Адриан Голдсуорти - The Encircling Sea

Ferox had seen too many army bases to pay much heed to the grand buildings. Instead he looked at the two horses being walked in circles outside the headquarters. As he came close he saw the white sweat on their neck and sides and the blood drying on the side of one of the animals.

There was more than the usual bustle inside the courtyard as another of the governor’s singulares led him across to one of the main rooms beside the shrine to the standards.

Neratius Marcellus was pacing up and down on the far side of a long table. Crispinus and three more officers sat at the table, as did a little man in a crumpled toga, who smiled with genuine enthusiasm when he saw the centurion. Quintus Ovidius was a poet, philosopher and friend of the governor. He was also one of the least military men Ferox had ever met, and yet insisted on going with his friend on campaign and to the wilder parts of his province, determined to see a little of the world and not simply read about it.

The legate saw this mark of welcome and glared. ‘Where the hell have you been?’ He barked at Ferox.

‘Standing on the bridge, my lord,’ Ferox said.

Neratius Marcellus stopped pacing and frowned, trying to decide whether this was insolence. He was a small man, almost a foot shorter than the centurion, but he had the confident assurance of a former consul who deferred to very few others apart from the emperor. There was a restless energy about him, which sometimes spilled over to upset the calm of the experienced politician and orator.

‘Well,’ he said after a long silence, broken only by the sound of stylus pens scratching away as clerks copied orders. ‘At last you are here. Tell me, what is your opinion of Claudius Super?’ The question was abrupt and was not what he had expected.

‘He is a brave man, my lord.’

‘Of course he is, he is an eques and an officer.’ There was just enough hint of irony to show that he was not serious, although no one smiled apart from Ovidius. ‘What about his judgement? Is he a scaremonger?’

‘It is not my place to comment on a senior officer, my lord.’ Ferox saw Crispinus roll his eyes.

There was a flash of anger and that surprised him, because in the past the legate had seemed very much in control of his emotions. ‘It is your place if I say it is!’ Neratius Marcellus turned, took three paces away from him and then spun around again. ‘Hercules’ balls, man, this is no time for playing dumb. I know you, and you are not short of ideas or disposed to doubt your own views. You think Super is a fool?’

‘Yes, my lord.’

‘At last.’ The governor went back to the table and drummed his fingers on the wood. ‘My impression was that you felt your superior officer to be a drooling imbecile who despised the Britons and had all the subtlety of a kick to the stomach.’

‘A kick in the gut can be effective, my lord,’ Ferox said, but he was wondering about the tense, for the legate was a man of precise speech. ‘In the right circumstances, that is.’

The legate reached for a wooden tablet and opened the folded sheets. ‘Yesterday I received a message from Claudius Super saying that there were worrying signs among the Selgovae and that he feared trouble. He asked that you be sent to join him along with those scouts of yours. Presumably he thought that it would be advantageous to have someone who plays dumb and avoids answering questions.’ Ovidius chuckled again, ignoring the disapproving glances of the officer beside him.

‘This morning I receive a new message to say that he fears that druids and priests are abroad, stirring up rebellion. He worries that that rogue Acco is at large.’ The big room with its high ceiling suddenly seemed cold. ‘Ah, perhaps I have your attention at last. Have you heard anything about that fiend lately?’

‘No, my lord. Nothing at all.’

‘Hmmm. It is probably too much to hope that he has gone away for good. But does that mean you would be surprised if he turned up now, among the Selgovae?’

Ferox tried to think. Acco was clever and good at concealing his presence. Had there been signs that he had missed? ‘I have not heard anything, my lord.’

‘It seems Claudius Super had, or at least thought that he had. Rumours of magic and dreadful sacrifices of men and women. Because of this I was intending to summon you anyway, and was simply waiting for your Brigantians to arrive. Orders summoning them were sent yesterday.’

‘They are here, my lord.’

‘Really. No one tells me anything. I’m just the legatus augusti, of course, no one important.’ A soldier marched into the room, handing a note to one of the clerks. The man took the wooden sheet, nodded for the man to leave, and then looked up.

‘The scouts have arrived, my lord.’

‘Ah, the slow turning wheels of bureaucracy get there in the end.’ Neratius Marcellus gave a thin smile. ‘I should not joke, not at a time like this.’

‘Surely laughter is most needed at a time like this.’ Ovidius’ voice was thin, but clear.

‘Philosophy. Well, we shall need more than that – and more than bad jokes as well.’ The legate stretched his arms as if yawning. He stayed in the pose, staring up at the ceiling. Ferox wondered why Roman aristocrats had to turn everything into a performance.

‘Half an hour ago a pair of troopers arrived. One was wounded badly, and I fear the poor fellow will not make it. The other one is babbling of ghosts and demons.’

‘Has the regionarius sent another message, my lord?’ Ferox asked, although he did not doubt the answer.

‘Not as such.’ The comment came from Crispinus, who seemed to have been encouraged by Ovidius’ efforts at levity.

Neratius Marcellus brought his arms back down to his sides. ‘Not as such,’ he repeated. ‘The poor bastard.’

‘They killed him?’ Ferox wanted them all to get on with the matter, but he sensed that the legate was delaying and perhaps the man was trying to make up his own mind about what to do before he sought advice.

‘If the soldier is to be believed,’ Ovidius said, since the rest had fallen silent, ‘somebody burned him alive.’

FEROX FELT NOTHING. He thought of his last encounter with Claudius Super, of the man’s desperate efforts to be fair and honest after years of open scorn. It was odd how people often believed that they could change the past with a few words or a gesture. Yet perhaps it had worked, for he had long considered Claudius Super as his enemy, a dangerous man who needlessly stirred situations into violence. Now the man was gone, but there was no satisfaction at the death of an enemy, or guilt because in the past he had so often wished the man ill. No doubt they would appoint an even bigger fool to replace him.

‘For the moment, assuming that the man is telling the truth, you will assume the duties of senior regionarius.’ The legate had stepped towards him. Few men could intimidate when they were forced to look up at someone, but the provincial governor came close.

‘Huh,’ said the bigger fool.

‘I beg your pardon, centurion?’

‘A cough, sir. Sorry, sir. I meant to say that I shall be delighted to serve the legate in whatever way he wishes.’

‘It was not so long ago that druids wanted to seize the Prefect Cerialis and his esteemed wife to burn in the fire. Do you think this is an attempt at some similar sacrifice?’

Ferox was not sure what to think. ‘Hard to say, my lord. Then they wanted the blood of a king and queen. A centurion is not so important. Until I take a look we shall not know whether or not it was a sacrifice. The Selgovae can be cruel. It may just have struck them as the right thing to do to an enemy in their hands.’

The legate sighed. ‘Barbarians.’