Adrian Goldsworthy - Vindolanda

Ferox swung with his left arm as he turned the corner and saw the glint of the blade. He pushed the thrust aside, felt his cloak being sliced, and the man was roaring at him in anger, a tall man, with a lined face and grey beard and flecks of blood on his cheek. Ferox managed to get his balance back and was about to stab at the man’s face when he saw it break into a smile. ‘You,’ he said.

‘Centurion.’ Longinus raised his left hand in salute and then winced, clapping it back against his side. Ferox saw that there was a long rent in his mail shirt and that the fingers were covered in blood. ‘I’m getting too old,’ the one-eyed veteran said and leaned against the wall, the plaster brightly painted because this was the area where the family lived.

‘Them two won’t get any older.’ Vindex had come around and gestured at the two corpses stretched out on the floor. They were both in army uniform, one in scale and the other in mail armour, although their heads were bare.

‘Reckon they’re legionaries,’ Longinus said, ‘or at least dressed up to look that way. That one’s got the Capricorn on his brooch.’

‘Where are the Lady Sulpicia and the family?’

Longinus grinned and obviously regretted it because it brought a spasm of pain. ‘Safe,’ he said. ‘Leastways as far as I know. I’ve got the rest of the household in there, all locked up from the inside. The youngsters are in the principia playing hide and seek with a couple of good lads to keep ’em safe. The prefect is outside somewhere, that’s his job tonight, and there’s a few more men that I trust with him all the time. Hard to do much in the open with so many people about. The lads may be drunk, but they can still fight.’

‘The lady?’

Longinus gave him a strange look. ‘Safe. Safest place I could think of.’

‘Any more of them around?’ Vindex asked.

‘Must be some. I heard the dogs, saw the door forced and came in here. Fortunately I found this room before they did and Privatus recognised my name. Good lad, that one – he’d done what he was told and got all but one or two somewhere safe. Then this pair appeared and I was busy for a bit. There was a third, but then someone shouted from down below and he ran off. Heard a scream, so I reckon one of the slaves had the bad luck to get in their way, but they all left. Thought that I’d better wait here just in case. Don’t feel much like running, truth be told.’ The old soldier slid down to sit with his back against the wall.

Vindex leaned down to help.

‘I’ve had worse,’ Longinus said. ‘And I’m still here, although whether that’s a blessing or a curse who can say.’ He laughed until he started to cough and the motion must have brought more pain because he hissed and went still. ‘ Omnes ad stercus .’

‘How did you know?’ Ferox asked.

‘The letter from Crispinus. Himself didn’t pay much heed, but she told me and so I did my best to protect them. Owe him that much, even if his father was such a bastard.’ With an effort he stopped himself from laughing. ‘We’re Batavians. If we don’t look after each other then who will? And she’s special, and I knew her grandfather and owed him, so that was that. Whoever they wanted, they were going to find me.’

‘You are him, aren’t you?’ Ferox said, wondering why he had taken so long to realise. ‘There were always stories that he survived, was hiding in the army somewhere.’

‘Everyone’s someone.’ The single eye watched him closely. ‘Even you. Does it matter what we were?’

Someone shouted from inside the room asking what was going on, but Ferox ignored them. What did it matter? If Julius Civilis, former prefect, former equestrian, and former leader of the Batavian revolt, was now Longinus, a simple cavalryman here in the cohort at Vindolanda, then what did it matter?

‘Not a damned thing,’ he said, and then a thought struck him. ‘I have heard that Civilis was of royal blood.’

‘Worked it out, have you?’ He pointed at one of the corpses. ‘A couple of them came for me earlier on. Almost offended it was only two, but then I’m an old man, aren’t I? They won’t give any more trouble, but it slowed me down and let that one scratch me.’

‘If this is a scratch, Father,’ Vindex chipped in, ‘then I’d hate to see what you call a real cut.’

‘Why didn’t you keep some men with you?’

‘Not many I can trust to stay sober enough and to stick with their duty tonight. They were all needed elsewhere.’

‘Where is she?’

‘Flora’s. She’ll be safe there if she can be anywhere.’

Ferox laughed and could not stop, and soon he was leaning against the wall to keep himself up.

‘Glad you are having fun,’ Vindex told him.

At long last the centurion recovered. ‘Look after him,’ he said to the Brigantian. ‘And get the alarm raised in case we can still catch them.’

The old man looked scornful and Ferox was sure that he was right, but the effort had to be made.

‘I’m going to make sure that the prefect and his wife are safe.’

‘Yes, both of them, of course,’ Longinus said.

Frost was still outside, and Ferox hauled himself on to the back of the grey mare and was not gentle as he made her run again. For a moment she fought him, but then she jerked into an ugly canter which soon became smoother. He followed the road, soon catching up with the tail of the procession of effigies and men snarled at him when he went past and forced his way through them to go under the gate. He did not stop. The air was full of smoke and the smell of burning meat, but he ignored it and rode hard for the edge of the canabae, forcing people to jump out of his way. More shouts and curses followed him.

Only once did he slow, when he saw an old man with long white hair and hunched back coming from one of the alleys between the houses. He wrenched on the rains to turn the mare, but then the beggar looked up and he was a fatter, smaller man with a face scarred all across one side by burning. It was not Acco or the great druid or whatever the man called himself, and he did not spare him any more thought as the old beggar went and looked at one of the straw figures, this one of a great cow, tipped on its side and left by the side of the track.

He went on to the big stone house beyond the settlement. There were more guards than usual at the door, and to his surprise he heard Flora as he approached. ‘Let him in.’

She looked grave, but showed him through the hallways. ‘Not much business tonight,’ she said, ‘for Batavians hold it unlucky on this night of the year. Risks demons or evil spirits entering their bodies.’ The brothel owner stated this as a matter of fact, something she needed to know in her line of work, and did not pass comment. ‘There’s a couple of others upstairs, Tungrians, but no one downstairs.’

Ferox guessed that Flora was explaining that the heavy guard was there for another reason. She wanted him to know that she understood everything. In his experience she usually did, and so he walked down the corridor as she pointed him towards her bath.

‘You look like you could use a clean too,’ she said, feeling a bit of his sleeve and grimacing. ‘Go on. It’s all right.’ She smiled, looking older than usual, and almost maternal in her fondness.

He began to sweat as soon as he stepped into the room, for even though the bath was not heated to a raging temperature there was steam in the air that for a moment masked the erotic paintings on the walls and ceiling. Ferox blinked, heard the gentle sound of water being stirred and then a voice that was softer still.

‘This is a strange night.’

Sulpicia Lepidina, clarissima femina , daughter of a consul and wife of the garrison commander, was floating on her back, now and then using her arms to push herself through the water. Its surface flickered in the light of many lamps supported on pedestals or bronze holders fitted to the wall. Her skin was pale, her limbs long and slim and her only covering was a red band around her breasts and a matching covering for her loins, the triangular material tied up with a thong on each hip. Once, during the months he was in Rome, Ferox had gone with some others down to Neapolis and the sea, and had seen the women dressed in the same way at the beach. It still baffled him that the Romans had devised a way to cover a woman’s modesty and yet somehow make her seem almost more naked than when she was naked.