Nancy Jardine Author: Vinovia Fort - Extract from #BeathanTheBrigante

As promised in the last post about Vinovia Roman fort and Dere Street... here is an extract from Beathan The Brigante, book 5 of my Celtic Fervour Series.

Beathan has been in and out of many different Roman forts during the time he has been held as a hostage of General Gnaeus Iulius Agricola. By the time the reader gets to Chapter Twenty-Eight, they know that Beathan has managed to escape, but regrettably that situation changes when he, and his two friends, return to northern Brigantia. They wondered if they could trust some of the locals who offered them shelter... but here we find out if they were wrong or right...

I've included my working copy map of my fictitious Vinovia Roman Fort which I used as I wrote this chapter. It's a bit feint, and I can see the need to buy a slightly thicker marker pen, but it gives you an idea of what I was imagining.

My working copy map of Vinovia Roman Fort

Vinovia Roman Fort AD 86

“Out, now!” The guard bellowed before he even had the door properly open.

Beathan struggled to his feet. They were the most welcome words he had heard for days.

Prodded in front of the guard, he was hassled along the pillared walkway of the principia, the sounds of tramping feet reaching him well before he got near the wide exit doors. Once outside, and onto the street, his guard pushed him against the wooden wall, using the length of his pilum to block him in. The via principalis thronged with wave after wave of legionary soldiers walking four-abreast, all of whom headed out the far gate.

He had seen the legion’s emblem recently: the winged horse that was the emblem of the Legio II Adiutrix. After a half-century had marched past, a series of baggage wagons followed, hauled along by raucous, braying mules.

He felt the tip of the pilum slicing his cheek when his guard yanked it away and upright. “Move now. Along to the praetorium.”

“Where are the Legio II Adiutrix going?” His question seemed to startle the soldier. Not so much that he had dared to ask, but he felt more because he knew which legion was on the move.

“Eboracum.” The guard was not exactly talkative while they awaited entry at one of the doors along the praetorium’s walkway, but Beathan persisted.

“I have never seen a whole century, with baggage wagons march right through a fort like that, along its via principalis.”

The guard stared. “How many forts have you been in to know anything?”

“Quite a few.” He pretended indifference to what had been an insult. “I have been in forts all the way to Rome itself.” That latter statement was not quite true, but the guard could not know that.

The legionary’s guffaws were loud enough to draw the attention of the sentries back at the entrance.

“Rome? Are you telling me that a menial tribesman like you has visited it? And that you walked our Roman roads to get there?”

Beathan could not blame the man. It did sound like one of his Uncle Brennus’ tales around the fireside. On that thought, he felt a smile appearing. When he got home, he would have no end of stories to tell, though they would all be true.

“If the Legio II Adiutrix are heading for Eboracum does that mean they have been replaced by another legion?”

“You know nothing!” The legionary was dismissive. “The whole legion has been recalled by Emperor Domitian. They are heading for some proper engagement in Dacia, not the furtive little forays of those cowardly Caledonians.”

He gulped, but he made sure his thoughts were not revealed in his expression. He had no idea where Dacia was but the Legio II Adiutrix had been supporting the Legio IX, and Legio XX, in northern Caledonia. If his kin were still in Taexali, or Caledon territory, then there must be fewer Roman troops occupying the far north. That would mean less of the enemy’s oppressive presence.

Pure excitement gripped him. He needed to escape to find out.

“Have other troops been sent north to replace this legion in the forts across Caledonia?” he asked.

Once again the guard stared at him as though he was an imbecile. “Most of the northern forts have already been abandoned. Those are the last of the Legio II Adiutrix to go south.”

Beathan’s insides were erupting. He could barely contain the elation he felt, but he wanted more information. He made himself sound incredulous. “Has Trimontium been dismantled?”

The soldier chuckled again. “Ha! You might want that, but no. Trimontium has been re-garrisoned.”

He chose not to respond to the mocking, but when he looked at the soldier the abrupt change to livid scorn on the man’s face was startling.

“And everything that General Agricola annexed north of those three hills is now in the keeping of the cowardly Caledons!”

Beathan’s head was in a whirl. The man’s contempt was palpable, but it was hard to determine if the soldier was blaming Agricola for the loss of the territory.

He could still hear the tramping of feet and the loud trundling of the wagons which probably meant a whole cohort was on the move. Understanding dawned, his smile even wider than before.

“Vinovia is a good-sized fort, but it cannot house so many extra soldiers overnight. Were they camped on the north side of the fort? And they now travel southwards using the via principalis right inside the fort?”

The legionary’s small nods and glowers made him continue.

“Did the site builders of Vinovia make a mistake over where they placed the main road? Or were they just very clever?” He could not keep amusement from his tones, though his guard did not appreciate his humour.

The man grumped. “I hate being on sentry duty at the main East and West gates. Every single person, animal or vehicle has to be double checked at both ends of our via principalis.” The soldier lifted his chin and peered at him. “If you have been in so many of our forts you will know that almost nowhere else allows civilians to prance their way right through our defences.”

Beathan agreed. He had never been on any Roman road, used by the public, that went right through a fort, but it was good knowledge to have.

“Bring him in!” The call came from a non-uniformed person. From the stylus still in the man’s hand, Beathan guessed him to be a secretary.

In moments he was standing, once again, in front of Liberalis who was having one of the straps of his moulded breastplate adjusted by a young servant.

“Leave!” the legate ordered. When the secretary hesitated, Liberalis waved him out, too.

Beathan felt the power of the man when Liberalis stood before him fully armoured. The man’s polished helmet poised on top of the uniform stand drew his gaze, and his awe. The metal ornamentation was even more impressive than Agricola’s, and though more battered the general’s helmet had been stunning.

“You have given me a problem I could well do without, Brigante Beathan.”

He stared. It was not a question, so he gave no response. He had plenty of problems of his own.

“Rome gives men frequent marching orders.”

Beathan absorbed the terse tones and tried to interpret the legate’s words. Although the room was cleared of his staff, it was possibly not a totally private conversation.

“You mean that the Legio II Adiutrix has been recalled to Rome to go to fight a…less cunning enemy?”

Liberalis almost smiled. “The emperor demands their presence.”

He nodded since Liberalis’ expression seemed to indicate it was necessary.

He dared to add a little more. “I have heard that the Legio IX, and the Legio XX, have also been withdrawn from Caledonia. From all of the northern forts.”

The legate’s expression was calculating. “You learn the most fascinating information, Beathan the Brigante. Perhaps General Agricola was correct and that you do need to be handled very carefully.”

He chose not to reply. Handling was something he had plenty of experience of.

“You have seen many of our forts but not, I think, Pinnata Castra?”

He had heard about that one from Ineda of Marske, his Uncle Brennus’ hearth-wife, but he chose to only nod.

“Agricola was very proud of that fortress.” Liberalis sounded reflective. “I believe he would have liked to show you it.”

He found he could not hold back. “It has also been abandoned?”

Liberalis’ chuckles were bitter. “I am glad he was not there to see his beloved Legio XX leave.” The legate’s smile became snide. “You, on the other hand, might have been impressed by the situation.”

The glare that came his way made Beathan refrain from asking any more questions.

Liberalis’ tone dipped again. “Like General Gnaeus Iulius Agricola, past Governor of Britannia, I am also recalled to Rome. Though unlike Agricola, I will be embarking a ship well before Londinium, to take me to the shores of Gaul.” Liberalis’ voice quietened to a rasping whisper, as intense as his stare. “Agricola and I share a friendship and probably the same fate. But presently, I have no desire to leave any unravelling threads which he saw fit to loosen.”

Beathan felt his throat seize up. What was the man talking about?

Liberalis leaned forward, closing the gap between them, his words a murmur. “Rome seems to have had no place for you…and neither does this fort. Because of the acquaintance I share with Agricola, I will not kill you, but you will go where you are less likely to cause yourself an early death.”

For a brief moment Liberalis looked away. Beathan waited. He could tell there was more to come since the man seemed to be fighting with something unseen. When Liberalis returned his focus on him, he could not avoid noticing that a deeper anger was now interlaced with the earlier threat.

“I have been unable to keep your arrival a secret, so news of you being here has already caused some tongues to wag. You are not as inconspicuous as you may think you are, Brigante. And I cannot afford to be tarnished with allowing a fugitive to escape, again.”

Beathan swallowed. Was Liberalis saying that even he had foes around him?

“Yes. Brigante. I do have my own enemies. I may, or I may not, manage to arrive in Rome hale and hearty.” Liberalis broke off to laugh quietly, but it was a snide, bitter one. “Unfortunately, I will not have a champion like you to defend me – instinctively, or otherwise.”

Beathan could not help the disbelieving frown that furrowed his forehead. Liberalis would make sure to set a substantial personal guard around him. Did the man mean he was not even sure that he could trust them?

“For some reason Fortuna appears to favour you, Brigante. I should like to drag you back to Rome as my personal good luck charm. However, I cannot acquire any form of remission for you. Neither could General Agricola, though he did try, to his own detriment. You are still an official hostage of Rome.”

Beathan bit down the flood of bitterness that those words brought forth, his jaw tensing.

The legate continued his threatening whisper. “Though you are a mature young man now, you have still not learned to school that defiant expression, Beathan of the Brigantes. I advise you to remember some caution. You know already that Rome’s centurions are trained to be vicious towards those who are slow to learn discipline.”

Beathan felt his cheeks tighten even more. A sudden hatred of the man would not be quelled. He inhaled through his nose and forced himself to not reach out and punch the face that was close enough.

After a few long stares, Liberalis called for the guard to enter.

“Fetch Centurion Spectatus.”

Beathan reckoned the man must have been close by since he strutted in almost instantly.

“This captive will go to Vindolanda Fort with the next shipment of goods. Double the usual guard and make sure he gets there. He is a slippery one. He will remain there till…” Liberalis paused to pop on his helmet and fix the neck strap. “…further orders are received.”

“What about my friends? Derwi and Gillean? Where are they?”

Liberalis slid a knife from a pouch at his waist with great deliberation.

Beathan had never seen anything like the carving on the hilt, was not even sure what the hilt was made of. It was shorter than the pugio that most soldiers wore at their waist, but longer than an eating knife. His panicked fascination with the quality dwindled when the extremely sharp tip was tucked under his chin.

“Let us just say that they will be imprisoned in a fort that is closer to their home territory than where you are going.”

After one long stare, Liberalis removed the blade and slipped it back into its sheath.

Beathan’s last sight of Legate Liberalis was one he would never forget. A small smirk quirked up the man’s mouth and a twisted amusement flashed across his determined expression.

The word captive resonated.

Liberalis had demoted him from hostage… to captive.