindex and Bran and they did a lurching run to the shelter of the barricade. A slave and an auxiliary dragged the unconscious tribune away.

‘Bastards,’ Vindex said to no one in particular.

‘You should not have let him go,’ Bran said once again.

‘Will you let up? They didn’t ask me, did they, and wouldn’t have listened even if they had.’

‘Then we should have gone.’

‘Hopped our way there, I suppose.’

Bran lowered his voice. ‘I do not trust the tribune who sent him. He’s a useless shit.’ They were both peering over the top of the barricade, but could see no sign of any more warriors or of the archers.

Vindex guffawed. ‘I’m rubbing off on you, aren’t I? Well copy me, son, and you could end up a thousand miles from home on one leg and struggling to breathe! Oh bugger me, you already are.

‘Come on, you know him well enough to know he didn’t go because of that clown.’ Vindex had switched to the language of the tribes in the unlikely event that the legionary might take offence. ‘Herself told him to go. He’ll always do what she tells him. … Me too, for that matter. The queen said go, so he went. But he wouldn’t have gone unless we were here to keep an eye on her.’

‘You keep your eyes to yourself, Carvetian!’ Enica had come up so softly in her felt boots that they had not heard her. ‘I know what you’re like.’

‘You in charge now, my queen?’ Vindex asked. ‘With the tribune away with the fairies and Petrullus in the hospital.’

Enica kneeled beside them to shelter behind the barricade. ‘I have always been in charge, you should know that by now. I just let those daft men believe that they are important.’ She turned to the legionary. ‘How goes it, Lucius?’

‘Hanging on, lady. I’ll make the bastard res publica pay me my bounty yet. Sorry, lady, forgetting myself.’

‘When is your time up?’

‘November, would you believe it?’

‘Well drink one for me when the day comes.’

‘I will, lady, I will.’

‘Time for me to go,’ the queen said. ‘Now be good children, and don’t talk to strangers!’ She ran bent almost double, and either heard the swish of the arrow or guessed for she swung to the side to let it pass.

Vindex watched her go, his admiration obvious. ‘That one’s special and no doubt.’

Claudia Enica heard the compliment and let herself smile. She was going around the whole position, checking that all was well and doing her best to encourage. Ferox had once told her that an officer was often too busy to worry about the big things, because there was always so much to do and so many little things to worry about. Still, as she squatted behind barricades or climbed up to the rafters and peered cautiously through the holes they had made in the roofs, she could not help wondering whether her husband lived and where he was. A lookout spent the daylight hours on top of the tower, because the ladders leading up were exposed to archers on the ramparts and it was too risky to climb except at night. For all they could see there might be no more than four or five hundred Dacians left at the fort, but for the second day there was no sign of anyone else, whether the enemy’s main army or any Roman relief force.

The buildings were vulnerable, because there were few windows and it was also hard to fight through small holes like that. Stone or not, the Dacians had tried to pile up timber and start fires against several walls. So far, it had not worked, mainly because they had ripped rafters and tiles away so that men could perch and follow Achilles’ example by lobbing the tiles down at anyone who came close. The dwarf was doing well and might survive, assuming any of them did. Half the food would be gone by the end of this third day, and there was a steady trickle of losses each time the Dacians attacked. If they attacked on all sides at the same time, they would surely swamp the remnants of the garrison. The only reason she could think of why they had not done this was that they did not want to lose men when it was just a matter of days.

Claudia Enica kept herself busy and worried about all the little things. Now and again she wondered about all the little steps in life that had brought her to this place, and that led to thoughts of other days and other times, some good and some bad. She and Lepidina shared a light meal together, saying little, which was rare for them, and simply enjoying the other’s company. Lepidina was worried about the games she could hear the children playing.

‘“He’s lost his head!” you hear them shout, and “That one’s got an arrow in the lungs!’’ Even young Flavia waves a stick as if it was a sword. That’s your influence, no doubt! … They seem less bothered than I would expect by all the dying though.’

There was not much other news, apart from the fact that Piso had woken up, but declared himself too hurt to do anything other than go off to one of the last rooms with no one else in it, taking an amphora of wine with him.

‘It’s dangerous after a blow to the head or at least I fear that it is,’ Lepidina told her friend. ‘Although in truth I did not argue too much. Angry and resentful man that – not happy in himself and blaming everyone else for it.’

‘Sosius had doubts about his loyalty, and I do wonder whether…’ Claudia hesitated, and would probably not have said this to anyone else. ‘I wonder whether it was Sosius who attacked him on the night of the fire. Probably acting on orders.’

Lepidina did not need to ask whose orders. ‘Perhaps. Sweet Minerva, that all seems an age ago. I just hope concerns about him do not deter them coming to help us.’

The Dacians made no attacks throughout the afternoon, although arrows flew now and again. Enica wondered whether they would wait for darkness and decided to get some rest before the sun went down, so that she would be fresher if something did happen. Before trying to sleep, she indulged herself with a wash down and a change of tunic and undergarments, going to one of the little rooms in the praetorium’s bath suite. There was no one else there, although the tribune was in a chamber off the same corridor.

Washing was a joy and she longed for a true bath and the feeling of the steam cleansing all her skin. Yet just a simple wash refreshed her so much that she wondered whether she could sleep. She ran her fingers through the clean tunic. Philo had taken it upon himself to launder her spare clothes, devoting his energies to her improvement. There was a knock on the door.

‘Lady?’

It was Indike, sent by her husband to collect the dirty clothes and take them away to where he could work his magic and restore them to life. She smiled as she came in. A slave was used to seeing nudity among the wealthy, just as Claudia gave little thought to the other woman’s presence.

‘Anything else, lady?’

‘Thank you, no.’

Claudia lifted a small bronze-backed mirror she had brought and studied her face, bereft for days of any cosmetics. Were there lines around the eyes and mouth? She thought that she had seen them when she last looked, but washing off the dust and grime had reduced them to no more than hints. Sighing, she thought of her grandmother, the great Cartimandua, whose mirror had helped her to see the future. She had been a frightening old woman, usually stern until one of her rare moments of kindness. Enica sought in her own mind for the dead queen’s voice, for her certainty and guidance.

Instead there was a man’s voice from the hall outside, gruff and unclear.

‘Girl!’ the man was shouting now. ‘Here, girl!’

Enica could not hear the response. She had already drawn on her boots, and might have smiled at this mark of the Mother’s training. Shoes or boots first, each Mother told her pupils. ‘You can fight naked if you have to, but a firm grip on muddy ground will often save your life.’ Not worrying about undergarments, she pulled the fresh tunic over her head.

There was a scream, cut short in an instant.

‘Come on, bitch!’ The voice was Piso’s, very slurred and unclear.

Enica drew her curved sica from its scabbard and unlocked the door. There was no one in the hall, but her old clothes were scattered on the floor where they had been dropped. Across the way, two doors were shut tight and only the one in between them had light showing around its edges and underneath. She wondered about kicking the door, then decided that calm might be better. Enica lowered her sword to her side, and opened it.

Indike was on the table, face-down amid the plates and scraps of the tribune’s meal, her long dress bunched up over her bare buttocks. Piso was holding her down with one hand, while fumbling at his breeches with the other. The girl was sobbing, her whole body quivering with fear.

‘Stop, lord tribune,’ Claudia Enica said, doing her best to sound firm and level as her anger rose.

‘Piss off, Ferox!’ Piso mumbled without looking back. The broken fragments of the amphora showed that he had drunk the whole thing.

‘Stop at once!’ Claudia yelled at him. ‘You’re a disgrace, tribune, to your family and rank.’

‘Jupiter’s balls, at last.’ Piso’s breeches started to slide down. ‘Go away, you fool. You cannot judge a noble.’ Indike wriggled, trying to free herself, so the tribune slapped her hard across the bottom. ‘Still, you slut! Still!’

Claudia Enica went forward and pressed the tip of her blade against Piso’s throat.

‘You dumb bastard, Ferox, what are you playing at? She’s just a slave.’

‘I said stop or I slit your throat,’ Claudia told him. ‘And I am not Ferox.’

Piso stood up, turning his head and focusing his bleary eyes. He shuffled back, breeches around his knees. Enica kept the blade close to his throat, but let him move away.

‘Go, girl. Find your husband and stay with him – or if not him, the Lady Sulpicia Lepidina.’ Indike was up, pulling her dress back down. She could not speak, but the gratitude showed in her eyes as she fled.

‘Lady?’ Piso blinked as he started. ‘The Lady Claudia? Is that you?’

‘It is, and come in time. That woman is free, so what you tried to do was rape. Still, I am sure that we can persuade her to forget this ever happened.’

He was very drunk and anger flashed into his face as his mind cleared a little. ‘Slave or freedwoman, what’s the difference? I have many consuls among my ancestors.’

‘And wouldn’t they be proud,’ Claudia said before she could restrain herself. Piso had begun to pull up his breeches, but stopped. ‘You have fought like a hero,’ she went on, for a wildness was coming into his eyes. ‘Worthy of your family and worthy of praise and reward and honours to come. Do not throw all that away in a moment of weakness.’

‘You are right, lady.’ Piso stood as straight and dignified as a man can when holding up his trousers with one hand. ‘It is the drink. I must thank you for stopping me and beg for your discretion.’

Claudia smiled, feeling the tension fading. ‘Of course, tribune.’ She lowered her sword.

‘In the old days men would have sung of you,’ Piso told her. ‘Warrior maiden, never having trained her woman’s hands to Minerva’s distaff or basket of wool, but hardy to bear the brunt of battle and in speed of foot to outstrip the winds.’

‘Poor Camilla,’ Claudia said, recognising the lines from the Aenied and remembering how, long ago, even Ferox had compared her to the Volscian heroine. ‘But we are Romans and so destined to overcome the proud in war and not share her fate.’

‘We are Romans…’ Piso’s face changed like cloud passing over the moon. The rational, educated aristocrat fell away and rage filled his eyes. His left hand shot forward and grabbed her wrist, squeezing and twisting with a strength she would not have guessed he possessed. Perhaps she was tired, for she should not have been surprised like this and the thought brought a moment of panic. She slapped him with her free hand.

‘Bitch!’ he hissed and punched, catching her on the cheek as she tried to twist out of the way. Her sword fell with a clatter that seemed loud. ‘We’re all dead,’ he screamed and taking hold of her pushed with all his weight. ‘All dead! So nothing matters, nothing!’ She tried to strangle him, but his brute strength broke the lock and then he lifted her up onto the table. Her hand found a cup and she flung it at him, but missed and then he had both her arms and was pinning her down, his weight pressing onto her.

‘You’ll do better.’ The words were soft, almost tender and so surprising that she stopped struggling, wondering whether this was all some perverse joke. ‘You are so beautiful. A lady rather than some slut.’ His breath reeked of wine, and pressing her down with one elbow she felt the other hand take the hem of her tunic. He stood beside her, and she kept her legs tight together, but could not work out how to kick him. ‘Steady, girl, gently now,’ he whispered as if soothing a nervous horse. ‘It’s all right, it’s all right.’

Enica pulled her head away from his rank breath and the gaze of his mad eyes, and saw a chance. She relaxed, stopping her struggles.

‘You’re a hero,’ she said softly. ‘A great hero.’

Piso’s head swayed as if struggling to understand the change. He glanced down. The tunic was tightly bunched under the woman, so he began to yank hard at the material until it started to tear. Anger and hate filled his eyes again as the tunic ripped open from hem to neck. ‘And you’re no lady,’ he shouted, realising that she was wearing nothing underneath it.

‘I’m a bitch,’ she said, licking her lips. Piso started to drool, and the feel of it on her skin revolted her, but she had a plan and just one chance, so ignored it. He felt for her legs, and Enica helped him to lift her a little further onto the table top, and let her knees part.

The change in her mood for some reason made his eyes burn with new anger.

‘Bitch!’ he growled and hit her on the face again.

Enica’s legs were in the air and the tribune was trying to wriggle so that his breeches would drop, but the trousers remained stubbornly in place so he felt for them, trying to work out what was wrong. Her right hand reached the bone-covered haft of a table knife on the plate beside her. Piso was staring down at his trousers, then grunted with satisfaction as the breeches at last dropped. Enica crossed her legs, grasping the tribune tightly and used that to lever her torso up, the knife in her hand. Piso’s eyes widened and then the tip of the blade drove into his left eyeball with less force than she had hoped. He squealed, a noise more animal than human and reached up to his face. Enica clung on to him, ripped the blade free, dragging the remnants of the eye out of the socket, and plunging it into the man’s neck. His arms flailed and she let go with her legs, slamming hard onto the table and losing her grip on the knife. Piso staggered, moaning, and when he pulled the blade free a jet of blood sprayed all over her bare skin. Yet the tribune would not die and came at her. Enica half rolled, half fell from the table, losing the rest of her tunic and the dying man dropped onto her. His face pressed against her and she was not sure whether he was trying to bite her or kiss her, and the blood was everywhere so that it was hard to take firm hold and lift him off. She had finally managed to shift the corpse and push herself away when the door opened.

‘Bugger me!’ Vindex said. Bran was behind him, face grim as if he had failed, but then Sulpicia Lepidina pushed past them. She took in the dead tribune, his mutilated face staring one-eyed at the ceiling, and Enica, standing up, naked save for her boots, her white skin half covered with blood. The tribune had fouled himself in his last moments, adding to the stench and the wreck of the room.

‘Are you all right, my dear?’ Lepidina asked.

Vindex undid the brooch on his cloak. Claudia Enica gasped for breath.

‘Are you all right?’ Lepidina’s voice was eerily calm. Vindex held out his cloak and she took it and went over to her friend.

‘I am,’ Enica said, amazed that her words were level. She pulled the cloak around her. ‘I am.’

‘Did that bastard…?’ Vindex could say no more. His fingers were clenching and unclenching in his fury.

‘He tried.’ Claudia Enica managed a thin smile. ‘And failed. My honour is preserved – and he is dead.’

‘Good,’ Vindex said.

‘Perhaps, but he is a tribune and the son of a senator.’ Claudia looked over her shoulder at Lepidina. ‘What should we do? And what should we say? He has fought well in the last few days and won the men’s respect.’

‘Sometimes the truth is not only the simplest idea, but the best,’ Lepidina said, patting her friend on the shoulder. ‘A bad blow to the head can change a man’s character, sometimes forever, and wine does not help. Whatever respect he may have won, the men love you – all of them.’

‘You too, lady,’ Vindex said.

‘Perhaps, but a blind man could see that you are the heart and the head of this defence. So we will say that he tried to rape you and that you killed him. They will hate him for this crime and admire you more for your strength and skill.

‘As for later, his family is in disgrace and he was here to redeem himself and perhaps one day redeem his fool of a father. Whatever is said in public, I doubt that many will miss him.’

Claudia Enica had the odd feeling that what had happened was no more than a dream from which she had woken. ‘I do wonder if he was sent here to die.’

‘Perhaps. Which may mean that some will be grateful, although whether or not they can show it is harder to say. But those are problems for another day, if we live to see it. And to do that we need you fresh and restored. Go and wash again, and put on some clean clothes.’

‘Yes, mother, right away, mother.’ Enica did a little curtsey, making the cloak fall open. Vindex and Bran turned away and she thought how strange that was, especially for the scout.

After she had washed again and dressed in her last clean tunic, Claudia Enica fussed with her hair and then took another look in her mirror. The eyes that stared back at her were the eyes of Cartimandua. She did not smile, for her grandmother had rarely smiled, but she felt stronger.