‘I am not afraid,’ the boy added, lying well enough in the circumstances.
Half an hour later Ferox strolled down to the river, Vepoc beside him, neither man speaking. Vindex and a couple of his men, along with three other Brigantes, followed twenty paces behind. The rain had stopped, the clouds scattered and a crescent moon gave enough light to see with ease. None of the men carried shields, though all had a sword in their belt. By now the picket was far behind them and they passed through the dozen or so buildings of the canabae without seeing a soul. They were alone, and Ferox knew that he was taking a risk. Vepoc was Andoco’s older brother, the other men their cousins. At least this way the numbers were equal and whatever happened would be fair.
They reached the bank about twenty paces from the bridge and stopped. Ferox bent down to pick up a stone, hefted it and then lobbed high, hearing a splash when it landed. There was little ice left now. For a while he waited, for he must give Vepoc and the others their chance in case they wanted to take it. His own tribe were raised to cherish silence, so he did not feel uncomfortable, although the rare occasions when Brigantes were silent – and awake – were strange.
‘Blood calls for blood,’ Vepoc said eventually.
‘Aye.’
Vepoc was about Ferox’s age, and had served in the royal ala, rising to the rank of duplicarius, a ‘double-pay man’ second only to the decurion in each turma. There were stories that before that he had been a famous warrior and raider, which in truth meant much the same thing. He had killed warriors from other clans and tribes – and Romans – and lived to tell of it, just as he had lived through the hardships of the mines and kept his pride and his strength.
‘Just as a wrong calls for vengeance,’ he said.
Ferox did not know whether Vepoc spoke of the killing of Festus, or was referring to Aviragus. He had certainly fought for the king, and been considered dangerous enough to be sentenced.
‘If Andoco was a legionary,’ Ferox began, ‘then he would be flogged and beheaded, his head placed on a stake and the rest of his corpse denied proper burial. That is the way of the army, as you know.’
‘We are not Romans.’
‘Yet you are here.’ Ferox leaned over and found another pebble. ‘And you are oath sworn to serve the Lord Trajan.’
‘If you kill him then I must kill you.’ Vepoc did not mean the emperor. ‘The centurion was a fool.’ He had his hand resting on the pommel of his sword. He did not move, and was not tense or giving any other sign that he was about to spring.
Ferox tossed the stone up and caught it. ‘There are many fools in the world, and plenty of them are chieftains and lords.’
‘Andoco is my brother. Oath or not, I must avenge him, and so must our cousins.’
‘I know. The Silures understand the calls of blood.’ There was no harm in speaking as one of his own folk, and not as the citizen and centurion.
Vepoc sniffed in contempt. ‘Silures know nothing of honour.’
‘Yet any folk who have wronged us know how much we are driven to vengeance.’ Ferox reached back and threw the stone as far out as he could. There was no sound, so either he had reached a patch of ice or the far bank. ‘The choice is yours.’ He spread his arms wide and turned to face the warrior. If Vepoc wanted to kill him he had a good chance of drawing his sword and striking before Ferox could answer.
Vepoc did not move and was silent for a long while.
‘We will do it,’ he said at last. ‘Kin will slay kin on the orders of a chief so that justice will be done. Then there is nothing to avenge, since the man who gave the first insult has already gone to the Otherworld.’
Ferox lowered his arms to his side. ‘You have a day. I can give you no more.’
‘The Silures are a cruel folk,’ Vepoc told him. ‘To make a man wait so long for the end.’
‘The Silures are cruel folk, as all men tell,’ Ferox said. ‘Shall we go?’ Without waiting for an answer, he began walking back up the slope. Vepoc was one of the king’s men as were his cousins. If they wished to avenge the king’s death then they still had a chance, and could kill them if they were able and vanish into the night. On foot it would be harder to escape pursuit, but it was possible. He wanted to show them trust, and at the same time readied himself to dodge and fight if the attack came.
It did not, and Vepoc followed him for a few paces before speaking again. ‘One thing I must ask.’
Ferox halted and listened. ‘So be it,’ he agreed after hearing the explanation.
The next morning Andoco’s head was impaled on a spike over the porta praetoria. The boy had been freed from his chains and handed over to Vepoc and the others as soon as they all returned to the fort. Ferox had let them have a room in an empty barrack block that was being cleared for the rest of the unit when it arrived. The older brother and his cousins prepared a meal, and over the next hours men came to offer gifts or pay their respects to the courage of the young man. They were not just others who had served the king, and as men went to the room, paid their respects, ate a morsel and left, others saw and joined. Even some of the legionaries went, although this was not their custom. Sometime later in the night, Andoco kneeled down outside, bowed his head, and let his brother slit his throat. That at least was the story, for no one apart from the cousins were there and none of them said a word. Rumour also said that the boy was brave. Afterwards they cut off his head and carried it to the main gateway, where the sentries had been warned and Ferox was waiting. Vepoc said nothing, and with his own hands rammed the head onto the spike, for this was where enemies and criminals were to be displayed. No words were spoken. He caressed the dead man’s hair just once, and then left.
‘I do not like any of this, sir,’ Sabinus said. ‘It is so irregular.’
‘So are my men,’ Cunicius replied, and Ferox was glad to hear the hardness in his voice.
At sunset Ferox returned to the gate tower and waited for the Brigantes. Before they arrived he prised the head from its spike and wrapped it in a cloth. Then he stood, holding it in his hands.
Vepoc had painted his face white, so that it shone in the torchlight. On the road below waited his cousins, all mounted and carrying spears and shields. Andoco’s corpse lay across the back of another horse led by one of them, while each of the others drew a mule, one bearing provisions, the gifts given to the dead man and his weapons, and the other with bundles of wood and tools.
Once again no words were said, and the sentries had the sense to keep their distance and stay silent. There was something uncanny about the whole business, as if the entire garrison was holding its breath, unsure what was about to happen.
Ferox offered Vepoc the head, and the Brigantian took it. The centurion bowed and the warrior left, taking care as he went down the ladders.
‘I do not like this,’ Sabinus whispered as the Brigantes rode out through the gateway into the night. ‘How will we report it?’
Ferox did not answer, but leaned on the parapet as he watched them go.
‘The record will show that five men went on patrol,’ Julius Dionysius told him. ‘If pressed, it may be noted that one of the men was dead. The roster already shows the death of our lamented colleague, and the arrest and execution of his murderer as a warning.’
‘There’ll be questions,’ Sabinus went on. ‘There are bound to be.’
‘The responsibility is mine,’ Ferox said, still staring out, even though the horsemen had long since vanished into the darkness.
‘What if they don’t come back?’