‘Do it.’ Flaccus told the soldier with the drawn sword. ‘Make it clean.’
Ferox watched the man pace over to Crispinus, who did his best to roll away. Flaccus sneered and shook his head. ‘A nobleman,’ he said sarcastically, and then Ferox swung his blade up and jabbed straight into the junior tribune’s throat. Flaccus’ eyes widened, blood jetting from the wound as the centurion pulled his sword free, stamped forward and drove the point through the eye of the legionary standing behind the officer.
Vindex grunted as he stabbed the one on horseback, using his knife and driving it upwards between the scales of the man’s armour. The two men next to the dead priest sprang up, reaching for their swords. Ferox headed for the one standing over Crispinus, but the man ignored him and slashed down at the tribune. The young aristocrat just rolled out of the way, swinging his legs, trying to wrap them round the soldier’s ankles and trip him. The legionary sprang away, and then turned as Ferox came at him.
Their blades met, and the centurion felt his arm jar with the shock. Both men jumped back, the soldier stumbling as he tripped over the tribune, but before Ferox could follow up one of the other soldiers came at him from the side. Vindex was fighting with the last man, which left him to deal with two. He gave ground, making room for himself.
A spear hissed through the air so close that he felt its wind. It struck the soldier attacking on his right full in the stomach, punching through his mail cuirass and flinging him on to his back. The other man was struggling to free himself from the tribune’s legs, and raised his sword to deal with the annoyance. Ferox bounded forward, screaming, and slashed at the man’s head, heard the clash of iron on the bronze helmet, saw the man stagger, and then sliced low, hitting him below the knee with such force that he severed the leg. The legionary fell. He was still trying to hold his sword up protectively. Ferox kicked the man’s arm so that he dropped it. He leaned forward, took careful aim, and drove the tip of his sword through the legionary’s left eye.
‘Mongrel,’ he said under his breath.
There was a grunt as Vindex cut down his opponent. Ferox turned and saw Gannascus sitting on horseback just a few paces away. The German was smiling.
‘Good throw,’ Ferox told him.
‘Only if I was aiming at him.’ The big man roared with laughter. He did not seem interested in an explanation. His men just watched.
‘Thank you,’ Ferox said. ‘Those men needed to be killed.’
The German shrugged, then walked his horse over and retrieved his spear. ‘The horses?’ he said. ‘They don’t need them any more.’
‘You can take three.’
Gannascus leaned down and offered his hand. ‘We go now.’
Ferox took it, and felt his hand being crushed. ‘Thank you. Send our greetings to the high king.’
The German shouted something and a couple of his men came to lead the horses away. Ferox saw them pick out Flaccus’ stallion, but did not stop them. Expensive though it was, there was no harm in letting it vanish along with its master.
Vindex had helped Crispinus to his feet and cut him free.
‘I guess we are all on the same side,’ the tribune said. He was bruised and bloodied, but his anger subsided when he saw Ferox’s expression. ‘Did you know all along that it was him?’ he asked.
‘I needed to be sure. You could not have been at the tower and out hunting with Cerialis on the day of the ambush, so that was in your favour. When he didn’t ask questions and just let me order your arrest and death I thought that he must have a lot to hide. The threat of the witness made him nervous.’
‘What if he was merely stupid?’
‘That was a risk I had to take, my lord.’
‘You had to take!’ Crispinus rubbed his sore wrists. His tongue flicked out to touch his cut mouth. He spat and there was blood in it.
‘Well, I could have just killed you both to be sure.’ Ferox patted his sword against his trousers. ‘If you like, I still can.’
‘Thank you, centurion, that will not be necessary. And your oath to my father?’
‘Still binds me. Unless it clashes with the one to the princeps.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me your plan?’ The tribune stared at the corpses all around them. ‘I guessed something was up. That’s why I babbled all that about Trajan not lasting the year. I could have helped more if I’d known what was going on.’
‘Was not sure I could trust you, my lord. Might have been hard for you to act surprised. This way it was natural and you were very convincing.’ Ferox rubbed his knuckles and smiled. ‘You take a punch well.’
Crispinus shook his head and did not seem to know what to say.
‘Do you want to bury this lot?’ Vindex did not sound enthusiastic at the prospect.
‘Leave ’em.’ Ferox waved to Gannascus as he and his warriors trotted away. ‘Now our protection has gone we had better not hang around. Let’s take his head and go. Do you want to do it, my lord?’
Crispinus found his sword and walked over to the pale corpse of the priest. He flexed his sword arm, looked down for a while and then stopped. ‘I am not sure how to do it.’
Ferox grabbed the body by its limed hair and hauled it up so that the dead priest was sitting. The body was no longer stiff, but it felt heavy and clumsy. He knew that the fighting would have taken the best edge off his sword and wished that he had an axe. It took three cuts using all his strength to do the job, and they were all flecked with dark blood, even after all the wounds the man had received during his slow death.
‘There you are. A keen edge and a strong arm,’ Ferox said. ‘They solve a lot of life’s problems.’
‘Not all,’ Crispinus replied. ‘Not the ones that really matter.’
Vindex brought a sack and he dropped the head into it and tied it up.
‘We had better move,’ Ferox said. ‘That is, with your permission, my lord.’
‘Of course, centurion.’
They mounted, Vindex taking the reins of the three spare horses.
Crispinus turned in the saddle, looking at the tree and the bodies of the Romans surrounding the priest. ‘I am just glad that it is all over at last.’
Ferox thought about the sacrifice of a triple death, of the power that brought to the great druid who had hallowed this offering to the gods. If the Stallion was beaten and dead, the druid Acco was still at large, stronger than ever, and there was an ambitious and clever king in the north, and more traitors in the army, at least one who was senior and had given Flaccus his orders. Trajan was not yet secure, and from all Ferox heard showed no sign of leaving the frontier armies and heading to Rome.
‘Over, my lord? It’s only beginning.’
HISTORICAL NOTE
Claudia Severa to her Lepidina greetings. On 11 September, sister, for the day of the celebration of my birthday, I give you a warm invitation to make sure that you come to us, to make the day more enjoyable for me by your arrival, if you are present [?]. Give my greetings to your Cerialis. My Aelius and my little son send him [?] their greetings. [2nd hand] I shall expect you, sister. Farewell, sister, my dearest soul, as I hope to prosper, and hail. [Back, 1st hand] To Sulpicia Lepidina, wife of Cerialis, from Severa.
This text excavated at the fort of Vindolanda was the spark that first inspired this story. It was written around the turn of the first to second centuries AD, and the second hand in the text was surely that of Claudia Severa herself, adding a personal touch to the invitation. This makes it the first surviving piece of writing by a woman in the history of Britain. The original text, written in ink on a thin wooden writing tablet, can be seen today in the British Museum.