There was much to sort out and very little time, but before he hurried off to arrange his side of things, Ferox had one request to make.
‘If you are absolutely sure.’ Neratius Marcellus’ doubt was obvious. ‘Might it not be prudent to keep one as surety to the other’s behaviour?’
‘They may not agree,’ Ferox explained. ‘They will only accept if I show some trust.’
‘It is a risk.’
‘Yes, my lord.’
Ferox rode back to Luguvallium with Vindex. Thankfully the games had been suspended, so they were able to collect the corpse of the warrior they had found on the beach and go to where the prisoners were held. Together they lifted the dead man off the horse, and rolled the black painted warrior onto the ground in front of the cage.
It was the first time Segovax and his brother had shown much interest in anything.
‘Was this one of the men who took your kin?’ he asked.
The Red Cat spat through the bars at the body.
‘He says yes,’ Vindex interpreted.
‘We are going after these men,’ Ferox said, and tried to think how best to explain it so that the northerners would understand. ‘They have taken a Roman chief and his wife prisoner. I am bound by solemn oath to them. I will get them back, if I can. Whether or not I can do that I shall have vengeance and kill every last one of these bastards. Will you come with me?’
Segovax lifted his arms so that the manacles rattled.
‘If you give me your oath you may come and fight beside us. When it is over you may go free, wherever you will, with weapons in your hands. Up until then you will not try to escape.’
‘What oath?’
‘To follow me and help me in any way you can to find these men. Then you will aid us to get back the captives and wipe the land free of these murderers and eaters of men.’
The brothers looked at each other. No word was spoken, but it was a while before the Red Cat gave a slight nod.
The man with the red face turned to them and spoke slowly. ‘We will swear to serve you and hunt them down, to kill them and free your chieftain and his woman. But that is all. Once it is done we are free. We do not give up our promise to kill you and this one. Those are our terms. Do you take them? If not then we will die here for that is our fate.’
‘I accept them,’ Ferox said. Vindex gave him a sidelong glance, but said nothing.
‘Then we swear by the gods of our people, by the sun, moon and stars, by the four winds and green earth, by rock and by breath to serve you faithfully, to fight and die at your side, until the men of the night are killed and your captives safe or dead. Then it is over.’
XIV
QUINTUS OVIDIUS WAS the most surprising addition to the expedition, attracting even more puzzled glances than the two northerners, clean now, and with their long hair braided back and issue spatha swords at their sides.
‘It is the urge of a man of letters to see the world rather than simply read of it,’ the little man said whenever he was asked. He spent most of the voyage peering out over the side of the ship. ‘My dearest wish is to see a whale, or some other monster of the deep.’
No whales or monsters appeared, but the voyage was smooth and fast and brought them to a little trading port on the Hibernian coast. There were two other ships already there, both quite small, their crews busily unloading amphorae of wine and heavy wooden boxes.
Waiting on shore was a band of sixty warriors, thirty for each of the kings. All were mounted, and they had brought ponies and supplies. The kings, as befitted their rank, had chariots to carry them inland. Crispinus’ escort consisted mainly of cavalrymen, a mixture of Batavians and men from the ala Petriana. There had only been space in the transports for thirty-five horses, but with the ones provided by the warriors they were able to mount fifty troopers as well as the officers, Vindex and a few of his scouts. The rest were to stay with the ships. As they were preparing to depart, one of the troopers nodded amicably to Ferox.
‘Longinus,’ he said in acknowledgement. He had seen the man on board, but they had not spoken. The cavalryman was old, by the far the oldest man in cohors VIIII Batavorum equitata and had lost one eye many years ago.
‘Flora sends her greetings,’ the man said quietly. ‘Asked me as a favour to try to stop you from getting killed.’
‘Kind of her,’ Ferox said. The brothel mistress and the old soldier were friends from long ago and a different life. Once the man now called Longinus had been an equestrian officer called Julius Civilis. Like Cerialis he was a Batavian, and like Cerialis he was of the tribe’s royal line. A promising career went badly wrong in the civil war after Nero’s suicide, and a rising in favour of Vespasian had turned into a rebellion to establish an Empire of the Gauls. Most of the Batavian auxiliaries had followed him, and they had won quite a few victories before Vespasian – by this time victor in the civil war – sent a big army to settle matters. Civilis and his allies were defeated, but the man had vanished and escaped punishment by finding anonymity in the ranks of the Ninth Cohort. Ferox had learned who he really was during the trouble with the Stallion, but otherwise it was a secret shared only by the rest of the cohort. Longinus was a good soldier, and even the officers of the cohort craved his good opinion. Even so, Ferox was a little surprised to find him serving with the expedition.
‘I owe the lady’s family, you know that,’ the trooper said. ‘And himself’ – he meant Cerialis – ‘is one of us, and king by rights, so it is my duty to help him.’
They left the harbour in bright sunshine, and were soon riding over fields rich with the greens of early summer.
‘Doesn’t look that different,’ Vindex said on the third day of their journey and the second day of unbroken drizzle. ‘Wetter, though.’
Ferox said nothing. It all reminded him of home, the rain as much as anything else, but that was what he had expected and other things occupied his thoughts. The night before, Ovidius had asked to speak to him and to Crispinus in the tribune’s tent. The guards were ordered to keep their distance, and make sure no one overheard anything.
‘It is a rare thing for a poet to boast more knowledge of the world than men of action such as yourselves, so please forgive me if I have been jealous in guarding it for as long as possible. I assume that you have long since concluded that I was not sent by the legate for my prowess as a warrior or experience of diplomacy.’
Crispinus smiled. ‘Or to see whales?’
‘Or that sadly. Before we came to Britannia, the legate and I went to the Lord Trajan on the Rhine and I bought a slave in the market. I did not particularly need one, and it was simply chance that took me past the auction, but the cries of the auctioneer pricked my interest.’ He paused, watching them for the moment.
‘Please go on,’ Crispinus said. ‘I presume there is a point to this homely anecdote.’
‘There is indeed, and at least you have not merely assumed that this was no more than the ramblings of an aged mind. The slave was called Felix, as so many are, though with heavy irony in his case. He was one of the Usipi, not that the name meant anything to me, but when the auctioneer called out that he was a cannibal and did his best to make the flesh of his audience creep, I became interested.’
‘Where is this Felix now?’ Ferox cut in.
‘Dead. But I shall come to that, my young friends, and you must be patient. They were trying to sell him as a brute who could be set to any unpleasant labour, or even trained to guard property, so were a little surprised to find a poet bidding. I was curious, as what poet or philosopher would not be? Here was a man said to have committed one of the greatest impieties, a sin so great that few save illicit love between parent and child could be worse, or consign a man to more terrible punishment in the Underworld – or to exactly the same nothingness as all the rest of us, depending on your viewpoint.