The Boat of Fate (22 page)

By mid-November we had crossed the border of Aquitania; a few days later we were reinstalled in our old quarters. Ruricius, stouter and more debauched-looking than before, met us with a string of petty grievances. Vidimerius for once brushed aside such matters as unpaid tribute. The booty collected in the course of the campaign had been sent down ahead of us at intervals; grain stocks were secure for at least a year. The Germans settled to a well-earned rest and the nightly embroidering of taller and taller tales.

As Vidimerius had prophesied, the Arcadians’ attitude to me had changed considerably. Their old air of sullen indifference was gone; when I had to deal with them now I was met with broad grins and cheerfully insubordinate bantering. I wore the gold torque prominently, and was reminded again how different are the workings of the German mind from ours. Romans would have viewed such a mark of favour with suspicion and distrust; I had no doubt at least what Ruricius’ comments would be.

The long break with routine had invigorated me; I returned to my studies with enthusiasm. I renewed my friendship with Patermuthis; he was interested in all aspects of the Belgican campaign and sat with me night after night, drawing out every last detail. At his suggestion I began work on a brief account of my experiences, to which I intended to add my own observations on the use of irregulars and foederati in the general defence of the West. It was a project doomed never to be completed. In the summer of my fourth year in Burdigala, Fate struck at me again; a malignant Fate, that had followed me all the miles from Rome.

The trouble began with an official communication from Mediolanum. We were to receive a visit from an officer of the Corps of Tribunes and Notaries; Vidimerius was instructed to make all the unit’s records available for inspection and to give him every assistance in drawing up a report on our current strength and readiness for war.

The import of the directive was largely lost on my commanding officer, who knew nothing of the Corps of Notaries and cared less. I took it on myself to explain something of its functions and reputation. Its record as a government department was long and unenviable. Under Valentinian and his brother its powers to pry into every aspect of financial and military administration had given many men of dubious background the opportunity to enrich themselves; Theodosius had sharply curbed the influence of the Notaries, but they were still a force to be reckoned with. Officers of the Corps, I explained patiently, were answerable to nobody but the Emperor himself; on occasions they had been known to bypass even Praesides. If the records of the Arcadians were found wanting--as they certainly would be--the trouble could be endless. At best it would mean a new posting for the unit, to some more unpleasant theatre of war, at worst withdrawal of the foederate status itself. Vidimerius and his men could be declared outlaws, hounded from the Empire they had worked so well to defend.

The reaction of the Duke, when the significance of the letter was finally brought home to him, was a monumental outburst of swearing. As soon as he calmed down he sent for me again. Would I be so good as to set the accounts of the Praetorium in order? With my book-keeping skill, he assured me, the job would be easily done in a day or so, certainly before this spying three-legged short-arsed ape of a Roman--here he digressed into another stream of blasphemy--could get within reach of Aquitania.

The task was an impossibility. Bringing accounts up to date is one thing; creating them from a void is quite another. The amount of bookwork required, even for a unit the size of the Arcadians, is staggering; everything, from bridles and new spear-tips to the last pair of bootstraps, must be accounted for before the paternal government is satisfied that all is well. I did what I could, but by the time the unwelcome visitor was due to arrive the ledgers still presented little more than a patchwork of deceit. Any clerk worth his keep would see through them in a morning. I reported as much to Vidimerius, who shrugged. ‘Oh well,’ he said hollowly, ‘if you’ve done your best, there’s an end to it. Nobody could have done more; and I certainly couldn’t have done as well. We’ll just have to sit it out, put a good face on things and hope.’

The Imperial accountant arrived the following morning, in considerable state. He wore the full-dress uniform--breastplate, crested helmet, scarlet cloak--of a Tribune of the long-disbanded Praetorian Guard, and was attended by a whole comitatus of his own. I had been sent to the town gates to welcome him on behalf of the Arcadians, and conduct him to the Praetorium. At my first sight of him my heart sank, seeming to lie like a chill leaden lump against my ribs. I introduced myself, curtly; his eyes met mine in a narrow stare but he made no comment. I saw to the stabling of the horses, walking like a man in a dream. The sun shone brightly in the streets, but it held no warmth for me. It had been like a visitation from a ghost; in that unlooked-for face I had seen my own doom.

The Tribune wasted no time getting down to work. A room in the Praetorium had been made available to his clerks; the whole party settled to their task the following day. Halfway through the morning I was sent for. Why, I was asked, were there no counterfoils for deliveries of wine and oil? I replied that to the best of my knowledge it had never been our practice to issue receipts. An hour later another query arose. Here were clearly listed an entire season’s levies in grain, as allotted by the office of the Praeses; yet returns for the amounts actually received seemed radically incomplete. Did I have an explanation? I answered stiffly that certain of the day-to-day affairs of the Arcadians had been placed outside my jurisdiction. The Imperial Notary smiled at that, raising his eyebrows in mild surprise. ‘Is that the case?’ he said pleasantly. ‘I was given to understand that after your arrival here you spent some weeks attending to nothing but the accounts. I must have been misinformed ....’

And so it went on, day after day. I could complain of no discourtesy; all my replies were carefully noted down, the inquisitor nodding and smiling and thanking me for my co-operation. The net was round me; each new discrepancy merely drew the meshes a little tighter. A dozen times I was on the point of going to Vidimerius, but it would have been useless. Those accounts, in so far as they existed, were largely penned in my own hand, and that the Tribune knew as well as I; I was damned, by my own excess of zeal.

The investigation dragged itself out for a week or more. At the end of that time the scribes left for Mediolanum, and Vidimerius at least breathed easier; but the reprieve was more apparent than real. The Notary remained, stalking about Burdigala in his impeccable dress; there were, he explained politely, other aspects of life in the town with which it was his duty to acquaint himself before compiling his final report. First he asked Vidimerius if he would be good enough to parade the entire strength of the Arcadians. The inference was so broad even the Duke couldn’t miss it; but there was no way out of the impasse, and the muster was duly held. Our visitor strolled slowly from rank to rank, rather like a general inspecting a victorious army, while Vidimerius fumed and puffed behind. We were complimented on the smartness of our turnout; no word was uttered on the subject of a hundred or more non-existent men. Next the Tribune requested permission to observe the Arcadians in training. I stood beside him as he watched, with a faintly amused smile, the efforts of the German axemen and lancers. I prayed for a stray shaft to come his way, but no such miracle, of course, occurred. Finally he noted our patrol frequencies, with strengths and routings, and asked to be allowed to ride with the next detail.

As it happened there had been rumours of minor trouble to the south. Little damage had been done, but the local fear of Bacaudae had revived. Vidimerius made this an excuse for a show of strength. A hundred horse and two centuries of foot were despatched from Burdigala. I was to lead the expedition, with Tonantius as second-in-command. The night before we were due to leave he reported sick. There was nothing for it but to take Ruricius. We made a routine sweep, taking several days. We found no disorder; and I turned north again towards our base.

The trouble I had been waiting for finally came on our last day out from Burdigala. We had camped in a pleasant spot a half mile from the road, on the banks of a shallow brook shaded with clumps of hawthorn and willow; the tents had been pitched, the cavalry lines set up and the men were settling to their evening meal. A large, open-sided structure served as the Praetorium; within it, sheltered from the still-warm rays of the sun, trestle tables had been erected. As officers, Ruricius and I sat with our guest; the German decurions, who usually ate with us on the march, were also present. Among them was Gundobadius, an unwieldy and much scarred trooper who had recently been promoted following exceptional service in the Belgican expedition. Most of us had laid aside our swordbelts; only the Notary, who I realised never went anywhere without a weapon at his side, chose to sit down armed. The food was simple but excellently prepared; Vidimerius, bearing in mind the well-being of our guest, had allowed a Greek chef and his staff to accompany us from Burdigala. The table was emptied and the wine passed round before anyone spoke; then the Tribune cleared his throat.

‘Well,’ he said to the company at large, ‘I’m sure you’ll be pleased to hear I shall be sending in a favourable report. I’ve found things here to be in excellent shape; with one or two regrettable exceptions, of course. But those can be readily dealt with, and shouldn’t affect the majority of you at all.’ For the first time since we had met, his eyes dwelt on me steadily; his voice was still pleasant, but I saw the depths of malice there. Beside me Ruricius stiffened expectantly, glancing from the visitor’s face to mine; the Germans, who for the most part didn’t have any Latin worth mentioning, shrugged and got on with their drinking.

The Tribune drained his cup and set it to one side before he went on. ‘Well, Sergius,’ he said then, ‘how did you find Rome?’

A vein began to pulse in my temple. I smiled, and answered as lightly as I could. ‘Not bad,’ I said. ‘Too hot in summer, of course. Too cold in winter.’

‘Ah yes,’ he said. ‘Good old Rome; always too hot or too cold. I did hear, though, your last year there was even warmer than usual?’

I closed my fingers on the wine-cup and stared down at the table. In a bush a few yards away a solitary bird was singing; I counted the notes individually as they fell.

‘Very much too warm,’ said my tormentor. He turned to Ruricius. ‘Did he ever tell you,’ he asked, ‘how he came by that mark on his hand?’

The goblet I was holding smashed down on the table. The heads of the Germans jerked round in unison at the noise.

‘Publius,’ I said, ‘I never looked for a quarrel with you. Don’t let one begin now.’

He stared at me calculatingly with his dark, long eyes. ‘Comicularis,’ he said, ‘you will note which of us it was who first described our conversation as a quarrel.’ He turned his attention back to me. ‘It’s a great pity, Sergius,’ he said. ‘You showed excellent promise as a scholar, once on a time. I’m sorry to see you come to an end like this; falsifying army accounts in a second-rate Gallic town.’

I spread my hands flat on the board. It had come, as I had known it must since I first set eyes on him. One glimpse of that olive skin, that arrogant, hooked nose, had been enough; but until he had spoken I had still tried not to believe. He had waited years enough to settle his imagined score with me; now, blind chance had thrown me in his path. I wondered, dully, why he hated me so much.

He had denounced me; now it was plain he intended to force me to some hasty act. He had chosen his moment well, for the only Latin-speaking witness present was Ruricius. He, perhaps, was already primed on the part he had to play. It occurred to me that maybe even Tonantius’ sickness had been feigned. I had never tried to ingratiate myself with the staff officers; and Vidimerius had warned me his favour would make me more unpopular than ever. He had no doubts as to my ability to protect myself, but he had been wrong. I couldn’t protect myself from this.

Publuis reached across to where my right hand lay on the table. He lifted it curiously and tinned it, examining the scar. ‘I gave him this,’ he said. ‘Many years ago, in Hispania. I hoped it might improve his manners, but it never seemed to.’ He squeezed my little finger deliberately, compressing it into line with the rest. Pressure on the damaged joint has always caused me exquisite pain; I set my teeth, feeling sweat start out on my forehead, and suddenly the rage that had filled me was gone. In its place was icy calmness and a strange, arid joy. I saw what the end of the thing must be; saw, too, that it had been decreed by the Gods since the very start of time. With the calmness my brain worked swiftly once more. I was badly placed for fighting. Behind me, only a matter of inches from my back, was the stout end wall of the tent; to my right, at the end of the trestle, was Ruricius. Publius sat between me and the open air; and he was armed, whereas I was not. I needed room; I eased my foot up carefully till it rested against the trestle of the table.

The Tribune turned my hand palm uppermost. ‘His gracelessness,’ he said, ‘extended itself eventually to Rome. Perhaps he should have fulfilled his needs in the Summoenium; instead he attempted, literally I understand, to climb beyond his station. This must be the mark he was given for his pains; it was an amusing little tale. What was her name, Sergius? Julia, was it not? Perhaps not; one laid so many women while in the city, one rather tends to forget.’

During my time in Burdigala I had picked up more than a smattering of German. Now I was glad of it. ‘Gundobad,’ I said softly to the man on my left, ‘this officer will try to kill me. Him I can deal with, but you look after Ruricius. He must not intervene; neither must he be harmed. Or you will suffer, who are innocent.’

Publius patted my hand chidingly. ‘Don’t chatter to your savages, Sergius,’ he said, ‘until I’ve finished speaking.’

I swallowed. ‘Publius,’ I said appealingly, ‘we were friends once, in Italica. Don’t let enmity come between us now.’ I gripped the table edge and heaved, at the same time straightening my leg.