PART II - Chapter XIX - 'A Kind of Calm'

by Michael Wyndham Thomas

Life resumes an old, familiar routine. Roads are regraded, forts refurbished--and new ones built, in accordance with Turpilianus's policy of reconsolidation. But good fortune befalls Currerus and Vectis: the former regaining much of his health, the latter finally getting the home leave he'd given up on. Marcus revisits old haunts to the south on official business, with Vectis, Benevolus and Firmus in attendance. In the dead of winter, they reach Vertis, where Marcus's life as a Tribune really began. Again, he tries to throw himself into his work, to forget about Nero and calm his fears about his family. But a question from Vectis may stir everything up again.

AD61 drew to its close. Saturnalia came and went, as did a brace of others. Solatius, the apothecary at Canovium, scouted the field and uplands, noting different flowers and herbs, when they flourished and died. The scout Fretus often accompanied him when not on patrol. Solatius was a gifted man but more than usually absent-minded. Many times, having confirmed the location of a particular herb, or surprised himself with a new discovery, he forgot to gather samples to bring back to the garrison. He needed another pair of hands to lessen the strain of his inquiries.

They were the only two to inspect the north Cambrian land thus, though the odd legionary doubtless gave it a casual glance while going about his business. For everyone else, Balatrus's pronouncement rang true: it was business as usual; the old pattern of road-grading and fort maintenance resumed; and, though the Cambrian patrols were doubled on Turpilianus's orders, it quickly felt as though they had always been at thus strong.

This return to routine did have its advantages. Gradually, Marcus and the others began to realise what a little world they had inhabited for so long, with Canovium and Varis as its defining points of latitude. Messages reached Canovium that Marcus, Vectis and Benevolus should ready themselves for journeys to old haunts: Collis, Glevum, Salinae, even Vertis. No set times were given, and they were still to regard themselves as based in north Cambria. But Turpilianus seemed to have it in mind that, after all the Suetonian route-marches, a kind of generalised bustle was the best way to signal to the tribes that all was calming down. As part of that, what could be more natural than having commanders revisiting old posts, conferring with new commanders, exchanging wisdom and shaping a shared view of the post-Boudican land? It was more than natural: it was reconsolidation at its most determined.

A more immediate advantage arose from Solatius's rummaging among the flora. His samples became pastes and unguents of tremendous benefit to the sick or wounded of Canovium and Varis. In particular, they helped Currerus back on his feet. By spring of 62, he was sufficiently recovered to withstand the news that, although he'd see out his natural term, his days as a scout were over. It looked likely that he would return home--more likely now than when he had been really ill. Marcus told him that, of course, the choice was his, that there was no disgrace in being invalided out, not after all that he'd done. He left the scout in melancholy mood, telling him to think about it for a few days. Part of Currerus longed to see his native Augusta; he was close to his family, whose recent messages had been filled with rejoicing at his gradual recovery. But another part was one he shared with so many soldiers. He'd been in Britannia a long time; emotionally, he now lived in the marches between feeling Roman and going native. In the matter of loyalty, of course, Rome would win--or at least, for now, benefit from the scout's habit of obedience. But Currerus, like everyone else, didn't spend his whole time feeling loyal; he had pondered long while ill; he had gazed about him while on patrol, partly out of need but also out of fascination with the land whose contours he was memorising. Slowly, in ways he could hardly describe, it was taking hold of him.

Meantime, Marcus conferred with Decurio, and neither of them could see any bar to creating the post of Chief Counsel for Patrols and Messages and offering it to their valued scout.

'Ah, a desk job,' said Vectis when they told him. 'Still, it won't stop him making the odd sortie, health permitting. Nice Turpitudian ring to it, too.' When Currerus told the Tribune that he preferred to stay, the offer was made immediately, Marcus adding that he would secure home leave for the scout into the bargain. Currerus accepted gladly, but not without wondering if his weakened bones could take the weight of the title.

'Of course they will,' said Marcus.

'As sturdily as Balatrus's horse,' added Vectis, the comparison having become something of a catch-phrase around Canovium, a way of assuring someone that this roofbeam would hold or that bridge would bear a legion. 'And a good summer is on its way--so our apothecary's snout tells him. Take your leave then--enjoy Augusta at its best.'

Time passed.

The summer of 62 was particularly benign; Solatius rejoiced at a bumper crop of herbs between Canovium and Varis; Vectis and his proteges made further inroads on Mona; and finally, Currerus departed from Canovium, Marcus assuring him that his forthcoming journey would be a treat for the senses: 'Plenty of sea air,' he said. 'And make sure you get comfortable bedding.'

'I hear the Mare Internum can cut up rough this time of year,' remarked Firmus, at which Marcus rounded on him.

'Thank you, centurion, for helping me sell the joys of travel.'

Currerus smiled: 'I know what it can be like, Firmus. I'll try not to hurl myself on the decking.' He turned to Marcus: 'Whatever news I get, Tribune, I'll bring it back to the last word.'

Marcus nodded his thanks. Over the months since his return, he had carefully stored messages from Cremona, even committing certain parts to memory. Gravis harped on about the state of the vineyards--now flourishing, now sluggish. Vinitor continued to be indispensable and, despite Marcus's poor showing, still seemed to think that he had some future in his father's line of work. Lenita and Venia sent their sisterly love; high-spirited Alacer told Marcus to get him a Druid's robe. Fovera's words were brief: she wished her son good fortune, but Marcus knew how heartfelt that sentiment was. So all seemed well at the moment; perhaps old scorpion Nero had gone off in search of other folk to sting. He knew that, if things were turning dangerous, even his father's mock complaints about 'that fish business' would give way to concern and warning.

After Currerus's departure, Marcus made one final effort to immerse himself in the life of an Imperial servant, reasoning yet again that the good of the State was a different matter from its pernicious, self-serving leader. He gave and received orders. He patrolled. He visited Varis regularly, and he and Decurio visited Deva, planning strategies with the commanders of Deva and Rutunium, a new fort to the north of Viriconium. On one such visit, Spesis's successor at Viriconium was present: a genial type who asked Marcus to pass on his best wishes to Spesis and confirmed that, yes, Balatrus had departed from the fort for new, more exalted duties: 'A bumbling buffer' was how he described the emissary; Marcus's fears for Spesis's safety abated a little further.

Though this was a period of reconsolidation, with all the humdrum implications of the word, Marcus and the rest were kept busy enough. True, no new Caratacus had emerged from the Cambrian mists; but, though technically secured, Cambria was far from tranquil. The Cornovii and Ordovices saw the doubling of the patrols as an invitation to double their subversion. Marcus became like his younger self, the conscientious Tribune advising on regrading roads and increased security for storehouses. Solatius's fame having spread east from Cambria, Marcus also found himself bearing saddlebags of herbal preparations for the relief of the wounded at his neighbouring garrisons, together with recipes which the medically-minded could work into balms of their own. Ambushes became a routine part of life--some intended simply to scare, others of more deadly intent. Marcus, Decurio, Firmus, Vectis--all sustained fresh injuries, none serious but all justifying Paullinus's fear that the Cambrian tribes were far from biddable. Currerus returned to Canovium in early spring, refreshed, full of stories of his own family but with little to tell of life in Cremona--or in Livorno, for that matter:

'I kept my ear to the ground,' he assured Marcus and Vectis. 'Nothing--all I can say is that bad news travels fast, and no news reached me.' The Tribune and engineer took what comfort they could from his words, both reminding themselves that, in his absence, the messages they'd received from home gave no hint of real peril.

By the summer of 63, the Turpilianus era was over. A rumour quickly surrounded the name of his successor, Trebillius Maximus: that he was merely old Turpitudinus in disguise. The reconsolidation business continued, taking on now an unreal quality. Maximus, like his predecessor, was an inveterate fort-builder; construction projects continued apace, along with the usual business of road-building and refurbishing of existing forts. A feeling began to spread that, despite tribal unrest, the Roman presence was akin to a huge band of actors, playing their parts in a drama that no-one of importance would ever see--or care about. The fort-building compounded this attitude; many a legionary began to feel that he was hewing and stripping wood for settlements that would remain empty. On official orders from Rome, great play was made of consecrating new forts to Nero's name, as though the Emperor intended a rash of temples to disfigure the Britannic countryside in symbolic retaliation for the Camulodunum massacre. Intrigued, Vectis arranged to have the plans for one such fort copied and brought to Canovium: 'Tarty,' he said at length and cast them aside.

A week before the Saturnalia of that year, word finally reached Canovium that Marcus, Benevolus and Vectis were shortly to travel down the road they had done so much to build. The commanders of Collis, Salinae and Glevum had met with their counterparts from Viriconium and points north; now they wished to confer with their north Cambrian colleagues on the next phase of reconsolidation. The message added that, after this winter conference, Vectis was free to enjoy a long-awaited, well-earned rest in his native Livorno. Marcus was happy for him--and surprised.

'When did you put in for that?' he asked. 'I didn't,' said Vectis, perplexed. 'I remember Spesis badgering me about it, like he did with you. Just after you'd left for Cremona, I tried again. I was told "no" by the very next messenger we had up here. Oh, I can't remember the fol-de-rol he came out with--but it was pretty clear that I was meant to stay and keep an eagle eye on Spesis. Well, that was all right--especially given what Spesis knew. I was happy to help Benevolus protect him. Then life imposed itself between me and any more thought about it. I reckoned it would come round some time: probably after Spesis had gone.'

'It's a good sign,' said Marcus. 'They must trust him now.'

'He's worked hard enough at conning them,' replied Vectis. 'He deserves one less minder on that island.' He stopped and regarded Marcus, who was clearly struggling to say something. Guessing what it was, he laid a hand on the Tribune's shoulder: 'Of course I'll find out. I'm sure good Currerus did his best, but he doesn't know our parts of the world--and he doesn't have a network. If I can, I'll even visit Cremona.' Marcus reached for his shoulder and clasped the engineer's hand. No further words were said; none were needed.

'We could have done without this,' grumbled Firmus. 'We're meant to respect Saturnalia. Even our recovering should be leisurely: part of our thanks to the gods for bringing us through another summer and autumn. It's not supposed to be a case of nosh, swig and clear off.'

Marcus twisted round in his saddle: 'You agitated to come, centurion. And it would still have snowed on you up there.' Up ahead, Vectis and Benevolus turned and nodded mock-sage agreement; behind, the five-strong escort simply chortled.

It was a tired, cold and hungry crew who travelled from Salinae to Vertis. The snows had started in earnest after they had left the hospitable fires of Viriconium. The southward landscape was more desolate than they had ever known it; and they clung to the hope that the natives, concluding the same, would keep to their homes and focus on surviving the cold. So far, their hope had been fulfilled. Now and then, they would see a shapeless form in the distance, foraging for wood or herding bedraggled cows into makeshift shelter. Otherwise, it seemed that the world had said its last goodbye to green leaves and summer twilight.

Despite the bleak weather, Marcus was bouyant. He was looking forward to meeting the new commanders of the southern forts. More than that, he was curious about Vertis. True, the place still didn't merit a major garrison: nor would it for some time yet. But it was the site of his first full project as Tribune over twelve years ago--back in the days before Caratacus and Boudica, before the devils of Mona, before Spesis and his dangers--before Nero. As he rode along, trying to ignore the collar of ice that was surely forming at his neck, he willed himself to feel and think young again. So successful was his absorption that he didn't realise who had yelled out 'Well, well, well' until he saw Vectis gingerly spurring on his horse. There before them was the small Roman settlement--and the bridge.

Uncharacteristically, Vectis did not leap down from his horse and send snow flying as he tried every beam and joist on the structure. Instead, he rode cautiously across it, leaning out to tap the rail every now and then. When the rest caught up with him, he was nodding his approval: 'Looks like our wood--most of it. It's stood up well.'

'The gods be praised,' muttered Firmus. 'Thought we'd have to go back to Canovium for good Cambrian timber.'

If Vectis had a riposte for this, he didn't have time to deliver it. A voice hailed them from out of the snow: a centurion from Glevum, it transpired, who told them he had been in charge of the crossing since early autumn. Now, he was awaiting his opposite number from Salinae before returning to camp.

'Two more days,' said Marcus. 'So he told us back there.'

'Much obliged to you, sir. Barren parts, these, especially with the snow so deep. Still, we've had no real trouble, not with the bridge anyway. Locals find it a boon, so why wreck it?'

He led them to his rough-and-ready headquarters. As they dismounted, Benevolus stared hard at him: 'Impigus, isn't it? Well . . . a centurion now.'

The centurion gasped: 'Good grief . . . I mean, Benevolus, sir, I didn't recognise you!' Benevolus turned to the others: 'Came to Glevum with the last draft before I left. I had Impigus marked for going places.'

'Go I did, sir,' replied Impigus. 'Three years deep in Cambria while all the Boudica business was on. I fought hard but got off lightly--unlike the poor wretches in the south.'

'You're looking at one such wretch, centurion,' said Vectis, indicating Impigus's former master. The centurion looked as though he were about to drop to one knee. Benevolus prevented it.

'No need for ceremony, Impigus. Just take us indoors, give us warmth and tell us the news from Glevum.'

As they entered, Vectis hung back, puzzling Marcus with the worried look on his face. 'What's amiss?' he asked. 'Something just struck you about the bridge?'

Vectis shook his head heavily, as a child might: 'It's this leave I've got. All very nice--but why have they suddenly said "yes"?'

'What an odd question,' said Marcus; but immediately, beneath his bluster, a nameless unease began to stir.

End of Chapter XIX

Part I - Part II - XIII - XIV - XV - XVI - XVII - XVIII - XIX - XX - XXI - Part III

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