The Furies of Rome (22 page)

Prasutagus fell into another bout of strained coughing; bloody saliva trickled from the corners of his mouth. ‘How much does he want?’ he asked once the fit had subsided.

‘He’s prepared to forget half of the outstanding interest if you pay by the calends of March; that gives you a little over three months to collect.’

This sent Prasutagus into a choking mixture of mirth and dry hacking, his chest convulsing with the effort.

‘That’s enough!’ Boudicca’s harsh voice cut across her husband’s discomfort. ‘You will leave him now.’

Caenis remained firmly in her seat. ‘Not until I have an answer from him.’

‘I am mistress here.’

Caenis turned hard, piercing eyes onto the Britannic Queen. ‘That’s what you might think, Boudicca; however, I make this offer only once, to him, the King, not to you. If I leave now without an answer, the full sum will be due the moment I walk out the door. Can you afford that?’

Vespasian again witnessed a silent battle of female wills, feeling relieved that he was not caught in the middle.

Boudicca blinked first. ‘What say you, husband?’ Her voice softened; there was considerable tenderness in it.

Prasutagus managed to get his chest under control. ‘What can I say? I have to accept. Seneca dresses up a hard deal as a generous favour by threatening me with the immediate bankruptcy of the whole Iceni tribe to be paid for by the liberty of hundreds, if not thousands, of us sent to the slave markets of Gallia and Italia.’ He looked back to Caenis. ‘Come back in March and the money will be here; even if I’m not.’

‘Then how can you guarantee that?’

‘I’ll make it a condition of my will. Seneca’s loan will be paid off and then the rest of my estate will be divided equally between the Emperor on one hand and my wife and daughters on the other.’

Caenis tilted her head. ‘Agreed, but with one change: you bring the money to me in Camulodunum.’

Prasutagus sighed deeply and nodded, too tired to argue any more.

Vespasian at last saw how he could be of use. ‘Have the document drawn up now, Prasutagus, and I’ll witness it along with my brother; as former consuls our signatures and seals would make the will unchallengeable.’

And so Caenis, taking the halting dictation of a dying man and in her ultra-neat hand, wrote down a will that favoured Seneca above all else. Sabinus was ushered into the hall and he and Vespasian witnessed the completed document under the glowering gaze of Boudicca. When it was done they took their leave of Prasutagus, leaving him emptying his lungs and cursing in equal measure.

‘You know that in March it’ll be with me that you’ll have to deal,’ Boudicca informed Caenis as they stepped out together into the chill, her breath immediately steaming.

Caenis did not look at the Britannic Queen. ‘No, Boudicca; in March it’ll be
me
that
you
have to deal with. And as far as I’m concerned, your husband has already made the deal, and if he’s dead by March then I will expect you to honour it.’

‘And if I choose not to?’

‘Then it’ll be the wrong choice because Seneca will have both the law and the military power on his side. If I were you I’d spend the next few months collecting the money.’

Caenis walked away leaving Boudicca seething, her fists clenching and unclenching. ‘I should have you all killed, Romans,’ she snarled at Vespasian and Sabinus as they passed her.

‘And where would that get you?’ Vespasian asked.

Boudicca stared at him with undisguised hatred, her towering frame tense as a strung bow. ‘You think that you can come here and dictate terms to an independent king?’

‘We just did, didn’t we?’

Boudicca spat. ‘No,
you
didn’t, your woman did. You just sat there as if she were the man wearing trousers and you were the wife.’

Vespasian went for his
gladius
, ripping it from its scabbard.

Boudicca stood firm as her bodyguards surrounded her, their spears levelled. The auxiliary cavalry troopers, suddenly alert to the tension, leapt into the saddles; horses reared up in surprise at the abrupt activity. Castor and Pollux growled, deep and guttural, straining against Magnus and Hormus respectively.

Vespasian felt a hand grab his shoulder and another, his right wrist.

‘Don’t be stupid, brother,’ Sabinus shouted in his ear.

‘Do you expect me to let that insult pass?’ Vespasian hissed, staring into Boudicca’s mocking eyes.

‘We’re outnumbered; just look around you.’

Vespasian strained against his brother’s grip, but knew that he was right. After a few moments he calmed, taking a couple of deep breaths, and then lowered the tip of his sword.

‘Anyway,’ he said, his voice tight with frustration, ‘Roman men don’t wear trousers.’

Boudicca sneered. ‘Yes, I noticed.’

Again Sabinus had to restrain his brother, and it took Caenis turning and running back to grab his face in both hands, forcing him to look into her eyes, to calm him this time. ‘Focus on me, my love; on me.’

Vespasian looked into her eyes and saw the strength within the sapphires; he gritted his teeth and did as she had commanded and then allowed himself to be led away.

With difficulty he ignored Boudicca’s scoff.

‘You make sure that you’re there in Camulodunum with the money on the calends of March, Boudicca,’ Caenis called over her shoulder.

‘I’ll be there, Antonia Caenis,’ the Queen replied, her voice harsh in the cold air. ‘On the calends or as soon after that as the tracks are passable, I’ll be there.’ She said something else, quieter, but neither Vespasian nor any of the others caught it as the words were drowned out by the neighing of horses and the jangle of tack.

‘I wonder what they did,’ Magnus mused, looking up at the bodies of four men slumped on crosses just outside the northern gate to Camulodunum; although their eyes had already become food for the crows there were faint signs of life in two of them.

Vespasian shrugged; he did not care, brooding, as he was still, upon the insult to his masculinity by a woman – albeit a very manly woman, but a woman nonetheless. What had irked him the most was the truth in what Boudicca had said: he had been nothing more than a bystander in the negotiations between Caenis and the King. And Caenis had dealt with the situation masterfully; he gave a rueful smile at the use of such a masculine word to describe her behaviour.

‘Still,’ Magnus went on next to him, seemingly oblivious to the fact that Vespasian was occupying his own internal world, ‘I’d assume that it would have been serious seeing as they don’t look to have been slaves.’

‘Perhaps there’s been a bit of tension whilst we’ve been away,’ Hormus suggested, keeping his eyes averted from the grisly sight. ‘It didn’t feel like a very harmonious town when we arrived.’

Vespasian grunted. ‘I agree; as soon as I’ve spoken with that little runt, Paelignus, we’ll get back to Londinium and wait there for three months whilst the Iceni get the money together and the other loans are repaid.’

Sabinus smiled. ‘In relative comfort, you mean?’

‘In as much as anywhere can be comfortable in this arsehole of empire.’

‘Talking of arseholes,’ Magnus said, pointing ahead of them, ‘there’s a little one.’

Vespasian looked up to see Paelignus riding towards them with an escort of auxiliaries. As he got closer Vespasian could see that the prefect had the grimace that passed for his smile spread across his face.

‘Ah, Senators Vespasian and Sabinus, it’s a pleasure to see you both back,’ Paelignus said in his most ingratiating tones as he pulled up his horse opposite them. ‘I had people on the lookout for your party so that I could come and greet you myself.’

‘What do you want, Paelignus?’ Vespasian asked, well aware that their return was anything but a pleasure for the prefect.

‘You’ll be pleased to know that I’ve been entirely successful in my task of regaining the monies owed to Seneca.’

Vespasian hid his surprise. ‘And what about the money that you owe him?’

The smile was sickening; it was as if Paelignus was trying to pretend that they were the best of friends talking about a thing of mutual interest that gave both of them joy. ‘That is all in hand, Vespasian. I recently squeezed some more out of the colonists as a tax to go towards the completion of the walls, but seeing as we don’t really need them I’ve appropriated that, which, along with what I have on deposit with the Cloelius Brothers’ agent in Londinium, is over half the amount.’

The use of public funds for personal gain did not surprise Vespasian; he had seen it happen many times and was, frankly, used to it. ‘And what about the rest?’

Paelignus’ grimace cracked into a full-scale leer. ‘Ah! Well, I thought that the easiest way to make the other creditors pay up was to use force; which, as I knew they were not citizens, seemed perfectly legitimate. So I had them arrested for plotting treason and, as Urban prefect and the highest-ranking Roman official here, I tried them myself.’

Vespasian felt the blood pound in his head; he gaped at the man he hated probably more than anyone else in the world, looking so pleased with himself, as he recounted what Vespasian was sure to be the most stupid thing that any magistrate could do.

‘Of course, they were guilty and their estates forfeit. So I now have all the money that you came to collect for Seneca waiting back at the Governor’s residence for you. Therefore, my …er …
friend
, perhaps we could forget all that has passed between us; take the money and go with my blessing.’

Vespasian felt sick as he looked back at the bodies hanging from the crosses. ‘Are those the men, Paelignus?’

‘Of course; I gave them a taste of good Roman justice.’

‘No you didn’t, you crooked little cunt; they were innocent as you yourself as good as admitted. What you’ve given them is a taste of good Roman injustice and in doing so you’ve managed to execute four men who were most probably held in respect by the rest of their people and you’ve therefore managed to piss off the entire Trinovantes tribe.’

CHAPTER XI

VESPASIAN SCREWED UP
the letter he had just read and tossed it over the terrace balustrade of their rented villa, onto the muddy shoreline of the Tamesis – the place was an expensive luxury but better than running the risk of seeing the procurator, Catus Decianus, every day had they decided to stay at the official residence. ‘Well, it was inevitable, I suppose.’

‘What was inevitable?’ Magnus asked, throwing a piece of meat high in the air for Castor and Pollux to fight for.

‘Cerialis has written to say that Governor Suetonius Paulinus has ordered him to direct his attentions to the Brigantes in the north this coming campaigning season, rather than worry about the Iceni.’

Magnus lobbed up another hunk of pork. ‘Why’s that inevitable?’

‘Because since Prasutagus’ death last month, Paulinus doesn’t consider the Iceni a threat seeing as they have a queen now rather than a king and she isn’t officially the queen until Nero confirms her as such, which at this time of year will take a while.’ Vespasian pointed at the dogs scrapping over the meat. ‘Why are you feeding them just before we go out hunting?’

‘I’m trying an experiment to see if they refrain from ripping the kill apart if they’re not so hungry; it’d be nice, for once, to come back with a deer that’s reasonably edible rather than something that looks like it’s just had the starring role at the circus, if you take my meaning?’

Vespasian did and thought it not a bad idea, as Magnus’ dogs had proved to be very enthusiastic hunters and seemed to build upon that enthusiasm with every succeeding hunt.

Magnus chucked another lump at the dogs. ‘I suppose Paulinus is worried about the Brigantes taking him by surprise as spring approaches seeing as he’s chosen to winter up there in the north.’

‘He didn’t choose to, he’s been forced to; with Myrddin still unaccounted for and the few druids who escaped with him from Mona still at large somewhere up there, he had no choice. Add to that the new development of Venutius going back on his word to Seneca and stirring up trouble with the Carvetii to the north of the Brigantes then it makes sense for Paulinus to want Cerialis concentrating in that direction rather than towards the currently leaderless Iceni.’

‘They do have a leader,’ Caenis said, walking out onto the terrace with Sabinus, both dressed warmly, as were Vespasian and Magnus, in hunting clothes. ‘Boudicca. Just because Nero hasn’t confirmed her in her position doesn’t mean that her people won’t follow her; she’s a very strong woman.’

‘But even so, there would be nowhere to follow her to,’ Sabinus pointed out. ‘Assuming that Prasutagus’ will is ratified and she can inherit, which according to Britannic custom she can but to Roman law she can’t, she would be stupid to do anything provocative towards us once she’s paid off her debt and the threat of having it collected by force has disappeared. If she lives peacefully then she’ll wake up one morning later on in the year to the news that Rome is withdrawing and Caratacus is coming back to be king of the eastern client kingdom, which the Iceni would nominally be a part of but in practice will remain independent. If she does make a nuisance of herself then that event could well be delayed.’

‘But she doesn’t know that and nor can we tell her for obvious reasons.’ Vespasian looked up at the low grey cloud laden with drizzle. ‘Well, nothing’s going to happen until what passes for spring in this damp shithole arrives, by which time we should be well away, provided she does turn up in Camulodunum in three days’ time with Seneca’s money.’

Magnus chucked the last piece of pork at his growling dogs and wiped his hands on his fur-lined cloak. ‘Right, let’s get going. Where’s Hormus? Ain’t he coming?’

‘No, he’s doing some business for Caenis and me with the Cloelius Brothers, now that they’ve returned from their trip to see Cogidubnus,’ Vespasian said, heading for the steps down from the side of terrace, at the bottom of which their horses waited. ‘We’ll get going as he’ll be a while.’

The road leading northwest out of Londinium was, as most roads were, straight as an arrow-shaft and cleared of trees and scrub for a hundred paces to either side. The hunting party clattered along it at a good pace, heading for a wooded hill just to the west of the road some three miles from the town. Castor and Pollux lolloped ahead, playing canine games of rough-and-tumble on the short grass to the side of the road. The all-covering cloud had begun to give up its ample store of moisture, but Vespasian, for once, did not feel gloomy in the miserable conditions as he knew that within a few months he could be back on one of his estates, having stopped off to see Titus in Germania Inferior on the way – provided the sea stayed calm enough for the short crossing to the mainland. But even if they were forced to wait until the end of April or beginning of May when the sea routes properly opened up, he would be happy to, in the knowledge that he would soon be away, never to return. And then, once back in Italia he would wait on his estate at Cosa for news as to how he stood with Nero and whether it was safe for him to return to Rome.

As the hill came into view they left the road and cut across country, past a couple of farmsteads where slaves struggled behind plough-horses tilling the thick clay soil in preparation for the season that, unbeknownst to them, would see an end to Roman rule in Britannia. Vespasian still thought it to be a move of the utmost stupidity, politically, but he could see that the economic arguments for it were beginning to stack up, especially bearing in mind Nero’s increasing profligacy. In the three months that they had been waiting in the relative comfort of their riverside villa, it had become more and more obvious that, although the small corner of the southeast of the island was peaceful and reasonably pro-Roman, the rest most certainly was not. The Cloelius Brothers had arrived and immediately begun to send their agents around the province calling in their loans and causing massive resentment amongst the indigenous tribes. This, in turn, had led to a few beatings and a couple of murders of colonists and merchants; with the four legions in the province wintering on the frontiers to the north and the west and the auxiliary cohorts in the main garrisoning the series of forts along the roads that connected the four legionary camps, there was not much in the way of protection for Roman citizens and Romanised Britons.

The situation had worsened when the rest of the other Londinium bankers had realised what the Cloelius Brothers were doing. Then, when the rumour spread that Seneca had already called in his loans and the largest of these, the one to Prasutagus, was to be repaid without the full interest, a rush to get their money out of the province had begun in earnest, sucking the life out of the economy already damaged by war on the fringes of empire. Building work on the amphitheatre had ground to a halt due to lack of cash flow and local tradesmen who had provided the materials for it, and other stagnated projects, went unpaid. This, naturally, filtered down through the economy as coinage became increasingly hard to get hold of. Those that had it hoarded it, and those that did not have it fretted for it. Now it had reached the stage whereby those bankers who had not acted with alacrity were unable to recall their loans because there simply was not enough coin in ready circulation for the debtors to pay.

No one was letting their money leave their strongboxes and what was already a cold, damp winter had become even more miserable: unless a tribe or community had a reasonable amount of supplies they would start to go hungry as they would not have the cash to purchase more, and even if it had there was nothing to buy as no one would risk selling their winter surplus during a time of economic crisis.

Thus the new province of Britannia had come to an economic standstill. Many of the merchants had already left but there was another class that held too much of a stake in the province to be able to do so: these were the colonists, military settlers who had been rewarded with their own piece of land after serving under the Eagles for their allotted twenty-five years. If they were to leave where would they go? Back to their birth-towns to find work as a labourer or to beg? With no chance of being able to save enough to buy land elsewhere in order to keep themselves and their new families in dignity, they had no alternative but to stay and farm the land that they had been given. Therefore, in amongst the growing discontent of the local people was a large community that could be seen – wrongly – as being directly responsible for all the woes being visited upon them.

And it was this that Vespasian and his companions now saw direct evidence of; as they passed the second of the two farmsteads they plunged into a copse at the base of the hill, urging their mounts up the steadily rising ground. Castor and Pollux had ceased their play and now followed their noses, their pace increasing as a scent freshened. On they went, bounding up the hill swerving around the trees, following the path of their prey. Vespasian drew a javelin from the leather holster attached to his saddle as he kicked his mount forward, the thrill of the chase growing, once again, within him. Caenis, just behind him, let out an unladylike whoop, causing Vespasian to smile at the way she had taken to hunting in the last few months. The hounds cleared the trees and came out onto the heathland that covered the rest of the slope; in the distance, on the hill’s crest, could be seen the three deer whose scent had attracted Castor and Pollux’s attention. With deep-throated barks the dogs sped away.

But it was not the sight of the quarry that caught Vespasian’s eye as he cantered onto the heath nor was it the scent of the trail that caught in his nose; it was a far more acrid smell, the smell of the pillar of dark smoke rising from a point about half a mile to the north.

Vespasian pulled up his horse, swinging it round in the direction of the fire; its source could not be seen, screened, as it was, by another copse. ‘Call the dogs back, Magnus!’ he ordered as Sabinus and Caenis pulled up next to him.

‘Not much chance of that,’ Magnus shouted as he sped after his hounds, which were by now brim with canine enthusiasm for the hunt.

‘What do you think it is?’ Caenis asked, shading her eyes so that the drizzle did not impede her vision.

‘It’s a veteran’s farmstead,’ Sabinus asserted, controlling his skittish horse. ‘I’m positive; last time we were up here we went back that way chasing that doe which the dogs managed to dismember.’

‘You’re right,’ Vespasian agreed. ‘Let’s take a look in case they need some help; perhaps their barn’s caught fire.’

All three urged their mounts into a canter, traversing the hill; Magnus could be heard shouting at Castor and Pollux, now far in the distance, to desist.

Skirting around the top of the copse they started to descend until heathland gave way to pasture; but its scent was not sweet and it was not just the acridity of the smoke, there was another smell in the air, a smell that both Vespasian and Sabinus knew only too well: the stench of burnt flesh.

They came across the first body lying not far from the plough that he had most likely been using; of the horse, there was no sign. Nor was there any sign of the man’s head. What could be seen from this position, though, was that it was not just the barn that was aflame; the whole complex was burning: barn, farmhouse, outbuildings, everything, including a couple of trees.

They approached with caution, on foot and using their horses as shields should whoever had done this prove to be still present and thirsting for more blood. More bodies lay closer to the buildings, all having fallen in the act of running away, lying on their bellies facing in the direction of the farmstead, if a headless man could be said to be facing anywhere.

‘They’ve all been killed by sword slashes,’ Vespasian pointed out, examining a couple of the dead.

‘So?’ Caenis asked.

‘So they weren’t killed from a distance, otherwise there would be spent javelins and arrows. It would seem that either their attackers approached them on foot and were right in amongst them before they started killing …’

‘Which is unlikely,’ Sabinus said, kneeling down and examining the ground.

‘Which is unlikely,’ Vespasian agreed. ‘Which leaves a sudden, mounted attack.’

‘Which it was; look.’ Sabinus pointed to what were unmistakeably hoof-prints.

‘So, we have a mounted attack by men who would have to be good cavalry to be able to kill from the saddle this efficiently; and, what’s more, they were using swords, long swords that should all have been melted down under the terms of the peace agreement. They killed everyone in the fields and then took the house and set it on fire before coming back to remove the heads.’ Vespasian looked in the direction of the conflagration. ‘We’d better see what they’ve done with the colonist and his family.’

It did not take long to find him and his wife; they were not amongst the score or so of bodies, some on fire, some just smouldering, that littered the farmyard but, rather, they had been singled out for special treatment. For it was not two trees that blazed next to the buildings; it was two crosses. The crackling remains of the man and his wife hung, contorted and blackened, on the crosses, side by side, eyes, hair, noses and lips burnt away to give them rictus visages of pure horror staring out from the flames. At the foot of each cross lay sizzling chunks of meat that may once have been the bodies of an infant and a baby before they were dismembered.

Caenis put her hand over her mouth but it did not prevent the vomit from squirting out to either side.

‘Come,’ Vespasian said mounting up. ‘There’s nothing we can do here. We’d best be going as whoever did this is not long gone. I’m afraid that we’re obliged to report this to the official authority.’

Vespasian knew that it would be an onerous task as it meant going to see Catus Decianus.

There had been no sign of those responsible for the atrocity as they had made their way back to the road, once Magnus had rejoined them. On the way through they had warned the other two farmsteads; the colonists had pulled their slaves in from the fields and had sent messages to all the nearby settlements.

By the time they reached Londinium, the short winter day was beginning to fade and it was in the half-light that they came to Catus Decianus’ residence. As their status was known to the guards, they were admitted without question.