[Camulod 01] - The Skystone

by Jack Whyte - (ebook by Undead)

  My response was emphatic. “There’s no perhaps in my mind, Caius. Your resistance to the temptation is what I would have wagered on. But that’s not what’s at issue here, is it? What do you expect to happen?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know. But nothing good has happened for a long time. If my soldiers were willing to make me emperor, then it stands to reason that other soldiers will elect other emperors from among their officers. God knows there’s no lack of precedent.”

  “But…” I stopped.

  “But what?”

  “Well, even if that happens, I can’t see any danger to the Roman State itself. I know armies have elected emperors before. It was the Praetorians who put Claudius on the throne, although they did it as a mockery — they had no idea that they were doing a great thing for the Empire. There have been mutinies and even civil wars, but the Empire has always survived. And I don’t see how a civil war in Rome could have much effect on us here in Britain.”

  “It probably wouldn’t,” Caius responded. “Not a civil war. But my fear is of invasion, not civil war. The point I was trying to make before I digressed is that there is no spirit left in the legions. The soldiers no longer care about Rome. There are barbarian peoples everywhere who are bitterly hungry for survival, Publius. For escape from their barren homelands to some place where life will be easier. Where they won’t freeze in their thousands every winter. Where their children won’t starve. And they all see the Empire as their Promised Land. Mark my words, Publius, one day, and probably soon, the hordes are going to penetrate the heartlands of the Empire, and when that happens, it will be too late to save Rome. But the first effect of the invasions will be panic. And the armies, every legion, will be called back from the frontiers to defend the city and the Campana.”

  I stood up and walked over to the glowing brazier, holding my hands out to its heat. When I heard Britannicus put his misgivings into words so clearly, it upset me. I didn’t really want to continue this conversation, and yet I felt I had to.

  “You think this is going to happen soon?”

  “Too soon, Publius. Yes, I do. There is already talk among the rank and file in Britain that the legions want to elect an emperor here.”

  “Here in Britain?” The thought came as a complete and unpleasant surprise to me. “Do you think they will?”

  “Who knows? They might. There are some men serving here in Britain right now who are ambitious enough to make the attempt.”

  “You think so? Who, for instance?”

  “Oh, I’ve heard a few names. Magnus Maximus, for one.”

  “Who is he?”

  He looked at me in amazement. “Who is…? My God, Publius, you really are out of touch! He is the blue-eyed wonder of all the legions. His men think he can walk on water. I’d put my money on him, if anyone’s going to be in the running.”

  “You’d give him your support?”

  He smiled tightly at the dismay in my tone. “I didn’t say that. I said that if anyone is likely to try for the Empire here in Britain, I’d wager it would be him.”

  “So you wouldn’t support him?”

  “Never. The man’s a politician. He is totally ruthless and completely self-centred. He makes a business of being beloved of his troops because he needs their support, but if they ever put him in power they had better look to their futures.”

  “Could he win the Empire if he were elected?”

  Britannicus shook his head dubiously. “It’s one thing to be emperor in Britain, but to go to Rome, get rid of the western emperor and then take over the eastern Empire too? That would be a major undertaking. He would be setting himself against every vested interest in the Empire except his own troops. He’d be opposed by every other military commander in every other part of the Empire who dreams the same dreams of grandeur.”

  I was becoming depressed. “God, Caius! You make everything sound hopeless. When do you expect the legions to be withdrawn to guard against this threat of invasion?”

  “Next month. Next year. Ten years from now. Twenty. I really have no idea. But I do believe that it’s bound to happen sooner or later.”

  “And what do we do then?”

  “Nothing, Publius. We do nothing.” His smile was genuine. “We remain here in Britain, right here on this villa, and enjoy our old age, watching our children grow up around us, minding our own business and living our own lives here in this beautiful land.”

  I couldn’t help grinning in return. “Undisturbed?”

  “Why not? If we make our preparations in advance.”

  “You mean by isolating the villa and fortifying it.”

  “Yes, more or less. We will need the capacity to defend ourselves.”

  I shook my head. “You frighten me, Caius, even though I’m smiling. Why do we always seem to get into these discussions late at night? I had intended taking you over to the smithy tomorrow. I have some things to show you. But it’s almost tomorrow already.”

  Caius stretched and yawned as though I had reminded him. “You’re right, my friend,” he muttered. “It’s too late to be solving the problems of Empire. Far too late, in every way. Let’s get to bed.”

  We rose and took a lamp each, and I blew out the one remaining.

  I undressed slowly, savouring the remembered sensations of Luceiia’s kisses. I knew I could go to her now, but the mere fact of Caius’ presence in the house deterred me. That would be disloyalty to him, although perhaps in my mind only. Still, that was reason enough.

  Thank all the ancient gods that Luceiia could read me like a book. She scurried into my bed before I was undressed.

  XXII

  Caius had been home for a full two weeks before I came to realize that he was a fraud. In truth, he was a harmless fraud, deluding himself more than anyone else, but an undoubted fraud he was, and I loved him the more for it. I realized long afterwards that I had been aware of his false pretences for years, but they were so much a part of the man that I had accepted them without question and almost without recognition.

  His falseness lay in that he called himself a Roman and he liked to think of himself as embodying all of the virtues of Rome in the days of its true greatness. To tell the truth; he did embody those virtues, but Caius Britannicus was also a Briton, both by birth and by conviction. He was born in Britain as the culmination of a chain of events that began with the first of his ancestors to be named Britannicus, and he was the first-born of the third generation of his family to be born and bred here. In all his wanderings as a soldier of the Empire, he liked to say, he had seen no place, no country, that could be compared to this land for beauty or pleasantness of climate, or for the stability, strength and simplicity of its people.

  It was growing dark outside on the night I made my discovery, and Diomede’s people had lit the lamps and piled the braziers high against the winter chill, even though the day had been unseasonably beautiful. Caius was in a restless mood that evening, and he was prowling around, looking for something to distract him. He found it in the shape of a codex that lay on one of my tables. It was a simple enough book, roughly bound, but it was something new. I watched him as he picked it up and examined it closely. The front surface bore an intricate rendering of complex Celtic scrollwork, and I watched him open the book at random and find more of the same. No words at all, just a collection of drawings, all obviously done by the same hand.

  “Well, what do you think?” I asked him.

  “This is marvellous!” he said, examining the way the individual sheets were fastened together. “Did the priest do this? Andros?”

  “Yes,” I told him. “He did. Told me he got tired of carrying awkward bundles of parchment all over the place. He saw you carrying a codex one day, asked me to show him some more, and then he began to make his own. Not bad, eh? He cut all his parchments to the same size, and now he says his life is ten times more simple.”

  Andros was a wandering priest who had turned up on Caius’ doorstep one day and never left. He was
a very simple man, true to his name, “the man,” and he had the most amazing gift I had ever seen for rendering likenesses of things with a stick of charcoal. His drawings were magnificent, and yet he could neither read nor write.

  “But this is marvellous! Look!” Caius was shaking his head in admiration. “Who else in this country today would have thought of using a strip of wood, front and back like this, and tying the whole thing together with thongs? This thing is easy to add to, one page at a time, in any order one pleases! And the wood gives it rigidity and makes it easy to carry. This really is astonishing, Varrus.” His admiration was immense and sincere. “And this parchment is superlative. Where did Andros find it?”

  “He made it.”

  He blinked at me. “He makes parchment? Andros? Himself?”

  “Himself.” I shrugged. “Himself and his two brothers, to be accurate. But I find it more exciting that they know how to make excellent papyrus.”

  “Where in God’s name did they learn to do that?”

  “Their father taught them. He learned in Rome — or in Constantinople. Maybe both places. He was a craftsman there for years. Came back here with his master before the sons were born. Taught them his trade as they grew up. He was North African, I think, from Egypt. They lived on one of the big villas out by Aquae Sulis. Andros tells me they used to supply this stuff to clerks all over the country.”

  “Why did they stop?”

  I shrugged. “Who knows? Anyway, Andros became a priest, but he never did learn to read or write. He only wanted to draw. Have you ever seen such skill?”

  “No. These drawings are not exactly classical, but they are superb.”

  “Classical?” I was astounded. “Not classical? General, you amaze me!” He looked at me oddly, and I went on. “If you look closely, and I mean really look, you’ll see that those drawings are classical in every sense but the Roman. They’re perfect — exact transcriptions of pure Celtic design. Ancient. Not the worthless rubbish that the pedlars are hawking all over the Empire. That is the history of your beloved Britain you’re looking at. I thought you would be ecstatic about them, once you saw what they are.”

  He looked more carefully then, and I saw him realize that the codex that he had at first glance categorized as simple and crude was anything but that.

  “You are right, of course, Varrus. I should be admiring them. They are magnificent.”

  “Caius, you and I have both seen murals and mosaics in some of the finest houses in the Empire, created by celebrated artists who have no grasp of what this man does without thinking. I swear he can draw a perfect circle with one sweep of his hand.”

  Caius was musing, obviously thinking about something that this codex had suggested to him. “You are right, my friend. You are absolutely correct. Ask him to visit me, next time you see him, will you?”

  “Why?” I asked him, immediately defensive. “You wouldn’t be thinking of depriving me of his services, would you? I find his drawings very helpful in my work.”

  He smiled at me. “No, Varrus, I would not, so you may relax. I need his parchment and his papyrus, not his pen. I have a feeling that time might lie heavily on my hands now that I am no longer on active duty, and I have often thought of writing down my own theories on military tactics. It has been a dream of mine for years, but no more than a dream, due mainly to the fact that the materials for writing in bulk are not readily at hand, and I have never had either the patience or the time one needs to assemble spindle books. But this talent Andros has could give me access to a source of parchment and to a simple means of binding sheets together to protect them against loss and damage.”

  I demurred, I believe, for the first time ever in my personal dealings with him.

  “Why, Caius? I mean, why write military memoirs? To emulate Caesar? To leave Rome the benefit of your experience? Why would you not write of your villa here, and of your life in Britain?”

  He threw me a glance of pure surprise, thinking I was belittling him. His answer was slow and measured.

  “I would write a history of my military service to the Empire because I am a soldier. It is what I know best. It has been my life. Do you find that surprising or distasteful?”

  I shook my head. “No. Not at all. But it seems to me it could be a waste of time, if what you have been hinting at is true and the Empire is about to fall.”

  His frown was impatient. “Come, Publius! Time spent constructively cannot be wasted. I would be writing for the benefit of those who follow me. Someone is sure to. no matter how bad things are.”

  “Oh,” I said. “Well, that makes a difference.”

  “But?”

  “What do you mean, ‘But?’” I asked innocently.

  “You have a reservation.” His tone was cool. “I can hear it in your voice.”

  I held up a disclaiming hand. “No, Caius, you are mistaken. I think you should write. But you should write for Britain. For your son Picus, and for my sons, too. You will be their uncle. It would be good for them to know their antecedents were more than just names.”

  He smiled, mollified. “That is an amusing but worthwhile thought, Publius. Very well then, I shall write for future citizens of Britain. You are a facile persuader.”

  I grinned at him. “You needed no persuasion. Would you not like to return home to Rome again, now that you have the time?”

  His face underwent a transformation from humour to disgust. “No, I would not. The place is a cesspool!”

  I was enjoying myself, for I had finally made the realization I have spoken of.

  “A cesspool?” I said. “Rome?”

  He looked at me warily, sensing that he was being teased. “Publius, you are baiting me. Why? You have never been this way before.”

  I laughed, “No, Caius, I have not. I’ve been in awe of you, I suppose. But now that we are to be brothers, I feel less reluctant to discuss things openly with you.”

  “What kind of things?”

  “Things like this — your self-delusion.”

  “My what?” His voice was bristling with affront.

  “Your self-delusion. You talk of your Romanism, but you are really no more Roman than Meric. Your loyalty is to this place, this land, these people you call the Pendragon. This is your home, Caius. The very thought of going to Rome is repugnant to you. You’ve just admitted it.”

  “Perhaps I have.” His brow was creased now in perplexity. “Perhaps I have. But that in no way alters my obligations to the Empire.”

  I threw down the book I had been holding. “What obligations, Caius? You have fulfilled them all and done it honestly and openly and with good will, in spite of all your reservations. But you pay only lip-service to what you have done. You haven’t yet accepted that your debts are all paid in full.”

  His face cleared. “That’s true, isn’t it? I have. That is the truth, Publius. I have fulfilled each and every one of my obligations to the Empire.”

  “Yes, Caius,” I said emphatically. “You have. Now take the time to consider your obligations to yourself. Write down your life’s story, by all means, but write for your own people, your family, not for the sybarites in Rome.”

  He snapped his fingers. “That reminds me! I have a letter I meant to tell you about. It arrived earlier today, by courier. It seems your friend in Rome has fallen foul of Theodosius.”

  I frowned. “What friend in Rome? I have none.”

  “Quite. I was being facetious. I meant young Seneca.”

  “Seneca?” He nodded. “I thought he was in Constantinople. When did he move to Rome, and how has he offended Theodosius? And how did you find out?”

  He shook his head, smiling. “I have my sources. You forget, I made some inquiries. This one has been answered already through a fortunate combination of military emissaries to and from Rome. Its source is an old friend whom I have known for years. He has little good to say of Caesarius Claudius Seneca. Apparently the man’s excesses are become so bad, even for a Seneca, that they offend
the nostrils of Theodosius. Our Emperor is abstemious and really quite a devout Christian, for all that his ambition led him to the throne.”

  I dismissed that as irrelevant. “So did Constantine’s. What happened between Seneca and Theodosius?”

  Caius shook his head. “No one really knows, it seems, but Seneca was close to Valentinian, and that would not endear him to Theodosius in any way.” He was interrupted by the clamour of a flurry of crows that came swooping down over the rooftop, haggling viciously over some morsel of carrion that one of them clutched in its beak. We watched them until they swirled away, neither of us making any effort to compete with their raucous uproar.

  “In any event,” he continued eventually, “the Emperor handed down an ultimatum that I find interesting. He made it known that Seneca, and several others like him, were doing little for the common good. How did he phrase it? ‘They are depriving the Empire of the benefits of their station, experience and breeding.’ That was it. The upshot of it was that Seneca should undertake a period of public service, under implicit threat of forfeiture of all his worldly goods. I thought it quite ingenious.”

  “How? What do you mean, ‘ingenious’?”

  His eyebrow went up. “Think about it. Seneca could refuse an imperial edict only under penalty of forfeiture of all his wealth. The alternative — acceptance — also puts his wealth at the Emperor’s disposal for all intents and purposes. You may be sure Theodosius will find a post for Seneca that will make optimum use of his financial capabilities, and that Seneca will bestir himself to enlarge his wealth while in the imperial service. But no matter what Seneca does — short of absolute, treasonous theft on a vast scale — Theodosius will benefit by it and from it. Rest assured that the Empire will be keeping a very close and meticulous watch on its richest citizen and servant.”

  “And Seneca accepted that?”

  “How could he do otherwise? He has not the heart to live as a pauper, and were he to attempt it, my friend in Rome swears he would not survive the first day.”

  I whistled in wonder as the implications of what I had been told began to hit home to me. “Then he will be at the Emperor’s bidding for a while. I wonder how he will come out of it?”