Адриан Голдсуорти - Brigantia

‘But, my lord, is that not the way to create rebels where there are none.’ The face was flushing red again, and Ferox knew there was no point saying more, but could not stop himself. ‘People are frightened and do not know what is happening, there is a danger…’

Crassus had raised his riding whip above his head, ready to strike. ‘You forget yourself!’ he yelled, frightening his horse again. ‘I gave you a chance, centurion, but I shall not be lectured by you. You could have shared a little of the glory and cleared your name, but you are too arrogant to see my clemency. Decurion?’

‘Sir.’

‘Place this officer under guard. He is to be watched at all times and go nowhere without my permission.’

‘Yes, my lord.’

‘SO, AM I married to a criminal?’ That night Enica came to the tent where Ferox was held. Longinus was with her, but even so a legionary came inside to watch them. Under her cloak she wore a dress rather than her travelling clothes. ‘A gift from the legate,’ she added, seeing him notice. ‘Plunder from the villa, I expect, and a little vulgar. And not silk, more’s the pity. I feel alive with vermin.’ Rain pattered against the roof of the tent as they spoke.

‘Are we even married?’

She placed her hands over her heart and feigned a sob. ‘How can you say that?’

‘Did the cavalry come back?’ he asked. ‘The ones sent after the herd?’

Longinus shook his head. ‘Two turmae gone.’

‘Crassus expects them to return by dawn. Probably had to go further than expected, he says.’ Enica kept her tone flat. The legionary was young and seemed nervous. ‘There is no need to panic over so small a matter.’ She sighed. ‘Of course, I asked Crassus to release you. I think he was shocked to hear of our wedding. Seemed best not to say anything about the ceremony. As far as he is concerned, we are both citizens, lawfully and properly wed, even though he clearly feels I have married beneath me. That is quite something given that I am sure he feels I am half-barbarian still.’

‘Well, he has a point.’

‘Legionary,’ she commanded, ‘I think you should kick the prisoner for insolence.’

‘My lady?’ The soldier was confused.

‘Never mind. Let us just say that I begged that he show leniency for my sake and the sake of my friendship with his sister, that he must excuse your atrocious manners and that you were a highly experienced officer who could be very useful.

‘He told me not to worry my pretty head about such matters, that he knew best, and then he put his hand on my leg. In Londinium more than once I caught him looking at me. It was not any great compliment, as he leered at anything with breasts.’

‘What did you do?’

‘Perhaps you should kick him, Longinus, as a favour to me.’

‘An honour, lady.’ The veteran did not move.

‘I behaved with dignity and left. I did not even kill him. He is brother to my dear friend, after all.’ The legionary gaped at her. ‘And such as he is, he is the only man with the rank to command here.’

‘How will your brother fight?’

‘He is not clever, but neither is he a fool. He must win or no one else will join him and he is doomed. Tomorrow perhaps, or the day after. I cannot see his patience lasting longer.

‘Now, we must go. Soldier, do your orders permit a wife to kiss her husband?’

The legionary was uncertain. ‘I was told you are not to touch at all, lady. I am sorry.’

‘Then how would it be if I was to kiss you and you passed the kiss onto my husband’s lips?’

The legionary blushed.

‘Try it, lad, and I’ll throttle you,’ Ferox said.

‘So be it. Farewell, husband.’

The next morning, Enica’s judgement of her brother was borne out. In the second hour of a short November day, the leading horsemen saw the enemy. They were waiting where the road climbed a gentle hill, armour and weapons gleaming in the bright sunshine that had finally broken through the clouds.

Crassus was delighted, so much so that he ordered Ferox brought to him and even permitted him to have his sword. Claudia Enica was there, escorted by a pair of Batavians. The dress had gone, and she was once again in travelling gear, the familiar boots joined by breeches and two heavy tunics so that she wore her cloak open, and Ferox could see the hilt of a borrowed gladius. Before he left the camp, Ferox had managed to have a word with Vindex, so that the scout and the others ought to be riding out to the west, making sure that the prince had not sent a force to come in behind Crassus. As far as he could tell, the legate of Legio VIIII Hispana was not worried about such things. Indeed he was joviality itself, holding out a hand in welcome. ‘Ah, Ferox, I trust yesterday’s reproof has sobered you, and that you will remember the proper way for an officer to behave.’

Enica glared at him warningly.

‘My lord,’ Ferox said, hoping the aristocrat would take this as obedient contrition.

‘Good man.’ They were on a hillock beside the road, watching the column deploying into a battle line. Crassus swept his arm along the ridge ahead of them. ‘There are the rebels. I make their numbers little more than ours.’ A mounted vexillarius carried the square red flag marking the commander’s position.

That seemed about right, though only if he believed the entire enemy force was visible. In the centre, formed across the road itself, were the dark blue shields of around three hundred men of the Brigantian royal cohort. From this distance they looked the same as their own auxiliaries, for they wore mail, bronze helmets in the regulation pattern, and each carried a spear and a lighter javelin, as well as having a gladius on their right hip. They were drilled and trained like Roman soldiers, and if they were anything like the horsemen who had accompanied Arviragus, they ought to be pretty good. Their line was broken a little by the ditch on either side of the road, but otherwise their formation was neat. More to the point they waited in silence, keeping in their ranks and watching as Crassus’ men formed up to attack.

On each flank a body of two hundred mounted guards sat on their horses, the gaps between each turma visible even at this distance. Ferox presumed the men he had got to know a little on their journey to Mona were among them. At this distance they could easily have been a regular ala, and a good one at that, each turma mounted on horses of a distinct colour. For some reason the Brigantes had always had a fondness for chestnuts, and more than half of the troops rode them.

Next to each detachment of cavalry was a loose swarm of horsemen, tribesmen armed and ready to fight in the traditional way. Ferox could make out a couple of mail-clad leaders in front of the warriors on the enemy left and three on the right, and judged that there were over a hundred riders in each group. Between them and the foot guards were clumps of warriors. They were not in neat ranks and there was a lot of movement as men milled around, some sitting or standing, and, no doubt, being Brigantes, all of them talking. They would close up before the fight, but were not soldiers and saw no reason to act like them. There were some three hundred and fifty on either side of the royal cohort.

‘How many men serve in the royal guard, lady?’ Ferox asked the question loudly enough for Crassus to hear.

‘Nearly eight hundred infantry in the cohort,’ she explained. ‘My Lord Crassus, is there not a name for a regiment of that size?’

‘Indeed there is, my dear Claudia. It is a cohors milliaria. The royal ala is of standard size.’ Crassus gave her an indulgent smile. ‘It is much to the credit of your fellow tribesmen that so many of them have refused to join the rebels. As so often, rumour has exaggerated the army of your treacherous brother.’