The Blood Crows (Roman Legion 12) (9 page)

A challenge sounded, in the same language, and Ostorius raised his left hand in greeting. ‘Romans!’

There came a gruff muttering in response and then stillness and silence. A faint metallic scraping sounded close to Cato and he glanced aside to see the tribune’s sword emerging from its scabbard.

‘Put that back, you fool!’ Cato hissed. ‘We do nothing without an order from the governor.’

The tribune eased his blade down and the fingers of his hand clenched and unclenched.

‘Advance and be recognised!’ Ostorius called out. There was a tense pause before one of the Britons urged his horse forward and emerged from the mist, revealing a large man in a fur-trimmed cloak, beneath which mail gleamed dully. His hair fell across his shoulders and as he drew nearer, the governor lowered his hand and bowed his head in greeting. ‘King Prasutagus.’

‘Governor Ostorius,’ came the deep, rumbling reply. ‘I thought that it was maybe an ambush, for a moment.’

‘Who would ambush you here, in territory we control?’

‘We all have our enemies.’ Prasutagus turned and beckoned to his retinue and they trotted forward to join their leader, as Ostorius called out to Macro and his bodyguards to return to the road. The Iceni riders looked round suspiciously as the legionaries appeared from both sides. The governor edged his mount forward and clasped arms with Prasutagus.

‘I’d be honoured if you joined us for the rest of the journey to Durocornovium.’

‘As would I, if you joined us.’

Ostorius was silent for an instant before he nodded. ‘Very well, I should be pleased to accept your invitation.’

The tension eased and Cato heard the tribune next to him let out a long, low breath as he relaxed in his saddle.

Shortly afterwards the enlarged party of riders emerged from the mist as the track climbed gently up towards a more heavily used track running along the top of the chain of low ridges stretching away to the west. The overcast began to break up and the sun shone intermittently from patches of blue sky, causing shadows to glide across the landscape. The governor rode beside Prasutagus, occasionally attempting conversation. The Iceni warriors followed behind. Then came Queen Boudica with Cato and Macro on either side, and then the rest of the Romans.

‘I had hoped we would catch you up,’ she admitted. ‘After last night’s touchy atmosphere I wanted a chance to clear the air.’

Unlike her husband she had been taught the Roman tongue from a young age, by a merchant hired by her father who had foreseen the need to be able to converse with the great power that had reached the coastline of Gaul and stood poised to invade Britannia for so many years before taking the plunge.

‘It’s been such a long time,’ she continued. ‘But you’ve not changed much, Macro. Still the same handsome rogue.’

The centurion gave a non-committal grunt. It was a hard thing to re-encounter someone he had once had a physical relationship with. There had been affection too, but mostly it had been about raw desire. The situation was made more difficult by the presence of Prasutagus to whom Boudica had become betrothed the last time Macro had seen her. Now she was his wife, and he was a king. It was a bloody awkward situation and Macro was not sure how he should deal with it. There was no question of a return to their old ways. Equally, it was hard to treat her formally as befitted her new rank. Boudica’s friendly approach now was not making the situation any easier.

‘But you, Cato, you look every inch the seasoned veteran now, and that scar is quite fetching. It gives you a rather savage look.’

‘That’s what my wife says.’

‘Married too! I shouldn’t be surprised. Who is the lucky girl?’

‘Her name is Julia.’

‘And where is she?’

‘In Rome.’

‘Oh dear. That can’t be easy for either of you. Why not bring her with you?’

Cato paused before he replied. He wanted to explain, to say that Julia was used to the comforts and luxuries provided by her father and that, in truth, he feared that she would resent being obliged to live in Britannia, with its inhospitable climate and even more inhospitable tribes. He cleared his throat. ‘I would prefer Julia to remain where she is most content.’

‘Really?’ Boudica shot him a curious look. ‘I would have thought that a wife would be most content at her husband’s side.’

‘It’s different for Roman women.’

‘Not so much fun, you mean.’

‘They have a profound sense of duty. They are prepared to wait for their husbands to return from active service and keep the home ready for them.’

‘Oh yes.’ Boudica nodded. ‘I can see why your Julia would prefer to do that. I mean, she wouldn’t want to endure too much excitement in her life, would she?’

Cato bristled. He did not like this prying into his marriage. There were enough doubts already plaguing him on that front. He decided to turn the tables. ‘So, what about you? Are you happy in your new role? Is Prasutagus?’

Boudica’s smile faded and she turned to look ahead, at the broad shoulders of her husband riding at the head of the party. ‘He became King only two years ago.’

‘Lucky Prasutagus,’ said Macro.

‘Hardly. It was a choice between exile or accepting the title. Apart from being the placeman of Rome, Prasutagus has had to accept the presence of a line of forts along the frontier of our lands and give free passage to Roman patrols. Worse still, Ostorius has insisted that Prasutagus honour the debts of the old King, Bodominius, who had borrowed a fortune from Roman money-lenders. Now our people are taxed to the hilt to pay them back, and we are obliged to provide five hundred young men a year to serve in your auxiliary cohorts. I tell you, if this is how Rome means to treat the tribes of Britannia, it is only a matter of time before there is an all-out revolt.’

‘The Iceni paid the price of defying Rome,’ Macro said evenly. ‘They were only one tribe. What could they hope to achieve?’

‘The only tribe to rise up, yes. But not the only one with a sense of grievance. Our neighbours, the Trinovantes, have it even worse since the governor founded a veterans’ colony at Camulodunum. Your men have been given the surrounding land and they have taken even more for themselves. Anyone who tries to complain is given a beating. Some have even been killed. Then there’s the temple dedicated to Claudius that is being constructed in the heart of the town. I had no idea he was a god,’ she sneered. ‘He didn’t look like much of a god when I saw him during his brief visit to Camulodunum.’

‘Careful,’ Cato warned. ‘That kind of talk is dangerous if word gets back to Rome. Immortals have rather unpleasant ways of reminding others of their mortality.’

‘That may be so, but threats tend to lose their sting if you push people too far. The Trinovantes are already aggrieved about having their land taken from them. But to make matters worse they are being taxed to pay for the construction of the temple. Can you imagine? Being bled white to provide the silver to pay for a monumemt to your own oppression? If this is the Roman peace, then I fear your governor is going to have a hard time persuading the tribes of its value. I can see nothing good coming of this meeting.’

‘Then why are you here? Why has Prasutagus accepted the invitation to the gathering of the tribes?’

‘Invitation?’ Boudica let out a bitter laugh. ‘A summons is more the term I would use. As a master summons his slave, or his lapdog. We are here because the cost of not being here would earn the Iceni the further displeasure of your governor. I would imagine it is the same for the other tribes who are fortunate enough to be allies of Rome.’

‘He seeks peace,’ Cato insisted. ‘Ostorius wants to put an end to the conflict in this province.’

She rounded on him with a glare. ‘Don’t you understand? I’ve just told you what peace means to those tribes already under the Roman yoke. And if that is, by some perversion of the meaning of the word, peace, then tell me, Cato, would you welcome it, if you were a native of this island?’

CHAPTER EIGHT

As dusk gathered at the end of the third day’s ride, the small company of Romans and Iceni left the road to Durocornovium and approached the outpost at Cunetio, some five miles from the sacred rings, where the gathering of the tribes was to take place. The small garrison comprised a half century of Gauls under the command of an optio who made his meagre quarters available for the governor while the rest of his men were ordered out of their barrack blocks to make way for the other visitors. The soldiers would be obliged to spend the night in the storerooms, or in the open. The optio had been briefed about the gathering and told to remain in the outpost and avoid any contact with any passing natives. Ostorius was leaving little to chance in his pursuit of an alternative to yet another season of bitter campaigning.

‘We’ve done as ordered, sir,’ the optio confirmed. ‘The men haven’t been out of the gates for the last five days.’

‘Good. Have you seen any of the tribal delegations passing by?’

‘Yes, sir. Plenty of ’em. And some of them as might be Druids.’

‘You can tell?’ Macro queried.

The optio thought briefly and nodded. ‘The tribesmen wore bright colours. The others were in plain cloaks. Not many of ’em, mind. But they looked different, and kept themselves apart from anyone else on the road.’

Macro turned to Cato. ‘Druids? Can’t say I’m pleased at the prospect of another run-in with their kind.’

Ostorius rounded on them. ‘There will be no run-in with the Druids, or anyone else. Is that clear? All who attend have been given free passage to and from the rings at Avibarius for a period of ten days. I’ll have the head of anyone who causes any trouble for the duration of the truce.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Macro bowed his head in acknowledgement. ‘But what if the other side doesn’t abide by the arrangement? What are the rules of engagement?’

‘None of our weapons are to be drawn except in self-defence, and only then if they draw theirs first,’ Ostorius said firmly, staring round at all his officers. The Iceni had already occupied the barracks allotted to them and only a handful stood outside, looking on in silence as the governor addressed his men. ‘If it should become necessary for us to fight then you will await my order before acting. The gods help any man who fails to obey my orders on this.’

He let his threat sink in before speaking again in a more moderate tone. ‘All parties should have arrived by now. My translator, Marcommius, will ride on and confirm that is the case. If so, then the first meeting should take place tonight. As the site is sacred to the natives, we will wait here for word that they are ready for us to attend. After that, we are in the hands of the gods, gentlemen.’

Macro leaned closer to Cato and whispered, ‘Yes, but whose gods, ours or theirs?’

‘Until then,’ Ostorius continued, ‘I suggest you get some rest. You will need your wits about you tonight. Dismissed.’

While Ostorius strode towards the optio’s quarters the tribunes and bodyguards moved away towards the entrance to their barrack block.

‘Coming?’ Macro asked. ‘One of the bodyguards has a decent jar of wine. I said I’d play dice for it. Want to join me?’

Cato was torn. It would be a pleasant diversion to while away a few hours with Macro and the others, but at the same time he was a prefect, a difference in rank that neither he, nor the legionaries of the governor’s bodyguard, could overlook, even off duty. He shook his head. ‘I need a little time to think.’

Macro smiled. ‘You’re missing your woman again.’

‘I miss her all the time, Macro. I suspect I will for a while yet.’

‘You’ll have plenty to distract you soon enough.’ Macro punched him lightly on the shoulder and turned away to make for the door to the barracks. Once his friend had disappeared within, Cato climbed the outpost’s watchtower and gazed west to where the sun dipped towards the rolling horizon. A few miles away, in that direction, lay the sacred stone rings, and close by, the encampments of those who had travelled from their tribal homelands. In amongst them, some Druids. Cato felt a shiver ripple down his spine as he recalled the Druids of the Dark Moon. He and Macro had fought against them the last time they were in Britannia. Fearsome and fanatic, there was no extreme of cruelty they did not embrace in the war against Rome. If they had chosen to join the meeting of the tribes then Cato was certain that they would be tireless in urging the others to destroy the legions, even those tribes who were presently allied to Rome. That was the real danger of the coming days, the possibility that Ostorius’s bid for a peaceful settlement might end in a general uprising against the outnumbered and hard-pressed legionaries and auxiliaries of the army in Britannia. Most dangerous of all was the outside chance that Caratacus himself would appear before the tribes and talk them into joining him in the war against the invader. He shivered.

‘Cold?’

Cato turned quickly and saw Boudica smiling at him from the top of the ladder. ‘A bit. It’s been a long day and I’m tired.’

Boudica continued up the last two steps and entered the watchtower, by which time Cato was in command of his nerves once more. She made her way to his side and followed the direction he had been looking at a moment earlier.

‘It’s going to be longer still, I think,’ she said. ‘And more tiring. I think Governor Ostorius is making a mistake. He should never have agreed to this. There are no promises he can make that will satisfy those tribes who are hostile to Rome, and certainly no promises which his masters in Rome will be willing to keep.’

Cato feared that she was right, but he did not doubt the sincerity of the governor’s efforts to avoid further bloodshed. ‘That may be so.’

‘Then why are we here?’

Cato glanced round to make sure that his words would not be overheard. ‘Because Ostorius is an old and sick man, worn out by the burdens of his office. What he wants more than anything is to go home to his family and enjoy the last measure of his life in peace and comfort. He may not survive another campaign season. I fear this place has broken him.’

‘Then he should leave. And take his legions with him.’

Cato was surprised by the vehemence in her tone. There had been a more cordial atmosphere between the Iceni and the Romans over the last two days. ‘You know that cannot happen.’

‘Then we must all live with the consequences,’ she responded quietly, then forced herself to smile. ‘But enough of that. Old friends, old comrades, must put such thoughts aside. We have shared dangers, and pleasures, and that is a bond that is not lightly broken. Tell me, does Macro still resent my taking Prasutagus for my husband all those years ago? I tried to tell him at the time that I had little choice in the matter.’

‘Macro is Macro. It is not in him to bear those sorts of grudges. He had a strong affection for you, certainly, but you pledged yourself to another man and he felt a passing sorrow and anger, and then put the matter behind him. That is how he chooses to live. So I doubt he harbours any ill will towards you, or Prasutagus.’

‘I wish I could be so philosophical.’

Cato chuckled. ‘I doubt it’s a question of philosophy as far as Macro’s concerned. If you really want to rub him up the wrong way, then call him a philosopher to his face.’

Boudica laughed briefly, then grew reflective. ‘Still, I would like to think that his fondness for me was not cast aside quite so readily as you imply.’

Cato detected the regret in her voice and with a stab of guilt realised that he had never considered the prospect that his friend might inspire such feelings in Boudica. Macro was as fine a soldier as ever lived, and as loyal a friend. But he possessed few other qualities that Cato could imagine being of any attraction to a woman who did not earn her living on her back. He winced at the ignoble thought. Macro was his closest friend. He felt as close to him as a brother, or son.

A flare of light drew his attention towards a low ridge on the horizon where the molten glow of the sun was brilliant against a clear sky.

‘Quite beautiful,’ Boudica muttered.

‘It is.’ He nodded, but his mind was still working. The basis of a close friendship was impossible to define. And the same was true of love, it seemed. There was in Macro some ineffable quality that appealed to Boudica. Perhaps it was true of every person; they all possessed some quality of character that called out to its mate in another being . . .

‘Look!’ Boudica raised her hand and pointed to the west.

Cato thrust his introspection aside and saw a bright flicker in the gloom not far from the ridge behind which the sun had set. Then another appeared, and more until the wavering flames seemed to form a shallow ellipse, with a line leading off to the side. The fires had been seen by one of the garrison’s sentries and he sounded the alarm, clattering the point of his javelin against a small bronze cauldron hanging beside the outpost’s gate. A moment later the optio roused himself and bellowed at his soldiers to man the palisade. The door to the nearest barracks crashed open as Macro raced outside, crested helmet in one hand and mail armour hanging over his other arm. Behind him came the rest of the Romans, the last of them making way for Ostorius, just as Prasutagus and his warriors burst out of their quarters and scrambled up the turf inner wall and on to the boarded walk behind the sharpened stakes of the palisade. The sentry continued sounding the alarm a moment longer before Macro shouted to him.

‘Shut that fucking racket up!’

As the last tuneless note died away, Macro lowered his helmet and struggled into his chain-mail vest. ‘Make your report, man! What did you see?’

Before the sentry could reply, Cato drew a breath and called from the watchtower, ‘Fires to the west!’

As the last of the men lined the palisade, Ostorius struggled on to the walkway, breathing heavily. The fires, scores of them now, were well enough established to be clearly visible and there was a hush before one of the junior tribunes spoke up. ‘What is that? It looks like an army on the move.’

Ostorius coughed to clear his throat. ‘That’s Avibarius, I imagine.’

‘Aye, Roman,’ said Prasutagus, his deep voice carrying clearly. ‘It is.’ He glanced up to the watchtower and frowned as he caught sight of his wife. A moment later the structure swayed slightly as the giant Iceni warrior climbed the ladder and then squeezed on to the platform alongside Cato and Boudica. There was a terse exchange in the Iceni tongue before Prasutagus eased himself between his wife and the prefect and stared towards the distant fires.

‘The fires mark the boundary of sacred stones. As the sun dies, the fire gives light to the world. When priests give the order.’

‘Priests?’ Cato took in a sharp breath. ‘You mean Druids.’

Prasutagus nodded.

Cato unconsciously raised his hand to touch his chest where a Druid had wounded him seven years before. There was only a scar there now, but suddenly he felt a chill on the flesh beneath the cloth of his tunic. ‘What does it mean, Prasutagus?’

‘They prepare the ground for the meeting. There are rituals they must perform, and sacrifices. To appease spirits and please our gods.’

‘What kind of sacrifices?’ Cato asked quietly but Prasutagus did not reply. He strained his eyes to try and make out more detail. At length he continued in his broken Latin.

‘They send for us soon.’

‘Already?’

The Iceni king shrugged. ‘Why not? You have something else to do?’ He glanced meaningfully at his wife.

Boudica scowled. ‘We were talking about the last time we were together. The four of us, my King.’

‘That was long time ago. Long time. Much has changed. You are my wife and Queen of the Iceni.’

‘And what of friendship?’ Cato asked. ‘Has that changed?’

‘Is a man a friend if he takes and takes, until he leaves nothing?’

Cato smiled. ‘You are talking about Rome. What about Macro and me? What have we ever taken from you? Why should we not be friends, as we once were?’

Prasutagus raised his eyebrows in surprise as he answered. ‘Because you are Romans.’

‘There’s some movement over there!’ the junior tribune who had spoken earlier piped up. ‘Horseman approaching.’

‘Thank you, Tribune Decianus,’ the governor replied tersely. ‘I may be getting old, but I’m not blind.’

The outpost commander turned to him. ‘What are your orders, sir?’

‘Have your men stand to along the palisade. Let’s look smart and alert, eh? The kind of soldiers who will never be taken by surprise.’

The optio smiled. ‘Yes, sir.’

The governor turned to look up at Prasutagus. ‘It might be a good idea if you and your retinue stayed out of sight, rather than looking as if you are here under my protection.’

Prasutagus gritted his teeth and growled, ‘The Iceni need no protection.’

‘Of course not,’ Ostorius replied soothingly. ‘It’s just a question of form. Best not have any of your peers jumping to conclusions.’

Prasutagus hesitated a moment, then issued an order to his warriors and swung himself on to the ladder and began to descend from the tower. After a brief apologetic look, Boudica followed him. The tribesmen scrambled down to the base of the turf rampart and out of view of the horseman approaching the outpost. The soft thud of hoofs carried to the ears of those standing on the walkway and then the pace of the rider slowed. There was a tense silence as he made his way close enough to the outpost to address those within. Then the dim shadow stopped, fifty feet from the ditch, and a voice called out to them in a native tongue.

‘Where’s my damned interpreter?’ Ostorius demanded in a low voice. ‘Marcommius, on me, damn you. Quickly!’

The interpreter thrust his way past the tribunes to join the governor.

‘What did he say?’

‘He asks for you, sir.’

‘Ask him how he knows that I am here?’

There was a brief exchange before Marcommius relayed the words. ‘He says that we have been watched closely since we passed through Calleva, sir. Us and the Iceni contingent. The others have been waiting for us to arrive before the ceremonies began, sir. Now he asks us, and King Prasutagus, to follow him to the sacred rings.’