Hammer of Rome

by Douglas Jackson

  Calgacus could have made the difference, but Valerius had drawn his teeth by taking away his greatest strength, his sheer size and presence, and ensuring that visibility meant death. Let them go. There would be other days. A lightning bolt of anger surged through him. If Agricola had given him the infantry he’d asked for the insurrection would have finished here and now and the conquest of the rest of the island become a virtual procession of Roman power.

  He waited until the parade ground was cleared of all but the Celtic dead and the twitching bodies of the wounded and allowed his horse to pick its way through the bodies to the legionary square.

  No one cheered. The men of the Ninth knew this was no victory, but an escape. They stood, gaunt-faced and bloody behind the big curved shields that had saved their lives, their arms red to the elbows with the blood of their enemies. Valerius met the red-rimmed eyes, but they were looking at something far beyond him, or perhaps something within themselves. They’d seen men eviscerated and skewered, blinded and maimed, felt muscles spasm on the iron of their swords and the warmth of their enemy’s final breath on their faces. They’d heard the death cries of their comrades, and knew that, but for Fortuna’s favour, it could have been any of them. Their walls had been breached and there would be a reckoning for that. They’d killed and they’d survived, but there was no glory in the outcome. He knew he should speak to them. Tell them they’d done well and none could have done better. But the words would have been hollow. He should have been here fighting beside them.

  Men groaned, muscles aching as they lifted their shields to create a path into the centre of the square. As he rode inside Valerius saw the medici working frantically among hundreds of stricken bodies. A few centurions called to their men to hold their positions in case the Celts re-formed for another attack. No reserves. Every last man had been absorbed into the ranks to keep the countless enemy at bay. It was only then that he recognized Honoratus, the standard-bearer, by his wolfskin cape, standing by a little huddle of men around one of the fallen.

  Quintus Naso lay on his back with his eyes closed, his flesh so pale it was almost luminous, a line of watery blood running from the corner of his lip over his cheek. Hellenicus, the legion’s chief doctor, crouched over him, hands clenching and unclenching, brow furrowed and bottom lip nipped between his teeth. He looked up and shook his head. ‘There’s nothing I can do. I wouldn’t know where to start. I’m sorry.’

  ‘He saved us,’ Honoratus said. ‘Calgacus had almost broken through when the camp prefect led the reserves to stop him. But …’

  Valerius removed his helmet and knelt to pick up his friend’s limp hand. Naso’s plate armour had been hit so hard it had been forced deep into his chest. There was no blood, but plainly the damage was mortal. Naso opened his eyes and when he spoke his voice was the barest whisper. ‘So you came at last.’

  ‘I should have been with you.’

  Naso’s hand gripped Valerius’s tight. ‘The eagle?’

  ‘Is safe, prefect. The enemy is defeated.’

  Naso’s eyes flickered wildly. ‘I do believe my heart is split in two.’

  The words were accompanied by a horrible choking sound. Blood welled up to pour from the dying man’s mouth as his eyes dulled and the grip on Valerius’s fingers went slack. Valerius felt a mix of sorrow and pride and rage he’d never experienced before. The rage was aimed at one man.

  ‘Lord.’ A hand shook his shoulder and he looked up into the eyes of Felix, his young escort commander. ‘The governor is here.’

  Valerius got to his feet. A legionary cohort was marching through the east gate with Agricola and his entourage of aides in their midst. On the hillside on the far side of the river he could see a mix of infantry and cavalry hounding the thousands of Celts still trying to flee south. He picked up his helmet and pushed through the survivors of the Ninth to meet the governor.

  ‘So, Valerius,’ Agricola greeted him with a complacent smile, ‘it seems I have rescued your legion.’

  ‘My legion did not need rescuing.’ Valerius stared up at him in disbelief. ‘It had already driven off the barbarians.’

  ‘I disagree.’ The governor turned to point to the men on the far hill. ‘The enemy was regrouping for another attack when we arrived. Two cohorts of the Twentieth and my Asturian cavalry broke it up. Now they’re running like frightened deer. I think we overestimated their fighting powers.’

  ‘A hundred dead legionaries and a hundred and fifty wounded would disagree with you. If we had moved more quickly …’

  Agricola’s grey eyes narrowed dangerously. ‘If we’d acted without thought we would have run into an ambush.’

  ‘There was no ambush.’

  ‘Oh, there was an ambush,’ Agricola insisted. ‘My scouts found signs of two thousand men waiting beside the trail. Perhaps they thought your handful of cavalry not worth the effort?’ He turned back to the parade ground where legionaries and auxiliaries were carrying off the Roman dead for burial. The Celts would be left for the wolves and the ravens. ‘A hundred dead, you say. I’m sorry. But not an excessive price to pay for what … two thousand enemy casualties?’

  ‘One of them was Quintus Naso.’

  ‘Then I’m doubly so. He was a good soldier and a good man. Of course, this means you must have your legion back. Now that we have them confused and on the run, we must keep them that way.’

  Valerius knew Agricola expected thanks, but he couldn’t bring himself to utter the words. Fortunately they were interrupted by the arrival of the Twentieth legion’s commander. Valerius noticed that Tiberius Julius Ursus was accompanied by an Imperial messenger. Agricola turned away to meet them and Valerius tried to focus on the reorganization of his shattered unit.

  He heard a sharp cry and turned in time to see the message the governor had just received fluttering from his hand to the trampled earth. As Valerius rushed towards him, Agricola slumped forward in the saddle and for a moment it looked as if he might fall. One of his aides put out a hand to steady him, but he pushed the man away and urged his horse towards the gate, his bodyguard following in his wake.

  Valerius saw Ursus staring at the proconsul’s retreating back in dismay. ‘What’s happened?’ he asked. Ursus dismounted and picked up the courier’s message. He handed it to Valerius.

  ‘His son is dead.’

  LV

  Londinium

  Tabitha hurried up the hill from the governor’s palace where she’d spent the day sitting by Domitia Decidiana’s bed. The cobbled pavements shimmered in the heat, but a Britannia summer was nothing to a woman brought up on the edge of the stifling Syrian desert. She was being followed again, she was certain, but Rufius Florus and three more of Valerius’s escort troop accompanied her so she felt no concern. In any case, it had been happening so frequently since the death of Titus it had become almost a matter of course. She was fairly certain she knew who authorized it.

  Domitia had almost fully recovered from Julius’s birth. She had convinced herself the infant was normal, but, though he developed physically, there was a vacancy to the blue eyes and a lack of interest in his surroundings that made Tabitha and Ceris believe otherwise. For all the midwives’ coddling, Julius had suffered constant coughs and colds during his first winter, and he proved a sickly child, prone to every passing malady. When he picked up a fever around the time of his first birthday it seemed like just another ailment. But the fever worsened in the heat and it had been accompanied by ceaseless diarrhoea. As the weeks passed it became clear that even Ceris’s ministrations couldn’t save him and they’d been forced to watch the little boy fade away. All through his illness, his mother had refused to accept the seriousness of her son’s condition. When he died she’d taken to her bed, and even the news that Agricola had abandoned his legions and was returning to join her didn’t stir her.

  Tabitha’s route took them up past the forum and the basilica. As usual the steps were busy with lawyers and their clients making the most of the fine weather, an
d the gawpers who had the time and the leisure to watch them. Londinium had drawn in its breath when Titus died. The commitment of Vespasian and his elder son to the province of Britannia was never in question. Domitian was an unknown quantity who had never been expected to take the purple. Few of Londinium’s inhabitants had survived Boudicca’s rebellion against Rome, but the merchants and petty officials who were the foundation of the city’s higher social classes knew well enough that Nero’s withdrawal of support and Seneca’s decision to call in his loans were among the causes of that terrible tragedy. Their fears seemed justified when long columns of legionaries, almost the equivalent of a full legion, marched through the north gate and down to the docks to take ship for Gesoriacum and the long march to the Rhenus and their eventual destination on the Danuvius frontier.

  Yet in the months that followed Domitian ignored Britannia. In fact, he seemed to have forgotten the province’s very existence. And for that, Tabitha Verrens was eternally grateful. She knew, who better, of the long history of enmity between the new emperor and her husband. Everything was in place if they had to run. A woman and her two children would act as decoys and give Tabitha, Lucius and Olivia time to make a fast ride to the south coast. There a boat awaited at Novus Portus to carry them across the sea to Germania and up the Rhenus river to Argentoratum. From there they would travel overland to Vesontio and the Sauconna River, which would carry them to the Rhodanus and the Mare Internum. Valerius had warned her to be extra vigilant, but they both understood that if Domitian wanted them dead no amount of vigilance, not even the fierce loyalty of Valerius’s bodyguard, would stop him. But Domitian was kept busy in Rome, where, if the whisperers had it right, he’d just had his cousin and fellow consul Flavius Sabinus executed. Jealousy appeared to be the only motive, since he’d moved the dead man’s wife, his niece Julia, Titus’s daughter, into his palace. Domitian’s own wife, Domitia Augusta, had been forced out and was said to be marked for death, but something had happened that astounded the doom-sayers and she’d quickly returned to favour.

  By the time they reached the villa it was mid-afternoon. Lucius would be with the legionary veteran Valerius had hired to teach him the gladius, and the cooks would be preparing the evening meal. The boy’s absence would give Tabitha the opportunity to spend time with Olivia, who at four years old had developed into a precocious child with a personality that was a mix of her parents’. She was quick, fearless, adventurous and mischievous in equal measure, all of which served to disguise a deep-seated sensitivity and consideration for others. Between the ages of two and three the combination had made her moody and difficult to control, but now she relished her mother’s company.

  The sight of a familiar white horse in the stables off the courtyard swiftly banished Tabitha’s optimism. Quintus, the atriensis, was waiting to greet her at the entrance with Ceris at his side, a scowl of distaste on her face. ‘The governor’s aide Metilius Aprilis awaits your pleasure inside,’ the servant said.

  ‘Very well,’ Tabitha said. ‘Tell him I will see him presently.’

  When the atriensis was gone she exchanged a glance with Ceris. ‘You know what to do?’ The Corieltauvi girl nodded. ‘Then see to it.’

  A maid helped Tabitha change her shawl while she gathered her thoughts. She knew Valerius had his suspicions that Aprilis was the shadowy figure orchestrating her watchers, though whether it was on the instructions of Agricola neither of them could guess. There had been a time when she’d thought he’d been too close to Lucius for comfort, but the relationship, if that was the word for it, had come to a natural end. She met him frequently enough on her visits to the governor’s palace and he’d always been polite and deferential. She’d detected a subtle change since Titus’s death, but she reasoned that was natural enough in someone who regarded himself as a coming man. With Titus as his patron Valerius might soon have been in a position to help Aprilis achieve his ambitions. With Titus gone, Valerius was just another patrician who, at best, would be fighting for whatever crumbs Domitian allowed to fall outside his inner circle of friends. Yet just lately there had been another development. Twice she’d caught him staring at her in a way that might be described as calculating. What did it mean? She suspected she was about to find out.

  When she walked through to the receiving room Rufius Florus and Hilario took station at her shoulder. It was unusual for them to accompany her in the house, but she felt the need to make an impression on her visitor and Hilario’s fearsome scowl would certainly do that.

  The man in the room turned as she entered, his eyes momentarily widening at the sight of her escort, but he recovered quickly and bent at the waist in a deep bow. She acknowledged the bow with a slight nod of the head and a smile. ‘How nice it is to see you again, tribune. It’s such a pity your duties have been so onerous lately that you’ve been unable to visit. Lucius misses your company.’

  ‘With the governor away so often …’ Aprilis returned her smile with a shrug. He was a handsome man, tall, with wide shoulders, a face that might be described as open and honest if you didn’t appreciate the devious workings behind the blue eyes, and dark hair crimped into fashionable curls.

  ‘To what do we owe the pleasure of this visit, Metilius?’

  ‘The lady Domitia asked me to pass on her appreciation for your support during these recent difficult times. It is her wish that the governor should find some way to honour you as a token of her thanks.’

  ‘I do what I do from friendship and my high regard for the lady,’ Tabitha said quietly. ‘Odd, though, that she did not tell me herself when I have just come from her side.’

  The suggestion left Aprilis only slightly discomfited. ‘You have me pinned, lady.’ His words were accompanied by a disarming smile. ‘The fact is that I came on my own initiative. Perhaps we could speak privately.’

  Tabitha glanced at her bodyguard, Rufius Florus emotionless, Hilario glaring like a wolfhound on the brink of attack.

  ‘We will walk in the garden,’ she said. ‘I will call you if I need you.’ She led the way past the colonnaded walkway to the formal gardens with their paved pathways, shady fruit trees and beds filled with herbs and flowers. ‘Now, Metilius.’ She followed the path along the centre and he walked at her side. ‘Let us get to the heart of this mysterious visit.’

  Aprilis stopped abruptly and turned to her. ‘I came to warn you that you are in grave danger, lady.’ His voice lost all its lightness. ‘And not only you, but Lucius and Olivia too.’

  Tabitha gave him an appraising look. ‘And what, precisely, does this danger entail?’

  He held her gaze. ‘I have a feeling you know only too well.’

  She turned away and continued walking. ‘My husband is commander of the Ninth legion Hispana and a member of the Senate. This house is protected by his personal bodyguard. No one would dare harm me or my children.’

  ‘On the contrary,’ Aprilis continued smoothly. ‘Your husband is the source of the danger. I know for a fact that the governor carries a letter ordering his execution which only requires a single word of confirmation to be put into action.’

  She stopped again. ‘I think you underestimate Valerius, tribune.’

  He shook his head. ‘Gaius Valerius Verrens is a dead man, by order of the Emperor himself. The only question is the timing.’ He moved a step closer and a familiar scent tickled her nostrils. The smell of male excitement mixed with something even more powerful. Fear. ‘His name will be wiped from history. I have seen the reports the governor sends to Rome. The commanders of his legions might as well have never existed. I cannot save Valerius, but I will do what I can to save you and your family.’

  Tabitha pretended she was considering his offer. ‘One thing puzzles me.’ She frowned. ‘Why would you risk your career for the family of someone the Emperor believes is his enemy?’

  ‘Because I’ve come to admire you, lady.’ He moved forward, so close she was forced to endure his sour breath on her face. ‘You are a very attractive woman,
Tabitha. If I keep you and your children alive I expect you will find a suitable way to show your gratitude.’ His hand slipped beneath her shawl to cup her breast, but she didn’t flinch or push it away. He smiled. ‘Don’t call the guards. That would be unfortunate for the children.’

  She almost laughed at his naivety. ‘Why would you desire an old married lady like me?’

  ‘A man tires of concubines with their practised wiles, and bovine slave girls, however willing.’ His fingers worked at her flesh. ‘I don’t expect you to enjoy it, not at first, but your reluctance will give me even greater pleasure.’

  She stared at him. She knew that for men like Aprilis the act was not about pleasure, but about power and manipulation.

  A deep chesty growl from the far side of the garden made Aprilis half turn his head. In the same heartbeat Tabitha drew the little knife she’d been concealing beneath her shawl and placed the point very precisely against the large vein in his neck. He froze, his mouth half open to cry for help.

  ‘Have you ever seen a man bleed to death, Metilius?’ Her voice remained almost conversational. ‘Just the slightest nick and there is no turning back. You feel the tiniest prick against your neck. It starts with little spurts that seem almost insignificant. You put your fingers against the wound and you can feel your heart pumping. You’re certain you can get it to stop, but no matter how hard you press the blood just keeps coming and coming. You feel yourself fading away. That’s the most wonderful thing about this death, Metilius: the person knows they are dying, but there is nothing they can do about it.’ She used the pressure of the knife to turn his head so he couldn’t avoid her dark, implacable eyes. ‘And the person doing the killing can appreciate every moment of their agony. Not the agony of pain. The agony of knowing that all that awaits is darkness. I’ve seen it, Metilius. As their lifeblood drains away they are consumed by a kind of madness. They’ll do anything to stop the bleeding. They’ll use moss, or earth, push their fingers deep into their own body, but the heart keeps pumping and the blood keeps coming.’ She turned his head a little more so he could see the corner of the garden where Ceris stood, her hand gripping the collar of a massive guard dog whose bulging shoulders and great shaggy head topped her waist. Aprilis quivered beneath the gaze of the beast’s burning red eyes. ‘Of course, then I would have to explain how you’d come to cut yourself and that might prove awkward. But that’s not what I plan. Lysander here has been specially bred to react to the scent of blood. His previous owner spiked his walls with broken oyster shell so anyone climbing over would cut themselves, and then …’ She shrugged. ‘When I slice the vein Ceris will release him. You’ll try to run, of course, but Lysander is very swift for his size – don’t shake so much, Metilius, or I might cut you by mistake – and he’ll knock you to the ground and then you’ll feel his jaws working on your throat, that big head shaking as his teeth rip your flesh. Perhaps he’ll tear your head from your shoulders; he’s perfectly capable, as you can imagine. It will be quicker, of course, which I’ll regret, but it can be passed off as an accident, especially with so many prepared to swear to it.’