Brasus raised the falx, gripping again with both hands. The queen stared up at him, still defiant and the fear that anyone must have felt at this time did not show. Again the bruises to her face shocked him, for they made her seem vulnerable – just a very pretty girl rather than some sorceress.
Suddenly she rolled, reaching for her fallen sword, but Brasus was faster and kicked it away. There was silence now all around the fort. The queen was gripping her left arm, which was surely broken. Her green eyes seemed large and images from his dreams flashed through Brasus’ mind. He lowered the falx, letting go with his left hand, so that it could grasp his knife.
Shifting her weight the queen tried to get away, the only sign that she was human and fearful that she was showing and Brasus did not think less of her for it. He followed, the falx pointing down, ready to lunge into her chest.
‘Death is nothing,’ he said to her softly, almost like a lover. ‘It is only the beginning of the journey.’
Then Brasus raised the curved dagger to his own throat and sliced hard across it. There was pain, more than he had expected as he started his journey.
XXX
‘IT IS A truly extraordinary tale, is it not?’ Hadrian said. ‘So strange that one would scarcely believe it.’
‘Sir.’ Ferox’s leg was sore, and he wanted to go looking for a poultice to put on it rather than the oily concoction the medicus had lathered all over the wound. He had taken an arrow in the thigh when he and the two Brigantes had come to the Roman outposts. Shouts – and thoroughly Roman curses – had convinced the picket of archers that they were friendly, but he had had to be carried in through the lines. The sesquiplicarius in charge of the archers had been upset to learn that one of his men had shot a Roman and a centurion by mistake. He was even more horrified when he saw that the wound was a slight one. ‘At that range, sir, it’s a disgrace. Should have got the face or chest at least.’
Soon he had been brought before Hadrian, who greeted him with delighted surprise and promised to send cavalry galloping to the fort as soon as the army had rested. True to his word, the legatus with some six hundred cavalry had set off before dawn, but Ferox was forbidden from going with them because of his leg and the Brigantes because ‘they deserved a rest’. Late that same day a despatch rider on a foam-covered horse had brought the news that the survivors were safe, with some details. More reports had come on the next day, by which time Ferox was in a bumpy waggon as the main force marched back to the river and fresh supplies. Most of the news was good and arrangements were being made to bring the survivors back as soon as was practical with so many injured.
Ferox ought to have felt happy, but his instincts told him that something was wrong, and since he had hobbled over to answer the legatus’ summons, his fears had only grown, and were fuelled when he saw Sosius leaving just as he arrived. Not that Hadrian was anything other than kind, for he had been offered wine and food and told to sit. They were in a large tent of the type senior officers used on campaign, and in spite of the heat of the day a fire burned in a brazier. Hadrian had a table and chair, both designed to fold up for ease of carriage, and several other chairs, to one of which he beckoned Ferox. There were writing tablets on the table, including the ones Ferox had brought out of the fort. Hadrian had several of them open in front of him.
‘Extraordinary is the only word I can find for it, although at times reading through we must add heroic, or mulishly stubborn which often amounts to the same thing. The late tribune Piso writes with some style in his account and is most generous towards you among others.’ Hadrian pursed his lips. ‘Your own narrative is different, with an old-fashioned Roman simplicity about it, reminiscent of Cato, although unlike him you do name others. Indeed, reading it, one would scarcely know that you were present – at least if the reader is not inclined to infer. You have not quite Caesar’s knack of a vagueness about some of his own deeds which naturally makes each reader add all the heroic details from his imagination.’
‘I am no hero, sir,’ Ferox said. ‘I did my bit, but so did plenty of others.’
‘Perhaps this reticence is more Spartan than Roman – or does the tribe of your ancestors value modesty? No matter. I have not yet polished my report on what happened after you had slipped away into the night, for words sometimes fall short. Your wife is remarkable, if a little terrifying. Do you know that at the last she went forth to fight a duel with the Dacian leader?’
Ferox gripped the arms of his chair. ‘They should not have let her.’
‘From what I heard, they tried to stop her, but the only men up to the job were limping or otherwise wounded and she does have a forceful personality.’
‘She won, I take it.’ Ferox had received word that the queen was alive, if no more.
‘Not quite, but she survived, although with a broken arm. At least there is not a scratch on her exquisite body.’ That was an odd expression to use to a woman’s husband, but the legatus showed no awareness of this. After all, Ferox was a mere centurion and his wife only of equestrian rank. A senator could say what he liked about or to such folk. ‘All in all, it is worthy of Homer, although I doubt that I shall quote the blind poet in my report as the army and the emperor does not care for such flamboyance. She lives and her opponent is dead by his own hand, so there is no shame only glory.
‘And yet,’ he paused.
Here it comes, thought Ferox.
‘And yet,’ Hadrian repeated, ‘some of what occurred is unfortunate to say the least, and one would wish that it had not occurred. You have been told that Piso is dead, but none of the details.’
‘No, sir.’
‘Your wife killed him.’ Hadrian stared at Ferox. ‘The news does not seem to surprise you?’
‘I imagine she had good reason.’
‘He tried to rape a freedwoman of yours. She stopped him and he tried to rape her, so she stabbed him to death.’
‘The law is on her side, then,’ Ferox said, ‘and none would call that murder.’
‘So the garrison thought – what was left of them at least – for the deed was immediately made public and approved. But do not be obtuse. None of this is heroic.
‘The tribune came from a once illustrious family – indeed from several illustrious families for the reluctance of the old aristocracy to procreate with their wives has meant many adoptions to preserve each family’s name. His father is a mildly dangerous fool, but the son had never been accused of disloyalty, at least not in public. Ostensibly he was here because the emperor is a kind, forgiving man and wishes old families and senators in general to prosper and win fame under his leadership.
‘Piso’s role in the shambles at Sarmizegethusa is ambiguous at best, but no one will ever remember that. Only the story of Longinus will survive, because that is the one the emperor will have everyone tell and that is what good Romans will want to believe. An old soldier who was captured, but took his own life rather than be used as a hostage by a hostile king. No matter if the truth is a little different.’
‘It wasn’t suicide then?’
‘Do not ask foolish and inappropriate questions, Flavius Ferox, and take thought instead for those dear to you.
‘Piso escaped, and if the manner was questionable, everyone approves success. Even by your account he played a brave role in the later days of the siege. Remember this was a young nobleman who had never before served in the army or fought for his life.’