The Eagles Conquest

Chapter Forty

The camp on the south bank had long since settled down for the night when the flap to Flavia's chamber was lifted. A dark shadow crept in and quietly stole up to the travel bed. Vespasian trod softly into the weak glow of the single oil lamp, still burning on a nearby stand, and looked down on the sleeping form of his wife, marvelling at her perfection in repose. Flavia's face was smooth in the gentle orange glow and with lips slightly apart she breathed deeply in an even rhythm that sounded like the far-off sea. Dark strands of her hair lay across the silk bolster and he leaned forward to sniff them, smiling at the familiar scent. Straightening up, Vespasian let his eyes travel down to her breast, softly rising and falling with each breath, and then his gaze took in the ripples of silk that clung in fuller curves to the outline of her body.

For a moment he sunendered to the raw love he felt for her. She was so close that she was almost flesh of his flesh, so guileless in her slumber that she appeared to him as she had in the first hot heady days of their passion. The fruit of that passion, he knew, lay in the very next chamber.

He had looked in on young Titus before coming to his wife. The boy had been lying on his back, one arm raised across the top of his head, mouth gaping open, the shock of dark hair soft to the touch. So many of his mother's features were reproduced in him in cherubic miniature, and yet Vespasian had felt a twinge of rage at his wife for spoiling the moment.

For a while he stood gazing at his wife, then he slowly lowered himself onto the soft mattress. There was a light rustle of silk against the coarser wool of his military tunic and a displacement of the comfortable position her body had settled into while asleep. Flavia turned onto her side, disturbing the rhythm of her breathing and a loud click at the back of her throat turned into a snort. Her eyes fIickered open, closed a moment and split open again, much wider this time. She smiled.

'Thought you'd never come.'

'I'm here now.'

'I can see that. Just wondered where you'd got to.'

'I had work to do.'

Flavia propped her head up on her hand. 'So important you couldn't see me first'

Vespasian nodded. 'Yes, that important, I'm afraid.' she stared at him a moment and then suddenly wrapped her arm round his neck and drew his head down towards her. Their lips met. Soft and tentative at first, and then with the comforting firmness of a long and loving relationship. Vespasian drew back and looked down at her closed eyes

'I needed that,' she whispered. 'Any more where that came from?'

'Later.'

'Later?'

'We must talk. It can't wait.'

'Talk?' Flavia smiled. 'Surely not.'

Sliding her hand to the hem of the silk sheet, she drew it down her naked body – like a sinuous serpent sloughing off its skin, thought Vespasian. The disturbing simile drew his mind back to what he must do. Now. Without further delay. He gently grasped her hand and drew the sheet back up over her breasts. His deliberate movements astonished Flavia. She was offended and her brows drew together in a frown.

'What's the matter? Darling, tell me.'

Vespasian stared down at her with cold eyes, not trusting himself to speak before he was in control of his emotions.

Flavia was alarmed now and quickly eased herself back and up so that she was sitting facing her husband. 'You don't love me. That's it. Isn't it?' Her almond-shaped eyes widened in panic and her lips trembled. She clenched her jaw to still them.

This was not what Vespasian had anticipated; that he would have to convince her of his love first before accusing her of treason. He shook his head.

'Then what? Why are you so cold to me, husband?'

There was fear in her face now, and a look that he was reluctant to interpret as dawning suspicion that her intrigues had been discovered. Fortunately, it wasn't.

'You bastard!' She slapped him hard. 'Who is she? What's the name of the little tart?'

'What are you talking about?' Vespasian grabbed her wrist as her hand came sweeping in to deliver another blow. 'There is no other woman! This is about you!'

'Me?' Flavia froze. 'What about me?'

'I have to know about you… and your relationship to the Liberators.'

'I don't know what you're talking about.' She dropped her hands to her chest and stared at him, returning his searching gaze with what seemed to be frankness.

'You've heard of the Liberators, Flavia?'

'Of course. There've been wild rumours circulating about them for months. But what has it got to do with me?'

Vespasian looked down into his lap and his voice had a hard quality to it when he continued. 'Flavia, I know about your involvement in the plot against the Emperor. I know that you were working with those who were trying to get the army to mutiny before the invasion began. You tried to keep it all from me, but I know everything now. To conspire with these so-called Liberators was bad enough, but how could you have involved Titus in your treachery? How could you? Your own son? I also know you tried to have Narcissus killed. And now what are you and your Liberator friends up to? Supplying our enemies with weapons! Conspiring to kill the Em-'

'This is preposterous!' Flavia spat at him. 'From what madness does all this poison come?'

'From you, my wife.'

'You're mad.'

'No, only blind,' Vespasian said softly. 'Until recently.'

Flavia sat bolt upright ready to renew her protests, but Vespasian stabbed a finger at her.

'No! Let me finish. I would never have suspected you, never. I'd thought we were as one mind, one purpose in life. I trusted you in every detail. Then, when your schemes were unveiled to me, I thought the accusations were laughable. But the moment I forced myself to piece the details together, your guilt was inescapable. Oh Flavia! If only you could know how hurt I feel.'

'Who told you this? Who accuses me?'

'It doesn't matter.'

'Of course it does. And are you so naive as to take one person's word for it? And would you believe another before your own wife?'

'I believe my own mind. I've had to think most of it through for myself.'

'Husband, did it not occur to you to question the motives of the person who caused you to question mine? Why would they want to plant such seeds of doubt in your mind? If you tell me the source of these false accusations, I might be able to explain their true purpose.'

The sincerity in her expression and voice caused Vespasian to pause.

Was this the sign of guiltlessness he sought? Could she truly be innocent?

Might his deliberations on her treachery be so very misdirected after all

'the name?' she insisted.

Why was she so determined to have the name? Vespasian wondered.

Surely if she was innocent, then the name mattered far less than the content of the accusations. Then it occurred to him that the real purpose of knowing the name might be revenge, or the intention to remove the source of the accusations to protect the accused.

'There's no need for you to know the name.'

'There is, husband. I told you why.'

'I' d have thought you'd be more concerned to convince me of your innocence, rather than another person's guilt. It would seem more natural.'

'I see.' Flavia leaned back, away from him, regarding her husband coldly as she considered her next move. 'You think I'm unnatural, some kind of monster? The same monster that gave life to your son!'

'That's enough, Flavia!' Vespasian was too weary to pursue such an argument. It was getting too far outside the range of the discussion he had intended. He had hoped that he knew his wife well enough to detect any falsehood. He had made his accusations and she had refuted them and still he was no clearer about whether or not she was involved with the Liberators.

'Look, I have to ask. I have to know what you are up to. If you are working with the enemies of the Emperor, however distantly, you must tell me. I will do my best to protect you from the consequences. I'm no fool, Flavia. If there's any way that we can keep this matter from Narcissus' agents then I'll do it. Better a guilty secret than a dangerous exposure. But you must swear to me to cut all connections with these traitors and never have any dealings with them again. Tell me everything, swear to that, and I'll never repeat a word.' He stared at her fixedly to gauge the effect of his words, and waited for her response.

Flavia reached for his hand and pulled it to her breast. 'Husband, I swear on my life that I am not involved with the Liberators. I swear it.' Vespasian wanted to believe her. Wanted it so desperately, and yet despite her promise some small reserve of doubt brooded darkly at the back of his mind and would not be satisfied.

'Very well. I will accept your word. And I'll do it gladly. But Flavia, if you are playing me for a fool and I ever discover it… '

No threats were necessary. He could see that she knew what the consequences of such a discovery would be. Flavia returned his probing stare for a moment before she nodded solemnly.

'We understand one another then.' Vespasian squeezed her hand in order to reassure her of his feelings, whatever else passed between them. 'Now, I'm tired, very tired. Is there room for two on that bed?'

'Of course, husband.'

'Good. I can't tell you how much I have missed sleeping in your arms.'

'I know,' Flavia whispered.

Vespasian slipped the tunic over his head and leaned down to undo the laces of his boots. While he undressed, Flavia tentatively placed her fingers on his back and traced them lightly across his skin in the way that she knew he liked. But there would be no passion tonight. Too much uncertainty and hurt had passed between them for that. Vespasian climbed under the sheet and kissed his wife gently on the forehead. She waited in case there was more but his eyes closed and very quickly his breathing fell into a deep, even rhythm.

She stared at him awhile, then turned over and gently arched her body into the curve of his, felt the rough hair of his genitals against the soft skin of her buttocks. But there was little pleasure in this reunion with her husband, and long after he had fallen asleep she lay awake, deeply troubled.

It pained her to have misled her husband, but she had taken an earlier oath – on the life of her son – that must take precedence. The Liberators demanded absolute secrecy and threatened the most terrible revenge on those who failed to honour that secrecy. Although she had served them loyally for nearly two years, the daily dread of discovery had finally become too much to bear. She was no longer working for the Liberators, and to that extent she had been honest with her husband. Still, she had learned enough to know that the supply of weapons to the Britons had been arranged by the Liberators when the previous Emperor – the mad Caligula – had resolved to conquer Britain. The plan had always been to undermine any campaign that sought to boost imperial prestige. With every military defeat, and every whispering campaign launched on the streets of Rome, the credibility of the imperial family would be steadily whittled away. In the end, the mob would be begging the aristocracy to seize control of the empire. That would be the Liberators' crowning achievement.

That day was still distant, Flavia had come to realise. The few people she had known who had been linked to the secret organisation were now dead, and Flavia did not want to share their fate. She had sent a message in code to the usual drop in Rome: a numbered box in the office of a correspondence agent on the Aventine. Flavia had simply stated that she would no longer work to further their cause. She knew that the Liberators would be unlikely to accept her withdrawal as readily as she had tendered it. She would have to be on her guard.

Flavia was deeply shocked that her involvement with the Liberators had been uncovered by Vespasian. And if by him, then by who else? Narcissus? But if the chief secretary was aware then surely she would be dead by now. Unless he was playing some deeper game – using her as bait to lure out other members of the conspiracy.