‘Good. Now get that taken care of. Carry on, centurion.’ Crispinus smiled. ‘And well done. To be honest, I never thought that we would get away with it.’
‘And you have my heartiest thanks, once again,’ Cerialis added, offering his hand.
Ferox shook it, too tired to feel much guilt or sorrow. He was still on the edge of the world, but knew that once again a great chasm had opened to separate him from Sulpicia Lepidina. At least she was safe, and part of him wanted to gaze upon her, even though he knew that the pain would be crueller than any wound to the body.
Six corpses lay in a row near the top of the cliff. The mother was in the centre, the redhead to her right and then two boys on either side. Several of the other lads and girls were wounded, but the woman with brown hair had at last found a tunic and covered herself more effectively.
‘I will see that you are helped to do what is necessary,’ Ferox said to Brigita. ‘They all fought with courage.’
‘It was their fight, as much as ours,’ the queen said.
‘I am sorry about your mother. She did not deserve to die here, but I am not sure whether we would have won without her.’
‘To fight broke her oath, and she knew just what would happen, but did it anyway because it was the right thing. But the mother has not died, for the mother can never die. I am the mother now.’
Ferox said nothing. Her tone was firm, and there was no point stating the obvious. A woman who had been a queen was choosing to spend the rest of her life on a tiny island training young warriors.
‘I have a favour to ask,’ Brigita said. ‘Give the boy to me.’ She must have sensed his confusion. ‘Release Bran from his oath for the moment. Let him come with us and learn and in time he will return and serve you for three years. He has the makings of a great warrior, and you will always have the need of men who can fight.’
The boy’s eager expression made his desire clear.
‘So be it,’ Ferox said.
‘Now we must lament the fallen,’ she said. ‘It is not something that others may share.’
Ferox left them to it and walked back around the hall. As he left he heard a soft wailing song begin and found tears pricking at his eyes. Most of the troops were further down, clearing all the buildings of anything of value and then putting them to the torch. Segovax and his brother sat on the grass on either side of the spear topped by Cniva’s head, and Ferox went to them. Vindex sensed the moment and appeared beside him.
‘It is over,’ Ferox said. ‘You have kept your oath and I thank you.’
Segovax stood up, his hand gripping his sword. His brother stared at them for a moment and then got to his feet. He had been holding his sword across his legs. The blade was notched from the fighting and still stained with blood. A gust of wind whipped smoke over their heads and the raven cried out again.
‘They are all dead?’ the Red Cat said.
‘Every last one. So is Genialis. The druid killed him.’
There was no hint of surprise, so he guessed that word of this had already reached them.
The thief rubbed the blemish on his face. ‘There are tears to weep for our families,’ he said.
‘I know.’
‘But at least their spirits will know that they have been avenged.’ The Red Cat very carefully uncurled his fingers from the handle of his sword and dropped it on the grass
‘We will not kill you today,’ Segovax rumbled. ‘One day perhaps, but not today.’
‘I am glad,’ Ferox said. ‘There has been enough killing, and there are enough tears to shed.’ He felt Vindex relaxing beside him.
‘We will take a boat from the harbour and go,’ the Red Cat told them.
‘Never bring the Romans to our land.’ his brother said. ‘If you do, we will fight until our last breath. Farewell, Romans.’
‘Did he just call me a Roman?’ Vindex whispered after they had gone.
‘Don’t worry, people call me that all the time.’
The journey home took longer than expected, for the weather turned against them and for days they had to ride out a storm, which blew them a long way out to sea. Food was running short in the triremes by the time they sighted Alauna. Ovidius travelled in the same ship as Ferox and Vindex and chattered for all of the voyage, apart from when he was seasick or in his rare hours of sleep. Cerialis and his wife were in another of the transport ships, and once or twice in the lighter winds, Ferox saw her golden hair as she stood on the distant deck. In the meantime, Philo fussed over him, shaving him whenever the sea was calm enough and changing the dressing on his wound even when it was not.
On the journey eastwards, they travelled as one company, and the Lady Sulpicia was lively, her laughter filling the air and lifting the mood of all around her. When they came in sight of Vindolanda, Claudia Severa had come out to meet them with the children and there were tears as well as joy. Both ladies in turn gave Ferox a chaste kiss on the cheek to thank him for all that he had done. He felt – or perhaps he imagined – a faint tremor in Sulpicia as she stood beside him. Then little Marcus began to cry and the mother rushed to hold him and calm him. Cerialis had thanked him several times, but now did so again.
Ferox rode to Syracuse alone. Philo had stayed at Vindolanda to buy supplies that he insisted were essential, and his master did not want to linger. Ferox had been wondering about giving the lad his freedom, but his fussy manner had begun to grate and he decided to leave that for another day. Vindex had gone to see his wife.
‘Greet Cabura for me,’ Ferox said.
‘At least you remembered.’ Vindex sighed. ‘I’ll be back in ten days.’
‘Thought she’d get sick of you long before that.’
‘Nah, she’s not the brightest. Good heart, though.’
Mid-summer had gone and the nights were starting to draw in, so that it was dark by the time Ferox reached the little burgus. The Thracian was in the tower, and his voice was very familiar as they went through the ritual of challenging anyone approaching the outpost.
His quarters were dark and gloomy, and it took a while to find a lamp and get the oil lit. Once it was, he could see that the fatigue parties had given the rooms a rudimentary clean, but nothing close to Philo’s exacting standards. He found some posca, wincing as he drained the first bitter cup, and was prepared for Crescens when the curator arrived to report. The man always stamped and shouted more than was strictly necessary, but there was a familiarity about that as well.
‘Any news?’ Ferox asked after listening to the minor reports.
The curator chewed his lip like a nervous child. ‘Hard to say for sure, sir. But there are rumours.’ Ferox waited and after a moment Crescens made up his mind. ‘I think there is trouble brewing, sir. Big trouble.’
‘There usually is,’ Ferox said, and poured another cup of posca. Then he offered one to the curator. Crescens looked surprised, but took it.
‘Yes,’ Ferox said. ‘There usually is.’
Non-fiction by Adrian Goldsworthy
An Invitation from the Publisher
Historical Note
During the same summer, a cohort of Usipi conscripted in the German provinces and sent to Britannia committed a great and infamous crime. After killing the centurion and soldiers who were put amongst them to teach discipline, serve as examples and instruct, they seized three light warships…