When it was over he wiped his sword neatly on a clump of reeds, slid it back into a well-worn scabbard and came across to me.
'You all right, sir?' he said.
'Yeah. Yeah, I think so.' I looked round to check my team. Apart from Flavus we'd all made it out the other end. One of the Gauls had a cut shoulder, another was bleeding from a head wound and a third was limping, but they were all on their feet and I couldn't see any stray bits lying about the place. Not Gallic bits, anyway. Lysias the coachman had stayed well out of it, snug in his box. I made a mental note to dock the bugger of his perquisites when we got home. 'Thanks, friend.'
The decurion spat modestly. ''S nothing, sir. Lucky the lads and me was passing.'
'Recruits, are they?'
His boot of a face split into a grin that revealed teeth like tombstones.
''S right, sir. Trained 'em myself. We're on our way to Puteoli. Young Titus there heard the ruckus from the road.'
I saw something move out of the corner of my eye and spun round with my sword raised. One of the bodies at the edge of the group was up and sprinting back down the track, his hand pressed to the side of his blood-soaked jerkin.
'Shit,' the decurion growled. 'Marcus!'
'No! Wait!' I shouted; but I was too late. The javelin had already caught the guy in the back of the neck and pitched him forwards like a struck rabbit.
'Wheee-ooh!'
''Way to go, Marcus!'
Evidently the star pupil. The decurion hadn't moved.
''Scuse me, sir,' he said politely. Then, turning on the cheering kids: 'How many effing times do I have to tell you buggers? Before you relax check your effing bodies. Whose was he?'
'Sorry, decurion.'
'Sorry's no use, young Quintus. Sorry don't butter no beans. You're on report, lad.' He turned back to me. 'Now, sir. Care to tell me what happened?'
I shrugged. 'They jumped us. That's about all I can tell you.' I wasn't going to give much away if I could help it. Even if the guy had saved my life.
The decurion cast an expert eye over the barricade. 'Waiting for you, sir, from the looks of things. Big gang too, and well armed. 'S not often you see something like that so close to a main road. You sure they wasn't after you special?'
'Why should they be after me?'
'You'd know that better than I would, sir.' A careful answer, carefully delivered. The guy wasn't stupid, that was for sure. Not that he'd press the issue. I'd seen from the first that he'd taken in the quality of the carriage and the purple stripe on my tunic. He wasn't showing any interest in the swords my lads were holding, either. Which meant he'd noticed them, too.
'No reason that I can think of,' I said.
He rubbed his nose with a finger that looked like it had been hacked from an olive stump. He didn't believe me, that was for sure. But disbelief is one thing. Calling a purple-striper a liar to his face is another.
'Then it's a mystery, sir,' he said. 'Maybe we should've taken that last sod in and kicked his balls until he talked.'
Oh, yeah, I thought. Great. So now tell me something I don't know.
'Maybe it's not too late at that.' He wheeled round. 'Hey, you bastards! Any more live ones there?'
'Just stiffs, decurion,' the kid who'd thrown the javelin called back cheerfully.
'You sure this time, young Marcus?'
'Yes, decurion.'
'Shit.' He turned back to me. 'Never mind, sir. Can't be helped. Can I have your name, please? For the report, like?'
I knew better than to lie this time. Names were too easy to check up on.
'Corvinus,' I said. 'Valerius Messalla Corvinus.'
His eyes widened. 'Any relation to the consular, sir? Valerius Messalla Messalinus?'
'Yeah. He's my father.'
The decurion's face lit up. He threw me a flawless military salute.
'Sextus Pomponius, sir. Ex-PFC, third century, Twentieth Valerians. I served under your father in Illyria.'
Oh, whoopee. Just what I needed, an Old Boys reunion. Still, the guy had done me a big favour. The least I could do was give him the courtesy of some small talk. 'You were in the Rebellion?'
''S right. When we near lost the whole effing province and then some. Pardon my language, sir.'
'How was my father? As a general?' I really wanted to know. If you believed what Dad said when he'd fought his way through the Illyrian Revolt with the Wart he was Caesar and Alexander rolled into one. I'd be interested to know what the guys at the bottom had thought of him.
Pomponius's face set like concrete.
'He was okay, sir,' he said cautiously.
'But nothing special?'
'Doesn't apply, sir. The governor wasn't a soldier. Begging your pardon. Not his fault if he was more of a bum-on-the... more of an administrator, sir.'
I grinned. Oh, beautiful! He'd got Dad to a T. 'Sure. Go ahead, Pomponius. A bum-on-the-bench type describes my father perfectly.'
I got no answering smile. The decurion gave me a look like an old-fashioned matron whose pet parrot has just told her to piss off.
'Like I said, sir. The governor was okay. For a...for an administrator, sir.'
'What about Tiberius?'
Pomponius relaxed visibly.
'Tiberius,' he said simply, 'was the best effing general I ever served under, sir. Bar none.'
High praise, coming from this little guy. Pomponius had probably cut his first tooth chewing on a helmet.
'I'd heard he wasn't too popular with the men,' I said.
'Sure, he was hard, sir. Maybe too hard. But you knew where you were with the General. Even when we was belly-aching the years before the frontiers blew up there was never a word against Tiberius personal. Maybe he's First Citizen now, sir, but the General's got the Eagles in his blood. He's Army first and last, no flash, a real professional. You can't catch fish by grabbing their tails, you've got to take things careful. Look at old Varus, he–'
'Hey decurion! Come and see this!' It was smartass Marcus again. The javelin king. He was crouching over the guy I'd killed by the coach.
We went over. The dead man was lying face-up, his right arm thrown out sideways with the hand bent back.
'Look at his wrist.' The kid pointed. On the inside of the forearm was a blue ram.
'Fuck.' Pomponius said softly.
I'd only seen this sort of thing on Gauls before. They go in for it a lot, even in the more civilised parts. The skin's punctured with needles in the shape of a design and then dye rubbed into the wounds. It doesn't come off even with scraping. My four lads were covered in the stuff.
'Mean something to you, decurion?' I tried to keep my voice level.
'Sure. It's a legionary badge, sir. Fifth Alauda.'
Yeah. That made sense. The Larks, being a Gallic legion, would go in for tattoos. So the guy had been Army right enough.
'You know where the Fifth's based these days?'
It was like asking a baker if he'd ever heard of bread. The decurion gave me a withering look.
'Sure I know, sir. Vetera.'
Vetera. In Germany.
The guy had served with a legion on the Rhine.
I sat back on my heels and thought.
26.
It was late when I got back, so I had the coachman drop me off at Perilla's.
We turned in early, as soon as I'd made my report. She was worried at first about the sword-slice along my ribs, but at Pomponius's insistence I'd had the wound looked at on the way and it wasn't too bad. Certainly not bad enough to cramp my style after a two days' absence.
'It must be all that fresh air, Marcus,' she said after we'd finished. 'Either that or being ambushed agrees with you.'
'It's the oyster stew. Pertinax insisted I have three helpings.'
I could feel her laughing. 'Pig!'
'Pigs don't eat oysters.'
'Anyway, they'd've worn off by now.'
'Not Baian ones. They're the best in the world.'
Her arms tightened round
me, and she kissed the side of my neck.
'I love you,' she said.
'Uh-huh.'
We lay quiet for a long time.
'Perilla,' I said. 'I've had a thought.'
'Hmmm?'
'About the Paullus plot. Maybe...'
She groaned. 'Not now, Marcus! Please!'
'You don't want to hear it?'
'You haven't got a single ounce of romance in you. Did you know that?'
'I'm just exhausted. I think better when I'm exhausted.'
She smiled up at me. 'Very well. So what's this great thought of yours?'
'No. If you don't want to hear, you don't want to hear.'
'Corvinus...'
'Okay. Okay,' I said hastily. 'You're sure?'
'I'm sure.'
'Fine.' I turned over and lay on my back, hands behind my head. 'We're assuming the plot was against Augustus, right?'
'Of course. Who else could it be against?'
'The empress.'
Perilla lifted herself on her elbow and stared down at me.
'Livia?'
'Why not? If she was systematically knocking off the Julians you'd expect them to turn sooner or later. They wouldn't just lie back and take it.'
'Corvinus, that is silly!'
'No it isn't. Listen. Say the main aim was to put the skids under Livia. Gaius and Lucius are already dead, but the elder Julia and Postumus are both sitting on their islands twiddling their thumbs. So what would happen if someone sprung them and smuggled them off somewhere Livia couldn't get at them?'
Perilla sighed. 'Absolutely nothing.'
Wrong answer.
'Why the hell not?'
'Because Augustus may not have liked the idea of Tiberius as a successor, but by this time he didn't have much choice. Even if he knew that Livia was manipulating things, which I personally doubt.'
I shook my head. 'You're missing the point. Livia had got away with it so far either because she operated an under-the-counter scam or because she used Augustus to do her dirty work for her. The poor guy had no choice but to play the patsy because she'd cancelled all his other options.'
Perilla turned over on her side.
'I've changed my mind,' she said. 'Could we leave this for the morning please?'
'No, listen.' I tugged at the blanket. 'The only way the Julians could fight back was to change the rules. If they could find a sympathetic military commander on one of the frontiers and manage to get to him then they'd be home free where Livia couldn't touch them.'
Perilla groaned. 'Corvinus, come on! You know perfectly well that the emperor controls military appointments. Commanders have to be loyal before they're chosen. Completely loyal. And even if one wasn't he'd be cutting his own throat to take in political escapees. Now let's leave this, please. You may not need your sleep, but I do.'
She pulled the blanket over her head. I pulled it off her.
'Okay,' I said. 'But there's another angle we haven't thought of. That Augustus knew about the plot from the beginning.'
The eyes opened. Perilla sat up.
'But we know he did! Silanus was the emperor's agent!'
'From the beginning, I said. Not when it'd already been set up. Maybe Augustus knew about it right from the start.'
'I'm sorry. I don't understand.'
'Look.' I pulled myself up and leaned my back against the headboard. 'We're assuming the plot was directed against Livia, right?'
'Fair enough.'
'Augustus knows she had his grandsons Gaius and Lucius murdered. He knows she fixed it so he was persuaded to exile his daughter Julia and Postumus. He knows all this, but like you said he can't do a thing about it. It's too late, he's hamstrung. Livia's won, and and all he has left is the Wart.'
'But why does he go along with her? He's still the emperor.'
'Okay, so Augustus has Livia arrested. He goes to the Senate, denounces her as a murderess and traitor, reverses the sentences on Julia and Postumus and sends the Wart off to pick his boils in Corsica. What happens then?'
She was frowning.
'He'd destroy his own credibility completely.'
'Yeah. Right. And in the end what would he be left with? Livia exiled or dead. The Wart disgraced, maybe even in armed revolt. Postumus too young for real power. Oh, sure, he'd have the satisfaction of knowing that justice had been done, but he'd've pulled up the beans with the weeds pretty thoroughly.'
'But if Augustus wanted to stop Livia he wouldn't have done it that way.'
'So how would he have done it?'
'Not openly. He would have –' Perilla stopped. Her jaw sagged and I knew the point had gone home.
'That's right. He'd've acted secretly, set up a conspiracy of his own.'
'For heaven's sake! That's crazy!'
'No, it fits. Look. Julia and her grandfather come to an arrangement. Augustus can't do anything directly, but he promises her and Paullus his support. He'll turn a blind eye to the Julian "conspiracy" while it's in preparation, and he'll help them in the final stages.'
'Help them how?'
'I told you. By making sure they have somewhere to go. Somewhere they'll be safe and give him room to breathe at the same time, maybe work out some way of making things up to them.' My brain was racing. 'Perilla, that explains our fourth conspirator! Remember we said whoever it was would have to be pretty powerful to give them the clout they needed for the thing to work? What if the fourth conspirator was Augustus himself?'
'Oh, for Juno's sake!'
'You think that's too far-fetched? Okay, so maybe our guy isn't Augustus in person. But he's someone who could stand as his accredited rep. One of the big legionary commanders, say, or the soon-to-be commanders. Even a military governor. Maybe someone like–'
I stopped.
'Someone like who?'
'Someone like Quinctilius Varus,' I said quietly.
'Marcus, I repeat. This is crazy.'
I shook my head. 'No it isn't. Varus would be perfect, and the timing's right. He's the emperor's man, he's even married to Augustus's grand-niece. With him on the team the Julians will have somewhere to go, because when Paullus springs the others Augustus will already have given Varus Germany.'
Perilla was holding her head in her hands as if it would burst.
'All right,' she said. 'So if the conspiracy had the emperor's secret support then why did he destroy it?'
'Because he was forced to. Because he had to cut his losses and get out of the game. Because someone peached to Livia.'
'Someone? Like who?'
'Our original stool-pigeon, of course. Junius Silanus.'
'That is nonsense! You told me that Augustus rewarded Silanus. Would he have done that if the man had doublecrossed him?'
'Sure he would. Even if it meant sacrificing Julia. He didn't have any choice. He had to cut himself off from the conspiracy completely, which meant siding with the guy who betrayed it. Maybe Silanus's silence was part of the deal.'
Perilla had turned onto her side.
'Look, I'm tired and this is complicated,' she said. 'Perhaps it'll all sound better in the morning.'
I ignored her. 'There's another thing. We already have a German connection. The dead guy with the tattoo on his wrist served in a German legion.'
'Tell me tomorrow,' she murmured.
'But in that case who sent him and his mates, and why? Livia? The Wart? Someone else?'
There was no answer; and when I looked Perilla was asleep.
* * *
Varus to Himself
Arminius and I have kept in touch, of course, through Ceionius's good offices. I was right to use him. The man is a natural conspirator. Our partnership has been a profitable one for all parties: for Arminius, for myself and, potentially, for Rome. Under the guise of fulfilling my military obligations I have managed in this campaigning season to draw the teeth of his private enemies among the German chieftains; with the result that he is well on his way to the pre-eminence which is our aim.
&
nbsp; The last stage of the plan is the most difficult of all. The first part is over. As agreed, I have allowed myself and my army to be drawn off our line of march towards the Teutoburg. On the fringes of the forest, Arminius will attack us in full force. I will order a withdrawal, and Arminius will claim to have inflicted a defeat and proved himself to his allies beyond a doubt. My army will be intact, and I will lead it back to the Rhine. The Germans will give the credit to Arminius and spill more beer at the victory feast than they did blood in the battle. Germans love a winner, and a Roman 'defeat', no matter how token, will do more to unite the tribes under Arminius's aegis than a hundred speeches.
Naturally there will be questions asked in Rome. My defence will be unanswerable: that I reassessed the situation and the risks and decided reluctantly to abandon the advance. I will be criticised, but not overly blamed. Then I will withdraw quietly from public life (my old carcass, after all, can have very few years left in it) and enjoy the rewards of a career tarnished only slightly at its close. Arminius's gold will be a great solace to me in my misfortune. I wish him well, and every success.
Tomorrow we should enter the Teutoburg proper. My scouts report no hostile forces so far, yet the 'battle' cannot be far off - half a day's march, at most. It cannot come too soon for me - the weather is worsening and these German forests are terrible places, even when one does not believe in what superstitious natives call the Waldgespenst. Let us hope that Arminius does not keep us waiting long.
The night is cold, and I can hear the rain battering on the roof and walls of my tent. I have told Agron to warm me some wine. Perhaps it will help me sleep.
27.
When I got home next morning there was a slave kicking his heels outside my front door.
'Master wants to see you,' he said.
I groaned. After last night I'd been looking forward to a quiet day loafing in the garden followed by another few dozen Baian oysters. 'This master of yours got a name?'
Ovid (Marcus Corvinus Book 1) Page 18