spearman with the blue boar tattoo who had almost killed Bersheba. The man’s head was cleaved in two from the dome of his skull to the bridge of his nose, with the soft pink of his brains spread under him like a pillow. The unseeing eyes were crossed in a way that was slightly comical.
‘Would you?’
Two marches took the legions through country where the land was gentler and progress more speedy, and Narcissus believed the Britons could not avoid battle for many days longer. ‘Their king, this Caratacus, is gathering his forces. He has the support of many of the tribes — not as many as he would like, but enough to provide him with forty thousand warriors. Once he has them together, he must use them quickly. They are a fractious people, the British, not really one people at all: a hotch-potch of mongrel breeds, each claiming a more noble ancestry than the other. If he does not bring them to fight Plautius, they will begin to fight each other. Then his chance is gone.’
‘What is he like?’ Rufus asked, curious about this nemesis whose name was already legend among the invading army. ‘Have you seen him on your travels?’
‘Not seen him, no. I fear my first glimpse would have been my last. But I have heard much of him. If the tales are to be believed he is an eight-foot giant who eats Roman babies and slaughters Roman maidens for sport. He is said to have killed fifty men in single combat and used their heads to decorate the palisade of his capital at Camulodunum.’ Narcissus shook his head. ‘Just stories, but there are certain facts of which I can be sure. He has the support of the Druids, for without it he could not have brought the tribes together. He is a fighter, because no man who is not a warrior can rule in this land where a strong right arm and a well-whetted blade can win a kingdom. And he is clever. A fool would have thrown his forces at us in small packages and we would have crushed them one at a time.’
‘But that is exactly what happened in the valley.’
‘True, and I find it puzzling. There was no plan behind it that I could discern, just a simple launching of troops at the column. Bersheba was the target, but there are more certain ways to kill her. I believe one of the chiefs acted alone, thinking to please him, but he will have been far from pleased by the result.’
‘And now?’
Narcissus stared at the distant hills to the north. ‘Now this defeat will eat at his confidence and at his authority. Only one thing can wipe away the memory of it. Caratacus needs a victory, and he needs it soon.’
IX
‘So this is the great beast all the army has been boasting of. It is more fearsome even than I had imagined.’
Rufus turned, and discovered that the heavily accented Latin belonged to a tall man in the uniform of the Ala Gallorum Indiana, the Gaulish cavalry unit that had annihilated the barbarian attack a few days earlier. The cavalryman’s face was hidden behind the god-mask of an ornate parade helmet with horsehair plumes, which he must have donned for a ceremony earlier that day. Rufus knew that such helmets, cast from brass and iron, were only awarded to the squadron’s champions. He watched the soldier carefully remove the helmet’s visor, with its enigmatic all-seeing expression, to reveal handsome, weather-worn features. The visitor was clean-shaven, with penetrating brown eyes that radiated intelligence and a strong nose that had been badly broken at some point. The column had halted before a line of steep, tree-clad hills while the engineers of the leading legion, the Twentieth, cut a road that zig-zagged up the face of the slope. Normally, the army would have stopped for the day and set up camp, but the ground was rocky and gully-strewn, and provided a poor defensive position. Plautius planned to push beyond the obstacle and force the pace on the enemy.
Britte had wandered off with Gaius to a small stream within the defensive perimeter, where the little boy sat throwing stones into the burbling water while she stood and watched. Bersheba was hobbled among the supply carts, munching contentedly at a pile of hay. They were twenty paces from her, but Rufus could tell that, even at this distance, the Gaul was impressed by the elephant’s bulk.
‘It must be very fearsome in battle,’ the soldier continued. ‘I have heard of these things, heard that the… that we had tamed monsters and made them do our bidding, but I had never believed it till now. It must weigh more than twenty horses, and those tusks… I have faced charging boars the size of a small bullock, but I doubt that I would stand before this.’ He frowned. ‘Does the monster truly breathe fire?’
Rufus laughed. ‘There are times when her breath could knock you over at ten paces. But no, she does not breathe fire.’
‘I have heard that it requires a hundred prisoners each day to satisfy its hunger?’
Rufus saw the glint of humour in the cavalryman’s eyes, and grinned back. ‘She would eat from dawn until dusk, but a cartload of hay and a basket of red apples is her daily ration. We keep the prisoners for Britte, who is truly a man-eater.’
‘Britte? You have two of the monsters?’
Rufus laughed again. ‘No. Britte is nursemaid to my son.’ He pointed towards the stream, where the big slave girl and Gaius both now stood in the water. Britte held her skirts high to reveal calves almost as enormous as Bersheba’s. ‘She is one of your people, I think. You must stay and meet her. She has little opportunity to speak her own language.’
The Gaul smiled uncertainly. His expression changed as his eye was drawn to Gaius, whose high-pitched cries of pleasure rang clear to them. ‘I too have a son of similar age, though I see little enough of him these days. I envy you your good fortune…’
‘Rufus.’ He extended his hand and the Gaul took it, his grip strong and his palm calloused and horny. A warrior’s hand, hardened by constant practice with sword and spear. Rufus expected the man to reply with his own name, but instead he deftly turned the conversation back to Bersheba.
‘So, Rufus, keeper of the monster, your beast does not breathe fire and does not eat prisoners, yet it must be terrible in battle?’
Rufus thought for a moment. When Bersheba was in a temper she was a truly frightening sight, but battle? Gentle Bersheba whom he had seen pick up an egg and place it back in its nest with her trunk? Bersheba, whose mighty strength was equalled not only by her intelligence, but by her compassion? ‘She could be,’ he admitted. ‘But I doubt it is her natural state. I have heard of elephants bred to war, and truly they are terrible to behold. But they have been known to be driven mad by the noise and sound of battle, or by the pain of wounds, and they can be as dangerous to their allies as to their enemies.’
The Gaul gave a deep laugh. ‘I have known men like that.’
‘You did well the other day,’ Rufus said.
‘Well?’ The cavalryman sounded puzzled.
‘Against the barb-against the Britons. You and your comrades did terrible slaughter. I watched from the column. You probably saved Bersheba’s life.’
The trooper’s face turned serious and the humour died from his eyes. Rufus remembered his own feelings as he walked among the dead, and understood. When the battle-madness died and the glory faded, sometimes the reality was difficult to live with.
‘They were fools, to attack as they did.’
‘That is what Narcissus says.’
‘Nar-ciss-us?’ The name was obviously difficult for him, came out as a stumbling, fractured thing.
‘He is… my friend. He is an important man. He says if this Caratacus, the enemy war chief, is half the leader they say, he would never have ordered such a thing.’
‘I am sure he is right,’ the Gaul said with certainty, then returned to the subject of Bersheba. ‘You say she is not warlike, so why is she here, eating enough rations for a cavalry squadron?’
Rufus looked proudly towards Bersheba. ‘Because she is magnificent, because she gives our soldiers confidence, and because she is the Emperor’s elephant.’
‘The Emperor!’ The cavalryman gaped in surprise. ‘You have met the Emperor?’
‘Yes-’ Rufus was interrupted by a commotion behind him as Britte returned from the stream with Gaius. He turned at the sound of their voices. ‘Britte, this is one of your countrymen.’
The wet nurse’s broad face creased with puzzlement and he looked over his shoulder to find that the
