Адриан Голдсуорти - Brigantia

‘There are nine left and the prisoner,’ Ferox said. ‘You’ve already done enough and don’t have to come.’

The archer sniffed at that and patted his sword, an army-pattern spatha. Gannascus nodded approvingly. ‘We cannot wait for more of them to arrive, so it will just have to be unfair,’ the big man rumbled, saying almost as much as he had done in the three days of pursuit.

As Enica had shouted out, the battle had been won, and a lot of the credit went to her. Cerialis had taken the old fort after a bitter struggle. The stocky little Vardulli were saying that they had rescued the Batavians and the big men from the Rhineland were denying that they needed any help. Both prefects had been wounded, but managed to stay on their feet until it was done. On the left Brocchus and the cavalry had fought a long, whirling fight, charging, driving the enemy back, before being chased in turn. Numbers were with the Brigantes, and they were on the higher ground, so that they did not break easily. Gradually, the auxiliaries made headway, until their main lines were on top of the hill. Next to them the royal cohort had met the Gauls, who had fought for a long time before weight of numbers drove them back. Somehow, Neratius Marcellus had got an order to the reserve cohort of Legio XX and the Victrix had plugged the hole in the line. Beyond the rampart, men had fought and died where they stood, and it was only Ferox and the men around him who had begun forcing that vast crowd of enemies back. Soon, someone’s will would have broken. It only took a few to turn and run and others would follow. It might have been the Romans, especially at the rampart, for there it was hard for the Britons to give way with so many men pressing behind them.

Then the horns sounded. Enica brought no more than five hundred warriors to the fight. Quite a few were Carvetii, led by Vindex’s half-brother, who was on his way to seek vengeance even before the high queen sent out her call. A lot of men were sympathetic or simply hated her brother for what he had done, but some were afraid, and there was simply not time to gather the rest. Enica needed men with horses, and gratefully took the chariot and team from a chieftain too old to walk, let alone fight. She also wanted horns or trumpets, and took any she could find. Vindex had told her the story of when they had caught Rufus and the others, and she had liked the idea. Nearly seventy of her riders carried something to blow, so that when she reached the battlefield, horses foamy with sweat and too weary to do more than trot, it had sounded like a vast host ready to fight.

The deception worked. The Brigantes were fighting hard, but had not yet won and were growing tired. When a host of their kin appeared behind them, lining the crest of the next row of hills, they doubted. When Enica rode among them, calling out for all of her people to follow her and she would ensure they were free to go, all but a few grasped at the chance of life. Arviragus escaped. None of his people would hinder him, and probably some of Enica’s men felt the same, not wanting royal blood on their hands. No more than twenty or so men went with him. Many of the guards fought until Enica implored them to lay down their arms if they wished to carry them in her service. Here and there across the field little groups fought to the last, but the result was no longer in doubt.

Philo was delighted when Ferox told him about the ploy. The young slave was almost as delighted, and a good deal more scared, when his master told him that he would have his freedom as soon as the documents could be prepared. There had not been time in the two hours Ferox was given to get ready for the pursuit. To his surprise, Enica did not want to come.

‘A sister should not shed a brother’s blood, even after he has tried to kill me. It is better this way.’ She stood tall and proud, every inch a queen, and he found it hard to believe that they had any future. Still, perhaps the gods still meant him to pay for her life with his own, and it was with that gloomy thought he rode off, taking the others with him as well as five Carvetii scouts.

Arviragus headed north, and as they followed Ferox began to recognise more and more of the country. He wondered whether the prince hoped to reach the tribes beyond the province, trusting them to give him shelter. Gannascus was dismissive when he suggested this.

‘Tincommius will not want to provoke the Romans.’

The fugitives did their best to confuse the pursuit they must have known was following, and snow might have saved them, but the brooding skies gave only drizzle hour after hour, so that their horses left prints that were easy for Ferox to track. Most of the men rode cavalry mounts, but there were several ponies and two very big horses, one of which surely carried the prince.

Late on the second day the trail split, eight men heading west into the high hills. Two of them rode the big horses.

‘I can’t see anything,’ Vindex said after he had stared at the prints for a long while.

‘Different rider,’ Ferox insisted with more confidence than he felt. There was something odd about the prints he had found in a long patch of mud. Only a few from one of the big horses were good enough to see apart from the muddle of all the rest. He wondered whether he really saw something or just sensed that this was a ploy because it was the sort of thing he would do if he was trying to escape. It could be a bluff, although he doubted Arviragus had the subtlety to think that way.

In the end he compromised, sending the Carvetii after the smaller trail, and taking the others after the main party. They had only gone a mile or so after the decoys, so not much time was lost. During the next day, Ferox knew that they were gaining, and close to dusk they caught up with them. Thirteen horses were in the pens around five round houses, crammed in with the livestock spared the winter slaughter. It was a farmstead like any other, although not yet quite close enough to his region for him to know the people who lived there.

Three of the royal troopers acted as sentries, and Sepenestus shot two while Vindex stalked and killed the third. They were tired, not keeping a good watch, and Ferox could only hope the same exhausted despair had fallen over the rest of the party.

‘You know the prince?’ Ferox asked the bowman.

Sepenestus nodded.

‘You must not kill him.’ Just as Enica must not be a part of her brother’s death, so the prince, even though he was a rebel, must have the chance of an honourable death, toe to toe with his pursuers. Perhaps then the rifts torn among the Brigantes would heal more quickly. Ferox was not sure, but his wife and the legate might be right and those were his orders. The bowman went to their left, hanging back a little as the other three strode towards the farm. Vindex had one of the horns they had used in the battle and managed a rasping blast.

‘Come out, lord prince!’ Ferox yelled as loud as he could. ‘Come out and face us!’ Vindex stood on his left, and the towering German on his right. ‘You must kill us if you ever wish to leave this place.’

There was silence, so Ferox nodded and the scout blew the ox horn trumpet again and he repeated the challenge. ‘This is Ferox,’ he added. ‘The noble Neratius Marcellus and your sister have sent me to find you.’

Arviragus wore the torc and the helmet and armour of Venutius, even though he must now know that the last two were not genuine. He bent down to come through the door and then stood.

‘Just four of you,’ he said, his voice as weary as it was disappointed. ‘It would be you, wouldn’t it, Ferox – leading the wolves on my trail.’ He drew his sword. ‘I will not go back.’

‘I know, lord prince. But if you are to go on, you must face us first.’