‘I am sorry,’ Ferox said, flustered and then realising that it would not be clear just what he was sorry for. ‘And I am sure that there is plenty of time.’
‘Perhaps, but I doubt it. I shall be twenty-eight next year, so time – and other things – are not on my side.’ When he made no reply, she leaned out of the window, lowering her head so that her eyes stared up at him. ‘That was the moment when a well-mannered young officer was supposed to look shocked and assure me that I have all the bloom of a virgin bride and that I could not possibly be so old.’
‘If you have ever glanced at your reflection in a mirror, then you would have no need to seek such praise because no words would be adequate to describe your perfection.’
Vindex started humming again, the same song as before.
‘That is a pretty tune, and those were pretty words and bold – perhaps too bold?’
Ferox had not come to play games. ‘I am a soldier, lady. The emperor pays me to be bold.’
They were passing the last building to stand apart from the others, a big two-storey house built in stone, the plastered walls painted a white that was bright even on this dull day. It was owned by Flora, once a dancer, slave and prostitute, who ran the most expensive brothel north of Eboracum, but there was nothing on the outside of the building to show what it was. Ferox wondered whether the commander’s wife knew about it.
‘I have offended you,’ she said. ‘For that I apologise.’
‘You have caused no offence,’ he said, feeling clumsy and brutish again.
‘When I say that you are offended, you will be offended.’ The words were sharp, spoken as if to admonish a slave by someone with the assurance of many generations of aristocratic blood. Then she pulled back in through the window, threw her head back and laughed. ‘You are an odd fellow, Flavius Ferox, Prince of the Silures and centurion of Rome,’ she said after a while. He assumed that she must have spoken to Crispinus. ‘Your wife is a fortunate woman.’
‘I am not married.’
‘A woman?’
‘There was once, but no longer.’ He was surprised to find himself telling her.
‘Did she die, poor thing?’
‘I do not know. She vanished many years ago.’ The words came out, but for once to his surprise the sorrow did not engulf him, neither was there much of the shame at his failure to devote his life to searching for her.
‘Then I am sorry, I did not mean to open old wounds or to pry.’ He could see no trace of regret in her voice or expression, neither did he believe that the questions were idle ones. ‘We all have our sorrows and disappointments, and may not always find it easy to live the life given to us. Things are not always as we imagined they would be, and yet the world goes on and on, whatever we feel.’ She glanced away, looking through the other window of the carriage at Flora’s place. ‘Close the curtain,’ she said to her maid.
Time was running out and they would soon reach the gate where it would be harder to hover around the carriage without inviting comment. ‘On the day of the attack,’ he began, deciding that he must be blunt, ‘you were going to Coria, I understand?’
‘Yes, sir, very good, sir, straightaway, sir.’ She mimicked the tone of an obedient soldier. mocking him. ‘Yes, I was. I was to attend the birthday party of Claudia Severa, wife of Aelius Brocchus, whose ala is stationed there. It ought to have been a pleasant excursion, and yet I found myself under assault from barbarians – then yelled at and slapped on the behind by a friendly barbarian!’
‘Once again, my sincere apologies.’
‘And my insincere acceptance.’
‘How long ago did you receive the invitation?’
‘Do you want the hour and the day – and a signed chit from my commanding officer? Well, I don’t know, but several weeks at least. It is not as easy as calling on a friend back home. I dare say the letter inviting me is in the house somewhere. I can look if it would interest you and clear my good name?’
Ferox tried to stick to the point. ‘Your departure was delayed?’
She made a face like a guilty child. ‘Yes. One of the mules got kicked and the poor thing broke its leg. After that I was all ready and then some silly girl’ – she nodded towards her maid and was grinning broadly – ‘spilled half a bottle of scent on me. I could not go reeking like a whore, so had to change. I suppose you know well what a whore smells like?’
‘I have little knowledge of such things.’
‘Huh.’ She raised her eyes to the sky. ‘Well, of course I must believe you.’ She stared at him straight-faced, and then laughed that rich, musical laugh. ‘Nearly home,’ she said, a moment later. ‘So I had better become the great lady once more.’ Sulpicia Lepidina gave him a stern look, lips pursed in exaggerated distaste as she glanced down at his mud-stained cloak, and then with a jerk she pulled the curtain closed.
They were through the canabae and approaching the main entrance to the fort. Compared to Syracuse it was massive, with double gates each high enough for a horseman not to have to lower his spear and wide enough to let a big wagon – let alone the raedula – through, or a rank of men pass four abreast. The rampart of the turf wall with its palisade on top was fifteen feet high and the wide tower over the gateways was as high again, although it was not roofed. Ferox could see a pair of sentries standing miserably on the platform on top. Vindolanda was in the process of being rebuilt for the second time in less than a decade, mainly because the previous fort had been thrown up too quickly for it to last.
A file of sentries straightened up, spears held perfectly straight to salute the passing carriage. One of the men stepped forward in a less welcoming manner as Ferox, Vindex and Philo walked their mounts forward, coming level with the deep ditch on either side of the road through the gates.
‘Flavius Ferox, centurio regionarius.’
‘Sorry, sir. Didn’t recognise you, sir.’ The man stiffened to attention, without quite matching the respect shown to the commander’s wife. ‘And your party, sir?’
‘Vindex, son of the high chief of the Carvetii and commander of the scouts that serve alongside us, and Philo, scholar, philosopher, doctor and teacher from the great city of Alexandria.’
The senior soldier knew when an officer was having his little joke. ‘Yes, sir. Very good, sir. I’m sure you know best, sir. Officer and two others to pass!’ he shouted up to the sentries in the tower. ‘Use the right-hand passage if you please, sirs,’ he added.
Ferox also knew the signs and could see the big puddle and churned mud in the middle of the road behind the open gate. ‘Let the horses walk two paces then canter through,’ he whispered. Vindex followed his lead, kicking his horse so that it surged forward. Philo was confused, and when he kicked the mule the animal bucked and threw him. The other two just made it through before a jet of water shot down from the underside of the rampart. Ferox guessed that there was a gutter leading from the open platform to funnel the rain downwards and that the men on top had opened a little sluice.
‘Sorry about that, sir,’ the sentry called. ‘Nearly a nasty accident there.’ Philo was grubby and even more miserable than before, but otherwise unhurt. He led the mule behind them as they walked their horses along the via principalis, the main road through the centre of the fort. On either side were rows of long buildings, wattle and daub rendered over the top and whitewashed. Ahead of them the road met the via praetoria, the second road of the fort, which lay at right angles to it, running between the side gates in the middle of the long walls. Neither were paved and both were rapidly turning into mud as rainwater flowed down the gentle slope.
Where the two roads met was the principia, a square courtyard complex with an assembly hall, offices, storerooms and the shrine where the cohort’s standards were kept. To the right was another building, the praetorium, which was almost as big, but this time a house for Cerialis and his family.