Dreaming the Eagle (61 page)

‘Your Excellency…’ On a swaying plank above the ocean, he made the obeisance. ‘My messengers will have brought word of my coming. I would have come to you sooner but the shipping lanes have been closed for winter and this is the earliest I could find a man prepared to travel. I have paid twice the worth of this boat to persuade him to leave the safety of the white cliffs, and even so he complains it is too dangerous. Seeing the ease with which you have travelled out to meet us, and’ - his eyes comprehensively surveyed the gilded armour and the polish of the escort behind - ‘observing your Excellency’s supreme command of the Ocean has shamed him into behaviour that is not becoming a ship’s master. Allow me to apologize on his behalf. I would not have something so trivial spoil the joining of our endeavours.’

His Latin was excellent. Ban could have told them that had he been asked, but Gaius had not been interested in Amminios’ linguistic skills. His only question, in an evening of orders, had been to ask if the Chief of the Britons could swim. Ban’s reply that it was possible, but not certain, was the sole reason the Euridyke had not made use of her bronze prow-ram to sink the merchantman on first meeting.

… joining of our endeavours … Gaius stared in thoughtful silence. He was a man brought up in the world of flattery and deceit where every sentence held layers of meaning. Had he not been able to see to the heart of things, he would have died in childhood with his brothers. He raised a brow and nodded to Corvus, who raised his arm in command. The escort party stepped forward to the edge of the deck, marching as if on dry land. On the side decks, a party of eight Scythian archers nocked their arrows, raised their bows and waited for the order to draw.

Corvus took the final step up onto the planking and saluted as one Roman officer to another. In perfect Trinovantian, he said, ‘Amminios, son of Cunobelin, leader of the war eagles and Chieftain of all Britannia, in the name of Gaius Julius Caesar Germanicus, Emperor of Rome and all her provinces, I accept the unconditional surrender of your lands, your ship, your warriors and your person. You will lay down your sword and deliver yourself to the authority of Rome.’ He repeated it, redundantly, in Latin.

The sea sucked and hissed between the boats. A single gull mewed, higher and more plaintive than the oarsmen’s pipe. Amminios said nothing. His eyes held those of the emperor for longer than any man still living and when they drifted sideways, as if by chance, it was to fix on the newly made auxiliary behind him, a man not in armour but bearing a medallion of valour in gold on his chest.

‘Ban?’ The silence lasted a heartbeat longer. Then the Chieftain of all Britannia, to the surprise of those who did not know him, threw back his head and laughed. The echo of it warned off the gulls and made the archers tense at their bow strings. The escort, their commander and the emperor waited him out. At the end, sobering, he made the warrior’s salute. In perfect, unaccented Latin, he said, ‘Ban of the Eceni. How the dead get around.’

Ban was kneeling at the edge of the latrines, vomiting, when Theophilus found him. He had long passed the point where his stomach had anything to give, but the retching continued and he was too far gone to notice who came to help him, or to care. Long fingers wrapped his shoulders and sat him upright, wiping the bile from his nose and chin. A goblet was pressed into his hands and retrieved and refilled when he dropped it.

‘Here, I’ll hold it for you. Now drink … good. Yes, take it. Drink as much as you can. You have a fever. I said it yesterday. You should not have gone on the ship. Come inside now’

‘No, not inside. I need fresh air.’

It was already dark. The spring equinox had not yet passed and night drew in more quickly here in the north than it had done at the river. The coastal mist rose to make low cloud, so that the sunsets were short and startlingly vivid but the moon and the stars were invisible. In the legionary camps on the outskirts of the town, the lighthouse made a mockery of the dark. A fire roared furnace-hot at the top of it, showering sparks at the night, casting an unwavering light across the town and the emperor’s residence. Out in the camps the light was softer, and kinder to the elderly. Theophilus lost ten years in its glow; one could see that he had been striking in his youth. His eyes searched Ban’s.

‘You were part of the procession,’ he said. ‘I was busy with some men of the Second who had food poisoning so I did not watch. Did it go well?’

‘It went well for Gaius. The town magistrates were not about to be caught sleeping a second time. And Amminios still hopes for his support later. He played his part well.’

In truth, Gesoriacum, given an extra day’s warning, had shown that she knew exactly how to welcome a glorious general home from his victory over the Ocean and the barbarian hordes. Had the deified Julius himself ridden into town with Vercingetorix bound in chains in his chariot, they could not have made a better spectacle. It was not an official victory parade - that was Rome’s prerogative - but the citizens who lined the street leading up from the quay waved boughs of laurel, or such alternatives as could be found in the second week of March, and a chariot had been unearthed and gilded and white horses found who could lead it without jibbing at the noise so that the god on earth might ride ahead of his army with his captive, bareheaded and stripped of his weapons, walking behind.

Ban had not expected Amminios to carry it off with such dignity. He himself had marched in his place in the escort and had received the accolade of the crowd and had hated himself for it afterwards. His sickness came in part from that. He had been on his way to find a blanket in his tent when the urgent need to empty his stomach had overwhelmed him. He crouched now, shivering, and remembered.

‘Theophilus, this is not a fever. There is not an infusion or a salve that will heal it. When I am gone from here, or he is, I will be as I was before. In the meantime, I will keep out of his way.’

‘Out of Gaius’ way, or Amminios’?’

‘Both. They are men of a kind. They recognized that when they met on the ship. Neither of them is safe to the rest of us.’

‘Did he know you?’

‘Amminios? Of course.’

‘But he did not betray you?’

‘What is there to betray? Gaius knows all there is to know about me. I am his living proof that the barbarians can be civilized; that what is needed by the lands beyond the Ocean is the civilizing hand of Rome and, in time, her people will become model Roman citizens. Had he known how Roman Amminios was, he would not have needed me as proof. It was there already.’

The beaker he held contained only water. Steadying one hand with the other, he swilled his mouth and spat. The taste of bile lingered behind his teeth. He stood and did not sway. ‘I am going to bed. I’ll see you in the morning.’

‘You could sleep indoors. I have an empty bed in the infirmary and a brazier lit.’

‘I don’t think so. You forget, I’m in the cavalry now. I share a tent with seven Gauls. So far, I am their mascot, their good luck charm who will bring them the emperor’s favour. It will not take too many unearned privileges for that to change. Besides’ - Ban smiled and was surprised to find it real - ‘I am still a barbarian at heart. I prefer a night spent out of doors, sleeping in the company of others, to one in a room on my own. The day that changes, you can account me fully Roman. Or Greek.’

‘Never that.’ The old man stood. The caduceus hanging at his chest took life from the glow of the lighthouse. The snakes writhed up the staff, sleek as eels. ‘Take care. You are right in your assessment. Each of these men is dangerous, but only Amminios is abroad tonight.’

‘What?’ Ban’s chest closed, denying him air. ‘He’s not in the magistrate’s mansion? Where is he, then?’

‘I don’t know, except that he is not inside. They had him eat as a guest at the banquet - Alexander feasted those of his foes who surrendered voluntarily, and so Gaius must do the same - but he was given leave to go out afterwards.’

‘Where, Theophilus? Where has he gone?’

‘I don’t know. He has given his word to remain within the boundaries of the two camps and I believe he will keep it. As you said, if he wants Gaius’ help next summer when the Rhine has been tamed, he won’t run for cover now. But equally, he won’t harm you, not when you are so clearly in the emperor’s favour.’

‘No. He won’t have to. It’s not how he works.’

‘The colt?’ Theophilus was always quick to understand; it was what made him pleasant company. ‘Corvus is inside. He cannot be reached but Civilis and Rufus will be close by. Should I find them?’

‘No. This is for me alone.’

The shaking had stopped, and the nausea - both luxuries too far. Ban smiled, differently, with the warmth of the lighthouse full on his face, and saw the change reflected in the physician’s eyes. He had forgotten what it was truly to hate, and to have the freedom to act on it. He took care to put warmth into his voice for Theophilus’ sake. ‘Thank you, but this is not their business, nor yours. Go back to the infirmary now and be seen by those whose word will count if they are required to testify. Whatever happens tonight, you are not a part of it. You have been good to me. I am grateful.’

‘Are you?’ The man turned and the shadow gave back his years. Only his eyes were the same, a lifetime’s wisdom tempered by sorrow. ‘Then take care of yourself. I would not lose a patient to the flaying knives just because he took a wrong turning. Remember, whatever else he may be, Gaius is a good judge of men. He tests those around him, seeking their weak points. Don’t show him yours.’

‘He knows them already: Amminios and the colt.’

‘Then do not act as he would expect you to. Be sure he will have planned for it.’

Iccius returned to Ban as he passed the last of the tents. The child ran ahead to the bridge, skipping and turning cartwheels and laughing freely as he had begun to do in the few days between leaving Amminios and being taken captive again. The river that bordered the camp was substantial but it was not the Rhine; it did not suck souls, nor make a barrier between civilization and barbarity. This river, in as much as it made a boundary, divided the tents from the horse lines. By an accident of the gods, the glow of the lighthouse reached to its edge and no further. Ban crossed the bridge into darkness. The river flowed beneath him, dreamily, its noise just enough to cover the sound of his feet. He felt light as thistledown, and hollow. He had to pinch the back of his hand to make sure he had not already passed into the world of the spirit. Then he looked up and any certainty left him. Eburovic was waiting at the bridge end, the first time he had appeared to Ban since the battle in which he had died. He carried his war spear and the shebear shield and his smile was enough to stop the world. He took his place at Ban’s spear side, the place of the elder warrior. Iccius stepped up at his left. A new shield hung from the child’s shoulder, bearing the shape of the colt etched out in black on a white bull’s-hide covering. Ban felt his breath hiss between his teeth and by that alone knew he was still alive. It was clear to him now why he had lived this long, and he was grateful beyond expression that the gods had granted so much. Stooping, he picked a stone from a pile by the bridgehead. It was not a warrior’s weapon, but it was enough. He stepped forward and felt the shades of his kin step with him. ‘Let’s go,’ he said.

The horses stood in rows in wicker-backed stalls with half-roofs covering their heads and good hay in squared wooden troughs to pick at through the night. As in the legionary camp the men were divided, so the cavalry horses were kept apart from those of the cohorts and these were separate again from the baggage train. Two legions had come together outside Gesoriacum: the XIV th which had marched with Gaius and the II nd which had joined them from Argentorate. The two had held competing manoeuvres along the coast in the days before their arrival at the port, demonstrating their readiness for battle. To these were added four cavalry wings, eight cohorts of mixed infantry and cavalry, the emperor’s horse guard, two cohorts of the Praetorian Guard, the entire vast array of the emperor’s travelling household and a delegation from Judaea, which had caught up with the emperor at Nemetacum and had, perforce, joined the train. In excess of thirteen thousand men had travelled from the Rhine to the coast and each night the order of encampment had been the same. By force of habit if nothing else, Ban could find the colt in any weather or at any time of night.

He felt his way forward, breathing in the warm, bakery smells of bran mash and barley, hay and horse dung that hung over every camp. He reached his own row and stood at the end furthest away from the colt, listening. The horses fed, or dozed in peace, hips tilted and hind feet resting. He did not believe there was a stranger amongst them.

The colt was picketed, always, in the endmost stall. They had found early on the ride east from Durocotorum that he kicked the men tending horses on either side and was safest when placed against the wicker end wall. Since leaving the Rhine, Ban’s brown mare had been tethered each night at his right, with a space between for safety.

Ban was within sight of the mare when the Crow began to move. The white on its face showed in the almost-light of distant camp fires as it tossed its head and took a half-step backwards. At the second step, it tugged at the halter rope and snored; a deep, guttural sound that inevitably presaged violence. A man swore softly in Trinovantian. Ban spoke in the same tongue. ‘Theft of a cavalry horse is a capital offence. Have they not told you that?’ The colt jerked its head as if the halter had been pulled. Amminios said, ‘It is no offence for a man to claim his own property. The colt is mine, a gift from the emperor.’

‘You lie. If the emperor believed any other man could mount that horse and live, it would be in his stable. He has seen it fight. He will not give it away.’

‘Not even for the promise of a kingdom? You do him greater justice than he deserves.’ The colt struck at the voice. A half-white forefoot flashed in the dark. Amminios sidestepped with the ease of long practice.

‘You haven’t mellowed him, I see. The question we always asked was whether he was born like this, or made like it during the trip to Noviodunum. Only foals sired by him would have given the answer. We had plans to put him to twenty different mares in his first season. If the first crop had turned bad, we would have poleaxed him before the second.’