Ashes Under Uricon
Chapter 17. Recovery (367-9)
By Mihangel
Ipse adulescentulus in Gallia viderim Atticotos, gentem Britanicam, humanis vesci carnibus et cum per silvas porcorum greges et armentorum pecudumque reperiant, pastorum nates et feminarum et papillas solere abscindere, et has solas ciborum delicias arbitrari.
I myself, as a youth in Gaul, saw the Attacotti, a British tribe, eat human flesh. When they find herds of pigs and oxen and cattle in the woods, it is the buttocks of the herdsmen and their wives, and their breasts too, which they habitually cut off, and these alone they regard as culinary delicacies.
St Jerome, Against Jovinian
Gone were the carefree days of my boyhood, and the next two years were a messy time. It would have been hard enough to settle back into a settled situation. Settling into an unsettled one proved very difficult indeed. Three things made it possible. One was of course Bran himself, who gave me a new purpose in life. Another was the rock of solidity provided by Tad, who cajoled me back into some sort of routine. The third was Maglocunus, whose demands took all of us out of our day-to-day cares. He burbled, and came to talk. He crawled, and came to walk. He was a delight. And, once he was weaned, Roveta became his surrogate mother. She and Tigernac were freed along with Bran. Any other course would have been unthinkable. They recognised it, and stayed on as paid servants, desiring nothing more than what they had done before.
I caught up with the story of events which I had missed. The raids which swept me away had been more intense and prolonged than any before. With unprecedented coordination, they had been mounted not only by the Picts and Irish but also by the Saxons and Attacotti. The Saxons had landed first and all the troops in the west were dispatched east to meet them. So when, a few days later, the Irish descended and the Attacotti swarmed in from their reserve in Demetia, they met no military opposition at all. Viroconium was not caught wholly unawares. Once Maqqos-colini's band was out of sight of our farm, Bran and Lucius had ridden hell for leather to the town and raised the alarm, so that by the time the Irish appeared the walls were manned and no attempt was made to attack them. But the intruders had again wreaked havoc across the countryside before being finally swept away by troops from Gaul. The government's only long-term response was to appoint a Count of the Coasts, charged with preventing sea-borne attack. But since the wealth of Britain was concentrated in the east, the western coasts got short shrift.
"It was a complete shambles," said Bran, "from beginning to end. "I remember Lucius saying when it was over, 'Forsan et haec olim meminisse iuvabit. Maybe one day it will cheer us to remember even this.' How right he was. Because exactly the same thing has now happened again, and worse."
It took time to build up a picture of the latest attacks, for news percolated through in dribs and drabs. But it became clear that lessons had not been learned. Once again the western troops had charged east, leaving us naked. Some of the secret service had turned traitor, supplying information to our enemies in return for a promise of booty. Fullofaudes the Duke of Britain -- commander of all the static garrisons and one of the growing number of Germans at the top of the military hierarchy -- had been ambushed in the north. The Count of the Coasts had been killed in the east. The army had disintegrated. Troops deserted en masse and went looting on their own account. A few towns, the less well defended, had fallen. But Viroconium had not.
"Pulcher's palisade," Tad explained, "may be puny compared with the stone walls they've got elsewhere. But it stood the test. And this time we were prepared. Three years ago there were virtually no arms in the town. Why should there be? Civilians aren't allowed to carry arms, except on dangerous journeys. All we could do was rustle up a ragbag of hunting equipment, and mercifully that was enough to frighten the Irish off. So once that mess was over we took the law into our own hands. The council got the local smiths to knock up swords and arrows and spears, and we built up a stockpile. Quite an arsenal, in fact. And that's what saw us through the other week, that and the palisade, even though the attack was so fierce. If we hadn't protected ourselves, nobody else would have done."
On this occasion, as we gradually learned, the Emperor Valentinian had been in Gaul when he got news of the invasion of Britain. He did not act fast or decisively. First he sent the commander of his guard to find out what was happening. On hearing his report he sent another commander who promptly asked for more troops. Only then did Valentinian send a top-notch general, Count Theodosius, a Spaniard with a proven track record, along with four crack units. Theodosius landed in the south-east and found it swarming with Saxon bands laden with loot. He rounded up as many as he could, made his way to London which was under siege, and liberated it. With that as his base he worked his way across the country, sweeping the intruders before him. But it was months before he reached Viroconium and it became safe enough for townsfolk to venture deep into the country, to bury mouldering bodies and assess the damage to property.
Tad and I finally made it out to Onna, to find the mines intact but their production severely cut back. Serried ranks of miners armed with pickaxes, Tappo told us, had kept the Irish at bay, but all the slaves and some of the convicts had absconded. There was much to be done. New labourers had to be recruited. Fuel had run out because the charcoal burners had not dared to work in their distant coppices. Bone ash for the silver furnaces had run out because there had been no bones to calcine. Even now the Viroconium slaughterhouses had few bones to supply because few cattle were being brought in for killing. It took much time and much hard work to restore production, but once things had finally settled down it rose higher than it had been before. The reason was the simple and unsurprising fact that free labourers worked better than slaves.
But all this work fell on my shoulders, for Tad never went out to the mines again. During my absence he had turned into an old man, and travel was increasingly irksome to him. The best division of responsibilities, we decided, was for him to look after our own farm which was close at hand, for Bran to look after the Pulcher estate, and for me to look after the mines.
Count Theodosius came in person to inspect our defences and, in the forum, to utter a pep-talk which conveniently glossed over the army's deficiencies and ignored our own success in self-defence. The walls of many other towns, we had heard, were being strengthened with bastions to carry catapults. No chance of that for us, he said. Our palisade was not only too long but incapable of being adapted. But henceforth, he told us impressively, we would have our own permanent garrison, billeted in private houses, both to serve as a mobile field unit for patrolling the area and to defend the town in case of further attack.
When it finally materialised, we could only laugh; it was either laughter or tears. Our garrison proved to be no more than a platoon of twenty uncouth soldiers imported from Germany, under a German officer. They belonged to a tribe called the Bucinobantes which had been brought over lock stock and barrel and distributed among the civitates. Armed with little but the new-fangled martiobarbuli, the short lead-weighted javelins for throwing under-arm, they would be of little help in another crisis.
On the broader front, Theodosius had to restore the regular army. Many of the deserters, when rounded up, pleaded innocence: they had not deserted, they claimed, but had been on leave. An unlikely story, but because the records had gone up in smoke there was no disproving it, and if Theodosius wanted an army in Britain he could only pardon and re-enrol them. He disbanded the secret service, which should have been done years before. Along the north-east coast he built a string of signal stations to give early warning of Saxon attack. On our side of the country he strengthened the coastal forts at Tamium, Canovium and Segontium and installed a few -- too few -- watch towers overlooking the sea. Inland in the mountains he regarrisoned Levobrinta, because the Pagenses had again taken advantage of our weakness and raided the lowlands.
It was indeed the weakness of Britain as a whole, according to general opinion as shaped in the taverns and dining rooms of the town, which was the root cause of all the trouble. Our military weakness invited pillagers. The Saxons in their coastal marshes, rumour told, were threatened by rising sea levels and finding it increasingly hard to make a living off their fields. What easier than to raid the richer Britain and Gaul for grain and cattle? The Picts and Irish were growing in numbers and in power. What easier than to use both to rob their ill-defended neighbours? These peoples' homelands lay outside Roman control, and nothing could be done except try to prevent them arriving.
But the Attacotti lived in Britain, in our very own province of Britannia Prima. Because they were Irish by origin, Bran and I, who were seen as the local experts on all things Irish, were much questioned about them. Their name, we explained, was a British form of the Irish Aithechthuatha, meaning 'vassal people.' Weary of subjection to their overlords, they had been only too happy, thirty years ago, to accept Constans' offer of land in Demetia to settle in. In return for the land they undertook, as what were called federates, to keep their cousins out of the Severn Sea. Nobody knew much about them, and ignorance demonised them.
"Don't Irish women have lots of husbands? And choose which to go to bed with?"
"No," replied Bran quite sharply. "That's a lie."
"I've heard the Attacotti are cannibals. Eat women's breasts and men's buttocks."
"Another old wives' tale."
But the fact remained that, as Tad had once put it, thief had been set to catch thief. The Attacotti in Demetia had been exploited and over-taxed by the government. Their in-built urge to plunder still ran, unsatisfied, in their blood. Twice now they had thrown over the traces and, in league with their cousins from Ireland, had gone raiding into the wealthy core of Britannia Prima. To expel the lot would be impracticable and impolitic. Rather they had to be weakened and sweetened. Grandiose if meaningless titles were bestowed on their leaders. The promise of high pay and excitement enticed their restless young men to enrol in the Roman army, and several cohorts thus raised were sent off to Gaul where they could let off steam by fighting Germans. Those who stayed were allowed to expand eastwards along the mellow plains on the northern shore of the Sabrina Sea.
One traveller told us that at Nemetobala, nearly opposite Abonae, a new temple to an Irish god was even now being built, with government support. That was not as astonishing as might seem. The government might be supposedly Christian, but our new governor, Flavius Sanctus, was another pagan, and the attitude of the man on the spot counted for more than the attitudes of Rome or Mediolanum or Treveri. The temple, we were told, was presided over by a deity named Nodens. I had never heard of him.
"Ah," said Bran. "That'll be Núadu Argat-lam, Núadu of the silver hand. He's a healing god."
It was not until two years had passed since the invasion that Theodosius completed his task and returned to Gaul. The restoration of Britain had taken a long time. Meanwhile Bran and I -- especially Bran -- were involved in another complicated and lengthy exercise, the winding up of Pulcher's estate. As Bran had pointed out, we were now rich. There was much gold and silver in coin and in plate. Some we kept as a float. The rest, because there was no bank in Viroconium and we mistrusted the security of our house, we buried on our farm in a place known only to ourselves and Tad and Ulcagnus. But most of the assets were in land. This we decided to keep, managing it through bailiffs or leased out to tenants, just as Pulcher had done. In the ruined state of the countryside it would be a while before it produced much income, but for the same reason the price of land was at rock bottom. It was not worth selling, and we likewise despaired of finding a buyer for the town house.
The Pulcher slaves we freed. To most we gave a gratuity, ample enough to start them off in their own businesses. Pulcher's secretary Volusius, the only man left who understood the complexities of the estate, we retained as our employee to do what he had done before and to handle the tax demands on our inheritance. The biggest difficulty was Drostan, who wanted to return to Pictland. Until Theodosius should settle the northern frontier, that was impossible, but in the end a solution appeared. Winding up the estate had raised several technical queries which could only be resolved by the provincial court, and Bran and I went down to Corinium to sit through the tedious legal wranglings.
The journey was wretched, for the weather was foul and it was dispiriting to see the ravaged countryside around the capital -- ruined farmhouses and uncultivated fields were everywhere -- although it was slowly returning to life. But in other respects the trip was well worth while. Not only was the estate duly wound up, but we managed to get an audience with the governor. It was a brief one, for his was a busy life. Sanctus proved to be an old man, in his seventies even, but shrewd and eminently helpful over Drostan's repatriation. He promised to liaise with the military to escort him beyond the frontier. He was also, when he heard that Bran was Irish and I had been in Ireland, very interested in us.
"I would like to talk more about this," he said, "and pick your brains for what you know about Laigin. Not now, I'm afraid -- I haven't the time. But when you're next coming down this way, let me know in advance, and I'll arrange a meeting. Use the public post, of course. And for messages about your slave."
He scribbled an authorisation. In fact I already used the public post -- the network of government couriers who stayed at state hotels -- but only to write to the Count of the Mines on official business. To try to use it for private purposes was a serious offence. The outcome was that a month later we saw Drostan off from Viroconium with a fair supply of gold and with expressions of good will on both sides. Whether he took part in the next Pictish raid into Britain we will never know.
We had combined our journey south with a call on the Count to hand over the first batch of silver since the disruptions, and with a visit to Abonae to despatch the first shipment of lead. The place had been ransacked, warehouses burned and goods stolen wholesale. It was a good thing the bank I used for Procurator's business was at Corinium, not here. But the port was back at work.
We also combined our journey with a visit to Fanum Maponi. There, the precinct had survived intact. Indeed it was rather smarter than before, because the troubles had brought people flocking to temples and churches alike and much money rattling into their coffers. Maponus still smiled at us, in glad assent now rather than in compassion. No need for new approval, no need for new chains, only for a renewed blessing on our love. And in a way it needed renewal. We were so busy and so tired that most nights we could do no more than collapse inert into bed.
Those two years also saw a wholly unexpected change at Viroconium which, though we could not foresee it, was to shape the long-term future of the town. It started with a trickle of refugees from the east. As the months went by, although it never turned into a flood, it became a significant influx. Like the Pulchers before them, these were people who had suffered at the hands of the Saxons and who saw the Irish as a less intolerable pest. They were of all sorts. A few were poor, some were middling, but most of them, those best equipped to pull their roots up bodily, were by our standards rich. None were grandees quite in the Pulcher style, but property suddenly came into demand and the many vacant farms and town houses were snapped up at unhoped-for prices; including, to our huge relief, Pulcher's house.
Altogether a very substantial amount of new money arrived in the town, and with this money came physical changes. With the help of the Christians among the incomers, the bishop got the big new church which for years he had hoped for. Alongside it lay a baptistery, and many a local, myself included, gaped uncomprehendingly as people in long white gowns were ducked, head and all, in its pool, like so many sheep being washed in the river. The Town Hall was renovated throughout, and the statues of the Roman gods were quietly removed without objection from anyone. But the figure of Cernunnos remained; his removal would have provoked a riot. The southern wing of the baths, which was subsiding because of poor foundations, was pulled down and replaced with a new wing to the west. The rooms in the new wing, however, were smaller and would cost less to heat. Frugality died hard in Viroconium.
The incomers tended to be Roman in outlook and therefore conservative, which significantly changed the political make-up of the town. In many cases they fell within our property qualification band and automatically became councillors; to their chagrin, for they had not foreseen this. They came from opulent civitates where they had not qualified; indeed, if they had been councillors, they would not have been allowed to move away. But now, in a poorer civitas, there was no escaping council membership and civic duties. Existing councillors, for the most part, welcomed the intake because it spread the overall load more thinly.
The council also acquired two new native members. I was one, being now among the richest men in the town. It was unusual at my age, and highly unusual for father and son to sit together, since sons normally inherited the wealth and the seat only at their father's death. But again it was inescapable.
The other new member was appointed in a much more interesting way. I had told Bran that he was now my equal. In my eyes and his, he was. But in the eyes of the law he was not. Wealthy freeborn citizens were one thing. But freedmen, however wealthy, were lower in status and could not be forced on to the council.
"But I want to be a councillor," he complained. "Especially now that you're going to be one. Why shouldn't I do my bit for the civitas now that I've got the money?"
Why not indeed? We took the question to the current chairmen, who scratched their heads and declared themselves stumped. It was unheard of for anyone to volunteer to serve. They forwarded the question to Sanctus the governor, whose reply was straightforward. While his legal experts could find no precedent, common sense dictated that anyone with the right financial qualifications who offered his services should be welcomed with open arms; especially a man of the calibre of Bran, who had impressed him deeply.
The next council meeting considered the whole matter, which the troubles had thrown into disarray, of the membership and its duties. I was duly enrolled, along with the reluctant incomers, and we took our seats. The chairman for the day read the governor's letter, and Bran's enrolment was approved, to a storm of applause and with only one dissentient. That was a Christian, acting at the instigation of Bishop Viventius who still had his knife into every member of our household. But he was laughed out of the room.
Then duties were allocated. Most went to their existing holders. I was afraid that I would be saddled with an additional one, but everybody knew that Tad was unwell -- he was sitting, grey and weary, in front of their eyes. In practice I was already Procurator of Mines and in due course would officially become so. They were merciful and gave me no extra burden. A new duty was created, to organise the watch on the walls which hitherto had been done informally. There were several vacancies to be filled. A tax collector and a cattle market manager were appointed from among the grumbling newcomers. Then a replacement was needed for Belator, the previous superintendent of the water supply, who had been killed by the Irish at his villa. When the chairman asked for a volunteer, Bran stood up and offered himself. The chairman beamed. How very appropriate, he said, in view of the new member's noble work after the siege. The bishop's supporter having left in dudgeon, Bran was unanimously approved.
As we walked home, I asked him what his noble work had been. He had not told me, and it was Tad who told me now.
"The first thing he did, when he got back from bearding Maqqos-colini, was to organise a gang with shovels. He took them out to the aqueduct take-off and they removed the blockage the Irish had made. Otherwise we'd have had no water that night. Nobody else had thought of it. And they tell me he plied his shovel as lustily as anyone, despite the arrow in his arm."
Once again, Oh, Bran!
So Bran took charge of the water distribution network and the sewers. From the reservoir inside the walls a system of pressure mains, in a hotchpotch of clay, wood and lead pipes, supplied the baths, the public fountains, and individual private and industrial users who were charged water rates. But with the water flowing continuously at all the outlets, in addition to the many leaks, it was a hugely wasteful system. Many houses had no access to water, other than from public fountains or private wells, simply because demand far exceeded supply. All too often the water did not even reach the further houses on the existing mains. Our own house being close to the reservoir, we were lucky. But while I was in Ireland Bran had had a tap made, modelled on the one he had seen in Corinium, and had installed it on our branch pipe so that water flowed only when it was needed.
This was Bran's new weapon, and it brought him widespread popularity. Now he had taps mass-produced by the bronzesmiths and gave them to anyone who was willing to forgo constant flow for lower charges. He hired a labour force and had it trained by the only plumber in Viroconium to fit the taps and replace leaking pipes. Reduced consumption meant that the supply was much more reliable and many more households were connected. Because vastly less water ran to waste, Bran had been worried about the effect on the drains. But this proved minimal, for the overflow from the public baths and fountains still kept the sewers nicely flushed.
Old sewage, however, was almost his undoing.
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