‘Emperor?’ Flaminius whispered in confusion. ‘But Hadrian is emperor…’
‘Not for long. This man’s friends plot to kill your emperor on his wife’s birthday…’
Flaminius remembered what he had heard from Allcallorred about Falco’s secret meeting with Tigernos.
‘You fool!’ Falco shouted at the centurion, pushed him out of the way, and struck. Flaminius leapt back but the sword was not aimed at him. It sank into the dying man’s chest.
Flaminius stared at Falco. The provincial governor was looking rather less splendid than usual—blood spattered his ceremonial armour and he was panting for breath. The centurion stared at him in confusion. Medea held onto the tent wall for support, her face ashen, her beautiful eyes even bigger than usual. The air was rank with the dead man’s blood.
‘I see what happened,’ Falco muttered. ‘Probus had a double agent. He was supposed to spy, obtain the information, and once you’d received it you would take it with you when I sent you to Eboracum in disgrace after finding you with Medea.’ He flung a triumphant glance at the concubine. ‘You were used, my dear. Used! Like a dirty Subura whore underneath the Colosseum arches.’
‘But he told me… he told me…’ Flaminius began. Falco rounded on him.
‘Told you what?’ he demanded fiercely. ‘No, I don’t want to hear,’ he added. ‘You’re now facing a charge of treason.’
‘For trying to save the empire?’
The dying man’s words went round and round in Flaminius’ mind. Much of it he couldn’t understand but one thing he knew, there was a plot to kill the Emperor Hadrian!
‘For spying, for sabotaging my negotiations with the barbarians. Like Julius Probus, you seem to think you’re above the law. Well, you’re a Roman citizen, and you’ll receive Roman justice.’ The provincial governor brandished his blood spattered sword and Flaminius took an involuntary step backwards.
Medea ran forward. ‘Quintus! No!’ She seized the sword and dragged it down. The centurion blundered forward.
Flaminius rushed at Falco. The provincial governor struck Medea again, but she still clung to his sword arm. Flaminius tried to seize the governor, and he aimed a blow at him. Flaminius deflected it, brought his knee up into the senator’s groin, and followed this with a blow to the neck as Falco folded.
Flaminius seized the sword as it dropped and turned to find the centurion lunging with his own weapon. Flaminius parried automatically, and somehow his blade cut into the man’s bull neck. Spraying blood all over the tent wall, the centurion fell to the ground, dead instantly.
Falco groaned and tried to rise. Flaminius held his blade to the man’s throat and snatched out his sword. ‘You’re coming with me. I’m going to get a fast horse out of here.’
Shuddering with horror, Medea rose from where she lay. As Flaminius manoeuvred Falco towards the tent flap, she said faintly, ‘Where are you going?’
‘Making a dash for it,’ Flaminius said. ‘Coming?’
‘Yes… yes!’ she replied. She gave the centurion’s dead body a look. ‘I’m not staying with him!’ Her gaze shifted to the dead druid on the couch. ‘Either of them!’
He hugged her with one arm. Amazement flooded through him. If it hadn’t been for her he’d have been dead. ‘Why did you help me?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘Look, Gaius, we’d better get out of here!’
‘Get into your riding gear. Quick!’
Her eyes widened again, and she went to a chest and hurriedly changed into her riding clothes. Flaminius turned to Falco. ‘Now get moving.’
The provincial governor sneered. ‘You think you can just walk out of here, tribune?’
‘I’m going to give it a good try,’ Flaminius told him levelly. ‘And your help will be invaluable.’ He took Falco’s belt and scabbard and put it on. ‘We’re going to walk to the piquet line. If anyone speaks to you, tell them you think I had no connection with Probus. I’ve got important information for you and we’re off to the hill fort to speak with Catavolcos. Any trouble from you and you’re as dead as the centurion at our feet. Understood?’
Falco glared at him and said nothing.
No longer was Flaminius assailed by doubt, he was full of life and vitality and action. Everything was clear and bright and sharply etched: the musty tent, its opulent furnishing, Medea in her riding clothes as she joined them, the stench of blood and shit from the dead bodies. Sweat and heat, the sword hilt in his hand, it was all immediate and clear.
‘Out,’ he said. ‘You first, provincial governor. I’ll come behind. Medea, go at his side. Keep an eye on him. If he tries to attract attention, tell me and I’ll cut him down like I did this dog.’ He indicated the centurion again. He didn’t know if he was proud or deeply ashamed of so decisively ending the stout, dependable, middle aged man’s life.
‘No,’ Medea said, trembling. ‘You can’t kill Quintus.’
‘He was about to kill me. There’s no going back now, Medea! If he does nothing wrong, he’ll live, though maybe he shouldn’t. Get moving.’ He sheathed his sword.
They departed. Flaminius stepped over the centurion’s body with an expression of distaste and regret.
As they came out into the central compartment to find two young tribunes entering through the main tent flap. ‘Is all well, provincial governor?’ one asked Falco. Flaminius’ fingers brushed against the pommel of his stolen sword. With a shock, he recognised the man as Karus, his old messmate.
Falco nodded. ‘I am going up to the hill fort,’ he said, ‘at once. With these companions.’
‘We’ve got confidential documents through there,’ Flaminius added, indicating Medea’s compartment. ‘Don’t go in there. In fact, get a guard set on it until we return.’
The young tribune stared at him in puzzlement. Flaminius was no higher in rank than Karus, lower if anything, since he had only commanded auxiliary horse before becoming a staff officer. Could he bluff his way out? Or was his chariot team going to crash before the first lap of the circus? But Karus and the other one—Flaminius didn’t recognise him, he must be new—were used to obeying orders. It was once Flaminius got out of the fort that he would be facing the real danger.
Guards stopped them halfway down the torch-lit Praetorian Way, but again Flaminius got past them with bluster. The heather beyond the distant gate was lit silver by the risen moon. The night breeze was cold, and in the distance Flaminius could hear the clank and jingle of armour from the sentries on the ramparts.
They reached the piquet line where Flaminius quickly overawed the farrier centurion who led them to where horses stood waiting, heads down and cropping the grass. When the farrier left them to it, Flaminius gestured to Medea and Falco to mount separately.
‘Senator, we’re going to talk our way out of the camp. Are they likely to believe we’re going to the hill fort?’
Falco scowled. ‘When Catavolcos is away?’ Flaminius hadn’t thought if that. ‘Absurd. Enough of this. Surrender, and I’ll ensure you’re treated with all the leniency you deserve.’
‘Looks like we’re doing it the hard way, then. When we reach the gate, you will tell the sentries that you’re going back to retrieve some property you left behind. Connected with the whole Probus episode. Got that?’
‘You really think they’ll believe a word of that?’
‘If not, we’ll cut them down and ride out of here as best we can.’ He mounted his horse and tapped the hilt of his stolen sword. Unlike his longsword it was hardly designed for use from horseback, but he thought he could still do some damage with it, particularly to another mounted man. He glowered menacingly at the provincial governor. ‘Do what I say or I swear you’ll be first to feel this in your guts.’
He knew in that moment what power meant. No longer was he a part of the whole, a tool in the hands of the powerful, right now he was lord of his own little empire, holding absolute power in the form of a sword. But what mattered was keeping the upper hand, not what you held
in it. Anticipate the other’s actions and you could counter them. But you must stay in control all the time. Slacken for a second and some upstart would try to knock you from your perch.
For the moment, the most ambitious man in the Roman Empire showed only acquiescence.
‘Please don’t hurt Quintus,’ Medea murmured.
‘I won’t, as long as he gives me no reason to do so,’ Flaminius told her. ‘Now ride!’
The three trotted from the piquet lines. At the gates, a legionary stepped forward. Two more stood to one side, looking alert.
‘Halt!’ the first legionary barked. ‘Who goes there?’ Flaminius shot a glare at Falco.
‘It is I, the provincial governor,’ Falco snapped. ‘I must return to the hill fort to gather papers I left there. Don’t think to impede me or I’ll have your centurion flog you soundly.’
Recognising Falco, the legionaries scurried to haul open the gates. Soon after, Flaminius, Falco and Medea were all riding across the moonlit heather.
‘You did well at the end there, provincial governor,’ Flaminius called across. ‘I really think that legionary is still quaking in his boots.’
‘You’re doing well yourself,’ Falco replied coolly. ‘I can see why Julius Probus wanted to take you on.’
Flaminius shrugged, and kept riding.
‘You won’t succeed, though,’ Falco added in a louder voice after a short while. ‘You’re in the depths of barbarian country, and they certainly won’t let you get away with this.’
‘I hope not,’ Flaminius said. ‘I intend to get away from them.’
The fortress was far behind them now. Mountains marched massively along the western horizon, blotting out the stars. The wind blew cold.
‘In fact, you’re just the man I need,’ Falco added persuasively. ‘A capable lad, full of promise. Just what the empire requires. Someone who could help me once we’ve established peace along the borders.’
‘Shouldn’t we establish peace in the empire first?’ Flaminius asked. He bent low over his horse and rode on.
‘That’s what I want too,’ Falco shouted frantically after him. ‘It’ll happen, under a strong leader. You’ve listened to Julius Probus too much. He’s a narrow minded fanatic. Listen to me instead.’
‘I’m listening.’ Flaminius slowed to ride alongside the provincial governor. ‘Tell me why you’ve been attending secret meetings with Tigernos and the druids.’
‘You know about…?’ Falco stared at him. ‘Very well, I’ve had secret meetings. The druids hold the real power in Caledonia. I’ve made a deal with them, yes. I sounded them out through their master spy Tigernos while I was still in Eboracum. It’s a deal everyone will benefit from. If we allow things to remain as they are, Britain faces war from sea to sea.’
‘If we let the barbarians get their way,’ Flaminius called back, ‘yes, war’s inevitable.’
‘Have you ever asked the Caledonians for their viewpoint?’ Falco demanded.
‘I don’t think we should make it impossible for them to do anything other than fight,’ Flaminius told him, ‘but maybe that’s because I’m just a soldier, not a politician… Now hush up, senator. We’re approaching the moors.’
Ahead lay the rolling heather where the Roman road sank so often into quaking bog and quagmire. The moon had risen now and blazed down its silver light.
A figure rode out from a stand of trees. It was a Caledonian on a shaggy pony. He barked a challenge in his own tongue, and haltingly, Falco replied in the same language.
‘You may ride south but only with an escort,’ the Caledonian added, switching to Latin.
Falco shook his head. ‘That’s not possible, alas. I go on the orders of Catavolcos himself, in pursuit of information for his ears only. You may escort me back to the hill fort on my return.’
‘I shall have to discuss this with my chief,’ the Caledonian said, and he rode back to the trees, where several other mounted men lurked in the shadows.
‘Good work!’ Medea praised Falco, as the three sat their horses and waited for the Caledonian to return.
The provincial governor laughed. ‘Don’t think I’m getting myself mixed up in this spying game,’ he told her coldly. ‘I just want to preserve my life so I can continue to see my plans are carried out. You realise they’ll come after you, Tribune Flaminius? You have all Caledonia and her subject tribes to ride through before you even reach the Roman Empire.’
‘We’ll ride fast,’ Flaminius said shortly. ‘Our horses are better than any of their ponies.’
He whirled his head round at a drumming of hoofs just in time to see the Caledonian leading two more out of the trees at a gallop. All had lances levelled and were riding straight towards the three foreigners. Medea shrieked.
Falco shouted. ‘I have diplomatic immunity! Consult with Catavolcos!’ Flaminius gave him a scowl, kicked his horse into a gallop and rode straight at the attacking Caledonians.
As he rode, he tugged his short sword out of its sheath. It wasn’t designed for fighting on horseback: he missed his cavalry sword. As he rode closer, he shifted his grip of the sword to hold it like a javelin. As the first Caledonian rode straight for him, he flung it.
The Caledonian jerked in his saddle and gave a cry, turning to one side and flinging his spear in Flaminius’ direction. Almost without thinking, Flaminius stuck his hand out and seized the spear, then turned to fling it back. He saw the first Caledonian in silhouette, the sword sticking straight through his head. Then he was gone, toppled over the side of his still racing mount.
His two comrades rode straight past him, spears gleaming in the moonlight. Flaminius reversed the spear in his hand and flung it at the second Caledonian, spitting him through the chest.
The remaining Caledonian took one look at the slaughter, sawed his reins, and rode off northwards across the moor.
Shaking with nerves, Flaminius dismounted, flinging Medea the reins. She stared at him wide eyed. She had seen too much in the last few hours. So had he. The two ponies snorted in fear and bolted at his approach, leaving the bodies where they had fallen in the heather. Flaminius leaned down grabbed the hilt of his sword, put his booted foot on the Caledonian’s bloody face, and heaved. With an awful sucking sound and a scraping of steel on bone, he pulled it free. After automatically wiping it clean and sheathing it, he went back to where Medea and Falco sat their horses.
‘That was… horrible…’ Medea said in a dull voice.
‘Not at all, my dear,’ said Falco languidly. ‘The tribune has proved himself a superlative fighter. If only he knew where his true loyalties lay!’
Flaminius mounted. ‘Let’s get moving before the one who got away comes back with his friends,’ he suggested.
They rode on into the night. Flaminius kept looking over his shoulder, expecting to see Caledonians trailing them. Finally, as the stars were paling over the sea in the east, he called a halt. They were in the midst of the moors, near another grove of twisted trees.
‘This is where we leave you, provincial governor,’ Flaminius said. ‘You’ve been very helpful, thank you. Unfortunately, I’ll have to reward you by leaving you here—to make your way back on foot.’
Falco turned his gaze on the tribune. ‘You’re throwing away a promising career,’ he warned him. ‘I have to cooperate with my Caledonian allies. There is too much at stake. When I return to the camp, I’ll set matters into motion. You’ll be proscribed, tribune. Depend on it. Every man’s hand will be against you.’
At this threat of outlawry, Flaminius placed his hand on the pommel of his sword. In the gloom, Falco saw the gesture and nodded.
‘You could kill me.’ The provincial governor was calm, stoic. ‘That might be better for you. It would be the end of your life as a Roman citizen, of course.’
Flaminius shook his head. ‘I’ll not do that. Get down off there.’
With a shrug, Falco dismounted. Medea leaned over and gathered the horse’s reins. The provincial governor looked at
her.
‘Why not come back with me?’ he asked. ‘Leave this young pup to ride to his death. I don’t want to lose you.’ He said it in a matter of fact tone, as if the concubine were no more than a prize trinket. ‘After all, the only other women in the camp are Caledonians.’ Flaminius caught a delicate shudder.
‘You’d accept me back?’ Medea asked. ‘After this?’
The provincial governor nodded. Medea rode closer, leaned forward and brushed his lips with her own. ‘Thank you for the offer,’ she added. ‘But I’m going with the tribune.’
‘After the way he’s treated you?’ Falco’s eyebrows lifted. ‘After all this bloodshed?’
‘It was necessary,’ she said. ‘I believe what he said.’
Falco snorted, turned and began striding back up the overgrown Roman road.
—12—
Accompanied by the spare horse, Flaminius and Medea rode southward across the moor. The sun rose as a line of red on the eastern horizon while they travelled onwards, but they dared not halt for fear of Caledonian ambush. So far they had been lucky, thanks to the unwilling aid of Falco, but now their luck was walking on weary legs northwards and away from them.
‘I’m glad you decided to keep me with you,’ Medea said shyly. ‘I wouldn’t want to trek back all that way with Falco.’ She paused.
‘I hope I won’t be a nuisance,’ she added.
‘Not at all,’ said Flaminius gallantly. ‘You should brighten up a long cold journey considerably. Now hush, though, we need to ride hard.’
‘I’ll keep quiet,’ she promised, and added, ‘I’m not a complete innocent. The life of a concubine encourages you to learn how to survive. This is the first time, though, that I’ve done something for the good of the empire.’
Flaminius grunted. ‘I’m doing this for Probus,’ he said. ‘Riding with only his shade for company would have been a lonely business. Instead I have you.’
On Hadrian's Secret Service Page 15