Beasts Beyond the Wall

by Beasts Beyond the Wall (retail) (epub)

  ‘Here’s the thing,’ Macrinus said companionably, clutching the drape of his toga like he was about to address the senate. ‘I do not know what happened to Severus Augustus earlier, or whether you had something to do with it, even though every statement taken seems to imply you did nothing at all but stare.’

  Drust tried hard not to look at Dog. ‘How is the Emperor, your honour?’

  ‘Becoming a god I suspect,’ Macrinus answered drily. ‘He was not far from it when we started for here and that witch at the gate did not help. He seemed to believe she was cursing him but I have it that she was simply offering him a wreath of Ceres and the blessing of the goddess.’

  ‘It unnerved him,’ Ugo declared solemnly. ‘Gods do that. My old uncle was convinced a black dog stalked him and kept seeing it everywhere. No one else did.’

  ‘Fascinating,’ Macrinus said insincerely. ‘However – I am hoping you might use what favours you have with the Domina Julia to persuade her to move to the residence of Antoninus. So she will at least be there for him arriving.’

  Drust saw that Macrinus could not order her to move and was afraid of The Hood. Well, there was good reason for that, and Caracalla had clearly gone to a lot of trouble to track her down and try and take her from her rescuers. But Drust was sure Domina Julia would come to no harm and that The Hood was simply trying to isolate her from the protective javelin of Julias.

  Not us, though – Drust’s mouth went dry at the thought of what The Hood might do when he had no good reason for holding back his hand.

  ‘That may be beyond us,’ he answered carefully, then saw the frown and added hastily: ‘we will, of course, make every effort.’

  ‘Good,’ Macrinus said levelly. ‘Otherwise I will squeeze you all into the smallest, tightest prison space I can find.’

  ‘Really?’ said a voice that was soft and silken and still made everyone leap with the effect of it, none more than Macrinus, who dropped the slate and started to work his mouth like a landed fish. No one had heard anyone come in, yet the room was suddenly full of women who seemed to glide over the tiled floor.

  ‘Is that wise, Macrinus? These are citizens of Rome, and you have already noted that there is no reason for them to be imprisoned.’

  ‘The Emperor…’ Macrinus offered desperately and the woman smiled wryly.

  ‘My husband is dying,’ she said. ‘In his absence it falls to me and my son, Geta. Who has granted these heroes citizenship, as reward for saving our beloved Julia Soaemias and her son.’

  She wore blue and gold with a creamy-white stola and her hair was dressed as if for a banquet, gilded to replace the gold that had once been there. Her sisters stood like a coterie of identical statues behind her, all blonde, all white arms and ivory complexions – save for Julia Maesa, who had not kept the sun from her darker skin and now looked like the cracked remains of a dry watercourse. She held the hand of her grandson, the golden copy of Caracalla.

  They wore teal-egg blue and the same over-robes, their hair dressed to fit them like caps and netted in fine gold to land on their bare shoulders. Round all their necks were identical gold collars, loose pearl belts; sun-shaped earrings danced along the line of their jaws. It was at once beautiful and sinister, as if a coterie of goddesses had descended from Olympos.

  ‘You will come with us,’ the Empress said to Drust and the others. ‘Domina Julia Soaemias will guide you to quarters best suited to heroes of Rome. These are your awards of citizenship.’

  She gestured to a slave, who produced a basket of metal plaques and handed it to Drust; his fingers were so nerveless that he almost dropped it and he could find no words that would track across the desert of his mouth out onto his lips. To his astonishment there was a sound like mice running on the polished floor and he realised all the Julias were softly applauding with little hand pats. The moment was surreal, but Dog was unimpressed and cocked one eyebrow.

  ‘There was coin promised also.’

  ‘Be silent,’ Macrinus said, finding his voice and making it a stern one. ‘You are destined for a cell, the lot of you…’

  The air was thick with coiled tension, then the boy tore free from his grandmother’s hand and darted forward, his beautiful face truculent.

  ‘Leave my gladiators alone. I wish them to come with us.’

  ‘Be silent, child,’ the Empress said in a voice like whetted steel and, to everyone’s astonishment, the boy did so. The Empress patted his head and cooed.

  ‘Beautiful boy,’ she said and then turned as someone else entered, bringing a blast of cold rain-wet air and a deal of noise, as if someone had sparked up a lighthouse and shone it on all of them. He was plump and curly haired and in a bad mood.

  ‘What’s all this about, Mother?’ he demanded, and the Empress turned soothingly to him.

  ‘Only a little misunderstanding,’ she said sweetly. ‘Centurion Macrinus here seems to think your brother orders here and not you.’

  ‘Domina,’ Macrinus began desperately. ‘Empress—’

  ‘Really?’ demanded the plump newcomer – Drust now knew it was Geta, The Hood’s brother and an emperor in his own right. There was little love between them.

  ‘My brother has the Army. I have the imperial residence. Do as you are commanded.’

  There was so much purple in the room that Drust was getting dizzy with it. Macrinus gave up because he had no choice and had to watch Drust and the others trail after the delighted boy and his calm, regal mother. Like a rank of legionaries, the other Julias closed in on her back and started to glide away.

  ‘Is that it?’ Geta demanded and his mother patted his arm. He flung up his hands in frustration.

  ‘My brother is always forgetting his place,’ he said firmly to Macrinus. ‘We share duties. Perhaps you can remind him.’

  Macrinus had recovered and regrouped; this was an old battle, much fought and refought. He picked up the dropped tablet and adjusted his tunic.

  ‘He will be here soon, sacratissime imperator. I am sure he will speak to you on the subject.’

  Drust didn’t hear more, passing out into the Principia courtyard, where slaves with rain shelters hurried to protect the delicacy of Julias; the boy happily strolled alongside his gladiators, heedless of the drizzle, and the duty guards looked on impassively.

  They ended up in a cucina, all red brick and tiled floors, where slaves moved and called out to one another while they sweated over stove and oven. They were seated at a benched wooden table and served up chicken and fish, olives and bread.

  ‘Fortuna’s tits,’ Quintus declared, licking his fingers and waving them for the garum. The cook passed it over with the sour expression of a man who does not want to see his delicate creation drenched in fish sauce.

  ‘Good point, well made,’ Sib echoed. ‘We fell on our feet here, lads – and look at this. I am a citizen of the Empire now.’

  He waved the copper plate diploma until the light bounced brilliance off it, then tucked it back inside his filthy tunic, while the cook and his slaves tried not to pass judgement on these, the new favourites of the Empress. By the time the unwatered wine had gone round again, eyes were drooping. It was mid-morning and they were stretching and yawning; Ugo slept with his head pillowed on his arms and Drust saw that the kitchen staff wanted rid of them but did not dare say so.

  ‘What now?’ Kag demanded, sidling along the bench to talk quietly with Dog and Drust. ‘We have part of the prize, but when The Hood arrives I am thinking we will be back in the grip of that Macrinus turd. I don’t imagine he will be offering applause as the Julias did – did you hear that, lads? I have been called a Roman hero by an empress. By all the gods above and below, that’s something to tell the grandchildren.’

  ‘If you live to have some,’ Dog muttered. ‘And where is the better part of what was promised – the denarii?’

  ‘Dog,’ Drust said wearily, ‘I will be happy to get out of this alive. So will you. Be happy with a burnished diploma. Get some sleep – I am s
ure one of those Julia creatures will be around soon enough, for we are now only counters in this game.’

  Dog shrugged and studied the copper inscription, turning it upside down and sideways because he couldn’t read it.

  ‘Does this mean I am no longer a slave?’ he asked; everyone save the sleeping Ugo stared, astonished.

  ‘What do you mean?’ demanded Manius. Dog shrugged.

  ‘Servilius Structus never manumitted me – I fucked him over, remember? So I am a runaway – that Crixus name was a fake, but if I am a citizen, am I pardoned all that? That might be useful.’

  ‘Jupiter’s salty balls,’ Kag said with breathless admiration, and that seemed about as much as anyone could add to it, so Drust fell asleep thinking about Domina Julia and her son and how they were no better than nubs in the game, too. He dreamed of his mother, the first time he had done that in a long time. When he woke it was because someone was shoving him roughly by the shoulder.

  ‘Wake up. Follow this slave. Leave your companions to sleep.’

  The cook indicated the young man waiting, patient as a chair, to be acknowledged. Dog was also up, but Kag snored. Drust looked at Dog, shrugged and rose up, wiping his bleary eyes until he noticed the lit lanterns. Outside it was dark; they had slept all day.

  They followed the slave through corridors and never once stepped out into the dark, though once they passed round the portico of a peristyle, where lanterns swung in the wind and rain dripped softly from the eaves.

  There was a low moaning, too, that Drust could not place, but they saw no one else, which was also strange. Not one slave, nor a guard. This was, for the moment and the foreseeable future, the heart of the Empire, the Palatine Hill transported to the wilds of the north – and it seemed empty.

  In the end they were ushered into a room whose torchlight showed blue and gold walls and latticed windows, a painted ceiling with fruit and Ceres, a floor mosaic in geometric patterns made from black and white marbled tesserae which gave a dizzying, unnerving perspective.

  There were cushioned couches, ivory tables inlaid with gold leaf and a couple of wide braziers; Drust smelled cedar wood.

  There was also Julia Soaemias, quite alone and unattended, wearing a simple ankle-length blue dress and a white stola carelessly wrapped round her as she sat. Her hair was undressed, but she wore a splendour of jewels: moon-crescent earrings, large pearl and ruby and emerald finger rings and a necklet made of many lappets of gold holding a sun symbol big as Drust’s palm. She was also artfully made up, with kohled eyes and painted lips.

  ‘Domina,’ Drust said, offering a formal obeisance. Dog went to one knee and bowed his head, which was a bit too Syrian for Drust’s taste, but the Domina seemed to like it and smiled. It seemed wan and strained to Drust all the same and his stomach started to churn.

  ‘You found the baths, then, Domina,’ Dog said, and that made her smile warm a little.

  ‘I did. Tell your friend – Kag, is it? Tell him he was right. It was not as good as I had imagined it to be and finding my face paints simply makes me now feel as if I am wearing a mask in some rustic play.’

  She reached beside her and fetched a small wooden box and opened it. There was no wine to be seen, no slaves; it was clear this was clandestine and hurried.

  ‘I will be brief,’ she said, taking something from the box. ‘The Emperor died an hour ago, which makes Geta and Antoninus joint rulers of the Empire. Antoninus will arrive soon and when he does, sparks will fly. Geta and my aunt will have no authority.’

  ‘The Empress has no authority?’ Drust blurted, astounded, and then looked embarrassed at the outburst. ‘From what happened before, I did not think she lacked it.’

  Julia Soaemias nodded. ‘That was then. When Antoninus arrives, he will demand my presence in his own apartments.’

  ‘You do not need to go to him,’ Dog declared vehemently. ‘Even in this place there must be… rules.’

  She favoured him with a cool look. ‘There will be no impropriety. It is not me he wants, it is my son. He will take him whether I go with him or not, so I will go and be a barrier, as always.’

  ‘Why?’

  She gave Drust a warmer look than the one Dog had received, but it still gave nothing away. ‘Antoninus will also want to visit wrath on those who tried to help me escape his… influence. He cannot harm anyone but you and Kalutis – at least as long as he is here. I suspect it will not be long before the soldiers are removed from the north and everyone returns to Rome. There he will find the time to root out his enemies, now that he has power to do so.’

  ‘Is not Geta on your side?’ Drust asked, and she smiled.

  ‘Geta is a year younger than his brother and might well be a child before a monstrous wolf. He was raised to the title of Augustus only a few months ago, a last desperate effort by his father to make him the equal of his brother. It will not save his life.’

  It was flat and matter-of-fact and that was more chilling still – she had seen what everyone had seen but Drust and the others, that there would be no joint rule, at least not for long. It said much that she spoke of it aloud. Drust swallowed thickly but Dog was on it. ‘What do we do, Domina?’

  ‘You run,’ she said, and handed him the contents of the box, a handful of small brass tokens. ‘These will get you out of the imperial residences, out of the fort and out of Eboracum. Beyond that, I can do nothing. Kalutis has been informed – he has the money you will need to make your way and can be trusted only so far. He will run, too, of course, so you should reach him before he does.’

  Drust’s head reeled and Dog got up and stood, head bowed for a moment. Then he nodded.

  ‘You take a great risk. The Hood may work out that it was you who helped us.’

  ‘Or the Empress. Or my mother, my sister – there are many Julias,’ she answered and the smile was suddenly candied-sweet. ‘We look after our own – even against our own.’

  She clapped her hands and the same young slave appeared. ‘Now go. Follow Zahid to your friends, pack swiftly and leave at once.’

  ‘Domina,’ Drust said, neck-bowing. He turned to go, the brass tokens burning in his fist. She stopped him at the door by calling his name; it was the first time he had heard it from her mouth and for some reason he felt his heart leap.

  ‘Find your way to Emesa one day. Gods willing, we will all meet again.’

  * * *

  ‘Can you trust her?’ demanded Quintus. ‘Women are not noted for it.’

  ‘The ones you know,’ Kag answered sharply. ‘We have no choice but to grab our gear and run. You say these will get us out of the camp and across the bridge to the vicus?’

  Drust nodded. ‘Beyond the walls of that place, too. After that we are on our own.’

  ‘Horses,’ Sib said pointedly. ‘Otherwise they will run us down in hours.’

  ‘We left some at those stables,’ Ugo reminded everyone and Drust nodded. The Emperor was dead – long live the emperors. Drust realised that they had some time in hand, because Geta was the only one who had been on hand when it happened and he’d have been the one to perform the conclamato, the formal calling of the Emperor’s name in the hope of bringing him back to life.

  ‘There’s a lot of this stuff, then?’ Sib demanded; he had no experience of the Roman way since all the people he’d seen die were simply flung in a pit with the horses who had failed them.

  There was. The eyes of the dead were closed, limbs straightened, the body washed – because it was an emperor, a wax effigy of his face would be made. He’d be formally dressed and laid out on a funeral couch, surrounded by flowers and incense. The door to the room would be surrounded by branches of pine or cypress to warn those that the house was polluted by death.

  Then there would be the pomp and ceremony of making the dead Emperor a god. While all of that was going on and the entire world held its breath before letting it out in mourning wails, a band of men could slip easily and quietly away.

  ‘The Hood has missed al
l this part,’ Kag added, ‘so he will be anxious to stamp his own authority on the affair. They will burn the dead Emperor here and take his ashes back to Rome.’

  ‘More to the point, The Hood will start carving out his own throne,’ Dog said. ‘He will prowl and bribe and promise – and he has the legions, so it won’t take long.’

  ‘Long enough,’ Drust said. ‘If we move.’

  They moved. They had nothing much to take other than weapons and some coin, and tried to look as if they belonged on the bridge as they reached the camp gates. The sentries were not fooled, but everything was in uproar and, besides, they had the imperial tokens.

  It was the same at the far end and they found themselves in a wet paved street curling into the curfewed dark.

  ‘Where is this Kalutis?’ demanded Ugo, frowning.

  ‘A house near the meat market,’ Dog said. ‘You were there more recently – can you remember it?’

  Drust thought he could, but there was another problem; they’d need to get back the horses they’d left in the stables.

  ‘If not, we are on foot and won’t get far. Even with all he has to do, The Hood will find time to send pursuit, so we need to move fast.’

  ‘They are outside the northern wall,’ Dog reminded him. ‘We’d have to ride the length of the vicus to get out the south gate.’

  ‘We won’t,’ Drust said, working it out as he said it. ‘You go and secure the horses and we will meet Kalutis, fetch the money and meet you there. Then we can ride north and east, maybe trade the horses for a ship passage south. Throw them off.’

  Dog scowled suspiciously. ‘I am supposed to believe you will turn up with all that coin?’