On Hadrian's Secret Service

by Gavin Chappell

  ‘I wasn’t invited. I don’t think Catavolcos thought my presence suitable inducement. What I don’t understand is why he didn’t invite Falco’s whore, Medea. That would ensure Falco went. But the provincial governor’s going anyway.’

  Flaminius nodded abstractedly. He wanted to tell the centurion what he had found out himself, but the centurion’s diatribe was inexorable, and still Flaminius couldn’t find the words. He frowned at the offensive reference to Medea, but that was another matter.

  ‘I’m sure that Falco and Catavolcos will enjoy each other’s company immensely,’ he began.

  ‘Of course,’ Probus interrupted. ‘They’ll have a lot to discuss. I still haven’t persuaded Falco that the situation with the Selgovae is important. I don’t know why Catavolcos accepted the legation, except that it would make his treacherous intentions all the more obvious if he didn’t. He wants to draw things out, just like the talks. But I’ve picked up hints that something else is being planned. And in the meantime we’re cooped up here, unable to do anything. He’s got us fully occupied here while elsewhere something else is afoot. If only I knew what. Which is why we need to act soon, and act decisively.’

  Flaminius was about to blurt out what he had learnt when Probus added, ‘I have made a discovery. The druidic order of which Catavolcos is an honorary member has a meeting next full moon at the standing stone beside the river. And I think I know how we can get an agent in there. If we can find out what their plans are, then all we need to do is get the information out at once, back to Rome. I say all, of course. It will be as difficult as penetrating the order. As things stand, if one of us leaves all of a sudden it will be painfully obvious that we know something.

  ‘And yet we must act quickly or it could be too late. I certainly can’t leave. It would raise an immediate alarm. It would tell everyone that I had finished my work, and everyone has an idea what that is. Falco himself might forbid me to leave, thinking I was going to cause trouble with his own mission. Or else I would suffer from a nasty attack of brigands as I rode away from the kingdom. Perhaps I would be abducted and interrogated. I’d like to think I’d keep quiet but the sad facts are that no one is immune to torture, particularly the sort the druids are said to practise. There are things I know that would be of such advantage to the Caledonians that it doesn’t bear thinking of.’

  Flaminius had almost forgotten his own information, which seemed hazy and uncertain besides what Probus was saying. Something equally unclear was what the centurion wanted.

  ‘You want me to take the information to Rome,’ he said. Probus nodded. ‘You have an agent you can use to spy on the meeting of the druids?’ Flaminius asked. ‘I didn’t realise your network spread so far. A Caledonian? And a druid? You must have been making contacts since we arrived. Otherwise, why come here? Something you learnt in the South but couldn’t discuss with anyone you trusted and could be spared.’

  ‘Jupiter’s balls! Enough of this,’ said Probus angrily.

  Flaminius shook his head. ‘No, I want to talk about it. You’ve had links with the Caledonians for a long time, I think. Which means you must have known that the attack on Drustica’s people was planned. You never told me. If it hadn’t been for a lucky chance, the Carvettians would have been slaughtered.’

  He glowered down at Probus, and in that moment saw for the first time how short and squat and beetle-like the centurion was.

  ‘We have work to do,’ Probus barked dismissively.

  ‘A vexillation of my auxiliaries could have defeated those chariots before they ever reached Drustica’s settlement. People were killed, burnt to death. Men, women, children. You could have stopped them and yet you did nothing!’

  He stormed away down the parapet. Probus marched after him. ‘Come back here!’

  Flaminius whirled round. ‘Why should I?’

  Probus grabbed his arm. Flaminius tried to shake him off but the little man was as strong as he was broad, and he held him as if he was a child. ‘Yes, I knew,’ the centurion said furiously. ‘And I knew what would happen if I said nothing. When you fought those charioteers off, I made a libation to Jupiter Optimus Maximus and pledged him a yearling ram. What if I had acted, though? Tigernos is not a fool. He would have known that I had a spy among his ranks and he would search for them and he would find them, and for their treachery he would tie their guts around the old oak tree in a druidic grove. And that would have been the end of that, not just of the man but of my intelligence! I already had my agent worked out as someone who could infiltrate the druidic gatherings where they plot against Rome. He was—he will be—the key that will open up the coffer that conceals the truth. How many lives will be saved if we can learn their plot and scotch it before it is hatched? Not just Romans but Carvettians, Brigantes—Selgovae! Caledonians! Stir that thick porridge between your ears, tribune. I’m not saying that I wasn’t guilty of treachery, that if the Caledonians and Selgovae had slaughtered your Carvettian friends their deaths couldn’t be laid at my door, and rightly. But if I had betrayed my source, I would ultimately have betrayed Rome. And that would have been the greater treachery.’

  Flaminius gulped for breath. He turned and leaned against the palisade for support. He stared deep into the shadows of the glen, eyes wide with horror.

  At last he looked back.

  ‘My apologies, centurion,’ he said formally. ‘I shouldn’t have spoken to you as I did. I didn’t know.’

  Probus clapped him on the shoulder, grinning with what looked like gratitude. ‘No apologies needed, tribune. It’s been an object lesson for you—and for me. I’m glad to see that someone can still work in this foul cesspit of a job and retain their integrity. Maybe when you have been in the Commissary longer, gained more influence…’

  He trailed off and leaned against the palisade beside Flaminius. Together they stared up at the cold blue skies in silence.

  ‘You’ll need to keep your scruples in what lies ahead,’ Probus said, ‘but the only way we can get the intelligence we need will mean another act of treachery. Well, maybe you can dream up a better approach, but I can’t think of anything.’

  Flaminius looked grim. ‘What are you suggesting?’

  ‘I know my agent can infiltrate the druidic meeting,’ the centurion told him. ‘But the trouble is, as I said before, it will look suspicious if one of us departs abruptly, which will be necessary if we find out what I think we’re going to find out. They will suspect something is happening. Maybe even that their plot has been found out. So there needs to be a good reason for a sudden departure. You could provide yourself with one.’

  Flaminius nodded. ‘Go on…’

  ‘What if our provincial governor found you and his concubine in a compromising position…?’

  Flaminius whirled round. ‘What?’

  ‘Calm down, lad. Don’t tell me there haven’t been… dealings between the two of you. You may have found the Caledonian women easy with their favours, but I know Medea’s taken a fancy to you as well, and she’s been lonely while Falco has been occupied. And you’ve been keeping her company, right?

  ‘No one suspects except me, don’t worry. You’ve kept it very quiet. But I keep my eyes open, lad. You’ve been missing from quarters in the night, you’ve had little sleep, you keep exchanging meaningful glances with her when she’s around… Don’t worry, I’m not condemning you! Not my place.

  ‘This provides an opportunity. If Medea is kept in the dark as to when Falco will return, we can make sure that you are surprised together…’

  Flaminius was outraged. ‘No!’

  ‘Don’t worry about the Greek girl,’ Probus reassured him. ‘She’ll get off with no more than a whipping, not for the first time, I’ll be bound. If Falco goes as far as to cast her off, the Commissary will ensure she’s looked after, back in Rome. She could have a good career ahead of her as a madame if she can’t latch on to another senator—and I’m sure she can, she won’t lose her looks for a few more years. I doubt she’d be ups
et to depart from the provincial governor…’

  ‘But she trusts me!’ Flaminius objected.

  ‘It’ll be a dirty trick, I already said,’ Probus replied dismissively. ‘You don’t think she’s in love with you, surely?’

  Flaminius stared down at the heather.

  Probus barked in laughter. ‘You do. Maybe she is, but a girl like that can cope with a broken heart, they’re tough beneath all that appealing softness. I wouldn’t worry myself about her. You concern me more than she does.’

  ‘Me?’ Flaminius asked, surprised. ‘Why me?’

  ‘Falco will have to do something, take some retaliation, so as not to lose face—whatever his private feelings may be. If you do things right, everyone will know, all the Romans and the Caledonians too. He’s going to send an imperial courier back to Eboracum in the next few days with a full progress report. You’ll go back with him in disgrace, on some trumped up charge. Don’t worry, it won’t affect your career. In fact, it’ll be beneficial.

  ‘During the druidic gathering my agent will obtain the information and bring it to me. I’ll pass it to you, whatever it is. When you get to Rome, when you get to the Peregrine Camp on the Caelian Hill, you’ll say a word that I’ll give you. Then you’ll be there, a fully paid member of the Commissary. You shouldn’t be raising objections and grizzling, lad, you should be on your knees in gratitude! This isn’t an opportunity that comes to every auxiliary tribune.’

  Flaminius looked away, gazing down the glen. The wind soughed softly among the treetops.

  ‘But what of you, centurion?’ he asked at last. ‘And what about all the rest of it?’

  ‘I’ll remain here until the whole business is seen through,’ Probus assured him.

  ‘But it could be dangerous,’ Flaminius said anxiously. ‘Things could go wrong.’

  ‘That’s what you risk, lad.’

  ‘But you’re even more at risk,’ Flaminius replied. ‘I’ll be safely away from here, in Rome. You’ll still be here, in barbarian country. I might get away without any problems, but what if Falco puts two and two together later…?’

  ‘Medea will not be ill-treated,’ Probus reassured him. ‘She’s not worth it. Nor is Falco. If the Caledonians were to take the provincial governor of Britain prisoner, or even kill him, it would be a declaration of war.’

  This didn’t reassure Flaminius. ‘What about you, centurion?’

  ‘Don’t worry about me, lad,’ Probus replied proudly. ‘I’ll die old and blind forty years hence, pissing and shitting myself to my heart’s content. If the chances of that look set to change, I’ve got a blade.’ He patted the hilt of his sheathed sword. ‘I’ll cut my way out of there, or I’ll take plenty of them to accompany me on my passage across the Styx. Never mind all that, are you in?’

  It took Flaminius an aeon before he could nod.

  The following afternoon, Probus entered the tent where Flaminius was drearily working away at a report. Leaning his head forward, he let the tent flap fall back behind him and said, ‘That’s enough, tribune, work’s over for today.’

  ‘Thanks, centurion,’ said Flaminius gratefully. He had grown bored beyond bearing while poring over reports, and had been forced to struggle with himself to stop daydreaming about a more exciting life. Then he had turned to thoughts of Medea, but they had soured into self-repugnance at the thought of what Probus wanted him to do. He dropped the tablets on the camp desk and leaned back to stretch. Joints cracked with audible pops. ‘What’s the occasion?’

  ‘A messenger arrived to say Falco is returning tomorrow,’ the centurion told him.

  Flaminius’ heart pounded. He whirled round and rose to his feet, head brushing against the roof pole. ‘You want me to…?’

  ‘I won’t be in these parts,’ Probus replied. ‘I’m going to be visiting a local chieftain tonight.’

  Flaminius glanced outside. The sun was not far off setting over the Caledonian mountains. Medea would still be asleep. With Falco away she had no reason to rise, except when Flaminius visited, and that was always at night. She preferred the warmth of her bed to the chill of Caledonia. ‘I take it I’m to stay behind in reserve.’

  ‘Clever lad,’ Probus said sardonically. ‘Remember what we believe the Caledonians are plotting. What it will mean for the legion. For Britain.’

  Flaminius nodded doubtfully. ‘What if things go wrong?’

  ‘My agent will identify himself by a password: Beware Greeks. Do what you think’s best. Be cautious. Even if everything goes wrong, you could find yourself a chance to escape. But don’t wait around. If you’ve got to get away, get your horse and ride for the frontier. Get that information where it’s needed. Rome.’

  By the time Probus set out from Pinnata Castra and rode along the river bank, it was already evening, and the sun was setting over the western mountains, its rays glinting off the spears and armour of the sentries on the ramparts. As the dusk deepened, the light of fires and torches glowed from the bothies in the hill fort as it loomed up on the height, and the smell of cooking rose to the dark blue heavens. The commissary centurion trotted down the track into the glen beneath the hill fort. It was relatively busy with traffic, both walkers and riders, and even an occasional chariot. Soon Probus guided his horse off the beaten track and out into the gathering darkness of the heather.

  Amidst a stand of trees, he encountered his agent. The druid sat on a pony, watching him in silence.

  ‘I’ll be away all night,’ Probus told him. ‘You have plenty of time to ride in secret to the gathering of the druids. If anything goes wrong, what matters most is the intelligence you obtain. Should I be unavailable, Tribune Gaius Flaminius Drusus is your man. He will be in the camp, either in his own quarters or else in Falco’s tent. I’ve kept your identity from him, but he knows the watchword I taught you. Now get going. And may your dark gods go with you!’

  Probus rode on into the fast gathering darkness.

  Lugutorix remained where he was, following Probus with his gaze as he rode down the glen towards the farm of Bodurix. The druid felt calm. Once, taking such hazardous action would have terrified him. His blood would have surged and pounded in his temples, he would have thought hopelessly of his loved ones back home in the Orcades. Now, due to the harsh mental training he had received since becoming a druid, he felt nothing. He felt numb. He should have been terrified. He almost wished he was.

  He rode away in the opposite direction, towards the standing stone and the meeting of the druids. He had been present at a few such gatherings in his time as a druid. Dark, savage assemblies they had been, with much fire and blood. And for him much fear, until he had mastered the emotion. And illusion—or had it all been illusion? He hoped so.

  Riding through the gloom he came to a thicket of thorn bushes, where he dismounted, hitched his pony and proceeded on foot. The stars gleamed above him. The moon had not yet risen, so they provided the only light. He remembered the farm on the Orcades where he had grown up, of the wife he had married, and the children they had raised together.

  As he limped onwards through the thorn brakes, Lugutorix was silent, moving unheard and unseen as only one trained as a druid could. He knew that the meeting point must be close by. He knew that no one would dare come anywhere near the standing stone at this time of night. He had nothing to fear, he was a druid and he was attending a druidic gathering—even if he had not been ordered to attend. He did not feel fear, of course. But still he went cautiously, silently. He had not been invited, after all.

  Halting, he watched as a tall figure drifted through the trees some way off. Taller than a man, there was a goat skull leering from atop its neck. It vanished into the bushes. Lugutorix limped on his way, knowing that this was not the monster it seemed to be, merely a druid in disguise, patrolling the area to frighten off the curious.

  From up ahead he heard chanting and wails. Firelight flickered through the bushes, but he was still too far off to make anything out. He halted by the edge of the thorn b
rake, then stepped out onto the sward of the meadow that sloped down to the riverbank.

  Figures leapt and cavorted around the tall standing stone in the middle of the meadow. Fires blazed in the dark, bonfires on the grass and flaming torches held by motionless figures. Lugutorix watched darkly as black robed druidesses danced and postured, half naked, their hair dishevelled, faces covered by hideous grinning masks, whirling round and round the standing stone.

  A figure stepped out into the light at the base of the standing stone. At that moment, a cry went up from a dozen throats. Lugutorix looked up to see standing beside the stone a brawny, masked man wearing a brief costume of oak leaves. In his mighty hands he held a short sword.

  Two more druids came forwards, dragging with them a naked woman by the hair. They flung her to the ground at the leaf-clad man’s feet. She whimpered and tried to rise but the man lifted the sword high, then brought it stabbing down. It sank into her white flesh between her shoulder blades and she gave a muffled cry. The leaf-clad man lifted it again, then sank it into her back. Again and again he stabbed and the druids gathered round to watch the way in which she spasmed as her life blood spattered the grass.

  Another figure stepped forward, this one wearing an antlered mask like the head of a stag. A haughty Roman voice boomed from beneath it. ‘By Jove, what is this disgusting behaviour?’

  The leaf-clad man paused, rose, then spoke. ‘We must know how our plans will develop,’ he replied. ‘From the writhing of this woman we learn much.’