Masters of Rome (18 page)

The once-proud warriors of the Durotriges were using muscles more accustomed to martial exercise to power Roman ships towards the river estuary, now less than a ship's length away. Had the slaves been able to register anything but pain and misery they would have smelt the salt-tanged air and heard the gulls overhead crying as they circled the four ships already floated and now moored in a line down the middle of the hundred-pace-wide estuary. Long, low, wide-bellied rowing boats travelled to and fro from a couple of wooden jetties on the eastern bank, ferrying oarsmen and marines with their provisions out to their vessels to make them fit for sea.

Along the bank, north of the jetties, lay the rib-like skeletons of four triremes in various stages of construction surrounded by yet more Britons working under the direction of Roman shipwrights and guarded by two centuries of Cogidubnus' auxiliaries. Hammering, sawing, chiselling or carrying, these men were not manacled; they were free men having surrendered honourably to the II Augusta during its push westwards through the lands of the
Durotriges over the last two campaigning seasons. Now as free subjects of Rome they were being given the chance to earn citizenship by building the ships in which they would serve as rowers for the next twenty-six years.

Standing with Magnus and Sabinus outside the gates of the II Augusta's camp, overlooking the enterprise, Vespasian looked down the line of eight biremes still to be floated; in one huge convoy they had been hauled overland along the portage way from a river on the south coast of Britannia to this tidal estuary leading out to the sea on the northern coast of the peninsula running southwest out into the western ocean. The thirty-mile route was lined with crosses upon which were nailed those slaves who had fallen by the wayside too weak to carry on. They had been left to die in agony, as a warning to others, with their legs unbroken so that the instinct to survive would ensure that they would continually try to push up on the impaling nail through their feet in order to breathe, thus prolonging their death. The frequency of the crosses had increased as the days had gone by and although Vespasian regretted the financial loss he had condoned the executions in order to ensure that the operation was completed as quickly as possible.

‘Just eight days,' Vespasian observed with satisfaction to Magnus next to him, ‘it shows what can be achieved if you put your mind to it.'

‘And if you've got the slaves to do it,' Magnus pointed out, watching an older slave who had collapsed to the ground receiving a beating that would probably finish him. ‘I suppose he could be considered one of the lucky ones.'

‘What?' Vespasian looked at the wretched slave; exhausted by his unremitting labours, he no longer cried out. ‘Yes, I suppose so; still, none of them would have been in this position had they been sensible and surrendered, like the men working on the triremes, rather than fighting on and becoming captives.'

‘You should be thankful that they weren't sensible; if they had you wouldn't have had the manpower to drag this squadron overland and then where would you be? Losing yet more vessels trying to sail hundreds of miles around this
storm-riven island, rather than simply dragging them thirty miles to the north coast.'

‘No, I'd have had them built like the triremes; but you're right, it's much easier and less effort to bring them overland; not to mention the time it's saved.'

‘And lives,' Sabinus observed. He pointed to a smaller ship, a liburnian bobbing at anchor close to the shore, in which he had arrived the day before. He had sailed south from the XIIII Gemina's base, at General Plautius' orders, to take personal command of his half of the twelve biremes whose arduous overland journey was now coming to an end – he had only just recovered from two days' stomach-straining seasickness that morning. ‘The
trierarchus
of my ship told me that he was the only one who made it round out of a flotilla of half a dozen. Apparently the tides and the wind are very rarely in the right conjunction; three of the ships were wrecked and two turned back.'

Magnus spat. ‘Tides!
They
ain't natural.'

Vespasian chuckled. ‘I'm afraid they are, Magnus. Anyway the main thing is that despite the tides we now have a naval presence on both sides of the peninsula ready for our push further west into the Dumnonii lands next season.'

With a flurry of scourging and a rise in the cacophony of agonised cries and bellows, both bestial and human, the next bireme rolled down the bank, plunging into the water, dipping its bow with a phenomenal splash that submerged many of the slaves toiling at its ropes in the river. The great vessel bounced gracefully back up as its full length floated; the resultant wave swept many of the captives from their ropes, out into midstream where they floundered, drawn down by the weight of their manacles.

‘That's just stupid!' Vespasian exploded, striding forward with furious intent towards the nearest centurion commanding the legionary overseers. ‘What the fuck do you think you're doing drowning decent livestock?'

The centurion snapped to attention in the face of his legate's wrath. ‘We unhitched the oxen, sir!'

‘I'm not talking about the oxen; I'm talking about the slaves!'

The man looked nonplussed for a few moments. ‘It's unavoidable, sir.'

‘Unavoidable! Do you have any idea how much each one of them is worth? Your annual pay, that's how much.' Vespasian gestured to a stoutly built, large stockade about a quarter of a mile away into which slaves who had completed their task were being led. ‘And I make sure that every legionary and auxiliary gets their fair share of the profits for each one sold so what you're doing is throwing your money and mine away. I suggest that you find a way to make drowning them avoidable, centurion.'

‘Yes, sir!' the centurion barked, snapping a crisp salute before turning and marching off to berate his men for bringing him to the attention of the legate.

‘A very commendable and remunerative piece of advice, if I may say, legate,' a smooth voice observed from behind him.

Vespasian spun on his heel. He was in no mood for insolence. ‘Theron!' he exclaimed, looking into the dark eyes of the Macedonian slave-trader from whom he had bought his body slave, Hormus. ‘What are you doing so close to where the fighting is?'

Theron, a man only in his mid-thirties but already running to fat, bowed, bringing a hand across his ample chest; his voluminous saffron cloak wafted in the slight breeze and pendulous golden earrings glistened next to his trimmed and oiled black beard, which failed to conceal the beginnings of a double chin. Behind him stood a retinue of a dozen bulky men; their age, scars and muscles placed them unmistakably as ex-gladiators. Despite the absence of sun or rain a smooth-skinned eastern youth held a parasol, fringed with golden-threaded tassels, over his head. He was, Vespasian thought, almost a parody of the image that he tried to portray: a man whose wealth was based upon the sweat of others.

‘Greetings, legate,' Theron said in a most deferential tone, ‘allow me to pay my compliments to you for the magnificent victories that you have won since we last met.'

‘What do you want?'

‘The smallest of favours.'

‘I doubt that.'

‘In return for greatly adding to your personal fortune.'

Vespasian's experience of buying Hormus from Theron was in direct opposition to that statement. ‘I find that very unlikely too.'

‘Then you should hear me out, legate.'

Vespasian appraised the Macedonian for a few moments, the chance of profit fighting with his natural inclination to have the man run off military ground. ‘Go on then.'

‘May I suggest we retire to your tent and make ourselves comfortable?'

‘No, you may not; you may enjoy comfort in the day but the art of leading men rather than selling them requires me to have different priorities. Say what you have to say here.'

‘Your virtue does you credit. I am humbled by your sentiments.'

Vespasian found himself wanting to change his mind as the Macedonian oozed clichés; but knowing that his time, and therefore his money-making opportunities, must now be limited in the new province he overcame his scruples. ‘Get on with it.'

Theron looked at Magnus and Sabinus questioningly.

‘They stay as my witnesses.'

‘Indeed, your honour.' Theron paused and cleared his throat as if he was embarking upon a carefully rehearsed speech. ‘As the instigator of this great enterprise …' He gestured expansively over the line of ships, surrounded by slaves and overseers; oarsmen from the recently floated bireme clambered into rowing boats, lined along the jetties, to make the short journey out to their vessel. ‘As the instigator of this great enterprise now drawing to a glorious conclusion, much to your eternal credit, you are aware that the human cattle used as muscle are now, in the main, superfluous. I believe you are now having them taken to that holding stockade in readiness for their transportation back to the slave-markets in the east of Britannia. Please confirm to me that I'm not mistaken, excellency?'

Vespasian grunted his affirmation.

‘That is gratifying. You know me to be an honest man of business with much experience in the line of trade that I pursue. It
therefore should not come as a complete surprise to you to learn that I have recently acquired the contracts to supply three gladiatorial schools in Rome and a further two in Capua with Britannic livestock.'

Vespasian made no move to be either surprised or not.

‘They have formed a consortium in order to buy in bulk at reasonable prices; their first order is for seventy-five men each of mixed builds, that's …'

‘Three hundred and seventy-five, I can do multiplication!'

Theron bowed deep. ‘Humble apologies, your honour.'

‘And stop talking in clichés!'

‘Indeed, excel … Indeed, legate.' He cleared his throat again. ‘These
gentlemen
behind me are all former exponents of that noble profession and are here to assess the suitability of each slave for each gladiatorial role.'

‘I see. So you want to have the first pick of the slaves before they get back to the licensed slave-markets.'

‘I would describe it as a first assessment; being a law-abiding citizen I would not wish to make a purchase outside the jurisdiction and tax-net of the licensed slave-market.'

Vespasian felt a reluctant admiration for the man. ‘But if you were allowed to take your pick here and choose the cream of the stock you would be more than happy to escort them, at your own expense, naturally …'

Theron bowed his agreement.

‘Back to the market and immediately make your purchase, without your rivals being able to outbid you, under the supervision of the proper authorities who would levy the correct amount of tax.'

‘Your insight does you much credit.'

‘And then you will transport them …' Vespasian paused and raised his eyebrows.

Theron tilted his head, closing his eyes. ‘Again at my own expense.'

‘Naturally. Transport them back to Italia and share them out amongst the five schools.'

‘You see the venture in its entirety.'

‘Oh I do, Theron; I also see you taking bribes from each of the schools to provide them with the best of the excellent stock thus adding to your considerable profit.'

Theron shrugged in a ‘wouldn't anyone behave that way' manner.

‘And just why should I allow you to get such an advantage over your rivals?'

‘Firstly because I had the initiative to travel out here to talk with you and share your dangers whilst my colleagues remained safely back east; and secondly because I'm offering you five per cent of the resale value of the stock in Italia.'

‘Which means that you can afford to pay me fifteen.'

‘Eight.'

‘Ten and it's a deal.'

‘But I get to keep any monies offered to me as an incentive for allocating the stock in a certain way, as you alluded to earlier.'

‘I'm sure that you would do your best to keep those sums hidden from me even if I did demand a share.'

Theron bowed extravagantly. ‘In which case ten per cent it will be. We shall keep this between ourselves as a verbal understanding.'

‘Wrong, Theron; you won't get access to that stockade until I have a signed written contract from you.'

‘But would that be wise? What we have agreed is slightly less than completely legal.'

‘Wrong again, Theron. I'm obliged to sell these slaves once I have finished with them. The Emperor gets his share of the sale through the tax that is levied at the market; the rest is shared out amongst my legion and auxiliaries. The Emperor will also get his cut in tax from the resale in Italia. The fact that I'll also get money from the sale as well as the resale is irrelevant because the Emperor has had his due and is therefore happy. I'm just using my position to enrich myself like any sensible commander would do, and I want a contract from you so that you can't cheat me out of what's rightfully mine – as I'm sure you would, given the chance.'

‘Never, your honour,' the slave-dealer crooned, bowing even lower.

‘Stop fawning and go and draw one up.'

Theron righted himself. ‘You shall have it by this evening, noble legate.' With a farewell oozing of obsequiousness he took his leave.

Magnus looked less than impressed. ‘I wouldn't do business with the likes of him for all the whores on the Via Patricius.'

‘Sometimes a business opportunity is worth more than a lot of whores,' Sabinus observed, watching the slave-trader and his retinue depart. ‘Especially when one has no initial outlay.'

Vespasian turned his attention back to the biremes as the next one neared the water's edge. ‘Exactly; I've got nothing to lose and everything to gain.'

Magnus scowled. ‘I can see that – ten per cent of the value of the resale will be a lot of money which you wouldn't otherwise have got and it's probably your last opportunity to make a decent profit before you get recalled.'