More of the same emotional blackmail followed before the letter descended into a catalogue of complaint directed against the weather, the slaves, the worthy Granta and Cronus who were the only reason the estate remained in profit, the price of olive oil, which was down, and the price of cattle feed, which was up.
Valerius put the letter aside before he had finished reading it, knowing it would undoubtedly end with another plea for his return to Rome. But his mind dwelt on the contents. The old man’s ambitions were worrying enough, but what about the hints of high politics? Could Nero truly be considering abandoning Britain? It seemed impossible that such an enormous investment in gold and blood should be cast aside so lightly. No, it was not possible. He was here, in Colonia, the tangible proof that Britain was Rome. A city with an emperor’s name and a god emperor’s temple at its heart. And Seneca’s suggestion that Lucius should withdraw his nonexistent investments: how did that square with what he had heard about the huge stake the philosopher had in the province? No, his father must have misunderstood.
Later, Valerius dispatched Lunaris to deliver the swords and shields to the militia armoury. ‘Then you can take the shovels out to the second century on the Venta road. You should be back by nightfall. Get a good night’s sleep. We’re going hunting in the morning.’
Lunaris gave him an old soldier’s look. ‘Hunting?’
‘You said you were bored mending roads.’
‘That depends what we’ll be hunting.’
‘Boar, I think.’
The legionary brightened. ‘And we get to eat what we kill? Where?’
‘On the estate of Lucullus, the Briton who is augustalis of the Temple of Claudius.’
Lunaris frowned. ‘Are you sure it’s only boar you’re after?’
Now it was Valerius’s turn to look concerned. ‘Why? What have you heard?’
The big man shrugged. ‘Just tent talk. You were out there the other day, and the quaestor, Petronius, was sniffing around, asking questions.’
‘You should have speared the bastard. What kind of questions?’
‘The kind of thing you toffs are interested in. Who your father is. If you have any friends in high places. Ask Julius. I only got it from his clerk.’
‘Who’ll lose the skin off his back if I have anything to do with it.’
Lunaris hid his smile. He knew Valerius wasn’t the type of officer to have a soldier whipped. The young tribune was an easy man to like and they’d become as close as people of their very different classes could become on the slow journey back from Londinium. Valerius had tied his horse to the ox cart and they’d walked together for most of the way. For all his ancient bloodlines and high education the tribune was a country boy at heart. He had pointed out animals and sign of animals that Lunaris, who had been brought up in the festering backstreets in the valleys between the seven hills of Rome, would never have seen without his help. A sleek otter gliding along the depths of a river pool with silver bubbles streaming from its flanks, and shy fallow deer peering from the shadows of a roadside copse. An old dog fox that crossed the road just ahead of them with one of his cubs in its mouth. Lunaris, in his turn, had told of surviving by his wits among the child gangs of the Vicus Bellonae in the Subura, stealing apples by sleight of hand or drawing a baker’s attention while a fleet-footed accomplice lifted a loaf that would be shared later. By the time they arrived outside Colonia’s gates they had become friends, which allowed Lunaris a certain leeway when they were alone. But he was a legionary and Valerius was a legionary officer and there were limits that both understood.
‘I’d best be going if I’m to be back by dark, sir,’ he suggested.
Valerius waved him away and set off in the direction of the west gate. The goldsmith’s shop formed part of a villa fronting the main street, not far from Lucullus’s townhouse. It didn’t look much from the roadway, but looks could be deceptive. A villa like this might take up an entire city block, with a labyrinth of dozens of interconnecting rooms and courtyards behind the unimposing facade. More likely it was less grand — Corvinus didn’t strike him as a man who needed to parade his wealth — but certainly enough to show that the former armourer had invested his pension and his talents wisely. The thought brought Lucullus to mind, and from Lucullus, Petronius. No doubt he had his reasons for asking questions about a lowly visiting tribune, but the quaestor ’s interest had planted a seed of concern.
Corvinus awaited him inside the shop as they had arranged. ‘Your business in Londinium was concluded successfully, I hope,’ he said politely.
Valerius mentioned the brand-new swords and shields he had prised from the quartermaster in the city, and the goldsmith’s face lit up. ‘You wouldn’t have got away with that in my day, but, by Mars’s beard, I thank you for it. That’s a dozen rusty spikes that call themselves gladii I’ll never have to put an edge on again, and a dozen shields only fit for the practice ground I can replace.’
Valerius smiled. ‘Is the work complete?’ he asked, changing the subject.
‘It is,’ Corvinus said. ‘I have it here.’ He reached up into the top row of a many-drawered cabinet behind him and pulled out a leather bag, which he placed on the counter between them. ‘I hope it is to your satisfaction.’ He picked at the drawstrings of the bag and poured the contents into his hand. ‘I could have fashioned something finer — added a chain perhaps — but the time…’ he said apologetically.
‘No. It is exactly what I wanted.’
It was perfect. Hanging from a thin cord of soft leather was the tiny figure, worked in gold, of a charging boar, a replica of the insignia which decorated the shields of the Twentieth. The craftsmanship was astonishingly delicate and Valerius could barely believe it had been created by the massive, workman’s hands which held it. The pendant shone with a lustre that belied its size and was an object of incredible beauty. It had cost him a month’s pay and was worth every sestertius, because it would not look out of place at a queen’s throat. By tomorrow night, he hoped, it would be hanging at Maeve’s.
‘I congratulate you,’ Valerius said. ‘The workmanship is the finest I have ever seen. But how…’
Corvinus might have been insulted, but he only laughed. ‘Sometimes a man spends a lifetime battering swords on an anvil, but knows deep inside that he has the skill to create finer things.’
Valerius paid the agreed sum and Corvinus placed the necklace carefully back in its leather pouch. ‘Your lady is very fortunate. Tell her to bring it back here and I will fashion a chain for it. Free of charge. I have not forgotten your handsome new swords. But, of course, she will be in Rome?’
Valerius picked up the pouch, and smiled his goodbye. ‘No,’ he said. ‘She is not in Rome.’
When he was gone, Corvinus reflected on the tribune’s final words, and chewed his lip. Should he have said something? No, it was none of his business.
Lunaris didn’t suit the horse. And the horse didn’t suit Lunaris. It was Valerius’s spare mount; a Gaulish mare with handsome thoroughbred lines and a playful nature made more playful by the fact that she hadn’t been ridden for more than a week.
‘Don’t keep tugging on the reins. She has a delicate mouth,’ Valerius admonished him, wishing he’d put the duplicarius on a pack mule instead.
‘I’ve got a delicate backside. If I don’t keep tugging on the reins she’ll be in Brigante country, and you’ll be hunting on your own.’
‘I thought you said you could ride?’
‘I said I had ridden,’ Lunaris announced with dignity. ‘I didn’t say I’d ridden a horse this big.’
Valerius tried to imagine the legionary on anything smaller. ‘When was that?’
‘When I was six or seven. But there are some things you never forget.’
Valerius studied him again, hunched low over the mare’s ears as if he could control her by sheer force of will. ‘Yes, there are some things you never forget,’ he agreed.
‘We won’t be hunting on horseback?’ said Lun
aris worriedly.
‘I hope not.’
They arrived at Lucullus’s villa in the fine grey drizzle Valerius had come to realize was Britain’s standard morning welcome. Lunaris grunted with relief to see the hunting party waiting on foot, but Valerius suppressed a curse when he saw how they were dressed. A Roman officer’s dignity wouldn’t allow him to appear before his barbarian host in anything but full uniform, including his scarlet cloak. The dozen men awaiting them — he noted that they were all Britons — were dressed uniformly in clothing of brown and green: heavy cloth shirts and trews that would fend off the largest bramble, perfect for blending in with the landscape and thick with lanolin to keep out the rain.
‘At least we’ll be able to find each other,’ Lunaris muttered from his side.
‘Welcome, my friends.’ Lucullus emerged smiling from the house and Valerius was pleased to see he was accompanied by Cearan, the Iceni nobleman. He looked beyond the two men, searching for Maeve, but she was nowhere in sight. The Trinovante continued: ‘You have eaten, I hope? Good. We will not eat again until the eighth hour, but I have arranged to have food brought to us on the hunt. We are civilized people, you see.’
Valerius saw Cearan studying him with a sympathetic smile. He came close to the horse’s side and patted it on the flank. ‘A fine beast. From Gaul? Good for racing — and fighting — but not for hunting.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Like your uniform. If you and your comrade follow me indoors I believe I will be able to find you something more suitable.’
The two Romans glanced at each other and the handsome Celt recognized the look that passed between them.
‘Do not be concerned. Your fine weapons and armour will be safe under Lucullus’s roof. We are not all thieves, despite what your people seem to think.’
Valerius felt the heat of embarrassment on his face. ‘I’m sorry. We did not mean to give that impression. But we are soldiers and these things are precious to us.’
‘As they are to us,’ the Iceni said graciously. ‘I will place your sword beside mine and your helmet with my arm and neck rings.’
He led them to a room where they could change their clothes and showed them where to put their armour and weapons. Lunaris finished dressing first, grunting as he squeezed into a pair of checked woollen trews which struggled to fit around his substantial backside.
‘I’m putting you on half rations for a month,’ Valerius joked. ‘Get out there and find out what’s happening. I’ll join you in a moment.’
The shirt and trews were of heavier cloth than the equivalent Roman tunic and braccae, but he could move much more freely than in chest armour and a helmet. He left his gladius with his armour, but retained his belt and the short dagger attached to it. The belt also carried a small pouch and he carefully placed the leather bag with the boar amulet inside and ensured it was secure. He felt outlandish in the unfamiliar Celtic clothing and wished he had a mirror to see what he looked like, a thought he immediately banished. Fool. You look exactly like everyone else, only with shorter hair and no festering moustache.
He hurried into the corridor and collided with someone rushing the other way. His first sensation was of softness, then of strength: of warmth, followed by fear. Maeve gasped when her body felt the touch of his and her eyes widened with surprise when she saw the handsome young man in the familiar Celtic clothing. It took a moment for her to recognize Valerius. The look was quickly replaced by another that was gone before he could decide what it was. Valerius willed his legs to move, but for some reason they wouldn’t obey. His chest tightened and his flesh seemed to tingle in a way he had only experienced once before, when he was caught outdoors in a lightning storm. She wore her hair loose today, and her long dress was of dark blue wool, belted at the waist in a way that emphasized the weight of her breasts and the breadth of her hips.
He took a step back and bowed. ‘Maeve.’
She gave a little frown and lowered her head. ‘Tribune.’
He wanted to reach out and raise her chin so that she was looking into his eyes, and tell her that his name was Valerius, but all he said was: ‘Will you be joining us on the hunt today?’
The creamy skin of her forehead wrinkled slightly and he knew she was smiling. ‘Not all British women are the mighty Amazons of your mysteries, sir. We cook and we weave, but we do not hunt — or fight.’
‘I apologize.’ They seemed to be forever apologizing to each other. ‘You must think me uncultured.’
She raised her head and stared at him. ‘No, I do not think that.’
He reached for the pouch at his belt, but she sensed his purpose and placed her hand on his. The heat of her touch felt like a brand. ‘You must hurry. They are waiting.’
‘Will I…’
‘If the gods will it. Remember the owl.’
A shout from the doorway summoned him. He looked at her and nodded. Then he was gone.
She stared after him, trying to divine the conflicting feelings that raged within her; knowing they were the most dangerous of human emotions, but not which would win the fight.
XVII
Lucullus led the way along the muddy, thorn-lined trackways dissecting the fields of his estate. Most of the enclosures were devoted to raising sheep or pigs, although a few were grazed by scrawny, dun-coloured cattle. Small farmsteads dotted the countryside, each with a roundhouse and its pen for livestock, and around these the currently barren spaces that would be planted with crops in the spring.
Valerius and Lunaris walked together, and Valerius wished Cearan could join them. A Roman hunt would be governed by traditions dating back hundreds of years, and he had little doubt a British hunt was the same. But the Iceni walked ahead with their host and it seemed unlikely they’d be enlightened by their closer companions. The Britons paid the two Romans little heed, apart from an occasional quizzical glance, chattering excitedly in their own language. Behind the hunters came the servants and slaves, each carrying a long spear.
‘What happened while I was inside the villa?’ he asked Lunaris.
‘Mainly they wondered what was keeping you,’ the duplicarius said. ‘What was keeping you?’
‘There must have been something.’ Valerius allowed his impatience to show.
Lunaris gave a shrug. ‘The little lord, the fat one, paired everyone off. You’re with him, and I’m with the tall friendly one. After that he gave a speech in that noise of theirs, and they cheered him.’ He glanced around him. ‘They’re a rum lot. One minute they’re as docile as sheep, the next they’re roaring like wolves. I wished I’d had my sword.’
Valerius smiled, remembering Castus’s similar comment. ‘We’re safe enough with Lucullus. In any case, I used to hunt wolves on my father’s estate.’
‘Not these wolves you didn’t! Watch your back when you’re out in the long grass. We’ll look silly if we end up with some druid prodding at our livers to find out if it’s going to rain tomorrow.’
By now they were approaching a broad stretch of woodland guarded at intervals by small groups of men, each of whom held a pair of snarling hounds. Valerius heard Lucullus call out his name, and a guide ushered them forward.
He studied the animals, remembering tales of British fighting dogs trained to rip out a man’s throat. Lucullus noticed his interest. ‘My boar-hounds,’ the little man said proudly. ‘I bred them myself. They have been out since dawn tracking down our quarry. I instructed my forest wardens that only the largest beasts were of interest — in your honour, of course.’
Valerius bowed his thanks, but there were other honours he’d rather have received.
‘It seems they have penned a boar in this wood. A few dogs have been lost, and no doubt he will be rather torn, but he will still provide us with good sport. I think I have hunted this boar before, but he has always bested me. He tore up the green shoots in the spring, and more recently he has destroyed the corn on the ear. He has been an expensive guest.’
‘So we wait until the dogs have cornered him properl
y and then surround him?’
‘Oh no,’ Lucullus said seriously. ‘This is not one of your arenas. That would be much too simple and there would be little honour in it. The boar must have his opportunity, as we will. You are different from us, you see; we esteem the birds and the beasts we hunt, for each of them possesses a soul, just as each man possesses a soul, and the gods watch over them as they do us.’ He smiled sadly. ‘Let us hope that the gods — both our gods — are with us today.’
The men split into pairs, and Lucullus accepted a team of hounds from one of the handlers. Valerius found Cearan at his side. ‘You will take the first boar, as the guest of honour,’ he said quietly. He stepped aside as a servant handed Valerius a spear, seven feet in length, solid and heavy, with a broad, leaf-shaped blade and a wooden cross-piece a third of the way down its shaft. ‘The cross-piece is to ensure the boar cannot reach you with his tusks,’ he explained. ‘Lucullus will keep the dogs leashed until the last moment. The boar will be deep in a thicket licking his wounds and the warden will place you where he is most likely to emerge. When the dogs find him, he will run. They will stay with him, but when he sees you it will be you he comes for. He knows his enemy, you see. When he comes, his head will be low. That means you must be low too, for the spear has to take him in the chest to kill him. Anywhere on the head and it will glance off his skull, which is like iron. On the flanks, it will only anger him more. Remember, only in the chest.’
‘We are ready,’ Lucullus announced. Valerius hefted the spear and balanced it between his hands, instinctively finding the most effective grip so that when the moment came he could place the point where it was needed without hesitation or thought. He felt no fear, only the suppressed excitement of the hunt. His heart beat faster in his chest, thudding against the ribcage, and he willed himself to control it because he knew passion was his enemy. He must clear his mind and concentrate every one of his senses on his quarry. Slowly, he followed Lucullus towards the escarpment of brown and gold, the two dogs straining at the leash, alternately snarling and baying as the scent of their prey carried to them on the light breeze.
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