Адриан Голдсуорти - Brigantia

‘Perhaps, perhaps not, if he did not need them until now. That is always assuming he does not already have them.’

‘Cheerful and suspicious as ever.’ Crispinus glanced back at the column and smiled. Faces turned expectantly. Apart from the odd building and a few travellers, they were alone. ‘Let’s not worry for the moment. The horses are warmed up. Let’s give them a run and shake off the dust and crowds! Come on!’ The tribune’s horse leaped forward, hoofs pounding into a canter. Ferox and the others followed. Vindex whooped for sheer joy and the Batavians grunted their approval.

THE WEATHER WAS good for the first week, crisp in the mornings and overnight, and bright and clear in the daytime. They took the north-west road, following the same route as the legate and his cavalry, whose passage was marked by more piles of horse dung than was usual from trade. Before they caught up, Crispinus ordered them to leave the main road and follow farm tracks heading westwards over the rolling hills. It was a well-trodden route, the going good after a dry summer, and if the tribune wished to avoid the legate then that was his business.

They went quickly, sometimes riding, sometimes leading the horses, past tilled fields, cattle fat from summer grass, and plenty of farms, almost all the buildings rectangular and built in Roman style, whether of timber or stone. Large posts stood at the boundaries of clan lands and larger ones at the edge of tribal territory, each bearing a carved Latin inscription of ownership. This was good land, territory of the Atrebates, a people who had thrived as part of the province. It was hard to see any hint of brooding rebellion, and the farmers and their families were friendly, welcoming them with food and drink when they camped near their houses.

On the second day, Ferox saw the riders following them, mere spots in the distance, keeping more than a mile back, and sometimes all he saw was a little plume of dust from the hoofs. Yet they were always there, and the same was true the next day. By then Vindex had spotted them, and showed it by a quick glance at Ferox, who shook his head as a sign that he was to say nothing yet. Longinus must have noticed, for he hung back behind the column and stared for a long time, hand cupped over his one eye to shield it. Ferox doubted he saw anything, but it did not take great imagination to guess what they had been looking at. That night they were given shelter at a villa owned by a local chieftain, a man clearly eager to prove how Roman he was, and thrilled beyond measure to have a senator’s son as his guest.

The morning brought thick fog, and if their host had not obliged them by acting as guide they might well have got lost, for it did not lift until noon. Ferox saw no sign of pursuers that day or the one after, and the fog returned for the next few days. More than once they got lost, even when guided by locals, and spent a lot of time travelling in circles, until they came to a river and followed it. The nights were damp now, and they were glad of their tents, and gladder still when they were offered shelter indoors. They had reached the lands of the Dobuni, the dreaming folk, who seemed part of the land itself. In the old days the Silures had often raided them, for the Dobuni were never renowned as warriors, although stubborn and brave enough, and the Lord of the Hills used to joke that they were his herd to do with as he wished. Some of them still dwelt in round houses, although the bigger farms and barns were after the Roman fashion. Carved figures, vaguely human in shape, stood as markers, and at times Ferox felt that he could have been in northern Gaul.

‘We’re not taking you home,’ Crispinus announced. ‘Not this time.’ They were only a few days’ ride from the borders of the Silures. Ferox was relieved. He was no longer sure that it was his home. There would certainly be no welcome for him, and he could expect only malice from his cousins, however much Acco had dismissed them. They had supplanted him and would never trust him because of it. Besides, it was surely better to keep the memories of childhood and not sour them by seeing places now.

Before they reached Corinium they went north, and the weather turned dull and cold, with a sharp wind. As they had gone further and further west the trees they passed had browner leaves, and now their horses’ feet crunched through mounds of fallen leaves. Crispinus continued to avoid garrisons and towns, but had plenty of coin to buy provisions from the farms. Some of the locals were not keen, for people in these parts had less need of silver or bronze than elsewhere, but the presence of armed men and the obvious importance of the tribune usually tipped the balance. One of the ponies had gone lame, an injury that ought to heal well enough in time, and they bartered him for beer, bread and strips of salted beef.

The pursuers had caught up with them, for the trail was not a hard one to follow. They came a bit closer now, so that a few times Ferox glimpsed them. They were both hooded and cloaked, riding greys. Later in the day he saw a blur, much further away, like a shadow on the hills, though moving against the wind, of several dozen horsemen at least. Otherwise they mostly saw shepherds leading their flocks down from the high pastures, and drovers with herds, many of the animals destined for slaughter to feed the tribe through the winter months.

Drizzle grew stronger and turned into driving rain as they reached the lands of the Cornovii, and the bad weather persisted day after day. Some of the Batavians muttered when Crispinus told them that they were not stopping at Viroconium. Longinus’ face was expressionless, although later that evening he followed Ferox when he left the camp and wandered down near the stream. Each man carried a dolabra and after making a suitable hole in the ground they lowered their trousers and squatted. Ferox smiled at the thought that it was just like being in a fort, until the sour memory of the filthy corpse at Vindolanda came to mind.

‘You reckon he knows?’ the one-eyed veteran asked.

The rain meant Ferox had not seen any of their pursuers for days, but he guessed what Longinus meant. ‘Hasn’t said anything, and you know how he talks. Maybe he’s guessed?’

‘So either he isn’t surprised, isn’t worried, or reckons he can keep ahead.’

‘Aye, that’s how I see it.’

‘The ones behind are cavalry, no doubt about it.’ Longinus sensed some surprise at his tone of certainty. ‘I may only have one eye, but I can see straight. It’s the way they move. Army or close enough. Not sure about the others. Our lad Arcanus isn’t the brightest and not one to speak out of turn to a nobleman, but he’s spotted them and bound to say something soon.’ Arcanus was the duplicarius or ‘double-pay’ soldier in charge of the detachment of Batavians. He was neat, reasonably efficient and obligingly willing to obey any command. Other than that, he was not a man to be noticed in a crowd. From the start Ferox had wondered why they did not have a decurion in charge. Still, with the flap on and the legate charging off to Verulamium, there may not have been any available. That was the straightforward answer and he suspected it was wrong.

Longinus whistled softly, one of those army songs as old as the legions, and for a while this was the only sound. ‘Reckon a couple of us could hang back and scrag them?’ the veteran said at last.

‘Reckon I could.’

‘Are you going to?’

‘I’m a prisoner. It’s not up to me.’ Ferox finished and picked up some of the leaves he had gathered.

‘You didn’t kill him, though, did you?’

Ferox said nothing.

‘Little shit deserved it.’ He glanced around to make sure they were alone. ‘She told you about the trouble he was causing her. Did she say what he wanted?’