Masters of Rome (9 page)

‘But apart from Callistus failing to report an outrageous infidelity of Messalina's to the Emperor, Pallas hasn't any positive proof of this matter. However …' Vespasian paused to see whether the young man had the political acumen to finish the sentence; he was not disappointed.

‘… however, if a prosecution were to be brought against the Empress's brother which would carry the death penalty if it were proven, then Callistus would be obliged to delay it or dismiss it out of hand if he was secretly supporting Messalina, thereby exposing himself.'

‘Exactly. But it gets better than that; it's all about timing. Pallas is convinced that Narcissus will soon be in a position to bring down Messalina so the prosecution would be brought just
before he presents the damning evidence to the Emperor and Callistus will go down with the Empress.'

‘That'll suit me perfectly.'

‘Indeed, as it suits me.'

‘And me,' Magnus put in.

‘Yes, and you. But more to the point it suits Pallas because he'll secure his place as the second most powerful man in the Empire.'

Paetus raised his eyebrows. ‘Just one more step to negotiate, eh?'

Vespasian contemplated the implication of that remark for a moment, enjoying the mingled smell of woodsmoke and cooking, seeping into the tent. ‘I don't know about that but he's certainly thought this step through.'

‘So who will bring the prosecution?'

‘Ah! That's the problem for you. Obviously it can't be Pallas, as Callistus would see through the ploy straight away, so he's chosen someone to act as his proxy. Someone whose career has been halted since his half-sister was assassinated along with her husband, Caligula.'

‘Corbulo?'

‘Yes. He's desperate to be given a province; he's had no advancement since he was consul six years ago.'

‘But he's a jumped-up snob from a family that can't even boast one consul before him.'

‘Prefect! I would remind you that I come from an even newer family. Do not let the fact that the Junii can trace their family back to before the Republic prevent you from working with men who have slightly less lineage but pretend to more.'

‘I apologise, legate. My personal views on
Gnaeus Domitius Corbulo
will not be an issue.'

Paetus' emphasis on Corbulo's full name implied he was not being exactly truthful, but Vespasian decided against pursuing the point. ‘Good, let's hope that his less than favourable opinion of you is likewise put to one side.'

‘I've got one question.'

‘Go on.'

‘Apart from the chance of revenge on Callistus, what's in this for me?'

‘In the long term you might be thrown a scrap or two but the real reward is short term: as I said, you'll get the chance to further your career; but that's mainly because you'll get to keep your life.'

CHAPTER III

T
HE SUN GLOWED
deep golden as it dropped beneath the covering cloudbank's western extreme, out towards the horizon. Warm evening light brushed the undulating belly of the low, grey blanket with colour as it dispensed a gentle drizzle; the drops were back-lit by the dying orange rays in a way that Vespasian had never seen before. The weather on this island continually surprised him.

But the quirks of the weather were not what interested him as he sat on his horse surveying the silhouetted hill-fort that the day's march had brought them to, just a quarter of a mile distant, somewhat detached from a line of hills running to the southwest. ‘We'll lose a lot of men trying to take that. Any news from your scouts, Cogidubnus?'

The Britannic King shook his head. ‘I'm beginning to think that they won't be coming back; they would have arrived here about two hours before us. It's starting to look like they've been taken prisoner or killed.'

‘What about the scouts in the north; have you heard from them yet?'

‘No, a message should have arrived today. I admit I'm worried.'

Vespasian contemplated that news for a few moments. In the two years since Cogidubnus had surrendered to Rome he had proved his loyalty and Vespasian had come to trust him; if he was concerned about something it was as well to take notice. ‘Have you sent more out?'

‘Yes, with orders to report back at first light.'

Vespasian nodded his approval and looked again at the three great ditches that encircled the hill's irregular, triangular summit
separated by four concentric earthen ramparts, each the height of a man, the innermost being topped with a stout palisade; a few heads could be seen peering towards the Romans. ‘We'll never get men across all those obstacles and up to the wall with scaling ladders.' He examined the main gate in the northeast corner and then looked at the lesser one in the southwest. ‘It'll have to be coordinated assaults on the two gates if they don't see sense and surrender.'

‘I ain't never known a savage see sense,' Magnus muttered, not altogether to himself. ‘Present company excepted, obviously,' he added quickly as Cogidubnus shot him a dark look. ‘Not that I think you're …' He trailed off before getting himself embroiled in a matter of honour.

Vespasian glared at his friend.

Cogidubnus snorted and turned his attention back to the fort. ‘Even then it would be a bloody day; a force of a few hundred could easily hold both gates if there're no diversionary attacks on the ramparts.'

Vespasian assessed the problem ahead and saw that the Briton was right. ‘Then we go in at night.'

‘If Caratacus is in there then he will have a very good opportunity to escape in the confusion of the attack under the cover of dark.'

‘Do you think he's still there?'

‘I doubt it; he would have left at first light, knowing that we would be following him here.'

‘I think so too; so therefore balancing the slight risk of Caratacus slipping through our fingers against the amount of Roman lives that we'll save by going in at night, it's worth the risk. That way we've a chance of surprising them and also getting a cohort or two to the walls if we can find a weaker spot in the defences.'

As they scanned the earthworks for such a place the gates opened; three men were led out by half a dozen warriors. They were thrown to their knees, shouting at the tops of their voices in words unintelligible at that distance. Three simultaneous flashes in the evening sun silenced them and their bodies slumped forward as their heads rolled away down the hill.

Cogidubnus turned to Vespasian, anger burning in his eyes. ‘We have our answer. They were good men.'

Vespasian pulled on his mount's reins, turning back towards the labouring legionaries of the II Augusta who were now constructing a new camp having force-marched all day. ‘A night assault it is then.'

‘The lads have been told to get some sleep now, it'll be a short night,' Maximus reported to Vespasian in the crowded interior of the lamp-washed praetorium tent.

Vespasian glanced around the shadowed faces of his officers. ‘If you're all happy with the plan and your orders, then I suggest that you do the same, gentlemen. There'll be a silent reveille at the sixth hour of the night; any man making unnecessary noise will be dealt with severely. Primus pilus, make sure that your centurions understand that; I know it goes against their nature to give orders in anything quieter than a bellow but tonight they're going to have to try.'

‘They've all been told, legate, and are all prepared to bring down righteous retribution on malingerers with no more than a purr.'

‘Good. So to recap, the four cohorts taking part in the initial phase of the assault, as well as the Hamians, will muster in the Via Principalis immediately after the reveille. The rest of the legion and the auxiliaries will stand-to in the camp ready to march out and form up in front of it in support once the assault has begun and noise won't be an issue. The gates will be opened at the seventh hour, after the moon has set, and all five cohorts will be in position an hour after that, giving us four hours until dawn to take the fort. Goodnight, gentlemen.'

With a chorus of crashed salutes the officers turned and made their way from the tent. Vespasian slumped down onto his chair and rubbed his eyes, dismissing any thought of writing his report to Plautius about yesterday's storming of the hill-fort.

‘I've warmed you some wine, master,' Hormus said, stepping out from the private quarters.

‘What? Oh, put it on the desk.' Vespasian watched his slave approach; his eyes were lowered and everything about his
demeanour spoke of subservience. ‘Do you think that I believe you lied to me about the lamp?'

‘It doesn't matter what I think, master; it won't alter anything.'

‘But surely you don't want me to think that you are untrustworthy?'

Hormus placed the cup before his master. ‘No, but if you believe me to be so then how can I change that?'

‘By telling me the truth now.'

‘Master, before you bought me I had three owners in my life; my first master, in Lugdunum, in Gaul, used to bugger me brutally from almost before I can remember—'

‘But he was probably your natural father!' Vespasian cut in aghast.

Hormus raised his eyes slightly so that he almost met Vespasian's. ‘Whatever I was to him in blood had no bearing upon how he treated me or my sister.'

‘You have a sister?'

‘I did; whether I still have, I don't know.'

Vespasian picked up the cup and blew on its hot contents. ‘Tell me.'

‘After my mother died our master lost interest in us as he always used to abuse us in front of her; it made it more enjoyable for him. With her gone we were nothing more than two extra mouths to feed, so he sold us. Where my sister ended up I don't know; she was a couple of years older than me so old enough for the brothels.'

‘What happened to you?'

‘I was sold to an elderly man who not only buggered me but forced me to do the same to him and whipped me if I was unable to. He died two years ago and his sons sold off his slaves as a job lot to the slave-trader, Theron. He locked me and twenty others in an airless wagon and transported us to Britannia to sell at a premium to officers in the invasion force who would rather not have freshly enslaved locals near them, for obvious reasons.'

‘And it was quite a premium that he did charge, the rogue. But what has all this to do with telling me the truth about the lamp?'

Hormus met Vespasian's eyes for the first time in their relationship. ‘Because, master, in the months since you bought me I have never been happier in my whole life.' His gaze dropped back down to the floor. ‘You don't abuse me or beat me; you don't starve me nor do you give me a cold stone floor to sleep on, and my duties are not arduous. Why would I risk that happiness by lying to you about anything, let alone something as trivial as whether or not I lit a lamp?'

Vespasian looked at his slave, realising that he had never before really noted the young man's features. He would be able to describe him, yes, but only in broad terms; the fact that his thin nose was slightly upturned, his eyes hazel, his chin weak and slightly undershot beneath a patchy, black beard trimmed without any special attention to regularity had not previously pierced his consciousness. It was an unremarkable face, the face of a man of no consequence, the face of a man whose definition of happiness was made up entirely of negatives. ‘I believe you, Hormus.'

Hormus looked up again; his eyes were moist and a faint smile quivered on his lips. ‘Thank you, master.'

Vespasian waved the gratitude away and instantly regretted the gesture as the smile faded and Hormus' chest heaved with a suppressed sob. ‘I'm sorry, Hormus; I understand why you feel thankful. Now, enough of this; if you didn't light the lamp and if you are sure that no one came into my room then how do you explain it?'

‘I can't, master. All I can say is that my mother told me that when something strange happens it is a god trying to warn us about something and that you should pay special attention to anything that seems not quite right.'

Vespasian thought about this for a few moments, sipping his drink. ‘I suppose that could make some sort of sense,' he mused eventually. ‘A god, one of my gods, perhaps my guardian god, Mars, would have the power to do that; it's well known that the gods can manifest themselves. It's a lot of trouble to go to just to frighten me, but to warn me, now that's a different matter. What sort of signs have you had?'

Hormus looked momentarily confused. ‘Me, master? What god is going to bother with the likes of me; what god even knows I exist? But a man like you, a powerful man, would easily come to their attention and if you have made a big mistake or overlooked something then it would make sense that they should try to warn you. My mother knew this because she was the daughter of a great man – but he was also a foolish man; she told me that twice he had received a warning from the gods, both times after he'd had a conversation with his younger brother. One time it was a cup that shattered just as he picked it up and the other time it was a torch lighting itself, just as your lamp did. His wife, my grandmother, told him that it was a god trying to warn him that he was making a mistake in trusting his brother and that he should kill him or, at the very least, exile him. He took no notice of her or the god and laughed the whole thing off. The next time the brother came, he came with many men and killed him and his wife and sold all his children into slavery.'

‘So you're the grandson of a chieftain?'

‘No, master, I'm the son of a slave woman.'

‘Have it your own way.' Vespasian downed the rest of his wine and stood. ‘I'm going to bed now, wake me in three hours.'

‘Yes, master.'

‘And thank you, Hormus; I shall think about what happened yesterday and see if there is anything that a god might take the time to warn me about.'