or any of your men are isolated in the fighting make for the temple. You will be among friends. Now, we have much to do.’
What followed was a night of chaos such as the province had never witnessed.
They poured into Colonia in their thousands. Bewildered families torn from the security of their homes, terrified of what might be to come. Rich or poor, they were all the same class now, homeless refugees fleeing before an avenging army which would show them no mercy.
Of course there were not enough carts to take them all. Valerius ordered that those available be used to transport the youngest children, the sick and the old who could hardly put one foot in front of the other. But what mother would willingly be separated from her child? What daughter from her aged father? In the midst of the pandemonium he came across Lunaris attempting to separate two women as they fought, screaming and cursing, for places on the transport for their children. At another time Valerius would have laughed at the look of bewilderment on the legionary’s face.
‘What am I supposed to do with them?’ Lunaris demanded, holding the pair at arm’s length as they tore at each other’s hair and ripped dresses from breast and shoulder.
‘Throw them in the river,’ Valerius suggested. He said it loud enough for the combatants to hear the real intent in his voice and the struggling subsided. Lunaris grinned and the two women separated, still spitting at each other, and retreated to opposite ends of the convoy. Valerius helped a blind man, separated from his carer for the first time in ten years, as he wandered along the line, arms outstretched, politely asking if anyone had seen Julia. A little later he witnessed two of Colonia’s hard-bitten prostitutes giving up the space they had paid for in gold to a distraught young mother with a squealing baby in her arms and a wide-eyed, snot-nosed infant pulling at the skirts of each leg.
But he couldn’t be everywhere. In the first of many accidents, a bewildered five-year-old girl, perched on the rim of an open wagon already doubly overburdened, tumbled into the path of an iron-shod wheel and shrieked as the bones of her legs were shattered. They did what they could to comfort her but she died within minutes, her eyes still wide with shock.
Three hours after midnight Luca, one of the young legionaries who formed his escort, called Valerius forward to where an angry crowd had gathered by one of the carts.
‘What’s happening here?’ he demanded. The wagon had a raised oilskin canvas secured so the contents were invisible, but the body was settled low over the axles and it was clearly heavily loaded. A bulky woman with her face hidden by a hood sat on the rim, holding the reins.
Luca shrugged at the suspicious faces around him. ‘They say something’s not right about this cart. They asked the woman to take one of their children, but she won’t let them near it. All she does is shake her head. Maybe she’s a mute?’
Valerius studied the figure at the reins and noticed that her hands shook as she held the leather straps. Noticed something else, too. By Mars’s sacred beard, didn’t he have enough to do? He reached out and pulled back the hood to reveal Bassus Atilius, one of Colonia’s most successful merchants, fat, unshaven and glaring in a woman’s grey dress. Sickened, Valerius took the terrified trader by the neck and threw him on to the ground.
‘Kill him.’ The shout came from the rear of the crowd.
‘Keep them back,’ Valerius ordered, untying the straps on the wagon to reveal Bassus’s wife huddled among several large boxes. He helped the woman down and picked up one of the boxes and tipped it over the side, where it burst open to reveal dozens of pieces of fine copperware. Other boxes followed, each filled with similar items, including silver plate and ornaments. Bassus grovelled among them as his wife hid her face.
‘Please, they are everything I have. I must save them.’
Valerius held up a sack, such as a farmworker might use to carry his midday meal, marvelling at the weight of it. He looked inside to see hundreds of gold aurei winking back at him, each coin glowing as if the owner spent long hours polishing them. When he saw the sack, Bassus cried out.
‘Kill him,’ the voice repeated.
Valerius drew his sword and stared in the direction of the voice. Now Bassus cowered at his feet, pleading for mercy. ‘If you want him dead, kill him yourself.’
A growl went up from the crowd, but no man moved.
‘At least take his gold.’
‘No, we are not thieves. Do you want to sink as low as this man, who would have sacrificed you and your children for a few pots and pans?’ He looked out over them, women and boys mostly, but a few older militia men. Not many would meet his eyes. ‘His is the greed that is bringing the Iceni to your door. The kind of greed that does not know the meaning of the word enough.’ He tossed the gold down at Bassus, where it landed with a hefty clink. The trader grasped the sack to him. ‘Luca, find a place in the wagons for the woman, then take this man to the bridge and set him over it. We’ll see how many gold pieces it takes to buy Boudicca’s mercy.’
For the rest of the night the legionaries were thrown about like dry leaves in an autumn gale, reassuring, bullying and pleading, sometimes lashing out with fist and boot, until the first purple hint of dawn bruised the ink- black sky above the city and a semblance of order appeared from the mayhem.
Bela, the Thracian cavalry commander, appeared with thirty of his troopers, who lined up on their big horses on each side of the convoy. It would be a frustrating journey for the men, restricted to the speed of the slowest ox cart, but at least, Valerius thought, it would spare their horses for what was to come.
Fighting back exhaustion, he walked along the line of carts, checking everything was in its place and that he’d dealt with all the tiny, niggling, dangerous problems which had arisen through the night. A well-dressed woman he thought might be Petronius’s wife glared at him as he passed, as if he was to blame for her plight, but many thanked him, and not just those he would necessarily have expected it from. Others still looked to him for some reassurance. They wanted to know that they would be coming back; that everything would be as it was before. He smiled and nodded, but it was a lie. These women were leaving their lives behind along with their husbands and nothing would ever be the same again. He watched a hundred last goodbyes. Longing kisses and unchecked tears. Heartbreaking pleas to be allowed to stay behind and brave whatever was to come together. A father clutched his newborn babe to his breast until his wife took it from his arms for fear he would hurt it. When the sun came up and he reached the front of the convoy where Bela waited, he knew the cries of the children would stay with him until he died.
The young Thracian stood at his horse’s neck, holding his burnished helmet carelessly in one hand, his shale-dark hair ruffled and untidy. Bela had the look of a young Alexander and the confidence to match, but his eyes were solemn and as Valerius approached he sniffed the air. The Roman shot him a questioning look.
‘Smoke,’ Bela explained. ‘But only the smoke of your cooking fires. When they come the smoke will be different because they will burn everything.’
Valerius nodded. ‘Your instructions are clear?’
The cavalryman smiled. ‘Of course. I deliver my precious cargo and then return, but not before making a personal visit to the procurator.’
‘Where you will forcefully express my concerns.’
‘Where I will forcefully express your concerns at the risk of my career.’
‘And the other messages I ordered to be sent?’
‘Janos will carry your personal letter direct to the governor, but it will take some days and I fear he is unlikely to be of help. Petur should reach the camp of the Ninth by tonight if they have not already marched.’
‘Let us pray they have. Go, then, and may Mars protect you.’
Bela took his hand and his gaze swept back over the mile-long line of wagons. ‘Yesterday we sacrificed a foal to Heros, the chief of our own gods. It was a good sacrifice — but I will accept any help I can get.’
XXXI
Valerius watched the tail of the convoy lumber down the hill towards the gap in the ancient Trinovante walls and the long journey to Londinium. When the road was finally empty he waited for a few moments before turning and walking slowly back through the arch into Colonia.
‘Will you inspect my men, tribune?’
