"Eh Corbulo, where's that friend of yours, Quintus? Did you know that the Governor has just announced a reward for anyone who brings him in?"
Corbulo paused in mid stride and slowly turned to look at the soldier. It was Perialis. The officer was young, in his mid twenties and there was an intelligent gleam in his eyes.
"No, I hadn't heard," Corbulo lied, "What has he done? What have you heard?"
Perialis shrugged and grinned. "Fuck knows, they don't tell that to the likes of me. You haven't seen him recently though have you Corbulo?"
Corbulo shook his head, "Not for a while and I don't know where he is either. So don't bother asking me again."
Perialis studied him shrewdly and for a moment the officer did not speak. Then he broke out into a friendly grin.
"Well I have orders to arrest him if he comes across my bridge. Seems that he has done something really stupid to piss off the Governor. The old man has been in a violent rage ever since. They say he's smashed up his own palace."
"Sounds bad," Corbulo muttered.
"Well it will be worse for Quintus if he comes across my bridge," Perialis called out as he turned back to his gambling.
Corbulo's eyes narrowed. Was it his imagination or had Perialis just tried to warn him? For a moment he stared at the young officer’s back. Then abruptly he turned and started off across the bridge. Soon the fog enveloped him. The traffic on the bridge was light. He passed an ox-drawn cart, loaded with amphorae going north. It was followed by a few solitary figures, labourers returning home from a hard day's work. At the deepest part of the river a group of women were praying to the water spirits and throwing votive coins into the brown water. The Legionaries guarding the southern end of the bridge looked bored. They clustered together chatting and ogling the women crossing the bridge. Corbulo stepped ashore onto the island that made up Southwark. Watling Street, the Roman road leading all the way to Rutupia, Richborough, vanished off southwards into the fog.
Southwark had its own small quayside but it was tiny compared to the port on the northern bank and only a few small ships lay alongside. It was here though, that the Garum ships unloaded their cargoes and the stink of rotting fish sauce never seemed to go away. Corbulo however had become so used to the smell that he hardly noticed it anymore. He turned upriver and strode along the gravelly riverbank. The Thames was at its highest point and the dirty brown water lapped gently against the wooden revetments that were supposed to protect the growing town from the periodic floods that had so troubled and threatened the early settlement. The land was lower here than on the northern bank and Corbulo had to weave and pick his way across the water channels and the marshy ground. A patrol of four fully armed soldiers of the city guard passed him heading in the opposite direction. Corbulo ignored them. The patrols had begun a week ago after the native Britons had tried to destroy the revetments and flood defences. The Britons had claimed that the revetments were altering the course of the channels and the waterways and that this was angering the water spirits who lived in them.
A couple of grazing sheep watched him pass and somewhere along the shore he heard a creature splash into the river. When at last he came to a broad channel that cut deep into the island he paused and grunted in satisfaction. His boat lay moored and secured at its usual place. Priscus had done as he had asked. He hadn't expected anything else but for some reason he just couldn't shake the old habit of checking that his orders had been carried out. It was an old routine he'd picked up in the army when as a Tesserarius, watch commander, his job had been to make sure that the sentries were alert and knew the daily password.
He retraced his steps and as he emerged onto the hard packed gravel road he caught the delicious smell of a meat stew. His wife made a fantastic stew and at the thought of hot food and seeing her and his daughter his mood suddenly improved. His house was the third one along from the bridge. The Roman strip houses, long and narrow wooden framed buildings with mud brick walls and thatched roofs stood packed together lining Watling Street. Here and there the terraces were separated by narrow alleys and at the rear there were small backyards with outhouses in which he could hear pigs and chickens. Southwark may stink and suffer the occasional flood and local riot but it was quieter here than in the city and the land prices were cheaper and it was this that had finally persuaded him to bring his family across the river and settle them on the south bank. Corbulo crossed the street, stamped his feet at the entrance to his house and entered with a cheerful cry of greeting.
Efa, Corbulo's wife appeared in the doorway that led into the second room. She was young, half Corbulo's age and of Celtic origin and her long black hair fell to her shoulders. She was clad in a simple brown tunica and she looked like she was in a bad mood. As Corbulo approached to peck her on her cheek she picked nervously at her fingernails.
"What's this?" Corbulo grinned, "No welcoming smile for your husband?"
Efa looked tense and Corbulo felt a sudden tug of alarm.
"What's the matter? What's happened?" he said hastily.
"You are late," she scolded, "I am going out into the city. I have an appointment with Marcella. Her son is ill and needs my healing potions. Your dinner is in the pot over the fire."
Corbulo, who was at least a head taller than her, sniffed and glanced hungrily in the direction of the hearth. Then he turned to his wife and reached out to give her arse an affectionate squeeze. Normally this kind of behaviour was enough to get a strong reaction from Efa, for she was a proud and fierce woman who didn't take kindly to being teased but instead of the retaliation he'd expected, she just brushed him away with an irritable twist of her body before moving away into the room. Corbulo sighed wearily. What was the matter with her? Puzzled he shook his head. Women and their mood swings was something that he was never going to understand. He glanced around at the amphorae, sacks and barrels and other junk that littered the front room. Then he undid his mud caked boots and stepped into the main living quarters of his house. To one side in the hearth a fire crackled and spat, and over it on a metal spit hung an iron pot.
Efa was stuffing herbs and potions into a leather satchel as Corbulo took off his Pallium, travelling cloak and hung it on a hook that protruded from one of the solid oak beams that held up the roof. He turned to warm his hands over the fire and as he did so Dylis, his seven year old adopted daughter appeared in the doorway to the back room. Quietly she crossed the timber floor and wrapped her arms around him. Corbulo grinned in delight and lifted her off the ground.
"Hello Dylis," he said. "Did you know that you are my favourite daughter?"
The little girl looked bemused.
"That's because you only have one daughter," she replied rolling her eyes.
Corbulo looked surprised. Then he turned to look around the room in mock disbelief.
"Damn, I think you are right," he said ruffling her hair and lowering her to the ground. "But you are still my favourite daughter. That's why when I go to meet my ancestors I am going to leave you my business and all my money."
Dylis folded her arms across her chest.
"But maybe I don't want to be a stone trader," she protested.
"Of course you do, everyone wants to be in the stone trade," Corbulo grinned glancing at Efa. His wife had finished packing her satchel and was reaching for her cloak.
"Efa," he said quietly, "I will come with you into the city. Just give me a few moments to eat."
Efa sighed irritably and refused to make eye contact.
"It's better if I go alone," she retorted, "I don't need an escort."
Corbulo nodded.
"I know, I know," he muttered, "But something has happened to Quintus. The Governor is out looking for him. They have even placed a bounty on his head. I am going to go to the Mule for a drink and to try and find out what has happened. If there is anywhere in the city where they may know something, it will be there."
Efa's face drained of colour at the mention of Quintus's name. Abruptly she turned away so th
at he could not see her face.
"Well I hope they never catch him. Quintus is a good man," she murmured, "He is a very good man."
Chapter Three - Londinium
It was dark when Corbulo and Efa left their home. A gentle breeze was blowing in from the west and the mist had lifted. In his left hand Corbulo was holding an oil lamp from which a fragile flickering flame emitted a little light. He glanced up at the stars as he laid his right hand on his wife's shoulder. Something was troubling her. There was something she was not telling him but when he'd asked her again what the matter was she had evaded the question. From experience he knew that it was pointless to persist for she could be a very stubborn woman when she wanted to be. He sighed. He would have to be patient. She would tell him once she was ready to do so, she always did.
The night sky and twinkling stars suddenly reminded him of that autumn night, eighteen months ago, when he and Quintus with his hand-picked group of Legionaries from the Twentieth had freed Efa and her daughter Dylis from a life of slavery on the Caledonian Crannog, the man- made island in the lake. Efa and her daughter had been kidnapped from their coastal village north west of Deva a couple of years before by Caledonian raiders looking for slaves and they had ended up in the household of two brothers. Corbulo had cajoled Quintus into aiding him, for without Quintus and his soldiers, he could never have been able to help Efa and Dylis escape. The expedition to free Efa had been dangerous for the crannog was located in a remote and hostile part of Caledonia, well beyond the vicinity of any Roman forts but it had been the right thing to do. Corbulo had not forgotten that it was Efa who had saved his and Marcus's life by warning them about her master’s intentions, when during that summer, he and Marcus had passed through on their desperate flight south. During the raid to free her, Corbulo had killed the younger brother but the older one, Sceolan had managed to escape. After the escape Efa had flatly refused to be parted from Corbulo's side.
Perialis and his men were still on duty at the northern end of the bridge but the young officer ignored Corbulo and Efa. There was no wall or gate to mark the boundary of Londinium and the two of them strode straight up Watling street towards the Forum and the heart of the city. It was a short walk from the river side and there were few people about at this time of the evening. The wooden framed strip houses with their narrow frontages were packed tightly up against each other as they lined the street on both sides. Now and then the terraces were separated by a narrow alley from which a drain would protrude to merge with the drainage ditches on both sides of the main street. The whiff of sewage and rotting garbage from the alleys mingled with the scent of freshly baked bread, rotting fish soup, the stale smell of urine and the heady pong of pig manure. Up ahead Corbulo could hear the Forum before he could see it. The noise of laughter and of music drifted towards them. He glanced at Efa. Her eyes were on the road. She had not said a word since they had left their house.
At the intersection with the road that led westwards towards the Governor's palace and the Wallbrook they halted and Corbulo turned to his wife. In the glow of the oil lamp he could see she looked tense. Once again she refused to meet his gaze.
"How long will you be?" he asked.
"I don't know, it depends on how sick the boy is," she muttered.
Corbulo nodded. "Well I am going to the Mule. I will come over to Marcella's house in an hour or so to pick you up."
"There is no need," Efa hissed irritably. "I can find my own way back. It's not far." And with that she broke free and vanished off into the darkness.
Corbulo watched her disappear and then rolled his eyes and sighed. What was the matter with her? Was it something he had said or done? He shook his head. He had been with many women during his life but he couldn't claim to understand any of them. His face darkened as he had a sudden thought. Was his wife having an affair? Were all the long hours in which he was away on business making her lonely? He stared at the spot where she had disappeared and for a moment he struggled with the urge to follow her. Then with an effort he turned away and started up the road that led to the Forum.
As he approached the Forum the sound of laughter and music abruptly ceased. It was followed moments later by a single high-pitched female scream. Corbulo froze. Then he heard it again, a piercing scream. The woman sounded terrified. It was followed by loud angry shouting. Then silence. A man came hurrying past Corbulo heading towards the river. He looked nervous. He was followed by a couple carrying a young child. They too seemed in a hurry to get away from whatever was happening further up the street. Corbulo blinked. The woman could not have been his wife. The noise had come from a different direction. He grabbed hold of the man's arm as the couple drew level with him.
"What's going on?" he said holding up his lamp.
The man angrily wrenched himself free. "The Procurator and his staff are looking for someone," the man snarled, "They are searching people's homes. They have killed three already. They are coming this way."
The couple vanished into the darkness as Corbulo slowly turned to look up the street. What the fuck was going on? The Procurator was the government official in charge of overseeing and managing the province's financial affairs. The man was a senior government official, second only to the Governor in the hierarchy of the provincial administration. What was he doing searching people's homes and murdering people in the street?
"Who has been killed?" Corbulo cried turning back to the couple but the street behind him was silent and deserted. It was as if the whole city had suddenly shut themselves up inside their homes.
For a moment Corbulo was torn by indecision. Then he grunted in disgust and started up the road in the direction from which he had heard the woman scream. As he moved up the street he heard angry voices and shouts. To his right the door to a house had been kicked in. Corbulo halted and lifted his lamp up to get a closer look. The entrance passage to the house was stained by a large pool of blood. He turned away. The voices were close by now and coming towards him. He moved across the street. Here too the door to a house had been broken down and as he drew nearer Corbulo nearly tripped over the corpse of a man. Another corpse, that of a woman lay in the doorway. She had been stabbed in the neck. Corbulo straightened up as several torches appeared in street ahead. The torches descended upon him and in their glow he caught sight of the men holding them. They were armed with knives and clubs and they looked unfriendly.
"What are you staring at? Get the fuck out of here," one of the men cried.
Corbulo stood his ground. Slowly his eyes moved from one man to the next.
"What the fuck are you doing," Corbulo bellowed suddenly and there was real anger in his voice. His hand shook as he gestured at the corpses in the street. "What did those people do? Why did you kill them?"
The fury in Corbulo's voice seemed to take the men by surprise. For a moment no one replied.
"What's it to you?" one of the men shouted at last, "Do you want to join them?"
"I am a Roman citizen," Corbulo roared taking a step forwards. "Just you try and touch me you prick."
At the mention of his Roman citizenship the men seemed to hesitate. Corbulo glared at them. Roman citizens were after all at the top of the social hierarchy and enjoyed the full protection of the law.
"They are followers of Christus," a voice replied from the darkness beyond the torch light. "and I hate Christians. Nero was right to kill them. He should have burned every last one of them."
A moment later Classicus, Procurator Augusti, chief financial officer of the province of Britannia stepped out of the darkness. He was a small bald man clad in a fine woollen tunic. He paused and Corbulo felt the man's quick, intelligent eyes sizing him up. Classicus was well known to everyone in Londinium. He was an accountant by training and infamous for his highly suspicious nature. The lengths to which he would go to uncover fraud and corruption had become widely known throughout the province. It was a safe bet that if there was fraud or corruption on the government books he would find it. The acc
ountant had the eyes of an owl and nose of a dog and when he caught corrupt officials he could be ruthless too. It was no wonder that Emperor Domitian had appointed him to manage the imperial treasury in Britannia. The man had been born to do the job.
Corbulo lowered his lamp. "Followers of Christus," he muttered. He had of course heard about this obscure eastern sect. Nero had executed Christians by the hundreds in Rome but he had not expected that their religion had spread to Londinium. It took him a moment to recover from his surprise. Then he looked the Procurator straight in the eye.
"I am no follower of Christus," Corbulo said slowly, "but I do know this. I know that the law says that all religions are tolerated. That is the Emperor’s will and everyone knows it. So why are you killing these people? This is nothing but murder. What crime did these people commit?"
The accountant’s eyes gleamed in the torchlight. "This is state business," he snarled. "These Christians are dead because they refused to answer my questions. I gave them a fair choice."
"Without a trial?" Corbulo muttered.
The accountants' sharp intelligent eyes flashed dangerously.
"Do I know you? You look familiar," Classicus exclaimed taking a step forwards as he peered closely at Corbulo.
Hibernia (Veteran of Rome Book 2) Page 2