Enemies of the Empire

Chapter Nineteen

We were glad to reach the safety of the marching-camp, although our arrival there caused quite a stir. The centurion in command had not expected us — only the return of his own troops and animals, and even that not for a day or two after they had delivered us to Isca safe and sound.

The poor man was clearly horrified to find himself suddenly playing host to a man of Marcus’s rank, but he did his best, and soon had his soldiers scurrying around preparing food and looking after us. The wounded man was lifted from the cart and treated by the army doctor on the spot, orderlies took our weary horses away to feed and water them, while the corpses were carried off to be given decent burial. There was a fire already lit outside every tent, and soon there was oat-porridge on the boil — not a tasty dish, but welcome all the same, as was the fresh water which was brought so that we could rinse our dusty hands and feet.

Marcus was anxious to get back on the road and wanted new horses and an escort found at once, but though the centurion was only too eager to oblige it was obviously impractical to arrange for that tonight. It was already getting dark, the men were tired, the hired horses were so jaded they could hardly stand upright, and no fresh draught animals could be produced to pull the carts.

‘It is most regrettable, Excellence, but earlier today there were reports of rebel movements in the north, and we were required to send cavalry support and a supply-train to provision them. We don’t have the animals to spare — we can hardly take those creatures that you hired in exchange for ours. We’ll have to send to Venta at first light. Will there be something suitable at the mansio by then?’

He glanced at the optio who was crouching on a stool, finishing his bowl of army gruel. The enquiry was an acknowledgement of his authority at the inn, which usually made him preen with pride. Now though he just looked miserable and shook his head. ‘It’s possible, though we are not expecting anyone in particular.’

‘Then we may have to requisition some. There are pro-Roman farmers round about who will pleased to help. And we’ll see that those hired nags of yours are taken back to where they came from, too.’

He had addressed this to the optio again, but Regulus could not resist the opportunity to make it clear whose effort had obtained for us such horses as we had. ‘I don’t suppose the owner will be very pleased,’ he said. ‘He obviously makes a living from the staging trade — taking in tired horses from weary travellers, and letting out those broken-winded things. Make sure he gives you the deposit back.’

The optio scowled. Tempers were beginning to fray, and it was clear that we were stuck there for the night. Worse, it was becoming obvious that we would have to return to Venta next day to reprovision and regroup. Marcus himself was clearly furious at this, but he did attempt to hide it: murmuring rather ungracious thanks to the commanding officer, who gave up his tent and the few luxuries the camp possessed and moved in with his second-in-command so that my patron should have a proper bed. The rest of us were forced to share the draughty leather shelters which always formed the temporary barracks of a marching-camp like this, ready to move off at any time. There were quite a lot of us to house, and the troops that had gone off to join the peace-keeping patrol had taken their tents with them in their packs, so numbers in some of the remaining ones had to be doubled up to make sufficient room.

It was crowded, uncomfortable and cold but I was glad to rest. I must have slept, despite the lumpy straw-packed sack which had been provided as a palliasse, because I was wakened by a trumpet-call at dawn, and the sounds of soldiers tumbling from their beds and struggling with their clanking armour as they dressed. I came out blinking into misty chill, to find Marcus already up, and looking fresh.

He was smiling as he greeted me. ‘The commandant has already detailed two lots of volunteers to get fresh horses from the town and take the hired ones back. In the meantime he’s invited me to review the troops.’

It was obviously that piece of flattery which had improved his mood, and after a meagre breakfast of grey army bread, washed down by water from a leather flask, I joined him on the parade ground in the enclosure opposite.

The real working business of the camp — the fatigues, patrols and working parties, the duties and the password of the day — had already been decided at the centurion’s meeting earlier, but all troops ‘fit for duty’ were now drawn up on parade. Their officer harangued them and assigned them to their tasks, and led them in the oath of loyalty. Then he stepped back and Marcus’s inspection began.

A chilly morning followed. We walked up and down the columns — Marcus imperious in his purple-bordered robes, flanked by the optio and Regulus; I trailing obediently in his wake. A rostrum was produced and Marcus, looking suitably severe, addressed the men. He was always a good speaker and they roared applause. I hoped that this would be the end of it, but our horses had presumably still not arrived, because a display of weapons training was announced, and I stood and froze while soldiers threw heavy wooden javelins, or thrust at wooden stakes with wooden swords.

Marcus had done service with the legions once and was genuinely enthralled, but it was of no real interest to me until I was offered one of their wicker practice shields to try, and found it was very difficult to lift.

That made our centurion laugh aloud. ‘The training shields are twice the weight of regulation ones. Makes you strong,’ he said, and lifted it to shoulder height.

The optio was not to be outdone. ‘I’ll show him what’s involved. I used to be the champion at this.’ Stepping forward, he raised the shield one-handedly and whirled it effortlessly about his head in a series of complex feints and blocking moves which earned him a smattering of surprised applause.

Only Regulus was not impressed. ‘Trust him to take an opportunity for showing off,’ he grumbled. ‘Thank heaven the supply party has returned, or he’d want to prove before His Excellence that he was best at everything.’ He nodded towards the tented camp, where indeed a group of men had just galloped in, leading a string of other animals.

The inspection was brought to a hasty close and we returned to find that the men had brought us not only proper horses from the military inn, but also my clean tunic, which had come back from the fuller’s by this time. People at the mansio were awaiting our return. The kitchen in particular had been forewarned and was preparing stuffed sow’s udder for His Excellence, to make up for the porridge yesterday.

Marcus was suddenly anxious to be gone, and the optio — encouraged by the response to his parade-ground feats — leapt into noisy action once again, ordering his men to get things organised. We did not really need a full escort for the journey back along the open road, but it was provided just the same, and no sooner had I changed my clothes than we were on our way.

Even so, our troubles were not over yet. It was not far to Venta but the biting wind had settled into pouring heavy rain, which made the journey seem far longer than it was. No sooner had we streamed into the mansio, wet, travel-stained and dispirited, than the junior officer who’d been left in temporary command came hurrying from the guard-room area to see the optio.

‘Your pardon, sir, but there are people here to see that gentleman.’ He kept his voice low, but I heard the words, and saw to my surprise that he was indicating me. ‘One of them is a wealthy townsman of some influence. He came here yesterday as well. I told him you were on the way to Isca and I didn’t know when you were coming back, but he refused to leave. His family has been humiliated in the courts, he says. Something about a young man being forced to witness on behalf of somebody he didn’t know, and without his paterfamilias being told.’

The optio looked impatient, but the soldier pressed the point. ‘I think it should be dealt with quickly, sir — the complainant in question is a wealthy individual and serves the civitas in several ways — although he’s not actually a citizen. You know what these Silurians are like. If he sees this as a personal affront and we don’t sort it out he’ll get his friends to back him, and before you can say “Mars Lenis” there’ll be riots in the street.’

I looked at Marcus and he looked at me, with a scowl that told me that this was all my fault.

‘It must be Laxus,’ I said stupidly. ‘He is the only one who spoke in my defence.’ I was surprised. I knew that he’d been carrying an illegal knife, and he knew that I knew. I would not have expected him to raise complaints. He had too much to lose by counterclaims.

‘It’s not the youth himself,’ the soldier said. ‘More like his father, by the looks of it.’ Of course! It had been idiotic of me to think otherwise. ‘Says he has always supported Roman power, but he’d been passed over for appointments several times, and was this all the thanks he’s going to get,’ the soldier amplified. ‘I didn’t like to put him off, so I told him he could wait and speak to the senior officer when he got back — I hadn’t been expecting to see the pavement-maker and His Excellence again.’

‘I wasn’t expecting to be here,’ Marcus said, ‘but since I am, I think I’d better deal with this myself. It was my court, after all. But, Libertus, you can come as well. The wretched boy was called in as a witness on your account. You, optio, can have some towels sent in to us and some refreshments too.’ He turned back to our informant. ‘Where is the fellow now?’

‘I’ve left him in the commander’s anteroom.’ The junior officer looked sideways at his optio, but he could not well avoid addressing his answer to Marcus all the same. ‘I did take the liberty, Excellence, of offering the man a little something while he waits. I hope I’ve done the proper thing.’

Marcus beamed at him approvingly, although it is not the custom at a mansio, where those not on official business have to pay their keep, to deal with civilian callers as though they were visitors to a private house. ‘In the circumstances, I’m sure you did.’

The optio looked less convinced. Presumably this largesse would be at his expense, while his subordinate got all the praise for it. He managed a tight smile. ‘I, personally, will have something sent to you at once,’ he said, stressing the ‘personally’ to show that he had now resumed command. Then, in an obvious effort to ingratiate himself, he added, ‘And I’ll send a slave in with a towel. Perhaps you’d care to have him to wash your feet as well?’

‘No need to delay ourselves with that for now.’ Marcus was brisk. ‘The sooner we have dealt with this, the sooner we can dry ourselves and dine.’ He turned to the junior officer again. ‘Lead on, then. Let’s see what this angry father wants. He’s been a supporter of the Empire, you say. I’ll treat him carefully. From what I’ve experienced of this area, Rome needs to look after all the friends she has. Ah! A towel!’ He took the linen napkin from the slave who had run to fetch it and rubbed his head with it. Then he ran a ringed hand through his curly hair, adjusted his spattered toga, squared his shoulders and composed his face into a mask of dignity. ‘Come, Libertus!’ I trailed damply after him.

As we entered the optio’s waiting room, the visitor was already rising to his feet. He was a florid man of middle age, slack-faced and corpulent, but the similarity to Laxus was quite striking all the same. He was dressed in a Grecian-style robe of such a startling white that it made Marcus, in his damp toga, look quite dingy in comparison. An elaborate torc-necklace was round his throat, and on his arms and fingers there were silver bands of beautifully intricate design. His face was flushed with sullen discontent, and he was clearly ready to protest at once.

Marcus walked towards him with both hands outstretched, and a smile of diplomatic welcome on his lips. ‘My dear citizen, please accept our most sincere regrets. We had no notion that you were awaiting us. I am Marcus Aurelius Septimus, representative of the outgoing governor. Whom do I have the honour of addressing?’ The Latin was punctiliously courteous and correct, and he’d addressed the man as ‘citizen’. As a forestalling manoeuvre, it was consummate.

The man before us faltered visibly. He had been expecting a few minutes’ interview with the optio, at most, and here was a major dignitary greeting him as though he were a legate, at the least. He hesitated, took the proffered hands, then did as any right-thinking citizen would do and fell on one knee, kissing Marcus’s ring. ‘They call me Lucidus, Excellence,’ he muttered. ‘I prefer a Roman name. I am sorry to disturb your mightiness. I was only-’

‘It was about your son, I understand?’ my patron said. ‘He was required in my court yesterday, to bear witness on this citizen’s behalf. I summoned him myself, and he was brought, according to the law. You have some complaint about the matter, I believe?’ All this was delivered with a smile, but Lucidus was truly flustered now. There were beads of sweat appearing on his brow. He struggled to his feet.

All the swagger had vanished from his frame, and he drooped a little in his finery. He looked like a defeated cockerel as he said, ‘I came on my son Laxus’s account. His mother asked me to. I have no wish to offend Your Excellence — I only had his version of affairs. He told me he was seized on in the open court and dragged up to testify for some wretch on a murder charge he’d happened to run into in the street.’

Marcus was still smiling as he disengaged his hands and sat down in the folding chair behind the optio’s desk. ‘And so he was. The wretch in question was this citizen.’ He indicated me. ‘A member of my personal retinue, brought to trial on a trumped-up charge. Your son’s intervention was of great account in seeing that justice was achieved. I am delighted to have the chance to thank you personally for your family’s help.’

‘Oh.’ Lucidus’s righteous outrage was suddenly as deflated as a wine-skin with a leak. ‘Honoured to be of service, Excellence.’

My patron glided smoothly on. ‘Of course it was a little difficult to perceive my client’s status at the time. Unfortunately his slave was murdered — by some rebel, it appears — and his clothes and toga were stolen.’ An attendant from the mansio had just appeared, bringing a tray of fruit and dates and wine. Marcus gestured to him to approach, selected a large date from the bowl and bit into it thoughtfully. ‘Most unfortunate.’

I was contemplating whether or not I dared to take a plum, so I was only half listening to the man’s reply. ‘These rebels, Excellence! They are a disgrace to all our peoples. A hundred years now Rome has ruled this area in peace — and brought us prosperity and law. My forefathers knew it and supported them, even in Caractacus’s day. This hand,’ he held out his right arm dramatically, ‘has never faltered in support of Rome.’

I found that I was gazing at it, mesmerised. All his jewellery was decorated with the same device — a convoluted reptile eating its own tail. I realised that I was acting like a snake myself, following the movements of his fingers with my eyes — much as I have seen serpents on the roadside stalls watching the street magician while he plays the flute and begs brass coins from the market crowd. I had to make an effort to tear my gaze away.

Even Marcus noticed. ‘What is it now, old friend?’ His little success in deflecting Lucidus’s complaint had pleased him, patently, and he was in a better humour than I had seen him for some days.

Emboldened by ‘old friend’, I took a plum and risked a bite of it. I said, ‘I was struck by the beauty of the citizen’s silver ring. It is a wonderfully delicate design.’

Marcus turned to the Silurian and laughed. ‘Trust Libertus to observe a thing like that. He is an artist, of a sort, by trade. But he is right. The work is very fine.’

Lucidus preened, but I saw him register the fact that I was, after all, only a tradesman and of small account. So it was to my patron only that he said, ‘A family emblem. And traditional. It belonged to one of my great-great-grandfathers. All his treasures were of this design. See, I have the same pattern on my wrist ornament.’ He held it out for the great man to inspect, but Marcus only nodded perfunctorily at it. Now that the complaint had been resolved, his real attention was on the dates and wine.

‘This treasure was not used as grave goods, then?’ I said. Both men looked at me in surprise and I felt obliged to explain my thoughts. ‘It is the Celtic custom, after all, to inter a man’s treasures with him when he dies, both as a sign of his importance here, and so that he can have the use of them in the otherworld. Something as valuable and beautiful as that might well have been selected for the afterlife.’

Lucidus looked a little huffy at my intervention, but he answered readily enough. ‘It was so valuable and beautiful that when he had it made he decreed that it should not be buried with him, but passed on through the generations as a sign that we are true warriors of the blood. All males are given a piece of it when they come of age, and each will hand it to his heirs in turn. As the first-born of my father, I have the bulk of it. Does that satisfy your curiosity?’

He obviously intended to put me in my place, so I could not resist the temptation to remark, ‘It must deplete the treasure quite a bit, if all your eight sons have a piece of it. Apart from Laxus, you have seven others in the legions, I believe?’ I took another bite of plum.

He stared at me. ‘How do you know that?’

‘Something young Aurissimus remarked when he was outside the tavern with your son. Though admittedly he wasn’t sober at the time. They were with Cupidus as well and all of them had had far too much to drink. I expect you know the youths I mean?’

Lucidus was already in retreat. He flushed. ‘Laxus keeps bad company. I’m sorry, citizen. He is the youngest of the family and his mother spoils him. But you are right. My other boys are in the legions — in defence of Rome. Posted to the Rhineland, and doing very well. Fortunately the hoard was large enough. Each of them inherited a ring.’ He gave me a placatory smile. ‘I shall leave mine to Laxus when I die, and he will bequeath it to his son, I hope, just as my father passed it on to me. In the meantime, I take care of it.’

I hadn’t finished. ‘Yet I am sure that I have seen the pattern somewhere else. I am trying to remember where — could it have been on Laxus’s dagger-hilt? Or on the sheath, perhaps?’ I asked this with affected unconcern, taking another bite of plum meanwhile. Perhaps that was a tactical mistake. The fruit was excellent, but it is difficult to strike a threatening note when one has plum juice dribbling down one’s chin.

All the same, my little thrust went home. The punishments for carrying unlawful weapons are severe and Lucidus eyed me anxiously, realising that I knew more about his son than was altogether conducive to his health. I felt a sudden sympathy for him. The unprepossessing Laxus was his mother’s pet, and it was at her behest that Lucidus had come here to complain. Given what I’d just revealed about his spotty son, he was obviously wishing that he’d never come. I wondered what would happen to the lad when he got home.

‘Perhaps it was his cloak clasp that you saw.’ Lucidus ran a tongue round his lips and glanced at Marcus, who — uninterested in Celtic silverwork — was still busying himself with the refreshment tray. ‘Laxus was given that when he became a man — the day that he removed the bulla from his neck and sacrificed his childhood toga to the gods.’ He leaned towards me, dropped his voice, and added urgently — although he clearly did not believe the words himself — ‘There is an ancient knife of that design as well, but that’s not his at all. I’m sure it’s never left the house. We keep it locked up in a chest at home, with all the other things. Of course, citizen, if there is anything that I can do, anything at all that you require. .’

‘Great gods!’ I interrupted, with such suddenness that even Marcus looked up from his wine. ‘I’ve suddenly remembered where I’ve seen this workmanship before! It is a family design, you say? Only a male member of your tribe would wear or carry something of this kind?’

He stared at me as though I were an idiot — but one it was important to appease. ‘I believe I have just said so, citizen. The details of the pattern might be copied, I suppose, but even then the silversmith would need a pattern-piece — and I do not see how that could be achieved. No item worked in this design has ever been permitted to leave the family. It is a part of our ancestral heritage.’

Marcus was losing interest in all this. He shrugged. ‘Yet Libertus thinks he saw it somewhere else. Perhaps the original craftsman made secret template copies of his own? Such things are not unknown. The design is not to Roman taste, but it is clearly fine. No doubt such things would fetch a splendid price.’

‘I do not think so, Excellence.’ Lucidus was stung into contradicting him outright — not treatment Marcus was accustomed to. ‘My ancestor was a man of culture and though he was a fearsome warrior, he was also an artist in his way. He created the design himself, but it is very intricate and he had no tribesman with the skill to work the silver as he wanted it. The silversmith who did it was captured in the wars, and taken by the family as a slave. This set of pieces was his masterwork. He spent ten years making it, the legend says. .’ He paused.

‘So perhaps he made some others afterwards.’ Marcus was abrupt.

‘Afterwards?’ Lucidus shook his head. ‘Afterwards my ancestor himself cut off the man’s two hands and burned them, together with the bark designs and templates, in front of all the tribe so that the feat could never be repeated.’ It was a stark picture and there was a moment’s thoughtful silence before he added, ‘I do not believe that any man alive could replicate the work, certainly not by eye alone, still less from memory.’

I said softly, ‘Then why did I see one like it in the marketplace here, only a day or two ago?’