The Eagles Conquest

Chapter Thirty -One

As soon as the ramparts had been completed, General Plautius ordered the men to construct a string of forts to guard the approaches to the main camp. At the same time, the engineers started on the pontoon bridge. They drove piles into the river and secured the vessels in position by day, and laid the roadway by night. Working from each bank, the engineers were steadily closing the gap and soon men and supplies would be able to pass freely across the Tamesis. Nisus watched them from a tree stump above the river, his eyes on the shimmering reflection of torches in the dark water. He was frowning as he gazed down on the river, and was so deeply immersed in his thoughts that he did not notice his visitor until the man sat down on a log close by.

'Well, my Carthaginian friend, you do look gloomy!' Vitellius gave a small laugh. 'What's up?'

Nisus thrust his dark thoughts aside and forced a smile. 'Nothing, sir. '

'Come now, I can read a man's body like a book. What's the matter?'

'Just needed some time alone.'

'I see,' replied Vitellius and rose from the log. 'Then please excuse me. I thought we might talk, but I can see that you don't want to…'

Nisus shook his head. 'No need to go. I was just thinking, that's all.'

'What about?' Vitellius smoothly seated himself again. 'Whatever it was, it seems to have upset you.'

'Yes.' Nisus said no more and simply stared out across the river once again, leaving the tribune to sit silently at his side.

Vitellius was shrewd enough to know that the men he wished to manipulate needed to trust him first. And more, he must seem considerate and empathetic to a degree that indicated compassion rather than comradeship. So he waited patiently for Nisus to speak. For a while the surgeon continued to stare at the river in silence. Then he shifted his position and turned his head to the tribune, not quite able to shift the despair from his expression.

'It's strange, but no matter how many years I've served Rome I still feel, and am made to feel, like an outsider. I can mend the men's wounds, I speak to them in their tongue and I share their suffering in long campaigns. Yet the moment I mention my race or origins, it's as if a sour smell has come between us. I can see them almost recoil physically. You'd think that I was Hannibal himself from the way some of them react. The moment I mention Cartage it seems that nothing has changed in the last three hundred years. But what have I done to cause them to react this way?'

'Nothing,' replied Vitellius gently. 'Nothing at all. It's just the way we're raised. Hannibal is a name that has passed into our folklore. And now everything Carthaginian is associated with the terrible monster who once came within a whisker of wiping out Rome.'

'And is that how it will always be?' The aching bitterness in Nisus' voice was clear. 'Isn't it time your people moved on?'

'Of course it is. But not while there's still some political advantage to be wrung out of old fears. People need someone to hate, to be suspicious of, to blame for the unfairness in their lives. That's where you come in. And by "you" I mean all non-Romans who live cheek by jowl with the citizens. Take Rome. At first it was threatened by Etruscans, then the Celts, then the Carthaginians. All very real threats to our survival which made us stick together. But once we became the most powerful nation on the earth and there were no longer any enemies to make Rome tremble, we found it was still expedient to have someone to fear and hate. Being Roman means thinking you're the best. And being the best only has meaning if there is something less worthy to compare yourself to and pit yourself against.'

'And you Romans seriously think you are the most superior race in the whole world, I suppose.'

'Most do, and the truth of that, as they would see it, is more evident with every victory over an enemy, with every piece of land that is added to the empire. It encourages the mob in Rome, and it gives them something to be proud of as they eke out their lives in appalling squalor.'

'And you, Tribune?' Nisus fixed his dark eyes on the tribune. 'What do you believe?'

'Me?' Vitellius looked down at the dark shape of his boots. 'I believe that Romans are no better or worse than other people. I believe that some of our leaders are cynical enough to realise that there's no political capital to be made out of such a notion. Indeed, they realise that as long as they can focus people's discontent away from their real conditions of existence then the plebs will bump along nicely and cause few problems to their rulers. That's one of the reasons why Rome has so many public holidays and spectacles. Bread, circuses and prejudices: the three legs upon which Rome stands.'

Nisus regarded him silently for a moment. 'You still haven't told me what you believe in, Tribune:

'Haven't I'?' Vitellius shrugged. 'Maybe that's because one has to be very discreet about what one believes in these days.' He reached to his side and slipped a small wineskin off his belt, pulled out the stopper and squeezed a jet of liquid into his mouth. 'Ah Now that's good stuff!

'Thanks.' Nisus reached for the wineskin and tipped his head back and drank. He swallowed, and smacked his lips. 'What is it?'

'Family wine. From a vineyard my father owns in Campania. l've been drinking it since I was a kid. Nice.'

'Nice? Lovely!'

'Maybe. Anyway, I find it helps clarify the world if taken in sufficient quantities. It's strong and a little goes a long way. More?'

'Yes, sir.'

They drank in turn, and soon the warm wine worked its way with them, and Nisus slipped into a more content and receptive frame of mind. The wine seemed to have affected the tribune equally. He lifted a knee and cupped it with his hands.

'We live in a strange age, Nisus.' Vitellius carefully slurred his words.

'We have to be careful about what we say and who we say it to. You asked me what I believed.'

'Yes.'

'Can I trust you?' Vitellius turned and smiled at him. 'Can I afford to trust you, my Carthaginian friend? Can I assume you are what you purport to be, and not some cunning spy of the Emperor?'

Nisus was hurt by the accusation, as ViteIIius had hoped he would be.

'Sir, we haven't known each other long,' the wine caused him to stumble over the words, 'but I think, I'm sure, we can trust each other.

'At least, I trust you.'

Vitellius smiled faintly and clapped the Carthaginian on the shoulder.

'And I trust you. Really I do. and tell you what I believe.' He paused to look round carefully. Aside from the restless toil of the engineers. only a handful of men roved among the ranked tents. Satisfied that they would not be overheard, Vitellius leaned closer.

'What I believe is this. That the rightful destiny of Rome has been perverted by the Caesars and their cronies. The Emperor's only concern has been to keep the mob happy. Nothing else matters. Remove Claudius and the mob won't need to be quite so spoiled all the time. And that means the burden can be lifted from the rest of the empire. Then maybe we can look forward to an empire based on partnership between civilised nations rather than one based on fear and oppression. Who knows, even Carthage might return to her rightful position in such an empire… '

Vitellius saw the effect his words were having on Nisus. His face was now fixed with an expression of idealistic zeal. Vitellius had to stop himself smiling. It amused him immensely that men were so easily suborned to idealistic causes. Provide them with a sufficiently attractive set of ideals to flatter themselves with, and you could command them to do anything for the sake of the cause. Find a man who craved significance and the admiration of others, and you found a fanatic. Such men were fools, Vitellius told himself. Worse than fools. They were dangerous to other people, but more importantly, they were dangerous to themselves. Ideals were figments of deluded imaginations. Vitellius believed he saw the Roman world as it truly was – the means by which those with sufficient guile to bend it to their will could achieve their ends, nothing more. People too stupid to see this were merely tools waiting to be used by better men.

Or women, he reflected, as he recalled the skill with which Flavia had made her play against the Emperor, behind the back of her husband. She and her friends might have succeeded, but for the brutal methods of Narcissus and his imperial agents, like Vitellius himself. Vitellius recalled the man who had had to be virtually beaten to death before he yielded her name. He had been executed immediately afterwards, and now the only person other than himself who knew of Flavia's complicity was Vespasian.

'Carthage reborn,' Nisus mused softly. 'I've only dared dream of that.'

'But first we must remove Claudius,' Vitellius said quietly.

'Yes,' Nisus whispered. 'But how?'

Vitellius stared at him, as if considering how far he would go down this line. He took another mouthful of wine before continuing in a voice scarcely louder than the surgeon's, 'There is a way. And you can help me. I need to get a message through to Caratacus. Will you do it?'

The moment of decision had arrived and Nisus lowered his head into his hands and tried to think. The wine helped to simplify the process, if only because it stopped any cold, logical thinking interfering with his emotions and dreams. With very little effort it was clear to him that Rome would never accept him into her bosom. That Carthage would always be treated with harsh contempt. That the iniquities of the empire would last for ever – unless Claudius was removed. The truth was clear and uncomfortable. Drunk as he was, the prospect of what he must do filled his heart with cold terror.

'Yes, Tribune. I'll do it.'