On Hadrian's Secret Service

by Gavin Chappell

  ‘No, look…’

  ‘And they do not want that. Their borders are unstable enough. They need our loyalty!’ She paused, scowling. ‘But you have told me little about yourself. You wrested a mystery from the druids of the North. Now where do you go?’

  ‘I think I must go to Rome,’ he said bleakly. ‘Far to the South, where the emperor lives.’

  She shivered.

  ‘So very far away,’ the warrior woman murmured, and Flaminius remembered that to her even Londinium was a long way off. ‘Tell me more. Why must you go to Rome?’

  He told her of what had happened to him up in Caledonian, editing the facts to ensure there was no undiplomatic mention of Medea. He was just describing his journey south when he heard a distant blare of horns from outside.

  A Carvettian warrior rushed in. ‘Romans!’ the man gasped. ‘Romans approaching.’

  Drustica leapt to her feet in one fluid movement. She placed her hand on the pommel of her sword. ‘Come,’ she instructed Flaminius. Together they followed the warrior from the hut.

  Riding into the town were several armoured men with red crested helmets. They reined their steeds. The lead rider jumped down, removed his helmet and strode forwards.

  ‘Tribune Flaminius!’ he barked. It was Lucius Aninius. The legate himself had come in answer to his message!

  Flaminius marvelled at this as he hurried forward to greet his superior officer, Drustica keeping close beside him. The Carvettian warriors crowded round.

  ‘Where shall we go to talk?’ the legate demanded, glancing nervously about him. His accompanying tribunes and centurions were giving the Carvettians some very dirty looks.

  ‘Perhaps we can go into the Lady Drustica’s longhouse,’ Flaminius suggested. He drew closer. ‘Look here,’ he said in a soft voice, ‘the local people are… threatening rebellion. You shouldn’t have come in person, sir. Things could turn ugly.’

  Lucius Aninius looked about him. His expression was pretty ugly itself. ‘Is this your work?’

  ‘No, sir. Not at all. I mean, not intentionally. But they came to support me. They see me as, er, a kind of hero, sir.’ A lot of people did. He’d have to discourage them in future, it only led to trouble. ‘When they heard I’d been proscribed, they offered to rise up against Rome! I’ve not done anything to encourage revolt… look, sir, there’s an explanation.’

  ‘I’d be fascinated to hear it,’ Lucius Aninius replied drily. ‘You seem to have tipped this tribe over into open rebellion, which is exactly what we’ve been working to avoid. The Carvetti of all tribes! Very well, you are under arrest but we won’t be taking you into custody as yet. Now let us go and discuss your message in this… lady’s… longhouse.’

  ‘What did he say?’ Drustica had not followed the exchange, which had been in the purest Latin. Flaminius explained as briefly and succinctly as he could. She nodded starkly. ‘I’ll call for some of my warriors to ensure he keeps his word.’

  ‘He will, I’m sure,’ Flaminius reassured her in her own tongue. ‘Please tell your people to pull back. We don’t want a misunderstanding.’

  ‘Very well.’ Drustica went to speak to the warriors. Flaminius turned and gestured to the legate and his men to join him in the longhouse.

  Drustica swept in after them. She stood rigidly to attention before the legate.

  ‘At ease,’ said Lucius Aninius crisply. He turned to Flaminius with a raised eyebrow. ‘Won’t you introduce me?’

  ‘Oh, this is Drustica, a chieftainess and warrior woman of the Carvettian people,’ Flaminius replied. ‘Drustica, this is Senator Lucius Aninius Sextius Florentinus, legate of the Ninth (Spanish) Legion.’

  Lucius Aninius saluted in turn, with all the respect due an empress. Drustica eyed him a while, then gave him a perfect legionary’s salute.

  ‘I feel hope,’ she murmured in an aside to Flaminius.

  ‘What did she say?’ the legate demanded.

  ‘I, er, think she likes you!’ Flaminius explained.

  Lucius Aninius smiled in his beard. ‘You mean she’s prepared to trust me for the moment.’

  ‘Please be seated,’ Flaminius said as Drustica produced a wooden stool from the corner of the longhouse. She herself squatted by the fire. The legate sat on the stool, looking slightly ridiculous in his burnished armour. His men looked on, straight faced. Flaminius remained standing, ill at ease but optimistic.

  ‘You will be glad to hear that the provincial governor’s concubine Medea is safe and well,’ Lucius Aninius told him, ‘although a little the worse for wear after her adventures. She got to Eboracum a few days before the Carvettian messengers reached me. The Greek eye doctor Aristarchus brought her in. She told me how you escaped Caledonia.’

  ‘I know what the Caledonians are planning,’ Flaminius said hurriedly, ‘and what Falco plots…’

  ‘Falco has ordered that you be killed on sight if you do not go to him quietly,’ Lucius Aninius informed him.

  Flaminius felt rage take over. ‘I’m a Roman citizen! I’m entitled to judgement in a court of law! Would you kill me without a trial?’

  The legate stroked his beard. ‘The law says that if a citizen is proscribed he no longer has the privileges of citizenship. And the provincial governor—representative of the emperor in these islands—has indeed had you proscribed, tribune. He says that you endangered his mission to the Caledonians with your plotting, that you threatened to kill him, and abducted him and the concubine. Unless you agree to return to him and face summary justice, I should have you killed.’

  ‘What exactly are the charges?’ Flaminius asked bitterly.

  ‘Treason to start with,’ Lucius Aninius replied, and he began listing them on his fingers. ‘Desertion, kidnapping, horse-theft, mutiny… the list goes on! Since then you’ve added several other, including inciting a people under Roman jurisdiction to rebellion. And right now you’re resisting arrest. You have a lot to answer for, tribune.’

  ‘The provincial governor is a traitor!’

  ‘You know that’s a very serious charge,’ Lucius Aninius told him gravely. ‘I hope you can substantiate it.’ He said this as if he truly meant it. ‘But why did you not go straight to Eboracum with the concubine? Why go to ground with your barbarian friends here? No disrespect,’ he added, flashing Drustica a charming smile.

  She growled at him and gripped her sword hilt. Flaminius shook his head, gesturing warningly at the guards, and continued speaking to the legate.

  ‘If I’d strolled into the camp with a price on my head, what would have happened? I’d have been killed or sent back to Falco! I tell you, he’s a traitor. A traitor to Rome. A traitor to his emperor.’

  ‘Go on,’ said the legate cautiously.

  Flaminius explained what had happened. All the time he was speaking, he kept his gaze on the legate. Should Lucius Aninius show any signs of being part of Falco’s conspiracy, Drustica could cut him down. The guards would attack, but then the Carvettians would burst in… He hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

  At last Flaminius fell silent. The guards looked horrified. Lucius Aninius was saddened if not shocked.

  ‘And you can prove this?’ he said.

  Flaminius sighed. ‘No,’ he said, knowing how inadequate it sounded. ‘You’ll just have to trust me.’

  He was bargaining from a position of strength provided by the support of Drustica and her people. But how could he expect the legate to accept what he said simply on his say-so?

  ‘I don’t trust you,’ Lucius Aninius said frankly. ‘I hardly even know you. A junior officer, an equestrian in rank…’ But even as Flaminius stirred uncomfortably and Drustica looked angrily from one to another, the legate added, ‘I do know Centurion Julius Probus, however, and I know he trusts you. I trust him—and what’s more, I do not trust Falco.’

  Hope blossomed again. ‘You’re willing to believe my story?’

  The legate nodded. ‘Unfortunately, Falco is my superior,’ he added, ‘so I cannot have his orde
r rescinded. By now your name and description will have been passed on to all the garrisons halfway between here and Rome. There’s nothing I can do about it. And I am in no position to abandon my duties here with my legion and go gallivanting off to warn the emperor about a supposed assassination attempt. As you said yourself, the conspiracy exists at the highest levels, and we can trust no one.

  ‘What I am able to do is to give you a pass that will ensure you receive fresh horses at every waystation between here and Rome. The lance-head brooch that marks you as an official member of the Commissary will speed you on your way. At waystations you’ll be given all the aid that would be given to an imperial courier.

  ‘You’re on your own, Tribune Flaminius. But I will do everything in my power to ensure you reach Rome and bring your warnings to the Emperor Hadrian. And for Rome’s sake let us hope you are not too late!’

  He saluted Flaminius solemnly.

  ‘What did the Roman say?’ demanded Drustica, who had been unable to follow most of the conversation. ‘Will he help us?’

  Flaminius turned to her, feeling tears prickle in his eyes. ‘He’ll do what he can to make sure I get to Rome and warn the emperor. But what’s this about “us”?’

  ‘You won’t give me the slip, Roman!’ Drustica growled defiantly. ‘I shall accompany you!’

  —15—

  Rutupiae, Roman province of Britain

  A couple of days later four mounted travellers rode into the courtyard of a waystation in Rutupiae[20]. Flaminius, Drustica, and two warrior companions had hit the Rutupiae road south east of Mamucium[21], somewhere in Cornavii country, and then it had led them south east, straight through Londinium—they left the road at this point and skirted round the provincial capital—through Cantium and to Rutupiae itself, which was one of the main British ports for the continent.

  Drustica had left the guardianship of her people in the hands of her fellow warriors. The Selgovae were beginning to raid across the border again despite the efforts of the auxiliaries stationed at Trimontium, so it was a bad time to leave her territorial lands, but she thought Flaminius’ cause of vital importance. She had brought with her two warriors of her own household troop, Acco, a hefty, middle aged warrior with fantastically curled moustaches and a deft way with a spear, and Teutorix, an agile, handsome youth whose main skills lay in use of the sling.

  Here at Rutupiae, at the mouth of a river, the Romans had gained their first successful toehold in the island, when the Emperor Claudius had made a single hasty visit to the country, accepted submission from a few tribes in the south east, proclaimed a triumph, and hurried back to Rome, leaving the real job of pacification in the hands of a series of overworked provincial governors. The town remained an important place, dominated by a huge triumphal arch set up by Governor Agricola after his victory over the Caledonians, although the fortified depot that also scowled over the civilian town now had a much reduced garrison. Several temples and an amphitheatre were also evident as the four of them rode in, but the new waystation was rapidly becoming the centre of town.

  Grooms scurried forwards as they reined their horses in the courtyard. Dismounting, Flaminius wordlessly showed them the lance-head brooch and flung them his reins.

  ‘When is the next boat to Gaul?’ he demanded as Drustica and the two Carvettian warriors got down stiffly to join him. One groom told them that the boat would leave on the turn of the evening tide. Flaminius nodded at Drustica. ‘Now for some rest.’

  Saddle-sore, the four fugitives limped their way over to the main building. Here again Flaminius brusquely showed his lance-head brooch to the attendant, who accepted it gravely, although he looked a little askance at the British warriors accompanying him, and hastily showed them all to a private booth.

  ‘May I recommend the oysters in egg sauce?’ the attendant suggested. ‘Freshly gathered oysters.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Flaminius, eager to see the back of him. ‘And a small amphora of wine.’ The attendant gave a curt nod and left.

  ‘I’m glad that he’s gone,’ Flaminius began, turning to Drustica, but as he did so the warrior woman nodded her head warningly. A man sat in the corner of the booth, sipping a goblet of wine and staring at the outlandish newcomers who had invaded his space. Flaminius rose to find another place for them all to sit.

  ‘No, please don’t get up on my account.’ With these words, the man leaned forward into the light. Flaminius saw that he had a thick black beard and beady, piggy eyes. ‘The place is packed with people waiting for the next boat to Gaul. There’s a lot of worry about the rising in the North. You won’t find a free booth elsewhere.’

  His gaze settled on Flaminius’ lance-head brooch and his eyes widened a little, then he glanced enquiringly at Drustica and the two Carvettian warriors. When Flaminius made no attempt at an explanation, the man took another swig of wine.

  ‘My name’s Marcus Placidus.’ He introduced himself in a deep, grating voice. ‘I’m an imperial courier. I can see you’re in the Commissary, friend. But who are your provincial friends? Who’s the lady? Looks like some kind of barbarian Amazon, if you don’t mind me saying.’

  Drustica bared her teeth at him, while Acco and Teutorix growled low in their throats like angry hounds. Flaminius laid a hand on her wrist and shot the other two warning glances. Drustica turned to him. ‘What is he saying about me?’ she complained. ‘What is an Amazon?’

  ‘A warrior woman from the old Greek stories,’ Flaminius said hurriedly, not wanting to go into detail. ‘It’s a compliment, really.’ He wished his companions could have ignored the man. Now he’d have no option other than to talk to him.

  Knowing that his description had been bruited about everywhere between here and Rome made Flaminius feel distinctly unsociable. If only the boat was leaving earlier! He considered marching aboard, showing them his lance-head brooch, and demanding they leave at once—but of course, they were waiting for the tide to turn. He couldn’t fight the tide.

  ‘You’re all from up north?’ Marcus Placidus persisted. ‘How are things up there? All we hear about is raids and skirmishes. They say the provincial governor himself has gone to talk with the Caledonians, who they reckon are at the back of it all…’ He looked at Drustica and the two warriors again. ‘The lady and the two gentlemen look like they might be Caledonians…’

  Flaminius gripped Drustica’s wrist before she could react. ‘My three friends are peregrines, Marcus Placidus, members of a people loyal to the empire,’ he said coldly. ‘They have all fought against the Caledonians and their subject tribes. They are no barbarians.’

  Marcus Placidus made a conciliatory gesture. Drustica showed no signs of backing down, while Acco and Teutorix were still glowering at the Roman. Things looked like they were going to turn ugly when the attendant entered with a tray piled with two bowls of oysters in egg sauce, and a fresh amphora of wine in a copper stand.

  ‘Charge it to the Commissary account,’ Flaminius said, then fell to his meal with a will. His Carvettian companions joined him. They seldom turned down food, having known famine too many times in their lives.

  ‘I’m glad to see that some Britons remain loyal,’ the irrepressible Marcus Placidus went on, apparently not noticing the hostile atmosphere. ‘The messages I’ve taken back and forth suggest the whole island is up in arms.’

  ‘My people is loyal to Rome,’ Drustica insisted, after pausing and dabbing at her lips. Acco and Teutorix nodded furiously. She took a swig of wine. ‘Particularly to Tribune Fla…’

  ‘So what rumours have you heard recently?’ Flaminius interrupted. ‘Is it war with the Caledonians yet?’

  Marcus Placidus tore his attention from the three peregrines and turned to look at him. Slowly he shook his head.

  ‘Not yet, but I hear that the Ninth Legion have had to lock themselves into Agricola’s old fortress. Things are turning ugly up there. That was why I wondered if you had anything to add.’

  Flaminius shook his head. Things had clearly got
a lot worse since his hasty departure. He hoped that Probus hadn’t suffered, that it hadn’t been their plots that had sparked off hostilities with the Caledonians.

  Turning his attention to his meal again, he remembered that he had eaten oysters before setting out on that fateful patrol where he had first met Drustica. Perhaps they were some kind of druidic omen. After all, they had been British oysters on both occasions.

  Drustica and her two warriors sat there, eating and drinking in silence. Marcus Placidus returned his own attention to his wine. Flaminius began to relax. His muscles ached from all this hard riding.

  ‘Myself, I hope it will be war,’ Marcus Placidus added breezily. Flaminius tensed again. He wished the man would take the hint and shut up. ‘Britain has been a dull place since I was first posted here!’

  ‘I’ve seen enough fighting in the North,’ Flaminius told him levelly. He wasn’t in the mood for chitchat.

  He sipped moodily at his wine, and toyed with his oysters. It occurred to him that hitting the road with a barbarian warrior woman and her warrior retainers—whose table manners were hardly what you’d expect in Roman society—might not have been the best way to melt into the background. Several times during their journey through the placid lowlands of the province, his Carvettian companions had attracted unwelcome attention. It seemed that the Britons of the South were far too Romanised to accept the notion of a woman with a sword, accompanied by two tattooed warriors.

  It wasn’t so many years since Boudicca, queen of the Iceni, had led her hordes across those fertile fields, setting alight Roman towns and piling up severed heads. A generation or more had passed since those days, although the people of the cities had not yet forgotten. All the same, it had been long enough for Roman life to begin to flourish in the South. After so long in the northern wilds, Flaminius felt uncomfortable among these toga wearing semi-barbarians with all their absurd airs and graces and fashions that hadn’t been seen in Rome since Flaminius was a boy. And it wasn’t long before they would be travelling even further south, through Gaul, over the Alps, into Italy itself.