Bear and the Wolf

THE BEAR AND THE WOLF

Being a short tale of Roman and Briton and of the

trouble with dour emperors and their men;

By

Ruth Downie

&

S. J. A. Turney

Published in this format 2017

Copyright - S.J.A.Turney & R. S. Downie

First Edition

The author asserts the moral right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.

All Rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior consent of the author, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

All internal maps are copyright the author of this work.

Map of Northern Britannia 210 AD

Dramatis Personae:

SENNA, a woman of the Maeatae, beleaguered by family and her time.

BRIGIUS of the Votadini, serving with the Second Nerviorum. Her man.

ATTO, excitable and enthusiastic child of the above.

VARIOUS NEIGHBOURS of Senna’s at Vindolanda’s civilian settlement.

THEA, Senna’s African landlady whose brother runs a stable.

MOGONTIUS, Senna’s lame father. There’s no fool like an old fool.

TOTIA, Senna’s worried cousin in Maeatae tribal lands.

DUBNUS, Totia’s rash and rather dull husband. A troublemaker to the Romans.

CARACALLA. Son of the emperor, a prince of Rome, and not a nice one.

VITALIS, the prefect of the newly-arrived Numidian Cavalry of the emperor.

STRABO, a soldier of the Second Nerviorum, lucky at dice. Potentially a cheat.

BUTEO & SCAPULA: two Centurions in the Second Nerviorum.

PART ONE: PAX ROMANA

By Ruth Downie

Vindolanda military base, AD 210

CHAPTER 1

Senna?

The door opened before she could reach it, and her frantic Sh! made no difference: the woman was too worried to listen.

Senna, quick, they’re fighting! Somebody’s got to do something!

Who’s fighting? Senna glanced back at her sleeping child before throwing a shawl around her shoulders and stepping out into the wet stable yard. Where’s Brigius?

You must go! They’re all in there! In the Painted Man.

A bar fight. Thank the gods: for a moment she had feared a raid.

Brigius is in there! Senna’s landlady was almost dancing with frustration. Quick!

Senna could hear shouting and dogs barking now, even from three streets away. Will you watch the boy for me?

Thea slipped past her into the rented room. Go. I’ll lock the door behind you. Be careful!

Senna heard the rattle of the key as she ran across the yard, the rain cold on her bare head and her feet splashing through the puddles. At the corner of the street she crashed into a neighbour and had to duck, crying out, It’s me! before he dropped his fist, threw her aside and raced off in the direction of the fort.

Just past the shoemaker’s she saw a friend hurrying her children home through the rain, and asked, What is happening at the bar?

Don’t go over there!

Is Brigius there?

The friend said, I don’t know, adding over her shoulder as they passed, Senna, leave the centurions to sort it out!

She had already been overtaken twice by groups of men running towards the bar before she turned the corner to witness the uproar. Men yelling in a jumble of languages, women screaming, and excited dogs racing up and down the street, barking and leaping over the door shutters that lay smashed on the paving.

From somewhere close she heard her name. Two of the serving-girls from the bar were huddled in a doorway.

She said, What’s happening?

Our boys and the Numidians.

Over in the bar, Senna could make out only a murky chaos of figures colliding with each other and the furniture and falling over, and other shapes writhing and rolling about on the floor. Someone was vainly yelling Stop it! and a woman shrieked over the cacophony, Don’t hurt him!

Is my man in there?

He was. Somebody’s gone for help.

There was a splintering crash as another table went over. The woman screamed again, Don’t—! Her voice died in mid-shriek and Senna felt a jolt of fear. What had they done to her? Where was Brigius? She flinched at a touch on her arm, but it was only one of the serving-girls: the Syrian one with the dangly earrings. It’ll be all right, the girl promised. The officers will be here any moment.

Senna peered both ways down the street, but there were no centurions: only the rain and the barking dogs and, she saw now, other spectators sheltering under the dripping eaves. The Numidian who had just fallen was back on his feet. He wrenched a leg from the broken table and swung it above the figures on the floor. As it came down Senna was across there, leaping onto his back and shouting, Leave them alone!

He flung her off as easily as if she were a child. She landed on one of the broken shutters with a crash. Hands were pulling at her. By the time the girls had dragged her back to the safety of the doorway her ears were filled with the shrill of centurions’ whistles and the barking of bigger dogs, and the roar of Order!

The man still waving the table-leg was felled by the crack of a centurion’s stick against his ribs.

Order! Back against the wall! Now!

The struggling mass of bodies on the floor began to disentangle itself, still with some last-minute pushing and shoving. A slave appeared from