Corbulo nodded, his features were neutral, "You threatened to have me and the others flogged if we weren't the first Sir. We all thought you were a right prick for making us do that."
Agricola grinned. The crowds around them had fallen silent as they watched the unexpected meeting wondering what would happen next.
"That wasn't the only time we met was it," Agricola said.
Corbulo nodded. "Listen Sir, I am retired now. I have heard about your victory at Mons Graupius. My son is serving with the 2nd Batavian Cohort. They are a crack unit and I am sure that you will have used them in Caledonia. I want to know what has happened to my son. His name is Marcus, he's twenty years old. I hope very much that he is still alive. He served in your army Sir."
Agricola looked down at the ground and the smile on his face faded. The crowds seemed to be holding their breath. Then Agricola glanced up at Corbulo and his expression had changed and he was once again very much the stern disciplinarian that Corbulo remembered him to be.
"You are right. The 2nd Batavians were at Mons Graupius but I don't know what has happened to your son."
Agricola nodded to his slave and started to push past Corbulo but Corbulo pushed him back. The crowd gasped in surprise. Then the gasps turned to hissing and anger at his insolent treatment of their hero.
"That is not good enough Sir," Corbulo shouted. "He was your responsibility. You were his commanding officer. I want to know where my son is and I am not leaving until you tell me."
"Move aside citizen," a voice cried from the crowd. It was followed by more hissing and booing. The people were getting restless.
Agricola however did not look angry. He fixed his eyes on Corbulo and Corbulo, ignoring the growing vitriol in the crowds around him, sensed something else in Agricola's expression. Sadness. The general was feeling sorry for him. He staggered backwards in alarm. It could mean only one thing. Marcus was dead. He would not have a chance to redeem himself after all. He would go to his grave and live with his son's hatred for all eternity. Agricola was watching him carefully.
"Tomorrow come to my house on the Caelian and we shall talk," Agricola said.
Chapter Twenty - The old days
The queue of people stretched out into the street. It was dawn. Corbulo stood waiting patiently to enter Agricola's house. He had spent the night sleeping in another doorway his hand never far from his old Gladius. The young thugs would not have given up looking for him. He had to be on his guard. It would only take one person to recognise him and pass his location on and his plan would be in tatters. Those thugs would never give up. That was why most people paid up even when they had been conned.
A freedman stood beside the iron gate ahead of him handing out small gifts to the people in the queue. It was part of the patron client relationship. In exchange for gifts such as food and money a client was supposed to support his patron. That was the essential truth to how Rome was organised and run. Clients would scratch their patrons back and he would do the same for them. A similar structure had existed in the Legions amongst some of the officers and the men. The men had bribed their officers to go on leave. The officers had bribed their men to keep quiet about matters that could affect their careers. Corbulo understood how the system worked. But he had never been very good at playing it.
When his turn came he stepped through the gate. The freedman noted down his name and handed him a silver coin before ushering him down an entrance hall whose floor was decorated with the mosaic of a dog. Corbulo turned the coin over in his fingers. It was newly minted and showed Domitian's sham victories over the Chatti.
"His name is Corbulo," he heard a slave announce him.
He had entered the atrium of the house. A rectangular basin full of rain water had been sunk into the centre of the room. Fine paintings of mythical scenes adorned the walls and expensive looking furniture stood casually arranged around the large room. Agricola was sitting in a comfortable chair behind a table on which lay rolls of parchment, clay tablets and papyrus. Behind him the house opened up into a small garden complete with a fountain from which a steady stream of water poured forth. The gushing water made a soothing and pleasing noise. Corbulo sniffed. Someone was burning incense.
Agricola looked up and gestured for Corbulo to take a seat. His face was unreadable. He snapped his fingers at the slave who had accompanied Corbulo into the room.
"That's it for today. I will see the rest of them tomorrow," Agricola said.
The slave bowed and turned away closing the atrium doors as he left. Corbulo sat down and glanced around the room. They were alone. Agricola was studying him from behind his desk.
"Do you know if my son is alive? Can you find out where his unit is based? Are they at Deva?" Corbulo exclaimed unable to contain himself any longer. Agricola hesitated. Then he picked up his stylus and tapped it thoughtfully on the table. "I had a son once," he said, "He died when he was one year old. I never even him saw him when he was alive but it hasn't stopped me thinking about what sort of man he could have become. The gods are cruel when they take our children and yet we still look to these gods for strength and guidance."
With a supreme effort Corbulo managed to contain himself. Agricola looked at him sternly. "As it happened yes I did get to know Marcus briefly," he continued, "He told me that you were his father. He didn't seem to like you much if I recall." Agricola paused and stopped tapping his stylus on the table. "I had a requirement for a scout, a man who was familiar with Britannia and its peoples and who could speak their language. Your son was the perfect match. In September last year I sent him north and ordered him to return by the winter solstice but we never heard of him again. He vanished. When I left the island there were no sighting reports for him. I presume that he is dead but I cannot be sure. The army has listed him as missing. So I spoke the truth yesterday. I really don't know what has happened to your son."
"A scouting mission?" Corbulo muttered, "What was all that about?"
Agricola's face became guarded. He studied Corbulo carefully as if he was making up his mind about something.
"Do you remember the second occasion that we met?" Agricola said. There was a faint smile around the edges of his mouth now.
Corbulo was staring at the floor. His earlier panic had subsided. The news was not good but there was at least a chance that Marcus was alive.
"I do Sir," he replied without looking up.
Agricola nodded. "The Twentieth Legion, Valeria Victrix," he said weighing up the name, "Not a very loyal legion during the year of the four emperors was it?"
"No Sir," Corbulo shook his head.
The year of the four emperors had been fifteen years ago now. It had started with Nero's suicide and within the space of a single year had seen four men make a bid to become the next Emperor. The civil wars had devastated swathes of northern Italy, Gaul and Spain and had killed thousands. It had seen Legions fighting against their fellow Legions. It had facilitated the Batavian uprising and it had only come to an end when Vespasian had been hailed as Emperor. Vespasian had succeeded in his bid for the purple because he had the support of the Eastern and Danube Legions. The Twentieth Legion had however supported Vitellius and a vex illation of the Legion had even embarked for Italy to fight for Vitellius.
"Vespasian made me Legate of the Twentieth with orders to punish them for their disloyalty," Agricola said. "You remember that that rogue Coelius, the officer whom I replaced had led his troops in open mutiny against the Governor of the province. Vespasian wanted the men punished for their lack of discipline. So he sent me to teach them a lesson."
"I remember Sir," Corbulo replied.
"And on my first day in camp who is it that I find chained to a tree outside the camp walls and surviving on a reduced ration of barley?"
"That was me Sir."
Agricola grunted. "Yes you Corbulo and when I inquired into the circumstances of your punishment I learned that you were the only man in your Cohort who had refused to join the mutiny against the Gove
rnor. So your officers had you punished for being a loyal soldier."
"It didn't feel right somehow," Corbulo muttered.
Agricola raised his eyebrows. "Do you remember what happened next?"
"Yes," Corbulo nodded, "You had me freed and promoted to watch commander of the 1st Cohort. On getting my freedom back I went straight up to the Centurion who had punished me and smacked him in the face. So that same day you had me demoted again. I remember it all Sir."
Agricola was studying him again. The room fell silent.
"Are you still a loyal man Corbulo?" he asked at last.
"I am Sir."
"Good," Agricola nodded, "I appreciate loyal men. Despite your temper you were a fine soldier Corbulo. You would have made an excellent Centurion if you hadn't had such an atrocious disciplinary record."
Agricola seemed to make up his mind.
"What I am about to tell you must remain secret do you understand?"
Corbulo nodded his agreement. Agricola glanced down at his table. Then he pushed all the other letters to one side and unrolled a large parchment map of Caledonia. He beckoned for Corbulo to come closer. When Agricola had at last finished telling his story he pointed to the map. "I made your son memorize this map. It would have been too dangerous for him to take a copy with him in case it was found. As this amber cave is supposed to be somewhere along the coast Marcus said that he would start scouting the shore from the north east and going as far west as this wide river here. The local tribes call it the great river and it is said to slice Caledonia into two parts." Agricola looked up at Corbulo. "The land beyond the river to the west is unknown to us. But one thing is certain, most of the tribes are still hostile and have refused to make peace with us but you will find that we have allies amongst the Decantae." Agricola peered at the map. "They live around our most northern fort, here are Cawdor."
Corbulo was staring at the map. "So my son was sent to find proof that this amber really existed. That's a fine fucking mission indeed."
Corbulo paused. "This Vellocatus that you mentioned, where can I find him?"
"He has a house at Eburacum," Agricola replied gruffly, "He was a slaver until I put him out of business. I don't know what he is doing now. My wife's sister no longer has any contact with him."
Agricola paused and leaned back in his chair. "So what are you going to do?"
Corbulo looked up and there was purpose on his face and in his voice, "There is something that I must do before I die," he said. "I wronged my son and now I must make it right. I am going to go and find my boy and bring him home. I need to see him." Corbulo stared at Agricola, "There is nothing more important than that Sir."
Agricola looked away. He was silent for a moment. Then he stood up, walked across the room to a cabinet and returned holding something in his hand. Corbulo blushed as he recognised the object in Agricola's hand.
"Your son gave me this just before he departed. He said that I should give it to you in case he didn't return."
Agricola stretched out his hand and Corbulo took the bronze Phallic amulet and stared at it. It was the amulet he had given Marcus when the boy had been thirteen years old. So Marcus had kept it all this time. The three initials he'd scratched into the bronze stood for his name, his wife's and Marcus. Corbulo suddenly turned to look away so that Agricola would not see his face. The room fell silent.
"Very well," Agricola murmured at last. "Take this map and go and find your son then."
Corbulo rose to his feet and saluted. The salute brought a wry smile to Agricola's face.
"And Corbulo," Agricola said carefully, "If you do happen to find the source of this amber be sure to tell me about it first."
***
Corbulo paused as he caught sight of the Flumentana gate in Rome's walls. He was leaving Rome and it was likely that he would never see the eternal city again he realised. He glanced back towards the forum and as he did so he muttered a silent prayer to Jupiter. Then he turned his back on the city and headed for the gate. Beyond the Flumentana lay the great northern road, the Via Aurelia which would take him in stages to Pisae and across the Appenines. From there he planned to take the Via Postumia into Gallia Narbonensis. He had decided he would walk. He would walk the fifteen hundred miles to the Caledonian frontier. He didn't have the money to buy passage on a ship or even to buy a horse. The distance did not unsettle him though. He had marched all his life.
"You are alive Marcus," he muttered as he shifted the carrying pole on which his army pack and all his worldly belongings hung. Around his neck was the bronze phallic amulet that Agricola had returned to him. It was time to go. As he approached the gate he suddenly heard a shout.
"There he is!" a voice cried excitedly.
Lounging close to the gate were the four young thugs. Corbulo's heart sank and he cursed his own stupidity. The thugs had finally caught up with him. He should have known that they would be watching the city gates. He kept on walking towards the gate. The four thugs spread out as they came towards him. He could see they were carrying their wooden clubs under their cloaks. Corbulo glanced beyond them at the policemen from the Urban Cohorts who were guarding the gate. They wouldn't help him. The Urban Cohorts only got involved if there was a danger to the public peace. He was on his own.
"Let's settle this matter outside the walls of Rome," he cried.
The thugs smiled. They knew that they had him and they were confident in their ability.
"Sure whatever you say grandpa, but we want our money," one of them shouted.
"There won't be any Vestals to help you this time you cocksucker," another whined.
Corbulo passed through the gates and out of the city of Rome. The guards had noticed the confrontation and had gathered together to watch. After a few paces Corbulo halted and slowly lowered his army pack and his belongings to the ground. Then he turned to face the young thugs. They had gathered around him in a semi circle and now held their clubs in their hands.
"Go home," Corbulo said, "I haven't got the money that your boss wants."
"That's too bad," one of thugs muttered, "For he told us that if you didn't pay we were to hurt you, to hurt you badly."
"What are you, fifteen, sixteen years old? Can't you leave an old man alone. I haven't got the money so piss off," Corbulo growled.
"Fuck you grandpa," one of the thugs hissed.
"And what are you going to do with those clubs?" Corbulo snarled.
"What do you think arsehole." From the corner of his eye Corbulo caught a sudden movement. One of the boys came at him wielding his club. In an instant Corbulo's Gladius was in his hand. He ducked and the thugs club sliced into empty space. Corbulo's sword gleamed briefly in the sunlight before he rammed it straight into the boys chest. There was a sickening crunch of bone on metal. The boy gurgled up blood. Then Corbulo ripped his sword from the boys chest and the lifeless corpse flopped to the ground. Corbulo turned to face the three remaining thugs. Blood was oozing out into the sand. He crouched, panting.
"Well what are you waiting for!" he bellowed feeling the adrenaline coursing through his veins.
The three boys were staring in horror at their dead friend. They looked stunned by the speed with which Corbulo had killed him. Then slowly they turned and stared at Corbulo.
"Fuck this," one of them muttered. Then the three of them were retreating towards the gate, their pace increasing rapidly. Corbulo watched them go. Then slowly without giving the corpse another glance he picked up his carrying pole and started up the road towards the Tiber river. Behind him one of the Urban guards at the gate raised a ragged cheer.
Chapter Twenty One - The war in the highlands, July 84 AD
Emogene crouched behind the rock and watched the Roman foot patrol moving through the bleak valley below. There were eight of them led by two officers on horseback. She had learned to recognise the different Roman uniforms and armour. The soldiers had come from the Roman fort at Balganeith. They were Batavians. Contemptuously she spat onto the ground. H
er small war band had been tracking their progress all morning. It looked like a routine patrol but the Romans had been known to make hit and run raids on the tiny settlements that lay dotted about in the highland glens. It was a form of terror. It was intimidation but today her war band would have the upper hand. The Romans were riding straight into a trap.
"Let them get further up the trail," Bary the war band leader whispered. "When they see the trail is barred, that's when we attack. Wait for my signal."
He was a big man with black hair and a handsome face. His men crouched beside him in a line, hidden behind the rocks. On the other slope of the narrow valley the other half of the war band under Finlay would be doing the same. In her hand Emogene held a bow. A quiver full of arrows was slung over her back. She had taken the weapons from a Batavian she had killed last month. Carefully she pulled an arrow free and strung it to her bow. Her face was covered in blue woad. At her side Bones knelt on the ground like she had taught him to. His yellow eyes were watching the Batavians closely.
The men in Bary's war band were not all from her own tribe, the Vacomagi. Some like Finlay were from the lowlands, refugees from the Roman stranglehold over Caledonia's most productive agricultural land. All of them however were determined to fight against the invaders. The war band had formed within days following the defeat at Mons Graupius and Emogene was the only woman to have joined them.
"Wait," Emogene snapped sensing Bones's impatience. Across her chest she wore rough leather torso armour. She glanced across at Bary. He was staring down into the valley, the tension clearly showing on his face.
"Attack!" the cry reverberated along the valley.
Emogene blinked in surprise. Bary had not cried out but someone had. Then she saw Finlay and his men charging down the slope towards the Roman patrol.
"Damn him!" Bary cried out in alarm, "He was supposed to wait for my signal. Attack." He and his men rose to their feet as one and went charging down the hill shrieking their battle cries. Emogene sprang up onto the rock, crouched and pointed her bow towards the Romans seeking a target. Her first arrow slammed into the flank of a horse sending the creature and its rider crashing to the ground. A grey object streaked across her vision. Bones was always the first to reach the enemy. The big war dog took a mighty leap and tore into the head of the second horse. A high pitched scream followed. Emogene strung another arrow, squinted and aimed for a Batavian at the back of the patrol. Her aim was good and the arrow punched into the man's torso sending him tumbling backwards onto the ground. Down in the valley all was chaos. Finlay and his men reached the Romans first and by the time Bary and his men came charging up the fight was over. Six Batavians lay dead on the ground, the one thrown clear by Bones's attack was wounded and crawling across the ground. Two rider less horses had bolted back down the trail and the remaining officer stood before them trembling, his face ashen with fear. The man had thrown his sword onto the ground in an act of surrender. One of the Caledonians grabbed him and forced him down onto his knees. Finlay, a smallish, red haired man with a nasty looking scar across his face held a knife up to the Batavian's throat. There was delight in his eyes as he looked up at Bary.
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