“Ah, the General is a great man! After last summer, even those who hung back and whined about the danger are singing his praises. He’ll find work for you, no doubt about it, and you’ll start your career with some honors behind you! I wish I was coming with you, lad, so I do!”
Licinius had said nothing about the possibility of actually serving with the Governor, but Gaius wondered suddenly if the messages he carried were at least partially intended to bring him to Agricola’s attention. As a provincial governor, Agricola was unusual in that he had got on quite well with his procurators. A word from Licinius might indeed be useful.
In the previous campaign Gaius had been no more than one of a gaggle of young officers, all eager for glory and depending heavily on their centurions. He had been impressed by what he had seen of their commander, but there was no reason for the General to remember him. Ambition stirred within at the thought of winning his commander’s esteem.
Presently Gaius left the hunting runs of the Brigantes behind him and moved into even wilder country where the folk spoke a dialect he did not know. Rome might conquer these lands, he thought, as he rode over barren heaths and through shadowed forests, but he wondered if she could ever rule them. Only the need to prevent the wild Caledonians and their Hibernian allies from tearing at the richer fields of the South – as they had destroyed the house of Bendeigid – could begin to justify a Roman presence here.
The long northern twilight was deepening the sky to violet when Gaius rode into Pinnata Castra, the fortress the Twentieth Legion was building above the firth of the Tava where the fleet had made so impressive a showing the summer before. Stone walls were already rising behind the stout palisade, and the leather tents of a marching camp had been replaced by barracks and stabling of timber that looked as if they could stand up even to a winter in these wilds. The place seemed all the larger because it appeared to be almost empty.
“Where is everyone?” he asked as he rode under the legionary wild boar emblazoned on the gate and presented his orders to the officer on duty.
“Up there.” The man waved vaguely towards the North. “The word is that the tribes have united at last under a Votadini chieftain called Calgacus. The Old Alan’s been chasing ’em all summer, laying down marching camps behind him like stepping stones. You’ll have another week’s riding to catch him, but tonight at least you can sleep under a roof and put a hot meal inside you. No doubt the Prefect will give you an escort in the morning; it would be a shame to get picked off by an ambush after you’ve come so far!”
By this time Gaius was less interested in a meal than in soaking himself in the legionary bathhouse, but he was glad enough for the dinner once he was clean again, and his host, who was clearly lonely and a little nervous, left here with his small command, seemed glad to welcome him to his quarters and have someone new to talk to.
“Did you hear about the Usipii mutiny?” asked the Prefect as the remains of the sauced grouse on which they had been dining were cleared away.
Gaius set down his wine cup – it had been a rather nice Falernian – and looked expectant.
“A bunch of raw Germans, you know, fresh from their dismal marshes, sent up to Lenacum as levies. They mutinied and stole three ships – ended up sailing all the way from west to east around the coast of Britannia.”
Gaius stared. “Then Britannia is an island . . .” That question had been a topic of dinner-table debate for as long as he could remember.
“It would seem so,” the man nodded. “Eventually the Suevi caught the survivors and sold them as slaves back to the Roman side of the Rhenus, and so we learned the story!”
“Remarkable!” said Gaius. The wine had done its work, and he was beginning to feel nicely toasted. It would make a good story to tell Julia when he got back to Londinium. He was a little surprised to realize that he was thinking of it as something to share with her – but it was a tale whose ironies could only be appreciated by someone from his own world. Eilan would not have understood at all. He realized that he was really two people – the Roman who was betrothed to Julia, and the Briton who loved Eilan.