Part I - Chapter VIII -

Spesis looked at the bridge. So did his horse, although a chance to crop grass, or rid itself of its dignified but weighty burden, would have been preferable. A wagon lumbered across, heading for Glevum. Before too long, it would pass Benevolus coming the other way.

'Good Salinae salt,' said Marcus. And he backed his horse away, so the wagon could pass between Spesis and himself. 'I appreciate your indulgence, commander,' he continued, when the wagon had passed.

Spesis turned to him: 'Our detour to the salt workings? Think nothing of it, Marcus. Given what lies ahead of us, it's some comfort to know that certain things are ticking over nicely.'

Marcus laughed: 'You're a jaded man, Spesis.'

'Jaded from the womb, Tribune. My schoolmaster used to try and beat it out of me.'

'He clearly failed.'

Spesis sighed: 'An athlete mainly. In his book, if you could hurl a javelin, your place in heaven was secure. Aristotelian niceties were lost on him. He had no feel for the tragedies of life.' He rode a little way onto the bridge and looked about: 'So--the place of the bridge, then. This seems to be in good order, too.'

'Hence the name,' called Vectis, walking across it towards them. Inevitably, he had been inspecting it exhaustively for signs of wear, tear or sabotage. All was sound. 'You see, Spesis, it relates to where the river bends . . . .'

'I am on nodding terms with my own tongue, engineer,' chuckled Spesis.

Vectis spread his hands in apology: 'Forgive my presumption, Commander. No problems with our bridge,' he added to Marcus.

Marcus nodded: 'In truth, Spesis, I nearly betrayed the same exuberance as Vectis here. I suppose we have a special affection for our first commission alone.'

'Ah, the firstborn,' said Spesis. 'Naturally you would.' He turned round in his saddle: 'Imposing hills,' he observed, shading his eyes.

'And glad I am to see them,' said Marcus with warmth. 'They are my native hills--well, as far as they can be. A symbol of home, let us say.'

'A fine place, Cremona,' said Spesis. 'You can breathe there in a way you can't in Rome.'

Marcus thought he detected a particular tone to those words, but Vectis was speaking again.

'Well, this is hardly Glevum or Viriconium,' he said. 'but it's serving the purpose it was designed for.' He was right, thought Marcus. Surprisingly, the bridging point and its small Roman community had suffered little from marauders of the night. The contingents posted in rotation there had seen few incidents. Traffic moved steadily--if a little bumpily--through the settlement, going south or north. Barges made their purposeful way along the river. Then again, Marcus reflected, sabotaging a bridge was a different matter from sabotaging a road. It inconvenienced locals, the marauders' own people. You could always walk round holes and gouges in the ground. But if a bridge was down and you had no boat, where did that leave you?

Spesis still seemed to be thinking of Cremona: 'I suppose our new orders might change matters somewhat,' he said. 'But if I were you, Marcus, I should start lobbying for home leave. The sooner you do . . . .' Uncharacteristically, he tailed off; but Marcus was smiling.

'The sooner the long wait will start,' he replied. 'I know, Spesis. But it will arrive when it arrives.'

Spesis tutted theatrically: 'Wrong attitude, Tribune, wrong attitude. It'll arrive on the twelfth of never if you leave it to the usual run of bureaucrats. Start pushing for it now, whatever happens here.'

Suddenly they noticed that Vectis was waving in the direction of Glevum. An escorted figure was approaching them.

'Gods above, engineer,' said Spesis good-naturedly. 'Wait to give Benevolus a proper salute. He's not your aunt.'

The three of them started forward to greet him. Before they had gone a few yards, however, there was a thudding sound on the bridge and a tiny figure flew past them towards Benevolus. It was a Dobunni girl, nine or ten at most. Looking back, Marcus saw that a woman, probably her mother, was hovering at the rail; she looked as though she had urged the child on against her better judgement.

The girl halted in front of Benevolus who, watching her approach, had obviously ordered the escort to stop. She looked at his horse, then at the others, then at the apparel of the foot-soldiers. Her head moved this way and that, deliberate as a cobra's. She could have been loitering at a market-stall, undecided as to which toy or morsel of confection to buy--or make off with. Benevolus studied her carefully, then looked over Marcus's head to the woman on the bridge. He was clearly trying to signal that the child was in no danger, but the woman was too distant to appreciate normal gestures, so he was obliged to point to the girl, then to himself and his escort and clasp his hands violently together, like a slave astonished at being given a sumptuous meal. The girl hooted with laughter.

'Well you might, little lady,' breathed Spesis. 'He looks like a clown out of Plautus.'

Benevolus, however, was disposed to be clownish. He gestured at the mane of his horse as though he were an Antioch silk merchant displaying the finest wares for a lady of quality. The girl reached out, at which the woman ran off the bridge and came to an anxious halt some way behind her, scared that Benevolus might sweep her child up and gallop for the horizon. But the Commander stayed still, giving the girl and the woman the benefit of his avuncular mien. The girl stretched and stroked the mane. The horse twisted its head slightly but otherwise stayed put, doubtless feeling still every hoofbeat of its journey from the south. None of the escorts moved a muscle: for them, too, this break between travel and business was welcome.

After a few minutes, the girl finished her examination of Imperial horsehair and rooted around in her tunic pocket. She produced a corn dolly--squashed and featureless, but recognisably human in shape. This she handed up to Benevolus, who took and examined it, then elaborately saluted her. Watching his hand, the girl sprang back with a cry; everyone in Benevolus's party exchanged nervous looks; a horse or two had to be steadied.

'That's the mite's home life for you,' said Vectis. 'Father probably entertains himself by braining her.'

'Would that all Roman mites were exempt from such treatment,' muttered Spesis.

By this time, Benevolus had righted the misunderstanding. He gave the doll a salute in miniature, reassuring the girl and her mother. Then, the purpose of their audience accomplished, the pair retreated across the bridge, saluted by Marcus and the others as they went.

'Well,' said Marcus. 'I don't quite know what to make of that, but I hope it augurs well.'

'Indeed,' said Spesis. 'Our relations with the tribes could do with some overhauling, whether they're our clients or not.'

'D'you think it's a bit of druid fiddling, that doll?' asked Vectis. 'Cursed, I mean?'

Spesis gave a sigh, as theatrical as any of Benevolus's gestures: 'No doubt, engineer, no doubt,' he said, riding forward. 'We'll be a trio of udderless cows by morning.' He saluted Benevolus: 'I've a Governor doll in my satchel, Commander,' he called. 'He's worked out all our plans.'

'Steady on, Spesis,' muttered Vectis, but Benevolus chortled, signalling his escort to dismount.

The three Commanders spent the night at Vertis, enjoying the makeshift but genuine hospitality of the small force there. Vectis ventured out on a full tour of inspection. He was impressed with Tignum's design of the force's quarters, though a little dismayed that he had allowed one or two Dobunni huts to remain standing and unchanged: 'Eyesores,' he grumped as he circled them. By the time he returned to the Commanders, their basic planning was complete. Benevolus and Spesis were to return to their respective forts; Marcus was to base himself at one of the new forts, a large compound between Salinae and Brannogenium. Quotas of scouts had been drawn up to maintain swift communication; rotas of legionaries had been devised to augment those in the new border forts and assist with repair work after the inevitable marauding. During the next day, they scrutinized the orders yet again, refining the plans as needed; runners were dispatched to Viriconium, to order the rest of Marcus's contingent down to their new home. The following dawn, after beseeching the gods to bless their endeavours, the Commanders parted, Spesis accompanying Marcus as far as his base. No doll-bearing child saw them leave.

'We can't call this "Marcus's fort" all the time,' said Spesis as they rode through the entrance. 'What I mean is, we need some name for our communication purposes. Mind you, I do like the idea of its having your name. Humanises the whole operation somehow.'

'How about Scapularum?' asked Vectis. 'In honour of the great man's memory?'

'Personally, I couldn't agree more,' said Spesis. 'Don't know how it would go down with our new Governor though. Blessed politics--a plague on it, say I.'

'Collis,' said Marcus simply.

Spesis frowned and looked up above the compound: 'Not particularly hilly round about, Tribune. If--ah, Cremona's on your mind again. Collis. Yes, why not? And while we're on the subject, Marcus, home leave--remember, press your case. You're a boon all round, but we could surely spare you for a few months. You too, engineer,' he added, turning to Vectis. 'Now, water for the horses, meat for my gullet, a few hours' repose and then I'm off.'

Marcus and Vectis followed the genial command that Spesis had given them. As it turned out, however, they were not see their homes for years yet. As they had anticipated--and planned--they spent the seasons variously campaigning, overseeing fort restoration and grading (and regrading) crucial stretches of their road. Beyond their own place and time, the Imperial mosaic extended and elaborated itself. As Spesis had feared, Didius Gallus proved too much in thrall to the politicians of Rome. True, he was an effective campaigner in Cambria; a lack of independent spirit, however, meant that the greater part of his governance was spent in simply maintaining the status quo--or, in practical terms, ensuring that existing forts remained in good shape. Marcus and the others began to feel as though the Roman eagle was, so to speak, merely treading air, neither swooping on nor outsmarting its prey. But they could see one sound reason for this. Yet again, the Brigantes proved that, as clients, they made good enemies. Venutius, Queen Cartimandua's husband, declared himself against Rome; twice, Gallus had to send troops northward to maintain the Empire's interests, expending much time and energy in the process: 'Caratacus's ghost, making mischief,' observed Firmus, and Marcus was inclined to agree.

Aside from that, a more exalted kind of mischief seemed to be afoot during the middle of Gallus's tenure. During the summer of AD54, Marcus and the others made frequent returns to the Collis fort. For weeks, the talk at Collis and elsewhere had been on one subject alone: the death of Claudius--Caratacus's official captor--and the accession of the youthful Nero. One fine evening, Firmus came running out of Marcus's headquarters and made for the workshops, where yet another team of horses was being shod. Currerus, Vectis, Tignum and Fretus were talking in the doorway when they heard the centurion's gruff call:

'Last one back on the Via Flaminia is a Dobunni goat!'

Currerus and the others came out onto the compound road, shading their eyes as Firmus's bulk drew near: 'I beg your pardon?' said Vectis.

'Suppose I ought to wait till our leader says it officially. We could be off home, lads.'

A minute later, an obviously shaken Marcus walked into their stunned silence and deemed it best not to disturb it, for a little while at least. Then he cleared his throat:

'I take it Firmus has given you the main proclamation. Messengers have just arrived from the south. Apparently, gentlemen, there's talk of abandoning Britannia as a bad job.'

'Bad!' exclaimed Vectis. 'After all we've sweated at in--'

'Remember,' Marcus interrupted, 'what I'm giving you is the direct, Imperial explanation, as the messengers gave it to me.'

'You mean there's lines to read between, sir?' asked Currerus.

'Well, perhaps it's imprudent of me to talk so--but everyone knows how little love was lost between Claudius and his successor. If you look at this decision in another light, you might wish to call it an insult to the dead man's memory.'

'Not to mention that other dead man,' said Tignum. 'Poor Scapula's revolving in his grave, I should think.'

'Well, there's nothing definite,' said Marcus, 'so for now we carry on grading, restoring and fighting as normal. I give you good night, gentlemen.' And he turned back to headquarters, wondering yet again about his father's advice on entering politics. At that moment, the idea positively disgusted him.

In the end, Nero did not implement his decision. Some time later, after much to-ing and fro-ing of worn-out messengers, the Collis fort received word from Gallus himself: Britannia was to remain on the Imperial map. At the end of autumn, Spesis arrived at Collis with a cohort of legionaries and cavalry, to confer with Marcus on a pre-Saturnalian offensive against the Silures. He had received the same news and had obviously brooded much upon it.

'If that's the kind of odious pantomime going on in Rome,' he said privately, 'it's little wonder Gallus can't make his own mark here.'

During the remainder of his tenure, Gallus did his best. But his successor, Quintus Veranius, quickly eclipsed whatever reputation he had gained. For the best part of AD57, Veranius stormed and flamed around Cambria, putting the fear of their gods into the Silures. Between them, Marcus, Benevolus and Spesis concluded that they must have seen him more often than their own fathers. Veranius worked on a principle of swift, clinical attack; it became plain that he intended to apply it to the whole of Britannia. But a well-aimed Silurian blow left his project unrealised.

His death brought a colossus among the Britannic troops: Suetonius Paullinus, the man who amazed even the easy-going Spesis. Though a different kind of tactician from Veranius, Paullinus was set on continuing his predecessor's campaign of expansion and suppression. Cambria was firmly in his sights--one part of it in particular, previously spared the heat of Roman attention.

'What's the name of it again, Tribune?' Firmus asked Marcus. They were returning to Collis from a campaign in North Cambria--Paullinus's first, and an undeniable success.

'Mona, centurion,' said Marcus. 'Quite a step from here--quite a step from everywhere we know, in fact. Off the North Cambrian coast.'

'An island,' Firmus said with relish. 'Chance for some real fishing, then--good.'

'So it's goodbye Collis, saltworks and road,' observed Vectis.

'At some stage,' said Marcus. 'Of course, we'll have to see how Paullinus plans his campaign seasons. But I suspect that we shall come to know that island very well indeed.'

End of Chapter VIII

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