QUIRINIUS: BRITANNIA’S LAST ROMAN by Hildinger Erik

Author:Hildinger, Erik [Hildinger, Erik]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Moonshine Cove Publishing, LLC
Published: 2021-11-10T00:00:00+00:00

Twelve: The Monastery, October 491 AD

“The first thing after taking office was to get a look at the Wall. This was needed for two reasons. To see the thing itself, of course. That hardly need be said. The second was to let some of the men get used to me and to wrest some of them, or at least their loyalty, from the nobles. To—”

“To encourage those men to find a place in their hearts for you,” the bishop said in a rich, honeyed tone.

“True enough, Your Eminence,” Quirinius said. He turned to look at Ambiorus and the abbot. “But please observe that the bishop’s irony doesn’t render what he says untrue.”

“It does affect the flavor, you might say,” Ambiorus said from the back of the room. He now rose and stretched.

Quirinius laughed. “Quite right, my boy! But let’s keep our eyes on the truth. Let’s disregard His Eminence’s sarcasms.

“So, yes, I wanted their loyalty—or at least their divided loyalty. For me? Somewhat, yes. But really—and this is the part it’s hard to convince a fool of—but really because their loyalty was a tool I could use against the enemies of the province.”

“And their loyalty—even divided as you say—was a protection to you.” The bishop smiled with a touch of bitterness.

“Who better to be protected? The ninnies who wouldn’t defend themselves from the Saxon raiders? The half-barbarian chiefs who could hardly be told from the Saxons if they didn’t open their mouths?”

The abbot, who abhorred conflict, tried to turn the conversation back to its proper channel. “ Domin ē , was there no threat from the north at that time? From beyond the Wall?”

“There’s always a threat from up there. Always. And then there was a certain propriety to visiting the Wall. As Count of the Britains, I had to survey the Wall; it was simply part of my office. But it was a good thing I travelled there, because when I arrived with my men, I found we were needed. It was purely a matter of chance, but you can imagine how my visit was construed.”

“As an example of your genius?” the bishop asked smoothly. “A sort of proof that you could see their danger from two hundred miles away?”

“Oh, better! Much better than that. I was the son of fortune, ‘Felix.’ Like old Sulla in his prime.

“You see, the Scots had come down from behind the Wall and troubled the king of Rheged—or a part of it, anyway. He called himself “Trifun” and maintained that one of his great grandfathers had been the tribune of a cohort of some sort under the second Valentinian. Who knows? It might be true. In any case, it seemed to him that the word, even corrupted as it was into his name, gave some shine to his house. From the days of his grandfather, his people had been given a free hand to rule the area as a sort of marcher state, a kingdom if you like, on the ground that they would keep the Scots and Picts behind the Wall, and we Romans would regard them as independent.

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