The Dacian War

Book six of the Veteran of Rome series

Chapter One – The Contract with the Immortals

The Island of Vectis. Early autumn 105 AD

The wide sandy beach was deserted apart from a single solitary figure. It was morning and a strong fresh salty breeze was blowing in from the west. Silently Marcus stood gazing out at the grey sea, his stern face, tough, old and weather beaten. He looked worried. The white tipped waves came crashing, hissing and surging up the beach towards him, encircling him as if he was a rock and threatening to swamp his old army boots in icy cold water. The wind tugged at his grey beard and his long black cloak, roaring in his ears and whipping grains of sand into his body. His two hunting dogs were splashing and chasing each other through the surf, barking excitedly. Ignoring the dogs and the elements he absentmindedly reached down to his belt, fumbling for the pouch in which he’d kept his Hyperborean smoking herbs. But the pouch was no longer there. His craving for the herbs had made him forget again. His supply of smoking herbs, which he’d brought back from Hyperborea, had run out weeks ago, and there was no chance of getting anymore. Instead with an annoyed, irritable gesture he pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders.

There was no point in denying it, he thought. He worried about Fergus, his son. He missed Fergus. It had been too long since he had seen him. The boy had marched off to war in faraway Dacia with a vexillation of the Twentieth Legion and he hadn’t been there to say goodbye to him. Grimly Marcus turned to look up the beach. He had not been there to say his farewell, to give the boy some final last minute advice and to wish him well. Marcus’s face darkened. He knew what Fergus was marching towards. For fourteen year’s he had served on the Danube frontier with the 2^nd Batavian Auxiliary Cohort and the thought that Fergus was going to participate in a new Dacian war made his stomach turn over. But the worst was that he was completely helpless. There was nothing he could do to help his son, nothing he could do to protect him. All he could do was sit and wait for news and trust that all would be well. It was intolerable.

Slowly Marcus raised his head and looked up at the sky, his rugged face, defiant, cold and hard like granite.

“Hear me immortal gods,” Marcus said silently as he gazed up at the sky, “Hear me for I have something important to say. I shall make an agreement with you on these terms. I ask you to keep watch over my son. His name is Fergus and he has red hair just like mine. I ask you, immortal ones, to keep him alive and safe. I ask that one day he shall come home to us alive and well.” Marcus paused and took a deep breath. “And in return, when you deem the time and place is right, I shall repay you in the manner of my father, Corbulo. I shall willingly give you my life, to do with, as you see fit. This I swear.”

For a moment, Marcus stared up at the sky. Then a defiant gleam appeared in his eyes.

“But if you accept my offer and fuck me over and allow my son to die,” Marcus hissed, “then to hell with the lot of you and I will curse you all, useless immortal pricks. Do not think that I fear you or the furies. No man who respects himself does.”

As he fell silent Marcus turned his eyes back towards the sea. If the gods had accepted his offer they would send him a sign. He would have to keep his eyes open.

A month had passed since Priscinus had dared attack the farm on Vectis and now Priscinus was dead, poisoned in his own home, a murder that had been arranged by Dylis. Staring out to sea Marcus slowly shook his head in bewilderment. He had not believed his sister capable of such ruthlessness. Dylis, his sister, thought she had done the right thing by arranging the murder. It had solved the immediate threat but it had not settled the legal dispute over the ownership of his farm and land on Vectis. It had made the dispute worse. She hadn’t known how well connected Priscinus was. She didn’t understand that the Governor of Britannia would not tolerate the murder of a close friend. There would be consequences, consequences that were beyond the capability of a troop of retired Batavian soldiers to handle. Dylis however had not understood. He had tried to explain it to her but she had refused to listen. She had called him a coward, a man who lacked the balls to do what was necessary to defend his farm and land from a hostile takeover. The argument had descended into a bitter quarrel and for the past three weeks Dylis had refused to speak to him or even remain in the same room as him.

Across the wind-swept beach a figure was slowly coming towards him. It was Kyna, his wife. Marcus turned back to stare out across the grey sea as Kyna came up to him, her long white stola cloak flapping in the breeze. Her head was covered by a shawl which hid her silver-grey hair that was tied back and fixed with a bone fibula. For a moment, the two of them said nothing as Kyna paused at his side and turned to gaze out across the sea. In the surf the two hunting dogs suddenly came bounding towards her and excitedly bustled around her legs, shaking the water droplets from their coats. Affectionally she reached down to give the dogs a pat on their heads.

“Are you worried about Fergus?” Kyna asked as she straightened up. “Is that why you have started coming out here on your own?”

“What else is there for me to do?” Marcus growled irritably as he stared out to sea. “Jowan, Dylis and Cunomoltus are more than capable of managing the farm on their own. They do not need my help and besides I am no farmer. The slaves are content, the children have good teachers. What is there to do for me around here? So yes, I have time to worry about our boy. I have time to worry about everything and nothing.”

“You are the head of this family. A family needs a leader and you are that man, you will always be that man,” Kyna replied with a little resigned shrug.

Marcus remained silent as he stared out to sea.

“I worry about our son too,” Kyna said at last, her voice calm and strong, “When you were away all those years with your Batavians, I worried about you too. I know what it feels like to wait for news, to fear the worst and to be unable to do anything about it. You have no idea how many sleepless nights I had when you were away. But all you can do is endure it. There is no other way.”

At her side, Marcus remained silent. Then at last he stirred, glanced at Kyna and gave his wife a little agreeing nod.

“I shall write Fergus a letter,” Kyna said as she slipped her fingers into Marcus’s right hand, “and maybe in a few months or so we should get a reply. The boy has a sensible head. He will be all right and there is a girl waiting for him back at Deva. When he was here just before you returned from Hyperborea, he told me her name was Galena and that she is expecting his child.”

“I bet he has a girl waiting for him in every army camp he’s been in along the frontier,” Marcus growled. Then he turned to Kyna and a faint smile appeared on his rugged face. “The letter is a good idea. I will get the Batavians to deliver it to Fergus. Some of the cohorts are taking part in the Dacian war.”

Kyna gave her husband a little answering smile.

“You need to speak to Dylis,” Kyna said lightly, “this quarrel between you two is not good for anyone.”

The smile abruptly vanished from Marcus’s face.

“What do you propose I do?” he snapped. “That woman does not want to see sense. She doesn’t even want to be in the same room as me.”

“I don’t know,” Kyna said with a weary sigh as she looked away, “she refuses to speak to me too. But this situation cannot continue. You must do something, Marcus.”

Marcus muttered something under his breath and turned to stare at the waves surging up the beach.

“She didn’t realise who Priscinus was,” he growled at last. “The man was a close friend of the Governor of this Province. The Governor will not let his friend’s murder pass by without an investigation.” Marcus’s face darkened. “We have a prosperous farm, Kyna, which means that our home and business are coveted by others. Priscinus will not be the only man who will have his eye on our farm. We cannot afford to make an enemy of the Governor. What happens if the Governor decides he likes our place so much, he wants to take it for himself. What then can we do to stop him? We will be homeless and destitute.”

“I understand,” Kyna nodded, lowering her head, “I understand.”

Marcus sighed and tightened his grip on his wife’s hand.

“I told you before,” he said in a quieter voice, “I have ambitions for us. I want to raise this family, us, up in the world. I want to become a member of the Equestrian Order, a knight. It is the knights who effectively run the Empire. They get awarded all the premier military and commercial positions in government. They are men of respect, men who have made something of themselves through guts and hard work. That’s who I want us to be. We built this farm into what it is today. We made it prosper. No one else did that. And now our farm and land are such, that we qualify for membership of the order but admittance still needs the Governor’s and the Emperor’s approval. And how are we ever going to get that approval if the Governor of Britannia is our enemy?”

“Governor’s come and go, don’t they?” Kyna shrugged.

“They do,” Marcus growled, “but if there is a cloud of suspicion hanging over us that we were involved in the murder of an important citizen, then no one will want to touch us. In these matters, reputation is all important and ours hangs on a slender thread.”

“I don’t know about reputation,” Kyna said, “all I know is that Dylis and you must make peace with each other. It is driving us all insane.”

Marcus grunted and the two of them fell silent. At their feet, the two hunting dogs went racing off, splashing through the incoming waves in a mad dash for a piece of flotsam.

Gripping Kyna’s hand, Marcus turned to study his wife.

“Did you really come all the way out here just to tell me this?” Marcus asked.

Slowly Kyna shook her head, her thoughts seemingly faraway.

“Ninian has come,” she replied, “he is waiting for you at the farm. He says that he has important news and wishes to speak with you.”

“Ninian?” Marcus muttered with a sudden frown, “now what does he want?”