Адриан Голдсуорти - Brigantia

‘War has come, whether you wished it or not. I bring this captive and other trophies. This son of a senator and nephew of a traitor will wait on us, the lords of Brigantia, as we decide what to do. I am Arviragus, grandson of Venutius who won battles against Rome and forced them to settle with him. I wear his helm and his armour for he is reborn in me, to lead us in this hour. Need I say more?’

‘You have said and done enough, brother.’ Enica’s voice was calm, and she did not shout, and perhaps it was the higher pitch that made the council fall silent. Or perhaps she truly had some of the power of her grandmother. Ferox thought of how Acco’s soft words had carried so far and swept over his hearers.

‘The war has come because you wished it. Tell me, noble Crispinus, who is it says that Trajan is dead? Tell me that.’

The tribune managed to meet her gaze. ‘I do not know, lady.’

‘It is a story and nothing more. Stories often lie, and we know this in our hearts even if we love to believe them. Stand, husband.’ She gestured with her left hand. Ferox stood, doing his best to scowl as requested. ‘This is Flavius Ferox, my consort. He is a prince of the Silures, grandson of the Lord of the Hills. He is a famous warrior, who has served the emperors and won so many decorations for valour that even he cannot remember how many there are.

‘Acco married us. At Samhain, on Mona, by the holy lake. The last druid did this. He told us that he would offer us both to the gods, and yet here we are.’ There were protests, but she stilled them merely by raising her other hand. ‘I do not speak impiety, since I speak only the truth. Acco knew. Before he broke the mirror of Cartimandua, I saw into his old heart. He spoke of the end because he knew that it had come. The druids have passed away. He was the last, and he could not send us into the Otherworld no matter how hard he tried. My husband slew Acco with the sword he wears tonight.’ They stared at him with a mix of fear and hatred. Several produced wheels of Taranis or other totems and kissed them to ward off evil.

‘Some of you here knew Venutius. I see before me faces of bold warriors whose chariots raced alongside my grandfather’s. See now the mail he wore and the marks of the wounds he suffered leading our people. See that helm with its high crest, and remember the days he slaughtered Selgovae, Parisi and even Romans. This is the true armour of Venutius, is it not?’

‘Aye, lady.’ One of the oldest men spoke. ‘I do not know what your brother wears.’

Arviragus glared hatred at the old man. ‘These came to me from Acco himself,’ he shouted.

‘Peace, brother. There is so much you do not know.’ Enica nodded to Ferox. ‘Sit, husband.’ Ferox tapped the pommel of his sword, gave the room another smouldering glare and did as he was told.

‘The druids are gone forever and with them the world they understood. Rome is here. Rome gives us peace and plenty. Rome means we do not steal each other’s cattle, rape each other’s women, or take the heads of each other’s warriors. You know all of this. Who truly wants to go back to the old days? Who wishes to challenge Trajan on a mere rumour?

‘War is here? My brother speaks the truth in this matter. Thus you must choose. Cleave to him and you will die. Tomorrow, next month, next year, it will not matter in the end. Cleave to me and I will lead you to life.

‘By dawn you must decide. You know the customs. Those of you with eyes will know whose spirit burns within me. Those of you with sense will know that I speak wisdom. By tomorrow eve you must all choose. Will you seek death or life? As my brother said – need I say more? You are the elders of our people. It is for you to decide what is best for them. That is all.’ She seemed to shrink a little in her seat as the speech was done, and she reached her left hand back towards Ferox. He took it and held it tight.

‘Come, brother,’ she said, and there was genuine fondness alongside the sadness in her smile. ‘Let us take a drink.’

‘Worm!’ Arviragus barked the word at the tribune. Crispinus rose, coming close as the prince beckoned. Arviragus pulled the bolt securing the chain, so that it fell, leaving the tribune solely with the iron collar around his neck. ‘Serve us each a cup of wine.’

‘I would be so grateful to you,’ Enica added softly.

Crispinus bowed to her, and then more stiffly to the prince. Two servants waited, one holding a silver cup in each hand and the other an amphora. The tribune poured out the wine, the sound loud in a room otherwise silent apart from the crackling of the fire. He reached out and spread a hand over the wide top of each cup to take them, then lifting them high, before he lowered them. Ferox gripped the lady’s hand hard, his senses telling him something was wrong, but her fingers slipped free as she and her brother stood to take the offered cups

The prince searched the faces.

‘Latenses, drink with me.’ A chieftain rose and walked forward.

Enica smiled warmly at Vindex’s father. ‘Carvetii, drink with me.’

Ferox was watching Crispinus. The tribune’s face hung down, but his eyes watched the scene unfold with an intensity that had not been there a moment ago. Then it changed to surprise, even panic.

The chieftains drank deeply. Ferox sprang to his feet, rushed forward and grabbed for the cups, spilling them both to the floor. Audagus’ mouth opened in a yell of rage, the prince was screaming something about treachery, and then Vindex’s father began to choke. Ferox drew his sword. Chieftains shouted in anger and confusion. Crispinus crouched down in a ball. ‘He made me!’ he babbled. ‘He made me!’ Arviragus had his own sword out, was slashing at his sister, and Ferox spun in time, grabbing her by the shoulders and pushing her down. Men called for their attendants and their swords. Some were jostled and turned angrily on their neighbours. One stocky old warrior with no more than a fringe of grey hair around his bald head slammed his fist into the man beside him, knocking the other chief and a couple more onto the ground.

Vindex cradled his father, who gasped for breath, froth bubbling from his lips. Longinus stood over Ferox and Enica, sword in hand, and Arviragus cursed him and ran, pushing his way to the door.

‘We need to go!’ the veteran said.

Audagus died, his face a ghastly pallor, yellow drool down his chin. Vindex was glassy-eyed, and Ferox took his shoulder. ‘I’m sorry, so sorry. Will you stay or come with us?’

The attendant was beside him, a younger version of Vindex, and the scout nodded and passed the corpse over onto the other man’s lap. ‘I’ll come.’

The hut was clearing, men running because they feared treachery and death. A servant girl shrieked hysterically, while another sobbed. Longinus led them out to the horses, Ferox supporting Enica, who was a little dazed after being flung onto the ground. ‘Poison?’ she gasped at last.

‘Yes.’ Ferox wished he had thought to bring Crispinus with him or just kill the man, but decided he could not risk going back. They saw their horses. Shapes came out of the darkness. Longinus grunted as a spear struck him in the side. Ferox let go of his wife, stamped forward and drove the tip of his gladius into a guardsman’s face. Vindex slashed at another man, hacking through the shaft of the spear that tried to block the blow, and then he cut again into the man’s neck and once more before the corpse fell. Blood spattered all over his face and he kept stabbing at the dead man. Ferox grabbed him.

‘We need to go.’

They mounted, Enica’s long skirts hitched up so that she could sit in the saddle, and urged the horses into a run. Men shouted at them as they galloped away, but it was hard to tell in the chaos whether they were enemies, friends or simply confused.