The exactus who guided Ferox was young, but limped and had a scar running across his cheek and onto his mouth, which gave him an odd whistling lisp.
‘My cohort was up north two years ago when the legate defeated that mad priest. You were there too, weren’t you, sir?’
‘I was there.’
The lad was eager and talkative. ‘Thought I’d be discharged from the legion for a while, but thank the gods I was passed fit enough, seeing as how I can read and write a good hand. This is a good posting and there’s a decent chance of promotion. Guess I’ll never do a hard march or cut turf for rampart again, but it’s not a bad life all round.’
Ferox began by asking for routine reports from unit commanders back from Suetonius Paulinus’ day, feeling that he may as well follow Ovidius’ suggestion.
The archive clerk led him to a row of doors. ‘Yes, sir. These rooms along here. Look for red tabs that far back, although we’ve used the colour four times since then. They come around every ten years. Legions in those rooms, by their number. Cohorts and alae in the ones next, in that order and by their numbers and designations. Things a bit confused from those days, though, sir, what with the rebellion and all that. A lot of things were lost.’
‘I can imagine,’ Ferox said, before realising that irony was not something familiar to the exactus. ‘Could you find me all mentions of druids or temples?’
‘Sorry, sir. Only filed by unit and date. Begging your pardon, but no call for anything else, sir. Now, sir, shall I help you start with the legions?’
Four hours later and Ferox had learned nothing of value. It was easy to get sucked into following a story. There were several references to his own people, the Silures, and even a mention of his grandfather, the Lord of the Hills being labelled an ‘old villain’ by the legate of II Augusta. With effort, he did not let himself be distracted, and went back to scanning reports, often handing them back to the clerk for re-shelving within moments as it became obvious that there was nothing worthwhile there. Like the barracks they had once been, the rooms were gloomy, and they needed to refill the pair of lamps they were using a couple of times. At last Ferox gave up, and telling the exactus and the rest of the staff that he would be back tomorrow morning, he set out for the Temple of the Divine Vespasian and a meeting with one of the priests.
It was a grey day, spotting with rain, but that did nothing to deter the crowds thronging the street. Wherever there was space, even on the sides of the little alleys between the blocks of houses, someone set up stall and was trying to sell something. Ferox had to push away two persistent whores who plied their trade in a poorly curtained alcove just around the corner from the archives. As he came onto the major streets things looked both more respectable and more expensive. Ferox was wearing tunic and breeches, boots and a heavy cloak whose hood provided some protection from the rain. He carried his vitis to show that he was a centurion, and if necessary a flick of the cloak would reveal his military belt with gladius and pugio.
Even in the crowd, Gannascus stood out, a head or more taller than those around him, and when he spotted the centurion he let out a deep below of delight. People moved out of the way of his determined progress, and soon Vindex and the others appeared, along with several more big men wearing military cloaks. They were Batavians, led by Longinus, now sporting a thick grey beard.
‘We found some friends,’ Vindex explained. ‘So perhaps you could help me out with some money.’
‘What happened to the coins I gave you yesterday? There was enough for ten days.’
‘The dice was loaded,’ Gannascus boomed.
‘And the women were expensive,’ Vindex added. ‘Everything costs a lot here.’ In spite of his recent marriage, the scout’s enthusiasm for other women had not slackened.
Ferox dipped into the purse on his belt. ‘Try to keep them out of too much trouble,’ he asked Longinus. The veteran nodded. ‘I’ll see if I can join you later on. Where will you be?’
‘By the river.’ Vindex nodded at the huge German. ‘He likes watching the ships.’
Ferox hurried on, crossing the wooden planked bridge over the stream that flowed down into the main river. The press was thicker there, until some burly slaves used threats and some blows of their sticks to clear a path for a pair of litters. His size, as much as the centurion’s cane he carried, prevented them from trying to force him out of the way. As the first litter passed he received a far softer greeting.
Claudia Severa peeked out of the gap between the curtains, then turned and said something. A moment later Sulpicia Lepidina’s face appeared beside her. There were smiles and greetings, and an invitation to visit them on the next day around noon. ‘The House of Verus in the third quarter. You must come,’ Claudia Severa urged him. ‘The children always love to see you.’ Ferox could read nothing in the other woman’s face to explain her note, but that did not surprise him.
‘I shall surely come,’ he said, hoping to reassure Sulpicia Lepidina that he was at her command.
The slaves clearing a path were facing pressure from an impatient crowd. One of the women called out and the litter bearers began carrying it forward again. As the second one passed it too stopped, and another head appeared, this one small, dark skinned and with a mop of blond hair that must be a wig.
‘Ugly man,’ the little man said in a piercing squeak. ‘My mistress has something to say to you.’
‘Who is your mistress?’ he asked.
‘What do you care? By the look of you, you should be grateful for anything. She’s easy and already on her back. What more do you want?’
There was the sound of a slap and the dwarf shot back inside. Another slap followed. Ferox turned away.
‘Hoy!’ The dwarf had reappeared, wig precariously hanging over one eye. ‘Please come over or she’ll have me beaten again.’
Ferox gave in and went to the curtained compartment. The little man had vanished again, and he opened the curtains enough to see inside. Claudia Enica was stretched out on cushions, her arms back behind her head, showing off a figure swathed again in shimmering silk. Jewels glittered at her throat, at her wrists and in her ornately arranged hair. Her face was heavily made up, managing just to stay on the right side of good taste and fashion.
‘You are not easily intrigued,’ she said, treating him to a languid smile.
‘I am a plain man, and a mere soldier. The ways of princesses are new to me.’
‘A princess is still a woman, and you cannot tell me that a rough soldier has no desires. You have such a big sword.’ As Ferox leaned in his cloak had parted and the pommel and hilt of his gladius poked out. Before he could answer she went on. ‘Do you like my whisperer?’ The dwarf was crouched in the far corner of the compartment. ‘His name is Achilles and I shall most probably order him beaten tonight to make sure that he is not spoiled. They say that Livia, wife of the divine Augustus, doted on such creatures and she was a Claudian. Her husband hated them, though.’ Achilles darted around and stuck out his tongue. ‘I must say that I am coming to the same opinion.’ Enica lifted a foot and kicked the dwarf with as much force as she could muster, so that her slipper came loose. Then she stuck out her own tongue. ‘Little beast.’
Ferox coughed. ‘Forgive me, my lady, but I am late for an appointment and must hurry.’
She grabbed his wrist, surprising him with her speed. ‘Now that is not courteous from a Roman officer or a prince of the Silures. Or would the Silure in you just slaughter Achilles here and bear me off over your shoulder? Come now, do not be a disappointment. I believe that we shall be friends and good ones at that. What is it they say about the Brigantes?’ This time the smile was genuine and less of a pout.