to repeat that fruitless experience. I do not know what the Iceni response will be but I based my final decision to contact them on a piece of information I did not share with you at the time.”
The soldiers waited.
“Brettix, the only son of King Borrus, has been lost in the fighting and is presumed dead.”
The men all looked at each other.
“This is the kind of thing that will take the spirit out of a king, or a whole tribe,” Scipio said. “The crown prince of the Iceni has disappeared, he was last seen wounded in the skirmish two days ago near the wood the natives call Drunemeton . He may have fallen and been buried in the snow, and if so his body will not turn up until spring. Or possibly never. In light of this I hope Borrus will agree to my terms. If so I will write to Mark Antony and tell him we have made peace with the Celts, at least until the spring thaw when they will undoubtedly be over their grief and start up again.” His tone was dry.
The men absorbed this in silence.
“Questions?” Scipio said.
“I assume our task will be to maintain our status through the winter and then make what gains we can when the weather breaks?” Quintus Septonius said. He was another tribune, a veteran of the past season in Britain.
“Yes,” Scipio replied.
There was a knock at the door, and a centurion entered carrying a leather pouch, which he gave to Scipio. The general held up his hand as he read its contents, and they all waited.
After a silence Scipio said, “Borrus agrees, with a few minor stipulations of his own.”
There was no reaction; the men were all too self contained to show what they thought.
“You may go,” Scipio said to them crisply. “All of you except Leonatus.”
The room emptied, with Claudius remaining behind as the others left. Scipio looked over the scroll again, shaking his head, and then dropped it on his desk.
“It’s in Latin,” he said, “that would put a schoolboy to shame. Borrus must have written it, or hired a scribe or Druid more ignorant than himself. The Celts in Gaul use the Greek alphabet for writing, but here I’m dealing with people who carve a series of lines on a tree when they want to mark a grave.”
Claudius said nothing.
“One of Borrus’ conditions involves you,” Scipio said.
“Me?” Claudius said, amazed.
“He wants a Roman officer to marry his daughter, and you have been chosen for the honor.”
Claudius was stunned into silence.
Scipio rose and walked over to the fireplace, leaning on the hearth. “It’s a tribal tradition, signifying that two warring factions have mended fences and determined to live in harmony. I know the custom and anticipated his request.”
“But why me?” Claudius demanded.
“Borrus didn’t ask for you, Claudius. Your selection was entirely my decision.”
Claudius opened his mouth, then shut it again.
Scipio shrugged. “You’re the logical choice. You’re the senior ranking officer after me. I am unacceptable because my family is here and the Celts would regard it as an insult if I took this girl as a second wife. These people may be barbarians, but they are monogamous. And to put forth a lesser officer would also be seen as an affront, as such a man would not be worthy of marriage to an Iceni princess. I’m sorry but it’s you, Claudius. It has to be you.”
“I don’t want to be in the same room with any of these people, much less marry one of them. They’ve been systematically killing off my men for almost two months!”
“I’m afraid you have no choice, son. It’s an order.”
Claudius looked at him. Scipio’s kindly use of the familiar form of address alarmed him even more than what had been
The soldiers waited.
“Brettix, the only son of King Borrus, has been lost in the fighting and is presumed dead.”
The men all looked at each other.
“This is the kind of thing that will take the spirit out of a king, or a whole tribe,” Scipio said. “The crown prince of the Iceni has disappeared, he was last seen wounded in the skirmish two days ago near the wood the natives call Drunemeton . He may have fallen and been buried in the snow, and if so his body will not turn up until spring. Or possibly never. In light of this I hope Borrus will agree to my terms. If so I will write to Mark Antony and tell him we have made peace with the Celts, at least until the spring thaw when they will undoubtedly be over their grief and start up again.” His tone was dry.
The men absorbed this in silence.
“Questions?” Scipio said.
“I assume our task will be to maintain our status through the winter and then make what gains we can when the weather breaks?” Quintus Septonius said. He was another tribune, a veteran of the past season in Britain.
“Yes,” Scipio replied.
There was a knock at the door, and a centurion entered carrying a leather pouch, which he gave to Scipio. The general held up his hand as he read its contents, and they all waited.
After a silence Scipio said, “Borrus agrees, with a few minor stipulations of his own.”
There was no reaction; the men were all too self contained to show what they thought.
“You may go,” Scipio said to them crisply. “All of you except Leonatus.”
The room emptied, with Claudius remaining behind as the others left. Scipio looked over the scroll again, shaking his head, and then dropped it on his desk.
“It’s in Latin,” he said, “that would put a schoolboy to shame. Borrus must have written it, or hired a scribe or Druid more ignorant than himself. The Celts in Gaul use the Greek alphabet for writing, but here I’m dealing with people who carve a series of lines on a tree when they want to mark a grave.”
Claudius said nothing.
“One of Borrus’ conditions involves you,” Scipio said.
“Me?” Claudius said, amazed.
“He wants a Roman officer to marry his daughter, and you have been chosen for the honor.”
Claudius was stunned into silence.
Scipio rose and walked over to the fireplace, leaning on the hearth. “It’s a tribal tradition, signifying that two warring factions have mended fences and determined to live in harmony. I know the custom and anticipated his request.”
“But why me?” Claudius demanded.
“Borrus didn’t ask for you, Claudius. Your selection was entirely my decision.”
Claudius opened his mouth, then shut it again.
Scipio shrugged. “You’re the logical choice. You’re the senior ranking officer after me. I am unacceptable because my family is here and the Celts would regard it as an insult if I took this girl as a second wife. These people may be barbarians, but they are monogamous. And to put forth a lesser officer would also be seen as an affront, as such a man would not be worthy of marriage to an Iceni princess. I’m sorry but it’s you, Claudius. It has to be you.”
“I don’t want to be in the same room with any of these people, much less marry one of them. They’ve been systematically killing off my men for almost two months!”
“I’m afraid you have no choice, son. It’s an order.”
Claudius looked at him. Scipio’s kindly use of the familiar form of address alarmed him even more than what had been
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