Адриан Голдсуорти - Brigantia

Declining an offer of dinner, Ferox went to the office of the procurator and asked to see the freedman Vegetus.

‘Why?’ The deep voice came from behind him, and he turned to see Cornelius Fuscus standing in the doorway. His head jutted forward so that he resembled a small and angry bullock.

‘My lord.’ Ferox stood to attention and raised his arm in salute. He was not sure whether the procurator had a right to this courtesy, but felt that it could not do any harm. ‘My name is Flavius Ferox, centurio regionarius. A short while ago a wagon owned by Vegetus was attacked, two of his slaves killed, another abducted and his property stolen. Although I have punished the bandits responsible, the property has not been recovered and I was hoping to learn more to help me to find it.’

The procurator glared at him. His eyes were pale and watery, without any hint of softness. For a long time he was silent, and Ferox was not sure whether he was trying to think of a reason to refuse the request or simply wanted to display his power before he agreed.

‘I have seen you,’ Fuscus said at last. ‘And now I recall your name. You are the one who failed to discover who murdered Narcissus at Vindolanda. You do not seem very good at finding anything.’

‘Sir.’ Ferox remained at attention and stared over the procurator’s head. If the man wanted to revel in his rank then let him.

‘Why should I help you, centurion? Tell me that. My staff are busy.’

Ferox said nothing. The procurator walked around him. He stayed as he was, staring straight ahead. A warrior of the Silures took pride in his outward calm. Still, a warrior of the Silures might easily have slit the stocky man’s throat for such an insult. At least all these years in the army made it easy to ignore the obnoxious behaviour of those protected by rank.

‘You are a dull sort of fellow, aren’t you. Most officers have shit for brains.’ He was back in front of Ferox again, glaring up, and so close that flecks of spittle pattered onto Ferox’s chin. ‘They are useful to kill and be killed, but for little else.’ The procurator slapped him a stinging blow across the face, and then stepped back a pace. Ferox remained rigidly at attention. ‘Hmm. At least you are not provoked easily. I shall let you bother Vegetus. See to it.’ The last words were to the clerk at the desk.

‘At once, my lord.’

Again Ferox had to wait, but only for a short time and then he was taken into a side office and found Vegetus slumped in a chair behind a desk, piles of tablets in front of him. It was the first time he had glimpsed the freedman at work and he was impressed by the surprising energy of this obese man.

Ferox did not expect a warm welcome and was not disappointed. The gaze was cold, although harder to tell whether he was most blamed for the horrible death of his wife Fortunata two years ago or the more recent loss of his prized antiques. He said little that Ferox did not already know. Still, he had not appreciated the bitterness of the dislike the man felt for Narcissus, which was clearly more than merely the rivalry of two collectors.

‘Nasty bugger.’ Vegetus almost spat the words. ‘Always listening, learning secrets. He liked to hurt people and make them crawl. A plotter too.’ Vegetus realised his hatred had carried him away, but he could not turn back. ‘I had reason to doubt his loyalty.’

‘Did you report this?’

‘Of course.’ Which meant that the procurator knew and had not told the legate.

‘Do you know who killed him?’

Vegetus screwed his face into a grimace. ‘How should I know? I wasn’t there. Some friend of our lord Trajan perhaps? Or just someone he had pushed too far. Who hasn’t got secrets they would rather no one else knew? I cannot lament the loss of such a worthless life. Now, is that all?’ Without waiting for an answer, he opened the next tablet in the pile and reached for his stylus.

‘Thank you. Yes, that is all.’

Ferox wondered whether anyone had liked Narcissus. Mention of his name to Longinus the night before had prompted a snort of disgust and a simple ‘Little bastard got what he deserved, didn’t he? I’d shake the hand of the man who did it – well, as long as he’s washed since then! Give it another month and he will be forgotten. Nobody cares even now.’

A couple of Batavians were with Vindex and the others when Ferox joined them a little later. The one-eyed veteran was not there, but Cocceius was. They were all sitting in the benches on one side of the amphitheatre. There were no games today, but men from the ludus were practising and now and then fighting mock bouts. Gannascus had been asking about the place ever since the fight, so Ferox had told them to bring him. The German watched every move, at least when his attention could be prised away from the girl sitting on his lap. She looked about sixteen, dark skinned and with long black hair that shone like silk. An easterner certainly, perhaps a Parthian or even an Indian, her face with the soft features that made you understand why the Greeks said the Persians were the most perfectly beautiful people in the world. She wore a threadbare, faded tunic and plain sandals, but it did not really matter for she looked like a princess until she spoke in a jarringly harsh voice.

‘He won her, didn’t he,’ Vindex explained.

‘With my money?’

‘Maybe. He’s lost and won back so many times that it’s hard to say.’ There was a bruise on the scout’s cheek, which he rubbed now and again. ‘Her owner wasn’t so keen on his taking his winnings, though. We had a bit of an argument.’

‘Anyone dead?’

Vindex thought for a while. ‘Probably not. No one likely to have important friends, anyway. You should have come with us after the bath. It was a good night.’

‘Couldn’t get used to you being clean,’ Ferox said. To his great surprise the others had enjoyed the bath-house, especially when they found one section where women were allowed to bathe with the men. That led to one fight, but the sheer size of the German helped to keep the peace. ‘We’ll probably be moving day after tomorrow. Make sure everyone is ready and check on the horses.’

‘Where?’

‘You wouldn’t like it if I told you.’

‘Humped again, are we?’ Vindex reached for his wheel of Taranis, but his fingers closed on nothing. He sighed. ‘Forgot. Some bitch stole it last night.’ He grinned. ‘I was busy at the time, and happy too, I’ll give her that.’

‘Heard any rumours?’ They were far away from Vindex’s homeland, and he did not know towns and cities, but Ferox had long come to value the scout’s instincts, almost as much as his own.

Vindex curled his lips, his big teeth sticking out. ‘Lot of talk of rebellion,’ he said after a while. ‘Not from those who want one, but those who fear one. The temples and that statue haven’t helped. Making people nervous. Seen the tribune about a lot, talking to all sorts. He’s playing some sort of game.’

‘He usually is.’ Ferox remained puzzled by Crispinus’ suggestion that he marry. ‘Think some of it has to do with the successor to the old high king. Who do you think it should be?’

‘Me! I don’t exactly move in such circles.’

‘You’re Carvetii, though.’

‘Aye, I am, but if I was a great chief I wouldn’t be hanging around with the likes of you, now would I? Course not. So what I think don’t matter spit. What I hear is that it’s between the two children, and most likely the brother, whose older, said to be a great warrior and a hero. The sister is younger. Nice tits, so I hear.’ Ferox snorted in surprise. ‘It was a chieftain who told me. So what, she may be royal, but she’s still a woman and there’s no harm in admiring from a distance. The Romans will chose the lad because they like kings over queens. That doesn’t really matter to us, or the Brigantes. Depends how much of their grandmother is in the lass.’