Adrian Goldsworthy - Vindolanda

‘Then I am honoured to meet you,’ the man said, and shook their hands, even though they were filthy. ‘I am Cerialis, Prefect of the Ninth Batavians, and may I name my wife, Sulpicia Lepidina.’ She gave them a gracious smile.

Another man appeared, quite small and round-faced with thick hair that was a mottled grey even though he looked to be in his early twenties.

‘Well, it looks as if you have all had quite an adventure,’ he said cheerfully. ‘I’m Crispinus, by the way, and equally pleased to know you. I have heard a lot about you, and I believe you know my father. In the meantime, I’m tribunus laticlavius with the Augusta, so I suppose that makes me your commanding officer – well, at least up in this part of the world.’

‘ Omnes ad stercus ,’ Ferox said under his breath.

THEY WERE A hunting party, laid on by Cerialis as entertainment for the visiting Crispinus, and even if they were only armed with boar spears, knives and a few swords, the band of twenty-eight riders and a dozen hounds had looked formidable and deterred the raiders.

‘We saw the beacon,’ Cerialis explained, ‘so without hesitation rushed towards the road in case my wife was at risk.’ He had sent a couple of riders to follow the British horsemen, while everyone else waited to see what they should do. Sulpicia Lepidina and her freedwoman, the little dark-haired girl, and a couple of slaves carrying bundles had gone off into the shelter of the wood.

‘I am glad you did, sir,’ Ferox told him. ‘You saved us.’ It was several hours after noon, with a few glimpses of blue between the slow-moving grey clouds.

‘As I said before,’ Cerialis said, patting him on the shoulder, ‘it is I who am grateful to you for saving my most precious possession.’ His smile was ready and full, yet Ferox could not help thinking that the man was acting, playing the part of the honest, brave and honourable man, and very aware of his audience. Still, educated Romans often seemed that way to Ferox, all of them soaked in rhetoric since youth so that they rarely sounded natural. It mattered to them to be seen to act in the way expected of a member of the equestrian order.

Some of that audience was less enthusiastic. Caius Claudius Super was the regionarius based at Luguvallium, the big base on the Western Road, tasked with the superversion of junior men like Ferox. He was from Legio VIIII Hispana, an equestrian directly commissioned into the army, and in Ferox’s opinion had all the intelligence of a cowpat. ‘If we had come any later then you would have been gutted by that big barbarian,’ he said.

Ferox wondered whether the man was disappointed. Most equestrians who served in the army were like Cerialis, starting as prefect in command of an auxiliary infantry cohort and then holding a series of more important posts. Only those without the wealth or influence to follow that career joined as legionary centurions, and they always reminded their fellow officers of their superior social status. Claudius Super was worse than most, even if it was clear his family had barely scraped together the property needed to be registered as equites in the census. He was from Etruria, and openly disdained everyone and everything outside Italy. He did not care for any barbarians, despised the Brittunculi in general and the ‘little Britons’ of the north in particular as undisciplined, unreliable, untrustworthy, lazy and drunken. Ferox knew that Claudius Super considered that he was typical native of Britannia.

‘It was not going well for me,’ Ferox admitted.

‘Indeed.’ Claudius Super sounded like a schoolmaster taking delight in demolishing the arguments of one of his pupils. ‘He looked a tall fellow, if not perhaps as big – or as German – as he seemed to you!’ Ferox had mentioned his suspicion, only to have it dismissed. ‘Damned barbarians, we shall have to go north and teach them a lesson. An iron hand’ – he held his clenched fist in front of him – ‘that is all these brigands understand, if only…’

Sulpicia Lepidina came out of the trees, her golden hair unpinned and hanging down around her shoulders. She wore a man’s tunic, far too large so that it was loose and baggy even though she had gathered it close around her waist with a soldier’s belt fastened as tight as it would go. It was a pale crimson and went down to her shins, so that only a little of the dark breeches she wore underneath were visible. She had on a man’s shoes, the thongs drawn tight to keep them on as well as possible. Behind her came the freedwoman, a heavy woollen cloak pulled tight around her.

Claudius Super bowed, Crispinus smiled and Cerialis inclined his head. Ferox stood and stared. Lepidina was slim and straight, gliding more than walking. She was also beautiful, her fair skin flawless, features delicate, and her large round eyes full of life and wit. She was dressed like a man and still looked like a goddess come to earth. Ferox could not understand why he had not noticed before, wondered how he had ever mistaken her for a slave and inwardly cringed at what he had said and done.

‘My lady, it is good to see you a little restored,’ Cerialis said, ‘but you should take my cloak as it may become cold.’

‘That is kind, my lord, and I thank you.’ Her voice was quite deep for a woman, yet still soft. She gestured to her servant and then called to Vindex. ‘We have prepared a poultice. Bind it tightly to your leg and keep it on for three days. Keep it damp as well.’

Claudius Super looked surprised at this concern, before muttering, ‘So kind,’ and smiling with indulgence as the maid helped the Brigantian tie up his leg. The shoulder wound was not so serious, as most of the force had been absorbed by his mail, but they insisted on dressing it as well.

‘Make sure that you keep it clean and bound up,’ the lady told the scout. ‘No need to coddle it. It will get stiff if you don’t use it at all.’

‘Thank you.’ Vindex smiled, something that always looked more like a leer as he bared his prominent teeth. ‘Your kindness is only matched by your beauty,’ he added in his own language.

No one else had spoken while they waited. Ferox avoided meeting the lady’s cold gaze.

When all was done it was she who took the initiative. ‘I am ready to ride, if we are ready to depart?’

One of the huntsmen brought an unsaddled mare. The lady patted her head, spoke softly to her and then sprang up. ‘It is easier like this,’ Sulpicia Lepidina told them, beckoning to the freedwoman to come up behind her. She needed help, bunching her dress up so that she could sit astride, clasping her mistress as bidden. Two of the slaves were made to dismount and stay with the men in charge of the pack, so that their horses could be given to Vindex and Ferox.

They set out and soon met one of the riders that Cerialis had sent out earlier, who told them that the barbarians had fled and that there were Roman cavalry on the road coming from the east, so not Batavians from Vindolanda.

‘If my lads weren’t there first then I’ll have words to say to the duty decurion,’ Cerialis said cheerfully.

Keeping to the open fields, they climbed by a gentle route and soon encountered a patrol of cavalrymen with green shields and fur on their helmets – Batavians out from Vindolanda. Cerialis welcomed their commander by name, heard his report and then ordered them to fall in as escorts.

‘You may wish to return to Vindolanda, my lady,’ Cerialis said to his wife. ‘I ought to take a look at the place of the ambush, but there is no need for you to see such things.’

‘I was there, my lord. I have already seen much. Thank you for your concern, but it is safer if we stay together.’