To this day, I have no idea whether or not Iever laid eyes on Diviciacus, King of the Brigantes, but it wasstill dark when Cogidubnus, who had chosen to ride his horseinstead of using his chariot, trotted through the opened northerngate, coming to a stop where Ivomagus, Tincommius, and I were stillstanding. He barely glanced in my direction, though I did not faulthim for that, striding over to Ivomagus instead, who he embraced ina sweeping and, to my eyes, quite heartfelt manner, the pair ofthem talking and laughing at the same time. After a moment,Cogidubnus turned his attention to Tincommius, who had dropped toone knee, which I thought somewhat odd given the circumstances, butthe king pulled him to his feet. Their greeting was amiable enough,though nowhere near as effusive as it had been between thebrothers, which was understandable. Being forgotten for the moment,I took that time to give myself a cursory examination. My legthrobbed, but the bleeding had stopped, and from what I could seein the reflected light, I did not need stitches, which wasconfirmed later. I was more put out by the fact that my tunic, justabove the waist, had been sliced open, although I did not have acorresponding scratch across my stomach, and the left sleeve of mytunic was torn, but again without being scratched. It was when Iwas absorbed with this that I heard my name called, and I looked upto see that Cogidubnus and Ivomagus were standing together.
“Centurion,” Ivomagus began, hisexpression grave, “I have informed my brother that you saved mylife. And,” he hesitated, not long, before going on, “that yourassistance in setting up the defenses was veryvaluable.”
“Does that mean he’ll let me go and weforget about this ransom nonsense?”
This clearly did not surprise Ivomagus; thatwas reserved for when he turned to his brother, presumablytranslated my words, and his brother answered in a manner that madeIvomagus stiffen, giving me a hint of the answer. There was ashort, and sharp, discussion between the pair, but it wasTincommius whose demeanor was the most telling, his mouth droppingopen before he gave me an apologetic look. Whatever Ivomagus said,it clearly was not enough, but when he turned to me, I was preparedfor an outright refusal.
Instead, Ivomagus said stiffly, “My brotherthanks you for your actions tonight. And,” if he was feigninglooking angry, he did a good job of it, “he said that he will takethat into consideration in his deliberations aboutyour…situation.”
I would have pressed the matter but,obviously at Cogidubnus’ order, not only had the northern gatesbeen opened, the townspeople of Petuar who had been sent to thecamp were flooding back into the town. Even with my fate hanging inthe balance, or so it seemed in the moment, I found my eyes keptstraying to the people streaming past, looking for one of them inparticular.
Cogidubnus said something else to Ivomagusthen, and this did not seem to upset him as much, because he turnedback to me and translated, “Whatever you need in the meantime willbe supplied, Centurion Pullus.”
I cannot say why I responded the way I did;the gods know I was still angry, but what came out of my mouth was,“Now that we’ve shed blood together, you might as well call meGnaeus.”
Even if I had not known him, I could seethis pleased Ivomagus, and he inclined his head. Then I wasessentially forgotten as the people of Petuar and the handful ofmen who had defended this town began the process of assessing, thenrecovering from the damage. Cogidubnus required Ivomagus’ presence,leaving me and Tincommius standing there to watch and, at last, Ispotted Bronwen, walking quickly but not quite at a run, and Isuppose she spotted me as well, not that it would have beendifficult.
I was opening my mouth to speak to her asshe approached, but I saw her eyes going to the area around mywaist, and she demanded, “Why is your gown sliced open like that?And whose blood is that on your face?”
Because she had used the Latin term for awoman’s dress, I gently corrected her, “It’s a tunic, not a gown.And,” I added, having forgotten about the blood, “it’s not myblood.”
It was not my intention to divert herattention, but she clearly took it in this way because she snapped,“It does not matter what it is, Roman! That,” she pointed down atthe rent in my tunic, “was made by something sharp!”
I had, and still have no idea why I was puton the back foot, but before I could reassert a control I neverhad, I found myself replying, “Yes, that tends to happen whenpeople are trying to kill you.”
The look that she gave me seemed to me to beas scorching as the fire that burned all the hair off my arm.
“The Brigantes,” she repliedpassionately, “are notpeople! They are dogs! They are vermin! They are…” she had tosearch her mind for this last bit, “scum. Ha!” she finished triumphantly, “That iswhat they are! Scum!”
Even if I had been inclined to argue, I hadspotted the flaring nostrils, so I simply agreed, “You’reabsolutely right, Bronwen. The Brigantes are scum.”
I thought this would assuage her, but sheretorted scornfully, “That is what I said, Centurion.”
Sensing that I was in a losing position, Iheld both arms up in a gesture of surrender, which returned herattention to my tunic.
“This needs to be repaired,” she saiddecisively, and I did not believe it was in my interest to assureher that I was aware of that fact.
“There will be time for that,” I said,not necessarily to evade her attention, but because I felt I neededto say something, but she looked up at me sharply.
“Time?” She shook her head, and Ifound myself staring down at the top of her head as she ran herfingers along the edge of my tunic. “You will be leaving almostimmediately,” she said. “And I do not think it is right
