Claudius

XLII

Claudius stared out across the wide expanse of grassland Nacissus had chosen for the surrender of Britain. Was it worth it? He had invested the wealth of an empire to be here this day, had risked the lives of fifty thousand soldiers; his own life. Was it worth it? Yes. Definitely, yes.

He breathed the heady air, felt the power grow in him, and turned to survey the might of Rome. They formed three sides of an enormous square that seemed to stretch for miles across the flat plain. Four legions and their attached auxiliary units were on parade — the Eighth, Ninth, Fourteenth and Twentieth — an army forty thousand strong, even without the Second Augusta and the bulk of the cavalry, who had marched west after the fleeing Caratacus. The fourth side of the square consisted of the Emperor’s reviewing stand with three cohorts of his Praetorian Guard forming a wing on each flank of the huge structure of purple and gold.

To the front right of the stand, in which Claudius and the politicians who had accompanied him took their ease, Rufus stood beside Bersheba, resplendent once more in the golden armour. He was aware of the spectacle around him, but his mind was still numbed by what had happened in the forest, his head filled with the obscene vision of Britte’s last moments. Poor Britte, who had asked nothing but a full belly and a warm bed. He would miss her. A fanfare rang out and he realized the presentations that would precede the surrender were about to begin. He was close enough to the Emperor to see the pride on Frontinus’s face as he marched up on behalf of the depleted ranks of the Cohors Prima Batavorum to receive the unit citation from Claudius’s own hand, and the sadness in his eyes as he remembered the absent comrades who had truly earned it.

‘None deserves it more.’ Rufus flinched as Narcissus spoke the words from a few feet behind him. ‘You should be with them, you and Bersheba. The feat of the river rats and the Emperor’s elephant is still the talk of the army. They’re saying the Batavians swam the Tamesa in their full armour like a shoal of leaping fish.’

‘Verica should be out there too.’ Rufus didn’t particularly mean to say it, but when the words came out of his mouth he didn’t wish them back. ‘He earned his place among the heroes. Even you wouldn’t deny that?’

Narcissus gave a hurt sigh. ‘Verica did his duty, Rufus… as we all did. Verica is the past while Gnaius Hosidius Geta, the horse-faced tribune you see before you, is the future. Geta will receive the honours poor Verica earned and more, but in life he has not done half the service for the Emperor that Verica has in death.’ They watched Geta march up to Claudius to receive his prize and Rufus was puzzled when the Roman’s face went pale. ‘Overwhelmed by the Emperor’s generosity, and well he might be,’ Narcissus explained. ‘The first occasion in our history someone not of consular rank has been awarded the triumphal regalia. They tell me Vespasian is quite put out.’

Rufus tensed and Narcissus moved to one side; the last of the honours had been dispensed and the Emperor was approaching. Rufus touched Bersheba’s flank and the elephant bent her knee so he was able to vault smoothly on to her back just in front of the gold-embossed howdah with its bearded image of Mars, of whom Claudius was now the earthly embodiment. A set of wooden stairs was hurriedly brought forward and the Emperor carefully took his seat two feet behind Rufus.

‘Take her forward — close enough for them to smell her,’ he ordered.

Ten kings, Narcissus had promised, and from a grass-clad mound in the centre of the wide plain ten kings and two queens had watched in wonder as all the terrible power and the awesome glory of Rome marched past. Forty thousand men moving as one behind the eagles of their legions. Forty thousand spear points glittering in the morning sunlight. Forty thousand reasons to obey.

Now the rulers of Britain shifted uneasily as Rufus manoeuvred Bersheba’s huge bulk towards them, bringing her to a halt a few feet from the kneeling line so each was forced to stare upwards at their new Emperor as he sat atop a living mountain of gold that blinded them with its lustre. One by one they rose to pledge their loyalty to Rome.

Cogidubnus was first, head held high and secure in the knowledge that his people would prosper. Adminius, who had watched his rival with undisguised hatred, followed to reap the rewards of his perfidy. Of the others, Rufus recognized Prasutagus of the Iceni, and Bodvoc, the Regni king, who had the glazed eye and unsteady feet of a drunkard. One king did not look like a king at all; a small, wiry figure in shabby clothing whose eyes darted nervously and who looked as if he believed Bersheba was about to devour him.

And finally the delicacy that made the rest of the banquet seem like ashes on the tongue. Rufus felt the Emperor shift in his seat as Cartimandua, queen of the Brigantes, walked barefoot across the sward until she could almost touch Bersheba with her outstretched hand. She wore a shimmering gown of translucent blue that hinted at transparency but didn’t quite achieve it.

‘Down.’ Rufus was surprised by the command; this had not been part of the order of ceremony. But an Emperor’s order was an Emperor’s order. He touched Bersheba’s shoulder and she went to her knees, allowing Narcissus to help Claudius from the howdah.

He gestured to Cartimandua to approach. She really was strikingly beautiful. In a way she reminded Claudius of Messalina, only darker — and more dangerous. ‘Welcome, lady. Your fame and your devotion to your people have reached our ears.’ Narcissus handed him a long, cloth-covered bundle. ‘A gift, Queen Cartimandua, from your Emperor’s own hands, in recognition of past loyalty — and future service.’

Cartimandua bowed her head and accepted the parcel, but her eyes were puzzled. She slowly unwound the cloth wrapping and the Emperor was rewarded by a gasp of what might have been either admiration or outrage. The gift was a sword; a beautiful ceremonial sword in a bronze scabbard that had been polished until it glowed bright as gold. Scabbard and grip were decorated with what looked like rubies, but she knew were not. She recognized the sword. She had last seen it on Caratacus’s hip and though she did not know it, it had been found among his possessions in the aftermath of the battle. Perhaps the gift would do after all. She smiled her thanks and turned smoothly to return to the line of rulers, making certain all could see the worth of the Emperor’s gift. As she went, her eyes fell on the flame-haired figure who had stood emotionless by her husband’s side throughout the humiliation of the parade and the oath-taking. Boudicca of the Iceni gave a little half-smile that could have been mistaken for pity, and pushed the green cloak that matched her eyes back from her shoulders. For a moment, Cartimandua was dazzled by a blaze of light. When her vision cleared she recognized the golden brooch at Boudicca’s throat; the brooch in the shape of a boar with a ruby for its eye.

Narcissus saw her stiffen, and understood the reason for it. How..?

‘Two formidable ladies. I am glad I have neither for my wife.’ The Greek nodded dutifully at Claudius’s comment, though no one knew more than he that the Emperor would have been better served by either than the wife he had. ‘Ten rulers of Britain I believe you promised me,’ Claudius continued. ‘Though I think I counted eleven. Who was the little man, the one who smelled of the sea and was dressed like a street urchin?’

‘Why, Caesar, that was the most important king of all.’

Claudius stared at him. Narcissus was allowed licence beyond other courtiers, but not so much as to mock his Emperor.

‘King Donnal rules the Orcades,’ the Greek explained.

‘The Orcades?’

‘Islands, I am assured, at the edge of the known world. He must have been at sea for weeks. Apparently his island was once visited by Roman ships which brought gifts. He considers himself a client of the Empire.’

‘And why should the king of a few fishermen trouble the Emperor of Rome?’

‘Because, Caesar,’ Narcissus said with the utmost patience, ‘King Donnal’s submission extends your dominion to the very ends of this land and beyond.’

The realization dawned on Claudius slowly. Now he could go home.