On Hadrian's Secret Service

by Gavin Chappell

  ‘Your imperial majesty,’ said Ursus Servianus, ‘on behalf of the senate, may I suggest that the coming banquet should be one that honours these heroic saviours of the empire?’ He called for slaves. ‘Take these people away and prepare them for the coming feast!’

  Flaminius and Drustica were hurried away.

  They were taken to a tastefully furnished suite of rooms, where slaves cleaned them and exchanged their stained clothes for fresh new ones; for Flaminius a woollen toga with the narrow purple stripe that showed his equestrian rank, and for Drustica a long russet stola like that worn by the most high class of Roman women. She was delighted.

  ‘The emperor is pleased with us,’ she commented, twirling on the spot as she admired the gown.

  Flaminius sat on a couch, his mind numb. Everything seemed to have happened so quickly. Everything he had worked for had reached fruition, but at the cost of the lives of two of his comrades. What would come next? He wondered what would happen to Falco. To Probus. To Rufinus Crassus.

  An hour later, they were escorted by an honour guard of Praetorians, but not to the banquet, which they discovered had been cancelled suddenly. Hadrian looked up from his desk as Flaminius was led into his office.

  ‘Ah, the hero of the hour,’ he said, but his face was dark. ‘At the moment of your triumph, I’m afraid we have received bad news.’

  ‘Bad news?’ Flaminius asked. ‘What can have happened?’

  ‘Fresh word has come from Britain,’ the emperor replied. ‘From Caledonia.’

  Flaminius frowned. ‘Britain? Senator Falco?’ Had the provincial governor learnt what had happened here so quickly? No, that was impossible. ‘What’s happened to him?’

  ‘Shortly after your departure, it would seem,’ the emperor said, ‘the situation in Caledonia worsened. It boiled over. There was a battle between Romans and Caledonians.’

  Flaminius laughed wildly. ‘No, no, that was staged,’ he said, ‘staged by Falco in collusion with the Caledonian chiefs. The plan was that when word came of your assassination, the legion would proclaim Falco emperor and march south to Rome.’

  ‘The Ninth Legion will be marching nowhere,’ Hadrian said darkly. ‘It has been utterly defeated, massacred. Only a few men survived. One of them was Falco.’

  In the ensuing silence, Flaminius swayed on his feet, shocked.

  ‘What of Probus?’ he said weakly.

  The emperor looked to the Praetorian prefect. ‘I believe a commissary centurion of that name was listed among the survivors,’ the prefect said.

  Hadrian smiled grimly. ‘A few cohorts survived, those that Falco left in their fortress at Eboracum. But the Ninth Legion is finished. It will be struck from the records, forgotten. The survivors will be stationed elsewhere. I shall send the Sixth Legion to Britain to replace it.’

  ‘And Falco?’ Flaminius asked. ‘He was part of the plot against you.’

  The emperor toyed with a stylus on his desk. ‘I’m willing to believe you, but the proof of this is sadly lacking. Until we have Rufinus Crassus’ testimony, we cannot level charges against Falco.’

  But the following morning, Rufinus Crassus was found dead in his cell.

  —18—

  Roman province of Britain

  Eboracum bustled with legionaries. The Sixth Legion had come from Hispania to replace or absorb the disgraced remnant of the Ninth. Lucius Aninius had already departed under a cloud, returning to Rome to learn his fate. The cohorts had moved into the red tiled barracks block, and legionaries of the Sixth Legion were strolling along the gravelled streets of the fortress, where men of the Ninth had previously walked. The fortifications were being strengthened, and the noise of hammers and the shout of labouring legionaries drifted down from the walls.

  The country had been up in arms between here and Caledonia, but the Sixth was here to restore order. A truce had already been agreed by Lucius Aninius and Catavolcos after the massacre of the Ninth up in Caledonia, but then the Sixth had arrived; it had been proclaimed that the Emperor Hadrian intended to draw a firm line between Caledonian territory and the empire, beginning north of Brigantia. Selgovia, so briefly regained, recently the scene of fierce fighting between auxiliaries and a force of Caledonians, was to be given up. So was the northern half of Drustica’s tribal lands.

  The border was to cross the land from side to side. It would have been better to have drawn it further north, where the land was at its narrowest between the two estuaries, but that would have been too close to the Caledonian kingdom. The emperor wanted enough of a buffer zone between empire and kingdom to deter further hostilities. And so several tribes loyal to Rome had been abandoned. Rumours were that soon the border would be more firmly fixed, that the emperor himself was to come to this remote northern province to oversee the proceedings. The stories grew and grew. Where they came from, who could say, from people in the know or the fertile imaginations of barracks room storytellers? There was always someone who knew someone who had heard it from someone who knew a senator or a senator’s slave…

  Flaminius strode down the lanes of the fortress, his boots crunching in the gravel as he walked. It was cold and grey after Italy’s sunlight; here the sun glowered down from cloudy skies. Beyond the walls, beyond the civilian settlement, empty moorland rolled towards the distant hills. After the tranquil parkland of the emperor’s villa and the bustling streets of Rome, it was strangely beautiful.

  The door to the legate’s headquarters stood open. The two legionaries on duty saluted as Flaminius approached.

  ‘I’m here to report to the legate of the Sixth Legion, to learn where I will be posted now the Ninth has been disbanded,’ he told them.

  They let him in without any fuss. He went inside cautiously to find the place had changed since last he’d been there.

  Gone were the hangings and the mosaics, gone was the peristyle garden within. All was bleak and Spartan and soldierly. As Flaminius approached the office, he saw the legate of the Sixth sitting at his desk, accompanied by a guest. From reports, he knew the legate was Senator Lucius Junius Victorinus Flavius Caelianus. To his surprise and discomfort the guest was someone he recognised. It was Quintus Sosius Falco, provincial governor of Britain.

  Flaminius had known that Falco had returned to Eboracum after his hair’s-breadth escape from Caledonia, but he’d assumed the man would be in Londinium now, awaiting his replacement and posting elsewhere. Due to Rufinus Crassus’ mysterious death, no evidence could be found sufficient to condemn the provincial governor to death, but it was likely that his next posting would be nothing to write home about.

  Quailing within, Flaminius saluted them both.

  ‘What’s this?’ Falco said, his lip curling. Junius Victorinus looked from the provincial governor to Flaminius, curious.

  ‘You’ve met?’ the legate asked, but Falco ignored him.

  ‘Tribune Gaius Flaminius Drusus , sir,’ Flaminius said formally. ‘I was ordered to report to the legate. My apologies. I did not know that you were in conference.’

  ‘Apologies, eh?’ said Falco. Arrogantly, without looking to the legate for permission, he indicated a seat. ‘Not at all. I remember you, don’t you worry. You made quite an impression, for a junior officer. Sit down, tribune.’ Falco turned back to the legate. ‘Continue.’

  ‘We’ve experience some problems with the Carvetti,’ Junius Victorinus told him. ‘They don’t seem to appreciate the military expediency that puts the border straight through their tribal lands….’

  Flaminius felt a pang, remembering his parting from Drustica on approaching the fortress. She felt she had to be with her people at such a time.

  ‘They feel abandoned by Rome?’ Falco inquired.

  ‘I spoke with their chiefs,’ Junius Victorinus replied. ‘Indeed they do feel betrayed! I explained that we have to draw the line in the sand somewhere, and their northern lands are no longer defensible. Selgovian chiefs were also present, those who had accepted Rome’s brief return under my predec
essor and had been ousted by a war band of Caledonians. They were also angry that they would be left to the northerners.’

  Flaminius remembered the Selgovian warriors he had known and gone hunting with. The moors, the heather, the mountains, the pine forests, the hill forts. The lowering skies, the sudden squalls. He had felt so alive in those days. They seemed so long ago now.

  ‘The Carvettians also said,’ Junius Victorinus added, ‘that the Caledonians would plunder their lands, levy tribute, then steal what was left. They said that war would rage, but the Caledonians, in their mountain fastnesses, would be invulnerable. That it would spell the end of their people. That they needed our protection. I explained that we would patrol beyond the border, that the tribes between the empire and Caledonian would be their own masters, and that we would do what we could to protect them…’

  Flaminius listened to his account of the discussion between the legate and the tribal chiefs, taking a close interest. Falco, however, was clearly bored by it. ‘Very interesting, but please get to the point, man.’

  ‘A report has been prepared,’ Junius Victorinus said, handing Falco a papyrus roll. The senator glanced through it.

  ‘A summary, legate,’ Falco urged.

  ‘Both the Selgovians and the Carvettians lay claim to the cattle of the area, for their own reasons; the Selgovians consider them to be common property, the Carvettians say that they were given their herds by the gods. Those Carvettians north of the border fear that their herds will be driven off by their traditional enemies the moment we withdraw. We have done what we can, but there seems to be no way of reaching a compromise. We shall continue to palaver, but it will take a long time. You see, Falco? We cannot leave them to their own devices, because the troubles will continue, giving the Caledonians an opportunity to drive a wedge, which will continue to threaten our borders. The only solution is that we take the border north. I suggest to this point’—he indicated the narrowest part of the island, between the two estuaries, just south of the Caledonian lands.

  ‘That is not possible,’ Falco told him. ‘As I have already explained, our beloved emperor has drawn the line of the border further south.’ Flaminius noticed the way his lips writhed when he mentioned Hadrian. ‘Besides, is it worth our while to trouble ourselves for such intractable, stiff necked…?’

  ‘From what I have seen, they are not fools. But the news of the Roman retreat has hit them hard. They know that Rome will protect them against the Caledonians, but they fear that if they are left outside the empire, they will not be protected. They’re afraid that with war raging between Rome and Caledonia they will be between hammer and anvil.’

  ‘There is no war between Rome and Caledonia,’ Falco stated coldly. ‘And there will never be any war. This border is what we want and it is what the Caledonians want. The wishes of piffling little hill tribes like the Carvettians and the Selgovians is irrelevant, frankly. What matters is that there should be peace along the borders.’

  ‘Whether or not there will be,’ Junius Victorinus said, ‘remains to be seen.’

  ‘I will mention your doubts,’ Falco assured him, ‘in my final report to the emperor.’

  ‘Good,’ said the legate. ‘Please tell his imperial majesty that we need more legions in Britain or it will soon be lost to the barbarians. The trouble between the Carvettians and Selgovians is only a symptom of the problem.’

  ‘I’ll pass on my opinion,’ Falco said, ‘but I’m afraid I am persona non grata since the massacre in the North.’ He looked haunted. ‘It is his imperial majesty’s decision where the line is drawn or where the border will lie, and I see no reason why the decision will be changed.’

  They both rose. ‘I shall be leaving for Londinium at first light tomorrow,’ Falco added. He glanced briefly, uncertainly, at Flaminius. Then his face set firm and marched out.

  ‘Tribune,’ said the legate, sitting down again. ‘May I help you?’

  Flaminius saluted and introduced himself. ‘I was sent back here to find out where I would be deployed now the Ninth is no more. I understand Commissary Centurion Julius Probus is still based in the fortress.’

  Victorinus nodded. ‘I believe I received a note of your coming. You’ve distinguished yourself in Rome, I hear. I’m sure you’ll find a posting worthy of your abilities, although right at the moment the Sixth Legion itself is oversubscribed—for a change.

  ‘Yes, Julius Probus is still here, although I understand he will soon be returning to Rome. You’ll find him in the Commissary barracks.’

  Flaminius saluted again and marched out. As he departed from the headquarters, he found Falco falling into step beside him. He felt uncomfortable, to say the least.

  ‘You’re going to your master, then?’ the senator said. They were heading towards the Commissary barracks. ‘Come along. We have much to discuss.’

  ‘Sir,’ said Flaminius.

  They took a turn around the fortress. Falco led Flaminius up onto the walls and they gazed out across the surrounding wilderness. The senator shivered. His toga flapped around him like an eagle’s wings. Without looking at the younger man, he said, ‘We meet again, it seems. I had not expected to see you here. So the emperor himself has revoked my proscription!’

  ‘Sir,’ said Flaminius. ‘What happened in Caledonia?’

  Falco scowled. ‘Things didn’t go too well. I had arranged it with the Caledonians that they would retreat at a given signal. We agreed that I would show a standard given to me by the druids, and that would be the signal. When it came down to it, however, it had gone missing, replaced by another one that the Caledonians did not acknowledge. There was no hope of restraining either side by the time this became clear. The Caledonians were blooded. I had made no preparations for a real battle. The cohorts were cut to pieces.

  ‘I escaped. So did your superior, Julius Probus. Very few others made it back to Eboracum. And now the Ninth Legion is no more.’ He looked at Flaminius. ‘Not that I told you any of this, you understand. No one will believe you.’

  ‘Thank you for explaining,’ Flaminius said, looking away.

  ‘So it was a mistake on either side. The Caledonians did not wish to enter battle with Rome, they just wanted their borders secured; much like us. But as it happens, what I had promised for them is now being arranged by our beloved emperor. The border will be clearly demarcated. I understand that the intention is to build a wall from sea to sea, would you believe. So, a happy ending for all involved.’

  ‘Except for the senator who tried to assassinate the Emperor Hadrian,’ Flaminius told him.

  ‘I hear he died in his cell,’ Falco replied. ‘A sudden distemper?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Flaminius. ‘Most mysterious.’

  ‘What are you suggesting?’ Falco laughed. ‘That I went down to Rome while in the middle of a battle with the Caledonians and killed Rufinus Crassus? I don’t suggest you go about town telling people that story. It might be the end to a brief if brilliant career.’

  Flaminius felt sick. Yes, it was true that Falco himself couldn’t have killed Crassus. Yes, it was true that he couldn’t prove that the senator had been implicated in the assassination attempt. It seemed that Falco had a charmed life. His status was so great that he seemed to be able to get away with leading an entire legion into a massacre. Of course, a mere equestrian like Flaminius wouldn’t be able to persuade the emperor that a man of such eminence could be involved. It wasn’t politic. It wasn’t done. And of course there wasn’t any proof. No real proof. It was his word against Falco’s.

  Even with his own new emperor-rescuing status, Flaminius couldn’t hope to prove the senator’s connection with a murder attempt hundreds of miles away.

  And yet Falco was responsible for one of the worst military disasters Rome had seen since the wars with Hannibal, and what was even more serious, he had been involved in a plot against the emperor. But because there was no proof—other than a junior officer relaying the word of a dead druid—and because the emperor had three
hundred senators to keep happy—that or potentially face another rising—the traitor would be exonerated. His career would not prosper, but that was hardly as severe a judgement as he deserved.

  ‘You’re impressed by my achievements?’ Flaminius asked.

  ‘Of course, young man,’ Falco said heartily. ‘You’ve done very well for a young chap, and one from such humble beginnings, by Jove, a mere equestrian. What’s more, you’ve done your bit to achieve what I wanted for Britain, a clear border that will result in lasting peace with the barbarians. And as regards a certain concubine… Well, boys will be boys.’

  ‘Peace!’ Flaminius said. ‘We’ve run away, just like we did in Mesopotamia! On every hand the empire is beginning to contract, to collapse. Where will it all end? And what about the Carvettians? What about the Selgovians? Are the Caledonians going to stay up there in their moors and their heather? They have nothing, the empire has everything. Just wait, they’ll find every excuse to raid the province…!’

  ‘Now just a minute, young man…’

  ‘They wiped out the Ninth Legion!’

  ‘Rome has more soldiers,’ Falco said with an airy gesture.

  ‘And they’ll do more than that,’ Flaminius added. ‘One of these days the Caledonians will sweep across Britain from north to south. Our peregrines will suffer their wrath! Walls? What will walls do to stop them? They can go round walls if they can’t climb them. They’re determined to drive us from this island…!’

  ‘That’s enough of that, lad,’ Falco said severely. ‘The emperor who you rescued from the assassin’s blade has made this decision, with which I happen to be in full agreement, whatever doubts I may entertain about him otherwise. Augustus was the first to draw lines on the map after losing legions and thus limit the empire’s expansion; his imperial majesty is following an established precedent. And King Brennos has already demonstrated his desire for peace by withdrawing all his warriors from the Selgovian lands. Tigernos the merchant remains in Eboracum to liaise with us in this matter.’