Hammer of Rome

by Douglas Jackson

  Valerius looked at Agricola, but the stolid face gave him no clue to the governor’s reaction to the suggestion. Polio’s idea had merit. Even if they didn’t succeed in forcing Calgacus to battle, the legionaries would be pleased to be on the attack again, especially given that they would soon be withdrawing and giving up hard-earned ground.

  ‘No.’ He shook his head and Polio exchanged a furious glance with Ursus, who must have endorsed the strategy. ‘I believe it could be construed as a slur on the Emperor’s memory. All Calgacus would do is continue to draw us into the passes as he has done all summer. We’d lose more men, and to what end?’

  ‘Thank you, Valerius,’ Agricola said. ‘I think that will be all, gentlemen. Valerius, we should discuss the Emperor’s mourning ceremonies.’

  Polio and Ursus left the tent, Polio with a look that told Valerius he’d forfeited any chance of future cooperation. The governor picked up an odd-looking silver dice box Valerius recognized from an earlier encounter and rang the tiny silver bell, looking thoughtful.

  ‘We have had our differences, Valerius. There is no denying it. I may have overstated things when I accused you of disloyalty, but despite that I believe I would have had every right to dismiss you. Now you no longer have Titus’s support, that is doubly the case.’

  Valerius stiffened at the slight, but he knew he had to be careful what he said and how he said it. ‘I have always said that if you do not believe I can be of service to you I would be happy to return to my estates. It was never my intention to question your authority, but a senior officer has a duty to question a strategy he believes to be … misguided.’

  ‘You believe me too careful, I remember. Yet you cautioned Polio for his over-enthusiasm only a few minutes ago. I do not believe he appreciated it, but I was grateful for your support. Why?’

  ‘There isn’t enough time to achieve what he plans and our forces are depleted by the garrisons we’ve been forced to leave behind. It makes more sense to advance in the spring with a full complement of auxiliaries. I suggest stripping the southern forts of all but their most essential soldiers and bringing them north next year. As I have said before, Calgacus can’t keep running for ever.’

  ‘Let us hope not,’ Agricola said. ‘But they always seem to have another rat hole to retire to. One of the reasons I hesitate is that I wonder just how many Celts they hide. Perhaps Calgacus is only showing us a fraction of his forces?’

  Valerius had a thought. ‘Let me send Rufus into the mountains to see if he can ease your fears.’

  ‘The midget?’

  ‘There’s no one more capable. By the spring we’ll know exactly what is hiding behind all those jagged peaks.’

  ‘If he survives.’

  ‘Rufus will survive.’

  ‘And Calgacus will stop running.’ The governor smiled. ‘And next year we will crack him like a snail shell beneath a wagon wheel.’

  XLVII

  Rome

  It had all gone perfectly.

  Titus Flavius Domitianus lay back on the golden throne and allowed his gaze to drift over the crowd in the great marble-columned receiving room. Soldiers of his personal guard lined the walls, hands ready on sword hilts. Their presence made the waiting supplicants nervous and he enjoyed seeking out the individual signs of fear. A flickering eye, a nervous shuffle of feet, hands clenched tight to stop them shaking, droplets of sweat snaking down a fat man’s cheek. This was power.

  They said he had assumed the purple even before Titus was dead, but that wasn’t true. He had watched his brother die; every agonized twitch and stifled groan. Heard the rasping final breath and waited till the hollow cheeks turned grey. Only then did he hurry to the Castra Praetoria carrying the usual gifts. He had already prepared the ground. The right officers had been bribed – none of them would survive the year; a man who could be bribed once could be bribed twice – and rumours had been spread that his father had made him joint heir, only for Titus to astutely rewrite the will. They had loved and revered his father and his brother. Not a man had hesitated to proclaim him Emperor.

  ‘Advance, Gaius Tulius Glabro.’

  A corpulent young man in an ill-fitting toga pushed his way through the crowd and stood in front of the dais, where two of Domitian’s more savage-looking bodyguards awaited the Emperor’s orders. Glabro eyed the men nervously and licked his plump lips.

  ‘State your petition,’ Domitian’s scribe ordered.

  Glabro cleared his throat. ‘My uncle Julianus held the monopoly for the import of leather goods from Hispania until he was sadly lost at sea in the consulship of Paullus and Montianus. His wife’s cousin, who had worked for him, took over the business. I seek to have the monopoly returned to my family.’

  Domitian crooked a finger at his scribe and the man came to stand next to the throne.

  ‘Does the wife’s cousin have any influence, Abascantus?’ the Emperor asked quietly.

  The scribe shook his head.

  ‘We are minded to grant your request,’ Domitian said. ‘Remembering that your father was a great support to my divine brother.’ Glabro’s eyes widened, making him look like a startled squirrel. The Emperor had just made him rich. In truth it had been the wife’s cousin who had run the business while Glabro’s uncle spent the profits. He barely noticed that Domitian was still speaking. ‘But first I have a task for you to complete. Our games have grown dull and lacking in excitement. I lay upon you the burden of finding a new and exotic supply of animals for the arena.’ Domitian smiled at the stupefied expression on the young man’s face. Glabro was notoriously lazy as well as notoriously greedy. The idea of the fat barrel of lard sweating in some far-off desert or crawling through a snake-infested jungle in search of some mythical beast amused him. ‘When you return in triumph we will discuss the Hispania monopoly more fully.’

  He truly believed he had been born to be Emperor. All a man had to be was decisive. Make a decision and others would carry it out. The problem, of course, was deciding whom to trust.

  The audience continued until he tired of it and passed a hidden signal to Abascantus. Guards cleared the room and left Domitian alone with his scribe.

  ‘Bring me the parchment we were working on yesterday.’

  Abascantus bowed as low as his great age would allow and backed out of the room with proper deference. He was a Greek freedman who had been in Domitian’s household for years, and he knew all of his master’s secrets. In time that might present an interesting dilemma, but for the moment he was too useful to discard. Naturally, Domitian couldn’t allow him to know that and it suited him to keep Abascantus on edge.

  The scribe returned a few minutes later carrying a large scroll and accompanied by two more servants, one with a portable writing desk and chair, and the other clutching writing materials. The men set out the desk with the styli and ink and the Greek handed Domitian the scroll.

  ‘You have more names to add, Master and God?’ Dominus et Deus. It had an almost poetic ring to it. So much more dignified than mere Caesar, or Augustus; men of great fame, true, but only men after all.

  ‘Not for the moment, Abascantus. I merely wish to remind myself of the names already fixed.’

  Abascantus unfurled the scroll and flattened the upper part on the desk using small metal weights designed for the purpose.

  ‘You may withdraw. But summon the Augusta to join me.’ Domitian saw a look that might have been alarm cross the scribe’s bland features. Good to know he could still surprise a man whose life depended on his absolute discretion.

  Domitian stepped down from the throne to study the list, putting a face to each name where possible and the reason for its inclusion.

  The door opened and he looked up as Domitia Augusta walked across the marble floor. Slim and lithe, she moved with all the grace of a fawn. Even after ten years of marriage her beauty still moved him. He had wanted her from the moment he first laid eyes on her. Gaius Valerius Verrens had stood in his way. Domitian had won the contest, though th
e final act of that drama had still to be played. The fact that she hated him only added to his sense of power over her.

  ‘You wished to talk to me, Caesar?’

  He smiled. It was her conceit never to call him Master and God and his that he was pleased to allow her this one small victory.

  ‘I have compiled a short list of those who have offended me or caused me hurt in some way,’ he said. ‘I thought you might look over it to see if you wished to add any further names.’

  Domitia looked towards the scroll uncoiling from the table. ‘It seems very extensive,’ she replied with a tight smile. ‘I am sure you won’t have neglected anyone.’

  ‘You don’t seem surprised?’

  ‘The only surprise is that you have taken so long. You are not a man to forget a slight.’

  ‘No.’ He laughed, instantly regretting the high-pitched squeak. ‘Nevertheless, I insist you admire my handiwork.’

  She stared at him. For a moment he thought she might refuse, but eventually she walked to the desk and looked down at the twin columns of names. He studied her closely to see her reaction when she found her own, but she disappointed him.

  ‘It is very extensive.’ Domitia’s voice betrayed no emotion. She’d known her name would be there; the only surprise was that it didn’t head the list. Another name had sent a shock through her, but of course he would be marked for retribution. ‘The Senate will have difficulty conducting any business after all these losses. But what has poor old Arrecinius Clemens done to merit inclusion? Surely he is one of your favourites? What will you do without his tittle-tattle from the brothels?’

  ‘He no longer amuses me, and he was heard to tell a scurrilous lie about me.’

  ‘Poor Arrecinius. One story too many. What do you have planned for them?’

  Again, no acknowledgement that she was included. He didn’t know whether to be annoyed or impressed. ‘Oh, I will think up suitable punishments to suit their crimes.’ He held her gaze. ‘But first I will let them believe they are safe and that I have no interest in them. Some, I will raise higher, so that their fall becomes even more painful. The fortunate will be exiled. The unfortunate …’

  ‘Then we understand each other, Caesar.’

  ‘I believe we always have, Augusta. You will come to my bed tonight.’

  It was a command, not a suggestion, but she’d long understood he used their couplings as a form of punishment. She turned back to the list. ‘Don’t tell me you have already worn out the little Illyrian concubine you added to your stable only last week?’

  Domitian moved in behind her, so she could feel the extent of his arousal against her buttocks. His hands moved to her breasts, squeezing and fondling, but she didn’t respond.

  ‘Selva is an accomplished bed wrestler, but her athletic antics pale into insignificance beside the pleasure I take from overcoming your reluctance. You feign unwillingness, but your base instincts betray you. Every squeal and every moan is a just reward for my efforts.’

  It never occurred to him that every squeal and every moan was part of a performance designed to ensure her ordeal was kept as brief as possible. She stepped out of his grasp. ‘I am your wife, Caesar. I know my duty.’

  ‘Very well, you may leave me.’ He turned back to the list and she left the room as Abascantus entered, exchanging a look that would have seen them in pieces on the Gemonian Stairs had Domitian observed it. The Emperor’s eyes slipped down the list until he found the name he wanted. Domitia would have spotted it too, and for all her cool aloofness he understood the effect it would have had on her. Someone had to be first. Should he? It was so tempting. But would it be more satisfying to allow Gaius Valerius Verrens to live for a time in the knowledge that any moment could bring the sting of the knife and every sip of wine or bite of food herald agonizing death? It required some consideration.

  ‘Summon Gnaeus Julius Agricola, proconsul of Britannia.’

  Domitia went directly from her audience with the Emperor to the Palatine gardens. She found the cool shade of the cypress trees helped slow her heartbeat and calm her mind after such encounters. Soon she would have to find a new sanctuary, because Domitian had announced plans to double the size of the palace and these trees would be replaced by marble columns. A sturdy figure stepped out of the shadows to meet her.

  ‘So you came?’

  ‘How could one ignore such an intriguing missive from such a formidable lady?’ Flavius Josephus took step beside her a few decorous paces away.

  ‘You were discreet, I hope?’

  ‘The only reason I am still alive is that I can conjure up the power of invisibility at will,’ the Judaean said with mock gravity.

  ‘Then a man with such powers would know that the Emperor has recently compiled a list of his enemies.’

  ‘A man with such powers would be surprised if he had not.’

  ‘And he would know that his name appeared on that list, along with a certain formidable lady’s.’

  Josephus stopped and bent to admire a flower, but she could see her information had shocked him.

  ‘That would be most unfortunate.’ He straightened, the swarthy features a little paler than before. ‘I have come to be rather fond of Rome. And of life.’ He studied her, waiting for more information, and as the silence lengthened he began to understand why he was here. ‘Is it possible there is a way in which this mistake could be rectified?’

  ‘You are a man who understands the value of information.’ She ignored his question. ‘I have certain information that might alter the make-up of the list. But information is not enough. It must be backed by irrefutable proof, and the subtlety and strength to use that proof in the most effective way. On the morning the Emperor Titus died, a servant failed to turn up for work. He has not been seen since.’ For a moment Josephus thought his heart might stop. This was ground more dangerous than he’d ever trodden. Only the fact that his name on the list already condemned him kept him from walking away. He had heard the rumours; whispers of some extract of fish.

  ‘It is likely this man is dead.’

  ‘Then why would the Emperor’s spies be seeking him in all his old haunts and questioning those who know him?’

  ‘Because he does not wish to be found.’

  ‘You will find him, Flavius Josephus.’ Her voice took on an iron hardness. ‘Because if you do not you will die. He is a Judaean and you have sources of information at every level of Judaean society in Rome.’

  ‘And what do I do if … when I find him.’

  ‘You may leave that to me.’

  She turned and walked away, knowing that he would do her bidding. If any man could find the missing servant it was Joseph Ben Mahtityahu. Odd that a person of such obvious intelligence should be so steeped in intrigue and conspiracy that it never occurred to him that his name might not be on Domitian’s list at all.

  XLVIII

  Londinium, April AD 82

  Why was he still alive? The question dominated Valerius’s thoughts as he waited impatiently in the anteroom for his audience with Gnaeus Julius Agricola. When Domitian had been confirmed Emperor Valerius had spent every waking moment anticipating the dread tramp of feet that would bring the executioners to his door. At times he would lie in bed drenched in a cold sweat as he imagined, not his own death, but those of Tabitha, Lucius and perhaps even little Olivia.

  Yet gradually, with Tabitha’s help, he’d found he was able to live with the shadow of impending death.

  ‘Titus deserves your best,’ she’d insisted with that strength which had sustained him so often. ‘Give him it. Domitian would be insulting his brother’s memory if he killed the man tasked with organizing his mourning ceremonies. This early in his reign he cannot afford to do anything that would alienate the army or the mob. We are safe for now.’

  Everything was in place for their escape. He’d suggested that she take the children and flee east without him, but her reply had been the vow she’d made on their wedding day. ‘Quando tu Gaius, ego
Gaia. We were one from the moment we met, Gaius Valerius Verrens. We are one now. And we will be one the day we die.’

  Seven months later the threat was little more than a dull ache at the base of his skull. Perhaps he was deluding himself and the Emperor had forgotten him. Domitian had certainly been busy in the early months of his reign. Agricola, who had only now arrived back from Rome, had waited months for a decision on the continuation of the northern campaign. His official letters reeked of frustration and suggested Domitian was more interested in Germania and Dacia than a province he apparently regarded as little more than a backwater.

  Since his return three days earlier the governor had spent his entire time with his wife and son. Valerius felt sympathy for the man. Domitia’s mental state had improved dramatically, but the baby’s health continued to trouble the medicus who treated him. According to Tabitha he showed few of the natural signs of development for a child of his age.

  ‘The governor will see you now, legate.’ Valerius looked up into the mocking grey eyes of Agricola’s aide, Metilius Aprilis. Their paths had crossed often in the time the governor had been detained in Rome. Valerius had sensed a change in the younger man’s attitude since Titus’s death. He’d been businesslike enough in their dealings, but nothing could disguise a hint of superiority on the thin lips. With his friend gone Valerius’s authority was diminished and Aprilis was happy to let him know he knew it.

  Valerius followed Aprilis into the governor’s office, where Agricola waited at his desk. Agricola nodded a welcome and waved a hand to dismiss Aprilis. As Valerius took his seat on a couch by the window overlooking the Tamesa, Agricola studied a sheet of parchment. The dark hair was peppered with more grey than Valerius remembered and his flesh had a pallid, unhealthy appearance. When he looked up the Ninth’s legate would have said the proconsul appeared a decade older than his forty-one years.