The news he gave them was not good, adding to all the stories they had heard since landing. ‘Rumour, the swiftest of all evils’ as Claudia Enica called it, quoting the Aeneid again, had flown across the land. People said that Trajan was dead, although while some said that fever had taken him, others spoke of assassins’ knives. The decurion had heard nothing official, but said that a trader passing through had been sure that it was true. Neratius Marcellus remained crippled by his wound. Yet it was said that he had proclaimed himself princeps and that II Augusta had already declared its support and it was likely the other two legions would soon copy that. Arviragus was the only one to oppose him in public, declaring himself for the true emperor, who would be recognised by the Senate, and was rallying forces to fight if necessary.
In the farms, the Brigantes told everything in their own way. Arviragus was to be high king and lead his tribe and all their neighbours to victory. His sister and her consort had gone into the Otherworld to speak for him and rally all the souls of the dead to spread terror into his enemies. Who was emperor mattered little as men prepared for winter and its hardships. Glory for the tribe was good, plenty far better, and that was what he would bring after a struggle. In whispers men spoke of Acco, the last of the true druids, who had worked great magic at the most sacred lake on Mona. Paying with his own life, the old man had brought an end to one age like a season. Much would wither and die in the months to come, as so many things perished in winter, but spring would renew the world.
Rumour ran faster even than Ferox had expected, each story growing with every re-telling. They stayed in farms and more than once saw shields freshly painted, spears and even some swords cleaned and sharpened. He did not think their owners were sure why they did this.
‘They are frightened,’ Enica said. ‘Change is coming and strife with it. They remember past wrongs, whoever did them, and soon they would fight anyone who appeared.’ Their welcome was always greater once folk realised who she was. One or two of them even asked her about the Otherworld and what she had learned on her journey. ‘That my brother will die soon, and that I am to be queen,’ she told them, and Ferox wondered whether that story would take on a life of its own. Sometimes she introduced him as her consort, a prince of the Silures and friend of Rome, something all good Brigantes should be.
It was the only time she spoke of their marriage. At the start of the journey, any talk pained her, for her neck was swollen and tender, and she spent days in uncharacteristic silence. Later they were all so tired and never alone. Gannascus thought it hilarious. Vindex was amused, if a little envious. ‘It will be hard to show you respect. I mean, I know you too well,’ he said.
Rain and wind ensured their long rides were tests of endurance that left little energy for talk. At Verbeia they found fresh mounts and the news that the Brigantian royal guard had acclaimed Arviragus as king, that a few chieftains had already joined him with their followers. Some army detachments were said to be obeying him as well, so that already he had several thousand men under his command.
Crassus, lately arrived from Londinium, had reached Lindum and gathered an army to crush the rebel, for that was what the prince undoubtedly was – at least unless he won. The bulk of Legio VIIII was at Eboracum, gathering supplies in case it needed to take the field and waiting for orders. ‘Crassus is marching north along the road,’ the prefect at Verbeia told them. He had received no orders to move as yet, and was keeping a wary eye on the hills in the distance. Patrols reported little bands of horsemen watching them. ‘I’ve barely three hundred fit men, and not enough mules to carry tents for half of them. It’s been quiet here for years, apart from the odd bandit. No one expected this.’ He was cautious about their plan to ride to join Crassus. ‘Your funeral,’ he said. ‘The lady ought to stay here, though, where she is safe.’
‘I go where my husband commands,’ Claudia Enica assured him, and almost sounded convincing.
Riders shadowed them, but the only time a petty chief and twenty warriors barred their path, he quickly bowed to the lady and helped them with a guide. They came down from the hills a few miles behind Crassus’ column as it approached Danum. Ferox started to worry when they got very close before a couple of cavalrymen confronted them. He announced who he was, saying that he needed to see the legate straight away and that his companions needed food and fodder for the animals.
‘I should come too,’ Enica said, her voice almost back to normal.
Ferox grinned. ‘Obey me, wife.’ He leaned across the neck of his horse to whisper, ‘Crassus is less likely to take advice if he thinks it comes from a woman.’
She frowned, and then nodded.
As he rode along the side of the road, passing the main column, Ferox felt his concerns growing. The decurion who led the escort guiding him to the commander was young and eager, but his answers only added to the worry. Crassus’ army amounted to fewer than fourteen hundred men, plus a few hundred lixae. Just over half the fighting strength came from a vexillation of VIIII Hispana, which for eighteen months had been undertaking construction work in and around Lindum, and before that most of the men had worked on the road. It was a long time since they had been soldiers, able to drill and train for war. They marched reluctantly, obviously feeling the weight of shields, armour and the packs hanging from the pole over each shoulder. He spotted a fair few who did not have a pilum, and who marched with a javelin instead, and even a couple without helmets. Crassus can have given them little time to get ready for a campaign.
The seventy men from XX Valeria Victrix stood out, even though they marched behind an optio and did not have any standard. They were veterans still with the colours, serving the last few years of their twenty-five years under the oath, and until recently in garrison at Lindum. Older by far than most of the work party, they almost swaggered along, crests mounted on their helmets, all equipment as it should be, but worn or carried comfortably.
As well as his legionaries, Crassus had mustered some three hundred auxiliary infantry from several different cohorts, and two hundred and twenty cavalrymen, again small detachments and strays from three alae and four cohortes equitatae. Most looked in better shape than the Hispana, but it was never a good thing to ask men to fight alongside strangers and under officers they did not know. If Arviragus really had a force of thousands, at least some of them disciplined and well equipped, then this was not many to face them. Whatever the Roman column did it would have to do quickly. Judging from the score of wagons and several hundred mules and ponies, the Romans were carrying food for little more than a week.
‘The legate is confident the towns along the road will supply us until we can reach the granaries at Eboracum,’ the decurion said loyally, when Ferox made a comment. ‘And we have confiscated cattle from the enemy.’
Ferox was not sure who the enemy was. Plumes of smoke rose from three clusters of huts to the right of the road, and he wondered what they had done to deserve this punishment. There was no sign of a people in rebellion as yet.
None of this appeared to bother Crassus, who brimmed with confidence and even seemed pleased to see Ferox. ‘Come in for the kill, have you, Ferox? Splendid. Must make a change from killing procurators!’ The nobleman threw his head back and roared with laughter. ‘Turns out that fellow was plotting rebellion after all, so we shan’t say any more about arrest, at least for the moment anyway.’ Crassus slapped him heartily on the back and laughed for a good long while. ‘You may even get a reward, for it turns out he was part of a conspiracy with this Arviragus.’ He pointed at the burning buildings. ‘This will send him a message and scare anyone foolish enough to think of joining him.’ The legate revelled in the destruction as his men burned the main villa and barns and huts around it. It was easy enough to understand. Twice disgraced, the man had come to Britannia and then found himself perfectly placed to crush a rebellion, winning glory and proving his loyalty to the princeps. The latter, at least according to the legate, was most certainly alive and well.