‘Was Felix a good slave?’ Crispinus asked. ‘I take it you did not let him anywhere near the kitchens.’
‘He was willing enough in his way. Not a bright soul, even by the standards of those without education or any trace of civilisation. He was good at carrying things, good at sweeping up and cleaning, and he would fight to protect my property. The other slaves did not care for him, of course, saying that he was cursed and would bring evil on them. He was not very happy, but then how could anyone who had lived through all that be happy.’
Crispinus appeared to be about to make another joke until he thought better of it.
‘What happened to him?’ Ferox asked.
‘He was murdered, his throat cut from ear to ear. It was very messy, and of course he was the one who normally did the cleaning.’
‘Inconsiderate,’ Crispinus said, but Ferox was more interested in when this had happened.
‘In Londinium,’ Ovidius explained. ‘Barely a few days after we arrived in the province. There was a break-in to the mansio where we were staying. Yet nothing was taken and he was the only one hurt. Everyone else swore that they saw nothing.
‘Now perhaps you will tell me that I am a poet and that I am letting my imagination run away with me, but in the last week I have been thinking. When the mutiny occurred the pay chest of the cohort was full, because the centurion had been withholding their pay. Apart from their salaries there was most of the viaticum each man had been given on enlistment, and that should be in gold, should it not?’
‘Yes,’ Ferox said. When a soldier joined the army he was given road money, three gold aurei, the equivalent of seventy-five silver denarii, as a bounty and to help pay the expenses he would incur. Even conscripts were given this gift in the name of the emperor.
‘On top of that there was the convoy bringing the pay to the legion. All in all, there must have been hundreds of thousands of denarii, mostly in silver, and none of it has ever been seen again.’
‘Probus,’ Crispinus said, snapping his fingers just as Ferox came to the same conclusion. ‘He was the leader who abandoned the others.’
Ovidius smiled. ‘Perhaps we are all poets. But it did occur to me that all that money would have been a wonderful start for a man going into business. My guess is that he hid it, went for a while to where he was not known, took a new name, and did not come to reclaim it for years.’
Crispinus sat up straight. ‘The boy,’ he said.
‘Young Genialis is of an age to be the son of that priestess. Probus does say his wife died giving birth to his son, so maybe that is what happened. It would make the lad part of that sacred bloodline, so that might explain why they want him.’
‘It may also be chance, and I thought no more of it until these last days, but Probus was among the town councillors, merchants and other good folk welcoming the legate when we reached Londinium. I wonder if he saw Felix and recognised him. There is no proof, of course, none at all, but it does fit together very neatly.’
‘It does,’ Crispinus agreed, nodding his head several times. ‘It truly does. We should inform the legate.’ He caught Ovidius’ expression and smiled. ‘I am sorry. May I presume he already knows? Good. It would have been nice to have to have been told about all this.’
‘That is why I am here.’
‘And to see whales.’
‘And to see whales and monsters and the wonders of Hibernia. The legate felt that it is better not to broadcast the story – wheat always flies further than the sower intends, as they say – so I have waited until there was a chance for some privacy. We still have little more than suspicion.’
‘It all sounds right,’ Crispinus said.
‘Assuming that the trireme carrying the Harii was not lost, and left the others deliberately,’ Ferox said, trying the idea out as he spoke, ‘then they must have settled somewhere.’
‘My guess would be an island of their own,’ Ovidius says. ‘I read that there are many of them off the coast of Caledonia.’
‘Yes, that seems likely. So at first there were a couple of hundred at most. Some were women, so they may have had boy children and a few of them would be old enough to fight by now. The rest would be older, like that corpse we discovered on the beach.’
‘Why reappear now?’ Crispinus asked the question without looking at either of the others, and Ferox was not sure that he was expecting an answer. No one spoke for a few minutes. ‘Who can say,’ the tribune said at last. ‘Perhaps they did not learn of Probus and Genialis until recently?’
‘That is assuming that our guesses are right,’ Ovidius said, sounding even more like a schoolmaster than usual. ‘We may be quite wrong and it is all just chance. Oh yes, there is one thing I forgot to say. Felix said that the Harii prefer to fight at night. They wear dark clothes, carry black shields and paint their skin black. Curiously enough, only the other day I read the same thing in Cornelius Tacitus’ book on the people of Germania.’ Ovidius chuckled. ‘The mutinous cannibal and the famous orator in agreement.’ His laugh became deeper and his thin body shook with mirth.
‘It really does all fit,’ Crispinus said. ‘Although at the moment I am not sure how it helps us.’
‘Do not trust Probus,’ Ferox said.
‘I never have,’ the tribune replied.
‘Yes, but if we are right, he is an even more dangerous man than we thought.’
XV
THE PLACE OF the kings was vast, stretching for miles between great monuments raised long ago. Several tracks led towards the sacred hill at the heart of it all, and as they came closer the land filled with people. Most were warriors, following their chieftains, who in turn followed petty and greater kings. They wore bright tunics, tartan cloaks, helmets of polished bronze with high nodding plumes and here and there shirts of mail or scale. Many rode in chariots, first dozens, then scores and finally hundreds thundering across rolling fields awash in a sea of wildflowers. Ferox had never seen so many, or such fine teams of ponies, even though his own tribe had dearly loved such things.
‘It is like the Iliad sprung to life before our eyes,’ Ovidius said in genuine wonder. Philo was close enough to overhear the comment and showed obvious delight. Ferox was often surprised at how well read the young slave was. All the more because they had spent little time in cities or towns, let alone near libraries. Bran was simply wide-eyed, for the Novantae were not a numerous people and never gathered in such numbers.
‘It must have been like this in the old days at home,’ Vindex said softly. ‘Before the Romans came and brought us peace, of course.’ He had spoken in Latin, but did not bother to hide his wistfulness. This was a world of proud kings and folk who seemed much like his own kin. No doubt his father, or certainly his grandfather, had seen great gatherings of all the Brigantes, which must have looked much the same.
‘Were the old days always so noisy?’ Crispinus asked and grinned. Alongside the chariots and the warriors walking on foot there were trumpeters everywhere, carrying the same tall bronze trumpets they had seen at Aballava. The long curving tube came apart, so that it could be screwed up as one great curve or as an S-shape. Either way the musicians played long, throbbing notes, each taking turns to lead the group so that the sound never ceased.
It was like seeing an army gathering, save that none of the warriors carried spears or standards. A lot of men had scabbarded swords at their belts, and all carried brightly painted shields, but there was a truce for three times seven days and for the same number of miles in all directions for this festival and the raising of a new high king. Much of the time Epotsorovidus and Brennus rode in their chariots on either side of Crispinus, and bands of warriors had come to swell their following so that the Romans were part of a much bigger procession, thousands strong.