Адриан Голдсуорти: The Encircling Sea

‘They butchered her lover in front of her,’ Ferox said.

‘Unpleasant, of course. Oh yes, I had forgotten one thing I wanted to ask. How did you hear about the taking of the horse and girl – Artemis, is that her name?’

Ferox guessed that the mistake was deliberate. ‘Aphrodite, my lord.’ Crispinus shrugged as if it was no matter, but Ferox knew that he had a very good memory for detail. ‘We did not find out who they were until we got them back. There were tracks of a horse unlike one of the local ponies, and from the prints and others of feet we guessed at two girls as captives, but that was all we knew.’

There was another pause. ‘The oracle speaks again, without really answering.’

‘Does the tribune wish to know why we were hunting raiders when all they had done was steal a farmer’s daughter?’ Ferox spoke louder than he had meant, and was annoyed at the look of amusement on the tribune’s face, but at least it calmed him. ‘I went north,’ he said, choosing his words with care, ‘because the family live in my region and these men had come into my region to kill, steal people and property. I will never permit that if I can help it. Never. And I went because the family are good people, and could not spare one of the children, especially this one.’ The anger was coming back and he fought it.

Crispinus was smiling broadly. ‘I have missed your fire, Flavius Ferox. You truly are an unusual man. So unusual that you would fight one against five for the sake of a family of no importance, and a child whom you barely know. Ah, for once I surprise you!’ the tribune added triumphantly. Ferox realised that he must have spoken to Vindex, which meant that he had probably known all about it in the first place. Crispinus was playing his usual games, working towards something else.

‘Well, that is all very admirable, and it has had a fortunate outcome for Aelius Brocchus, who as I said is fine man. It is also a source of delight for Claudius Probus, who may not be a very fine man but is a rich one and, like all rich men, well connected. People whose names might surprise you – well, they surprised me – wrote letters on his behalf to me, let alone more important men like our legate.’

Ferox had a feeling he knew what was coming next and his face must have shown it. Crispinus must have seen something in his face. ‘Yes, I share your view of young Genialis, and I have only met the lad once, and that briefly. To me he seemed as appealing company as a louse laying eggs in your tunic, so that I dread to think what weeks in his company will have been like. Still, miraculous as this may sound, his father dotes upon him, and Probus is a man worth indulging, for it is always better to have the rich as friends than as enemies.’

‘Vindex wanted to kill him,’ Ferox said.

‘I know, he told me, and I for one do not blame him, but certain courtesies should apply.’

‘We kept him tied up for most of the trip back.’

Crispinus waved his hand dismissively. ‘I am sure it did him the world of good. But do not worry about a sulking child. The father is a practical man of business, and he will be grateful.’

‘Sir.’

‘Oh, we are back to that are we? Go away, Flavius Ferox, for you make me tired. Try to be more forthcoming whenever your opinion is required at the consilium.’

In the event he sat in silence for most of the council. Crispinus was the senior officer present, even though he was the youngest, although at times he deferred to Cerialis as their host. The commander of the Batavians looked full of vigour. He was a tall man, even taller than Ferox although less heavily built and more in the proportions a sculptor would give to a statue. His face was conventionally handsome, enhancing an expressiveness that was refined by long practice in oratory. His hair was red gold, its thick growth lightly trimmed by his barber every few days. He was twenty-five, and with his good looks, expensive uniform and cuirass, and that sense of a man performing a role, it would be easy to mistake the man for a mere dandy, like many of those who served in the army as a stepping stone to prominence in society. Like some, but not all of those, Cerialis was a brave man, and also a more than decent soldier, while his Batavians were devoted to him, and not simply because he was from the house of their kings. In the brutal campaign two years ago he had proved himself to be a leader that his men could trust. Ferox could see no ill effects from the wounds he had suffered in the battle where they had defeated the Stallion’s army.

The others were all men he knew, and most had served in that same brief and bitter conflict. Aelius Brocchus was of average build, slim and hawk nosed, his deep brown eyes keen and his statements always precise. He was a Baetican from Gades, his skin a rich brown hinting at as much Carthaginian as Iberian blood in his ancestry. Beside him was Rufinus, prefect in command of the cohort stationed to the west at Magna. He was an African, with the precise, slightly antiquated Latin of that province, and had a narrow, eager face and a short, well-groomed beard.

‘I wondered whether it would make me look more martial,’ he joked when the others asked him about it. All three men were equestrians, the class below the Senate, and were following the usual career. Cerialis and Rufinus were in their first command, each placed in charge of a cohort of auxiliary infantry, whereas Brocchus was at the third stage and, having already led a cohort and served as one of the five junior tribunes in a legion, was now in command of one of the prestigious alae of cavalry. He was thirty-three, which meant he had risen through the posts reasonably quickly, making him senior in years as well as rank to the others in spite of the fact that all were called prefect.

Crispinus was the son of a senator, and when he finished his term as the senior tribune in Legio II Augusta he would go back to Rome and soon be enrolled as a senator. A man with ambition would seek a range of civil and military posts, commanding a legion around the time he was thirty, a senatorial province without much of a garrison a few years later, and a military province with a fair-sized army in his forties. Ferox had no doubt that the young aristocrat had ambition, and probably the connections, perhaps even the money to rise so high. His birth and his likely future made him the most important man in the room, but none of the others gave any impression of deferring to the younger man, not least because of his courtesy and fondness for self-deprecation. This was the way the empire worked, and in this case the four men trusted each other.

Ferox was junior in rank and class and had never seen any point in resenting a world he could not change. He was relieved when Crispinus announced that Claudius Super was unable to join them, owing to illness.

‘Nothing serious, I trust,’ Cerialis said, showing a genuine concern that Ferox could not find it in his heart to share. The prefect and his wife often entertained the senior regionarius to dinner. Claudius Super was another equestrian and, unlike the other men, actually from Italy. Yet his family’s wealth and influence had not been sufficient to secure him command of an auxiliary unit, so that instead he had been commissioned as a centurion in a legion, with lower pay, prestige, and in all likelihood a far less impressive career ahead of him. Claudius Super never missed an opportunity to remind others of his high birth. Ferox did not dislike the man for that, but he despised him for his crassness, stupidity and arrogance, which too often caused trouble and disturbances when none were necessary.

‘I do not believe there is cause for worry,’ Crispinus replied, ‘and in his stead we can raise any appropriate matters with Ferox.’