‘We all have our enemies.’ Prasutagus turned and beckoned to his retinue and they trotted forward to join their leader, as Ostorius called out to Macro and his bodyguards to return to the road. The Iceni riders looked round suspiciously as the legionaries appeared from both sides. The governor edged his mount forward and clasped arms with Prasutagus.
‘I’d be honoured if you joined us for the rest of the journey to Durocornovium.’
‘As would I, if you joined us.’
Ostorius was silent for an instant before he nodded. ‘Very well, I should be pleased to accept your invitation.’
The tension eased and Cato heard the tribune next to him let out a long, low breath as he relaxed in his saddle.
Shortly afterwards the enlarged party of riders emerged from the mist as the track climbed gently up towards a more heavily used track running along the top of the chain of low ridges stretching away to the west. The overcast began to break up and the sun shone intermittently from patches of blue sky, causing shadows to glide across the landscape. The governor rode beside Prasutagus, occasionally attempting conversation. The Iceni warriors followed behind. Then came Queen Boudica with Cato and Macro on either side, and then the rest of the Romans.
‘I had hoped we would catch you up,’ she admitted. ‘After last night’s touchy atmosphere I wanted a chance to clear the air.’
Unlike her husband she had been taught the Roman tongue from a young age, by a merchant hired by her father who had foreseen the need to be able to converse with the great power that had reached the coastline of Gaul and stood poised to invade Britannia for so many years before taking the plunge.
‘It’s been such a long time,’ she continued. ‘But you’ve not changed much, Macro. Still the same handsome rogue.’
The centurion gave a non-committal grunt. It was a hard thing to re-encounter someone he had once had a physical relationship with. There had been affection too, but mostly it had been about raw desire. The situation was made more difficult by the presence of Prasutagus to whom Boudica had become betrothed the last time Macro had seen her. Now she was his wife, and he was a king. It was a bloody awkward situation and Macro was not sure how he should deal with it. There was no question of a return to their old ways. Equally, it was hard to treat her formally as befitted her new rank. Boudica’s friendly approach now was not making the situation any easier.
‘But you, Cato, you look every inch the seasoned veteran now, and that scar is quite fetching. It gives you a rather savage look.’
‘That’s what my wife says.’
‘Married too! I shouldn’t be surprised. Who is the lucky girl?’
‘Her name is Julia.’
‘And where is she?’
‘In Rome.’
‘Oh dear. That can’t be easy for either of you. Why not bring her with you?’
Cato paused before he replied. He wanted to explain, to say that Julia was used to the comforts and luxuries provided by her father and that, in truth, he feared that she would resent being obliged to live in Britannia, with its inhospitable climate and even more inhospitable tribes. He cleared his throat. ‘I would prefer Julia to remain where she is most content.’
‘Really?’ Boudica shot him a curious look. ‘I would have thought that a wife would be most content at her husband’s side.’
‘It’s different for Roman women.’
‘Not so much fun, you mean.’
‘They have a profound sense of duty. They are prepared to wait for their husbands to return from active service and keep the home ready for them.’
‘Oh yes.’ Boudica nodded. ‘I can see why your Julia would prefer to do that. I mean, she wouldn’t want to endure too much excitement in her life, would she?’
Cato bristled. He did not like this prying into his marriage. There were enough doubts already plaguing him on that front. He decided to turn the tables. ‘So, what about you? Are you happy in your new role? Is Prasutagus?’
Boudica’s smile faded and she turned to look ahead, at the broad shoulders of her husband riding at the head of the party. ‘He became King only two years ago.’
‘Lucky Prasutagus,’ said Macro.
‘Hardly. It was a choice between exile or accepting the title. Apart from being the placeman of Rome, Prasutagus has had to accept the presence of a line of forts along the frontier of our lands and give free passage to Roman patrols. Worse still, Ostorius has insisted that Prasutagus honour the debts of the old King, Bodominius, who had borrowed a fortune from Roman money-lenders. Now our people are taxed to the hilt to pay them back, and we are obliged to provide five hundred young men a year to serve in your auxiliary cohorts. I tell you, if this is how Rome means to treat the tribes of Britannia, it is only a matter of time before there is an all-out revolt.’
‘The Iceni paid the price of defying Rome,’ Macro said evenly. ‘They were only one tribe. What could they hope to achieve?’
‘The only tribe to rise up, yes. But not the only one with a sense of grievance. Our neighbours, the Trinovantes, have it even worse since the governor founded a veterans’ colony at Camulodunum. Your men have been given the surrounding land and they have taken even more for themselves. Anyone who tries to complain is given a beating. Some have even been killed. Then there’s the temple dedicated to Claudius that is being constructed in the heart of the town. I had no idea he was a god,’ she sneered. ‘He didn’t look like much of a god when I saw him during his brief visit to Camulodunum.’
‘Careful,’ Cato warned. ‘That kind of talk is dangerous if word gets back to Rome. Immortals have rather unpleasant ways of reminding others of their mortality.’
‘That may be so, but threats tend to lose their sting if you push people too far. The Trinovantes are already aggrieved about having their land taken from them. But to make matters worse they are being taxed to pay for the construction of the temple. Can you imagine? Being bled white to provide the silver to pay for a monumemt to your own oppression? If this is the Roman peace, then I fear your governor is going to have a hard time persuading the tribes of its value. I can see nothing good coming of this meeting.’
‘Then why are you here? Why has Prasutagus accepted the invitation to the gathering of the tribes?’
‘Invitation?’ Boudica let out a bitter laugh. ‘A summons is more the term I would use. As a master summons his slave, or his lapdog. We are here because the cost of not being here would earn the Iceni the further displeasure of your governor. I would imagine it is the same for the other tribes who are fortunate enough to be allies of Rome.’
‘He seeks peace,’ Cato insisted. ‘Ostorius wants to put an end to the conflict in this province.’
She rounded on him with a glare. ‘Don’t you understand? I’ve just told you what peace means to those tribes already under the Roman yoke. And if that is, by some perversion of the meaning of the word, peace, then tell me, Cato, would you welcome it, if you were a native of this island?’
CHAPTER EIGHT
As dusk gathered at the end of the third day’s ride, the small company of Romans and Iceni left the road to Durocornovium and approached the outpost at Cunetio, some five miles from the sacred rings, where the gathering of the tribes was to take place. The small garrison comprised a half century of Gauls under the command of an optio who made his meagre quarters available for the governor while the rest of his men were ordered out of their barrack blocks to make way for the other visitors. The soldiers would be obliged to spend the night in the storerooms, or in the open. The optio had been briefed about the gathering and told to remain in the outpost and avoid any contact with any passing natives. Ostorius was leaving little to chance in his pursuit of an alternative to yet another season of bitter campaigning.
