Adrian Goldsworthy - Vindolanda

‘M-my lady,’ he stammered the words again. ‘I must… That is to say, I wish to apologise for my conduct earlier.’

She laughed, head going back once again and hair glistening red in the light of the setting sun. Ferox looked at her, seeing a face so full of life that it was infectious.

‘Am I to understand that you are apologising for saving my honour or life or both?’ Her teeth were very white, her lips curling back as she chuckled. ‘Is it such a source of regret? I suppose you could always hope that we are attacked again, so that you can stand aside and do nothing.’

Crispinus turned around in the saddle and winked at him.

‘I did not mean—’ Ferox broke off, finding her amusement infectious. ‘You must forgive my clumsiness and the boorish way I treated you earlier on.’

‘Oh, that,’ she said. ‘It was a little unusual, that is true. Not quite what I expect from a respectable army officer. You are respectable, I take it?’

‘Thoroughly.’

‘I thought the appearance must be a disguise.’ She looked him up and down. ‘It is a very good disguise. Do not worry. That is not to give you licence to maul me about or shout orders, but the occasion was unusual and we are both still alive, so it seems to have been justified. It is I who thanks you. If you had not arrived then it would surely have been unpleasant.’

Ferox thought she spoke as if they were discussing some breach of etiquette at a dinner.

‘How do you know such things?’ he asked, encouraged by her friendliness. ‘The way you dealt with your girl’s shoulder, the poultice and everything.’

‘Roman nobles raise their daughters to run a household. That means that we must know about everything if we are not to make a mess of it or be cheated blind by our slaves.’

‘Your husband is most fortunate,’ he said and meant it. There was something overwhelming about this woman.

There was a smile now, but a thin one. An excited squeal came from the coach. ‘I had better see what that silly girl is doing. She has had excitement enough today, trying on some of my jewellery. You would have thought that that and surviving a brutal ambush was enough for one day. Must she really flirt now?’ she said and nudged her mare forward. He watched her go, cloak flung back, sitting as comfortably and naturally as a Numidian. Even in the plain, unflattering clothes, her hair wild and loose, she was beautiful and somehow out of place – not just here in the frontier, but anywhere in this grim, squalid world.

Vindex started to hum a tune that was as old as the hills, sung by Britons and Gauls alike, telling of the first meeting between a great hero and the queenly, magical woman who would become his wife. The names changed from place to place, but some of the lines never altered – ‘I see a sweet country; I’ll rest my weapon there.’

A little later Crispinus eased back and joined the centurion. ‘I understand you will not come with us all the way?’

‘No, my lord, I want to go to the watchtower. I sent one of my men to raise the alarm, but it took far longer than it should.’

The young tribune considered this. ‘Probably nothing, but you may be right to check. When will you leave us?’

‘Another mile.’

‘Will it not be dark by then?’

‘Yes, sir.’ The tribune appeared to be expecting more, so after a moment Ferox went on. ‘I’d prefer to look in daylight, but if something has happened better to know about it as soon as possible. If nothing has happened then it does not matter.’

‘Well, you know best.’ Crispinus grinned, looking boyish in spite of his prematurely grey hair. ‘You don’t know who I am, do you?’

‘A noble officer, from the highest family, and of unimpeachable virtue.’

‘That means you have not got a clue!’ The tribune’s sudden roar of laughter lacked the gentleness of the lady’s. ‘I fear sometimes we forget that the world does not follow the breeding habits of the upper class as avidly as we do. There are no doubt gladiators and actors more famous than half the Senate.

‘Well, my father was Marcus Atilius Serranus, legate of Legio VII Claudia pia fidelis, comes of the late and unlamented Caesar Domitian.’ He watched the centurion. ‘Ah, I see that you do remember. May I add that my uncle is Sextus Julius Frontinus, former legate of Britannia and close advisor to the deified – and much lamented – Nerva and friend of our princeps .’

‘Ah,’ Ferox said in recognition and because he could not think of anything else to say. His grandfather had surrendered to Frontinus, after the legate spent four years waging savage war against the Silures of the south-west. It was the culmination of decades of struggle and ‘We lost, but at least we didn’t make it easy for the bastards’ as the Lord of the Hills used to say. According to the terms of the capitulation, Ferox was one of several boys sent as hostages and to be part of the new order.

‘Titus Flavius Ferox.’ Crispinus stopped after he had said the name. He did not look much like his father, who was a bigger man, dull and unimaginative, although a better commander than many senators put in charge of a legion. Serranus had saved the life of Ferox and his men more than once.

‘Let me see,’ Crispinus continued after a suitably dramatic pause. ‘Ferox, let me remember it all. Yes, the first Silurian made a citizen and commissioned as centurion in Legio V Alaudae,’ he said, pleased to parade his knowledge. ‘Renowned for his courage, picked to command the exploratores scouting for the expedition across the Danube, warned of the danger of ambush in vain, but when the legion was cut to ribbons he managed to lead a force that cut its way out of the disaster under Fuscus, rescued by a certain legate of VII Claudia, decorated for valour, served with distinction against Dacians and Chatti, decorated again – and I may note saved again by the same legate – then promoted into XXI Rapax and sent to the Rhineland, only to get caught up in that nasty business with Saturninus’ plot against Domitian.’ That was an understatement for long weeks of investigations, surrounded by informers and torturers plying their trade, all leading to dozens of suicides and executions. Only a lucky handful escaped with exile and disgrace. Ferox had been told to discover the truth and that was what he had done. It did not make it any easier to live with the consequences. Too many had died, and the only woman he had ever loved had vanished. He still did not know why, or where she had gone, because he had been posted to Britannia and not allowed to look for her.

‘It is quite a career,’ the tribune concluded.

‘I know, I lived it,’ Ferox said.

‘Yes, Father always said that you had no manners. But he also said that you were a remarkably brave man, one of the ablest officers and certainly the most cunning fighter he had ever met. Uncle Frontinus just told him all that summed up the Silures – at least if you added in their cruelty. But one thing stood out all the more to him – and that was your obsession with the truth. Uncle said that was not like any Silurian he had met.’

‘He did not know us well, my lord.’

‘Bugger hammered you even so,’ Vindex said in a low voice, ‘so I reckon he knew something about you.’

Crispinus was amused and did not resent the intrusion. ‘It is quite a record.’

‘As I said, I know.’ Ferox was remembering something else and failing to convince himself that this young aristocrat did not know. He was indebted to Frontinus as patron, but he had sworn an oath to Atilius Serranus, pledging to serve the man and his family and protect them with his life. The man had forced it out of him, as the price for sending men back to save a detachment of Ferox’s exploratores who had been left behind, but that did not matter. An oath was an oath.