Flaminius shook his head absently. Indeed, he wanted the struggle at an end. He wanted to find the camp medic and see if he could tend to Rhoda’s wound. But from what he had seen of the courtyard, the medic would be busy for a long time. Wounded and dead men lay everywhere. Men in auxiliary armour stood on guard over the main hall, where no doubt the surviving Romans were still pent up.
‘The defenders have surrendered,’ he said. ‘There have been losses, and the auxiliaries are now in control.’
‘Auxiliaries?’ the procurator questioned. ‘Barbarians, you mean. Those are not men who the governor would accept into his personal guard. He has had no auxiliaries of Gaulish or British stock since the burning of Londinium.’
Flaminius remembered the rebellion[16]. He had penetrated the bagaudae rebels, but been unable to escape before Londinium was attacked. He had almost joined the auxiliaries in the mass execution Platorius Nepos himself had ordered on the banks of the stream that ran through the centre of town.
‘You were there?’ the procurator asked, after Flaminius had given him an edited account of his own involvement. ‘Do you suppose that that is what all this is about? These Caledonians or whoever they are have taken Platorius Nepos prisoner to wreak some kind of revenge?’
‘It’s possible,’ Flaminius admitted.
It was making his own mission all the more difficult, whatever it was. Pensively, he stroked the ring-key. So near and yet so far. At least the fires were extinguished now, and the files were no longer at risk. And he had the procurator in his confidence. Maybe there was still a chance that he could learn who had sent the Dacian gold to Falco. But the presence of these attackers added a new level of complexity to his mission.
He noticed the procurator staring at him suspiciously. No, not at him—at his chest. His tunic had flapped open, and his sword cut must be visible. But that wasn’t what Sidonius Placidus was staring at.
‘Where did you get those tattoos?’ the procurator asked suddenly.
‘If you wished to speak me to me, woman, you had plenty of opportunities when your husband was stationed in Eboracum. You really didn’t need to go to these lengths.’
‘I don’t wait for the opportunity to offer itself,’ Publia told Platorius Nepos. ‘I create it.’
‘Your Latin is very good,’ the governor went on. ‘But it’s hardly Virgilian. Where did you learn to speak our language?’ When she did not answer, he added, ‘You’re not a Roman at all, are you? You’re a barbarian.’
Hotly, she said, ‘I am a Roman citizen!’
‘I don’t believe a word of it,’ Platorius Nepos rasped. ‘Now I think I’ve got you worked out. This is some kind of revenge for how I suppressed the revolt a couple of years go. Isn’t that right? Perhaps you had some kind of sweetheart amongst the rebels. I know they kept native women as whores, Caledonians many of them, and you are a native, aren’t you? For all you claim to be Roman. Your man was decapitated, I’d guess, on my orders, in Londinium. And you’ve been working on your revenge ever since. Am I right?’
‘You are very brave, for a man surrounded by enemies,’ Publia said. ‘You are at our mercy, and yet you speak with all that most admirable Roman gravitas. But no, governor,’ she added, ‘this has nothing to do with the revolt. That was the work of some deluded Gaul who was procurator in those days, as you surely remember. The people of Britain had nothing to do with it.’
‘So you admit that you are from Britain?’ Platorius Nepos said. ‘To be exact, from the north. Not a Roman, then, as you claimed.’
‘I am a Briton,’ she confirmed, ‘and I am also a Roman. ‘And we have not captured you because of your part in putting down any rebellion. No, indeed. We are concerned with something that happened earlier in your career.’
Platorius Nepos’ eyes hardened. ‘Earlier in my career?’ he asked. ‘But I had nothing to do with Britain until I was appointed governor. I was born in Hispania, I was a friend of Hadrian long before he became emperor. My early career took me to Upper Germany, followed by a string of civil and military posts. Later I was governor of Thrace[17], then Lower Germany… Only after the disaster, when the Ninth Legion was wiped out, did my old friend the emperor asked me to replace Falco as governor of Britain. How could anything in my blameless career have offended a band of wild and woolly barbarians like your friends—before I became governor of Britain?’
‘We must hurry,’ said Flaminius.
Leaving the shelter of the gateway, he and the procurator made their way cautiously through the shadows of the colonnade. Darting from pillar to pillar, they proceeded surreptitiously in the direction of the main headquarters building. That was where he felt he had the best chance of completing his mission, and also he might find the medic who could help Rhoda.
Sidonius Placidus followed behind him, the procurator’s clumsiness a counterpoint to Flaminius’ agility.
‘Get back,’ Flaminius hissed as they reached the further corner. Men in the armour of auxiliaries were riding towards the gate. The two fugitives sought cover behind a pillar and Flaminius peered out as the auxiliaries passed. Not one horse was in step; they seemed an ill disciplined lot.
He shook his head wryly. It wouldn’t have done, back in his days attached to the Ninth. The decurion at the head would have been back in the ranks before he could say pious Aeneas the founder of Rome. But these weren’t real auxiliaries, like the well trained Frisians Flaminius had once commanded. These were rude, untutored barbarians if ever there were any.
‘How are we ever going to get past them?’ the procurator panted. ‘And what are we going to do once we get there?’
Flaminius shuddered a little, and looked back at him. ‘Don’t worry yourself, sir,’ he said. ‘I’m sure I’ll think of something.’
‘We should have made better plans before we set out,’ the procurator hissed. ‘Do all commissary agents go into the field so unprepared?’
Flaminius grinned. A flash of Junius Italicus’ insignia had been enough to dispel the man’s suspicions on seeing his tattoos—it had felt just like old times. ‘We’re encouraged to be resourceful, sir,’ he said.
The clatter and hiss of hoofs on gravel died away, and he peered out again. Now the whole courtyard was almost deserted. He beckoned to Sidonius Placidus and they began to make their way further up the colonnade.
‘Who goes there?’
A tattooed man had appeared from out of a doorway, another behind him. Both carried longswords unsheathed. Flaminius moved suddenly, and the first man brandished his sword. But Flaminius was not reaching for his own weapon. He yanked back his tunic, and said something in a language that the procurator recognised as the British tongue.
To Sidonius Placidus’ mingled surprise and relief, the two warriors relaxed at the sight of the tattoos on Flaminius’ chest. They stepped back and waved him past, but still looked suspiciously at the procurator. Cold sweat broke out on Sidonius Placidus’ brow.
‘It’s alright, he’s with me,’ said Flaminius, and the tribesmen grunted and let him through.
The procurator realised that the doorway was the one that led to the main hall of the headquarters building. He paused on the threshold, seeing that the interior was thronged with armoured men. Before he could turn and run, Flaminius took him by the folds of his toga and hauled him inside.
A woman was speaking. ‘…when we have finished examining the files, we…’ Her voice broke off abruptly as they entered.
The procurator recognised the speaker as Publia. She stood domineeringly over the bench where Platorius Nepos sat, the latter seemingly at ease despite the savage warriors who surrounded him. But Publia was not looking at the governor. She was staring over her shoulder at the two newcomers.
The governor followed her gaze and a puzzled look crept across his own face. But he was not looking at Sidonius Placidus. He was staring at Flaminius.
‘Publia Aelia Drustica,’ said Flaminius breezily, ignoring the governor. ‘It’s been a long time! Two years! H
ow have you been keeping? Someone told me you had got married.’
— 30—
Drustica stared open mouthed at Flaminius. ‘Gaius,’ she said. ‘I was afraid I would never see you in Britain again. But my marriage… it was one of convenience. Where have you been?’
Flaminius came to perch on the edge of the governor’s bench. ‘Your grasp of Latin has improved,’ he commented. ‘Although black hair doesn’t suit you, and what have you done to your skin? Some kind of dye? I hope it washes off. No, I don’t suppose anyone expected to see me in this province again. Not while our senatorial friend here held the reins of power, at any rate.’
He gave Platorius Nepos a dazzling smile. ‘Nice to see you again, too, Aulus,’ he told the governor.
Platorius Nepos looked about him, exasperated. ‘Who is this hirsute mountebank who speaks to me, governor of Britain, in such familiar tones?’ he rasped. ‘What do you have to do with this outrageous attack? I don’t believe I have ever seen you.’
‘Oh yes you have,’ said Flaminius. ‘You banished me from your province two years ago. Since then—to answer your question, Drustica—I’ve been very busy in Egypt, but that’s another story. I don’t have any connection with this assault on the fortress of your dignity, governor, but my name is Gaius Flaminius Drusus.’
‘Flaminius!’ Platorius Nepos was astounded. ‘Yes, I see it now,’ he added. ‘You have indeed changed a great deal. Since you provoked that revolt almost single handed.’
Sidonius Placidus had been watching the exchange from by the door. Now he waddled forwards.
‘This man Flaminius was responsible for the revolt?’ he asked. ‘But he told me… he told me…’
‘The governor is exaggerating,’ said Flaminius. ‘Everything happened as I told you. I joined the bagaudae in disguise, and worked against them from within. Unfortunately it was not enough to deter the revolt. Rather unfairly, the governor here blamed me and banished me, and my colleague Centurion Junius Italicus.’ He turned to Drustica. ‘Junius Italicus and another of my friends is with the legionaries who are still fighting your tribesmen at the Praetorian gate. May I suggest that you send men to sue for peace? There seems to be no point in continuing the fight.’
Drustica did as he suggested, and several of her men departed in the direction of the Praetorian Gate.
‘You don’t seem very surprised to see me, Gaius,’ she remarked.
‘I had been hoping to catch up ever since I set sail for Britain,’ he told her. ‘Junius Italicus told me you hadn’t been heard of since you married. But when I saw the body of one of your followers, and compared his tattoos with the ones your tattooist gave me, I saw that the attackers were from your own Carvettian tribe. Gave me a nasty moment, I’ll tell you. I remembered those disputes, how you kept petitioning the governor to change the line of the Wall so your tribal hunting grounds were not affected…’
Platorius Nepos had been eavesdropping. At this, he gave a stifled exclamation. Flaminius saw that he was studying Drustica closely.
‘I remember you now! You came to me more than once, representing some northern tribe. I promised that I would do what I could, and… So that is what this is about! You disguised yourself as a Roman, married one of my aides, wormed your way into my confidence, inveigled Quintus to his doom and then attacked me when I was at my most vulnerable!’
He turned to look at Flaminius. ‘And this fellow, who I banished… Yes, I remember you both. It was in the aftermath of the revolt, and I had many other things on my mind. You have been working against me, then. A conspiracy! I see it now. But why? Are you all agents of the druids?’
Flaminius laughed. ‘Agents of the druids? Not at all. What brought Drustica here I don’t know, but my reasons for coming here have little to do with the druids. Though I did endure their tortures to get hold of the most key to the whole affair.’
He lifted up his right hand to show the ring- he wore.
Platorius Nepos eyed it incuriously. ‘You were an agent of the Commissary when last I met you, although you no longer are. Why should you not wear a courier’s key? Commissary agents, couriers; both are part of the same department.’
‘I took this ring from the finger of Dagodubnos, Archdruid of the Caledonians,’ Flaminius said. ‘And he told me a pretty tale.’
Platorius Nepos shrugged. ‘How very strange,’ he said. ‘I suppose some unlucky courier must have been slain by Caledonians and they took a fancy to his ring. Somehow, I suppose, it ended up as the property of the Archdruid.’
‘And when exactly might this have happened?’ asked Flaminius.
‘How in Hades should I know?’ Platorius Nepos barked. ‘Really, this is intolerable!’
‘Might it not have been, say, five or six years ago?’ Flaminius said. ‘Before the Wall was begun, before Hadrian visited the province. Before you were governor, Platorius Nepos.’
The governor folded his arms. ‘Anything that happened in this province before I took on the post of governor,’ he said, ‘is no concern of mine. I suggest you address your enquiries to the previous incumbent. I believe that Pompeius Falco has now retired from public life, but you might be able to contact him at his private estates near Tusculum.’
Flaminius fingered the lance-head brooch he wore. ‘How did you know that I was no longer working for the Commissary?’ he asked suddenly. He was aware that the procurator was watching the exchange in silence. ‘How did you know that, governor?’
‘How did I know?’ Platorius Nepos blustered. ‘Why, why shouldn’t I know? You have clearly been out of Roman service for some time. That beard needs trimming, might I add?’
Sidonius Placidus laughed a little. Flaminius scowled at him, but then returned his attention to the governor.
‘I’m wearing the insignia of a Commissary agent,’ he pointed out. ‘And surely a man in your exalted position realises that an agent must spend a certain amount of his time undercover, or in disguise. In my time I have played the part of a Praetorian, a gladiator, a merchant and more. I have walked with emperors and been reviled as a slave. But throughout that time I was an agent of Rome. Now, it’s true, I am no longer employed by the Commissary. I have been dismissed. But how did you know?’
Impatiently, Platorius Nepos rasped, ‘I can’t really say. Something told me, that’s all… If you’re no longer in the imperial service, why do you wear the insignia? You have no right!’ He appealed to Sidonius Placidus. ‘This fellow, who seems to have gone some way to taking you in, procurator, is nothing but a fraud.’
‘Perhaps,’ was all the procurator had to say.
‘I appreciate that this must be a difficult moment for you,’ said Flaminius, smiling sympathetically. ‘Very difficult, after such a successful career, to find yourself baited in your own lair by barbarians and out-of-work imperial agents. No wonder you’re having problems remembering things.’
Platorius Nepos watched him unspeaking. Flaminius went on. ‘And what a career it’s been,’ he said. ‘I’ve read a little about you in the files.’
‘Oh, we’ve heard all about the governor’s illustrious career,’ said Drustica dryly. ‘Having an emperor for a friend must have been a great help.’
‘But it wasn’t always like that, though, was it, Aulus Platorius Nepos?’ Flaminius said. ‘It wasn’t so easy in Trajan’s days, now was it?’
Platorius Nepos shrugged, exhaled wearily. ‘Every man’s career must begin somewhere,’ he said. ‘And the start is often weak and faltering. It gains momentum as the years roll by. Very well, I started out as a pipsqueak of a tribune, and much like anyone else running their first lap on the course of honour, I made a pretty poor show, I’ll admit.’
‘When you were in the Fortunate Twenty Second Legion?’ Flaminius asked. ‘Stationed in, where was it, Lower Germany?’
‘Upper Germany, in fact,’ rasped Platorius Nepos. ‘I must say, you commissary fellows know how to do your research. What a pity you decided to go rogue. Hadrian will be very interest
ed to hear all about your misdemeanours.’
‘I don’t quite see what you’re driving at, Tribune Flaminius,’ Sidonius Placidus confessed. ‘From what you had said, you seemed to have some very important evidence, but frankly I haven’t been able to follow what you’ve been saying.’
‘So you were never in Dacia, governor?’ Flaminius asked, ignoring the procurator. ‘While you were a tribune?’
Thin-lipped, Platorius Nepos shook his head. ‘My legion was never stationed in Dacia.’ He gave a mirthless laugh and looked at Sidonius Placidus, who was watching in silence. ‘The man’s an idiot. I take back what I said. The Fortunate Twenty Second was raised by the Emperor Caligula in Upper Germany, at Moguntiacum, and it has remained stationed in Upper Germany until the present day. Even during the Batavian rebellion they remained in the province, when other legions were wiped out. Dacia, my dear young man, is a world away.’
‘That is undeniable,’ the procurator commented. ‘What do you have to say to that, Flaminius?’
‘I know that the legion has always been based in Moguntiacum,’ said Flaminius. ‘However, during Trajan’s wars in Dacia, vexillations of various legions were sent to Moesia, on the frontier with Decebalus’ kingdom, to reinforce the imperial forces. You see, I have indeed done my research, governor. And not so very long ago I read an account in a memorandum written by an agent based in Moesia. It alluded to events occurring shortly after the death of King Decebalus. Events concerning the famous treasure of that barbarian monarch.’
Platorius Nepos half rose. ‘What are you talking about? You couldn’t have read it! That document is kept securely in…’
‘In the imperial archive at Hadrian’s Villa, yes,’ said Flaminius.
The procurator had been listening in puzzlement. ‘Decebalus’ treasure? Much of it was recovered. It made the imperial treasury very rich. What of it?’
‘It was recovered,’ Flaminius agreed, ‘after Decebalus had concealed much of it underneath the River Sargetia, outside his palace. Using captured Romans, he diverted the river, then had a cavity dug into the riverbed, then filled it with hundreds of tons of gold and silver, then buried it, then let the river run along its original course. The rest of it was hidden in caves. What Rome recovered was the merest fraction of Decebalus’ original treasure.’
The Londinium File Page 23