Adrian Goldsworthy - Vindolanda

A door opened and there was a burst of shrieking followed by a man’s bellow. Two women were pushed into the room. One was pale with chestnut hair and the other dark-skinned and black-haired. Their hair was wild, and they wore fine slippers in whitened leather and nothing else. It was the twins, and they were rowing as they often did, so that a big broad-chested man, one of Flora’s slaves, had to hold them apart. Ferox had seen neither woman for a long while, and certainly not like this.

‘Quiet!’ Flora screamed, the sound echoing in the room and probably audible upstairs even above the din. The two women froze and went silent. ‘Are you still here?’ she asked Ferox. ‘Thought you came on business?’

Ferox did his best to look only at the mistress of the house and failed, his eyes flicking over towards the naked slaves. ‘One last question. I saw Longinus as I came in. Do you know him?’

‘I know everyone, don’t I – at least by one thing.’ She leaned her head so that she was peering at him. ‘You’d better not be up to any mischief. Yes, I know him. He’s a friend, and has been for years – much longer than you. We’ve been through a lot together, and sometimes we like to sit and talk about the old days and how glad we are that we’re not living them any more.’

‘Do you trust him?’

‘With my life. Yours too, not that that counts for much! Now clear off and let me get on, you idle soldier – before you start enjoying yourself and shock us all.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Just go!’

ON THE NONES of October Ferox returned to Vindolanda. The weather was better than it had been for weeks, but there was something in the air that hinted at the coming of colder and shorter days. Leaves were turning brown and beginning to fall, and for days the sentries on duty in the tower at Syracuse had watched as swallows flocked and wheeled across the valley in front of the burgus. They would leave soon, before the frost began to bite and the trees were stripped bare.

All this was what happened each year, a sign that the world moved on, whatever anyone felt about it. When Ferox rode out he found people nervous and secretive, and the mood was even darker than it had been at the end of summer. Fewer than usual came to him with requests, and there was less theft and raiding than in the past at this time of year. It might have been because the Roman expedition had reminded everyone of the empire’s willingness to punish, but he doubted that. Vindex was even more scornful.

‘Don’t think that scared anyone. They’re frightened of what’s on its way, not what’s happened already.’

Ferox did not blame them. There had not been much news of the Stallion and his tattooed followers, although it was whispered that many were going to join them, journeying from distant lands to pledge their lives to the cause of flame and purging. It made it hard not to look with suspicion at any travellers. Philo had deciphered more of the curse they had found wrapped around the effigy. Most of it was meaningless incantation, but there were lines that made sense, and he showed them to Crispinus and Cerialis when he met them at the fort.

‘“Three times nine years and three, and the house of Jupiter will burn and with it all of Rome. The wolf cubs will bite each other unto death; all will die and all will burn. Fire will cleanse the world, and leave behind a better land for those worthy to inherit.”’

‘All cheerful stuff,’ Crispinus said when he had read the boy’s translation. ‘If I remember rightly the Temple of Jupiter Optimus Maximus on the Capitol was struck by lightning and caught fire, back at the time of the Civil War, thirty years ago.’

‘Yes, and there was trouble in Gaul then, with men claiming to be druids foretelling the destruction of the empire.’ Ferox remembered studying in Gaul, and how no one openly spoke about druids, and yet all knew they were there and paid great heed to what they said. If there were runaway slaves from the empire at the heart of this movement, perhaps some came from the Gallic provinces. All that Philo said added to the picture of a mishmash of beliefs from all over the world, twisted into one message of hate and destruction.

‘“Filled with the strength of the gods,”’ Crispinus read aloud, ‘“no blade will pierce the pure and brave.” Sounds a good trick. Presumably the ones we killed when they attacked the camp were not sufficiently pure. What does this mean? “When the dead walk among the living and the two worlds join for a night, and when new life begins, these are the times appointed. Blood of king, blood of queen, all shall burn as offerings to please the gods and feed the cleansing fire.”’

‘The souls of the dead walk the land at Samhain, as do creatures from the Otherworld,’ Ferox said, and he believed it, for that was a strange night. Yet somehow to say such a thing here, in a room off the courtyard of the principia, made it seem unreal. ‘It is the night before the Kalends of November. My guess is that new life beginning means Imbolc, the feast around the time lambing begins. It is a guess, and hard to tell when they have plucked ideas from all over the place. To me it seems to promise a sacrifice of important captives at one of the festivals, working a great magic that will give power and victory to this Stallion and his bands.’

‘I still find it hard to believe that this nonsense will be taken seriously.’ It was Aelius Brocchus who voiced the opinion, but Rufinus nodded in support and Ferox sensed that none of the Romans – perhaps not even Crispinus – suspected the real danger. Fortunately Claudius Super was sick, and unable to attend the consilium, which at least removed the most sceptical of them all.

‘If you will forgive my frankness, my lords, whether or not we believe it is not the point. Enough people out there will believe – or feel afraid and so go along with it just in case it is true. If enough leaders decide to back them then that will give them armies big enough to pose a real problem. We have already heard that there is a high king among the Vacomagi who shelters and aids this Stallion and his allies, and has the support of the great druid. Other leaders might decide to do the same.’

They took him seriously, and at least that was something. All were only too aware that the garrison of the province was not big enough to fight a major war with confidence of victory.

‘The centurion raises many important matters,’ Crispinus said after a long pause. ‘And one is most relevant to our purpose today. An ambassador has come from Tincommius, High King of the Venicones and Vacomagi, seeking the friendship of Rome. Anyone ever heard of the man before?’ The question was general, but the tribune was looking at Ferox.

‘No, sir. Never heard of the two tribes under one ruler either.’

‘Then it may all be boasting, but either way the Legate Quadratus feels it prudent to send a delegation to meet the man. The purpose is to talk rather than fight, so they will take an escort of no more than thirty.’

Rufinus let out a low whistle, making the others turn. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘But that is a long way from any rescue. If this high king isn’t friendly, or anyone else goes for them – this Stallion or whatever he’s called – then there won’t be much hope. Has the legate chosen some poor devil to go?’

‘I am going,’ Crispinus said, his expression wooden.

‘Oh, well, look…’ Rufinus glanced around the room for aid, but then gave up. ‘No, I cannot think of a way to make what I said sound any different, so might as well stand by it. It is a big risk. Haven’t we just been talking about this mad priest wanting to sacrifice an important captive? You’ll be there in plenty of time for the whathisname festival.’