A young man, as all the couriers were, cheeks shining in the chill air, he reached beneath his cloak as he approached and withdrew a leather scroll case. As he accepted it from the courier’s hands Valerius recognized the imprint in the wax seal.
‘I come direct from the Palatine,’ the young man announced formally. ‘Though I carried a second message which I placed in the hands of the governor in London.’
Valerius weighed the scroll case in his hand. Curiouser and curiouser. ‘How is Governor Agricola?’
‘He seemed well, sir,’ the courier said. ‘It was he who suggested I come by ship as the swifter alternative.’
‘Then he has my thanks. He didn’t suggest you might pause long enough to pick up a message from my wife?’
‘No, sir.’ The young man looked crestfallen. ‘I didn’t … It was deemed urgent that I continue my journey as quickly as possible.’
‘It is of no matter.’ Valerius smiled. ‘Come, I will read this in my tent and you can eat while I compose a reply.’
‘I was told no reply was required, legate. Though I am happy to carry any message you wish. I must change ships in Londinium and I will be sure to call upon your family.’
‘Then you are a prince among couriers. Shabolz,’ Valerius called. ‘Make sure this young man sups of the best from my supplies. The boats won’t be returning tonight. You can stay in the praetorium’s guest quarters.’
The courier spluttered his thanks. He’d spent the last eight days sleeping on the rough boards of a bucketing transport ship. Even the thought of the meanest cot made him feel quite faint.
Valerius hurried to his quarters and hesitated for a moment before breaking the seal. What lay inside might be merely friendly greetings, but the source also meant that the message had the potential to ignite life-changing events. He took a deep breath and worked the stiff leather straps with the fingers of his left hand so he could prise open the flaps.
XXII
Greetings from Titus Flavius Vespasianus Augustus to his friend G. Valerius Verrens, legate of Ninth legion Hispana. It has been too long, brother, since our last meeting. I cannot berate you, since I was the instigator of your absence from Rome, but I miss your forthright, countryman’s conversation and the often unwanted, but never unregarded, advice with which you would ply me. You will have heard of the momentous events that have occurred since our parting. My father’s end came as no surprise to either of us. The Purple had drained him of every ounce of his energy, but it was a comfort to me that he contemplated his impending death with such equanimity. He almost seemed to welcome his passing. It was part of his genius that he passed on his burden to me in modest increments in the months before his death. The immensity of the whole would have brought any normal man to his knees. As it is, I compare myself to that troubled king, Sisyphos of Ephyra, condemned to push his enormous rock to the top of the hill each day in an endless cycle of relentless toil, though I hope I have inherited none of the vices which brought him to that pass. If my accession has been welcomed by the gods they have a strange way of showing it. No doubt you know by now of the catastrophe which enveloped the Bay of Neapolis and took the life of our dear and trusted friend Pliny, but news may not yet have reached you of the disasters which followed, a fire which raged through the capital for three days and consumed, yet again, the Temple of Jupiter Capitolinus, that ill-starred shrine, and the return of the plague, which is interpreted as a punishment for my depredations against the Jews. Only a madman would seek the office I now hold. Yet how could one refuse it when it was offered? What kind of emperor should I be? – you will forgive me if I test you with the questions with which I nightly assail myself – not a Tiberius, a Gaius or a Nero, who used the office to encourage depravity and foster corruption, nor even a Claudius, who, for all his acknowledged attributes, allowed himself to be controlled by the former slaves of his household. Would it surprise you that I believe Vitellius might have become a truly great emperor had he survived? Possibly not, because he was, as I recall, also your friend. I have had access to his writings, which record his thoughts and aspirations, and found much to admire. Yet even he could not free himself from Caecina and Valens, the generals who truly grasped the reins of his power. No, the emperor on whom I shall model myself is that other Titus Flavius Vespasianus, my father. Within the constraints of his office he did everything he could to act in the interests of the Empire and the people of Rome. I will do likewise, and what son would not wish to outdo his father? Am I naive to vow that not a day of my reign shall pass that does not contain at least one act of goodness or kindness? I do not underestimate the difficulties – my brother Domitianus laughed at the suggestion I should no longer deal with informers, but I believe it a worthy aspiration, which I hope would have your approval. Now, to the substance of my missive. You may or may not be aware – I understand his relationship with his legates has been somewhat strained – that I have given Julius Agricola two years to complete his conquest of Britannia. What you do not know is that when his term of office is complete I have decided that you will replace him. I smile as I write this, remembering my father’s reaction at your lack of ambition for consular rank, but I fear I must repeat his words now. It is not a question of ambition, but of serving Rome, or in this case your friend Titus. In short, Valerius, I need someone I can trust in charge of Britannia and its legions. You have the experience and merits to hold the position and by now you know the province and its challenges. There is the question of your current lack of consular rank, but there are precedents for such appointments and in any case an emperor’s word is law. I hope I do not flatter myself in the hope that our friendship will be enough to ensure your acceptance of the post, but if not I rely on your conception of duty, which I know you hold dear. The issue of the consulship will be resolved upon your return with your family to Rome, when every man will know the esteem I have for you. Your son will be as my son, and every honour I can bestow will be yours.
There was more, about why Titus couldn’t remove Agricola immediately: the governor’s friends in the Senate, and Vespasian’s promise of a triumph should he succeed in subduing Britannia. But Valerius’s mind had frozen at the words Your son will be as my son. Taken at face value, just another endearment almost lost amid the avalanche of unexpected and head-spinning honours. But look a little deeper, with an understanding of the Emperor’s personal situation, and it became the most astonishing suggestion of all. Astonishing? Almost beyond belief. With potentially fatal implications.
Valerius studied the broken wax seal. Why hadn’t he inspected it more closely before he opened it. If other eyes than his had read the letter … He shuddered at the thought of what might already be in train. Titus Flavius Vespasian’s first wife Arrecina Tertulla died of the bloody flux shortly after their marriage. His second union, to Marcia Furnilla, produced a daughter, Julia, but lasted for only two years before Titus demanded a divorce. The greatest, and Valerius believed probably the only, true love of his life was Queen Berenice of Cilicia. Titus had brought Berenice to Rome after the sack of Jerusalem, only for his father to insist after a public outcry that he send her away. Valerius’s wife Tabitha, once Berenice’s faithful handmaiden, had been her former mistress’s only friend while she lived in the city. Tabitha was certain it was only a matter of time before Titus summoned Berenice back to his side. And that would be the end of it, if the lovers were discreet. Titus could not risk the outrage of the Senate and the mob by marrying Berenice, a Judaean who would not abandon her religion. Neither could he acknowledge their issue. Titus Flavius Caesar Vespasianus Augustus would never father an heir.
Your son will be as my son.
It was a fact acknowledged in Rome, certainly by Domitian, that Titus would appoint his younger brother heir, but so far there had been no official announcement. Nor, judging by this letter, would there be.
‘Titus, my old friend,’ Valerius whispered. ‘What have you done?’
On the face of it, the greatest honour an
y man could do a friend. Roman society accepted that rich, childless patrons would appoint suitable sons of their friends or clients as heirs to take their name and protect their fortunes after death. Lucius’s face swam into Valerius’s reeling mind. Young, not quite eight, and utterly guileless. A good child who might grow into a good man given the opportunity.
How long would he survive Domitian’s wrath once the announcement became public knowledge?
Titus would take Lucius into the Imperial household to be educated alongside the children of Rome’s most powerful families, just as Titus himself had been educated alongside Emperor Claudius’s son Britannicus. On the Palatine, Lucius would be beyond Valerius’s direct protection. Tabitha would be able to stay close, at least until Lucius reached the age when he was ready to don the toga virilis of manhood, but what real power would a mere woman have in a palace riddled with the agents of Domitian, even one as formidable as Tabitha? Gaius Caligula had killed his cousin and co-heir Gemellus and no man blinked an eye. Nero waited only four months after Claudius’s death before he poisoned his stepbrother Britannicus. What chance would Lucius have?
No, he could not let it happen. He would apply for leave to return to Rome and put his case to Titus in person. Yet his son had the opportunity to become Emperor. What right did any father have to take that opportunity away without first discussing it with his family? At last, amid the whirlwind of thoughts and fears, objectivity returned. Titus would not make the announcement until he raised Valerius to proconsular rank, which gave him another eighteen months or two years. The immediate danger depended on whether Agricola or some other had read the letter, and if the information had been passed to Domitian. The more Valerius considered it, the less likely that seemed. Titus’s suggestion was innocuously phrased, buried deep and couched in words that wouldn’t be considered unusual between close friends. Nevertheless, he would take precautions. He knew it was impossible for him to abandon his legion when he had specific orders from Agricola to take the fight to the enemy through the winter months, so he called for his clerk and dictated an order detailing Hilario and three other trusted members of his escort to return to Londinium and join Tabitha’s household guard. When the clerk had gone, he wrote a personal letter to Tabitha explaining the increase in security, but not the reasons for it, trusting that his wife knew him well enough to accept the decision without questioning why. If she was in the least doubt about the family’s safety, he told her, she must take ship north at the first opportunity. He would issue a warrant that would give the household passage on any ship bringing supplies to the legions. They would be safer in the midst of Valerius’s loyal legionaries than anywhere else in Britannia. Once they were with him he and Tabitha could decide on their next step.
A guard hustled a puzzled-looking Hilario into the headquarters. ‘You are to carry this to the lady Tabitha and place it into her hands and her hands only.’ Valerius handed him the letter. ‘Do you understand, trooper?’
‘Of course, legate.’ The big man frowned. ‘Into the lady’s hands only.’
‘Crescens, Regulus and Tiberius will accompany you, but you will command. It’s all explained in the letter.’
‘Tiberius?’
‘Tiberius Mediolanum.’ Named for his home city to distinguish him from the escort’s other Tiberius, newly arrived and not yet fully integrated into the unit. ‘You’ll stay in Londinium serving the legate’s family until you receive further orders, probably in the spring.’
Hilario struggled to suppress a smile, and little wonder. Valerius’s orders meant he’d spend the winter under a proper roof, with a warm bed and baths and bars to hand, instead of shivering in, at best, a draughty hut huddled around a brazier that roasted one side of you while the other froze solid, breaking the river ice to bathe, with only dice, board games and the rude, soldierly pleasures that mainly focused on bodily functions and helped make barrack life tolerable to look forward to. The cavalryman noticed Valerius watching him and his eyes turned troubled.
‘Maybe someone else would be better suited to the mission, lord?’
‘No, trooper.’ Valerius allowed himself a smile. ‘I need men I can trust for this duty. Men whose vigilance will never waver.’
‘Then you can count on me, legate.’ Hilario raised himself to his full height.
‘You’ll leave at first light and I’ll give you a cavalry squadron as escort as far as Brigante country.’ Ideally, he would have sent the men by sea, but the commander of the supply barges had offered to attempt one more convoy from the supply ships before the weather closed in and that might mean another week before the fleet sailed south.
‘I thank you for your trust, legate. May the gods protect you while I am gone.’
XXIII
The weather worsened and the temperature grew colder as the days dwindled towards Saturnalia. Snow showers became more frequent, covering the high country in a carpet of white, but Gaius Rufus refused to curb his ceaseless efforts to penetrate Selgovae territory. He led squadrons of auxiliary cavalry out on week-long patrols into the icy wastes of the upland moors, sometimes leaving them for days on end to forge ahead alone seeking out some unguarded river valley, gully or stretch of forest that would take him beyond the outer ring of guard posts Calgacus had set with such care and knowledge of the terrain.
He worked his patrols mercilessly and Valerius began to receive complaints from the auxiliary prefects that Rufus was wearing their men and horses to nothing. After each patrol he would return to fill in another section of the sand table Valerius had set up in his headquarters. Sometimes during his report his head would start nodding and his words would dwindle away. His ruddy features became bony and ever more skeletal behind the beard he wore, and if Valerius handed him a cup of wine his hand shook as he accepted it. When Valerius suggested he give up, his lips twisted into a fierce snarl.
‘It can be done, Valerius. I know it can be done. I can find a way.’ He lurched to the sand table. ‘Beyond the three hills lies bleak moorland that was sparsely populated even before Calgacus ordered his people to burn what was there. Impossible for an army to cross without being seen. But go a little further south where the country is more broken and it may be possible to get as far as this river without detection.’ He pointed to a line that snaked round the hills before turning west, then south of west. With his finger he traced a dog-leg from Trimontium that bisected the river where it was joined by another of the innumerable lesser tributaries that fed it. ‘With care I believe I can get you there without Calgacus being aware of it.’
‘Within striking distance?’
‘I cannot be certain,’ the little man admitted wearily. ‘But I believe so.’
‘And then?’
‘That is the puzzle I have been trying to solve.’
His hand moved over the sand table. ‘Calgacus is somewhere in this mass of mountains here. So close that I can smell his presence.’ He turned to stare at Valerius with red-rimmed eyes. ‘I remember you telling me you spoke to Governor Agricola of mountains as walls riddled with rat holes where an enemy can choose to emerge at will?’
‘You remember correctly.’
‘Well, here the situation is reversed. We must find a rat hole large enough to take a powerful column, or at worst two holes where columns can provide mutual support for each other in the event of attack. To divide your army further would be to invite Calgacus to destroy you in detail, are we agreed?’
Valerius nodded.
‘Naturally, Calgacus knows this as well as we do, and while I must necessarily probe my way into his territory with the care of a man picking up a snake, he knows every track and gully. He understands his weaknesses as well as we understand that we must find one that can be exploited. That means every likely rat hole is watched by a guard post or a patrol of Selgovae warriors.’
‘Then it is impossible,’ Valerius said.
‘Not impossible.’ Rufus managed a semblance of a smile. ‘It just means we have to find an unlikely
rat hole.’
Valerius poured them another cup of wine. ‘No rat hole is worth losing you, scout. Give it up.’
A proper grin, now. ‘You see. That is precisely why I must continue.’
‘Why?’ Valerius said. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘Because you care about the life of every man in this legion.’ Rufus held his gaze. ‘That is why most of us – the best of us – are prepared to risk ours for you.’
‘Damned fool.’ Valerius growled to keep the emotion from his voice. ‘You will wait three days before you go out again. The Gauls will mutiny if I don’t give them a rest. And if it snows you stay home, that’s an order.’
‘And one that I will gladly obey.’ Rufus downed his wine and saluted. ‘With your permission I will withdraw now, legate, lest I end up sleeping on your floor.’
Three days later Valerius watched from the parapet as the scout rode from the south gate at the head of a squadron of the Ala Petriana and turned south down the river. He waved a salute, but Gaius Rufus looked to neither right nor left.
After four days the patrol returned.
Rufus was missing.
Valerius interviewed the cavalry commander, Aulus Atticus, a prefect of the Ala Petriana, in his pavilion. Atticus hailed from Gaul, but his family had been Roman citizens for generations. He seemed absurdly young for his position, and when he removed his helmet and clawed a lick of sweat-plastered blond hair from his forehead he looked almost boyish.
‘Tell me what happened,’ Valerius ordered.
‘It was as usual with Arafa.’ Bleak resignation gave Atticus’s voice a rebellious edge. ‘Riding far into the night. In the saddle before dawn. No forest too thick, no gully too narrow for the Ala Petriana. We barely saw the sky for three days. And the cold,’ he shook his head, ‘Epona save us, the cold would have frozen us solid had we not made our horses lie down and slept together with them beneath our blankets. But he got us there.’ His words took on a savage edge. ‘He took us so close to them that we could smell their cooking fires.’
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