‘Ego Gaia, tibi Gaius,’ she replied.
Ferox lifted the veil and they kissed. Enica was enthusiastic, if clumsy like a child, and he felt her body stiffen nervously. He pulled away a little.
‘It will be all right,’ he whispered.
Claudia Enica hung her head, knowing that he was surprised. ‘I talk a lot,’ she said.
‘I’d noticed that. Do not worry.’ He ran his fingers lightly over her arm. She must have been cold with her short sleeves, but she did not shy away from his touch. He leaned forward and kissed her again, and their bodies merged, Gaius and Gaia become one.
Ferox woke before dawn, to the sound of the camp stirring. Enica was gone, but the veil lay beside him. He reached out and held it tightly.
XXVII
THE ARMY MARCHED south under a grey sky, and most of the time Ferox rode with the legate, for in spite of Tertullianus’ pleas for an additional centurion with his first cohort of II Augusta, Neratius Marcellus wanted an extra officer for his own small staff.
Enica had gone, not just from his tent but from the camp, and Vindex had gone with her, as had Sepenestus and Gannascus. The legate obviously knew where they had gone, but said nothing other than to assure him that they would be as safe as they could be with the column. ‘Some loyal Brigantes went with them.’ Ferox wondered why the legate had changed his mind about the advantage of trumpeting the presence of the high queen with the column. Even more he hoped that the legate had judged the loyalty of the tribesmen well.
Last night was a like a dream, save that it had not faded in memory. Ferox felt a contentment he had not known for a long time, deeper even than the thrill after the first time he had lain with Sulpicia Lepidina. Oddly what little anger he had felt at Lepidina’s betrayal had gone as well, leaving the fondness of happy memory. Their son was a wonderful gift, even if Ferox could never declare his love openly, and he still trusted the lady to care for him.
Early in the day Ferox was sent back with orders for Cerialis, who was in command of the infantry forming the rearguard, mostly composed of his own Batavians, with their moss-topped helmets looking like fur until you came very close. The prefect was affable, and Ferox felt an odd relief that the affair with the man’s wife was now over forever. He had always liked Cerialis too much to enjoy cuckolding the man, even though he knew the marriage was one of advantage rather than affection, let alone love.
‘There are worse deaths,’ Cerialis said, after receiving the warning that they would be crossing a bridge soon, so that the rearguard was to halt and wait while this brought its inevitable delays. The legate suggested that he let his men light fires and cook. The Batavians had returned to their cohort and spread the word of the death of Longinus. His true identity was a jealously guarded secret, and Ferox was one of the few outside the unit to be admitted to it. ‘In a way, I am relieved,’ the prefect said. ‘He went out bravely, and performing a good act. All his family are long gone, and he had already stayed with the cohort long after he should have retired. Where could he go?’ He reached out his hand. ‘The lads know you were not to blame. They know too that he liked you.’
Ferox shook the proffered hand. Amused tolerance was more his sense of Longinus’ feelings towards him, but perhaps he was wrong. As well as prefect, Cerialis was of the royal line of his tribe, and he spoke as both on a matter all the Batavians felt deeply.
‘No hard feelings,’ the prefect told him. ‘You did your best for him, and you brought most of the lads home.’
As Ferox rode back to the legate he found himself wishing that the prefect’s generosity extended to his affair. As far as he knew, Cerialis had not the slightest idea of any of it, and it was surely best that he never did. How could any husband forgive a man who slept with his wife and fathered a child with her?
Ferox brooded as he rode, and then as he waited for the baggage train to file slowly across the bridge, poorly greased axles screamed on the wheels of the carts. The drivers always claimed the noise warded off evil spirits and he did not know whether this was true. The galearii were slaves owned by the army, given a basic uniform and menial tasks like driving the transport. They were a strange, insubordinate bunch who kept themselves to themselves, jealous of the rare freedom they received. On one of the nearest carts a woman sat suckling a baby, and he guessed she was probably the ‘wife’ of a galearius rather than a soldier. She had a sullen expression and deeply lined face, whether from the harshness of her life in general or the more recent rigours of giving birth.
An image formed in his mind of Claudia Enica holding a newborn babe as he stared down, brimming over with love for them both. It was strange to realise that he had come to love her, even if he had not the slightest idea of when this had happened. Desire had been there from the start, but that was no more than the natural instinct of any man seeing an attractive woman. Respect had grown over time as they had travelled together, but the love he now knew was altogether different.
The woman on the cart lifted the baby and placed it on her shoulder, patting gently until it belched with surprising loudness. She glared at Ferox, perhaps thinking he was leering at her uncovered breast.
It was all a dream, for how could they have a future? He could not imagine the elegant Claudia living as the wife of a mere centurion, let alone one who had long since ruined his career and found himself on the edge of the world. Neither could he see himself as her consort, the pair of them puppet rulers of an allied tribe. The Brigantes would surely not accept him and he could not spend all his life scowling to order. That way lay only boredom, despair and drink. Enica deserved better, as the legate had said; certainly better than a man who had seduced another’s wife. She was beautiful and young, a queen now, at least assuming the legate won his battle and she survived it all. What was he? He felt the blackness grow inside him, the despair and self-pity and hate that made the oblivion of drink call out to him.
The wind picked up and as it made the covering on the cart flap noisily, he half thought he heard Acco’s laughter and his grandfather’s scorn. ‘Live with what you have done, whatever it is,’ the Lord of the Hills had said. ‘No magic in this world can change the past and wishing things were otherwise is the part of a fool and a coward.’
The cart was across, and before the oxen on the next one were goaded into lurching forward, Ferox cantered across, ignoring the protests of the weary optio guiding the traffic. Once across he left the road and gave the animal its head, pounding past the transport as the draft animals plodded along in an unearthly chorus of squeaking metal. At least the sight helped convince him that the legate was as well prepared as possible for such a hastily planned campaign. There were more than ninety carts and wagons, some of them big four-wheeled affairs pulled by a team of eight. Almost all were drawn by oxen, so that they were lucky to make ten miles in a day, but along with the hundreds of mules and ponies they carried bread, flour and salted meat. He was pleased to see that some also had bundles of firewood, for they could not be sure to find enough wood for fires along the way.
Everything about the little army was reassuring in a way so different from Crassus’ force. It was hard to believe that was only a few weeks ago. Neratius Marcellus marched with more of everything, soldiers as well as supplies, and that was part of the difference, but only part. As it went south the column torched no farms, great or small. The legate had given strict orders that no one was to be treated as an enemy unless they attacked the Romans. Even the sight of men carrying arms was not to be seen as a mark of rebellion unless they made use of them. These were the lands of allies of the Roman people, old friends to be treated with respect and courtesy, for the soldiers were here to protect them, not fight them. Anything taken from the land, from livestock, hay or food, was to be paid for in coin. Ferox wondered how many people would risk coming forward to speak to the soldiers, and was surprised when during the day several farmers appeared. The column had followed the legate’s orders since the march began and word was spreading.