Semper Fidelis

Chapter 17

Two days’ march south of Eboracum, another dawn sacrifice was offered with more than the usual gratitude. This one was to Neptune and Oceanus. Sabina watched the smoke rise into the clear sky, fingered the cluster of emeralds in her one remaining pair of earrings, and tried to be grateful that the rest of her luggage had been saved instead of furious that most of her jewelry was at the bottom of the ocean. She was not sure where this outpost was, but of one thing she was certain: she would never set foot on a ship again until it was time to leave this ghastly island behind.

She left the emperor striding about the place, deep in conversation with Clarus and the local centurion. The centurion was probably still reeling from the shock of sighting a battered imperial flotilla in the estuary. Hadrian would be doing the rounds of the survivors, pausing to chat to exhausted sailors, inquiring about injuries to the horses, and sympathizing with the comrades of the men washed overboard. Meanwhile she was taken to the local inn, where she was to lie on a couch in some other woman’s clothes while her staff went in search of her missing luggage. She glanced across at the emperor’s secretary, busy scribbling despatches explaining the change of imperial plans.

“Tranquillus?”

“Madam?”

Watching poor Tranquillus trying to conceal his excitement at being noticed was an entertainment in itself.

“I hope you are taking notes on all this so that you can tell the world what we have had to suffer.”

“Indeed, madam.”

“Because you will hardly get a whole book out of Interesting Things to See in Britannia. A few statues of dead emperors, stones arranged in a circle, and burial mounds of people no one has ever heard of.”

“Indeed, madam.”

“I have been wondering if Clarus and I could persuade you to include the present emperor in your list of biographies.”

Tranquillus swallowed. “I am delighted to say that the present emperor is still with us, madam. It would be premature to attempt to summarize his already great achievements when there will doubtless be so many more to record.”

“Ah, yes,” agreed Sabina. “Of course.” There were times when she wondered whether she should be kinder to Tranquillus. Then he came up with an answer like that and she wondered whether he, too, was enjoying the game.

Tranquillus was not fool enough even to consider writing about Hadrian, but as the limping chambermaid from last night took her arm to escort her around a pothole, she wondered if he was thinking of the scandalous material he could include if he did. Nothing as scurrilous as the depravities that he had related from the old days, of course, but Hadrian would not want the world to read about that sordid squabble with Trajan over the pretty boy. Nor about the dubious manner in which he had become emperor. She did not believe for a moment that Trajan had named Hadrian on his deathbed. The old man’s widow, the only witness, was one of Hadrian’s collection of devoted middle-aged women. All of them thought they understood him better than she did. But what normal man preferred the company of his mother-in-law to that of his wife?

Neither she nor Tranquillus, of course, would ever mention these things. The quiet man who had appeared on the ship had vanished, but the slaves were always there, and always listening. She knew that because once she had invented an overpriced diamond and spoken of having it imported from India, and sure enough the emperor had later accused her of wasting money. He had not been in the least perturbed when she complained about him spying on her. “Of course,” he said, as if it were as natural as breathing. “Do you have something to hide?”

“How could I?”

“Precisely.” He had turned away to discuss the defense of Lower Pannonia, and that was the end of the interview.

Now, of course, he really would have to buy her some jewelry.

The sound of hammering and sawing rose from the wharf: They were starting the repairs on the ships already. She turned to Tranquillus. “I begin to understand why you refused your first posting here.”

Tranquillus turned pink again and mumbled something about not refusing exactly; it was simply that at the time he had been inconveniently unable-

“Do you know whether one can travel by road to the place where the hot springs rise?”

“It is even farther from here than from Londinium, madam.” Tranquillus’s apologetic tone suggested this was his own fault.

“What about the land of endless day?”

“Many miles to the north of us, madam.”

She sighed. “Well, if you can think of anything at all that might relieve the ghastliness of this place, please do suggest it.”