Rome’s Fallen Eagle

CHAPTER XXI

Vespasian stood at the stern of the trireme, next to the trierarchus as he guided the ship into the port of Verica’s capital. Sweltering in the hot, late August sun burning down from a cloudless sky, he watched an electrical storm rumble and flash its way along the range of downs, not five miles inland, and marvelled at the strange weather that afflicted this northerly island.

‘Taranis, the god of thunder, often visits the southern downs to watch over us,’ Verica informed him, clutching the golden, four-spoked wheel pendant around his neck. ‘He will require a sacrifice.’

‘What sort of sacrifice?’

‘Well, it is normally the druids who decide, and they would burn a virgin alive in a tub. However, they’ve fled west, cursing me as a blasphemer because of my support of Rome, so it’s up to me instead.’

‘We consider human sacrifice abhorrent.’

‘I haven’t lived in Rome for three years without realising that; I’ll choose a chariot and two horses. I intend to wean my people off the more extreme practices of the druids.’

‘What exactly are druids?’

Verica sighed, long and slow. ‘They’re the priestly class, exempt from taxes and military service; they think they have a monopoly on the will and desires of the gods and so the people both fear them and stand in awe of them at the same time. They do not fear death because they believe that the soul lives on and is transferred into another body; that makes them very dangerous. I’m pleased to have got rid of them because they meddle like women and plot like younger sons; but I’m sure they’ll be back, seeking to regain their power over my people, and the first thing they’ll try to do is kill me. They belong to no tribe and have no loyalty other than to themselves and the gods of our fathers and of this land.’

‘They’re different?’

‘Yes. When my people came to this island — the bards deem it to be about twenty-five generations ago — the people we supplanted worshipped different gods; they had built great henges in their honour, ancient beyond reckoning. The druids dedicated these places to our gods but still the presence and power of some of the island’s gods persisted and they demanded worship.’ Verica’s face darkened and his voice fell low. ‘The druids took on that responsibility and uncovered their dark secrets and rituals; they keep the knowledge to themselves and they’re welcome to it; but what I know of it fills me with dread.’

Vespasian felt chilled by the old King’s evident fear. ‘What is it that disturbs you?’

Verica looked into Vespasian’s eyes; his gaze intense. ‘Some of these gods have a real power; a cold power that cannot be used for good.’

Vespasian grimaced. ‘In the hands of priests?’

‘In the hands of fanatical priests.’

‘My experience of priests hasn’t been good.’

‘No one’s experience of priests is ever good, unless you happen to be one. My advice to you is to kill them all otherwise Rome will never hold this land. The druids will always be able to rouse the people by putting the fear of the gods into them; they know that there is no place for them under Rome so they will have nothing to lose by being your most implacable enemy.’

Vespasian looked over to Cogidubnus leaning on the rail, watching the approach of the newly built wooden jetty. ‘Would your nephew agree with you?’

‘Ask him yourself, but yes, he would. He understands, as I do, that if we are going to bring our people into the modern world and share in all the prosperity that that entails then we have to look forward; the druids only ever look back.’

Vespasian contemplated this as the ship slowed, nearing the jetty. His experience of Rhoteces, the duplicitous Thracian priest, and Ahmose, the lying priest of Amun, as well as the selfserving Jew, Paulus, who had usurped the Jewish sect he had once persecuted and had begun moulding it into an unnatural religion based upon redemption in some theoretical afterlife, had left him fully aware of the power religion had to stir men into fighting, and how susceptible that power was to abuse. ‘We shall have a hard journey west, then.’

‘With the druids opposing you, yes, you will. But you will also find men like me out there who have no love for them and would rather be subject to Rome than to priests.’

‘I’d hope that given the choice all men would choose Rome over priests.’

Verica smiled. ‘Knowing their love of power, I think that the day the priests realise that will be the day that they start plotting to take over Rome.’

Vespasian shuddered at the thought as the trireme gently docked to an accompaniment of nautical orders and hurling ropes.

‘You’d better hurry, sir,’ Magnus’ voice shouted over the noise.

Vespasian looked up to see his friend climbing up the gangplank.

‘Why? What is it?’

‘It would seem that the Emperor is anxious to get his victory. Sabinus sent a message saying that Claudius’ reinforcements have just arrived at the Tamesis bridge in preparation for his arrival. He’s inspecting Gesoriacum and then he’s going on to Rutupiae and after that he’s sailing up the Tamesis; he’ll be at the bridge in two days.’

Vespasian and Sabinus snapped to attention as a fanfare rose from the imperial quinquereme upon whose deck stood over a hundred senators, resplendent in their purple-bordered togas. Festooned in purple and complete with an imperial tent at the stern, the vessel was docked at a jetty on the southern side of the newly constructed wooden bridge across the Tamesis. Aulus Plautius marched to the foot of the gangway and saluted as it was lowered. The fanfare broke off and, apart from cawing seagulls flitting on the light breeze, an expectant silence fell over the two Praetorian cohorts and the four from the VIII Legion and their auxiliaries formed up along the riverbank with Decimus Valerius Asiaticus at their head.

After a pause of imperial proportions the tent flaps were drawn back and a silhouetted figure stood in the entrance.

‘Imperator!’ cried a single voice from within the Praetorian ranks.

The cry was taken up by all present, soaring to the sky, scaring off the gulls, as the acclamation of ‘imperator’ was heard for the first time on the island of Britannia.

‘He hasn’t even seen a Briton and he’s already being lauded as a victor,’ Sabinus shouted in Vespasian’s ear.

‘And the men lauding him haven’t even done any of the fighting,’ Vespasian observed before joining his brother in the accolade.

As the chant grew, Claudius, complete with laurel victor’s crown and wearing full, imperial military uniform — purple cloak, goldinlaid bronze cuirass and greaves, a purple sash around his waist and with a purple-plumed, ornate helmet under his left arm — shambled forward, head twitching with excitement and right arm jerking as he acknowledged the crowd: a comic parody of an emperor.

Vespasian was relieved that he could shout, otherwise he feared that he would burst into unrestrained laughter at the sight of such an unmartial man in such military attire. A sideways glance at Sabinus, who caught his eye for an instant, confirmed that his brother was having the same thoughts. For once in perfect accord, the siblings feted their Emperor.

Narcissus and Pallas then appeared from the tent and walked hurriedly to catch Claudius up before he attempted to descend the gangway unaided. They each took an imperial elbow and guided their master down onto the jetty. Aulus Plautius brought his arm down from across his chest and, standing to attention, head and shoulders back, bellowed with the rest. Claudius approached him and, with much ceremony and saliva, embraced and kissed him.

The chant turned into cheers as the Emperor held the general in his arms for a few moments before turning to face the troops. Claudius gestured for silence as Plautius stared straight ahead, trying to ignore the drool on his cheeks.

‘S-s-soldiers of Rome,’ Claudius declaimed, once the cheering had died away, ‘my g-g-gallant general has asked for his E-E-Emperor’s assistance and advice in defeating the Britons.’ He paused and gestured to the senators. ‘The Senate of Rome begged me to heed his call, saying that General Plautius has g-g-g-got so far but has r-run into fierce opposition of the kind that only I, your Emperor, can overcome.’

The senators all nodded sagely, twisting their faces into expressions of theatrical relief. Vespasian cast his eyes along their number as Claudius stumbled on and was pleased to see the corpulent form of his uncle; Gaius shrugged as he caught his eye and carried on listening with exaggerated concentration to the Emperor.

‘So follow me, soldiers of Rome, f-f-follow me and I will lead you to a glorious victory, a victory that will be remembered for generations as the triumph of your Emperor Claudius over the barbarian hordes. I have come, I now see, I will c-c-conquer!’

Claudius turned to Narcissus, Pallas and the senators, who all laughed obligingly at this pathetic paraphrase; Vespasian noted that his uncle seemed to find it the pithiest line ever uttered. The legionaries once again cheered their Emperor, pleased, no doubt, to have an excuse not to have to make an overt display of enjoying Claudius’ feeble wit.

Vespasian and Sabinus joined in the cheering; only Plautius did not. He stood rigid, his neck bulging in anger, staring at the quinquereme.

Vespasian followed his gaze: at the entrance of the tent stood the copious figure of Sentius Saturninus, which did not surprise him; what did surprise him was the man standing behind him: Geta. Vespasian nudged Sabinus and indicated to the tent. ‘How in Mars’ name did he get here?’

‘Ah! So that’s where the little shit has got to,’ Sabinus muttered. ‘I should have guessed. Soon after you went south, Plautius sent for him; he never came, disappeared in fact. He must have heard about Plautius detaining Corvinus and his guilty conscience told him that he was liable to share the same fate.’

‘So he ran to the Emperor to put his side of the story first.’

‘And a very heroic side it will be, I’m sure.’

‘The bastard!’

‘Maybe, but he’s a sensible bastard.’

Narcissus pointed at the horn-blowers and another fanfare blew, silencing the cheering.

Claudius walked along the jetty towards the two brothers with Narcissus and Pallas following. ‘Ah! My loyal F-F-Flavians, the returners of the Nineteenth’s Capricorn.’

The brothers bowed their heads. ‘Princeps.’

‘You have been outshone by P-P-Publius Gabinius who recently returned the Eagle of the Seventeenth to me. But no matter, your feat was useful; let your Emperor embrace you.’

Vespasian tried not to wince as he was clasped to the imperial bosom and received an overly moist kiss on both cheeks.

‘Will you follow me as I drive the enemy from their strongholds?’ Claudius asked, having subjected Sabinus to the same treatment.

‘Yes, Princeps.’

‘We shall have a f-f-fine time of it.’ Claudius twitched and stepped back; he looked the brothers up and down appreciatively and then frowned. ‘What’s that?’

Vespasian followed his gaze and put his hand on his sword hilt. ‘That’s my sword, Princeps.’

‘I know that weapon.’

‘Yes, Princeps, it was your grandfather Marcus Antonius’ sword.’

Claudius’ eyes probed Vespasian’s. ‘And then it was my father’s and after him it went to my brother, Germanicus.’

‘That’s correct, Princeps.’

‘I know it’s c-c-correct! I know my own family’s history. I also know that when Germanicus died Agrippina wanted to give it to her eldest son but my mother, Antonia, refused her, saying that she would decide; but she never did. After she died I looked for it but it was nowhere to be found. I asked P-P-Pallas but he denied all knowledge of it.’

Vespasian glanced over Claudius’ shoulder to Pallas; the Greek freedman’s normally neutral faced betrayed a vague flicker of anxiety.

‘So how did you come to own it?’

Pallas caught Vespasian’s eye and shook his head a fraction.

Vespasian swallowed. ‘Caligula gave it to me, Princeps.’

‘D-d-did he now? And how did he come to have it?’

‘I don’t know, Princeps. Antonia must have given it to him.’

‘I doubt it. It w-w-was common knowledge in my family that Antonia was going to give it to the person she thought would make the best Emperor; she didn’t by any chance give it to you, did she, Vespasian?’

‘No, Princeps; as I said, Caligula gave it to me.’

Claudius studied him for a short while, twitching frantically and dribbling from the corner of his mouth. ‘Well, he had no right to.’ He held out a shaking hand. ‘Seeing as I’ve come to wage war it is only right for me to do so with my family sword; give it to me.’

Without hesitation, Vespasian unclipped the scabbard from his baldric and passed it to Claudius.

‘Thank you, legate. I wouldn’t like to think that my mother gave it to you; you haven’t got the b-b-blood of the Caesars in you.’

‘Indeed not, Princeps.’

‘G-g-good. We’ll say no more ab-about it.’ Claudius drew the sword and examined the blade, tracing the engraved name of his grandfather. ‘A noble blade now back where it belongs.’ He lifted it above his head with ridiculous theatricality and addressed the troops. ‘With the sword of my sires I lead you to war.’

To cries of ‘Hail Caesar!’ he lurched off towards a quadriga, harnessed to four white horses, waiting for him on the bridge.

‘Did our master catch you fibbing, colleague?’ Narcissus enquired of Pallas.

‘Never, my dear Narcissus, it must have been exactly as Vespasian said; wasn’t it, Vespasian?’

‘Exactly, Pallas.’

Narcissus raised an eyebrow at Pallas. ‘I do hope so; you know how nervous he is about plots against him. We wouldn’t want Claudius thinking that your protégé harbours any unrealistic ambitions.’ With a courteous inclination of the head to the two brothers he followed his master.

‘Never let the truth be known, Vespasian,’ Pallas warned as he passed. ‘Messalina has Claudius seeing threats everywhere to distract from herself. He’s becoming irrational; executions have already started.’

‘What was that all about?’ Sabinus asked as Pallas walked away.

‘That, brother, was about people reading too much into a simple gift.’

‘So Antonia did give it to you, despite her saying that she would only give it to the person she thought would make the best Emperor?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well then, what if she was right?’

‘How could she be? We don’t have the blood of the Caesars.’

‘The blood of the Caesars? How long is that going to last?’

As Claudius began to lead his army across the bridge Vespasian watched the heir to Gaius Julius Caesar follow in the great man’s footsteps to the northern bank of the Tamesis and was struck by just how much the bloodline had deteriorated. How long could it last? And when it finally failed whose would replace it?

Again, the ludicrous thought that he had tried to suppress came to his mind. ‘Why not?’ he muttered to himself. ‘Why not indeed?’

‘Dear boys,’ Gaius Vespasius Pollo boomed as the senators filed off the ship, ‘I’m relieved to see you with all your limbs in place.’ He slapped an arm around each of their shoulders, led them away from the crowd and lowered his voice. ‘Thank the gods this ghastly affair is almost over; it’s been almost insupportable listening to that drooling fool going on about how grave the situation must be if Plautius felt it necessary to call for him.’

Vespasian frowned, curling his lip in disbelief. ‘You mean he actually believes this farce, Uncle?’

‘Believes it? He’s convinced that only he can save the whole endeavour from becoming an even worse defeat than Teutoburg. He’s been going on about how fortunate Rome is to have an emperor who has read every military history and manual written and has a complete understanding of the strategy and tactics of warfare.’

‘Is that why he’s brought half the Senate with him, so that he can show off his martial prowess to a flock of sycophants?’

‘Don’t be such a hypocrite, dear boy; I’ve seen you practise the life-lengthening art of sycophancy with tremendous skill. But to answer your question: no; at least that’s not the main reason. We’re here to ensure our good behaviour; Claudius’ insecurity means that he wants to keep the people that he distrusts the most, closest.’

‘So why are you here? You’ve never done anything but enthusiastically support whoever’s in power.’

Gaius laughed without humour. ‘I know, but you’re both commanding legions; I’m here to remind you of the fact that your families are at Claudius’ mercy back in Rome, should you think of misusing your legionaries.’

‘But Narcissus-’

‘Dear boy, this has nothing to do with Narcissus; this is purely Claudius, he’s got a taste for power and blood and he enjoys savouring them both to feed his paranoia. He’s executed more senators and equites in his first two years than Caligula did.’

‘If he’s so worried about his position why did he leave Rome?’

‘It’s a gamble, I agree; but every senator who has been left behind has a kinsman here under Claudius’ eye. And he’s left Lucius Vitellius, who was his colleague in the consulship for the first part of this year, nominally in control of Rome — although in practice Callistus will make the decisions as he’s the only one left in the city who understands how the enormous bureaucracy that he and his fellow freedmen have created works. Claudius feels that he can trust Vitellius because he’s a favourite of Messalina; so the Venus only knows what that little whore will get up to whilst her husband’s away and Vitellius turns a blind eye.’

‘Is she as bad as that?’ Sabinus asked, evidently interested. ‘Narcissus mentioned that she was rather willing, to say the least.’

‘Rather willing? She’s a female Caligula; anyone who spurns her advances finds themselves accused of treason. She’s got her husband so obsessed about the Senate plotting against him that they’re almost invariably convicted.’ He waved a hand at the passing senators. ‘She’s sucked the cock of every one of these men under the age of fifty and Claudius won’t see it. I can only thank the gods that I am past my prime otherwise I would be subject to the intolerable ministrations of that harpy. You watch yourselves when you come back to Rome or she’ll have you in her web; but if you’re sensible you’ll both stay away for as long as possible.’

Vespasian cast a questioning look at his brother, who, understanding, nodded his agreement. ‘I think that Narcissus has plans for her-’

Gaius’ hand moved from Vespasian’s shoulder to his mouth, clamping it shut, with surprising swiftness. ‘I don’t want to know! I want to live out the few years remaining to me in blissful ignorance of imperial politics as I intend to die in my bed and not in my bath with my blood swirling around me. The only reason that I attend the Senate any more is because of the intolerable situation at home.’

‘Flavia?’

‘Yes, she and your mother do not see eye to eye and both look to me to adjudicate their petty female squabbles; unfortunately I don’t have enough correspondence to keep me in my study all evening so I’m forced to face them for an hour or two each day.’

Sabinus laughed as they watched the last of the troops cross the bridge. ‘It looks like you’re going to have to take on the expense of a house, brother, for the sake of our uncle’s sanity.’

‘Thank you, Sabinus, but I’ll make my own decisions about where my family live.’

Gaius looked at him, his eyes suddenly hard. ‘No, Vespasian, you must get Flavia her own home; until she has her own household to terrorise she will make my life a misery.’

He was serious; deadly serious. Vespasian had never heard him use that tone before. ‘I’ll do it as soon as I get back to Rome, Uncle, I promise.’

‘No, dear boy, I’ll do it for you as soon as I get back to Rome; this situation cannot continue.’

‘But what shall I do for money?’

‘You’re commanding a legion subduing a new province: slaves and plunder, dear boy.’

‘I suppose you’re right.’

‘I am; now let’s go and watch our glorious Emperor-General show everybody how it should be done.’

‘G-g-gentlemen, that army is all that stands between us and C–C-Camulodunum,’ Claudius announced, pointing an unsteady hand at the poorly armed ragged mass of prisoners lined along the far bank of a stream. ‘How many would you say there are, Plautius?’

Plautius scanned the paltry number. ‘At least ten thousand, Princeps,’ he replied, doubling what he knew to be the truth.

Claudius twitched with excitement. ‘Excellent. I shall crush them within the hour. Plautius, what were my battle orders?’

Plautius flicked a subtle glance at the officers present. ‘I believe you wanted the Praetorian cohorts in the centre with the four cohorts of the Eighth and then the Fourteenth on the right, the Twentieth on the left and the Ninth held back in reserve.’

‘My b-b-brother-in-law’s legion in reserve? That won’t do. Corvinus must be on the right flank in the place of honour; the Fourteenth will be my reserve.’

‘Corvinus no longer commands the Ninth, Princeps, he’s awaiting trial by you for disobeying orders.’

‘Disobeying what orders? That’s the first I’ve heard of it. Why didn’t you tell me about it, Narcissus?’

Narcissus cleared his throat. ‘I didn’t know, Princeps.’

‘You’re meant to know everything and keep me informed. Plautius, why didn’t you tell him?’

Plautius shot the freedman a venomous look. ‘I er … I sent a despatch but it must have gone astray.’

‘Indeed it must have, because I’m sure that had Narcissus known about it he would have ordered my brother-in-law released, whatever he had done.’

‘But he tried to take Camulodunum without you, Princeps, and leave you nothing to conquer.’

‘That is most serious, Princeps,’ Narcissus interjected, with a rare look of exaggerated shock on his face. ‘Why would he have tried to steal your victory? Was he trying to set himself up over you?’

Claudius chuckled. ‘No, he’s not like the jealous senators who are always plotting; he’s family. He was just being impetuous like my darling wife; you can tell that they’re brother and sister. Well, no matter, he didn’t succeed and there still is an army for me to beat and a town for me to capture, otherwise I wouldn’t have been sent for, would I, Narcissus?’

Narcissus was momentarily lost for words.

Despite enjoying the slight twitch at the corner of Narcissus’ mouth as he realised that to damn Corvinus he would have to admit to Claudius that this battle was a farce and Camulodunum had already surrendered, Vespasian felt a chill. ‘The idiot’s going to let him go,’ he whispered into Sabinus’ ear.

Sabinus chewed on his lip. ‘And I don’t suppose our part in arresting Corvinus will go unnoticed.’

‘Well, Narcissus?’ Claudius pressed. ‘Has Corvinus stolen my victory?’

‘It would seem not, Princeps.’

‘Then why is a member of the imperial family being detained? Have him brought here immediately, Plautius; the Ninth will take the right flank and my Messalina’s brother will command it and share in my glory. The rest of you, get to your posts, I’m eager for battle.’

With no legion to command Vespasian sat watching the farce with Magnus, at the head of Paetus’ cavalry, which had escorted him from the coast. To the right of them the senators sat on chairs viewing the proceedings as if at a race day in the Circus Maximus.

‘It just goes to show that you can be too devious for your own good,’ Magnus commented as they watched the lead cohorts of the VIIII Hispana advance across the stream and make contact with the fraudulent army of Britons beyond, ‘and everybody else’s, for that matter.’

‘Except for Corvinus’ good,’ Vespasian reminded him as the first screams of the wounded echoed over the field. ‘He’ll come out of this as a wronged hero in Claudius’ eyes.’

‘And he’ll be after you.’

Vespasian shrugged. ‘We’ll be far apart; once Claudius leaves I’ll go back south to the Second, and the Ninth will stay here and then head north up the east coast next season.’

‘That’s if Plautius stays in command.’

‘Oh, he’ll still be in command,’ Pallas affirmed, riding up behind them and once again taking Vespasian by surprise. ‘I’m sure that Claudius would like to get rid of him at the moment but he’ll soon see sense once Narcissus and I explain to him that appointing another general would mean two men requiring public acknowledgement back in Rome; best to keep praise limited, don’t you think? After this, Claudius can return to a triumph and then when Plautius comes back, in four years or so, Claudius can show the people that he’s an inclusive emperor by magnanimously awarding an ovation to someone who’s not a member of the imperial family; for obvious reasons, that’s not something that one would want to do twice.’

Vespasian shook his head with regret. ‘Won’t you ever stop scheming, Pallas?’

‘How else can a mere freedman wield power? I’m nothing without Claudius; my fortune is bound up in him remaining emperor, and with this battle we’ve secured that for the near future.’

‘At the cost of the lives of a few thousand British prisoners,’ Magnus muttered as the Praetorian cohorts drove the centre of the British line ever back.

‘I’m told that they were given the choice between crucifixion and chancing their luck with a weapon in their hand. It’s a small price to pay for having the Senate witness the Emperor lead legions in battle; and an elderly emperor at that.’

‘Ah! So that’s your next worry,’ Vespasian said, ‘Claudius dying. Surely you just attach yourself to Claudius’ son?’

‘That would be a foolish move; the boy’s only two and will lose his mother as soon as we can contrive it. If Claudius is lucky with his frail health he might live another ten or so years but he’ll die before his son reaches manhood; so who would be regent? There are no acceptable choices left; the bloodline is almost dry. The Senate will never accept being ruled over by a child and Republican sentiments will come to the fore again, which will put them in direct opposition to the Praetorian Guard, leading to chaos. I’m afraid the boy is destined to be a Tiberius Gemellus; he will never be emperor and will be killed by whoever succeeds Claudius.’

‘And you know who that will be, I suppose.’

Pallas raised a knowing eyebrow. ‘If Claudius is lucky and lives for ten years, then yes, and you would do well to follow my lead when you return to Rome because I intend to pick the winning chariot in this race. I’m telling you this as a friend: when Messalina dies watch whom I cultivate and you’ll understand.’

‘You’re as mysterious as ever, Pallas.’

‘I learnt from my late mistress Antonia that it doesn’t do to be too open with your plans.’ A huge cheer erupted from the Roman formation, which quickly transformed into a chant of ‘imperator’. ‘Well, that was quickly done, come gentlemen, it’s time to join our glorious Emperor on his victorious entry into Camulodunum.’

The legionaries of the XIIII Gemina stood to rigid attention, lining the sun-hardened-mud main street of Camulodunum, keeping the local population back as Claudius entered their town.

Although not big by Roman standards, Camulodunum was the largest settlement in the south of the island and even boasted a scattering of brick-built public buildings. Its few thousand inhabitants lived mainly in round huts in family groupings and, similar to Mattium in Germania, there did not seem to be much thought put into civic planning away from the main street and marketplace.

Surrounded by a sturdy palisade, three times the height of a man, almost a mile in circumference and protected on its northern side by a navigable river — its lucrative trade route to the Northern Sea and on to the Rhenus — it would have been a formidable town to take by storm and Vespasian, riding behind Claudius, felt a certain relief that they had not been obliged to.

The local populace gasped in awe as Claudius entered their town; two massive beasts, the likes of which had never been seen before in Britannia, pulled their new master’s chariot. Large and lumbering and draped in purple cloth, with huge ears, long swaying proboscises and fearsome tusks sheathed in gold, the elephants impressed the people of Camulodunum more than the display of military might that followed behind them.

The legionaries of the XIIII Gemina hailed their Emperor as he passed with yet another chant of ‘imperator’, drowning out the townsfolk’s rumble of astonishment at the contrast between the magnificent animals and the malformed man whom they drew. No amount of purple or gold could make Claudius look imperial; standing unsteadily in the chariot as it bumped along the rough street, with one hand grasping its side whilst the other was held aloft, palm out, acknowledging his ovation, he struggled but failed to control all the tics that afflicted his twisted body.

Immediately behind the imperial chariot rode Narcissus and Pallas between Aulus Plautius and Sentius Saturninus, both of whom smouldered with indignation at being publicly accompanied by freedmen. Vespasian and his fellow legates followed behind them in icy silence. Then came the senators, walking with sombre dignity, ignoring the stares and the pointing that their attire elicited as the people of Camulodunum caught, what was for many, their first sight of a toga. Finally, in marched the Praetorian cohorts followed by the senior cohort of both the XX Legion and the VIIII Hispana, joining in the chant of their comrades lining the way.

Vespasian glanced to his left at Corvinus; his face was set in the same expression that he had worn for the last two days since Claudius’ mock victory: smug, self-satisfied.

‘Worried are you, bumpkin?’ Corvinus sneered, catching Vespasian’s look.

‘Why should I be? I was just protecting the Emperor’s interests.’

‘The Emperor’s interests? Bollocks. Since when was Narcissus the Emperor? I know exactly what you were doing; and I know exactly how to prevent you from meddling again next time our paths cross.’

‘Thankfully that won’t be for a while, Corvinus; you’ll be in the north and I’ll be in the south.’

‘Wrong, bumpkin, I’ll be in Rome. I’ve got what I need from this campaign and have no desire to carry on commanding the Ninth when my officers are so untrustworthy, so I’ve had a quiet chat with my dear brother-in-law, a couple of quiet chats, actually; he’s agreed that I should return to Rome to look after his business in the Senate and be close to the family. Talking of family, in that second chat I had with Claudius I made a suggestion — as a concerned uncle, you understand — about the future wellbeing of his son. I think you’ll find it very amusing.’

‘Nothing that you do amuses me.’

‘We’ll see, bumpkin, we’ll see.’

Vespasian turned away and edged his horse closer to Sabinus. Up ahead the imperial chariot had reached the marketplace, again lined with legionaries. The mahouts steered their charges to one side, revealing, at the far end, eleven British Kings and chieftains, amongst them, Verica and Cogidubnus, kneeling in submission in front of an empty curule chair; their swords lay on the ground before them.

Pallas and Narcissus dismounted and hurried over to their master as the mahouts brought the elephants to a halt; helping him down, they guided him to the chair.

‘Follow me, gentlemen,’ Plautius ordered, swinging off his horse and handing the reins to a waiting slave. He walked over to stand behind Claudius, facing the men who were about to pay homage to the physical embodiment of Rome’s power.

Vespasian took his place beside Plautius with Sentius and the other legates; the senators gathered behind them as the Praetorian cohorts marched in and filled the remainder of the marketplace, leaving the legionary cohorts backed up along the road.

A hush fell.

Vespasian stood, waiting for something to happen; eventually Narcissus cleared his throat, meaningfully, looking at Claudius.

‘Ah, y-y-yes,’ Claudius spluttered, sitting as upright as he could in the backless chair, ‘of course. Who speaks for the Britons?’

Verica raised his head. ‘Every man here speaks only for himself and his tribe but our words are the same: we accept Rome and we bow to her Emperor.’

‘C-c-come forward and receive Rome’s friendship.’

One by one the Britons came forward, shuffling on their knees, their swords held out before them resting on the palms of their hands. Claudius bade each in turn to rise and confirmed him in his position of king of his tribe or chieftain of a sub-tribe under Rome.

Vespasian read the shame on each face. The ceremony was a public humiliation of these proud men. Cogidubnus caught his eye, as he rose to his feet before the Emperor, with a look of bemused disbelief at the form that the power of Rome took. Vespasian inclined his head fractionally and the King of Vectis, shaking his, backed away and returned to his place.

Verica was the last to subject himself to the ordeal; once he had submitted there was a stir amongst the Praetorians off to the left. Claudius struggled to his feet, helped by Pallas and Narcissus, and turned to face the senators as a Praetorian centurion approached him holding an imperial Eagle.

Claudius gave a lopsided smile and taking the shaft held it aloft for the senators to see. ‘Members of the Senate, do you know what Eagle this is?’

There were mutters but no replies.

‘This is the E-E-Eagle that none of you would have seen for thirty-four years. This is the Eagle that just three months ago I presented to my loyal troops in gratitude for the suffering that they were willing to undertake in coming to this island. This, Conscript Fathers, is the Eagle of the Seventeenth. I, Claudius, have raised the last fallen Eagle of Rome and I ask you to return to Rome with me and place this Eagle where it belongs: in the Temple of Mars.’

The senators burst into loud and enthusiastic cheering and applause.

Vespasian looked at his brother. ‘And what were we doing whilst Claudius was bravely raising this fallen Eagle?’

‘Surviving, brother.’

‘We return to Rome together,’ Claudius continued, ‘but first we must organise this new province that I have won for Rome, the province of Britannia. This shall be its capital and here I shall build a temple in my honour. For his help in aiding me in this great victory, I name Aulus Plautius as the first Governor of Britannia and I award him the right to wear Triumphal Ornaments. Come forward, Plautius, and once again receive your Emperor’s thanks.’

Stiff and formal, Plautius approached Claudius and was again embraced; this time Claudius whispered a few words in his ear and when he turned away the general was clearly burning with indignation. Plautius paused and then held his head back. ‘Conscript Fathers, I must offer my thanks to you for persuading our Emperor to make this long journey and come to my aid. Without his leadership and strategic and tactical abilities our cause would have been lost and we would have been thrown back into the sea.’

The senators applauded this sentiment, enjoying the implication that they had played a decisive part in the conquest of Britannia, whilst neglecting the fact that it was very far from over.

Vespasian glimpsed Pallas and Narcissus exchange a look between them; although it was fleeting it hinted at the immense satisfaction that they were both feeling. ‘They’ll have made Claudius the darling of the people when all this is reported back in Rome,’ he muttered to Sabinus. ‘And the Senate get to reflect in his glory because they’re the ones who begged him to come.’

‘And they’re the ones who will return the Eagle with him; it makes me feel queasy.’

‘Yes, it’s terrifying; if a man like Claudius can be kept in power by his freedmen, who knows what we might get next?’ Vespasian’s mouth twisted in distaste.

Claudius handed the Eagle back to the centurion. ‘I shall also award the right to wear T-T-Triumphal Ornaments to C–Corvinus, the brother of my darling wife, whose role in the conquest has been crucial throughout.’

Vespasian’s shook his head in disbelief. ‘Crucial?’

Corvinus went forward; his face was a picture of subservient gratitude as he received the Emperor’s embrace.

‘How did he go from treason to Triumphal Ornaments?’ Sabinus muttered, not bothering to hide his outrage.

‘By coming from the right family, brother. Magnus was right: people from families like ours are wasting their time.’

‘And Triumphal Ornaments will also go to the three subsidiary legates; firstly, Hosidius Geta whose bravery at the Afon Cantiacii saved his cavalry from capture by the enemy. Despite being surrounded and severely wounded, he led his men to safety.’

Aulus Plautius did little to conceal his opinion of this version of the events that Claudius had been given, and Geta did little to conceal the fact that his general’s opinion did not concern him in the slightest as he returned from Claudius’ embrace.

‘And then my loyal Flavians, hard-working, honest and happy to toil in the shadow of greater men for little reward, come forward.’

Vespasian submitted to Claudius’ clutches, receiving yet more unwelcome kisses. ‘Thank you, Princeps.’

Claudius held his shoulders and looked him in the eye. ‘I hope that I will still be able to refer to you as my loyal Flavian when you return to Rome.’

‘Always, Princeps.’

‘I’ve been told that you have an infant daughter and a son a few months older than mine?’

‘Indeed, Princeps.’

‘And I believe that you have no house of your own and that your family is lodging with your uncle, Gaius Vespasius Pollo.’

‘That’s correct,’ Vespasian replied hesitantly, wondering why Claudius had all of a sudden taken such an interest in his domestic affairs.

‘Then that’s perfect. When I get back to Rome I will arrange for your wife to move into an apartment in the palace; I’m sure she would appreciate her own home and I’m sure that my darling Messalina would love her company. And then, of course, our two boys can be playmates.’

Vespasian felt sick as Claudius released him from his grip. Playmates? Forcing down the horror that welled inside of him, he kept his face blank as he walked away from the Emperor, past Corvinus, who smiled, broad and innocent.

Flavia had got her wish, a home of her own.

But whilst he served the Emperor in Britannia, his wife and children would live or die in Rome at the whim of Corvinus and his sister, the Empress, Messalina.