‘What’s the use?’ Medea demanded. ‘As long as you get your message to the authorities, you’ll have done your duty.’
Flaminius shook his head, kindling the tinder as he did so. As the flames grew, he wondered if he would have to go all the way to Rome himself. He could trust no one. Anyone could be implicated in the plot: anyone in the Senate at least, and they were the people with the power, six hundred men in Rome or scattered throughout the empire in civil and military posts, procurators and proconsuls and prefects. Any one of them could be in cahoots with Quintus Sosius Falco, while everyone else in the empire was subordinate to them.
He could trust no one. Would he have to go alone and warn the emperor himself? Or could he trust the legate of the Ninth, Lucius Aninius?
Medea saw something in his face. ‘What is it?’ she murmured. She looked frightened. Her fear mirrored his own. One man against an empire… He knew something of how the emperor must feel.
‘I can’t tell you,’ he said at last.
He could trust her, yes, she wouldn’t betray him. But she might—with the right incentive. She wasn’t a Roman citizen. They could quite legally use torture if she got into their clutches. With horror, he imagined that exquisitely sculpted face wracked with pain. There was no way he could expect her to go with him to Rome, but he couldn’t burden her with the truth.
Even as he was explaining this as best he could, they heard the rumble of wheels on the crumbling old Roman road. Coming from the North. Sweating, Flaminius swung round to see a wagon cresting the rise. A wagon, not a Caledonian chariot, a covered wagon drawn by two old nags, with a gaudy awning. Sitting behind the horses was a swarthy, potbellied man with a long, oiled beard.
‘What in Hades…?’ Medea breathed.
‘I thought it was the Caledonians,’ Flaminius admitted, his pulse racing. ‘He’ll be slower than us… but if we could hitch a ride, we’d be less of a target, and surely he’s heading for the empire…’
They awaited the wagon’s approach.
‘Romans!’ the old man roared on seeing them. ‘What brings you out into the wilds?’
‘I could ask the same of you,’ said Medea, speaking pointedly in Greek, of which Flaminius had only a smattering. ‘We’ve had trouble with the Caledonians,’ she added, slipping back into Latin. She introduced herself and the tribune.
‘Aristarchus of Pergamum, the eye doctor, my friend,’ the man replied. ‘Salves, lotions and potions. Magic spells extra, drawn up by my old friend Simon Magus. I wander the edges of empire selling my skills and my salves to the benighted barbarian. I often have to move on in haste, and I’ve had trouble with the Caledonians myself in the past, so I sympathise.’ He indicated their horses. ‘Your steeds are weary, my friends!’
Flaminius gazed at the bald, bearded man and into the shadows of his wagon. All manner of odours and smells drifted from it, the perfumes of Arabia and India. What did he concoct his salves from?
‘Our horses are tired indeed,’ he answered. ‘What brings a Roman citizen to these parts?’
‘Not Roman, my friend,’ Aristarchus barked, ‘a provincial. I’m a Greek! I’ve roamed these lands for four years. Before that, the German marches. I hear no Greek or even Latin for months at a time. But it’s profitable, one way or another.’ Aristarchus’ eyes were on Medea, who was primping her hair and adjusting her gown. ‘Lonely, lonely life. How nice to meet you, indeedy! First we feed your horses, my friends, then you have drinks with me, yes?’ His Latin was not as good as Medea’s.
‘We’d better talk right now, physician,’ Flaminius said. ‘Our horses—no, let’s get out of sight.’
‘You wait. I be alone with the little lady, no?’ Aristarchus laughed uproariously and pawed at Medea. She pulled a face and dodged him. He beckoned them inside his wagon, leering.
‘Don’t annoy him,’ Flaminius hissed before they scrambled up to join the eye doctor. ‘This is wonderful luck.’
She pulled a face. ‘You think so?’
‘Yes. This man can travel between the tribes without being attacked. What a wonderful cover. If I survive this I’ll suggest it to Probus… Look, he won’t give us away. As long as we’re friendly with Aristarchus, we’ll be safe for the next few hundred miles.’
Inside the wagon would have shamed the most slatternly Selgovian housewife, though it smelt like a Tyrian bordello. A cat was curled up in one corner, a black Egyptian creature with an earring, which peered disdainfully at Flaminius before hiding its nose in its tail. The Greek filled goblets with barely watered wine and handed it to them. He knocked his back with exuberance.
‘So, we talk,’ he bellowed. ‘What are you doing galloping about the wilds, a soldier and a fancy girl?’
Medea took her goblet and found the least dirty corner to settle in. Flaminius remained with Aristarchus. The man, his red nose declared, was a drunk. He roamed the wilds selling his skills and salves and panaceas—in return for what, he wondered, surely no one had money round here—he drank most of the proceeds, it seemed. No matter, as long as he could get them out of the reach of the Caledonians—and of Falco’s allies and co-conspirators, whoever they might be.
‘You’re going to Eboracum now?’ he asked.
Aristarchus nodded. ‘Yes, I supply the camp physician. I sell up my stock, buy more. In between, I party! I like Eboracum, Londinium more. But tell me about you two! Much more interesting.’
‘I can’t really tell you anything,’ said Flaminius in what he hoped was an impressive tone, ‘except I’m on a secret mission. I need to get to Eboracum without anyone knowing. If my companion and I can get into the fortress riding in your wagon, and if you keep quiet about our presence, you will have done the empire a real favour.’
‘A secret mission? With a fancy girl?’ Aristarchus guffawed. ‘Secret indeed, I’ll wager!’
‘I rescued her from Caledonians,’ Flaminius told him. ‘That’s why we were on horseback and otherwise alone. There’s trouble up north. I have information for the legate in Eboracum.’
Aristarchus stopped laughing. He took a deep draught of wine. ‘Trouble? War? But I can travel these lands without being attacked. I’m friendly with Tigernos the Caledonian merchant.’
‘And you should still be safe, if they know you,’ Flaminius reassured him. ‘As long as they don’t know we’re with you.’ He worried about the reference to Tigernos, buy surely this Greek was no druid.
Aristarchus mopped at his brow. He regarded himself as a pioneer, an explorer and merchant like the legendary Pytheas of Massilia, or Megasthenes of Arachosia, wandering the wilds. But now he was in too deep. ‘My backers,’ he spluttered. ‘The merchants who have shared in my enterprise. I must take care of their stock.’
Flaminius considered threatening him with his sword, but that had to remain a last resort. ‘Your first duty is to Rome. All you have to do is enter the empire as you would do normally and head for Eboracum, letting us off there. No one need know. The Caledonians will never hear of it, I assure you.’
‘But… but I…’
An idea occurred. ‘As for your backers,’ Flaminius added, ‘you can do them a good turn. These horses we’ve been riding, and the spare mount, they’re yours. Look at them’—he gestured beyond the back entrance to the covered wagon—‘they’re prime horseflesh. Worth plenty.’ He grinned. ‘Of course, you’ll declare the sale to your backers.’
Aristarchus roared with laughter. ‘Why, of course!’ he boomed, giving Flaminius a wink. He drained his drink. ‘Good doing business with you!’ He spat in his palm and extended it. Flaminius copied him a little gingerly, and they shook on it. To her evident dismay, Aristarchus demanded to shake hands with Medea too. Once the eye doctor had gone out to secure the horses, she made a grimace of disgust and wiped her hand several times against the canvas sides. The cat watched her coolly.
‘How long will it take us to get to Eboracum now?’ she asked.
‘Two or three days,’ Flaminius told her, settling himself do
wn for the journey.
‘Three days? With that oaf?’
‘Sorry, but we can’t go back. I’ve traded our horses with him.’ Even now, Aristarchus was tethering the beasts to the back of the wagon. ‘I think we’ve had a stroke of luck.’
‘I hope we’re never so lucky again,’ Medea grumbled. ‘I suppose this means things can’t get any worse.’
But they could, of course.
The following day, they were sitting in the back of the wagon as Aristarchus drove down the ill kept roads running along the edges of Selgovian territory. It was cold outside, and they huddled together for warmth, passing the time with a desultory game of calculi. It wasn’t going well, but the cat had unwound enough to sit on Medea’s lap.
They had stopped in a village while Aristarchus went to barter his services with the locals. Flaminius was about to move a piece on the calculi board when the wagon lurched, the hangings were torn back, and Aristarchus burst in, a long surgical knife in one paw, a tablet of birch wood in the other. An expression of fury was on his bearded face.
Startled, Flaminius went for the sword he’d lain on the floor nearby, but it was too late, Aristarchus held the surgical saw to his throat. The cat scampered for cover.
‘You’re my prisoner!’ the Greek barked.
Flaminius felt sick. ‘What is this?’ Betrayal? Who was the eye doctor working for?
‘Read!’ Aristarchus thrust the tablet at him. ‘You traitor, with your talk of duty to the empire! You try to fool me? Look what I found nailed up in the village square!’
It was a notice, written in Latin: Office of Lucius Aninius, legate commanding the 9th (Spanish) Legion. Flaminius scanned the text.
By order of the provincial governor, Quintus Pompeius Falco, senator, Tribune Gaius Flaminius Drusus , late of the 2nd Frisian Auxiliary Troop, now attached to the commissary corps, is wanted for mutiny and horse theft…
A less than flattering description followed.
Tribune Flaminius is to be captured and returned under armed guard to Falco, currently in Caledonia. All travellers will be stopped and questioned…
Medea moaned faintly and put her hands to her face.
Falco’s imperial couriers must have somehow got ahead of them during the journey. Flaminius and Medea had spent too much time off the roads attempting to evade pursuit. It must have been then that the imperial couriers had overtaken them. Word had reached Eboracum and now the legate ordered his arrest.
‘Explain!’ Aristarchus growled.
Flaminius leaned against the canvas walls and said nothing.
‘You thought you’d implicate me in your plot, your horse theft?’ Aristarchus was incandescent. ‘I, sell stolen horses? I have a reputation that’s second to none.’
Flaminius looked at Medea. She had lowered her hands but her face was pale. He put down the notice, his mind working fiercely. ‘I suppose I’d better tell you the whole story.’
‘I don’t want to hear, I wan’ no imperial secrets. I just wan’ hand you over to the Roman soldiers.’
Flaminius fell, rolled, came up again with the sword, and swung it to knock the saw from Aristarchus’ hand. It fell to the floor. Aristarchus backed away.
‘You can’t escape,’ he said. ‘We’re in the empire now. The soldiers are looking for you already.’
‘Look,’ Flaminius said, lowering his sword, ‘this is a misunderstanding. Falco is… is mistaken. I do have information, like I told you, and it has to reach… the legate. I want nothing from you but for you to take me to Eboracum. Do what you like with the horses. I have a message to get through, at the highest level.’
‘We’ll be stopped by the patrols,’ Aristarchus objected. ‘They’ll think I’m part of your plot.’ But he was weakening.
‘If so, I’ll exonerate you and request that we are taken to Eboracum. If you get me to Eboracum without arrest, I’ll speak highly of you in the highest quarters. A year from now you could be a Roman citizen.’
Aristarchus’ eyes darted back and forth. He looked pensive, calculating.
‘Either that,’ Flaminius said, gripping his sword, ‘or I tie you up and drive your wagon myself, in disguise.’
‘No!’ Aristarchus said. ‘You’d be caught at once. Word would get back to my backers. I’d be ruined… Very well. But you must stay hidden. Behind my supplies.’
Flaminius realised that Aristarchus could betray him the moment a patrol hove into sight—and he was scared enough to do so without a qualm.
Medea took her fellow Greek’s hands. ‘Thank you so much,’ she said in their own tongue.
‘Wha’s that?’ he grunted.
‘You’re such a man! An Achilles, an Odysseus.’
‘But, girl…’
‘There’s no mention of me in the notice,’ she said. ‘Let Gaius hide with your supplies. I’d rather keep you company.’
‘But… everyone knows I travel alone,’ Aristarchus complained. ‘Who could believe I had so lovely a companion?’
‘Don’t worry about what people will think,’ Medea said, putting a hand to her chest and opening her eyes wide. The cat crawled out from its hiding place in the corner and stared at her resentfully.
Flaminius felt suddenly optimistic. ‘You’ll have some immediate rewards, too,’ he commented.
Aristarchus rose boldly, as if he was indeed a hero of old. He pulled Medea to his side. ‘Why, so I will!’ When the eye doctor wasn’t looking, Medea gave Flaminius a look.
She went out with her fellow Greek to sit on the front board. Aristarchus whipped up his beasts. Flaminius crept into hiding behind the eye doctor’s supplies.
The wagon creaked as it lumbered down the road to Eboracum. From outside came the moan of the wind, the occasional cry of birds, and a smell of boggy land.
Half an hour later, he heard Frisian auxiliaries challenge the eye doctor, heard Aristarchus’ bland words, heard the auxiliaries ride on without checking the wagon. Medea had clearly found some way to stiffen the cowardly eye doctor’s resolve.
The plan was working. Now they were on their way to Eboracum. Again he remembered his doubts. Could the legate be trusted? Or would he have no option other than to travel straight to the emperor, to warn him of the plot? He wondered again if he should share his knowledge with Medea, but no—it would be unfair to burden her, or to make her a target for the interrogators. But he did not know how Lucius Aninius would react. The man seemed to be no friend of Falco, but perhaps that had just been an act. He would want to investigate the safety of his legion, seven of whose cohorts were in Caledonia with the provincial governor. That would waste time. The empress’ birthday was only a month or so away. Even now the provincial governor’s mysterious co-conspirators must be poised to assassinate the emperor.
So if Flaminius was to rely on Lucius Aninius—even assuming the legate was not in on the plot—it would slow things down, perhaps fatally for the future of the empire. Civil war threatened, and who knew how the barbarians would take advantage. No doubt it would be with fire and the sword.
But he did have other allies. The wagon was even now entering the territory of the Carvetti.
He peered out of the back of the wagon. It was growing dark. The three horses trotted along behind them. Flaminius glanced back. Up on the wagon’s main seat, Medea and Aristarchus were talking together in Greek and laughing, the old man leaning a little too close. Flaminius buckled on his stolen sword and reached out to untether the freshest of the three horses. Then he jumped down onto the road, letting the two other horses trot on but hastily mounting the untethered horse.
He tugged on the reins and they halted, watching the wagon rattle on down the road. For a long time he thought he could see the green glint of the cat’s eyes gazing from the gloom of the back of the wagon. As soon as the vehicle was out of sight, Flaminius spurred the horse and rode cross country towards Luguvalium.
—14—
Luguvalium, Carvetti territory
Drustica sat by the smokin
g peat fire, regarding her unexpected guest impatiently. From outside the longhouse filtered the sound of people moving about in the muddy yard, the clink of armour, muttered voices. Flaminius stared out of the doorway. Luguvalium was packed with armed Carvettians; men in helmets and mail, holding oblong shields and leaf bladed spears, surrounded Drustica’s bothy. They were the warriors of the Carvettians, who had been summoned to the village by Drustica.
Sighing with impatience, Flaminius glanced back at the warrior woman. In the gloom of the longhouse, which was hung with barbaric ornaments, her eyes shone blue and her fair hair seem to glitter like spun gold. Her face split with a wolfish smile. ‘Now we can spend time together.’
A little unwillingly, Flaminius came to sit beside her. Drustica sipped mead from a horn and regarded him. ‘Will you not join me in a drink?’ she added winningly.
‘Thank you,’ he said. He could hardly refuse her gesture of hospitality. Accepting a fresh mead horn from a slave-woman, he sipped at the sweet liquid. ‘At least here I have friends!’
‘Of course,’ Drustica said. ‘My people are all eager to aid you against Rome. They are on the point of rebellion because of the way you have been treated!’ Her eyes flashed fire.
‘Now wait a minute,’ Flaminius protested, aware of how sensitive the situation was. ‘I’ve not turned my back on Rome. I’ve been accused of crimes, yes, but I’m not a rebel. There’s a plot afoot which strikes at the heart of Rome, and I intend to be the man who scotches it.’
‘You are proscribed now, are you not?’ Drustica said as if it was a simple matter. ‘What loyalties do you have to Rome now she has spurned you?’
Flaminius shrugged. ‘I don’t know exactly what’s happening. Falco’s got it in for me, I know that much—and he’s the governor of the whole province. But I think Lucius Aninius can be trusted. The legate of the Ninth Legion is second only to Falco in military matters, at least in the North he is. That’s why I sent those messengers to Eboracum, asking him to despatch a trustworthy man to your village.’
‘I will make it clear to the Romans that they must not take our hero captive,’ Drustica told him, ‘not unless they want an uprising.’
On Hadrian's Secret Service Page 17