Under the Eagle

by Simon Scarrow

  ‘I think nothing of the sort. I just wondered if you had managed to get any more information out of her.’

  ‘Just what I said.’

  ‘And the man’s name? The one she said she had arranged to meet.’

  ‘Look here, Narcissus, I run my Legion, and if there are any problems to solve then I’ll sort them out. You’re a freedman, you don’t give orders to a legate. This isn’t Saturnalia, you know.’

  Narcissus gave him a curious smile. ‘It’s funny you should say that. But no matter . . . I want the man’s name.’

  Vespasian did not reply immediately. Much as he disliked Vitellius he was reluctant to give information that might lead an innocent man to his destruction. An innocent man now – but possibly a political rival later. Or an ally. Nothing was written in stone.

  ‘It would be best that you tell me now,’ Narcissus said quietly. ‘Before I get Polythemus to ask you.’

  ‘How dare you?’ Vespasian recoiled in shock. ‘You threaten me in my own tent? Why, man, I could call out for my guards now and have you, and your brute there, crucified just like that!’ He tried to snap his fingers with a crack but his damp hand made no sound.

  The failure of the gesture was not lost on Narcissus and he allowed himself a small smile of satisfaction before he continued in a more conciliatory tone.

  ‘I fear you misunderstand our relative worth in the eyes of the Emperor. Aristocrats with pretensions to political greatness are ten a sestertius. Some undoubtedly have considerable talents – you are such a one – but they are freaks within their own class. Generations of inbreeding have produced nothing more than idle, arrogant idiots. We – the Emperor – can replace you easily enough. I, on the other hand, am irreplaceable. How do you imagine a mere freedman has been able to rise to become the Emperor’s right-hand man? There is more intelligence, more cunning and more cruelty in my little finger than in your whole body. Remember that, Vespasian. Remember it before you even think to upbraid me.’

  Vespasian clamped his mouth shut to stop up the torrent of rage churning inside him. He gripped the edges of his chair tightly and swallowed.

  ‘Excellent.’ Narcissus nodded slowly. ‘It’s good that you’re smart enough to accept an unpalatable truth when it is presented to you. You will grow to understand the importance of that when you return to Rome. I’m glad I was right about you.’

  ‘And how were you right about me?’ Vespasian asked through clenched teeth.

  ‘Your brain rules your heart, and your pride knows its place. Now, be a good fellow and tell me the name of the man the slave girl was supposed to meet in your tent.’

  ‘Vitellius. She said it was Vitellius.’

  ‘Vitellius? Now that is very interesting, wouldn’t you say? A senior tribune engaged in a liaison with a slave girl in the legate’s command tent where, no doubt, some very sensitive documents were being stored. I find that very interesting. Not to mention suggestive. Don’t you?’

  Vespasian just stared coldly back.

  ‘Do you still have the letter?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You’re clear about what has to be done?’

  ‘Of course, but finding a wagon dumped in a bog a hundred years ago won’t be easy.’

  ‘Then you’d better get some good men for the job. Keep the numbers down – the less who know what’s going on, the better – and make sure they are discreet.’

  ‘I have a few men in mind.’

  ‘Fine. That chest has to be located and once you’ve got it, guard it with your life. When the Emperor arrives with the reinforcements the chest will be passed over to a special unit of the Praetorian Guard for shipment to Rome. And then you will forget that you ever knew about it. You and those men you choose to carry out the mission.’

  Narcissus pushed his cup away and rose to his feet. ‘Now, I’m afraid I must go. Thanks for your hospitality, Vespasian. And relax. I’m sure the Emperor will be deeply gratified when I report how co-operative you have been.’

  ‘Before you leave, tell me one thing.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Who is the imperial spy in my legion? I must know who I can trust once we arrive in Britain.’

  ‘Then he would lose his value to me.’

  ‘Like being able to report on me, for instance?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Then, at least tell me who the traitor is,’ Vespasian asked. ‘I need to know which direction to guard myself against.’

  Narcissus tried to look sympathetic. ‘I don’t know. I suspect, but I can’t be sure yet – I need further proof. If I say anything that causes you to treat the people around you differently then the other side’s spy will know we are closing in. Nothing must be done to alert suspicion. You speak to no-one about this matter. Not even your wife. Understand?’

  Vespasian nodded. ‘I understand that you’re putting me in danger.’

  ‘You’re a soldier. Get used to it.’

  With that, the imperial chief secretary turned his back on the legate and left the tent, summoning his bodyguard from the shadows with a waggle of a finger. Alone, Vespasian fumed with silent frustration. He had managed to get himself off the hook for the theft of the letter, for the moment. But he was no nearer finding a way out of the dark threads of intrigue that bound him so tightly.

  Outside, Narcissus paused. There was no sign that Vespasian had ordered them to be followed. He turned to his bodyguard.

  ‘Make sure that I’m not tailed. If I call out, come as quickly as you can.’

  He walked off quietly, and a few moments later the bodyguard followed, hugging the shadows and keeping a keen eye on his master. Narcissus walked down the line of tribunes’ tents, then paused outside an entrance flap. When he was sure he was unobserved, he entered hurriedly. Inside, the imperial spy was waiting for him, as had been arranged earlier in the day by secret messenger. He rose from his campaign seat to greet the imperial secretary.

  ‘Keeping well, sir?’

  Narcissus grasped the hand that was extended towards him and smiled. ‘Yes, Vitellius, very well. Now, we need a little talk about that scroll I told you about a few months ago. Moreover, I’m curious to know why you omitted to tell me about your arranging to be in the legate’s tent the night it was burgled.’

  Vitellius frowned. ‘But I wasn’t in the tent.’

  ‘That’s not what Vespasian says. He questioned some slave girl who said she had arranged to meet you in there.’

  ‘It’s not true. I swear it’s not true.’

  Narcissus watched him closely and then nodded in satisfaction at the response. ‘All right. I believe you . . . for the moment. But if it’s not true, then why would she say so? Or why would she be told to say so?’

  ‘Told? Who by?’

  ‘That, my dear Vitellius, is what you were sent here to find out.’

  Chapter Thirty-one

  ‘Cato! How on earth did you get in here?’

  ‘Brought a report from my centurion to headquarters, my lady. Somehow I lost my way trying to get out. And here I am.’

  Flavia laughed as she rose from the floor. She had been busy packing a campaign chest for her husband and the wooden flooring was covered in neat piles of tightly folded clothes. ‘You look awful. Rough night?’

  ‘Yes, my lady. I went into Gesoriacum.’

  ‘When will you youngsters learn? Still, I don’t suppose you’ve come here to explain yourself to me. So you might want to go and inspect progress on the nursery I’m having built for Titus.’

  ‘My lady?’

  ‘I’ve put Lavinia in charge of some household slaves to spruce up the nursery. She wanted a word with you. And I dare say you wouldn’t mind seeing her again,’ Flavia winked. ‘Now run along and let me get back to work. Go out that flap, it’s the third entrance on the left. Oh, and don’t let anyone catch you in here.’

  As Cato walked slowly the way Flavia had indicated, his mind raced. Desperate as he was to see Lavinia, there were still question
s in his mind about that night in the legate’s tent. He needed to know if she had said anything to anyone about him. Clearly Flavia knew he had been there, but who else? He paused at the entrance to the nursery.

  Cato steeled himself and stepped inside. The interior was cluttered with children’s toys and clothing. Squatting amongst the mess were several of Flavia’s household slaves, busily striving to make a comfortable place for a child to play. Sitting to one side, happily painting a farm animal on to a small screen, was Lavinia. She had not seen Cato enter and jumped when he softly called her name from a few feet away.

  ‘Now look what you’ve made me do.’ She laughed, pointing her brush at the screen. ‘There’s a tail on my cow’s head.’

  ‘Cow?’ Cato could have sworn it was a horse.

  Lavinia turned to face him. For a moment her expression was serious and his heart sank. Then she reached out for his hands and smiled.

  ‘I was worried about you, after I heard about that sentry.’

  ‘Why didn’t you come back?’

  ‘I couldn’t. When I got back to my quarters, my lady Flavia said she needed me, said Titus was ill. I couldn’t see anything wrong with him but she told me to stay with him while she went to find some medicine. By the time she got back everyone was shouting. I’m glad you got out before that nasty business with the guard happened. I can’t tell you how worried I’ve been. I felt really bad about leaving you alone in the tent. I’m sorry I did, truly I am.’

  Cato squeezed her hands. ‘It’s all right. I’m just glad you were safe. When that man came into the tent I was afraid you’d walk right into him when you came back. I think he’d have killed you.’

  ‘Other man?’

  ‘Yes, you didn’t think it was me who attacked that sentry?’

  ‘No . . . but who?’

  ‘I don’t know. When he discovered I was there he nearly did for me. I shouted for help and, when the sentry appeared, the man attacked him and vanished. I got out as quickly as I could.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘Anyway, I was so glad to see you safe when the wagons arrived at the camp.’

  ‘Were you glad? Really?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘That’s so sweet.’ She leaned forward and kissed him on the mouth. ‘You do care for me, don’t you?’

  He said nothing and kissed her back, for longer this time, his heart pounding against the warm softness pressed against his chest. When their lips parted he looked into her eyes, feeling cheap for what he was about to ask.

  ‘Has the sentry identified anyone yet?’

  ‘He’s dead. He died back in Durocortorum. My mistress only had word of it this morning. He never spoke a work – so you’re safe.’

  ‘Does anyone, apart from Flavia, know that I was there that night?’

  ‘No. But the legate knows I was there. He found my hair ribbon.’

  ‘What did you say to him?’ Cato felt a finger of ice trace its way down his spine.

  ‘I told him I was going to meet someone else there and that when he didn’t show up I went to bed. That’s all I told him. I swear.’

  ‘I believe you. Who did you say you were going to meet?’

  ‘Tribune Vitellius.’

  ‘Why him?’ Cato felt uneasy about Vitellius being fitted up in this manner. A vision came to mind of the tribune issuing orders in the flames of the German village. It would be a low thing to do to cast suspicion on him.

  ‘Because my mistress told me to say so. Apparently her husband doesn’t like him, and thinks there’s something suspicious about him. He seemed the natural choice, she said.’

  ‘It doesn’t seem quite right.’ Cato started to protest but Lavinia pulled him close and kissed him again.

  ‘Hush! It doesn’t matter. As long as no-one suspects you. That’s all that matters to me. Now then,’ she continued, pulling him to a screened-off area of the tent that was to be used as a changing area, ‘we haven’t much time and there’s a lot we have to catch up on.’

  ‘Wait. What do you mean, we haven’t much time?’

  ‘My mistress is returning to Rome soon. She’s taking me with her.’

  Cato felt sick.

  ‘I’ll try and wait for you in Rome,’ she said gently.

  ‘I might never return. And even if I do, it might be years from now.’

  ‘It might be . . . It might not. Either way there’s not much we can do about it right now.’ Lavinia gently took his hand. ‘We haven’t got long, so come with me.’

  ‘What about them?’ Cato nodded at the other slaves.

  ‘They won’t mind us.’

  She pulled Cato through a pair of curtains into Titus’s sleeping chamber and drew the curtains behind them. A soft pile of folded materials had been neatly arranged over the floorboards, and Lavinia gently pushed Cato down on to his back. As he lay still, heart pounding, his eyes travelled down her body to where her hands were lifting the hem of her tunic.

  ‘Now then,’ said Lavinia, ‘where were we?’

  Chapter Thirty-two

  A few days later, the cohorts of the three mutinous legions were gathered in the turf amphitheatre that had been built outside the camp. They were guests of Plautius and Narcissus, who had paid for a day’s gladiatorial entertainment in the name of the Emperor, and sat with Vespasian and other senior officers in the comfort of the box. Throughout the morning and into the afternoon a lavish display of beasts and men shed their blood on the sand in the arena. The men’s enjoyment had been lubricated by a generous issue of wine and a cheerfully boisterous mood filled the amphitheatre as the spectacle drew to a close.

  Down on the sand, the last gladiatorial fight reached its inevitable conclusion. As usual, the Retarius had had the best of it and now stood over his victim, trident poised at the throat of the heavily armoured Mirmillo helplessly enmeshed in his net. The Retarius looked towards the audience for a decision. Against the odds, the Mirmillo had put on a decent show and all around the arena thumbs were raised to have him spared. After the briefest hesitation, Narcissus turned his thumb down. The men instantly roared out their disapproval and surged towards the box where the senior officers were sitting. Right on cue, Plautius jumped to his feet and raised his arm high for all to see, thumb up. The howls of outrage abruptly turned into cheers of approval and the crowd turned back to the arena where Narcissus was alarmed to see the Retarius already taking a bow. The fool! If the legionaries got the slightest inkling the thing had been set up . . . but far too much wine had flowed and all but the sharpest minds were dulled to the elaborate performance that was being enacted before them.

  Narcissus suddenly rose to his feet and, without any warning, jumped over the edge of the box. Making his way to the centre of the arena, he raised his hands for silence.

  The legionaries had not been expecting this and quickly fell silent, waiting with curious expectation, still in high spirits. A few were whispering, but were hushed by their comrades as Narcissus waited for absolute quiet.

  When all was still Narcissus raised his arm in a dramatic gesture.

  ‘My friends! Romans! Legionaries! Hear me!’ he called out in a deep rolling voice. ‘You all know me. I am the Emperor’s secretary and, while I do not speak in Claudius’s place and am only a freedman, I count myself as being as Roman as any of you.’

  A small murmur of disapproval rippled through the audience as Narcissus blatantly assumed the mantle of Rome and ignored the sensitive distinction between Roman citizen and mere freedman.

  ‘I say again, my heart is as Roman as any man’s here!’ At this, he ripped his tunic open and bared his thin white chest to the audience. A few could not help but titter at the sight. ‘And because I am Roman in all but name I come here to say to you that I, Narcissus, am sickened by what I see. That men who I count as fellow Romans should rise in mutiny against the heroic generals of Rome, who you are privileged to serve and to whom you should be honoured to lay down your lives for, chills my blood to ice! That a great ma
n, from one of our greatest families – Aulus Plautius!’ Narcissus thrust his hand out towards the general. ‘That he should suffer the shame and ignominy of your treacherous mutiny makes me weep!’

  Narcissus half turned and buried his face in a fold of his tunic while huge sobs wracked his body. Some of the men were laughing openly now at the freedman’s histrionics.

  Narcissus took a deep breath and swooped round to face his audience, tears streaming down his face. ‘COWARDS! Ungrateful cowards who dare call yourselves Romans! If you shall not follow the brave and honoured Plautius then lend your arms to a man who will! I shall invade Britain! Alone, if I must. So lend me your arms!’

  The imperial secretary held out his hands imploring the audience to give him their weapons.

  ‘All right, you old bastard, have this!’ A legionary stood and tossed his sword at Narcissus, who ducked back in alarm. Then all at once others followed suit and swords and daggers rained down on to the arena, as Narcissus dived backwards for his own safety, accidentally stepping on the hem of his torn tunic and rolling over backwards. The legionaries roared with laughter.

  Vespasian smiled and then forced himself not to laugh as the imperial secretary went down again. His face burning with embarrassment and anger, Narcissus jumped to his feet and snatched up one of the swords.

  ‘Laugh at me? You dare to laugh at me? I’m the one who’s prepared to fight. I’m not sitting on my fat arse doing nothing. I’m the only one here worthy to carry the sword and glorious eagles against the barbarian hordes!’

  Some of the men were crying with laughter at the ludicrous spectacle, and Narcissus rushed to the front of the stage and swung his sword at them, totally misjudging the swing. He spun round and the sword dug into the sand at his feet. Panting, he struggled to regain his wind.

  ‘Weak, am I, from a lifetime serving Rome, and yet I would do what you are afraid to, and you call yourselves Romans! Why should I beg you to go back to your officers? Why should I even ask? No – I order you to end this mutiny. I command it!’