Адриан Голдсуорти - Brigantia

Crassus, lately arrived from Londinium, had reached Lindum and gathered an army to crush the rebel, for that was what the prince undoubtedly was – at least unless he won. The bulk of Legio VIIII was at Eboracum, gathering supplies in case it needed to take the field and waiting for orders. ‘Crassus is marching north along the road,’ the prefect at Verbeia told them. He had received no orders to move as yet, and was keeping a wary eye on the hills in the distance. Patrols reported little bands of horsemen watching them. ‘I’ve barely three hundred fit men, and not enough mules to carry tents for half of them. It’s been quiet here for years, apart from the odd bandit. No one expected this.’ He was cautious about their plan to ride to join Crassus. ‘Your funeral,’ he said. ‘The lady ought to stay here, though, where she is safe.’

‘I go where my husband commands,’ Claudia Enica assured him, and almost sounded convincing.

Riders shadowed them, but the only time a petty chief and twenty warriors barred their path, he quickly bowed to the lady and helped them with a guide. They came down from the hills a few miles behind Crassus’ column as it approached Danum. Ferox started to worry when they got very close before a couple of cavalrymen confronted them. He announced who he was, saying that he needed to see the legate straight away and that his companions needed food and fodder for the animals.

‘I should come too,’ Enica said, her voice almost back to normal.

Ferox grinned. ‘Obey me, wife.’ He leaned across the neck of his horse to whisper, ‘Crassus is less likely to take advice if he thinks it comes from a woman.’

She frowned, and then nodded.

As he rode along the side of the road, passing the main column, Ferox felt his concerns growing. The decurion who led the escort guiding him to the commander was young and eager, but his answers only added to the worry. Crassus’ army amounted to fewer than fourteen hundred men, plus a few hundred lixae . Just over half the fighting strength came from a vexillation of VIIII Hispana, which for eighteen months had been undertaking construction work in and around Lindum, and before that most of the men had worked on the road. It was a long time since they had been soldiers, able to drill and train for war. They marched reluctantly, obviously feeling the weight of shields, armour and the packs hanging from the pole over each shoulder. He spotted a fair few who did not have a pilum, and who marched with a javelin instead, and even a couple without helmets. Crassus can have given them little time to get ready for a campaign.

The seventy men from XX Valeria Victrix stood out, even though they marched behind an optio and did not have any standard. They were veterans still with the colours, serving the last few years of their twenty-five years under the oath, and until recently in garrison at Lindum. Older by far than most of the work party, they almost swaggered along, crests mounted on their helmets, all equipment as it should be, but worn or carried comfortably.

As well as his legionaries, Crassus had mustered some three hundred auxiliary infantry from several different cohorts, and two hundred and twenty cavalrymen, again small detachments and strays from three alae and four cohortes equitatae. Most looked in better shape than the Hispana, but it was never a good thing to ask men to fight alongside strangers and under officers they did not know. If Arviragus really had a force of thousands, at least some of them disciplined and well equipped, then this was not many to face them. Whatever the Roman column did it would have to do quickly. Judging from the score of wagons and several hundred mules and ponies, the Romans were carrying food for little more than a week.

‘The legate is confident the towns along the road will supply us until we can reach the granaries at Eboracum,’ the decurion said loyally, when Ferox made a comment. ‘And we have confiscated cattle from the enemy.’

Ferox was not sure who the enemy was. Plumes of smoke rose from three clusters of huts to the right of the road, and he wondered what they had done to deserve this punishment. There was no sign of a people in rebellion as yet.

None of this appeared to bother Crassus, who brimmed with confidence and even seemed pleased to see Ferox. ‘Come in for the kill, have you, Ferox? Splendid. Must make a change from killing procurators!’ The nobleman threw his head back and roared with laughter. ‘Turns out that fellow was plotting rebellion after all, so we shan’t say any more about arrest, at least for the moment anyway.’ Crassus slapped him heartily on the back and laughed for a good long while. ‘You may even get a reward, for it turns out he was part of a conspiracy with this Arviragus.’ He pointed at the burning buildings. ‘This will send him a message and scare anyone foolish enough to think of joining him.’ The legate revelled in the destruction as his men burned the main villa and barns and huts around it. It was easy enough to understand. Twice disgraced, the man had come to Britannia and then found himself perfectly placed to crush a rebellion, winning glory and proving his loyalty to the princeps. The latter, at least according to the legate, was most certainly alive and well.

‘So the scoundrel is saying Trajan is dead, is he? Damned fool. And the noble Neratius Marcellus too. I can assure you our noble legate is recovering. Be up on his feet soon enough.’ That helped to explain Crassus’ haste to confront the enemy and win the war before the governor arrived to take charge.

‘Do you have a good idea of Arviragus’ numbers, my lord?’

‘Doesn’t matter too much. Rabble mostly. Those tribal guards are fine for parading around, but have never fought a battle. The rest will be a mob of half-naked barbarians. The only hard part will be to find him and make him fight. Doesn’t matter where as long as it is soon. My biggest fear is that he will run.’

Ferox reported what he had heard, and what he knew of the prince and the prestige he might gain from the blessing of Acco and wearing what he claimed was the armour of Venutius and the torc of Caratacus. Crassus watched the burning villa exultantly and showed little interest. ‘Good, I want him puffed up with pride, then he will come to me and I can kill him.’

‘He has the tribune Crispinus,’ Ferox added.

‘Prisoner or ally?’

‘I am not sure, my lord.’

The main column was close now. A centurion saluted the legate and asked what he was to do with the people from the villa.

‘Spoils of war,’ Crassus said, condemning the prisoners to slavery. ‘Just like the cattle.’ As the decurion had said, the force was gathering a fair herd of cattle, which at least meant they would have meat for a while. The seventy or so head from the villa swelled the numbers again.

A trooper galloped up, splashing across the muddy yard behind the ruined villa and reining to a halt beside the legate.

‘Decurion Simplex’s compliments, my lord. He has seen two hundred head of cattle three miles away. He asks whether he is to confiscate them, and if so, could he have another turma to support his men.’

Crassus slapped Ferox again. ‘Hear that man, more beef for our bellies! Tell Simplex to snap them up as soon as he is reinforced.’

‘Do we know whose herd it is, my lord?’ Ferox asked. ‘Should we not be careful to make sure that the owner is a rebel before punishing him? And cautious that this is not an ambush?’

‘Caution is for cowards!’ Crassus snapped, face red with anger, until he managed to control himself. He gave a little laugh, although his eyes stayed hard. ‘I have enough men to march through all the lands of the Brigantes and kill anyone who tries to stop me! The people here have not come in to submit and show their loyalty. I will treat them all as enemies unless they do that.’