‘With the legate’s permission, I’ll happily take Ferox here back to Augusta. I’ve only one other centurion, since Pudens went down with fever.’ Julius Tertullianus was a burly man with an incongruously high-pitched voice. ‘I could do with another lad who knows the score.’
Neratius Marcellus raised his a hand and smiled. ‘Peace, my dear fellow, peace. We shall see in due course. Give the poor fellow a chance to rest – and shave – before we set him to new labours.
‘Gentlemen, I shall bid you all good night. Rest, for soon we will have need of all our strength.’ The legate was not the sort of man to give unnecessary reminders to attend to their duties. ‘Orders for tomorrow’s march to be issued at the start of the sixth hour of the night. Good night to you.’ He glanced at Ferox, who understood that he was to stay.
Cerialis and Brocchus stopped on their way out. ‘You have seen our wives?’
‘Yes, my lords, although it is many weeks since I was in Londinium. When I last saw them they and the children were all well.’
‘Thank you. It is a great comfort. No letters have come for some time.’ Cerialis smiled warmly as he spoke. Brocchus said nothing, but there was moistness in his eyes when he patted Ferox on the shoulder.
Claudia Enica hesitated, looking questioningly at the legate. ‘Dear lady, please refresh yourself.’ A slave appeared without any obvious sign of being summoned. ‘Give the lady everything in our power,’ the governor commanded. ‘There is a tent set aside for you with hot water, food and wine.’ Seeing the challenge in her expression, he smiled. ‘We shall speak later. First I must get a full report from the centurion.’
That took a long while, and Ferox sat by the table while the governor of the province circled him, pacing relentlessly. He asked few questions, and mainly listened, apart from a roar of laughter when he spoke of Acco marrying them on Mona.
‘Truly! How extraordinary. The old rogue married you and then planned to kill you straight away! I suppose some would count that as a mercy. Sorry, my dear fellow, one should not be flippant. And do not worry, although it is an offence for a centurion to marry without his commander’s permission, we can let this one by! Please go on.’
Ferox spoke of Acco’s strange hesitation, his suspicion that the druid wanted to be killed, and their rescue, escape and how he had killed the old man.
‘He is dead then,’ the legate grunted, pausing in mid-stride. ‘After all the trouble he has caused it will be a relief, although I suspect a part of me will grieve.’ He saw the puzzled look. ‘With him passes another world. Such things are always sad, whether or not the vanished world was a good one.’ The legate stood still while Ferox told him about who the druid really was. How he had once been a narrow-stripe tribune, was captured by the druids and somehow became one of them. He guessed that he was the red boy Longinus had seen on the beach at Mona.
‘Strange, the twists of fate. Ovidius would no doubt say something about the gods having a sense of humour. A more serious mind might wonder who each of us really is, deep down. No matter. Oh, the old fool is recovering well by all accounts. I dare say he will outlast us all.’ He sighed. ‘Especially if I make a mistake in the days to come. For the moment, let me hear the rest of your tale. You met up with Crassus, did you not?’
‘Yes, my lord.’ Ferox kept his account of the battle plain, trusting the legate to understand. Neratius Marcellus was on the move again, and punctuated the narrative with snorts.
‘Well, it could have been worse,’ he concluded. ‘And perhaps will all turn out better in the long run. Perhaps. Please continue.’
On their arrival, they had said only a little about the tribal council, but now Ferox told all that he could remember, adding in things Enica had explained in the days that followed. He held nothing back, telling of the governor’s nephew being led in chains into the assembly and Crispinus’ attempt to poison Enica.
‘Bad business,’ Neratius said once he had finished. ‘Very bad, although again it could have been worse. If she had died leaving him as sole choice for high king…’ He trailed off, and paced in silence for long while. Ferox knew the legate’s ways well enough to wait.
‘Very well,’ Neratius Marcellus said at long last. ‘Yes, very well. We might wish things were different, but they are not so let us not waste breath lamenting them. So be it.’ The legate stopped pacing and sat on a chair opposite Ferox. In him, it was a gesture of serious intent.
‘I am glad that you were surprised to find me here,’ he said, fingers drumming a rhythm on the table top. ‘Arviragus will have known for days, of course, for one cannot hide an army of this size. Still, it is to be hoped that we gave him a scare when he first got the news. Yet more chiefs are bound to have joined up with him after his victory. The tribe must be divided even more after the treachery at the council. We must spread the word that the princess – no, of course high queen – is alive and well and on our side. That may deter some from joining him, and perhaps even win us allies willing to fight.
‘Some chieftains still send me word, wherever their sympathies truly lie. None say that the prince has fewer than ten thousand men in his army, and some claim there are many more. Reports from the garrisons are fewer. Perhaps because the commanders are scared and perhaps because the messengers have been intercepted. As yet I do not know definitely of any defections to the prince and his ‘”true emperor”, and it is to be hoped that none occur. The little that has come through says much the same as the chieftains.
‘So I can assume that he has twice my numbers at the very least, although most of them will be warriors, who are brave enough but lack discipline.’
Ferox thought back to Crassus’ contempt for his opponents until they routed his force. The legate’s column was bigger and all he had seen suggested that the troops were in better shape for a campaign.
‘Yes,’ the legate said, as if reading his thoughts. ‘Those are tall odds. The royal guard are real soldiers, and the Brigantes as a people are formidable. Not like the rabble who followed the Stallion and that was a hard enough fight. We cannot afford to make a mistake. Still, neither can Arviragus. He is near Cataractonium. I have not heard from the prefect in command there for nine days, so at best the fort is under siege and perhaps it has fallen. Crassus is marching north from Eboracum with nine thousand men, including most of the Ninth. Yes, I know the man is a fool, but he is a vengeful fool and this time he has a far bigger force, but knows he must be cautious. He has orders to move slowly. I want Arviragus to see his chance. If he strikes quickly he can face just me, with numbers on his side. If he faces Crassus he will be about even. If he waits then the two of us meet and we will have the bigger force. I sense you have a concern?’
Ferox was a little disappointed to think his expression had betrayed his thought.
‘Food, my lord. It’s December and it will be hard to stay in the field for long, even if the snows hold off.’
‘For the prince as well as us. In that sense his numbers count against him. We have enough for another eight days and after that will rely in reaching a fort with its brimming granaries. I do not think the prince is a patient man. And he believes in his destiny. My spies have watched the conspirators for months. The prince has always urged swift action. He acts as if he is sure of victory and great things.’
‘He believes that Julius Caesar is his ancestor.’
‘Hah!’ Neratius Marcellus slammed his hands down on the table. ‘Truly? I had not heard that before. Explains a lot. Yes, it will make him more likely to strike hard and fast and trust to his luck. Venus bringer of victory, or the Morrigan?’ The legate pronounced the word haltingly, but was pleased when Ferox nodded. ‘He will be all the more eager when word gets out that his sister is with us. We will march straight down the road and let him pick his spot, and, however strong it is, I must attack and smash him. Everything comes down to that. It is really simple, and once again I must “fish with a golden hook”, as you used to be fond of saying. You and the divine Augustus!’