Адриан Голдсуорти - Brigantia

‘Strange, the twists of fate. Ovidius would no doubt say something about the gods having a sense of humour. A more serious mind might wonder who each of us really is, deep down. No matter. Oh, the old fool is recovering well by all accounts. I dare say he will outlast us all.’ He sighed. ‘Especially if I make a mistake in the days to come. For the moment, let me hear the rest of your tale. You met up with Crassus, did you not?’

‘Yes, my lord.’ Ferox kept his account of the battle plain, trusting the legate to understand. Neratius Marcellus was on the move again, and punctuated the narrative with snorts.

‘Well, it could have been worse,’ he concluded. ‘And perhaps will all turn out better in the long run. Perhaps. Please continue.’

On their arrival, they had said only a little about the tribal council, but now Ferox told all that he could remember, adding in things Enica had explained in the days that followed. He held nothing back, telling of the governor’s nephew being led in chains into the assembly and Crispinus’ attempt to poison Enica.

‘Bad business,’ Neratius said once he had finished. ‘Very bad, although again it could have been worse. If she had died leaving him as sole choice for high king…’ He trailed off, and paced in silence for long while. Ferox knew the legate’s ways well enough to wait.

‘Very well,’ Neratius Marcellus said at long last. ‘Yes, very well. We might wish things were different, but they are not so let us not waste breath lamenting them. So be it.’ The legate stopped pacing and sat on a chair opposite Ferox. In him, it was a gesture of serious intent.

‘I am glad that you were surprised to find me here,’ he said, fingers drumming a rhythm on the table top. ‘Arviragus will have known for days, of course, for one cannot hide an army of this size. Still, it is to be hoped that we gave him a scare when he first got the news. Yet more chiefs are bound to have joined up with him after his victory. The tribe must be divided even more after the treachery at the council. We must spread the word that the princess – no, of course high queen – is alive and well and on our side. That may deter some from joining him, and perhaps even win us allies willing to fight.

‘Some chieftains still send me word, wherever their sympathies truly lie. None say that the prince has fewer than ten thousand men in his army, and some claim there are many more. Reports from the garrisons are fewer. Perhaps because the commanders are scared and perhaps because the messengers have been intercepted. As yet I do not know definitely of any defections to the prince and his ‘”true emperor”, and it is to be hoped that none occur. The little that has come through says much the same as the chieftains.

‘So I can assume that he has twice my numbers at the very least, although most of them will be warriors, who are brave enough but lack discipline.’

Ferox thought back to Crassus’ contempt for his opponents until they routed his force. The legate’s column was bigger and all he had seen suggested that the troops were in better shape for a campaign.

‘Yes,’ the legate said, as if reading his thoughts. ‘Those are tall odds. The royal guard are real soldiers, and the Brigantes as a people are formidable. Not like the rabble who followed the Stallion and that was a hard enough fight. We cannot afford to make a mistake. Still, neither can Arviragus. He is near Cataractonium. I have not heard from the prefect in command there for nine days, so at best the fort is under siege and perhaps it has fallen. Crassus is marching north from Eboracum with nine thousand men, including most of the Ninth. Yes, I know the man is a fool, but he is a vengeful fool and this time he has a far bigger force, but knows he must be cautious. He has orders to move slowly. I want Arviragus to see his chance. If he strikes quickly he can face just me, with numbers on his side. If he faces Crassus he will be about even. If he waits then the two of us meet and we will have the bigger force. I sense you have a concern?’

Ferox was a little disappointed to think his expression had betrayed his thought.

‘Food, my lord. It’s December and it will be hard to stay in the field for long, even if the snows hold off.’

‘For the prince as well as us. In that sense his numbers count against him. We have enough for another eight days and after that will rely in reaching a fort with its brimming granaries. I do not think the prince is a patient man. And he believes in his destiny. My spies have watched the conspirators for months. The prince has always urged swift action. He acts as if he is sure of victory and great things.’

‘He believes that Julius Caesar is his ancestor.’

‘Hah!’ Neratius Marcellus slammed his hands down on the table. ‘Truly? I had not heard that before. Explains a lot. Yes, it will make him more likely to strike hard and fast and trust to his luck. Venus bringer of victory, or the Morrigan?’ The legate pronounced the word haltingly, but was pleased when Ferox nodded. ‘He will be all the more eager when word gets out that his sister is with us. We will march straight down the road and let him pick his spot, and, however strong it is, I must attack and smash him. Everything comes down to that. It is really simple, and once again I must “fish with a golden hook”, as you used to be fond of saying. You and the divine Augustus!’

Ferox said nothing. The decision was made and there was a logic to it all. Like Caesar at the Rubicon, going ahead put them all in great peril, but there was nothing to be gained by holding back.

‘You have not asked about my nephew.’ The legate stared intently at Ferox. ‘And whether or not I think him a traitor or a captive whose spirit is broken? The law would probably say he is a slave now, assuming we count Arviragus as a foreign enemy.’ Neratius Marcellus sighed softly. ‘The boy often says your obstinate silences are more frustrating than your open impertinence.’

‘In Londinium I saw him at a secret meeting with Fuscus and other conspirators, including Domitius, who was really Acco.’

‘Would it surprise you to learn that the tribune has been acting on my orders all the time?’

‘No, my lord.’

‘Then I am obviously less inscrutable than I had hoped.’

‘My people are not inclined to trust others,’ Ferox said.

‘Your people are the Romans, Flavius Ferox. And I dare say our history should teach everyone to be suspicious all the time. Well, let me tell you that for almost a year reports have come in of discontent and wild talk among the chieftains of many tribes and especially the Brigantes. Over the summer it became more definite, and there were signs that the procurator was involved. Crispinus discovered some of this, and came to me with the idea that he seek the conspirators out and become one of them. As the weeks passed – broken only by your adventures over the summer – it grew obvious that there would be trouble at some stage, and it seemed best to bring it to a head. My nephew came up with the idea of urging them to spread rumours that Trajan was dead and that I sought the purple for myself, but was doomed to fail. That would give them the confidence to act and reveal themselves. Better now than in a year’s time, for orders have arrived to send more troops away from the province. In the spring Trajan will attack Dacia and he is assembling a bigger army than we have seen for almost a century to undertake the task. He must have a clear, unambiguous and grand victory to prove his fitness to rule and a defeat here, even a small one, would be embarrassing. Our emperor remains vulnerable, but we had to gamble and provoke rebellion before we became even less able to cope with it.’ The legate bounded to his feet, the suddenness making Ferox flinch, and then the governor was pacing about again.