Part II - Chapter XII -

For some days, Marcus took to walking beyond the Canovium garrison alone. He was glad that Spesis was now on a tour of duty to the north of Brannogenium; it gave him freedom to ponder his remarks about Decianus Catus. The spirit of his words was not surprising--typically unillusioned, in fact. But his manner of delivery was.

Marcus hardly thought that Spesis would go and hunt for the procurator himself, or even make an 'arrangement' with one of his informants. Still, he felt unsettled: the man's mime, however jokey, revealed genuine disgust with the way Britannia was being managed. Marcus tried telling himself that neither he, Spesis nor anyone else should really be surprised at that. After all, it wasn't so long ago that rumours filled the air about abandoning the island. Viewed from that angle, Catus's cavalier behaviour over Camulodunum was to be expected: slipshod strategy for a tiresomely awkward land.

Suddenly Marcus found himself regarding the young Tribune who, only ten years before, had left Glevum for Vertis full of patriotic determination. He remembered how crestfallen he had been when, for a while at least, it looked as though he'd serve the Empire as a road-foreman. So, you've turned navvy, Marcus? Again his father's imagined words swam in his mind.

But it hadn't been like that at all. It had mushroomed: all the fort-building, the organising, the sorties into Cambria--and, to crown it all, the triumph that was Mona. Even more important were the people he'd gathered about him, the good Vectis, Firmus, Currerus, all of them. But now, here was this business with Boudica. It didn't sound like benevolent, paternal Rome sorting out some motley crew who didn't know what was good for them--at least, not if Spesis' informants were to be believed. Or if the official messengers were to be disbelieved. And Marcus did find himself inclining that way.

'News just in,' announced Vectis, ambushing Marcus some yards beyond the garrison entrance. 'Paullinus has had a hard time of it.' Firmus was at his side, uncharacteristically intent, awaiting Marcus's reaction. 'Don't worry, Tribune--I haven't grilled the messengers in your absence. That's all they'll say till they see you.' Marcus said nothing. The others grew uncomfortable.

'That Boudica,' said Firmus at last. 'I wouldn't be surprised if she was leaping about with those fiends on Mona.'

'She sounds like she was all those fiends,' said Vectis. 'Gods above, I hope we don't get summoned down there after all. That Mona copper'll be dust by the time I really get at it.'

'You and your metals,' said Firmus. 'Tell me, were you born in the bottom of a stewpot?'

'I'll be with the messengers immediately,' said Marcus. 'Go in and tell them.' He watched the retreating pair, heard their banter as it blew about over the storehouses and stables. It hadn't changed in all the years he'd known them. Still, despite themselves, they were getting on better all the time. He turned slowly, heavily, and followed them in. That's what counted, he thought--even more than retaining some ideal of Rome, untainted by venal procurators and money-lenders. Good people around you. People you could understand because they made themselves so easily understandable. Consistent people. Friends, really.

Just inside the garrison entrance, he caught sight of Currerus. The scout was hobbling about on a stick which Scapha had fashioned for him. Good: he'd been told that the invalid was trying to get well too quickly, trying to act as though he had no need of stick, medicine or rest. He was glad that Currerus was being sensible. Some distance from headquarters, he heard someone say 'Paullinus': an unknown voice, probably a messenger's. Again his thoughts slipped south-east to the rebellion. He wondered what kind of hard time the Governor was having down there--well, it was easily imagined. The soldier in his blood reflexively hoped that Paullinus would finally triumph. He was startled, however, by the speed with which the hope disappeared, giving way to other, less manageable thoughts. During his whole time in Britannia, he'd either initiated schemes or carried out the schemes of others. On Mona, in Cambria, he'd led his men as he'd been trained to--and as his concern for them insisted he should. Mercifully, the wounds he'd sustained had never been serious, but they still spoke of his bravery. Of his obedience, too: once he saw that a strategy would work--whether in grading a road or besting the Cornovii--he went into a kind of mist, which veiled everything except the desire for success.

But now, here he was, wondering again about Boudica, about Spesis' treasonable cynicism--and much more. Perhaps his fellow commander's information required further scrutiny. At the simplest level, the Iceni and Trinovantes didn't sound all that different from tribes in Gaul, in Graecia, anywhere the Empire laid its hand. If you ignored the particulars of their case, you were left with a familiar round of moans, carping and grievances. Time was, he could have ignored all that; he would have put Spesis' bitter mirth down to the effects of rotten meat or bad wine. But then, what if you were one of the Iceni--a swineherd, a tribal chief, even one of Boudica's daughters? What if you'd been told ad infinitum of the greatness of Rome, its civilising mission, its noble intent--and then seen the reality of legionaries laying your cornfields to waste, usurers lifting the roof clean off your head? He stopped and shook his head, as though he'd just walked into a cloud of gnats. 'Required further scrutiny,' 'At the simplest level,' 'If you ignored the particulars'--these were politicians' words, preambles to sophistry from Catus and his ilk. Spesis had no reason to feed him falsehoods, to invent some tale about imaginary informants. Beneath the familiar dryness, the man was outraged by the treatment of the Iceni and Trinovantes. No, it was no good: for a minute or two, Marcus had tried to be . . . well, the smooth-tongued senator of his father's hopeful imagination. It hadn't worked. He was for Boudica, after all.

He walked into headquarters in something like shock. Never before had he seriously put himself in a native's place. And, strictly speaking, his thoughts were every bit as treasonable as those which Spesis had shared with him. Best not to share them with anyone--Vectis, even Spesis himself. Best, for the moment, to think as he had done of those around him: companions, friends, doing their best under orders. Best to think of Cremona--and renew his efforts for leave as soon as he could. After all, ten years in Britannia--ten windswept, snowbound Saturnalias. He shivered at the image; there'd be another one before they knew it.

The messengers' news was free of all value judgements. There was no talk now of riotous barbarians. Paullinus had found Boudica to be of astonishingly firm mettle--so much so, in fact, that the whole Roman enterprise in Britannia was imperilled. Hearing of Camulodunum's fate en route, he had gone directly to Londinium, now a Boudican stronghold. Prasutagus's widow had been as good as her reported word: her rebellion now inflamed the south. The Governor needed as much imperial muscle as could be mustered. At this point, the messengers' report became vague, speculative. The disposition of the southern legions, they said, may go some way to explaining the subsequent progress of events. They were naturally split between numerous bases, from Calleva in the east to Moridunum in southern Cambria. It was a question of balance and logistics, said one messenger, with the air of a schoolboy given the most important line in a chorus. Moving troops out of an area could well destabilize it, allowing rebellion to well up like marshy water in a sandal-print.

Marcus cleared his throat; pretty phrases were all very well, but the man needed prompting: 'So how did the vagaries of logistics affect our Governor?' He sensed what the answer would be, and so it proved. Reaching Londonium, Paullinus actually found neither a horde of extra legionaries nor the prospect of any to augment his force. He was obliged to withdraw with his advance guard and await Benevolus and the rest of the 'Mona army,' as they had been nicknamed (possibly as a kind of lucky charm, news of the island victory having spread far and wide now). It was, the poetically-inclined messenger said, a painful decision--well nigh impossible, in fact. Everyone knew that the Roman veterans left stranded in Camulodunum had been massacred--despite retreating to the temple of Claudius and praying for the protection of the Imperial spirit. Paullinus knew that any Roman in Londinium would suffer the same fate; and not only there--those in nearby Verulamium was at mortal risk, too.

'Does the Governor require us--?' began Marcus, but a second messenger, inflamed by the nature of the news and forgetful of deference, broke in on him.

'By no means, sir. If anyone else departs from here--even so much as a cohort or two--it will undo all the good work in Cambria.'

'You are to remain, sir,' chimed in the first, 'and treat this region as'--he cleared his throat: a piece of strategist's jargon was clearly coming--'a state in the first phase of subjugation.'

Having eaten and drunk a sufficiency, they left. The last piece of news they imparted was that, despite all the logisitical headaches and threats of rebellion elsewhere, Paullinus was still seeking reinforcements in the south. The second legion--the Augusta, based in the south-west--was a likely source. Manpower from Marcus's beloved Glevum might also be called upon.

'Well, I'll be . . . ,' began Firmus when the messengers had gone. 'They want us to treat Cambria like we've only just got here.'

'Understandable, centurion,' said Vectis. 'The powers-that-be doubtless think it best to regard Britannia as teeming with Boudicas. Until events prove otherwise.' Mentioning the queen's name seemed to send him momentarily into a dream. 'What kind of woman would act as she has?' he murmured to himself. 'There must be something . . . some real grievance.' Suddenly he gasped and clapped a hand over his mouth.

'Opting for the enemy, engineer?' said Firmus, but with a twinkle in his eye. 'Treasonable ramblings--from you? What is the world coming to?'

'You're entitled to your thoughts, Vectis, whatever they may be,' said Marcus, secretly taking the man's words as proof that he also was entitled to his. 'Just don't let them stray beyond these walls.' And he fixed Firmus with a glare that insisted on his silence. The centurion understood and nodded.

Spesis returned two days later: 'I know, I've heard,' he told Marcus.

'What do you know, exactly?'

Spesis shrugged: 'My extra ears have told me nothing new. Don't forget, Tribune, I've been busy trying to locate any other Boudica we may have knocking about in Cambria. But I'd say Paullinus will be pinning his hopes on the Augusta lads. And those troops from Germania are bound to arrive some time soon--unless friend Catus has established himself there and has tied them all up in red tape.'

Marcus nodded: 'Boudica won't want to wait for that,' he said.

'Indeed not. She'll make her big push against our Governor as soon as she can.' Autumn was an affair of salt winds and ceaseless rain. Saturnalia nearly went by unnoticed. Mindful of the fate of the veterans at Camulodunum, the men spoke much of fate and how easily it could be tempted. Their lost comrades had placed every last hope in the Emperor's spirit, enshrined in the temple. Their deaths seemed to be an argument against any obvious display of belief in Rome and her deities--for the time being, at least.

Marcus noted with interest that the poetically-inclined messenger and his animated fellows never returned. Instead, each new piece of information was borne by grim, unsmiling men who seemed to be kinsmen of the dismal weather. The Augusta lads had let Paullinus down--or rather, one of their camp prefects had, Poenius Postumus. Like many others, he had reasoned that taking troops out of the south-west would be an incitement to native rebellion there. As a result, he had ignored Paullinus's request that the Augusta vexillation he controlled should unite with the 'Mona army.' Meanwhile, as Spesis had predicted, Boudica had made her move. She had pushed far into the middle regions, having already fulfilled another prophecy by wreaking havoc at Verulamium and slaughtering an entire vexillation of the IX Legion, the Hispana.

'I wish we could get some news of Benevolus,' said Vectis, returning to Canovium with Marcus, Firmus and Tignum after a particularly tense and snowy tour of duty. Nobody said a word: enquiries after the commander's well-being had punctuated every exchange with the messengers from the south. None could provide an answer.

'I assume,' said Tignum, breaking the silence, 'that we'd have heard if . . . .' But he left his sentence unanswered as the garrison entrance loomed, skeletal against an unforgiving sky.

At last the crucial news arrived. Paullinus had engaged with the rebel queen. The troops from Germania had arrived to swell the ranks of the Hispana, and battle had been decisively joined--not so very far, it turned out, from the Cambrian border. While Marcus and the others were digesting this, another messenger arrived to announce that Paullinus had carried the day and the rebel queen had perished--by her own hand, it was rumoured. The messenger was made welcome at the Canovium garrison and all along the northern coast. It was Benevolus.

'Suicide everywhere, alas' he said the day he arrived, sitting in the Canovium headquarters and encircled by Marcus, Spesis and the others. 'Not just Boudica--Poenius Postumus, too. He must have remembered that Rome's principal care is for soldierly duty, not fussing over problems of deployment. He wasn't with us at the victory. He couldn't live with that.'

'It's wonderful to see you,' said Marcus. 'We heard nothing of how you'd fared.'

'And so soon,' chimed in Vectis. 'Are we to thank the governor for that? A gesture of heartfelt gratitude for your perilous work.'

'Call it that if you like, engineer. I rather think it has more to do with this.' And he pushed open his cloak. Deep gouges were latticed upon his legs; his left hand was crushed. Immediately he held up his good hand, forestalling any comment: 'Some medic tells me that all is not lost,' he said. 'The hand may yet grip a horse's reins as before. Of course, I'll have to pray, weep, burn votive lights. The usual.' At this, Spesis smiled and squeezed his shoulder. Benevolus acknowledged the gesture and turned to Marcus.

'However,' he said, 'speaking of heartfelt gratitude, I bear news for you, Tribune. Paullinus thanks you, Roman to Roman, for all that you have done to prevent further revolt in Cambria. You have leave to see your family and Cremona again. And,' he added with a laugh, 'he says that if you are still loafing round Britannia in twenty moons' time, he'll want to know why.'

Marcus felt delight and exhilaration. Numerous hands clapped him on the back. Firmus agitated for a rendition of 'For He's a Jolly Good Tribune.' But a shadow clouded the general mirth. It emanated from Spesis, who was looking thoughtful--even a little afraid. Marcus saw his look. Though he laughed and called for wine, he was thinking of the question he must put to Benevolus when they were alone.

The opportunity came that evening. Spesis, divining that Marcus needed private words with the new arrival, excused himself: Vectis, he said, wanted to consult with him about extending the garrison storehouses. The engineer rarely if ever spoke of such matters with Spesis, as Marcus well knew. But he nodded and promised that wine would be kept for his return.

'Should I assume,' he began when he and Benevolus were alone, 'that the governor's gift of leave extends to Spesis also? It ought to.'

'Indeed it ought,' said Benevolus, 'but it doesn't. He's to remain here and work with Decurio.' Marcus nodded. Mention of the prefect at Varis cheered him up a little: Decurio was reliable and enthusiastic. More than that, he had great respect for Spesis. How long might it be, though, before he was officially ordered to end that respect? Marcus knew that he was dithering about. He pressed his point.

'Does Paullinus give any reason for withholding leave from our friend?'

Benevolus stared hard at him: 'For heaven's sake, Marcus. Spesis is a courageous fool. That's a description, mind, not a condemnation.' He thumped down his goblet impatiently. 'Paullinus knows all about his informants. You've had waves of messengers here, and they haven't just arrived to give you the latest on Boudica. He's been tracked on his tours of duty, every one.'

'So what happens?' asked Marcus, and jumped when he heard his question echoed from the doorway.

'Sorry, gentlemen,' said Spesis, moving to a chair beside them. 'I couldn't resist. Besides, I have some passing interest in your talk.' Marcus was all apology, but Spesis waved his words aside. 'You thought your private audience was for the best, Tribune. But now I've heard what Benevolus has to say, where's the point in skulking outside?' He turned to Benevolus: 'Courageous fool? Yes, Benevolus--you're right. I should have known Paullinus would have one of his many eyes upon me. Part of me probably did.'

Marcus repeated his question. 'What happens,' said Benevolus, 'is that I stay here for now--in an advisory capacity for Spesis and Decurio. I have leave, too, but I insisted that it be deferred. Said I wanted to see my Cambrian comrades again. Who knows? My hand may regain its power. Then, of course'--and he looked straight at Spesis--'I could become you, and you could become thin air. And even if I remain as I am, the loss of a hand does not mean the loss of will to command.'

'I'm not scuttling away like a rat,' said Spesis warmly. 'Whatever Paullinus has in mind for me--.'

Benevolus laid his good hand on the man's arm: 'I know what you discovered, Spesis. The Iceni, the Trinovantes, all the cruelty exercised in the name of Rome. Do you not have an obligation to make it known? We shall plan against the proper time of your departure. For now, as long as I'm here, you'll be safe. I'm a veteran, remember. I've fought the, shall we say, good fight.' His wry tone and expression made Spesis pull his goblet from his grasp and fill it brimful of wine.

'But listen,' said Marcus, 'if Spesis has a duty to make all that hideousness known, then surely I do too--.' But both of the others raised their hands as if to silence a prattling child: 'You,' said Benevolus, 'enjoy your leave!'

End of Chapter XII and Part II of the story

Part I - I - II - III - IV - V - VI - VII - VIII - IX - X - XI - XII - Part II - Part III

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