Adrian Goldsworthy - Vindolanda

‘“And your friendly thighs,”’ he joked, quoting an old poem about a queen promising everything if a warrior would swear loyalty to her, with her own virtue as well as her daughter in marriage.

Galla shook her head. ‘I am the king’s.’

‘His queen?’

‘We are not man and wife, but he is my love and I am his. I cannot be queen, but he has several of those and none matter beyond the alliance they bring with their father or brother. He needs me and I guide him.’

‘You are not from these shores?’ Ferox was curious about this tall, slim woman.

‘My people come from far away, across the Grey Sea. There was a war, and my father lost it to another man who stole his throne. My brothers saved me and led our loyal folk away. We were chased and at last took to boats. There were twelve when we rowed away from the shore. Five only reached this land. I saw three of the others sink, the heads vanishing in an instant under the rolling waves. One brother died, and only Gannascus was left to lead.’ Ferox realised why her manner of speech was familiar, for it was a softer, more fluent echo of the big German. ‘Although I was young he needed my help – he is not a thinker, but he is a brave and good man.

‘We had barely a hundred of us left and did not know where we were. Seventy were warriors, bold men and big, and so we did not fear too much, but the weavers of fate were with us. The local chieftain was wary, and – better still for us – when we did not attack him and just camped peacefully on his shore living off the fish we caught, he sent word to Tincommius. He came to us, just the king, and I saw him and loved him and visions came. Since then we have been one and I have led him as he walks the path to greatness. It was meant to be, and in after years he has welcomed others from other lands. All serve him because he is faithful and generous as a lord should be.’

Ferox remembered the Hibernians at the feast. Broken lords and chieftains beaten in their homelands, they too had fled here and found safety and success and a measure of wealth fighting for Tincommius. If their numbers were few, such men and their followers were likely better warriors than most and had little left to lose. He tried to imagine a dreadful voyage in little boats on the open sea and shuddered at the thought, so that she looked at him in surprise. He leaned over to kiss her again.

‘No.’

‘I am a guest; there is no shame,’ he said, not believing a word of it, but reluctant to let her move.

‘I am the king’s. I have delivered our message and shown you that I am serious. There will be no more.’ She must have thought that there was anger in his face rather than mere disappointment. ‘If you force me Tincommius will cut it off before he cuts your throat.’ A glance downwards was enough to show what she meant.

Ferox lay back, folding his hands underneath his head. Galla stood up, the furs and other coverings sliding away so that she stood tall and completely bare. He watched her and she did not appear to resent him looking. Her white dress was draped over a stool and his eyes stayed on her as she dressed, neither of them saying anything. In the end the woman drew a heavy brown cloak around her and the dim light in the house became even dimmer.

‘Tincommius has a high opinion of you and believes that you are a man who can be trusted,’ she said, breaking the long silence. ‘He is fond of the son you spared, very fond, even if the boy is from a lesser wife and unlikely ever to become king.’

‘What son?’ Ferox had no idea what she meant. None of the men who fought for the champion’s portion were young enough to be the king’s son, and it stretched even the most generous praise to say that he had saved one of them, even the man he had wrestled to the floor.

‘Epaticcus,’ she said. ‘You really do not know, do you?’

He shook his head.

‘Epaticcus is foster son to Venutius of the Selgovae. Both are here now, and the boy stood behind the chieftain at the feast. That was his first battle, and all say that he fought with courage and also that he was at your mercy, but that you spared him and told him to go with honour. Since he proved his courage he is at last fit to appear in his father’s presence. Tincommius sent him away seven years ago.’

Ferox struggled to remember the fight at the fort and the scrambling retreat down the valley side, but like most battles it had faded into a few memories of fear and exultation. ‘I think I told him to piss off.’ He laughed at the thought. ‘But he did fight well and that is why I preferred not to kill him. I honestly did not know who he was, so cannot boast of it as a favour.’

‘That is what we thought, which only makes the obligation to you all the deeper. Tincommius is grateful and thinks that you are a man to trust. I believe that he is right, and I am glad that we have met and spoken.’

‘And I am glad that you sleep so deeply,’ he replied and his mischief was rewarded with a moment of uncertainty and doubt in this confident young woman. It did not last.

‘Farewell, centurion. We shall never be alone again.’

‘Farewell, Galla.’

She left, crouching down to go through the low doorway and closing the door behind her. He let out a long breath and just lay, staring up at the roof. To his surprise his head felt clear and calm and he had no desire for any drink other than spring water or some posca.

After a while the door opened and a man came through, bent almost double. It was Vindex. It would have to be Vindex.

‘Good night?’ the Brigantian said, baring his big teeth.

THE HIGH KING went hunting that day and the Romans were not invited.

‘Is it a snub?’ Crispinus asked as they ate the food brought to them by servants. It was early afternoon, with a bitter wind, and they were all glad to sit inside the house that the tribune had reclaimed for his own use.

‘In other words, no poaching,’ Vindex muttered when Ferox told him. As they took their meal, Ferox told the others what had happened from the moment the Brigantian had passed out at the feast. He spoke of the priest’s rage, and of the great druid disguised as a beggar.

‘Bugger me,’ Vindex cut in at this point. ‘Suppose at least the blessing ought to be worth something given all the money I gave the old liar. I ought to be the luckiest man in the world.’

Ferox did not hide the druid’s attempt to win him over to their cause, and then he came to Galla and he talked at length about her message, while skimming over everything else. It was clear that Vindex’s imagination readily filled in the rest, no doubt in the most lurid way. Even Crispinus was jealous.

‘From all you tell me, by rights it should have been me greeting so fair and important a visitor.’

Ferox shrugged. ‘She could not speak your language, and you cannot speak hers.’

‘Curse my parents for neglecting my education so shamefully. Well, that is past remedy – at least for the moment. What matters is that she claims Tincommius wants peace. Do you believe her?’

Ferox weighed his answer. ‘Yes he does, because the stakes are too high for him to want to risk war with Rome. He wants recognition, friendship and help.’

Crispinus was pleased. ‘Not too high a price for removing the most powerful of our enemies, since you say that the Stallion and his followers are set on war.’

‘He is, and there are bound to be a good number who follow him. If he wins even a few little victories that number will grow rapidly.’

‘Then all the more reason for us to befriend Tincommius and tilt the balance more in our favour.’ The tribune frowned. ‘I do not understand your caution.’

‘We make Tincommius stronger, then in a few years he may not be so friendly.’