Ferox said nothing. The decision was made and there was a logic to it all. Like Caesar at the Rubicon, going ahead put them all in great peril, but there was nothing to be gained by holding back.
‘You have not asked about my nephew.’ The legate stared intently at Ferox. ‘And whether or not I think him a traitor or a captive whose spirit is broken? The law would probably say he is a slave now, assuming we count Arviragus as a foreign enemy.’ Neratius Marcellus sighed softly. ‘The boy often says your obstinate silences are more frustrating than your open impertinence.’
‘In Londinium I saw him at a secret meeting with Fuscus and other conspirators, including Domitius, who was really Acco.’
‘Would it surprise you to learn that the tribune has been acting on my orders all the time?’
‘No, my lord.’
‘Then I am obviously less inscrutable than I had hoped.’
‘My people are not inclined to trust others,’ Ferox said.
‘Your people are the Romans, Flavius Ferox. And I dare say our history should teach everyone to be suspicious all the time. Well, let me tell you that for almost a year reports have come in of discontent and wild talk among the chieftains of many tribes and especially the Brigantes. Over the summer it became more definite, and there were signs that the procurator was involved. Crispinus discovered some of this, and came to me with the idea that he seek the conspirators out and become one of them. As the weeks passed – broken only by your adventures over the summer – it grew obvious that there would be trouble at some stage, and it seemed best to bring it to a head. My nephew came up with the idea of urging them to spread rumours that Trajan was dead and that I sought the purple for myself, but was doomed to fail. That would give them the confidence to act and reveal themselves. Better now than in a year’s time, for orders have arrived to send more troops away from the province. In the spring Trajan will attack Dacia and he is assembling a bigger army than we have seen for almost a century to undertake the task. He must have a clear, unambiguous and grand victory to prove his fitness to rule and a defeat here, even a small one, would be embarrassing. Our emperor remains vulnerable, but we had to gamble and provoke rebellion before we became even less able to cope with it.’ The legate bounded to his feet, the suddenness making Ferox flinch, and then the governor was pacing about again.
‘The first great gamble! Then Acco helped by preaching a great change, but I began to worry that the revolt would turn into something too big altogether. What would victory mean if the province lay in ruins? Yet the pebbles were already rolling down the cliff and more and more boulders joined them. Someone killed Fuscus, but he had already done his mischief, driving chieftains into debt before offering them a way out if they joined the plot. My nephew thought we could weaken Acco by beating him to the treasures on Mona. It rather sounds as if that old rogue was reading our purpose and waiting. Still, since he was also Domitius and part of the conspiracy, perhaps we should not be so surprised. Arviragus made it all more complicated, and I do not know whether my nephew colluded with him from the start. What do you think of my nephew?’
‘An able man, my lord, clever and ambitious. I should not say that he is ever troubled by conscience.’
The legate spun around, grinning. ‘Yes, that is about right. I would like to believe that he still feels he is doing his best for me and our princeps, if only because he must realise that we remain most likely to win. Yet who knows?’
Ferox wondered whether Crispinus was acting under the prince’s orders when he tried to poison Enica. Did he think the murder would strengthen Arviragus or make the chiefs hate and distrust him? He did not like to think of her choking her life out, and Audagus had been a good man, who had not deserved that death. He sat there, making no answer, for it was clear the legate expected none.
‘I have orders for you, Ferox.’
He stood obediently. ‘My lord.’
‘When we win, Arviragus must die. A prisoner might be inconvenient, so I need his head and nothing else. Your task will be to bring it to me. Find him on the battlefield or hunt him down afterwards. You may have as many men as you wish, but find him and kill him. My nephew I would prefer alive. His presence with the enemy would be embarrassing if it become common knowledge. His death would be disturbing. He needs to be found in one piece and then perhaps we can learn what he has been doing, and make sure no one else ever learns of it. If he has to die, it will be in the weeks to come. Perhaps a fall while riding or a sudden fever.’
‘My lord,’ Ferox said, his voice flat.
The legate rubbed his chin. ‘Go and rest. Soon I shall have a word with your wife, if that is what she is. Do you know that Crispinus suggested months ago that you become her consort to strengthen her claim to rule the tribe?’
‘He hinted, my lord. It sounded improbably bizarre.’
‘Yes, that is what I thought, so I was inclined to dismiss it. And I felt sorry for the poor girl – well, wouldn’t anybody? Still, now that I learn she is so fluent with a sword, perhaps it is too dangerous a task for anyone else.’ The governor smiled.
‘I am not sure we are married, my lord.’ Each time he repeated it, the words seemed a little more hollow, but he was too tired to explore the idea.
A legionary led him to a tent on the far side of the row of horses and mules brought by the legate and his staff. It was one of the larger ones, the type given to a centurion on campaign, and to his surprise it was empty of other occupants. A wide straw mattress lay on the floor, with blankets and furs. There was a platter with fruit, bread and wine, and a bowl of water. The fatigue was overwhelming him, but when Philo appeared, it somehow did not seem strange.
‘The legate brought me from the south,’ the boy explained. ‘Gannascus’ girl as well, although she is safe at Coria.’
Ferox let himself be shaved and cleaned, for he no longer had the will and strength to resist. Philo took his clothes, nose wrinkling even more than usual in his disgust at their state. He had brought his master a long tunic for the night and everything he needed for the next day. Eventually the boy left and Ferox sat cross-legged on the ground and poured a cup of wine. It was expensive, a present, he guessed, from the governor, and he shuddered a little as he sniffed it. In the old days when he had drunk to cover his emptiness, he knew that he would not have shuddered and that encouraged him.
He was just about to go to sleep when the flap of the tent was lifted and she came in, closing it behind her. She was wrapped in a heavy fur cloak, but her hair was coiled and curled like a Roman lady and when she let the cloak fall she wore a sleeveless dress. There was something bunched in her hands.
‘Are we married, do you think?’ Claudia Enica asked in a soft voice.
‘I do not know. What do you think?’
‘I do not know either, but I think it is meant to be.’ Her seriousness surprised him, but then she managed a smile. ‘You are mine, as I have said.’ She opened her hands to show a piece of material. ‘It is more red than orange, but the best I could find.’
Claudia Enica lifted the veil and covered her head. A Roman bride wore the flamma, an orange veil. She was more nervous that Ferox had ever seen, even when Acco had stood by them with the sacrificial blade. He sensed that she was afraid, and a wave of tenderness swept over him.
‘Ego Gaius, tibi Gaia,’ he whispered. Where I am Gaius, you are Gaia – and it sounded so natural that it surprised him. They were the old words of two become one, male and female halves of the same whole. He wondered whether Acco laughed from the Otherworld.