‘Wonder if a man can get a drink there,’ Vindex said, for once willing to set aside his dislike of crowded places.
Accommodation in the barracks and stabling for the horses and mules was waiting for them, all supervised by a cheerful tribune from Legio XX Valeria Victrix, who was in overall command of the mixed garrison of legionaries and auxiliaries at the base. His name was Attius Secundus and he entertained Crispinus and Ferox to a lavish meal before he and some slaves led them to a private bath-house.
‘The lads have a bigger one on the far side of the fort,’ he told them, ‘but someone had the nice idea of building this one for the senior staff and for any officials who pass through. We’ll probably meet a couple of them.’
It lay in one of the enclosed areas of civilian occupation, and was itself isolated from the rest by its own rampart on which sentries stood watch. ‘Nice to have a bit of privacy,’ Secundus said happily as he gave a casual wave to a saluting legionary. ‘Evening, Longus.’
A paved path took them to the main entrance of a long stone building, the walls left bare rather than rendered, perhaps to show off the fact that they were stone rather than wattle and daub. They found three occupants being massaged by slaves after completing their bath. One was the plump imperial freedman Vegetus, along with a colleague, a little taller and even fatter, who also worked for the procurator of the province and supervised the collection of taxes and the private contractors hired by the state. With them was a negotiator, a businessman who undertook some contracts to supply clothing and mounts to the army, as well as carrying out plenty of trade on his own account. He was a Treviran with the accent of the Rhineland, but had been in this part of the world for years, spending a lot of time in the far north. Ferox thought that there was something familiar about the man, but could not remember where they had met. There was something about his thin hands, the long fingers engrained with dirt even after washing that sparked a memory.
‘Similis is a splendid fellow,’ Vegetus assured them, patting the merchant with one plump paw. ‘Must be ten years since we first met and I do not regret a day of it.’ The freedman’s wife was not with him on this trip. ‘It’s a bit bleak up here, and she has picked up a cold. The Lady Sulpicia Lepidina’ – the man glowed with pride as he mentioned so eminent an acquaintance – ‘graciously offered an invitation for my dear wife to stay in her house until I return.’
No doubt Cerialis was all in favour of such generosity.
Ferox asked Similis whether he knew anything about Tincommius, and could sense the man balancing whether he would gain or lose from answering the question, and giving up each snippet of information as if it caused him physical pain. Yes, he had met the new high king, but could not claim to know him well. His rise was recent, a mixture of brute force and considerable effort in winning friends and allies. ‘He’s got three wives, has daughters married off to other chieftains in his tribe and further afield, and sons out to fosterage. He also welcomes exiles and their followers, so that he has more warriors at his beck and call than any chief anyone can remember.’
‘What about priests?’ Crispinus cut in. Ferox saw the man’s eyes close as if curtains were shut across a window and wished that the aristocrat had left the matter to him.
‘Wouldn’t know about that. I’ve only been to his dun once, to buy hounds and some bears to sell to the circuses down south. Only really dealt with one of his men. He was tough but fair and we both did well out of it.’
‘It’s just that we have heard stories of druids,’ the tribune insisted.
‘There’re always stories, but in my line you don’t pry,’ the merchant said.
‘Pity. It would have been most useful for us to learn more.’ The young aristocrat had just been shaved by a slave and was rubbing his smooth chin with considerable pleasure. ‘Well-informed men can be so helpful, which of course obliges us to be helpful in return.’
‘Sorry, my lord, I cannot tell what I do not know.’
Liar, thought Ferox, and suspected that the man judged friendship with the two financial officials more valuable in the long run than the fleeting gains to come from helping a young officer who would only be in the province for a year or so. Presumably the procurator’s men would prefer to keep his friendship something only they enjoyed.
‘I truly am sorry, my lord. If there is any other way that I can help, you have only to ask, for the gratitude of so great a man as yourself is a prize above all others. Perhaps there is something you cannot get here in the wilds. There are few things I cannot obtain in time, and would happily give them as a gift.’
‘What did they want in trade?’ Ferox asked softly.
A brief chink of light showed from behind the curtain before it was tied closed again.
‘Tincommius, I mean,’ the centurion went on. ‘I doubt you paid him in coin.’
‘Oh, this and that, you know – the usual trinkets, some silver vessels and plenty of wine. The Britons like their wine, although quantity matters more than the quality. They are just barbarians.’
‘Flavius Ferox is a Briton from the south,’ Crispinus said with smooth and courteous malice.
‘I meant no offence,’ the Treviran replied. Ferox could sense the man’s relief at the change of subject, and was sure that he had been up to no good, selling something that he ought not to the ambitious tribal leader. Weapons perhaps, or the iron to forge blades – or just information.
‘Slippery fellow, that,’ Secundus said when the trader and the two officials left some time later. ‘Cannot say I really trust the others either.’
‘Taking more than is due in tax?’ Crispinus asked.
‘Well, obviously that. I mean, they all do, don’t they? Just afraid they’re taking more than most and enough to drive the poor devils paying it into penury. No sense in making the locals more desperate than they already are, is there?’ Attius Secundus could tell them little more about the tribes to the north and the high king. ‘Patrols don’t go so far these days, not without good reason,’ he explained. ‘We don’t have enough men, so keep our distance unless someone asks for our help. If you ask me that’s half the reason why the other tribes and clans are turning to this Tincommius. Heard rumours about your druids more than once, but nothing definite. We certainly have not seen any of these bloodthirsty tattooed fiends you were telling me about. No, I’m afraid that it’s you who will have to tell me what is going on and not the other way around.’
A guide was waiting for them at Trimontium, as had been arranged. ‘Looks a rogue to me, but I can’t offer anyone better,’ Secundus said as he bade them farewell. ‘Good luck. Hope to see you back before the end of the month – and of course to avoid the inconvenience of having to avenge your horrible deaths!’ He grinned happily.
They left an hour before dawn, without trumpets or ceremony. ‘Be on your guard, lads,’ Masclus said to his men as they left the fort behind them.
Their guide was a thin man with leathery skin who looked ancient in years, but still appeared to be vigorous and untiring. He was simply dressed, in shoes, long-sleeved tunic, trousers and a heavy cloak fastened with a simple brooch. He rode a shaggy little pony, his legs trailing down and brushing the long grass, for he did not ride on the fading remains of the Roman road, but kept to the far side of the ditch beside it. The man gave them no name, and spoke only when he could not avoid it, but Vindex knew who he was.
‘I’ve heard of him, and I think we are honoured. He is known as the Traveller, and that is what he does. They say he came from one of the islands in the far north-west – Thule or even further away – and that he never stays in one place very long, before he gets up and walks or rides away. Knows all the paths, even the ones you cannot see, and all the places, knows the spirits and the gods of every valley and lake. I’ve even heard tell that he sails the seas to lands far away, following the whales and the great demons of the deep.’ Vindex touched the wheel of Taranis to his lips. ‘Who knows, but what I do know is that the chiefs use him to take messages to each other. They cannot force him – no one can – and he will only agree if he wishes to do it and thinks it is important. As I said, we’re honoured.’