The Boat of Fate (47 page)

The dagger rose. He said quickly, ‘Wait.’

Riconus hesitated.

He licked his mouth. ‘It isn’t too late,’ he said. ‘I could use your men. Join with me. The Province is rich. Rome’s priests are false, the Emperor is a child. Here, under God, we could found our kingdom. All men would be equal in the sight of the Lord.’

I said, ‘You’re quite definitely mad.’

The dagger shook again. He said desperately, ‘No. There’s another way. Kill me and you’ll regret it.’

I said, ‘Since when did you fear death?’

He writhed, wincing. Riconus tightened his grip. He said, ‘I live for my people. We mean you no ill. I’m no use to them dead.’

I sheathed my sword, walked across and sat on the edge of the table. I picked the wine up, sniffed it and set it down. I said, ‘I can’t afford to take your word, Ulfilas.’

There was something like eagerness in his face. He said, ‘I wouldn’t ask you to. I’m prepared to give an oath. One I can’t break.’

I stared at him, wondering how much he knew. I could contain him, with the men at my disposal; but the cost to Prima, already heavily infiltrated by Scoti, would be severe. I needed time; two days, three at the most. If I couldn’t win them, they would have to be bought.

He said, ‘Let Alcimer fetch the priest.’

Another wait; and I shrugged. I said, ‘As you will.’ Whatever farce he hoped to perform, it seemed best to let him see it through.

The bearded man turned with a final glare, and stalked from the tent. I heard him bellowing outside. He came back shoving a Bishop in front of him; a frightened-looking little man, fingering the massive cross that hung about his neck.

Ulfilas said, ‘Give it to me. Let me touch it.’

I nodded to Riconus. He relaxed his grip, unwillingly. The Goth took the crucifix, ran his thin fingers across it, pressed it to his mouth. ‘By this I swear,’ he said. ‘The symbol of our Lord. No harm shall come to your territory or your people, while Britannia holds faith with Rome. As she is true to the Empire, so I am true to you. Or I renounce my God, willing my spirit to the flames of Hell.’

The sun was well up by the time we rode away. A mile from the camp Riconus turned to me. He said, ‘I’d sooner trust an adder not to sting than take his word.’

I said, ‘He gave it freely. What game he’s playing I don’t know, but he can’t recant.’

‘Why not?’

I said, ‘Because he’s mad. And I can’t be in a dozen places at once.’

He said curtly, ‘No. Of course not.’

‘Riconus,’ I said. ‘What else could I do?’

He stared at me under his heavy brows. He didn’t speak again.

At least the Corinium garrison was doing its job. Traffic was moving normally into the town, under the watchful eyes of sentries. I hurried to my office. In the doorway I collided with no less a personage than the Praeses of Britannia Prima himself. A mule train had been attacked, at Spinis on the Calleva road, its drivers massacred and its waggons left to blaze. Cunetio, slightly to the west, reported sightings of barbarians. Troops from the little town had attempted to engage. No further news had come through.

I spread a map out. I said, ‘They’ll run rings round them. Or cut them apart. Riconus, can we find a messenger?’

‘I’ll try.’

I said, ‘When I want them to move, I’ll tell them.’ I stared at the map. It seemed we were faced with two main concentrations of raiders; a western party, still somewhere in the vicinity of Aquae Sulis, and an eastern group straddling the Calleva road. These last, presumably, under the command of Ossa himself. I swore, and banged the table. It was guesswork, guesswork all the way. Like fighting shadows.

Riconus was back. He said, ‘There’s nobody.’

‘Then send to the posting station.’

‘I did.’

I turned. ‘Lord Praeses, I shall have to call on your staff.’ He drew himself up. He said, ‘Except in grave emergency . . .’

‘This is a grave emergency. Petronius, get over there. The first man you see rides to Cunetio. Riconus, we’re going south.’

‘South?’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Look here. If this party are fat they’ll be moving west. We’ll intercept along the line Corinium, Aquae Sulis.’ I frowned. ‘Thirty miles. That’s twelve hours’ marching, with breaks. Call it fifteen. We shan’t be there before midnight.’

He said, ‘What about Calleva?’

‘Calleva has troops of its own. Also it’s nearer Count Hnaufridus than me. He’ll have to relieve.’

He said, ‘Who will you be taking?’

‘The town garrison.’

The Praeses said, ‘I must protest ...’

‘These are my decisions, sir.’

‘The town is my responsibility!’

I said, ‘And the safety of the Province is mine.’

‘I shall report your actions to the Praefect of the Gauls!’

‘Report them to the Devil.’

He said furiously, ‘They won’t march.’

‘Who won’t march?’

‘The garrison.’

‘I’ll hang the first man to refuse.’

‘I shall speak to them myself! I shall forbid it!’

‘Riconus,’ I said. ‘Escort this gentleman to his house. See he stays there.’

‘This is preposterous! I refuse!’

‘Then be silent. Who’s there?’

A scuffling at the door. Petronius said, ‘It’s the Germans, sir.’

‘What Germans?’

‘From Glevum.’

‘Thank God for small mercies. Just what took them so long?’

‘Messenger, sir. Begging your pardon. Wouldn’t ride till daylight.’

‘Have you got his name?’

‘Yessir.’

‘Remind me to have him flogged. Riconus, this gives you a hundred and fifty men. I want you to move south-west, to the coast. They’ll have left a rearguard. Engage it, and destroy their ships.’

‘How do you know the ships are in the Sabrina?’

I said, ‘I don’t.’ The Praeses snorted. I glared at him. ‘A spare mount for every man. If you can’t find enough horses, commandeer them.’ The Praeses opened his mouth to argue. I said, ‘You can bill the Army later.’

I spent the rest of the day on the march, chafing at the slowness of the infantry. Before they’d gone half a dozen miles they were complaining of blisters and fatigue. The delays did nothing to improve my temper. I hadn’t seen fit to explain my thinking to the Praeses; but I was taking a considerable risk. I’d left not much more than a token force holding Corinium;

everything I’d learned of seaborne barbarians convinced me my presence in strength between him and his ships would bring Ossa scurrying west. He certainly wouldn’t turn aside to besiege another fortified town, however tempting it might look as a prize. The real gamble, of course, was whether the ships were in the Sabrina at all. But they must be; common sense told me that.

The cavalry rode with me for a time before turning across country. I didn’t want my forces too widely separated. The manoeuvre was at least partly successful. A strong concentration of the enemy--reports varied between two hundred and two hundred and fifty--took alarm at our approach, bolted west into the arms of Riconus and the Germans. A confused running battle followed. Many of the Scoti fell. The rest bundled into their ships, headed out into the Sabrina. There nature took a hand in finishing what I had started. At certain seasons of the year violent tides race up the estuary from the sea. The boats, caught by the full strength of one such bore, were swept into confusion. Several capsized; the crews of others, struggling ashore, fell easy prey to bands of Silurians patrolling the farther bank. Riconus, pushing on, ran into a well-entrenched position. Stubborn fighting ensued. In the end the Scoti retreated. A dozen vessels were burned on the shore, several more disabled. In the meantime my scouts reported barbarians moving west on the road from Verlucio, pursued by garrison troops. Tired as they were, I faced the men about. The Scoti, moving in some disorder, collided with the tail of the column and recoiled. They fought savagely, neither asking nor giving quarter; but trapped as they were between two considerable forces their position was hopeless. A few escaped into the gathering dusk; the rest fell where they stood. We counted fifty dead, recovered six waggons loaded with booty. These I took with me to Aquae Sulis to wait redistribution to their proper owners. My losses were twenty men.

I spent the night in the town. Towards dawn Riconus rode in. The estuary was clear now of enemy vessels but the situation was still confused. Fires had been visible, reflecting from the clouds. It looked as if either Venta or Isca of the Silures was in trouble.

I’d had about four hours’ sleep in the last two days. My head was swimming with tiredness but it was impossible to rest. What might be happening at Calleva I had no means of knowing, but I’d failed in my primary object: the main force under Ossa was still presumably in the east. I paraded my combined strength at first light, force-marched for Verlucio. At mid-morning a messenger reached us, riding a jaded horse. The enemy had been seen moving insolently enough along the main road towards Durocornovium. Germans from the Saxon Command had reached Calleva, but little more was known.

There was no help for it. I detached the cavalry, with instructions to hold the town at all costs till the main column arrived. Once more it was nightfall before we marched in. I’d been ten hours on the road; ten hours of threatening, bullying, cajoling, haunted all the time by a persistent fear. If the Scoti avoided battle, nothing stood between them and the capital of Prima. If they once reached the town the Praeses, assuming he survived, would have my head. The thought stirred another, equally unpleasant. I’d offered to put a senior official under house arrest; whatever happened, there’d be the devil to pay. Well, be it so.

Riconus reported no sign of the enemy. His scouts had likewise failed to make contact. The Scoti had vanished like ghosts; and my men would march no more. For the moment, we were through.

The place was little more than a village, sheltering a huddle of frightened inhabitants. Every vacant house, and many of those still occupied, had been pressed into service as emergency billets. Sentries had been posted. I strengthened the guard. My object was twofold. I couldn’t trust my infantry. There had been grumbling in the ranks all day; I had no intention of seeing my strength sapped by wholesale desertions.

I struggled out of my harness and uniform. My eyes felt sore, my throat was harsh with shouting. I drank a little wine; but I was too tired to eat. I spread a mattress alongside the Celts. It seemed I was unconscious as soon as my head touched the rolled cloak that served as a pillow. I fell into a dreamless pit of sleep.

Somebody was shaking my shoulder. I staggered back to awareness. I thought I’d been asleep for hours; but round me the lamps still burned, tired men settled and grunted. I stared up blearily. I heard my mouth say, ‘What the Hell’s wrong now?’

The first words had me on my feet. Before the man had finished I was shouting for new horses, and for my armour to be brought. I ran into the street like a man possessed.

The Celts rode with me. We struck due north, by farm tracks and lanes. The night was cool and overcast, the air sharp. It cleared my head a little. We crossed the Verulam road, turned north again. I kept up a killing pace; but fast as I moved, the terror reached before. A mile from the road I saw the glow ahead against the clouds. I’d seen it too often in the past few days not to recognise it for what it was.

The place had been a palisaded village. The flames roared fiercely, a great pyre lighting the sky. I reined a hundred yards from the gates. A hut collapsed, with a crackle and roar of sparks. The heat beat against my face.

There was an old man. He cackled when they dragged him to me, mumbling that the Roman wolf was dead. I took him by the hair, pressed my swordpoint into his throat. Blood coursed instantly across his chest. ‘Speak quickly,’ I said, ‘or you might feel her teeth.’

Old as he was, the love of life was still strong in him. He coughed and gargled, rolling his eyes, scrabbling at the front of his tunic. I grabbed the packet he held out, flung him away. I turned the thing over. The seals I knew; the other mark, the brown, irregular splotch, was blood.

The flames gave light to read.

To the Praefect C. Sergius Paullus, at the garrison of Corinium.

The shield has been raised; I am no longer controller of my fate. Britannia wills her own destruction. God grant that I can stay her hand . . .

I am dispatching five hundred men, under the Tribune Libius Naso. He is empowered to act for me in all things. From you I shall of course require undertakings of loyalty. The Province must stand undivided. Your oath to Naso will be as your oath to me...

I have sent letters to Stilicho and the Emperor Honorius, claiming the recognition due to me. God knows, and you perhaps may guess, how far this was from my will.

M. TAMMONIUS VITALIS,
AUGUSTUS

The words seemed to swim in front of my eyes. I crumpled the thing, flung it away. It was clear enough, now, how I had been duped. A phrase came back to me.
As Britannia is true to the Empire, so I am true to you.
Twice I had jested with him. Now he had jested with me.

I turned to the Palatini.
‘Ride!’
I screamed at them.
‘Ride …’

Everywhere in his track the night had blossomed fire. The flames lit hill-tops and empty fields, silent, brilliant, impossibly red. Columns of smoke trailed slowly, leaning with the wind. The air was acrid with the smell of burning.

The glow from the little valley brightened the land for miles. I rounded the last spur, saw the villa below me. If it’s possible for a soul to die, I think mine died then. Censorina was in flames.

They had overturned waggons, for a breastwork in front of the gate. Hurdles they’d used and rope, grainsacks and beams and hides. They tore the spiked holdfasts from the windows, scattered them for caltrops. They fought with javelins and swords, pitchforks and axes and spades, cleavers from the kitchens, the carthouse chains. They fought, in the end, with fists and teeth and nails. And they were overwhelmed.

The nearest of the carts had been dragged aside. I set my horse at the gap. The creature screamed and reared.