‘Deserter?’ Vindex asked.
‘Perhaps.’ A good Roman sword was a prize worth trading or killing for far outside the empire, but the belt was a soldier’s belt, and one of the panels was even shaped to read COH I. It was odd that they had left something so valuable with the dead man, unless he was their leader and this was a mark of respect. ‘We had better take him back. Wrap him up in the cloak and tie it fast around him.’
There was nothing left to detain them. The tide had come in and was well on its way out, so that there were no traces left by boats dragged onto the sand. They went back to the site of the slaughter and then all were glad to turn for home. It was the second day out from Luguvallium, and if they were lucky they might make it back soon after nightfall. On the return trip they saw more sign of the locals. On the way there, Ferox had seen a few men watching from the hills, and some riding ponies coming a little closer. All had fled if anyone had gone off towards them. Now they came closer, if warily, and he managed to speak to a few. The Selgovae were frightened, not sure where the attackers had come from or what they wanted.
‘We did not kill them,’ he was told several times. The last man he met said more. ‘They came from a great ship.’
‘A black ship?’ Ferox asked. If the attackers had come in a merchantman than they may have come from far afield.
‘No. One like the soldiers use. A grey ship.’
Did the man mean a warship? ‘A ship with oars.’
‘Yes, and a square sail.’
Ferox wondered why he did not feel more surprise, but when he went back to join the others his mind was reeling. A dead man who looked more than half like a soldier or former soldier, and now a whole trireme full of raiders, who did not act like any Selgovae or Novantae, or even Northerners or Hibernians. Truth was they did not act like anything he had ever seen or heard of whether in Britannia or further afield. Was it all another plot against the emperor, with someone powerful enough to control a force of men and stir up war, hoping that there would be a disaster big enough to discredit the princeps?
Ferox rode on, and suddenly a long-forgotten story rose up in his memory. A tale from before his posting to Britannia, and one that men only whispered because of its horror.
‘Did you ever hear of the Usipi?’ he asked Vindex.
‘No.’
‘I think we might be about to hear a lot about them,’ Ferox said, and something about his tone made the scout shudder. ‘Bring the rest of them along, I’m riding ahead as fast as I can.’ He gave no more explanation and set the big horse running, its hoofs heavy on the grass.
A little later, Vindex caught up with him, leading a pair of the horses they had rounded up from Claudius Super’s escort.
‘You might need me,’ the scout said, coming alongside, ‘and we might need these to keep the pace up.’
Ferox nodded, but it was a while before he said anything. When he started, the story poured out, the details coming to his mind as he told them.
‘All happened seventeen, maybe eighteen years ago. A new cohort was raised from a Germanic tribe called the Usipi. They’d been causing trouble, so after they had been shown the error of their ways, they conscripted five hundred of the young men into the army and sent them to Britannia to keep them out of further mischief.
‘It’s something the Romans do often enough, and usually it works. They get pay, weapons, a chance to win glory fighting the enemies of the emperor and everyone is happy.’
‘Except the enemies.’
‘That’s their problem.’
‘I’m guessing this time it did not go to plan.’
‘No, not quite. There was trouble. Some savage punishments, which only spread the resentment. Then there was mutiny. They slaughtered their officers, instructors and just about anyone else they caught. Then they went to the coast and found part of the classis. They took three triremes, killing anyone they couldn’t frighten into joining them. This was down south, not far from Deva. After that they put to sea and followed the coast north, coming ashore to take by force anything they wanted. They killed a lot of people, took women and food wherever they could find them. Some of the locals fought, and killed a few of them in turn, but it was hard to face hundreds of well-armed men who landed without warning. The army was too busy to chase them properly. This was near the end of Agricola’s time as legate.’
‘I remember Agricola,’ Vindex said softly. Agricola was the man who had led the legions far into Caledonia, conquering new lands that were then quickly given up as troops were withdrawn.
‘The Usipi kept going. At some point they started to turn against each other. Food was short and perhaps that was why they took to cooking men as food. Two of the ships vanished, the other kept going right the way across the north of Britannia and then turned south. Some of them ended up east of the Rhine, where the Frisians caught them and either killed them or sold them as slaves. It was from men bought in the markets in Germania that the rest of the story was learned, but even then it left a lot unaccounted for. Perhaps they drowned.’
‘Or perhaps not.’ Vindex scratched the stubble on his chin. ‘I’m guessing you are wondering whether some survived, living far in the north or on some island, and now they are back. And maybe now they forced the Red Cat and the other lads to come south and take Genialis for them, and had a fellow who could pass as a Roman to tell them where to find him. Why?’
‘That I do not know, but it makes me think they might try again. Perhaps killing Claudius Super wasn’t a decoy and they wanted information. Or perhaps they are going to Alauna.’
‘Oh bugger,’ Vindex said. ‘Still, they should all be in the fort, shouldn’t they? Her and the boy. Not in the villa.’
Ferox did not say any more, and just slapped the rump of his horse to urge it on.
The sun set blood red over the western sea.
XIII
THE BLACKENED SHELL of the villa still smouldered as the shadow of the building lengthened in the late afternoon sun. The outbuildings had been flimsier and burned faster, leaving smaller carcases. Behind them, towards the sea, the fort showed few scars from the night attack. Several parties of attackers had got inside, blackened faces and bodies hard to see as they slipped over parapets of walls too long for the small number of soldiers to patrol.
No one had expected such a direct attack. Aelius Brocchus was with two turmae off north along the coast, responding to a report from one of his patrols who had discovered the corpses of some of Probus’ herdsmen. Another turma swept south in case raiders came from that direction. They had not, but late in the day a warship had arrived at the little harbour. The centurion in charge of the ship and twenty marines had marched to the fort, reported that they were patrolling the shore, but had had an accident and had three men needing medical attention. It all seemed in order, the duty decurion directing them to the hospital and calling for the sole medicus in the garrison. The naval troops were allocated accommodation in an empty barrack block, with space for the rest who would come once they had finished repairing damage to the ship.
Night fell, and in the second watch the centurion and marines came quietly out of their barracks and marched to the gate, just as some thirty sailors came to join them. The guards were quickly cut down, and at the same time three groups each of a dozen or so swarmed over the walls and into the fort. Two bigger groups went straight to the villa. Nowhere was there much resistance at first. Most of the Hibernian warriors were still with the kings at Luguvallium. The few who had stayed at the villa fought and died to protect their queen. One of Probus’ slaves swore that he had seen Brigita clad in her yellow dress and sword in hand, fighting alongside them. He did not see her fall, but there was no trace of her amid the bodies of her warriors. He also talked about the constant sound of whistles blowing throughout the fighting.