‘You will never bear arms against my people again,’ Maeve had said before Cearan raised the sword and removed the right hand with a single clean stroke midway between elbow and wrist. They had used hot pitch to stem the bleeding, but Valerius remembered nothing bar the smell of roasting flesh and the vague knowledge he was no longer whole. During the ride north, the maggots breeding in his mind had been as corrosive as the wounds in his flesh. At first, he wished he’d died along with the rest. What use was a part-man? His soldiering was finished. He could no longer hold a sword or add his weight to a shield wall. Of course, his father would support him, but in his heart he would be little different from the cripples begging hopefully along the Clivus Argentarius. The last stand of the Ninth had rekindled his pride and restored his sanity. The standard-bearers could have run but they had fought, driven by duty and honour and courage, the code they shared with Falco’s veterans. If they had suffered death for those values, could he not suffer a life?
Paulinus’s reaction surprised him. ‘My boy. My poor, dear boy. It is you. I could scarce believe it. You have endured so much. Could any man have sacrificed more for Rome?’
Valerius thought of the six thousand and more who had sacrificed everything for Rome, but the time to remind the governor of that would come later. Paulinus was clearly a man living on the dagger’s edge and the slightest push could throw him off balance.
But some things could not be avoided. ‘Tribune Gaius Valerius Verrens begs to report the loss of Colonia and the failure of his mission,’ he said formally. ‘He would commend to you the conduct and leadership of the veteran militia, which was in the highest tradition of Roman arms. They fought to the last man and the last spear, and no blame should attach to them for the city’s fall. If blame there is, it is mine.’
‘Yet you delayed them for two days, and defended the Temple of Claudius to the end.’ The second man combined natural authority with a hangdog expression and he grasped at the positive like a drowning man clutching at the last branch before a waterfall.
‘I had the privilege to command the defence,’ Valerius admitted. ‘No men could have done more.’ Memories of Lunaris and Messor flooded back and he staggered slightly as a wave of nausea flooded through him.
‘A chair for the tribune, quickly, and water,’ Paulinus called to one of his aides. Valerius sat and the governor stared at him intently.
‘Cerialis is correct,’ he said. The name confirmed Valerius’s suspicion and explained the air of defeat which cloaked the other man. Quintus Petilius Cerialis commanded the Ninth legion and was ultimately responsible for the massacre Valerius had stumbled upon. It also answered his question about the eagle. If the Ninth had lost its eagle Cerialis would be dead; Paulinus would have insisted. The governor’s voice regained some of its old fire as he continued. ‘Since I took Mona we have experienced betrayal, disaster and defeat, thanks to that fool Catus Decianus whose greed and ambition placed this province in deadly peril and sent you, Valerius, into the very gates of Hades. Colonia, at least, was a defeat with honour, as has been confirmed by our spies and the Celts who are already deserting to us. The praises of its defenders are sung even by the followers of the rebel queen, and the defence of the temple, which they desired most eagerly to overthrow, sung loudest of all. And you, you alone, fought your way clear.’ Valerius opened his mouth to deny it but Paulinus raised a hand for silence. ‘You are a true Hero of Rome.’
It took time to penetrate, but when it did Valerius felt the room spinning around him. The way Paulinus said the words, with the emphasis on ‘Hero’, indicated this was more than praise, it was eternal fame. A Hero of Rome would receive the Corona Aurea, the Gold Crown of Valour, from the Emperor’s own hands. He would be feted throughout the Empire, and have access to the centre of power. It was second only to the Corona Graminea, awarded for saving an entire legion… and he did not deserve it. He shook his head, but Paulinus was already continuing. ‘Now, I must know everything.’
For the next hour Valerius related the story of the veterans’ stand against Boudicca’s fifty thousand and the final, terrible hours of the Temple of Claudius. Paulinus grunted in approval at the use of the bridge to draw the British champions on to the killing ground and his eyes grew moist when he heard of Messor’s courage and sacrifice. But when Valerius tried to describe his own escape he was dismissive. ‘I do not need the details. It is enough that you have survived.’
When he reached the ambush of the Ninth, the two listeners looked away as he related the discovery of the mutilated bodies.
‘You were correct,’ Cerialis confirmed grimly. ‘Four cohorts — two thousand legionaries — and the same number of auxiliaries. Just before we entered the valley, our scouts sighted a sizeable force to the south and I rode to investigate with the cavalry. They struck while we chased shadows. By the time we returned the infantry had been overrun and we were fortunate to escape with our own lives.’
Paulinus looked at him in a certain way and Valerius realized Cerialis still had a reckoning to face, but for the moment the governor needed every man he could get to hold Britain for Rome — and to avenge the thousands of Roman citizens who had already died. Valerius had heard from Agricola how Paulinus had been forced to abandon Londinium to its fate. The governor’s features had turned white when Valerius described the horrors he had seen but now the veins in his temples stood out like octopus tentacles and his face glowed red. ‘We do not face warriors.’ He fought for breath. ‘These people are animals and like animals we shall slaughter them. The Ninth and the veterans of Colonia will be avenged. Fifty thousand, you say, and growing every day?’ He shook his head and turned to the map, murmuring to himself. ‘Too many. I must fight them on ground of my choosing. But where? Where will she turn now that Londinium burns? Where will her thirst for blood take her? East, and back to the flatlands? No, because only victory keeps her army together. West? Possible. If she can bewitch the Silures she will control the gold and Postumus and the Second are already marching from Isca to join us. The south? Easy victories and control of our communications with Rome. Or north?’ Valerius felt his stare. ‘To destroy us.
‘She must fail,’ he said. ‘An army must eat; she has no supplies and such a swarm cannot live off the land for many weeks. They will be eating their sword belts long before harvest. But it is not enough for her to fail. She must be destroyed, and all who follow her must be destroyed along with her. I swear on the blood of Mithras that I will annihilate her. But where?’
‘North.’ The word echoed in the silence and Valerius felt the sour taste of betrayal on his tongue. ‘She will march north to destroy Verulamium.’ Maeve’s warning had been intended to save his life; now it would be Boudicca’s ruin.
Paulinus disposed his forces as Valerius rose to leave. Verulamium and its people would be sacrificed; he could not reach them in time or fight Boudicca while protecting a column of helpless refugees. In any case, Verulamium, for all its Roman pretensions, was the Catuvellauni capital: let them make terms with their Iceni cousin if they could. He would use his auxiliaries, the light, quick-marching infantry, to lure her on at a pace that would draw the fangs of her warriors. Then he would fight her and beat her, but where?
Agricola intercepted Valerius outside the tent. ‘I am to take you to the governor’s personal physician. Did he tell you?’
Valerius nodded, aware the tribune referred to the honour he’d been given. ‘I mean to refuse it, because I did not win it.’
‘It is what I told them you would say, but I fear you have no choice. It is your duty to accept and you do not strike me as a man who would shirk his duty.’
The room seemed to move beneath Valerius’s feet and Agricola stepped forward and put out a hand to steady him. ‘Come,’ he said gently. ‘We have delayed long enough.’
‘I don’t understand. There are a dozen men who deserve the Corona Aurea more, but they are all dead. I lived, but my mission failed and I am no hero.’
‘You were brave, you fought and you hurt them?’
Valerius shrugged and Agricola took it as acquiescence.
‘Then you are a hero, and my governor needs a hero. Tonight he will draft a report to Rome detailing the happenings of the past month. It will reflect well on no one, it will cost some their positions and it may cost others their lives. You may not have heard, but Postumus, who is camp prefect, refuses to leave Isca with the Second. He fears the Emperor more than he fears Paulinus, but he fears Boudicca more than both. So, defeat and disarray. Paulinus needs a victory, and if he cannot have a victory he will have a glorious defeat. You would not deny the veterans their glory?’
Valerius shook his head. ‘They fought like lions and they died like heroes. They deserve to be remembered.’
Agricola took him by the shoulders and stared into his eyes. ‘Then make sure they are remembered. Through
