Arthur Britannicus (12 page)

The troops loved it, as they were better paid than ever. Payday, known in the barracks as, ‘The day the Eagle shits,’ was gratifyingly regular and their money was worth something at last. Plus, this general cut them in on the loot from time to time, and he made sure they had good equipment and good food. Being a legionary wasn’t half bad, and you could look forward to a guaranteed retirement pension and land, too. Car the Bear was all right, the troops agreed.

Provisioning the troops was uppermost in Carausius’ mind as he sat at his writing table in his office above the harbour at Bononia, and he called for Suetonius, a quartermaster recently returned from an expedition to punish rebels near Spain’s River Tagus. The officer stood to attention until the legate motioned him to a stool, and they began discussing the problems of getting enough grain for the legions since the crop had been so poor that summer. “How did you enjoy Spain, by the way/” Carausius asked.

“It was boring, all olive groves, a hot and dry place, no women, no loot, a miserable, uninteresting place, all in all,” was the quartermaster’s view, although, he recalled, they had made one unusual find that still puzzled him. “We came across a whole batch of scrolls, the gods only know where they came from, and I found a curious thing. I saw my own name, Suetonius, written in one. They were all in the Spanish tongue so I had the thing translated. As far as I can tell it was dictated by some old veteran who got a land grant in Spain at retirement,” he told his general. 

“Turned out the Suetonius in it was Gaius Suetonius Paulinus, the governor of Britain who had to put down a huge revolt in the colony. It was back in Nero’s day and it was kept very quiet, they didn’t want the public alarmed. Anyway, the story it told was that the rebels were led by a woman, and they destroyed the capital at Colchester, including the temple of Claudius, and slaughtered tens of thousands of people. The Ninth Spain legion, who weren’t too shabby - they’d earned their title for fine service in Iberia, went to save the place and were given a thorough kicking by the rebels. It was such a slaughter, almost nobody came back.

“Even the standard bearer and his unit had to flee with the Eagle. Well, the rebels caught him somewhere short of Eboracum, the legion’s HQ, where he was headed for safety. What was most interesting was the scroll claimed it’s almost certain the rebels never did get the Eagle, or the legion’s pay chests, which the aquilifer had hidden. The story I got was written for an old soldier who claimed to have escorted the Eagle bearer for a while. The soldier dictated a testimony, saying he had an idea where the standard might have been concealed by the aquilifer, but he himself didn’t witness it, he wasn’t there, which was as well because he learned later the Eagle party had been butchered to a man. It could be interesting information, but who knows?”

At mention of Eboracum, the provincial capital of Britain, and a place he’d visited as a child, Carausius got very interested. “Fetch me the scroll,” he demanded, “and keep your damn mouth shut about this.”

Left alone, he pressed his fingers to his temples. There was a memory…. there was something he felt he had to recall. A drift of smoke floated in through the window, and his memory flashed bright. The wood smoke, scent of his father’s house in faraway, long-ago Britain. He was a young boy, sitting beside his father, whose arm was around his thin shoulders. He could feel again the smooth wool of his father’s tunic against his cheek. He heard his father’s voice, felt the rumble vibrate as his head rested against the man’s chest. His father was showing him a scrap of lead, a thin sheet with marks scratched on it. As clearly as if it were happening in the commander’s stone chamber of the Bononia fort, Carausius could again visualize the map and
its scratching’s, and hear in memory his father’s voice.

“This is a map, Caros, a treasure map. We have yet to understand what it shows. It is the secret to a very important Roman treasure and brave men died to keep that secret. One day, I shall find it.”  The boy looked hard at the little sheet of metal, burning its pattern of lines and letters into his sharp young mind. His father hugged his shoulders, approving as he saw the boy’s effort. The child glanced up, and snuggled against his father. It was reassuring, comforting to have his father’s affection, although the idea of great treasure was a little bewildering. It didn’t matter. His father was there, and that was all that really mattered. Carausius the soldier felt his body surge with the memory, and heaved a gusting sigh. The map was as clear to his inner eyes as if it were on the desk in front of him. He knew the gods were putting before him a thing of importance. He would have to think long, and think hard
how to proceed. In a straw-lined nest in a nearby wharf side warehouse, a white rat stirred, then slept again.

Far to the east, and a few hours later, the trader Gracilis walked across the atrium of his house in Forum Hadriani to stand under an oil lamp. He took out the scrap of lead he’d taken from his twin slaves in Massilia and studied it yet again. What he saw had been scratched out at knifepoint two centuries before by a desperate man shortly before he was killed. The metal bore a crude sketch of several lines that intersected. At the top of a vertical line was the part-word ‘Ebor.’  Running diagonally to it, from the southwest, for the metal scroll was a rough map, a second line had an ‘N’ and an ‘AA’ inscribed on its length. The third line ran from the ‘AA’ north and west to another part-word, ‘Manc.’  Finally, at the bottom of the metal scrap the word ‘plumbum’ had been scribed, then scratched through and the word ‘bluion’ was written. None of it meant anything to Gracilis, but it might mean something to the clever administrator, Mullinus, whose lamp in the house across the street was burning, which indicated that he was still awake…

Mullinus looked at the map with a sense of shock.
Ebor? Eboracum? A map of the area where he’d been a slave? Was this some sort of trap related to his runaway past? He concealed his feelings from the slave master.  “It seems to be a map, where did you get it?” he asked smoothly.

Gracilis was evasive. “Just something I picked up in Gaul from my slaves, it seemed amusing.”

“Well,” said Mullinus, “leave it with me and I’ll do some studying.”

“Oh, no call for that, it’s just a curio,” said Gracilis, hastily pocketing the thing. Then he added, “Do you have any idea at all what it means?” Mullinus, accepting that there was no danger to him, saw no harm in answering, and his vanity pushed him to demonstrate his world knowledge.

“Well, it seems to be a map of part of Britain. I’d say that ‘Ebor’ is short for Eboracum, and that ‘Manc’ for Mancunium. They’re significant towns there. I’ve been to Eboracum, you know. Oh, and this word ‘plumbum’ is Latin for ‘lead,’ of course. I have no idea what a bluion is.”  It was about all he could tell Gracilis until he could find a great library with the tax gatherer’s scrolls or maps that might give him clues to what the other letters signified. The next time he was in Rome or Milan, he thought. Gracilis left, also thoughtful, and wondering if perhaps he should consider a trading trip to Britain. If there really was a great Roman treasure, and this was the key to finding it… 

Mullinus pulled at his chin; he’d have to think about this. Those twin slaves were somehow involved. They were British. Maybe they knew more, even where the treasure was. Clinia was concentrating on her embroidery when the Briton came into her room. “I just had an odd conversation with that fellow Gracilis,” he began. “There’s something going on, he seemed very agitated when I looked at some old bit of metal, a sort of
map, that he showed me.”  As he detailed the business to her, Clinia thought she’d faint. “Was it scratched on lead, this map? Was it about this size?” she asked quietly, holding up forefinger and thumb. It was Mullinus’ turn to be surprised. “How on earth did you know that?“ he demanded. “Were you spying at the door?”  Clinia took a deep, deep breath to calm herself. “This is the second time the Fates have caused something wonderful to cross our path. You may have found my sons,” she said. “Let me tell you about it….”

XV
. Aquila

In his headquarters, Carausius was readying for an expedition by sea, but the matter of the Eagle, the sacred aquila, lost by the Ninth Spanish legion had sparked in him a new train of thought.  “That is my father’s map,” he told himself. “The gods must want me to bring about change in Britain, to restore my homeland to its past glories. If they want it, I must fulfil it. This lost Eagle is a symbol, the key to carrying out their wishes, and with their help. I can rule Britain and bring about that restoration!”   He felt a growing excitement as he considered the opportunity.  If the timing was right, it could work. He’d already started the propaganda war, issuing coinage announcing him as the Long-Awaited One, and he’d had some very positive responses to the idea he’d cautiously floated among his senior officers about restoring the Golden Age of Rome.

The legate’s reasoning was simple. Britain was being plundered by the empire, and the natives wanted their pride and independence restored. They were unhappy at being second-rate non-citizens, tired of being bled for tribute.  All he needed was the military force, the will and the symbols to inspire men. For a legion to lose its Eagle was a shameful thing, as it represented the pride and power of Rome. If he could find the long-lost icon and parade it at the head of his legions, he’d be restoring some of that pride, and they’d think him a miracle worker. It could be the exact rallying point he’d need to endorse his authority and his claim to be king, an even more potent symbol than reclaiming his British chieftain’s status, if he could ever find his father’s brooch of rank. 

The old scroll was a good starting point. Its story was that the veteran was dying, and wanted his legion’s Eagle recovered. The fellow claimed he had been stationed at a place called Lutudarense during the Boadicean revolt and had witnessed the aquilifer and his detachment head out from there ‘back to the garrison,’ without saying where that base was. The veteran told the scribe he’d heard that the aquilifer had been ordered to hide the sacred Eagle in some old mine near the fort, but the soldiers who presumably hid it had been killed by the rebels.

Even the group at Lutudarense had been overrun and forced to flee.  The survivors had been scattered in the turmoil of the uprising, and Carausius shrewdly guessed that the veteran had probably decided to keep quiet about it all so he could find the coin for himself, but his
chance never came and he’d been posted back to Spain. There couldn’t be too many forts near Lutudarense, wherever that was, Carausius thought. It must be possible to find one with a mine nearby, and the reward would be tremendous if he could find the Eagle. He sketched again, as he had so many times, the simple features of the little map that lived so brightly in his mind. This, he was certain, showed the location of the lost Eagle, and likely of the missing pay chests that had tempted the old veteran to keep his knowledge to himself. He needed to consult his lieutenant.

Allectus, Carausius’ chief advisor and treasurer, was in the fortress’ airy office above the harbour, where he had brought requisitions and other scrolls. A slave served the two men watered wine, then moved outside at Carausius’ gesture. The man halted in the vestibule, seeming to busy himself with a tray of inks and writing implements. The guards posted across the room at the outer door saw nothing amiss, but the slave was listening hard. With a mixture of threats and promised rewards, he had been recruited as one of Maximian’s spies and he was gathering what information he could. That day, gold coins could have showered from the sky and it would not have excited him more. Carausius was outlining the story of the lost Eagle to Allectus and the slave was listening to information that could bring his freedom.

“If Maximian hears this, the best thing that will happen to us is that we’ll both go off the Tarpeian Rock,” Carausius warned his treasurer, “but there’s an imperial crown if we’re decisive. We need to usurp the fleet for ourselves and set up a new empire, in Britain and northern Gaul, and that Eagle could be the way to do it.”

“It would work, lord,” Allectus agreed. “The Britons are restive because Rome ignores them. They’ve never even had anyone in the
Senate, although the Gauls had representatives there almost from the minute they were elected to be a province. As for the locals here in Gaul, they’re already administered by us and as long as we keep the Bagudae down and the region safe, they won’t care who collects their taxes.” 

Carausius nodded. “The Britons want to be more independent, and to stop being plundered for the emperor’s benefit.  The populace would be right behind us, and the Eagle could be a great rallying point for the troops. We don’t need to answer to those extortionists in Rome, if we have control of our floating wooden walls.

“We could simply take the fleet for ourselves. The men wouldn’t know or even care very much, so long as they have their pay days. It could take months before they realize that Rome isn’t issuing their orders, especially if we base the whole flotilla outside Gaul.

“When we have the Narrow Sea to shelter behind, there would be no way for Maximian to reach us. He can’t face our naval forces right now, and even if he builds an armada it will be
another year or more before the crews are trained well enough to have a chance against us.  Anyway, the emperor has enough on his hands with those troublemakers on the Danube; he’ll not want to start another campaign.” 

The two men looked at each other. They were committed now, co-conspirators whose lives would be brutally forfeit if their plans were revealed. Carausius stretched out his right hand, and grasped the wrist of Allectus, who returned the old Roman handshake. They could only go forward now. The agreement was sealed. They’d not just steal the fleet; they would find the Eagle and use it to steal an empire.

As they turned back to the tablum to study lists of supplies and troop dispositions, the wide-eyed slave by the door was moving away across the anteroom, mentally revising what he had overheard. Maximian’s agent would pay handsomely, he knew. He just had to be cautious that he wasn’t betrayed in turn.

Carausius carried the thoughts of creating an empire with him on a brisk, bright morning as he led a squadron of his new fleet out into the strait.  He sniffed appreciatively at the clean salt air as he ran through a mental checklist. Finding the Eagle was only a part of it; he needed to mop up these pirates, make a reconnaissance around Britain, recruit some allies, finish off the rebels in Gaul and Spain, and move some troops into Britain to replace the legions Rome had pulled out for service beyond the Rhine. He’d need to reinforce Bononia, too. There was a lot to do, and he’d earn his salt, but first, he had to sort out these pirates and boost the coffers. “There will be plenty of expenses, and Rome certainly won’t be paying for what I want to do. I’ll
be needing the coin,” he thought grimly.

In Forum Hadriani, the trader Gracilis was cold to the scribe Mullinus and his offers. “I bought those twins legally and with proper money. They are mine and they are definitely not for sale,” he declared. “I don’t care who their mother is, where they came from or what they are. I intend to punish them for stealing my money and running away, but I have a use for them first and they will stay confined until I decide otherwise.” Clinia, he said, could not visit them; the security risk was too great. He privately thought that they’d blurt the secret of the map to her and he may be forced to turn it over. Anyway, he told Mullinus, there was no time. He planned to leave Belgica on a trading mission very soon. No, he would not say where he was going, it was a commercial secret and he was a very busy man, so good day to you, magister.

Mullinus left, thoughtfully fingering the big amber and silver brooch at his shoulder. Clinia had sketched what she remembered of the leaden map that her husband had guarded so carefully and that Mullinus had viewed for Gracilis. The ‘Ebor’ and ‘Manc’ clues were solid enough. Perhaps, mused Mullinus, he, too, should plan a trade mission to Britannia. It was probably safe enough to go back to Eboracum after all these years. Who would remember a house slave taken in a raid decades ago? There could be a Roman treasure to be found. The risk was worth it.