‘Good,’ was all the German would say. He seemed distracted, and was clearly aware of all the stares they were attracting. Gannascus stood out anywhere, but especially here. On the other hand it may have been the image of the defied Nerva. Whenever Ferox saw him on statue or coin he was left with the impression of a man thoroughly perplexed by the world around him. He did not relish trying to explain to the German that here was a man chosen as emperor because of his high birth and the feeling that he was insufficiently talented to be too much of a tyrant.
Yet if Gannascus was puzzled it was not at the vagaries of politics. Instead he stared around at the crowd. ‘How did all these people reach here before us? Did we miss a quicker path?’
The suspicion that he was seeing the same people over and over again persisted as they travelled south, even though none of the other towns were quite as big. Nothing would convince the big warrior otherwise. ‘It’s very clever,’ was all he would say.
By the second week Ferox was in the saddle as often as riding in the coach. He was feeling a lot better, and even when Crispinus joined them on horseback, the tribune’s conversation was less intense and unavoidable than in the cramped confines of the raeda. A lot of the time Philo now travelled inside the carriage while tribune and centurion endured the dust or rain of riding. Vindex found this very funny.
Sometimes, Ferox spoke to the scout and the big German, lagging a little behind so as not to be overheard. He was not ready to tell Crispinus about the theft from Cartimandua’s old house. In his letter Tincommius had said that he had been approached by a merchant claiming to act on behalf of powerful men who wished to see a new emperor. This would not be the first time, and he and the king had met because of another plot. The high king claimed that Acco spoke of a great revolt, not simply in the north, but of all the tribes of Britannia. The old druid promised great magic to unite all the tribes and give strength to their swords. Tincommius wondered whether artefacts like Venutius’ armour were part of this and Ferox was inclined to agree. The high king believed Acco possessed other objects of power and the lore to understand their uses.
Just a few months ago, Ferox had encountered the druid. They had fought a bitter battle on a far northern island against pirates. Among them was a boy, an especially unpleasant youth whose father had become a wealthy businessman. The son had stabbed his father before he defected and found a welcome among the enemy who knew him as the gifted son of a witch. Ferox had captured him, left the boy under guard, but when the fight was over he had returned to find the boy dead. Acco had come, killed him and taken his head, for everyone knew the skull of a witch held power. It was all beginning to fit together, although Ferox was still not sure what would happen next, and how he might thwart the old man’s plans.
Londinium was a lot bigger, twice the size of Eboracum, and had a far more civilian feel and look about it. ‘Smells of fish and shit,’ Vindex said. Gulls circled noisily above the shallow valley of the river.
Gannascus was even more impressed. ‘Faster than us again,’ he said as they rode through the thronged streets past the high timber amphitheatre and caught a glimpse of the wide river ahead of them. He stared wistfully at the ships at the jetties and out on the water. The ruins of an old fort were decaying, and in places used for piling rubbish or had shacks built by the very poor. Crispinus explained that there was no longer a fort in the city, and instead substantial numbers of soldiers were billeted in a commandeered area not far from the big house that served as the legate’s residence whenever he was here. Another, larger, if less luxurious, house acted as a principia and he led them there to report.
‘Something of a novelty,’ he announced cheerfully, ‘me showing the regionarius and his head scout the way!’
September had gone, and the days were becoming shorter even here in the south so that it was dark by the time they had reported. The soldiers were led away, but on the tribune’s instructions Ferox and the others were taken to the same house, lodging high above a pottery. Food was waiting for them, and while it was probably an insult for him not to be given a room of his own, Ferox was content. ‘Tonight we stay here. I’ll take you around the place tomorrow, but tonight let us simply rest after the journey.’ That proved less easy than he hoped, for Gannascus snored as only a great bear of a man could. The others, even Philo, all dropped off one after another, but Ferox struggled hour after hour. He must have slept at some point, but he felt that he had lain awake throughout the night, staring at the beams of the roof overhead.
His orders were to report at the principia by the first hour of the day, and this he did, freshly shaved and so well turned out that even Philo was satisfied. The beneficiarius in the entrance hall could not find him on any list.
‘I should wait in there, sir,’ the man suggested. ‘Sure it will be sorted out soon enough. They never tell me anything.’ He pointed to a room over to the side, empty save for half a dozen folding chairs. Ferox sat and waited. The walls were bare, the paint faded and with more than a few cracks in the plaster, and offered little to divert him. He heard the trumpets sound the second hour and brief conversations as the beneficiarius outside directed visitors.
It must have been almost the third hour of the day when he heard a familiar voice and went to the door.
‘My lord?’
Crispinus turned angrily at the interruption. ‘Ferox, where in all Hades have you been? The legate expected you at his house at dawn. I am here to send out men to look for you.’
‘I was told to report to the principia, my lord.’
‘Which blasted fool told you that?’
‘You did, my lord.’
The beneficarius stood rigidly to attention, holding up his ornately headed spear and his face had the expressionless gaze mastered by anyone who meant to get on in the army.
‘Did I? Well, I meant the praetorium. The legate wanted to see you straight after the morning salutatio was done. You are late, so make sure you apologise.’
‘Would you not like to accompany me, my lord?’
‘Oh, I have far more important things to do. Now off you go.’
A slave governed admission to the legate’s house, and quickly summoned another who led him away down a corridor. Both servants stopped and bowed their heads as a man and a woman walked past.
‘Lord, lady,’ they echoed. Both were tall, and if there was something about the eyes that marked them as kin, no one could mistake that fiery red hair. The lady wore it plaited and piled on her head, and was in a brilliant white dress, supplemented by a tasteful amount of jewellery. She was pretty, walked with elegance and did not deign to notice the centurion. The man’s toga looked faded by comparison, but his left arm carried the folds easily. His face had a hardness about it that robbed it of being truly handsome, although Ferox suspected that it would draw women, each eager to reach an imagined inner softness. For a moment he glanced at the woman and then gave Ferox a wry smile. His eyes still had the softness of flint. Other slaves, presumably their own, appeared from a side room with cloaks and in a moment they were gone. The chamberlain gestured for Ferox to follow the guide.
‘Please, my lord, would you wait here.’ There were only two chairs this time, high-backed wicker affairs that were a good deal more comfortable, while the walls were decorated with panels of rustic scenes. Tiny farmers ploughed and harvested, shepherds watched their animals, and one lucky one peeked at nymphs bathing.