Brasus smiled at one of the younger warriors, a nervous lad whose wisps of beard made him look even more childlike. ‘Soon,’ he said.
XVII
IT DID LOOK odd, no matter how many times he saw it, but this was the first festival day of the standards, so it was to be draped with roses like the other vexilla and that was an end to it. Ferox had already crowned the flag of the vexillation of Legio I Minervia as the senior unit, the standard-bearer lowering it so that he could place the wreath of flowers. The flag was an old one that had seen a fair bit of service, so that its original red had faded to a paler pink, on which the golden boar of the legion charged. After that came the lone banner for the largest contingent of auxiliaries since they were next in seniority even if far fewer in number than the Brigantes. All of the garrison who could be spared were on parade, the regulars immaculately turned out and the Brigantes putting on a decent enough show when it came to polished helmets, armour and metalwork.
Their vexillum dipped, pendants jingling, so that Ferox could place a wreath over the spearhead on top and that meant that he did not have to see the banner itself. He lingered, hoping that the choice of mainly blue flowers would please the warriors because their tribe was fond of the colour and saw it as lucky. Then he was done, and the standard-bearer nodded and raised the pole just as the wind stirred so that the flag hanging from it flapped, almost waving in his face.
Ferox sighed, and kept a straight face, for he was the commander and must act as priest, but it was hard. The painted goddess stared back at him, unsmiling with its flowing red hair. Back on the night of the Brigantes’ festival, when all of them were drunk and their generosity with wine and beer meant that so was almost the entire garrison, someone had got into the aedes and tampered with the flag. Gone was most of the figure’s dress, and the painter had given the goddess bare and very large breasts.
‘I doubt that she would be able to stand up straight,’ Claudia Enica had said when she was shown the damage.
‘You manage, my queen,’ Vindex suggested.
‘The Carvetii are an insolent folk,’ she had said, shaking her head in mock reproof, ‘and vile of tongue.’ She had also refused to have the additions painted over. ‘We don’t want to weigh the poor girl down with layer after layer.’
So the bare-breasted goddess stayed, although Ferox had never seen any other unit in the army with such a standard. Piso had almost choked in surprise when he saw it after demanding to inspect the entire base.
The tribune had woken with a raging temper, perhaps in part because of his sore head. He had no memory of how it had happened, and indeed had to have it explained why he was in hospital at all. More surprisingly he seemed to have little interest in investigating the matter. Snarling at the medicus, Piso had insisted that he was fine and got up that first day. Since the effort did not kill him, perhaps he was right, and by the next morning he was demanding an escort to take him to Sarmizegethusa as intended. Ferox argued, although not with great passion. Perhaps once or twice he had wished to have a superior officer present so that the responsibility passed to someone else, but the mood had not lasted. For all the dangers – in fact because of all the dangers and all that was at risk – he was determined to be in charge. Added to that, the little he had heard about the tribune made him eager to be rid of the man.
That opinion was confirmed on the next day, when Ferox led out a hundred and fifteen horsemen in addition to the twenty allotted to escort Piso all the way to the garrison at Decebalus’ stronghold. If the tribune was to be killed, Ferox preferred to make clear that it was not through any lack of care or precaution on his part. Enica did not come, although the bulk of the men he led were her Brigantes, and he gathered that she had no enthusiasm for the tribune’s company.
Piso said little during the long ride up the valley, and Ferox got the distinct impression that the man had no interest in anything that a mere centurion could say. Sabinus was with them, and tried to engage the tribune in conversation, most often talking about I Minervia, but the responses were brief and surly so that after a while he lapsed into silence and found plenty of reasons to ride back down the column to check on the men. Unlike many aristocrats, Piso did not enjoy the sound of his own voice sufficiently to crave any audience at all. He expressed surprise at the size of the whole force.
‘They’re just barbarians, and we are at peace,’ he said, and was unimpressed when Ferox spoke of the ambush of his patrol and of the suspicions that he and Hadrian shared. Piso’s lip curled at the mention of his commander, but his scepticism was obvious. ‘The war here was won three years ago and there won’t be another. They may be barbarians, but they know the might of Rome. Behind every man who rides with us today, they will see the hundred or a thousand who would follow if there is trouble.’ He grinned, and was the most affable he had been all day. ‘If you wish to rise in the army, centurion, you must see the bigger picture. We represent the full empire and majesty of Rome, even when we have a rabble of our own barbarians and not legionaries with us today.’ His voice was loud and he obviously did not care who heard his opinion.
‘What does an attack on a small patrol mean?’ he went on. ‘Only that there are bandits here as there are in so many lands, especially in the mountains. Your men were unlucky to be caught, and poorly trained to be caught so easily, but there is no more to it than that. Bandits are desperate men, living without gods or laws, and they murder and steal because that is all they know and trust to their very unimportance for safety. Why should we send men to hunt a few scum like that when there are so many things for us to do? Decebalus is different and his people are barbarians but live under laws of their own. They know that the empire can crush them any time it wishes – and you need to show that you know it too by your bearing and every act. So you must be audacious, centurion, always audacious for in your small way you are Rome.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ Ferox said, doing his best to sound sycophantic. ‘I had not perceived that truth.’
Piso gave him an odd look, and soon they stretched the horses’ legs with a gallop which ended any need for conversation.
Ferox led them to within sight of the high pass. They had set out before dawn and gone at a steady pace, so that there were almost three hours of daylight left. He suggested that they camp, and that the tribune set out first thing the next morning.
‘Nonsense – a pure waste of time. I’m going now, and will see whether we can get across before we camp.’
‘Sir.’ If the tribune wished to be audacious then that was his business. They had seen no enemies or anything suspicious during the day, but nor had they seen as many herdsmen and travellers as he would expect at this season.
Ferox made the most of the remaining light to take his men a few miles back so that they could camp on a low hillock, out of bowshot of the forests on either side of the valley. Still he had not seen anyone, and if a hundred or so men was enough to make the enemy wary then that was a good sign. Their caution was unlikely to be so great in the darkness.