The Eagles Conquest

Chapter Forty-Nine

Two days later the Roman army arrived before the ramparts of Camulodunum. When news of Caratacus' defeat reached the town elders of the Trinovantes they wisely refused to admit the bedraggled remains of their overlord's army into their capital, watching with relief as the sullen column disappeared across the rich farmland to the north. Most of the Trinovante warriors who had served with Caratacus kept faith with him and sadly turned their back on their kinsfolk and marched away. A few hours later an advance party of Roman cavalry scouts approached warily, and nearly turned and fled when the gates were abruptly thrown open and a deputation rushed out to greet them. The Trinovantes were effusive in their welcome to the Romans and in their condemnation of those of their tribe who had joined Caratacus in his futile attempt to resist the might of Emperor Claudius.

The scouts carried the greetings back to the army marching several miles behind them, and late in the afternoon the exhausted Roman legions pitched camp just outside the Trinovantes' capital. The professional caution of General Plautius meant that the deep ditch and high rampart of a camp in the face of the enemy was constructed before the army was allowed to rest.

Early the next day the Emperor and his staff were conducted on an informal tour of the tribal capital, a dour affair by imperial standards, mostly timber-framed buildings of wattle and daub with a handful of more impressive stone structures at its heart. The capital fronted a deep river, alongside which ran a sturdy quay and long storage sheds where Gaulish merchants plied their trade, carrying fine wines and pottery from the continent and filling their vessels for the return journey with furs, gold, silver, and exotic barbarian jewellery for the voracious consumers of the empire.

'An excellent place to found our first colony, Caesar,' Narcissus announced. 'Strong trade links with the civilised world, and ideally situated to exploit the inland markets.'

'Well, yes. Good,' muttered the Emperor, not really listening to his chief secretary. 'But I rather think a n-n-nice temple in honour of me should be an early p-p-priority. '

'A temple, Caesar?'

'Nothing too fussy, just sufficient to insp-sp-spire a little awe.'

'As you wish, Caesar.' Narcissus bowed and then smoothly moved the conversation on to more pertinent schemes for developing the colony. Listening to them, Vespasian could not help but wonder at how easily the decision to erect such a monument was made. A mere whim of the Emperor, and it would happen just like that. A vast colonnaded shrine dedicated to a man ruling from a great city far away would rise above the meagre hovels of this barbarian town just as surely as if Jupiter himself had ordained it. And yet this man, this Emperor, who aspired to be a god, was just as vulnerable to the thrust of an assassin's knife as any other mortal. The threat to Claudius was still very much on Vespasian's mind, as was the fear that Flavia might be involved in the plot.

'How is the planning for tomorrow's c-ceremony going?' Claudius was asking.

'Very well, Caesar,' Narcissus replied. 'A state procession into the capital at midday, the dedication of an altar to peace, and then a banquet in the centre of Camulodunum in the evening. I've had word from our new allies. Seems that they know of Caratacus' defeat and are anxious to pledge their allegiance to us as soon as they can. Should make a dramatic centre-piece to the banquet. You know the sort of thing: the savages led into the presence of the mighty Emperor, before whose imperial majesty they feel compelled to fall on bended knee and swear eternal obedience. It'll look terrific, and make for great reading in the Rome gazette. The plebs will love it.'

'Good. Then see to the appropriate arrangements, please.' Claudius stopped in mid-stride, and his staff officers had to pull up abruptly to avoid running into him. 'Did you hear that last sentence? I didn't stammer once! Gracious me!'

Vespasian suddenly felt very worn out by the Emperor's presence.

The endless and effortless arrogance of members of the imperial family was born of the cringing obeisance presented by all those who surrounded them. Vespasian was proud of his family's genuine achievements. From his grandfather who had served as a centurion in Pompey's army, to his father who had earned sufficient fortune to be elevated into the equestrian class, and thence to his own generation where both he and Sabinus could look forward to glittering senatorial careers. None of it was a mere accident of birth. All of it was the result of a great deal of effort and proven ability. Looking from Claudius to Narcissus and back again, Vespasian experienced his first pang of desire to be as venerated as was his due. In a fairer world it would be him, and not the inept Claudius, who held the destiny of Rome in his hands.

More galling still was the greeting Claudius had made to him after the crushing defeat of Caratacus' army. As Vespasian galloped up to make sure that his Emperor had survived the battle unhurt, he was surprised to see Claudius' air of smug satisfaction.

'Ah! There you are, Legate. I must thank you for the part you and yyyour men played in my trap.'

'Trap? What trap, Caesar?'

'Why, to lure the enemy into a p-position where his true strength would be r-re-revealed and lured to its destruction. You had just the wit to fill the important r-role I had assigned to you.'

Vespasian's mouth had dropped open as he heard this astonishing version of the morning's events. Then he clamped his jaw firmly shut to stop himself making a remark that would threaten his career, not to mention his life. He had bowed his head graciously and mumbled his thanks and tried not to think about the hundreds of stiffening Roman corpses sprawled across the battlefield in silent tribute to the Emperor's tactical genius.

Vespasian wondered if it might be so terrible if Claudius fell under an assassin's knife after all.

The tour of the Trinovantes' capital came to an end and the Emperor and his staff returned to the Roman camp to discover that the representatives of twelve tribes had arrived and were waiting at headquarters for an audience with the Emperor.

'An audience with Caesar?' Narcissus sniffed. 'I think not. Not today at least. They can be presented to him tomorrow, at the banquet.'

'Is that wise, Caesar?' Plautius asked quietly. 'We'll need them when we renew the campaign. It would be better for them to feel like welcome allies rather than despised supplicants.'

'Which is what they are,' Narcissus interposed.

Claudius turned his face towards the skies as if seeking divine advice, and gently stroked his chin. A moment later he nodded and turned back to his staff with a smile. 'The tribesmen can wait. It's been a long day and I'm t -tired. Tell them… tell them that Caesar welcomes them warmly, but that the ex-ex-exigencies of his office prevent him from greeting them in p-p-person. How's that?'

Narcissus clapped his hands together. 'A paragon of elegance and clarity, Caesar!'

'Yes, I thought so.' Claudius tipped his head back in order to look down his nose at Plautius. 'Well, General?'

'Caesar, I am a mere soldier, and lack the necessary refinement to judge the aesthetic merit of another's loquacity.'

Claudius and Narcissus regarded him silently, one with a look of benign incomprehension, the other with close scrutiny as he looked for any trace of irony in the general's features.

'Well yes, quite!' Claudius nodded. 'It's a good thing to be aware of one's d-d-deficiencies.'

'You speak truly, as ever, Caesar.' Plautius bowed his head and Claudius limped off towards his tent, with Narcissus scurrying along to one side. Then the general turned to his officers. 'Vespasian!'

'Yes, sir.'

'You'd better deal with our tribal guests.'

'Yes, sir.'

'See that they're made comfortable and are well looked after. But keep them under close guard. Nothing too obtrusive but just enough to let them know we're watching closely. Can't afford to have them wandering around if there's anything to this rumour about an attempt on the Emperor's life.'

'Yes, sir.' Vespasian saluted and left. His charges were at the headquarters tent. As he entered he was immediately aware of a marked division in the tribal representatives, between those who rose to greet him with a weary acceptance of the inevitable and those who remained squatting on the ground, glaling at him with bitter hostility. To one side, trying to be dignified without looking smug at having sided with the victors, sat Adminius. A huge man turned towards the legate and looked him over with the distastefully obvious air of a man examining an inferior. He approached Vespasian, arm raised, and greeted the legate formally. When he began to speak, Vespasian quickly indicated that Adminius should translate.

'Venutius begs to inform you that he and the others here had the privilege of viewing the battle as guests of Caratacus. He says he still finds it a little difficult to follow the logic of your tactics in the battle, and would be most grateful if you would talk them through with him.'

'Another time. I'm rather busy at the moment.' Vespasian responded coldly. 'And tell him thay whatever the tactics, rhe outcome was inevitable. It always is when ill-disiplined natives attempt to best an army of professional soldiers. What matters is we won and that this island will eventually become a Roman province. Nothing else concerns me right now. Tell him I'll look forward to seeing him and thoses others, when they bow before Caesar and pledge their loyalty to him at the banquet tomorrow night.'

As Adminius translated, Vespasian cast his eyes over the tribal representatives and was struck by the sneering expression on the face of the youngest of them. Hatred burned in the young man's eyes, and his gaze was unfaltering as Vespasian looked at him. For a moment the legate considered staring him out, but then decided it would be a waste of time and turned to leave. A small smile of satisfaction played on the young Briton's lips. Vespasian cocked a finger at Adminius and ducked through the tent flap.

'Who was the youngster?'

'Bellonius,' replied Adminius. 'Son of the ruler of a small northern tribe. His father's dying and sent his son to represent him. Not the wisest choice, I think.'

'Why?'

'You saw him. Not hiding much behind that expression.'

'Dangerous?'

Adminius considered the young Briton a moment before responding. 'No more so than any teenager who has been exposed to Caratacus' propaganda. '

'And Venutius?'

'Him?' Adminius laughed. 'He was once a great warrior. But he's getting on. Spends all his time talking about the old days. Bit of an old fool really.'

'You think so?' Vespasian raised an eyebrow as he recalled the shrewdness in the man's grey eyes when he had stood before him and assessed his character.

Vespasian could not help thinking there was more to Venutius than Adminius gave him credit for.