Адриан Голдсуорти - Brigantia

SEGONTIUM WAS MUCH like Vindolanda and the many forts dotted around the provinces, so familiar that any slight differences were oddly jarring. Built to house a cohors milliaria of some eight hundred men, there were barely half that number there at the moment, even though winter was approaching and many detachments had returned to barracks. They had missed the prefect by only a few days, for he had left to take up a post as narrow-stripe tribune with a legion in Syria, and his replacement had not yet arrived. The senior centurion in charge was welcoming, especially after he had read the letters Crispinus carried signed by the legate himself, although the news he passed on was bad. Neratius Marcellus had crushed a group of several hundred bandits near Verulamium, but had been wounded. The centurion did not know how badly. He had heard rumours of banditry and rebellion among several tribes, although so far the Ordovices and Deceangli were quiet enough.

The garrison maintained several boats, big enough to carry a dozen men and fitted with oars and a sail, and the centurion was willing to put one at their disposal if it would be useful. The main group would need to use the ferry or swim their horses across the straits.

‘It’s a little late in the year,’ the centurion conceded, ‘and there won’t be many more cattle coming across that way until next spring, but you should be all right. Batavians know what they’re doing on water, don’t they?’

Arviragus and Crispinus decided on the ferry and Ferox was glad. His own mount was tired after weeks of travel, and as he looked across at the far shore it seemed a long way. Yet to his surprise the island appeared innocuous enough from this distance, although he could not see a single house. Somehow he had expected mist and sinister shadows, and instead there was sunshine, which was warm as long as you were sheltered from the gusty wind.

The ferry was shallow-bottomed, rowed by four big sweeps on either side and steered by a rudder. Half a dozen men and horses could squeeze onto it, so the crossing would take a long time, especially as the current tended to take them over to the right, and it was hard work to bring it back to the jetty on the return trip. Yet the soldiers operating it were cheerful for this was a break from routine and the unit’s tradition meant that they would be given a pass to stay out in the vicus as long as they returned when the fort gates opened at dawn. Until then they were free to drink, gamble, whore, or do whatever they liked away from their officers. The same applied to the soldiers in the boat, who shadowed the ferry in case of accidents, although they would have to wait for their orders were to stay with the expedition until it returned. There were no other detachments on the island and no permanent outposts there.

‘We don’t have enough men,’ the centurion explained. ‘Wouldn’t really be worth it even if we had. There’s really not many people over there, and they don’t make trouble. Besides, no one ever really wants to stay there. Too many dark memories. I’ve seen things over there. Maybe they were lemures or other unquiet spirits and maybe they were just my mind playing tricks. This side of the island is the worst. Up north its bleaker and just empty. Here there are patches of scorched grass where the groves once stood. You’d think after forty years there would be no mark, but there is. They should send a legion and give it a year to burn everything, every tree, every bush, every blade of grass, and then in a hundred years the whole place might be clean.’ He smiled. ‘Sorry, been here too long and a man gets to brooding. You will be fine. Just don’t let your minds play tricks. Be careful with the current, sometimes the sea misbehaves. The boat will stay with you in case anything happens. If it does, then the horses will only make it if they swim, but maybe we can catch any of you before you drown.’

Ferox was glad that he was not on the first few trips. Arviragus led, standing tall at the front of the wooden ferry, with Crispinus looking tiny by his side. The next boats took an equal number of Batavians and Brigantes. The prince had given orders that Ferox and his men were each to go separately, and flat-nosed Brigantus decided that he would wait for the final crossing, so kept Ferox with him.

‘I shall cross with you as well,’ Claudia Enica declared.

‘As you wish, lady.’ The bodyguard did not sound happy.

In the event Longinus accompanied them, and that was all, for they had the lady’s two horses and a skittish pack pony that did not want to go up the ramp onto the ferry. Longinus tried and failed to calm the animal, and then Enica came to it, whispering soothingly, smoothing its ears.

‘She’s special, that one,’ the veteran said softly to Ferox as they leaned on the rail above the rowers. The two Brigantes were on the far side of the ferry, the animals in between.

‘Did you swim it last time, when you came with Agricola?’ Ferox asked, not wanting to discuss the lady.

‘Yes. And the first time with Paulinus as well. We were Batavians, so had to show off.’

‘Was it a hard fight?’

Longinus unbuckled his helmet and took it off, hanging it on the corner post of the ferry. He rubbed his grey hair. ‘Hard? Not really in the end. They were waiting on the beach over there.’ He pointed and then waved his hand along the shore. ‘Up to the headland there, you see it? They were silent at first, and that’s uncanny among the tribes. Then we got closer and saw them. Old men with robes to their feet and hair and beards almost as long. Women in black waving torches, and some naked as a babe, but writhing in a wild dance. There were warriors too, behind the rest, although only a few thousand. They had lines of our lads shackled. Men they’d taken in fights, some of them years ago. The old sweat riding his horse in the surf next to me saw an old mate of his they’d lost three years before. Once we were close enough to see them then the chanting picked up, and druids ran forward to curse and scream their magic.

‘One went along the lines of prisoners. He was all in red, the only one like it on that whole beach. Even his face was painted red and his hair dyed that colour. A couple of others pushed a prisoner to his knees, then the red boy put his hand on the poor devil’s head. After that the women took over. Sometimes they cut the throat. Sometimes they ran at him and drove a big spear right through and then watched him writhe. They even castrated a few of them. Then all of a sudden, silence again until red boy whines this song in Latin if you please, and the words didn’t seem to go together, but it was full of magic and hate.

‘The army stopped. Men at the oars just stopped. Never seen anything like it before or since. We were lagging behind by this stage. I mean the cavalry. Look at it. It’s a hell of a way to swim a horse and the tide was getting stronger. Seemed to be holding us back, and even the old sweat said it was magic and red boy was pushing us away.

‘You’ve read Caesar, haven’t you. First time he came, his lads balked when they saw the Britons waiting on the beach for them. Then the aquilifer of Legio X jumps over the side and shames the rest into following.’ Longinus had been holding fast onto the rail, lost in his memories. He let go and gave a grim laugh. ‘Caesar doesn’t give the fellow a name. Always wondered about that. Makes me think he was one of those soldiers who was very useful in a fight and a humping nuisance the rest of the time. Or maybe he was just some peasant whose name no one back in Italy would know or care about.’ He sighed. ‘Like those poor sods on the beach. As our whole army hesitated, the shouting burst out again, and one by one they killed the rest of the prisoners. We watched.