The Furies of Rome (21 page)

Paelignus was now incensed; he stood, leaning his hands on the desk, making the curvature of his back more prominent. ‘Seneca just lent me back the money he had extorted off me in return for not telling Nero about my father’s will. It’s my money and I’ll not pay it back.’

‘I’m very sorry that you feel that way,’ Vespasian said, his voice full of sympathy; once again he turned to the door. ‘Magnus! Hormus!’

Magnus and Hormus came in, beaming recognition at Paelignus.

‘Now, prefect,’ Vespasian carried on, ‘you recognise these two gentlemen, I’m sure.’ He pointed at Magnus. ‘This is Magnus, who severed your two fingers.’ He then indicated to Hormus. ‘And this is Hormus who held you down in order to make Magnus’ task easier. Now, I can see that you’ve still got a few of your fingers left.’

Paelignus quickly put his hands under his armpits.

‘It only took two for Magnus to get you to admit that you’d betrayed me to the Parthians; I wonder how many it would take to make you pay what you owe? What would you reckon, Magnus?’

Magnus rubbed his chin as if he were giving the matter serious consideration. ‘Well, hard to say, sir. I can’t recall him enjoying it the last time; in fact, if I remember rightly, he cried, real tears they were. No, he didn’t enjoy it at all; not one bit. So I’d reckon he would agree to pay just by having his hand held down and me placing the blade on one of his fingers.’ Magnus nodded to himself, his sagest expression on his face. ‘I don’t think that I would have to cut.’

Vespasian looked genuinely interested in that assessment. ‘Really? Well, let’s see if you’re right, Magnus.’

Paelignus yelped and, seeing Magnus coming around one side of the desk and Hormus the other, nipped under it with surprising speed, and made a dash past Vespasian’s legs to the door, which he opened only to come face to face with a smiling Sabinus.

‘Is this the one you were talking about, brother?’ Sabinus enquired, grabbing the wriggling prefect by the arm and hauling him back into the room.

‘Yes, that’s the one, Sabinus; how could you tell?’

‘Because he’s such a horribly bent little specimen; I seem to remember you mentioning that.’

‘I probably did. Now, where were we? Ah yes, Magnus, you were going to see whether or not you needed to cut off one of Paelignus’ fingers to get him to repay the money he owes.’

Paelignus howled as Sabinus dragged him over to the desk and Hormus grabbed the wrist of his undamaged hand, holding it firmly down on the surface.

‘All right! All right!’ Paelignus shouted as Magnus showed him the knife. ‘I’ll pay; I’ll squeeze the locals and see if I can raise a tax of some sort on the ex-legionary settlers and then I’ll get a loan to cover the rest of it.’

‘Well, you can’t say fairer than that,’ Vespasian said in the most reasonable of tones. ‘Magnus, you were right.’

‘Normally am when it comes to that sort of issue, sir.’

‘Yes, I wouldn’t bet against you. Caenis, give Paelignus the list of the other four gentlemen in Camulodunum who owe Seneca money. They’re minor nobles of the Trinovantes, Paelignus, so whilst we’re away you can get them to pay, seeing as you act as Seneca’s agent in this town; but use a bit of delicacy as they are no doubt proud men and influential with their people. And if you change your mind just remember, we know where to find you and should you decide to run the only place that you’ll be safe from me is in the very prison cell that you condemned me to, as I don’t fancy going back there. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we’re going to borrow a
turma
of your cavalry as, tomorrow, we have to visit the King of the Iceni.’

There was no road north, no Roman one at least, to the lands of the Iceni and the track that Vespasian and his companions followed instead soon became a morass in the steady rain, sucking at the hoofs of the thirty-two Gallic auxiliary cavalry and providing little support for the four wooden wheels of the
rhaeda
– the covered carriage – in which Caenis and her two slave girls travelled in some degree of cushioned comfort. Vespasian, Sabinus, Magnus and Hormus rode, hunched beneath thick travel cloaks, behind the rhaeda whilst their slaves, eight in all, trudged along on foot at the rear of the little column as it made its slow progress towards Venta Icenorum on the third day of the journey. Only Castor and Pollux seemed oblivious to the miserable conditions; their concern was their leashes, tied to the rhaeda, which prevented them from killing any more sheep. Magnus had already had to pay a couple of colonist farmers for the deaths of two of their flock and the mauling of a slave shepherd boy; this he had done with bad grace as he felt that it was surely the farmers’ duty to keep their livestock protected and, after all, his dogs were only doing what was natural. The failure of this argument with even his friends had forced him to restrain the beasts in order to spare his purse; his mood had not been made better by the weather.

When they had set out it had been one of the rare clear days allotted to the miserably damp isle in November and Camulodunum actually looked tolerably pleasant in the thin sun. The brightly painted columns and walls of the Temple of Divine Claudius, which dominated the southern end of the forum, would not have looked out of place in Rome; nor, indeed, would the Governor’s residence next to it, where they had spent the night. Vespasian had thought, as the escort turma of cavalry had clattered into the forum, that had it not been for the excessive number of men wearing trousers and sporting long hair and moustaches, a casual observer looking about the forum might be forgiven for thinking that this was a town in the north of Italia – until one took note of the countryside around the town, that was. One could not see any. It was flat and therefore invisible from the forum, or indeed, from anywhere inside Camulodunum’s less-than-reasonable defences, a quarter of which were now made of brick that had begun to replace the broken-down wooden palisade that had originally formed the town’s walls. It was only from the river port, to the southeast of the town, that any countryside could be seen and that was dreary marshland in the main, through which the river trailed on its way to the sea, just a few miles away.

Many of the townsfolk had gathered to see them off, curious as to what these high-status new arrivals were up to, and Vespasian noticed very few amongst the indigenous Trinovantes who had taken up Roman dress; it was only the colonists, discharged legionaries and their native wives, who looked Roman. Here, far more than in Londinium, Vespasian surmised, the pacification of the province was rudimentary. That fact was also emphasised by their short journey through the town to the north gates. In this part of the town, markedly more than around the western gates by which they had entered the previous day, the houses were native in construction: round with thatched roofs and a leather door-curtain. There were definitely two sides to Camulodunum and from what Vespasian could see, apart from trading in the forum, they did not mix.

And he had noticed the same thing as they journeyed north: small colonies of discharged legionaries living in brick-built houses with their native wives – who had been only too happy to get a husband after the mass killing and deportation to the slave markets of Gaul and Italia of so many Trinovantes men – contrasted with villages of round huts spiralling thick woodsmoke up through the holes cut in their thatched roofs. Again, the two never mixed. The further north they travelled, the more dominant the native villages and farmsteads became until by the end of the second day there was no sign of Roman occupation at all; it was as if the whole Claudian invasion had never happened and they were just a band of travellers journeying through a countryside dotted with damp, mist-wreathed farmsteads and deep woods as yet untouched by Rome.

Thus they entered the lands of the Iceni, the independent tribe whose domain was enclosed by the sea to the north and east, almost impassable fenland and marsh to the west and then the Roman-controlled Trinovantes to the south. Here the people lived under their own law. Yes, they traded with the Empire, paid tribute into its coffers and sent their young men to serve in its auxiliary cohorts, but it was to their chieftains and, ultimately, their King that they held loyalty.

‘They were never conquered, did you know?’ Vespasian said to Hormus, riding next to him. ‘Sensibly, Prasutagus came to Camulodunum and submitted to Claudius without any blood spilt.’

‘Did he not even take hostages?’

‘He did but they had been returned by the time the Iceni rose against that idiot, Scapula, when he tried to disarm them. But now they are still technically independent, although I’m sure that won’t last beyond Prasutagus’ death seeing as he’s only got a wife and three daughters to inherit. I don’t know what the Iceni laws of inheritance are but in Rome they would not, in most circumstances, be able to inherit by themselves. They would need men named in the will, unless the Emperor gave a special dispensation – which is highly unlikely.’

‘Besides,’ Sabinus said, ‘it’s customary for client kings to leave their kingdoms to Rome in their wills. Atallus the Third of Pergamon did it and old whatshisname of Pontus.’

‘Polemon?’

‘I’m sure you’re right. Anyway, I can’t imagine us wanting to stand by and possibly let another Cartimandua take power over the Iceni; one Fury like that is quite enough for this island.’

‘What is the name of Prasutagus’ wife?’

‘I’ve no idea but I’m sure we won’t be able to avoid being introduced to the hairy beast.’

‘What makes you say she’s hairy?’ Magnus asked, in a tone that implied interest; he had left his plump slave back in Rome in Gaius’ household where he had supposed, rightly, that she would remain unmolested.

Sabinus indicated around them with an expansive gesture. ‘Fog-bound marsh, dim forests all of little use for agriculture; only animals can live here and in my experience animals are always hairy.’

‘Elephants aren’t; they’ve got some hair on them but they ain’t hairy.’

Sabinus sighed with irritation. ‘All right, Magnus; if she isn’t hairy she’ll be huge.’

Magnus grunted, apparently satisfied. ‘Fair enough.’

As it turned out Sabinus was wrong: Prasutagus’ wife was both huge and hairy. It was to her that Vespasian and his companions, having sent their names on in advance, presented themselves in the marketplace the following day upon their arrival at Venta Icenorum.

‘My name is Boudicca, wife of Prasutagus,’ the Queen of the Iceni announced in a harsh voice, used to command; her russet hair was piled high on her head and fell in copious unkempt waves down her back, coming to her waist. She wore the tunic and trousers of a man, brightly coloured; a cloak was fastened around her by a bronze brooch, fashioned as a coiled serpent. About her neck she wore a golden torque, the sign of a warrior old in the way of war. Standing in front of the largest, by far, of the five hundred or so round, thatched-roofed huts clustered within the stockaded settlement, she fixed the visitors with a piercing glare, one after the other, as if assessing the threat posed by each one before continuing: ‘My husband is unable to come and greet you personally as he is confined to his hall.’ Her Latin was accented but reasonable.

Vespasian restrained an urge to snap at her, unimpressed by being treated in such an overbearing manner. ‘It is with him that we need to speak.’ He felt Caenis’ hand on his elbow and tempered his voice. ‘I suggest that we do so now.’

‘You can suggest all you like, Roman, but I’m telling you that you cannot see him; he is on his deathbed. You will address any issues to me or you will leave. Rome does not rule here.’ She folded her arms, the sleeves of her tunic riding up to reveal hirsute wrists. The warriors attending her shifted their positions to stand more firmly; here and there one rolled his shoulders as if limbering up. Other warriors could be seen through the haze of pungent cooking-fire smoke that wafted around the nearby huts.

Vespasian felt the turma of cavalry, standing behind him, tense.

Caenis stepped forward, looking up at the warrior queen. ‘If we do not get to see your husband before he dies then I can tell you that there is no chance that I will do my business with you.’

Boudicca looked down at Caenis who was almost two heads shorter than her and well under half her body-mass. ‘Do you speak for these men?’ There was surprise in her voice.

‘My name is Antonia Caenis; I speak for myself. I and my companions will speak with your husband.’

With their eyes locked, the battle of feminine wills raged in silence for a few moments.

‘Very well, Antonia Caenis,’ Boudicca said eventually, ‘but just you and one other.’

‘Seneca must think I’m stupid,’ Prasutagus wheezed; his chest heaved and he hacked out a series of phlegm-filled coughs, spitting the bloody result onto the rushes covering the floor. He grimaced in pain as he lay back down on the pillow and gave a wan smile, wrinkling his thin skin even more than age had done naturally. ‘But perhaps he’s right: I was stupid to borrow that amount of money from him. It just seemed so easy, and at the time I didn’t consider how I would pay it back as we didn’t really have any concept of bank loans on such a vast scale before you Romans came and so didn’t understand them.’

Caenis nodded her head in sympathy that Vespasian could see was put on. ‘I’m sure that you understand them now.’

‘Oh, yes; I understand them. I understand them well enough to know that the interest that I’ve been paying has stopped me from amassing enough to pay off the debt.’ He wheezed again, this time through mirth. ‘Seneca’s been too greedy: he’s not allowed me the means to repay him.’

Caenis crossed her legs and leant forward. ‘Seneca doesn’t see it that way, Prasutagus. His reasoning is that the King of the Iceni took out the loan so that the whole tribe would benefit; therefore the whole tribe is liable. So he suggests that you start collecting the taxes that you need to fulfil your obligations to him.’

The dying King looked at Caenis, his long grey hair lank with sweat. ‘Or what?’

Caenis smiled sweetly at him. ‘Or he has the influence to be able to send a legion to collect it and that will work out far more expensive for you and your people; especially bearing in mind that if the amount cannot be raised in cash and bullion, then slaves are getting quite valuable again after the drop in price when so many Britons were sold off in the first years of the conquest.’ Caenis paused for a few moments to let this sink in. ‘However,’ she continued as Prasutagus acknowledged the possibility of such action, ‘Seneca is not so greedy as to insist on repayment of the full amount, since he has, as you have pointed out, already made a considerable profit on the deal.’