Vindolanda was built to house the double-strength Batavian cohort, over a thousand men with a fifth of them cavalry when at full strength – which of course, like the rest of the army, they rarely were. It also had space for detachments, some of them large, from other units, and like any base individuals and small parties regularly passed through. Eboracum was ten times bigger than Vindolanda, and Ferox would be the first to admit that it did stink. The military mind was keen on cleanliness. Every base was provided with latrine blocks flushed by a flow of water and sewers to carry the waste away. Yet once it was outside the walls they tended to lose interest. At Eboracum the excrement of thousands emptied into the river and it reeked to high heaven, especially in summer when the water was low. It was the same at most bases. Here at Vindolanda the sewer pipes drained into the pretty little valley on the eastern side beyond the fort. No one complained, and would not have got far if they had tried, and all the while vegetables grew very well on that slope.
‘Too big,’ Vindex said. ‘Just too big.’ Most Brigantes lived on farms or in small villages, with only a few of the more important chieftains maintaining larger holdings. In the old days of the kings and queens it had been different, although even then there were few big towns compared to the tribes of the south. Ferox wondered whether he could ever convince Vindex of how small this was compared to the many great cities in Gaul and how plenty of people liked to live in them – let alone explain that vast, teeming, beautiful and filthy anthill that was Rome. He had only spent a few months there and after all these years the memory had an unreal, dream-like quality. He had no great desire to go back.
They followed the road running just north of the fort, the land gently sloping down. A couple of buildings stood apart from the rest of the canabae. There was a cluster of beggars by the roadside. They tended to get driven away from the houses, so there were usually a few here, even in bad weather. Some were familiar, such as the hunchback with the drooling lip, the one with both hands gone, and the two old women who went everywhere together, one of them blind and the other deaf. All started to call out for money or food, but one voice cut above the others.
‘Alms for a blessing!’ It came from a hunched man standing a little apart, leaning on a stick. His long white hair was plastered against a dark and ragged cloak. Both hair and the garment were filthy, as was the toe poking out from a hole in the front of one shoe. He had a straggling white beard and a face lined with age, suffering and dirt, but kept his eyes down, staring at their horses’ feet. A little mongrel, almost as filthy as its master and with several bald patches, was curled up by his heels. The two old women shrieked and spat at him, but he ignored them.
Vindex reached into his pouch and tossed him a bronze coin, which the beggar caught without looking up.
‘Generous?’ Ferox said as they rode on.
‘Bit of luck never did anyone any harm,’ Vindex told him.
‘Only if it’s good luck.’ He blinked as heavy drops of water fell from the edge of his hood and blew into his eyes.
The Brigantian was not listening. ‘Look familiar?’ he said.
There was a tall building just on their right beyond where the road forked and a branch led down to the main gateway of the fort. A square central tower topped with a pyramid-shaped roof of red tiles was surrounded by covered galleries on all sides, although these had large windows open to all weathers. It was the Temple of Silvanus – or Vinotonus as the Brigantes knew him, god of the hunt and of fertility – and outside the entrance waited the four-wheeled carriage. Ferox felt sorry for the driver, sitting in front, hair drenched and cloak sodden. Still, at least his luck was better than that of his predecessor.
They took the track towards Vindolanda, and as they came level with the temple’s entrance saw a short woman standing in the shelter, dark hair carefully arranged. It was the lady’s maid and Vindex gave a grin and big wink. She looked around to see whether anyone else was watching, realised that she was safe and stuck her tongue out at him. Shifting slightly and twitching her arm, the girl let her cloak part to show a bright white dress, cut rather low in front.
‘Making friends?’ Ferox said, wondering just how much time the Brigantian and the freedwoman had spent together on the day of the ambush, given her injuries. She looked well enough – and lively enough – a week later.
‘She’s a grateful lass. Hope so, any road.’ Losing two wives had done nothing to dampen the Brigantian’s enthusiasm for women.
Ferox was tempted to linger in spite of a fresh deluge of rain driving into their backs, but did not have to, as a moment later the lady appeared. She was in pale blue again and it suited her, so that he rather regretted the maid handing her mistress a heavy cloak in a grey wool even darker than the skies.
He clambered down, limbs stiff after a couple of damp hours spent in the saddle, and opened the door of the carriage. The repairs had been done well, and apart from one deep gouge made by an arrow he could see no sign of damage.
Sulpicia Lepidina smiled and then she and her maid dashed for the shelter of the carriage, each of them holding their hooded cloaks tight with one hand and using the other to lift their hems.
‘It appears I am in your debt once again,’ the lady said after clambering inside, followed by her servant. The curtain to the carriage window was clipped back so that she could see out.
Ferox bowed his head. ‘Happy to be of service, my lady.’
‘Are you well?’ She looked over him to Vindex.
‘Thank you, lady. I am much restored. Your treatment has worked wonders.’
The centurion pulled himself back into the saddle and they rode beside the carriage as it went back to the fort.
‘It is an indulgence to travel this way on so short a journey,’ Lepidina told him, ‘but on a day like this…’
‘Do you go there often?’ Ferox took pleasure in talking to her, seeing the life in her face, although he wondered whether he ought to suggest that she close the curtain and travel the rest of the way in more comfort.
‘I go most days. There is much to be said for silence and seclusion. Have I said something amusing?’
‘My apologies, it is just that someone else said something very similar to me earlier on.’ Ferox heard Vindex chuckle.
‘Today there was a greater reason. I made an offering for the recovery of young Flavius. He has a bad stomach and a fever and it has not improved after two days. I am not sure the camp seplasiarius is that skilled in preparing his potions. Apart from his back, he is a strong child, and may recover even without aid, but there is no harm in seeking help from the heavens.’
‘You should visit the Spring of Covventina, lady,’ he said automatically, without giving it sufficient thought, for the sacred spring and grove lay to the east, along the road past where she had been ambushed. ‘The waters have a potency, they say, against many evils, but then men say many things that are false.’
Sulpicia Lepidina gave a gentle laugh. ‘Yes, men do.’ Her deep blue eyes sparkled. She wore her hair simply, tied back in a bun by a deep blue ribbon. ‘But thank you for your concern.’
‘It is nothing. I can only imagine the dreadful worry of a mother for a sick child.’
‘Flavius is not my son,’ she said, the laughter gone. ‘He and his little sister and brother are the children of my husband. His first wife died giving birth to the second boy. I have no children, so I suppose that I have failed in the duties the divine Augustus and most of the other Caesars have encouraged, but my husband is father of three and has all the benefits and respect that entails.’