Slaves of Fear: A Land Unconquered

by James Mace

  “Oh, I’m going to stay and watch for a bit. Sometimes Janne will declare for one of the aggrieved parties. Or, he’ll make them settle the matter by combat. Those are always fun to watch. Afterwards, I need to go check up on our poor magistrate. He’ll be anxious to conclude his business with Janne and be on his way back to civilization. Although, he may not relish the thought of another weeks-long journey by sea.”

  Magnus took his leave and walked over to where Ana waited for him with the door held open. He found himself grinning inanely, and he gave a short bow as he followed her outside.

  “Many thanks, my lady,” he said, feeling awkward. He wasn’t sure she understood Latin.

  “It is a pleasure to meet you, at last,” she replied.

  Magnus smiled broadly in appreciation. Not only did she speak his language, her accent was far less pronounced than his cousin’s.

  “I assume you are… a friend of my sister’s?” Magnus stated, half-questioningly. “Is it she who taught you to speak the Roman tongue?”

  “Mostly, though I learned some rather colourful phrases from Valens.”

  Magnus laughed out loud. “That does not surprise me. I have known Tiberius Valens for over thirty years.”

  He apprised Ana as they walked down the snow-packed hillside away from the great hall. She was quite a bit younger than he, perhaps in her mid-thirties. He surmised she must be married, most likely to a great warrior.

  “There is something you wish to know about me?” she asked, as they reached the large kraal where cattle and sheep were penned.

  Magnus thought subtlety would be best. “I heard Janne say you are a copper smith. Does your husband share this profession?”

  “He did,” she replied. Her eyes suddenly filled with sadness. “He was a great warrior.”

  “Was?”

  Ana dipped her head. “He departed this life for Valhalla four years ago this summer. We have been in a constant state of war with a neighbouring kingdom to the west, for as long as any of us can remember. My husband was killed during a raid. His ship was smashed against the rocks. He made it ashore but was slain soon after.” She paused and smiled sadly. “It would seem we have both suffered the same loss.”

  It was Magnus’ turn for suppressed sorrows to surface. “Svetlana told you?”

  “Valens, actually. He said your woman was very brave, and that she now sits beside Mars, your god of war.”

  “Our women do not become soldiers,” Magnus explained. “But, Achillia was not your typical Roman lady. I am indeed sorry for both our losses. Did your husband leave you with any children?”

  “No.” Ana shook her head. “I had hoped to give him strong sons, but Freya denied us her blessing.”

  “Again, I am sorry.”

  Magnus felt more than a little uncomfortable; however, Ana simply smiled and nodded in acceptance. They continued to walk in silence. Magnus was uncertain where she was taking him. They came to a forest of evergreen trees with snow and frost clinging to the branches. Magnus wrapped his traveling cloak around him, pulling the hood up. He exhaled audibly, his breath misting. Ana looked to him, eyebrow raised. Whatever his ancestry, he was clearly not used to the cold of these lands in winter.

  After some time of walking through the trees, they came to a small, open meadow. Magnus thought he heard the sound of rushing water. The ankle deep snow continued to crunch beneath their feet as they reached the edge overlooking a massive cliff. A gently flowing river wound its way nearly a hundred feet below. But it was the view across the deep valley he found truly breath-taking. The steep mountainside dominated the landscape. In the very centre was a massive waterfall. Magnus guessed it to be at least thirty feet wide. Torrents of water pummelled the numerous outcroppings of jagged rock before plunging into the swirling pool below.

  “Have you ever seen anything like this?” Ana asked.

  Magnus shook his head, his eyes wide in awe. “Never, and I have been from one end of the Roman Empire to the other.”

  They stood there for some time, the cold temporarily forgotten. Little was spoken, and Magnus could not recall how long they remained watching the majestic display. All he knew is that his mind cleared. For the first time in years, he found himself at peace.

  Chapter XII: Consort to the Empire

  Rome

  December 48 A.D.

  Julia Agrippina

  The army of Ostorius Scapula remained encamped along the River Dyfi, while Centurion Magnus Flavianus, in his ancestral homeland, was being regaled by stories of the downfall of Empress Messalina. Within the Eternal City, there was talk of her potential successor. In order to help the emperor deal with his constant loneliness, Narcissus compelled him to seek out a dear friend. The retired prostitute, Calpurnia, was a surprisingly wise and well-educated woman. She and Claudius shared his bed during the years between his divorce from Aelia and his marriage to Messalina. Far more than simply one to help satisfy his physical needs, she had become a dear and close friend. Her former profession made any thought of her becoming his wife and consort absurd. This suited Narcissus just fine. And yet, there were growing concerns in the senate that a consort was what the emperor needed.

  Narcissus at first protested, stating it had only been a few months since Messalina’s execution. It would not be prudent to rush the emperor into another marriage. Besides, Claudius had a healthy son in Britannicus. Though only a boy of eight, there would be no issue regarding the imperial succession, providing his father lived long enough for him to reach manhood. There simply wasn’t a need for Rome to have another empress consort. Much to Narcissus’ dismay, however, Claudius agreed to hear the concerns of the consuls and his inner circle of advisors. The freedman therefore knew he needed to come up with his own viable candidate should the emperor concede to their requests.

  “My friends, welcome,” Claudius said, rising from his dining couch.

  Rather than a formal meeting in the senate house or imperial court, he invited the consuls to join him on a large veranda overlooking one of the many gardens. The men took to their couches.

  Consul Lucius Vitellius decided to get straight to the point. “As you know, Caesar, all of Rome was outraged regarding Messalina’s betrayal,” he began, while servants filled their wine cups and brought trays of assorted delicacies. “The people’s love for you is absolute, and every last heart in the empire broke for you. The senate sympathises with your wish to not marry again.”

  “Indeed,” the emperor replied. “I told Centurion Cornelius, if I ever married again, h…he was to run me through with his sword.”

  The other consul, Messalla Gallus, responded, “A noble but selfish gesture, Caesar.”

  This remark caused shocked expressions. Narcissus nearly choked on his wine.

  Before Claudius could rebuke the consul for his cheek, his other closest advisor, Pallas, quickly spoke up. “He’s right, Caesar, even if his tone was rather callous. An emperor needs a consort.”

  “But why?” Claudius asked, choosing to ignore Messalla’s rudeness. “My U…Uncle Tiberius never remarried.”

  “Yes, and look how well that worked for him,” Pallas responded, with a candour only he and a few others dared exercise.

  Narcissus then entered the conversation. “Tiberius was an able ruler, yet so unpopular that the people rejoiced in his death. I doubt any empress could have helped him achieve the public’s love.”

  “The purges following the downfall of Sejanus did not help matters,” Claudius muttered, recalling the hideous slaying of the disgraced prefects children, who had been Claudius’ niece and nephew through his second wife.

  “Which only makes our point,” Pallas stressed. “Think of what could have been prevented had Tiberius a capable consort, a Mother to the Empire. Why, the whole Sejanus treason may have been avoided! And the public’s natural disdain towards Tiberius may have been tempered with the right woman by his side. Even the divine Augustus had more than his share of flaws. It was Livia who helped him retai
n the people’s love.”

  “You perpetuate the myth that while Augustus ruled the world, Livia ruled Augustus,” Narcissus remarked coolly.

  “Rubbish!”

  “No, it’s t…true, to some degree,” Claudius said, his voice calm and contemplative. “Remember, Livia was my grandmother. I was raised in the imperial household. I could be stricken blind and still know my way around the palace better than any. Livia was subtle but effective. She very rarely went too far, at which point Augustus would remind her that it was he who ruled the empire, not her. However, he also appreciated her candour and foresight. It was she who persuaded him to send my dear brother, Germanicus, to secure the Rhine frontier after that terrible disaster in Teutoburger Wald. Augustus wanted to send Posthumous Agrippa who, though my closest friend, would have likely gotten himself and another twenty thousand of our soldiers slain…” His voice trailed off. His mind wandered into the distant past. Such was often the case when his late brother was mentioned. Pallas sighed and rolled his eyes slightly, intent on getting the emperor back to the matter at hand.

  “Then you have made our argument for us, Caesar. Marriage for an emperor is less about the man and more about the empire. Rome expects her emperor to have a consort who will share the burden of his labours. And if I may be so bold, Messalina’s treachery aside, she was useless to both you and the empire. I’ll grant that she gave you an heir, but that was the only good to come from your marriage.”

  Claudius was deep in thought. His chin rested in his hand. “I’ll have to think on it.” He waved his hand, dismissing the consuls and his advisors.

  Only Narcissus lingered. Pallas gave him an inquisitive look. The two were friends, but as the emperor’s most trusted advisors, they often found themselves at odds. Pallas was clearly vexed, for he was denied the opportunity to put forth his candidate. The two consuls shared similar looks of agitation. They, too, vetted women they felt would make a suitable consort.

  “Something on your mind, old friend?” the emperor asked, once the others had left. With a tired smile, he rose from his couch.

  Narcissus was one of the few people he trusted explicitly. Furthermore, he valued the Greek freedman as a friend. He sometimes wished Narcissus would, just once, call him ‘Claudius’. As a former slave, and a Greek one at that, such a breach of decorum was something Narcissus could never begin to fathom.

  “While I sympathize with my colleagues’ intentions, Caesar, I am ever cautious about you rushing into another marriage. The consuls are noble men, and Pallas is my friend; however, each is likely to recommend a potential consort that will allow them to achieve their own personal ambitions.”

  “And you won’t?” Claudius asked, his warm smile making the freedman feel more at ease.

  “I don’t need any more power or influence,” Narcissus replied earnestly. “You have given me more responsibility than one could ever hope for. You even took my recommendation when I suggested Flavius Vespasian be given command of a legion prior to the invasion of Britannia.”

  “Y…yes, and a sound choice he proved to be. I was told many times that he and his brother, Sabinus, practically won the war by themselves.”

  Despite recent news from Britannia that the province was still very unstable, especially with the return of the formidable Caratacus, Claudius refused to let anything spoil the legacy of his triumph.

  Narcissus was quick to guide the conversation back. “You demonstrated confidence in me when I recommended Vespasian. You trusted me when I told you of Messalina’s betrayal. I ask that you trust me now.” Claudius nodded.

  Narcissus gave a sigh of relief. “There is one who has always been devoted to you, whose loyalty and love would be beyond question.”

  “Aelia,” the emperor said, “Aelia Paetina.” They had been married twenty years before, and she was the mother of the emperor’s eldest daughter, Claudia Antonia. Claudius had been compelled to divorce her after just three years of marriage, following the downfall and execution of Aelia’s brother, the attempted usurper, Sejanus.

  “She would be a good mother to Octavia and Britannicus, just as she was to Antonia,” Narcissus urged. “Though Antonia now has a family of her own, think of what it would mean to see the union of her parents made whole once more.” He then added slyly, “And don’t tell me you don’t still harbour feelings for Aelia, even after all these years.”

  “Fondness, perhaps,” Claudius reasoned. “But it is difficult to maintain love after that many years apart. And b…besides, we both saw what a marriage of love did for me.” His face broke into a scowl.

  Narcissus feared he may have overstepped. “Well, if not for love, at least know she would be the perfect mother to your children, and to Rome.”

  “I will go see her,” the emperor replied slowly, bringing the conversation to a close.

  Far away in the Northlands, Magnus found himself spending most of his time in Ana’s company. He thought his sister would chastise him, since she had seen so little of her brother over the years. And yet, she encouraged them both. Magnus speculated it had been Svetlana’s intent the entire time to bring he and Ana together. Though possessing the natural strength and fortitude of her people, Ana bore little resemblance to Achillia. Magnus told himself it was better this way.

  There was also much time for reminiscing with his old squad mate turned brother-in-law, Tiberius Valens. The two had been friends for more than three decades. Given Valens’ rather sordid past, it did not surprise Magnus in the least to hear about his lascivious and unholy affair with Empress Messalina.

  “To be honest, that harlot was more terrifying than any barbarian I ever faced in battle,” Valens said. He swirled his wine cup gently, as he stared at the oil lamp on the table. His villa was furnished in the Roman style, which had cost him a substantial portion of his centurion’s pension.

  Magnus sat upright on his couch, his own cup held in his lap. “You know, I heard many rather unnerving stories about our late empress.”

  “Believe me, old friend, most of them are true. The tale of her working the brothels as a hobby, competing against a renowned prostitute and winning, all true. And, of course, her affair with Gaius Silius, whom they hoped would usurp our beloved emperor.”

  “Gaius Silius,” Magnus repeated, his brow scrunched in thought. “Wasn’t he our commanding general during the rebellion of Sacrovir and Florus?”

  “That was his father,” Valens corrected. “If he’s still alive, he’ll die of shame, knowing his son is the most disgraced traitor in a generation. And I don’t need to remind you that I’ve done some pretty fucked up things in my lifetime. But at worst, I was a playful man-whore. Not once did I ever deliberately hurt anyone. Messalina used her gifts, for lack of a better term, to try to murder the emperor…Believe me, she was pure evil.”

  “It’s not as if she’s the first.” Magnus shrugged. “Look at what Cleopatra did to the divine Julius, as well as the fallen hero, Marc Antony. In a way, she brought down the republic. Had she and Antony not tried to steal away Egypt, while personally insulting Octavian’s family, who knows if the civil war and the rise of the empire would have happened at all.”

  “Well, your sister has been a constant reminder that women are not necessarily the weaker sex,” Valens remarked, finding his perpetual good nature once more. “Oh, the beatings she gives me when I’ve been naughty!” He was now giggling, while trying to quaff his wine in a single gulp.

  “Thankfully, I have long since gotten over my sister being just as twisted as you.”

  “That’s a good thing, old boy,” Valens said with a loud belch, before tossing his cup to a nearby servant. “But tell me, what of you and Ana?”

  Magnus then smiled in a way neither Valens nor any of the old Norseman’s friends had seen in years. “I feel as if she brings out the best in me. Just being around her has been a soothing comfort. I admit, I will be sorry to leave her when I return to Britannia.”

  “Piss on that!” Valens scoffed. “Tak
e her with you.”

  “To Britannia?” Magnus asked incredulously.

  “Sure, why not? She seems to be rather smitten with you. There isn’t anything keeping her here. Honestly, if Svetlana had not fallen in love with this place, I would pack up and relocate someplace warmer, well within the empire’s borders. The Northlands are beautiful, but the winters are too bloody cold for my liking.”

  “I think I understand why my grandfather left all those years ago,” Magnus remarked. “It may have been nothing more than a change of scenery. He was a powerful warlord in these lands, yet he left to become an auxilia trooper in the Roman army. And as much as he talked about the ‘old country’, he never did return.”

  “Well, I certainly think Ana could deal with a ‘change of scenery’,” Valens persisted.

  “There’s still a war going on,” Magnus reminded him. “The lands of the Silures and Ordovices are savage and unforgiving. You remember how hard those bastards fought. Try fighting them on their ground with nothing but forests and rocky hills. I’d hate to take Ana to Britannia only to wind up dead a few months later.”

  “Just give it some thought. I know your time in the legions grows short, whether Caratacus guts you or you finally decide to take your damn pension and be done with it.”

  Valens decided to let the matter lie, and returned to their previous topic of conversation. “You know, with Messalina dead, I wonder how long until the emperor’s inner circle and leading members of the senate try compelling him to marry again.”

  “Yes, it will be interesting to see who the next consort to the empire will be.”

  “Make way! Stand aside for the emperor!”

  Claudius reclined in his covered litter, fidgeting nervously. In the near eight years since becoming Caesar, Claudius had never gotten used to being accompanied by a full century of praetorian guardsmen everywhere he went. He found forcibly making their way through the streets, using their shields to shove onlookers aside, rather undignified. He had spoken once to his praetorian prefect, Lucius Geta, yet the next week it took the imperial procession two hours to make the one-mile trek from the palace to the senate house at the Forum. Such was the emperor’s embarrassment at being so grievously late, he relented when Geta emphasized that shouts from his guardsmen alone were simply not enough to get the mob to make way. On this day, however, his nervousness had little to do with heavy-handed guardsmen.