The Encircling Sea Page 5

  Ferox had loved once, a woman with a dark beauty, and for a few months he felt as if he had had a home. She had picked out Philo at a slave market and he had bought the small boy to please her. Back then he did anything he could to please her. Then she had left, in the middle of the grim business when he was tasked with investigating the officers involved in the failed coup led by Saturninus against the late and unlamented Emperor Domitian. He had done his job, even though he soon realised that the men under suspicion were dying, whether or not he discovered evidence of their guilt. He drank, and was surely gloomy and difficult, but he did not think that that was the only reason why she left. There was something else, something from the past that she had made him promise never to ask about. She had gone without word, without a clue, leaving only Philo behind, his pitch-black hair and dark eyes reminders of hers. It had broken him and he had drunk even more heavily, and in the end they transferred him to Britannia and sent him to this nowhere place in the far north because no one else wanted him. The Silures were peaceful, his grandfather already dead from fever, and he no longer mattered politically. He was made regionarius of one of the least important bits of land in the empire and left to rot if that was what he wanted.

  Then two years ago, he met her. It was on a day when he was too hungover to care much whether he lived or died, and he and Vindex had ridden to warn a coach and party of cavalry about an ambush. They were too late, but managed to rescue the lady and her maid who were riding in the carriage. The lady was Sulpicia Lepidina, wife of Cerialis, and he had begun by mistaking her for the slave. Somehow, they had all survived, and later he learned that the attackers were the Stallion’s men, wanting to take her and sacrifice her to make a great work of magic. Cerialis was from the royal line of the Batavians, which made her royal in their eyes, and so of greater value. He had saved her then, and then a second time when there was an attack in the fort itself. It was Samhain, the feast of the dead, when spirits from the Otherworld walked on the earth and the laws of life did not apply, and he had come to her then, found her, and they had made love.

  On the Kalends of August the following year, the Lady Sulpicia Lepidina, femina clarissima, daughter of a former consul and wife to the prefect, gave birth to a son. Before she had whispered the news to him, he had known that the child was his. Publicly it did not matter, for Cerialis, who already had three children and so had met the laws set down by all the emperors since Augustus, had acknowledged the child as his, naming him Marcus Flavius Cerialis and accepting the substantial expense of paying for another son’s education and career.

  He had rarely seen the lady since then, and never been alone with her, but he hoped that she sensed his joy and knew that he would protect her and their secret forever. The law was unlikely to be generous to him, for adultery was an offence against the Republic as well as the individual, threatening the family life on which the state depended. If discovered he would be dismissed from the army, perhaps even sent into exile on some bleak rock – that is if they could find one more out of the way than here. He might even be executed, for it was rumoured that Trajan’s views on such things were especially strict. None of that really mattered to him. Worse – far worse – was that she would be humiliated publicly, divorced and probably sent to a bleak rock of her own.

  Ferox had a son he had glimpsed just twice, a boy he would never hold, probably never know, and certainly could never acknowledge or be acknowledged by and all the while he loved a woman who was married to another man and could never be his. For the moment his joy triumphed over his despair at the hopelessness of it all, but he worried that he was feeling the urge to start drinking again.

  He clutched the blue stone tightly. Nine days after a boy was born Roman parents gave him the bulla, a gold charm worn around the neck until the boy became a man. The Silures did something similar ten days after birth, and they gave the child a stone or bead on a thread, much like this one. Ferox felt the smooth surface with his fingers and clutched it tight.

  When Philo found him the next morning he was still some­how perched on the stool, body slumped forward onto the table. The slave sniffed, but there was no scent of beer or wine, or indeed any of the old signs he had not seen for well over a year. His master was clutching something in his hand so tightly that his knuckles were white.

  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 s
urprised 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.