Beathan at Trimontium!

The Trimontium Barracks Slave

(My character Beathan has been a captive of the Romans since the battle at Beinn na Ciche in late A.D. 84, in Book 3 of my Celtic Fervour Saga)

Beathan's still at Trimontium Roman Fort during the festival of Imbolc A.D. 85 (Feb). Instead of being force-marched even further south to Corstopitum, a huge Roman supply fortress, the senior officer at Trimontium has kept him as a garrison slave till further information arrives from the highest command.

A slave belonging to no particular person is a doubly perilous situation since Beathan is at the behest of anyone who needs an extra pair of hands. Tribune Secundus has decreed that Beathan can be used in any capacity so long as the work done doesn’t kill him!  

Beathan is a strong thirteen-year-old who quickly becomes inured to the harsh treatment meted out to him. Yet, no matter the backbreaking work, poor feeding and general neglect, it has not suppressed his natural curiosity, nor his intention to escape whenever he can contrive it. Surrounded constantly by around a thousand soldiers, mainly equestrian, means he is never unwatched. He’s ordered around the fort to do various duties but since Trimontium is one of the most important transit forts in southern Caledonia, there are guards posted strategically within the fort as well as those on wall and gate duties. There is no fort ‘street’ he can walk down without being observed by a sentry on duty.

He’s smart enough to do what’s necessary for his survival, but he also finds himself reluctantly fascinated by the efficiency within the fort, quite ensnared by daily life that’s so different to what he was used to in the hillforts occupied by his Celtic (Late Iron Age) clan members. The processes of cooking in the praetorium, the tribune’s living quarters, draw his attention, as do the rituals observed in the aedes in the principia, the main headquarters block. Even the procedure used to lime wash the interior walls of the main wooden buildings is interesting.

One of the most perplexing aspects, though, of experiencing life in a cavalry fort is that each mounted soldier of the turma looks after his own horse in the room he sleeps in. Not having horses out in an open field, or semi-covered by a thatched awning during the winter moons, is totally bewildering.

Some of the tools used around the fort are reasonably familiar but there are many others that he has never seen before. The fort blacksmith workshop is a hive of activity: there’s no slacking or rest time due to poor weather.

The soldiers might think he’s surly because he won’t rise to their ribbing and sarcasm – but he doesn’t care because he’s learned to ignore them.

He tries very hard to remember everything he encounters because someday, when he does escape, he intends to use every bit of knowledge to rout out the usurpers from Caledonia.  

However, there's someone due to arrive at Trimontium who will have  a huge impact on Beathan's next stage of life...

From Beathan the Brigante, a work in progress  - unedited:

Up ahead the entrance to the Principia teemed with soldiers. A flow of auxiliaries in and out of the entrance was fairly normal but the low four-wheeled cart, heavily laden with a bulky stone block was unusual. Mule-hauled in through the arched entrance, men swarmed all around it, some pulling on additional ropes, and others pushing the cart in from the rear.

Approaching Beathan was Gillean, the Caledon. The man was his only friend, though chances for them to talk were rare. Their allocated bed spaces were in different sections of the fort, yet they seemed to be sharing the same fate. Gillean was another captive from the battle of Beinn  na Ciche, also deemed to be a general barrack slave – at least until Tribune Secundus declared differently. The Caledon was presently yanking forward a reluctant and very vocal mule.

“What are they doing with that stone, Gillean?”

“They are hauling it into the aedes.” Gillean stroked the mule, a failed attempt to placate the animal since it snapped and brayed at his fingers. The Caledon laughed nearly as loudly as he sidled back from the bared teeth. “Silly animal. It does not realise that, unlike its mate, it has been freed from hauling that great weight. There was no room to wrestle both of the protesting animals through the entrance, so now the auxiliaries must shoulder the burden instead.”

Beathan had no idea where the aedes was but shared Gillean’s humour.

“Why have they brought such a large stone into the fort?”

Gillean grunted over his shoulder, the animal refusing to budge. “All I know is that the aedes is their room of the gods and they want the stone in place immediately.”

“I feel a bustle today that is not normal. Is something happening?”

“Aye.” Gillean yanked again at the mule tether. “An important visitor is due. I have heard no name but think it must be…”

“Get that animal back to its pen, Caledon!” The bawl came from the entrance to the principia.

Beathan groaned as he watched the soldier hastening towards him. Centurion Barrus seemed to appear everywhere. Gillean shared a moment of sympathy as he passed by, the animal still intent on being awkward.

p.s. There's a bit of author licence in adding the altar shown above. The one in the Trimontium Museum was installed a bit later than when my Beathan the Brigante was in residence, probably something like a hundred years later! But that's not to say that there weren't any small altars at Trimontium in A.D. 85. Perhaps they just have not been found, or are building material in local  churches or large estate houses!

Slainthe!