In the Shadow of the Wall (54 page)

Lucius walked over to the table. With a smile, he said, “I’m afraid I only bring more work for you, Caesar. My friend and client, Septimius Brutus, needs your help.”

Geta looked at Brude. “Does he indeed? Well, then, let us retire to my private chambers. Then we might be able to discuss what he needs without being interrupted.” He sealed the document in front of him, pressing his large ring into the hot wax. Then he rose to his feet and waved everyone else away. “Let’s have a short break, gentlemen. I’ll take lunch in my private chambers with Festus and his friend. You can pester me with work this afternoon and all evening as well.”

Wide double doors were opened in the far wall. Geta led them through to his private chamber. Cleon followed, even though he had not been invited, though Geta did not seem to mind. Brude could already sense that this young man was very different from his brother. All around Caracalla men walked in fear, never knowing when he might suddenly turn on them, while those around Geta seemed relaxed and at ease.

Slaves quietly and efficiently produced platters of bread, cheese, olives, grapes, figs and eggs along with pitchers of wine and water. Most of them left but two stayed silently in the room, standing against the wall like statues, in case Geta should need anything else.

Geta sat on a low couch, indicating that the others should do the same. “There are no formalities here,” he explained to Brude. “Help yourself to as much as you want. I owe you my thanks for letting me escape that army of clerks, so tell me what it is I can do for you.”

Brude looked to Lucius for encouragement. These two men were several years younger than he was, but they were very much in charge here. He felt out of his depth seated beside them. During his time in
Aquila
’s service, he had been around enough powerful Romans to know that someone in his position was normally expected to know his place. The young man seated on the opulent couch opposite him was one of the three most powerful men in the world, however affable he might seem.

Lucius came to his rescue, outlining Brude’s predicament. Brude grew concerned when Lucius gave Geta the true story, rather than the edited version, but Lucius made great play of Brude’s friendship and how he had served with the legions in
Germania
. He emphasised that Brude had helped Priscus’ legion in the current campaign but he did not mention Caracalla at all.

Geta listened patiently. When Lucius was finished, he looked at Brude with interest. “Did you meet my brother at all?”

“Only briefly, Caesar,” Brude replied. “And I was one of a number of people present.”

“What did you think of him?” Geta asked, his eyes warning of the potential trap waiting for an incautious answer.

Brude had heard that the emperor’s two sons disliked each other and he had picked up on Lucius’ failure to mention Geta’s brother, but he also knew that criticising a member of the imperial family was normally a quick way to commit suicide. “I hardly spoke to him, Caesar, but he listened to what I had to say and he acted decisively. He seems to enjoy the military life and he is certainly proving very successful.”

Geta laughed. “Well said, Brutus. Very diplomatic. The truth is that my brother is an arrogant pig with no virtues and many vices. You need not fear telling the truth about him here.”

“I cannot possibly know him as well as you do, Caesar. But I would agree that he appears quite ruthless.”

“Hah! That’s an understatement,” Geta said bitterly. “
Rome
has won her place in history by being ruthless when it is necessary, but few enjoy acts of violence as much as my brother.” Then he waved a hand dismissively. “Still, we are not here to discuss my family, but yours. Whatever Festus says, though, I can’t see there is any way that your son can be regarded as a Roman citizen. But you are, and you have given valuable service to the empire, even if some of it was to my brother. And, of course, Festus is a valued member of my team here. My father always says that the job of an emperor is to keep the soldiers happy, so I think we can solve this very easily by freeing your son and making him a Roman citizen.”

Brude’s heart surged with relief. Having met Caracalla, he had not been confident of his chances of getting anything from Geta, or even of getting a chance to make his appeal. Meeting Lucius so unexpectedly had turned a possible ordeal into an easy solution. “Thank you, Caesar,” he said with feeling. “Might I ask the same for the young girl who was taken captive with him?”

Geta’s eyes shone with amusement. “Of course. Cleon, seeing as you are here, you may as well make yourself useful. Get the papers drawn up. Then you can all go along to find these two prisoners.”

“At once, Caesar,” said Cleon, rising from the couch and somehow managing to give the impression that he had only joined them because he had expected his services to be needed for this very purpose.

“Well, it seems I only have a few more minutes away from that deluge of bureaucracy my secretaries have waiting for me,” said Geta with a smile. He turned again to Brude. “So what will you do when you have them back?”

“I will take them home, Caesar. It seems that the whole of
Caledonia
will soon be part of the empire. My people will probably need my help to adjust.” Brude had only just thought of that, but it seemed a plausible answer.

“Very good,” nodded Geta. “We could do with some friends in our new province. Who knows, perhaps there will be opportunities for you to help in governing the place.”

That was the last thing Brude wanted but he acknowledged the compliment without demur. In Roman society it was always good to have friends in high places and they didn’t come much higher than the emperor’s second son. Barring some sort of miracle, the whole of the lands of the Pritani would indeed soon be part of the empire as Septimius Severus and his sons finished off the job the Romans had left undone one hundred and twenty years earlier. Although the thought of helping the Romans impose their culture on his people was not something Brude relished, he knew he would have to help what was left of the Boresti come to terms with that new world somehow.

Cleon returned, carrying a letter, which Geta signed and sealed before handing it to Brude, with a smile. After offering his thanks, they said farewell to the emperor’s son, leaving him to his afternoon of paperwork.

Lucius guided Brude back outside. They headed for the main gate, Cleon struggling to keep up with the eager pace Brude was setting. The rain had stopped but they had to avoid several puddles and wrap their cloaks around themselves to fight off the chill wind. “Does the sun never shine in this damned country?” complained Cleon.

“You get the odd day,” Brude told him. “Last summer was good.”

“I was in
Germania
last summer,” Lucius said. “It seems to have been raining ever since we got here.”

Their grumbles were cut short when they left the fortress because Brude saw that Mairead and Fothair were waiting for him. Mairead’s expression was a mixture of eagerness tempered with apprehension when she saw Lucius but she hurried over to meet Brude. Bursting with excitement, she said, “We’ve found them! They arrived just a short time ago.”

Brude hugged her and she clung to him, relief flooding through her every fibre. “Where are they?” he asked.

“The amphitheatre.” The unfamiliar word sounded odd when she said it but Lucius understood and repeated it.

Brude made the introductions. Mairead and Fothair had picked up the odd Latin word and phrase but not enough to have any conversation while both Lucius and Cleon spoke only Latin and Greek, which meant that Brude had to interpret everything. When he told Mairead who Lucius was and that he had helped get Geta’s permission to release Castatin and Barabal, she put her arms round Lucius, hugging him even though he was wearing his army breastplate. The young Roman was embarrassed at this outward display of emotion but when Mairead released him he gave Brude a knowing look and said, “I see now why you were so keen to get home.”

“Indeed,” agreed Cleon. He then blushed when Mairead gave him a similar hug.

“Mairead is thanking you for your help,” Brude explained with a laugh.

“Castatin didn’t look well,” Mairead told Brude. “I tried to get Barabal’s attention but she didn’t see me. I couldn’t go too close because there were a lot of soldiers. I didn’t know what to do, so I fetched Fothair and we came to find you.” The words tumbled from her in her anxiety. Her son was alive and they had found him at last. She was bursting with impatience to get him back, to free him.

The five of them walked through the busy streets to the edge of the town where the amphitheatre lay. Made from earth embankments with wooden walls and seats, it was a small arena, probably only capable of holding a few thousand spectators. It reminded Brude of his very first fight in the wooden amphitheatre at
Paestum
, where he had faced the black-skinned Retiarius. The guards at the main gate snapped to attention when Lucius approached. At his command, they opened the gates to let him in. Lucius suggested that Cleon, Mairead and Fothair should wait outside. “I don’t expect any trouble from the prisoners, but it’s best not to take any chances by bringing in civilians,” he explained. Brude translated for Mairead’s benefit before following Lucius through the dark tunnel that led to the arena, leaving Mairead fretting outside while Cleon and Fothair tried to make small talk despite the difference in language.

In the amphitheatre, four more soldiers under the command of a young
optio
guarded the doors at the inner end of the tunnel. Again, Lucius’ rank combined with Geta’s seal on the papers acted like a magic charm and the doors were opened, allowing them to walk through. For Brude it was a strange sensation walking out into an arena again, especially unarmed, but this time there was no crowd roaring a greeting, no baking sun beating down on the sand and no smell of sweat and fear from gladiators. Instead, the surrounding seats were deserted apart from a few patrolling soldiers who watched over the arena, which was full of ragged people, lying or sitting dejectedly on the hard earth, their clothes, skin and hair dirty and matted, their eyes sullen anresentful.

Lucius stopped. With a wave of his hand, he said, “I’ll let you find them.”

Brude began walking slowly through the prisoners, trying to ignore the silent appeal in their faces. These were his people and he wanted to free them all but he knew that was a futile dream. All he could do was find Castatin and Barabal. For the rest, as he knew all too well, there was little hope. He hardened his heart to their plight.

He checked each person, terrified that he would miss them, telling himself Mairead would not be mistaken about something like this. He made his way through the crowd carefully, wondering why they did not see him and come to him. At last he found them, near the far wall. It was Barabal he recognised but she was not looking at him. She was sitting with her back to the wooden wall, cradling Castatin in her arms, his head on her lap and his eyes closed. Brude squatted down in front of her, reaching out with his hand to feel the clammy heat of Castatin’s forehead. “Hello, Barabal. I’ve come to take you home.”

The girl looked at him, her eyes blank. Then she recognised him and she began to cry. She tried to speak but only sobs came from her tortured throat as she held on to Castatin and cried and cried.

Under the jealous gaze of the other prisoners, Brude gently moved Barabal’s arms from around his son. He lifted the boy up. “Come on. He is not well and we need to make him better. Come with me.” He thought at first that she would remain sitting there but she slowly pushed herself to her feet, shuffling after him, with tears still rolling down her cheeks. He made his way through the other captives, some of them looking threateningly at him as he carried Castatin towards the doors. Then Lucius came to meet him, two soldiers at his side, and the slaves made no move to stop him.

They passed through the doors, along the cool, dark tunnel which led outside. Mairead ran to meet them. “What’s wrong?” she asked anxiously. “Is he all right?”

“He has a fever,” Brude told her. “Let’s get him back to the room. Can you look after Barabal?”

Despite her concern for her son, Mairead went to the girl. She put her arms around her, telling her she was safe now. Barabal cried and held on to her while Cleon, unable to say anything they would understand, stood silently. Lucius, unused to seeing the grief of slaves at such a personal level, looked away. The Roman asked Brude where they were staying. Brude told him. Lucius said, “We’ll have to find somewhere better than that for you. Follow me. We’ll go to see Caralugnus.”