Adrian Goldsworthy: Vindolanda

Out of the corner of his eye, Ferox saw the captive tribune frown. He walked around behind him again, still talking. ‘That provoked rebellion, as he knew it would. He got command of the smaller column and made mistakes. He was too slow to cut off the enemy’s retreat, then left the Tungrians high and dry without support. Only luck and your interventions prevented an embarrassing defeat. Then he claims to deal with the king up north, and yet Tincommius’ warriors still join the rebel army. If you had not acted fast and taken the Ninth to guard against attack from the north we might well have lost that battle.’

‘You are too generous in your praise, centurion.’ Flaccus looked pleased.

‘The legate does not think so, my lord, for these are his words. If it were not for one thing, his joy would be untarnished.’

Flaccus said nothing and his face became hard. Two of his soldiers were close behind and he pointed to one of them. ‘Draw your sword. It is clear that the tribune is a traitor, but I quite understand that it would be embarrassing for the governor to have to arrest and try him in public.’

‘The legate was sure that you had the subtlety to understand. That is why you were sent with us.’

‘Sent among the enemy the day after a battle?’ Flaccus sneered. ‘It seemed a strange order until now. And if the noble Crispinus fell in an ambush and did not return…’

Ferox nodded. ‘Who could blame us, or the legate?’

‘You’ll never get away with this.’ Crispinus was struggling to sound confident. ‘Do not listen to him, Flaccus. My father will demand to know what happened.’

‘And what did happen, soldier?’ Ferox asked the legionary with the drawn sword.

‘Barbarians, sir. Came at us from the woods. Terrible it was.’ The man leered at the tribune and walked towards him. ‘Now then, sir. Hurt less if you kneel and make it easy for us both.’

‘A moment. There is one more thing the legate wishes to know. You can still serve the princeps and the state, noble Crispinus.’

‘Which princeps? Trajan won’t last a year and you all know it.’ The tribune did not kneel, but stared at Flaccus. ‘Not a good idea to be on the losing side. There’s no gratitude or favours from dead men.’

Ferox strode over to him, raised his left hand and slapped the tribune hard across the face.

‘Who helped you?’ He looked back at Flaccus. ‘We know about Vegetus demanding the tax early from the Selgovae to make trouble. Then you got his wife killed. Did he know about that? What about Cerialis? What did you promise him, for trying to hand his wife over for that mongrel to sacrifice?’ Ferox hit him again, and the tribune staggered from the blow, falling on his bottom.

‘Go hump yourself, centurion.’

Vindex chuckled. No one had paid him any attention for a while, and he had wandered around to stand next to the mounted legionary.

‘Not until I get an answer.’ Ferox kicked the tribune in the chest, knocking him on to his back. ‘You let those bastards torture a woman to death. It was even the wrong woman. What was the matter, did you screw it up or was that your men?’ He kicked again, making the tribune hunch up on his side.

‘He had help from someone important,’ Ferox went on, looking now at Flaccus. ‘A senior officer in one of the legions. On the day of the ambush he betrayed the Lady Sulpicia, letting the rebels know about her journey. But someone else arranged for soldiers to go to the tower and murder our own men so that they could not light the beacon and raise the alarm. The men who did were legionaries, and they bore the symbols of the Augusta, but that was a ruse to throw us off the scent. Same when some of the men were at Vindolanda at Samhain.’

Ferox kicked Crispinus again. ‘Talk, you mongrel.’

Crispinus moaned.

Ferox spat on him. ‘I’m afraid that the murderers came from the Ninth.’

Flaccus’ hand gripped his sword, but he did not draw it.

‘Did you know they raped that poor woman before they killed her?’ He invented the detail on the spur of the moment. Given the state of poor Fortunata’s body, there was no way to tell. ‘All of those Roman soldiers took turns and then handed her across to the rebels for them to torture.’

There was a flicker of surprise in the junior tribune’s eyes, but although Flaccus glanced at the soldier with the drawn sword, he said nothing.

‘I will need your help to find them, my Lord Flaccus. And to find the officer who led them. I suspect one of your centurions, although the man dressed as a tribune to confuse us. Will you help me?’

Flaccus’ hand stayed on his sword, but he seemed to relax a little. ‘Of course, centurion, although with so little to go on it will not be easy.’

‘Ah, but we have a witness.’ Ferox turned away and looked north towards the hills above the ferry crossing. ‘He’s late, but should be here soon. The survivor from the attack on the tower. No. No sign of him yet.’ Ferox turned back and smiled. ‘He did not get a good look at the officer, but he claims he saw some of the soldiers clear enough to recognise. We can find them, I am sure.’

Ferox strolled towards Flaccus. ‘You may as well have your man kill him,’ he said mildly. ‘I don’t think he is going to talk.’

‘Do it.’ Flaccus told the soldier with the drawn sword. ‘Make it clean.’

Ferox watched the man pace over to Crispinus, who did his best to roll away. Flaccus sneered and shook his head. ‘A nobleman,’ he said sarcastically, and then Ferox swung his blade up and jabbed straight into the junior tribune’s throat. Flaccus’ eyes widened, blood jetting from the wound as the centurion pulled his sword free, stamped forward and drove the point through the eye of the legionary standing behind the officer.

Vindex grunted as he stabbed the one on horseback, using his knife and driving it upwards between the scales of the man’s armour. The two men next to the dead priest sprang up, reaching for their swords. Ferox headed for the one standing over Crispinus, but the man ignored him and slashed down at the tribune. The young aristocrat just rolled out of the way, swinging his legs, trying to wrap them round the soldier’s ankles and trip him. The legionary sprang away, and then turned as Ferox came at him.

Their blades met, and the centurion felt his arm jar with the shock. Both men jumped back, the soldier stumbling as he tripped over the tribune, but before Ferox could follow up one of the other soldiers came at him from the side. Vindex was fighting with the last man, which left him to deal with two. He gave ground, making room for himself.

A spear hissed through the air so close that he felt its wind. It struck the soldier attacking on his right full in the stomach, punching through his mail cuirass and flinging him on to his back. The other man was struggling to free himself from the tribune’s legs, and raised his sword to deal with the annoyance. Ferox bounded forward, screaming, and slashed at the man’s head, heard the clash of iron on the bronze helmet, saw the man stagger, and then sliced low, hitting him below the knee with such force that he severed the leg. The legionary fell. He was still trying to hold his sword up protectively. Ferox kicked the man’s arm so that he dropped it. He leaned forward, took careful aim, and drove the tip of his sword through the legionary’s left eye.

‘Mongrel,’ he said under his breath.

There was a grunt as Vindex cut down his opponent. Ferox turned and saw Gannascus sitting on horseback just a few paces away. The German was smiling.

‘Good throw,’ Ferox told him.

‘Only if I was aiming at him.’ The big man roared with laughter. He did not seem interested in an explanation. His men just watched.