Masters of Rome

CHAPTER VII

The bite of whips on the mud-grimed, bleeding shoulders of scores of manacled slaves caused the bireme to edge forward a further few paces, releasing four or five smooth, rounded logs from beneath its stern. Teams of slave boys, too young to be hauling on the four long ropes that powered the vessel overland, immediately lifted the freed rollers and ran with them up to the bow of the ship, taking licks from the whips of the legionary overseers they passed. They placed them ready for the ship to trundle onto after the next bout of exertion from the human beasts of burden treated no better than the bellowing oxen harnessed to great yokes in their midst.

The once-proud warriors of the Durotriges were using muscles more accustomed to martial exercise to power Roman ships towards the river estuary, now less than a ship’s length away. Had the slaves been able to register anything but pain and misery they would have smelt the salt-tanged air and heard the gulls overhead crying as they circled the four ships already floated and now moored in a line down the middle of the hundred-pace-wide estuary. Long, low, wide-bellied rowing boats travelled to and fro from a couple of wooden jetties on the eastern bank, ferrying oarsmen and marines with their provisions out to their vessels to make them fit for sea.

Along the bank, north of the jetties, lay the rib-like skeletons of four triremes in various stages of construction surrounded by yet more Britons working under the direction of Roman shipwrights and guarded by two centuries of Cogidubnus’ auxiliaries. Hammering, sawing, chiselling or carrying, these men were not manacled; they were free men having surrendered honourably to the II Augusta during its push westwards through the lands of the Durotriges over the last two campaigning seasons. Now as free subjects of Rome they were being given the chance to earn citizenship by building the ships in which they would serve as rowers for the next twenty-six years.

Standing with Magnus and Sabinus outside the gates of the II Augusta’s camp, overlooking the enterprise, Vespasian looked down the line of eight biremes still to be floated; in one huge convoy they had been hauled overland along the portage way from a river on the south coast of Britannia to this tidal estuary leading out to the sea on the northern coast of the peninsula running southwest out into the western ocean. The thirty-mile route was lined with crosses upon which were nailed those slaves who had fallen by the wayside too weak to carry on. They had been left to die in agony, as a warning to others, with their legs unbroken so that the instinct to survive would ensure that they would continually try to push up on the impaling nail through their feet in order to breathe, thus prolonging their death. The frequency of the crosses had increased as the days had gone by and although Vespasian regretted the financial loss he had condoned the executions in order to ensure that the operation was completed as quickly as possible.

‘Just eight days,’ Vespasian observed with satisfaction to Magnus next to him, ‘it shows what can be achieved if you put your mind to it.’

‘And if you’ve got the slaves to do it,’ Magnus pointed out, watching an older slave who had collapsed to the ground receiving a beating that would probably finish him. ‘I suppose he could be considered one of the lucky ones.’

‘What?’ Vespasian looked at the wretched slave; exhausted by his unremitting labours, he no longer cried out. ‘Yes, I suppose so; still, none of them would have been in this position had they been sensible and surrendered, like the men working on the triremes, rather than fighting on and becoming captives.’

‘You should be thankful that they weren’t sensible; if they had you wouldn’t have had the manpower to drag this squadron overland and then where would you be? Losing yet more vessels trying to sail hundreds of miles around this storm-riven island, rather than simply dragging them thirty miles to the north coast.’

‘No, I’d have had them built like the triremes; but you’re right, it’s much easier and less effort to bring them overland; not to mention the time it’s saved.’

‘And lives,’ Sabinus observed. He pointed to a smaller ship, a liburnian bobbing at anchor close to the shore, in which he had arrived the day before. He had sailed south from the XIIII Gemina’s base, at General Plautius’ orders, to take personal command of his half of the twelve biremes whose arduous overland journey was now coming to an end — he had only just recovered from two days’ stomach-straining seasickness that morning. ‘The trierarchus of my ship told me that he was the only one who made it round out of a flotilla of half a dozen. Apparently the tides and the wind are very rarely in the right conjunction; three of the ships were wrecked and two turned back.’

Magnus spat. ‘Tides! They ain’t natural.’

Vespasian chuckled. ‘I’m afraid they are, Magnus. Anyway the main thing is that despite the tides we now have a naval presence on both sides of the peninsula ready for our push further west into the Dumnonii lands next season.’

With a flurry of scourging and a rise in the cacophony of agonised cries and bellows, both bestial and human, the next bireme rolled down the bank, plunging into the water, dipping its bow with a phenomenal splash that submerged many of the slaves toiling at its ropes in the river. The great vessel bounced gracefully back up as its full length floated; the resultant wave swept many of the captives from their ropes, out into midstream where they floundered, drawn down by the weight of their manacles.

‘That’s just stupid!’ Vespasian exploded, striding forward with furious intent towards the nearest centurion commanding the legionary overseers. ‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing drowning decent livestock?’

The centurion snapped to attention in the face of his legate’s wrath. ‘We unhitched the oxen, sir!’

‘I’m not talking about the oxen; I’m talking about the slaves!’

The man looked nonplussed for a few moments. ‘It’s unavoidable, sir.’

‘Unavoidable! Do you have any idea how much each one of them is worth? Your annual pay, that’s how much.’ Vespasian gestured to a stoutly built, large stockade about a quarter of a mile away into which slaves who had completed their task were being led. ‘And I make sure that every legionary and auxiliary gets their fair share of the profits for each one sold so what you’re doing is throwing your money and mine away. I suggest that you find a way to make drowning them avoidable, centurion.’

‘Yes, sir!’ the centurion barked, snapping a crisp salute before turning and marching off to berate his men for bringing him to the attention of the legate.

‘A very commendable and remunerative piece of advice, if I may say, legate,’ a smooth voice observed from behind him.

Vespasian spun on his heel. He was in no mood for insolence. ‘Theron!’ he exclaimed, looking into the dark eyes of the Macedonian slave-trader from whom he had bought his body slave, Hormus. ‘What are you doing so close to where the fighting is?’

Theron, a man only in his mid-thirties but already running to fat, bowed, bringing a hand across his ample chest; his voluminous saffron cloak wafted in the slight breeze and pendulous golden earrings glistened next to his trimmed and oiled black beard, which failed to conceal the beginnings of a double chin. Behind him stood a retinue of a dozen bulky men; their age, scars and muscles placed them unmistakably as ex-gladiators. Despite the absence of sun or rain a smooth-skinned eastern youth held a parasol, fringed with golden-threaded tassels, over his head. He was, Vespasian thought, almost a parody of the image that he tried to portray: a man whose wealth was based upon the sweat of others.

‘Greetings, legate,’ Theron said in a most deferential tone, ‘allow me to pay my compliments to you for the magnificent victories that you have won since we last met.’

‘What do you want?’

‘The smallest of favours.’

‘I doubt that.’

‘In return for greatly adding to your personal fortune.’

Vespasian’s experience of buying Hormus from Theron was in direct opposition to that statement. ‘I find that very unlikely too.’

‘Then you should hear me out, legate.’

Vespasian appraised the Macedonian for a few moments, the chance of profit fighting with his natural inclination to have the man run off military ground. ‘Go on then.’

‘May I suggest we retire to your tent and make ourselves comfortable?’

‘No, you may not; you may enjoy comfort in the day but the art of leading men rather than selling them requires me to have different priorities. Say what you have to say here.’

‘Your virtue does you credit. I am humbled by your sentiments.’

Vespasian found himself wanting to change his mind as the Macedonian oozed clichés; but knowing that his time, and therefore his money-making opportunities, must now be limited in the new province he overcame his scruples. ‘Get on with it.’

Theron looked at Magnus and Sabinus questioningly.

‘They stay as my witnesses.’

‘Indeed, your honour.’ Theron paused and cleared his throat as if he was embarking upon a carefully rehearsed speech. ‘As the instigator of this great enterprise …’ He gestured expansively over the line of ships, surrounded by slaves and overseers; oarsmen from the recently floated bireme clambered into rowing boats, lined along the jetties, to make the short journey out to their vessel. ‘As the instigator of this great enterprise now drawing to a glorious conclusion, much to your eternal credit, you are aware that the human cattle used as muscle are now, in the main, superfluous. I believe you are now having them taken to that holding stockade in readiness for their transportation back to the slave-markets in the east of Britannia. Please confirm to me that I’m not mistaken, excellency?’

Vespasian grunted his affirmation.

‘That is gratifying. You know me to be an honest man of business with much experience in the line of trade that I pursue. It therefore should not come as a complete surprise to you to learn that I have recently acquired the contracts to supply three gladiatorial schools in Rome and a further two in Capua with Britannic livestock.’

Vespasian made no move to be either surprised or not.

‘They have formed a consortium in order to buy in bulk at reasonable prices; their first order is for seventy-five men each of mixed builds, that’s …’

‘Three hundred and seventy-five, I can do multiplication!’

Theron bowed deep. ‘Humble apologies, your honour.’

‘And stop talking in clichés!’

‘Indeed, excel … Indeed, legate.’ He cleared his throat again. ‘These gentlemen behind me are all former exponents of that noble profession and are here to assess the suitability of each slave for each gladiatorial role.’

‘I see. So you want to have the first pick of the slaves before they get back to the licensed slave-markets.’

‘I would describe it as a first assessment; being a law-abiding citizen I would not wish to make a purchase outside the jurisdiction and tax-net of the licensed slave-market.’

Vespasian felt a reluctant admiration for the man. ‘But if you were allowed to take your pick here and choose the cream of the stock you would be more than happy to escort them, at your own expense, naturally …’

Theron bowed his agreement.

‘Back to the market and immediately make your purchase, without your rivals being able to outbid you, under the supervision of the proper authorities who would levy the correct amount of tax.’

‘Your insight does you much credit.’

‘And then you will transport them …’ Vespasian paused and raised his eyebrows.

Theron tilted his head, closing his eyes. ‘Again at my own expense.’

‘Naturally. Transport them back to Italia and share them out amongst the five schools.’

‘You see the venture in its entirety.’

‘Oh I do, Theron; I also see you taking bribes from each of the schools to provide them with the best of the excellent stock thus adding to your considerable profit.’

Theron shrugged in a ‘wouldn’t anyone behave that way’ manner.

‘And just why should I allow you to get such an advantage over your rivals?’

‘Firstly because I had the initiative to travel out here to talk with you and share your dangers whilst my colleagues remained safely back east; and secondly because I’m offering you five per cent of the resale value of the stock in Italia.’

‘Which means that you can afford to pay me fifteen.’

‘Eight.’

‘Ten and it’s a deal.’

‘But I get to keep any monies offered to me as an incentive for allocating the stock in a certain way, as you alluded to earlier.’

‘I’m sure that you would do your best to keep those sums hidden from me even if I did demand a share.’

Theron bowed extravagantly. ‘In which case ten per cent it will be. We shall keep this between ourselves as a verbal understanding.’

‘Wrong, Theron; you won’t get access to that stockade until I have a signed written contract from you.’

‘But would that be wise? What we have agreed is slightly less than completely legal.’

‘Wrong again, Theron. I’m obliged to sell these slaves once I have finished with them. The Emperor gets his share of the sale through the tax that is levied at the market; the rest is shared out amongst my legion and auxiliaries. The Emperor will also get his cut in tax from the resale in Italia. The fact that I’ll also get money from the sale as well as the resale is irrelevant because the Emperor has had his due and is therefore happy. I’m just using my position to enrich myself like any sensible commander would do, and I want a contract from you so that you can’t cheat me out of what’s rightfully mine — as I’m sure you would, given the chance.’

‘Never, your honour,’ the slave-dealer crooned, bowing even lower.

‘Stop fawning and go and draw one up.’

Theron righted himself. ‘You shall have it by this evening, noble legate.’ With a farewell oozing of obsequiousness he took his leave.

Magnus looked less than impressed. ‘I wouldn’t do business with the likes of him for all the whores on the Via Patricius.’

‘Sometimes a business opportunity is worth more than a lot of whores,’ Sabinus observed, watching the slave-trader and his retinue depart. ‘Especially when one has no initial outlay.’

Vespasian turned his attention back to the biremes as the next one neared the water’s edge. ‘Exactly; I’ve got nothing to lose and everything to gain.’

Magnus scowled. ‘I can see that — ten per cent of the value of the resale will be a lot of money which you wouldn’t otherwise have got and it’s probably your last opportunity to make a decent profit before you get recalled.’

‘Which, after five years as legate of the Second Augusta, has got to be soon; so what’s the problem?’

‘He’s going to cheat you, even if you have a contract.’

‘I know he will and he’s banking on me not taking him to court because the contract will show me publicly in a less than favourable light to my peers. Even though they all would do the same it’s best not to be seen doing it, especially if one wants to be consul some day.’

‘Exactly, you wouldn’t risk that, would you?’

‘Of course not.’

‘So you’re just going to let him make a fool of you?’

‘No, Magnus, I’m going to let him make a fool of himself.’

‘Well, good luck, because I can tell you that men like Theron ain’t made fools of easily.’

The shrill blare of a lituus cavalry horn coming from within the camp ended the discussion. Vespasian turned towards the sound and looking up the Via Principalis saw a turma of cavalry dismounting outside the praetorium. Even at that distance he recognised the imposing figure and uniform of his commanding officer. ‘Aulus Plautius! Saturn’s stones, what’s he doing here?’

*

‘We have just a month, gentlemen!’ Aulus Plautius bellowed at Vespasian and Sabinus, drowning out the cries and whip-cracks from outside the praetorium tent. ‘No more than a month before our replacements arrive and we have to spend the winter briefing them and showing them around before we return to Rome. And if we want to come home covered in glory then I suggest that we take Caratacus in chains along with us.’ Plautius fixed the two brothers sitting opposite him across the desk with an indignant, red-faced glare.

Vespasian shifted uncomfortably in his seat as he watched the veins throbbing in his commanding officer’s bull-like neck; since his arrival at the II Augusta’s camp Plautius had not been in the best of moods.

Plautius picked up a scroll and brandished it at the brothers. ‘Narcissus has written to me stating that seeing as after three and a half years Caratacus remains at large, threatening our supply lines, ambushing columns and generally making a nuisance of himself, he feels the time has come to replace me and you two with men who own a degree of military competence. Military competence! The jumped-up little Greek shit! He wouldn’t know military competence if it barged its way up his arse and saluted.’ Plautius paused, breathing deeply through flaring nostrils, contemplating, Vespasian surmised, other more solid objects that he would like to see barging their way up that particular orifice. ‘The trouble is, gentlemen,’ Plautius continued with a degree of calm returning to his voice, ‘that the soft-living bastard has got a point: why the fuck is Caratacus’ head still on his shoulders and not decorating the end of a spike? How can I claim that the southern half of this dung-heap of an island is under Roman control when our lads have to go to the latrines in groups of eight so that they can hold each other’s hands for fear of having their arses wiped by a Britannic spear rather than a decent Roman sponge?’

Vespasian felt it was best not to point out that this was a wild exaggeration. However, he could well appreciate Plautius’ exasperation at the fact that, despite having taken the surrender of all the tribes in the south of Britannia — apart from the Dumnonii in the extreme southwest — he still had Caratacus at large with the ability to pop up with a considerable force and do humiliating damage. Apart from anything else, it was not good for trade and the occupied parts of the island were now swarming with fat merchants eager, like Theron, to squeeze as much cash out of the province as possible, whether it be in tin, lead, slaves, hunting dogs, pearls or any other commodity.

Vespasian glanced sidelong at his brother and now understood why Plautius had ordered him to come in person to pick up his ships, so far from the XIIII Gemina’s camp on the east bank of the Sabrina River: this was a planned meeting to discuss a two legion offensive. The grating of wood on wood followed by a large splash and much shouting signified that another bireme had been launched.

‘We should strike west in conjunction, sir,’ Sabinus stated, having come to the same conclusion as Vespasian, ‘and try to crush Caratacus between us.’

‘No!’ Plautius slammed his fist onto the desk. ‘That’s just what we shouldn’t do, Sabinus; that’s just what he wants us to do. He would dearly love to draw your legions into the wild hills beyond the Sabrina; we don’t even know his whereabouts so we’d be blundering about on his terms. We’ve got to draw him to us.’

Feeling relieved that he had not made the suggestion that had seemed so obvious, Vespasian sat in silence hoping for the benefit of Plautius’ military wisdom. The unmistakable screams of a man being nailed to a cross rode through the air.

Having glared at Sabinus for long enough to communicate his severe displeasure and disappointment, Plautius turned his attention to Vespasian. ‘Well?’

Vespasian opened his mouth and then closed it.

‘Come on, legate, you must have something sensible to say even if your brother hasn’t!’

‘About Caratacus, sir?’

‘Of course about Caratacus; who else do you think we’re talking about? How do we draw Caratacus to us rather than risk doing a Varus and marching a couple of legions into miserable terrain full of valleys, all damp as a whore’s minge, that can only be described as ideal ambush country?’

‘Attack something he values, sir.’

‘Thank you; one of you at least has picked up a bit of soldiering whilst you’ve been here.’

Vespasian was aware of Sabinus bristling next to him. The crucified man’s screaming suddenly stopped but the shifting clamour of massed exertion continued.

‘So what does he value enough to make him risk venturing out of his gods-cursed hole across the Sabrina River?’

Vespasian glanced at his brother to give him a chance to make up for his earlier mistake.

‘Well, we believe that he has his wife and children with him,’ Sabinus ventured, ‘so that’s not an option. The rest of his family are either dead or have surrendered; his lands in the east are occupied and whatever wealth he had is now in our hands. It doesn’t really leave much.’

‘Of course it does, you fool! It leaves the one thing that he values most: his support. That’s the only thing that’s important to him; essential even. If he doesn’t have support he ceases to matter and goes from being a king resisting a conquering army to being a mere brigand.’

‘The druids!’ Vespasian blurted.

‘Precisely. The druids support his resistance because it’s in their interests to do so and their continued backing gives him a legitimacy that transcends tribal loyalties amongst every savage on this island. Now, the policy of cutting down their groves has worked very well in the areas that we occupy and there are very few of those filthy, matted-haired sons of gorgons left; and whenever we do come across one we nail him up pretty sharpish. However, there are a few more nests of these vermin and if we threaten one of them then I believe that Caratacus will have to come to its aid. And we’ve got a month to do it in so that we can say “Fuck you and your military competence” — in the nicest possible way of course — to Narcissus when we get back to Rome.’ Plautius referred to the map lying unrolled on the desk. ‘Now, there are two breeding grounds of this druidical abomination.’ He pointed to a small island just off the west coast, beyond the Roman sphere of influence. ‘This is called Mona; apparently it’s swarming with them. It would be ideal but it’s too far behind their lines.’

‘Not if we go by sea, sir,’ Vespasian pointed out.

‘It’s a long way, the seas are treacherous and the coast is very rocky, according to the only survey ship that has ever come back from up there. Talking of ships: how are they doing, Vespasian?’

‘They’ll all be afloat by nightfall.’

‘Good, because you’re going to need them.’ Plautius brought his finger down south on the map and rested it on the north coast of the southwestern peninsula of the island. ‘Around here somewhere is Durocornavis, the main fortress of the Cornovii. They’re a sub-tribe of the Dumnonii and may or may not be related to the Cornovii in the north of the island who are our buffer between us and the Brigantes. Just close by the fortress is a huge rock, almost an island that juts out into the sea. I’m told that this is a place of deep mysticism for the druids; they have many legends attached to it and it is of great importance to them.

‘Now, it’s too far into unconquered territory to risk a land assault in just a month but if we make Caratacus think that we’re mad enough to try he’ll come to the aid of the Cornovii and the druids, otherwise he’ll lose all credibility. And he won’t be able to resist the chance to cut a whole legion up.

‘He’ll either sail across the Sabrina channel or around it; or, perhaps, make his way there by land. Whichever way he chooses he can’t take a big force with him, just a few followers; but to his mind that’s irrelevant as there will be plenty of long-hairs down there ready to fight for him because of his reputation. He just needs to get there and we must capture him as he tries.’

Vespasian looked at the map; it was very vague, just a rough approximation of the coastline of the peninsula with the Cornovii marked towards its tip; and then to the north, across the widening Sabrina channel, another crude coastline with the Silures written in, seemingly at random. ‘We have no idea of the distances, do we, sir?’

‘None; the channel could be twenty miles wide or a hundred at any point, we just don’t know; as I said, only one survey ship has ever returned. What we do know is that they are very treacherous waters and we’ve already lost too many ships trying to get round the peninsula, which is why we’re bringing the smaller ships overland and building new big ones.’

‘So we’ve no idea how long the news of our supposed attack on these druids will take to reach Caratacus; in which case he might judge that it’s all over by the time he hears of it and it’s not worth the risk coming.’

Plautius smiled for the first time since arriving, raising his eyebrows. ‘That’s why I’ve taken the trouble to inform him of our supposed intentions in advance by using one of his own weapons against him: Alienus.’

‘Alienus!’ Vespasian and Sabinus exclaimed simultaneously.

‘Who better? After he escaped from your camp last year, Vespasian, he disappeared completely, probably judging, correctly, that his face was a bit too well known for his line of subterfuge. However, a couple of months ago he reappeared, masquerading as a Britannic merchant dealing in pearls. He’s grown his hair and a long moustache but he was recognised by one of my slaves in the market at Camulodunum. I decided not to apprehend him but instead had him followed. It turned out that not all of his pearls were traded for money or goods, some he set aside to buy information with from one of the clerks who copies out my written orders. Having completed his business he sailed west up the Tamesis and then crossed into enemy territory. I countermanded the information that he was carrying and gave orders to let him go, hoping that he would be back. Sure enough five days ago, just after I received Narcissus’ insulting letter, he arrives with more pearls. I immediately drafted orders for you, Vespasian, to take the II Augusta, destroy Durocornavis and kill all the druids that you find on the rock and that I would come down to take overall command; and to you, Sabinus, I wrote that you were not to proceed any further west this year and spend the time building defences. Needless to say I didn’t send those orders to you, I just allowed Alienus to purchase them from the clerk.’

Vespasian looked at his commanding officer with admiration, thinking that, for all his ill-temper, he never tired of learning from him. ‘So Caratacus thinks he’s free to go to the druids’ aid?’

‘Not yet, but by tomorrow or the next day he will. I made sure that I left, very publicly, before Alienus; he’s behind me and convinced that he’s got vital information for his master so he’ll be travelling fast.’

‘We’d better get a move on then.’

‘We’ll be fine as long as you sail tomorrow with your six biremes. Find this place and then cut it off from the sea, intercept every ship or boat you see and patrol the coast further west so Caratacus doesn’t land behind you. Use the marines and do some raiding; kill a few and stir them up a bit.’ Plautius turned to Sabinus. ‘Meanwhile, Sabinus, you sail back north around the coast with your ships, check every inlet and bay. I’ll stay here with the legion and keep the countryside well patrolled. Between us we should snare him. Once we have Caratacus you return to your legion and await my orders to advance across the Sabrina and start securing territory, slowly but surely. Take no risks, it’s not about quick victory, it’s about convincing a good percentage of the Silures’ chieftains that without Caratacus uniting them their defeat is inevitable and it’s just a question of how many warriors they want left in their settlements under Roman rule. Do you understand?’

‘Yes, sir. And what if I find Alienus? I’ve a score to settle with him and a nice idea of how to settle it.’

‘You can have him and nail him up for all I care. I’m not going to leave a useful asset like that around for my replacement to use and help him to look as if he has more military competence than me.’ The flush in Plautius’ face returned as he spat out that loathed and insulting phrase.

‘Thank you, sir; it’ll be a pleasure to help preserve your reputation.’

Vespasian licked his fingers and then wiped them on the napkin spread out in front of him on the couch before helping himself to another of the fine local oysters. Hormus refilled Sabinus’ proffered cup and then stepped back into the shadows.

‘And as to who my replacement will be,’ Aulus Plautius continued, breaking a duck leg in two and dripping thick, brown sauce onto his napkin, ‘I neither know nor care; he’s welcome to this province as far as I’m concerned, with all the military competence that he can muster.’ He drained his wine — his fifth cup of the dinner — before taking his anger out on his duck leg, gnawing noisily on it and then pointing it at Vespasian. ‘But mind you, according to my wife’s letters, the Rome that we’ll be returning to is not the same as the one we all left at the beginning of Claudius’ reign. The in-fighting for the mastery of Rome between his freedmen and the Empress rages on whilst Claudius, having celebrated his Triumph for his glorious victory in Britannia and having just annexed the client-kingdom of Thracia to further prove his military competence, now immerses himself in public projects and the law courts trying to create a legacy for himself. He’s busy building a new port at Ostia, two new aqueducts — as well as repairing the Aqua Virgo — and this year he’s started a project to drain the Fucine Lake. Meanwhile the business of government has been completely centralised and anyone who wants a position has to petition either one of the three ex-slaves or a vicious vixen with a sexual appetite that would have made Cleopatra blush.’ He held out his cup for Hormus to refill and refused the offer of water.

Vespasian glanced in concern at Sabinus, on the couch to his left, whilst their commanding officer’s attention was devoted to the contents of his filled cup; Sabinus put his hand to his mouth, understanding that he should not join in a conversation that was approaching the realms of treason.

‘The Senate still administer their provinces,’ Plautius continued, ripping more flesh from the thigh, ‘but increasingly their appointments have gone to the Empress’s worn-out lovers who now outnumber those in that august body who haven’t had the pleasure of ingress into one or all of the imperial orifices. And what’s worse is that the Emperor’s provinces now seem to be the personal fiefdom of Narcissus and his cronies and to receive an appointment in one of those you have to denounce a supporter of Messalina’s in open court.’ He paused to down the rest of his cup and signal for a refill. ‘And anyone who has the stupidity to complain about the situation is immediately charged with treason by both Messalina’s faction and the supporters of that idiot Emperor’s freedm-’ Plautius stopped himself and looked with alarm at the two brothers; he put his full cup down on the table, careful not to spill a drop. ‘Forgive my foolishness, gentlemen, I’ve been too long on campaign with you and my tongue has grown loose.’ He glanced at Hormus now back in his position in the shadows.

‘My slave is loyal, sir,’ Vespasian assured him, relieved that Plautius had stopped his tirade before he had suggested a solution to the situation; his voice may well have been loud enough to carry outside the tent. ‘I too am aware from letters of the situation back home.’

‘Quite so; and it’s best not to dwell on it. It’s always hard to return to being a politician after a few years of being a blunt, plain-speaking soldier.’

And that very thought had been revolving around Vespasian’s mind repeatedly for the last couple of months as his inevitable return to Rome approached: how would he adapt back into the narrow confines of imperial politics, keeping his opinions to a minimum and well hidden whilst being subject to the will of others? How would he cope after so long in the field commanding his own legion and auxiliaries? That he would be sucked back down into the schemes of Claudius’ freedmen upon his return as they struggled for the mastery of Rome, he was in no doubt. Their plotting had even followed him to the very limits of the Empire by way of Pallas’ letter, the previous year, demanding — in the form of a polite request — that he send Paetus back to Rome. However, this time he would not just be acting to further the ambition of others; this time he would have an objective of his own in mind; this time he would have a price and that price would be the removal of Flavia and the children from the imperial palace and out of the reach of the Empress Messalina and her brother, Corvinus. But he knew that the transition from soldier to politician would be difficult and he inclined his head to indicate to Plautius his sympathy. ‘I imagine that keeping one’s political thoughts to oneself after four years of saying exactly what you think militarily will be a challenge.’

‘Thank you for your understanding, Vespasian.’ Plautius looked at Sabinus. ‘And yours too, I hope, Sabinus.’

A scratching on the leather door prevented Sabinus from replying immediately; Vespasian signalled Hormus to find out from the guards who wanted to see him.

‘I think that it is fair to say that it would be hypocritical of my brother and me to condemn the views that you may have expressed, sir,’ Sabinus observed as Hormus glanced around the door.

Plautius burst into laughter. ‘And when did hypocrisy stop anyone from doing anything?’

With a relieved glance at Sabinus in thanks for defusing the situation, Vespasian motioned to Hormus to speak.

‘Theron, the slave-trader,’ Hormus said with palpable tension in his voice.

‘Show him in.’

Hormus pulled the door aside and ushered in his former owner.

‘Greetings, most noble Vespasian,’ the Macedonian crooned, bowing unnecessarily low whilst keeping his eyes raised, taking in everyone else in the room. As they rested on Plautius they widened in alarm and his body became rigid, frozen mid-bow.

‘Good evening, Theron,’ Vespasian said, suppressing his amusement. ‘Have you brought that contract for me?’

Pulling himself upright, Theron did his best to cover his consternation at having the Governor, the Emperor’s representative in the province, overhearing their conversation. ‘Er, yes, your honour …’

‘Just address me as “legate”!’

‘Y-y-yes, legate. And greetings to you, most exalted Governor Plautius; may I say what an honour it is to meet you again?’

Plautius looked at the slave-trader with abject disgust and disdained to give an opinion as to whether he was at liberty to say that or not.

‘Give it to Hormus and I’ll look at it later; come back at dawn.’

Theron handed the scroll to Hormus who trembled visibly. ‘I trust that you are getting, er,’ he smiled knowingly, ‘satisfactionfrom this fine specimen that I sold to you at such generous terms, legate?’

Vespasian jumped to his feet and hurled his half-full wine cup at the slave-dealer, staining his saffron cloak red. ‘Get out, you filth! And take your contract with you. If you want me to sign it then bring it back in the morning with ten per cent crossed out and replaced by twelve.’

Theron looked in horror at Vespasian. ‘My humblest apologies, most noble legate, I meant no insult, I was merely making pleasant conversation.’

‘Hormus, you have permission to physically kick the man out.’

Hormus looked from his master to his former owner with timid uncertainty all over his face. Theron grabbed the contract from the immobile slave’s hand and bowed his way backwards from the tent with a flurry of unctuous apologies.

‘You’ll regret doing business with that man, Vespasian,’ Plautius informed him. ‘I was forced to use some rather persuasive methods to extract what he owed me for allowing the slave-traders to act as a cartel and fix the price they pay for new stock. All the others paid up reasonably promptly. I ended up throwing him out of the province last year once I got my money. I didn’t know that he was back.’

‘He turned up this morning and offered me a business proposition, which I accepted.’

‘Very wise; four years serving Rome with no reward other than the satisfaction of doing one’s duty — despite one’s lack of military prowess — can be a drain on the coffers and we don’t have long left to refill them. Just keep an eye on him, that’s all.’

‘Oh, I will, in fact I’ll do-’

A bucina’s blare from outside cut him off; the door was suddenly pushed open and Camp Prefect Maximus burst in. ‘You’d better come quickly, sir; there’s at least two dozen small boats in the estuary. They’re trying to torch the biremes.’