‘Then we have a few more deserters,’ Dionysius said airily. ‘Or say they have been eaten by lions.’
‘They will come back,’ Ferox said, hoping that he was right. ‘The oath will hold them.’
‘The pledge to kill you?’ Sabinus was thinking back to the sudden, appalling burst of violence on the day Ferox arrived.
‘Perhaps,’ Ferox said, ‘or another.’
‘Brigantes keep their word,’ Vindex said. Sabinus started, for he had forgotten that the tall head of scouts was standing in the shadows. ‘Not like Silures,’ he added in the language of the tribes.
Ferox sighed. ‘Silures keep their word. It’s just that they hardly ever give it and promises don’t count.’
Sabinus shook his head, for Ferox had spoken in Latin. ‘I do not understand.’
‘I don’t think we are supposed to,’ Dionysius said.
On the following morning a pyre was prepared for Festus on the far side of the track opposite the parade ground. He had not been popular, for he lacked charm and his moods had been a little too unpredictable for the soldiers to accept him as a character. Yet there was grudging respect, a feeling that his death was a ghastly mistake, and also the desire of the veterani of I Minervia to see one of their own sent off in proper style. The centurion had liked things done to the letter of the regulation, so that is what they did.
In the afternoon they burned his corpse, and the preparations proved good because the heat was immense before the shelf collapsed and the centurion’s remains dropped into the flames. All, save the legionaries on guard duty or other essential tasks, were present, parading in their finest tunics, armour gleaming, leathers spotless, and those who had them wearing their dona and other decorations. Ferox was also in full uniform, the harness worn over his mail shirt heavy with medals, a torc at his neck and smaller ones around his wrists. Preparing all the gear was a task close to the heart of his freedman, Philo, who had done an exceptional job even by his standards. Up until now Ferox’s distinguished record was largely a matter of rumour and no more, and seeing all these awards for valour impressed even the most grizzled veterans, at least a little. Yet they were more satisfied to see that he was showing appropriate respect for the dead man and thus their legion.
There was no wind, so the black smoke climbed straight into the blue heaven and the sun’s warmth made it uncomfortably hot even some distance from the blaze. The last of the snow had melted down in the valley, although the heights remained white and that was unlikely to change for another month or more.
Ferox watched Festus burn and wondered how the mood of the garrison would change. They were still shocked and unsure, but that would not last forever. No one had stolen Venus since the day of the killing. At least the weather seemed to have turned as spring came slowly to the highlands and that ought to help. He would have to keep driving them, and that made him wonder about how to replace Festus. Ferox had not cared all that much for the dead man, finding him boorish and lacking in imagination. Still, he had met plenty of officers who were worse, and in many respects Festus had done his job well. From now on, he and the others would have more to do.
The sound of hoofs on the planking of the bridge made him turn. A rider was coming, an auxiliary trooper riding a foam-flecked horse. He recognised neither the trooper nor the mount, so this was a stranger and surely a messenger. He tried to push down the thought that any news or orders arriving during a funeral were unlikely to be good.
‘Dismiss the parade!’ he ordered Sabinus. ‘Let the fire burn out and we can collect the ashes in the morning.’ Festus was not to be buried in the small cemetery on this side of the road. Instead the ashes were to be carried to his widow and family in Narbonensis. Ferox had still not got over his surprise at hearing that the dead man was married, and felt guilty at not having bothered to find out more about his subordinates. Not only married, but the man had seven children. Festus had never spoken of them, but then Ferox was not one to speak of his own life outside the army except with his closest friends, and even then, only rarely. The news had made him regret the centurion’s death even more and it was a relief to discover that Festus’ estate was considerable and had gone entirely to his widow and offspring.
‘Did you ever meet her?’ Ferox asked later that night, as he once again leaned on the parapet above the main gate and stared up at the slim moon and the vast field of stars around it. He had taken to coming here whenever he wanted to think and could find no excuse to leave the fort. Sabinus was on duty that night, and inspecting the sentries.
‘No. There is a picture in his quarters. She looks…’ Sabinus struggled for the right words. ‘A little ferocious? I am sure that the fault is with the artist. Some women have an enigmatic beauty and Festus spoke very highly of her as wife and as a mother.’
Ferox had not realised that the two men were as close, for they seemed so different, although spending a long winter at Piroboridava was likely to make a man eager for any company. Down below the pyre was no more than a red glow in the night.
‘I have written a letter to her and will forward it with my report with the request that it be sent on. The ashes will have to wait until we can find someone able to take them.’
‘Merchants will start coming through soon,’ Sabinus said. ‘A few of them at least. The track through the pass isn’t the easiest, so most take one of the other routes. The bridge may make a difference though – when it is finished that is.’
Ferox nodded. ‘In the meantime we shall soon have some other visitors. Your new legatus is coming in a few weeks and sends word to expect him and a large party. Says he wants to inspect as many of the vexillations of I Minervia as he can, now that he is taking over.’
‘Omnes ad stercus,’ hissed a legionary standing guard a few paces away.
‘Quite,’ Ferox agreed. ‘And more immediately the despatch rider said he saw some Roxolani lower down the valley, so we had better double the guards whenever any horses or mules are put out to graze – and tell them to keep a close watch.’
‘I thought that we were at peace,’ Sabinus said. ‘There were a few about at the end of last summer and they weren’t any trouble.’
‘Shouldn’t be trouble,’ Ferox told him, and wondered why a little voice in his head was telling him not to be a fool. ‘But they are Roxolani. They like horses. If they can steal one they will – and see it as our fault for not taking more care of our property.’
Two days passed and there was no sign of the four Brigantes. Ferox could tell that Sabinus was convinced that the men were gone for good, but did not want to say as much. After another day even Vindex showed concern and suggested riding out to take a wee look. Ferox waited. He might have been able to pick up their trail, but he doubted that anyone else had the skill and he did not wish to be seen to lose faith in Vepoc and his relatives. The rituals ought to have been completed some time ago, as both he and Vindex well knew.
That evening the regular patrol up the valley returned with two men riding double.
‘I cannot make them out,’ Sabinus said, shielding his eyes with one hand. Ferox wondered at the man’s eyesight. He could not make out the faces, but the way the men sat made it obvious to him that they were Brigantes. Once they were closer he saw Vepoc and one of the cousins. When they reached the fort and reported, the Brigantian spoke of sudden ambush and hurried flight. One man died instantly, a second bled to death as they fled, and all their mounts were lost or killed. The last cousin had his thigh pierced by an arrow, and they had fled on foot, Vepoc carrying him half the time. Throwing off pursuit they had begun the long walk home, with little food and less hope if their attackers found them again. They had been walking for two and a half days when they ran into the patrol instead.