Claudius Super made a scoffing sound and several of the others looked doubtful. These were wild barbarians on the prowl for prey, any prey, not some organised army capable of planning.
‘I have no doubt at all,’ Ferox went on. ‘The captive taken by the Brigantes told them that they wanted to take the noble lady alive, lead her back north and burn her in the fire.’
The room went so quiet that Ferox could hear the sound of the lesson going on in the next room, even though there was no adjoining door. A group of soldiers were being taught to read and write, and were reciting lines of the Aeneid with the foot-dragging, lifeless tones of schoolboys. Flavius Cerialis had gone pale. The rest, even the senior regionarius, gaped in sheer horror.
‘Bastards,’ muttered Annius.
‘Animals,’ Rufinus said. ‘Just animals.’
Cerialis recovered quickly. ‘Well, that merely reinforces my gratitude for the centurion’s arrival at the vital moment. I shall make another offering to thank the gods that my wife is safe. But all this talk of druids, magicians and kings in the far north must be left for another time, as we have more urgent matters and new orders.’
Crispinus took over, telling them that the provincial legate was on his way to govern the province, but that he might not arrive until the winter was well under way. In the meantime the governor had sent word authorising the acting governor, the Legate Julius Quadratus, commander of II Augusta, to carry out active operations here in the north before the weather rendered them too difficult. Quadratus was at Luguvallium, ready to take the field in person with a column drawn from the forces concentrated there over the summer, including detachments from his own and other legions as well as auxiliaries. They would advance along the Western Road as far as it took them. A second column was to advance from Coria along the Eastern Road.
‘We shall form a third, smaller column, staying between the two to ensure that they can communicate, and acting boldly on our own if the opportunity permits. I shall command this force – although I shall of course readily take advice from more experienced men. There is no need to remind you that the emperor will look with great kindness and generosity on those who serve him well in the field, and that a victory, even a small one, will resound to our credit.’
They took that in, all looking eager. There had been few chances for senior officers to make names for themselves in Britannia in the last few years. Yet Ferox was puzzled that no one had asked the obvious question.
‘Where are we going, sir?’
Crispinus smiled. ‘Of course, I am remiss. Several chieftains of the Selgovae need to be reminded of the power of Rome. Claudius Super can give more details.’
The senior centurio regionarius battled with his headache to explain the situation. He mentioned several leaders and clans who had failed to deliver the cattle and grain due to the empire. Ferox got the impression that Claudius Super was one of the main advocates of an aggressive response.
‘Give them time,’ Ferox argued. ‘I am sure that they will pay eventually.’ None of the leaders mentioned struck him as especially militant. ‘If we get it by the end of this month then that will be soon enough.’
‘They are late.’ Claudius Super implied that this alone demanded retribution.
‘It gives us a pretext at least for a display of power,’ Crispinus told them. ‘And it may well be that no harm is meant and they will deliver what is owed to us without the need for any unpleasantness. If so then all to the good. The campaign is intended to be short and to show that we will strike hard if we are provoked in any way. Now, let us attend to the details.’
Ferox said little as they planned. The contingents to form the column were agreed upon, equipment, baggage and supplies stipulated, all to be ready to leave in three days’ time. Arrangements were as thorough as was possible in the time, reminding him of something once told to him by a veteran centurion in Legio V Alaudae, one of those rare old sweats who had risen from the ranks through sheer talent. ‘It doesn’t matter whether or not it’s a good idea,’ the man had said. ‘Our job is to make sure that it’s done well.’ Ferox doubted the wisdom of this plan, but when he tried to speak Claudius Super ordered him to be silent. There was an awkward pause, and Crispinus looked intently at him for a while, but was not moved to speak. Claudius Super was senior to Ferox and supposed to know more than the men who reported to him.
Yet when the meeting ended and they began to disperse Crispinus tugged at Ferox’s arm. ‘I shall want you by my side,’ the young aristocrat told him. ‘And your Brigantian scouts will be invaluable, of course.’
IX
THE RIDER SAT motionless, watching them, as the cool wind gusted along the valley, hissing and rippling through the long grass. It must have been stronger and colder up on the hilltop, yet the man was bare from the waist up, his chest covered in a curving web of blue tattoos, his face painted red from the nose down and black above, his dirty brown hair plaited into a pigtail reaching halfway down his back. He carried a thick-shafted spear and a little rectangular shield, the face covered in dark leather and with studs around the iron boss.
‘They know we are coming then,’ Crispinus said, squinting as he stared up at the man. It was the first time he had seen a Briton since they had set out – at least one who might well prove an enemy. The sight was as unsettling as it was exciting.
‘They have known we were coming since we set out,’ Ferox told him. ‘Probably earlier than that.’ He hoped the words did not hint at British spies and traitors in their ranks, but he judged the tribune to be a fair man and he needed to learn how quickly news travelled and how difficult it was to achieve surprise. The Roman army was not made for stealth and since you could not hide the movement of any sizeable force, the best to be hoped for was to move so fast that the enemy did not have enough time to prepare. Ferox did not want to think of the clans of the Selgovae as enemies – at least not until he was forced to do so – but in the field it was always wise to expect the worst and look for the slightest sign of danger.
They were four days out and almost fifty miles as the raven flew from Vindolanda, making good progress in spite of the country, which had added some distance to the march. Smaller forces always moved faster than big armies, and Crispinus’ first independent command consisted of scarcely one thousand fighting men, marching expedita, with only the bare essentials of baggage and supplies, which still meant one hundred and thirty pack animals and some eighty slaves and other followers. They had food for another eight days, although good fodder for the horses and pack mules and ponies for only half that time. At worst the animals could eat grass, and for a few days that should not do too much harm to their condition. Otherwise they would demand more supplies from the clans as proof of their loyalty or as a mark of submission, depending on how things went.
Ferox was sure that given a little more time the chieftains would have handed over all that was owed without the need for threats. As he saw it, the procurator’s men had changed the rules by demanding payment earlier than usual. The chieftains were bound to resent that, for they had a strong sense of what was fair – especially when it came to their obligation to others. They would pay in time, but only after showing that they could not be pushed around. It could all have been tactfully managed with faces saved on all sides, but that would have required tact, something lacking in Claudius Super’s soul. None of this was necessary, but Quadratus, as acting governor, wanted to mount a display of Roman military might, and the real provincial legate had given permission, and so the army marched. Nobody seemed bothered that they were putting on a show of force for a people who had had nothing to do with the ambush on the road.