Rome’s Fallen Eagle (44 page)

‘We’ll be there, general.’

‘I’m sure of it. The fleet will be following you in support once they’ve dealt with the Britons trying to cross the river. And remember, take the north bank and hold it; do not go further.’

Corvinus smiled thinly and saluted. ‘Of course, sir. Goodbye!’

The tone of the last word struck Vespasian as having a finality to it as he watched Corvinus riding away and, thinking of Narcissus’ suspicions, he wondered whether to confide in Plautius. ‘Do you trust him, sir?’

‘Trust him? I have to. Narcissus suggested to me that I should send him forward, just before we left for Britannia. He thought Claudius would appreciate me sending his brother-in-law to be the first Roman to cross the Tamesis since Julius Caesar; it would reflect well on the imperial family and the gesture would not go unnoticed by the Emperor. For once I agreed with that oily freedman.’

‘But he didn’t seem very keen on waiting for Claudius.’

‘He’ll obey his orders.’

‘What if he doesn’t?’

‘He will. Narcissus pointed out that he and his sister both have everything to gain from Claudius’ supposed victory.’

Vespasian stared, incredulous, at Plautius’ profile. ‘Are you sure he said that?’

‘Of course I’m sure, legate! I’m not deaf.’

‘I apologise, sir. I’ll return to my legion now.’ Vespasian gave a salute and turned. Riding away, he looked back up the hill at the VIIII Hispana and, in a moment of clarity, he realised what Narcissus had done and why: he had made his first move towards the removal of Messalina.

CHAPTER XVIIII

‘W
HAT DO YOU
mean you can’t warn Plautius?’ Magnus asked, struggling to make sense of what he had just been told.

Sabinus shifted slightly in his campbed, lifting his head and grimacing with pain. ‘My brother’s right, Magnus, Narcissus made us promise that whatever happens we must not go to Plautius.’

‘But why? He could stop Corvinus now; the Ninth are less than a day’s march ahead of us.’

Vespasian held a cup of steaming wine to his brother’s lips and Sabinus sipped from it gratefully. ‘He doesn’t want Corvinus stopped; he knew that this would happen because he set it up. He wants Plautius to see for himself Corvinus’ treachery; that way he’ll have solid evidence to present to Claudius when he arrives, not mere suspicions. Claudius doesn’t believe his freedmen’s warnings about Messalina and her brother but he might just believe the evidence of his own eyes if Plautius presents it to him.’

Magnus looked around the dimly lit tent, evidently exasperated. ‘So what will you do?’

‘Do? Why, nothing for the time being. Narcissus asked us to keep Plautius alive and not to let Corvinus and Geta go too far. We thought that he meant not to let them go further than the Tamesis but he didn’t; he meant not to let them go too far north of the Tamesis. In other words stop them once they’ve damned themselves but before they get all the way to Camulodunum.’

‘Well, Geta’s not going anywhere in a hurry; he’s lucky to be alive according to one of the orderlies, who’s a mate of mine. He says Geta’s put himself out of commission for the foreseeable future, so that’s half the threat gone.’

‘And, more to the point, that’s something that Corvinus won’t know because he was too far away to see Geta being taken from the field. So if Geta was the one who was meant to deal with Plautius whilst Corvinus goes north, it won’t be happening soon.’

Sabinus lay back down with a sigh. ‘True, but Priscus, his thick-stripe, is now in command of the Twentieth, and who knows where his sympathies lie.’

Vespasian placed the cup down, next to the only oil lamp in the tent, on the rough bedside table. ‘We’ve got to keep an eye on Plautius, somehow. Meanwhile we’ll march west tomorrow. The Second Augusta will be the vanguard because I’m the only legate on my feet at the moment, so it’ll be my cavalry scouting.’

Magnus chuckled. ‘And Paetus will only see what he’s told to see.’

‘Something like that.’

‘And how will you stop Corvinus?’

‘That’s where Narcissus’ forward thinking sometimes just leaves me breathless with admiration.’

The severely wounded had been despatched back to Rutupiae in a long train of wagons, disappearing east through the smoky haze issuing from the scores of pyres disposing of the fallen. The battlefield had been partially cleared by the Dobunni but many bodies still remained lying out in the sun and the tribesmen laboured amongst the dead, piling the corpses of their former allies onto the pyres under the supervision of just two auxiliary cohorts; Budvoc had been true to his word and his men worked willingly.

Vespasian turned away from the sombre sight and rode towards his legion, formed up in column on the hill, ready to begin the march west. Apart from a visit to Sabinus the previous evening and a couple of periods of brief but sound sleep, his time had been taken up with the aftermath of battle. He had received the lists of casualties from each cohort and had been relieved by their comparative lightness: just under three hundred dead and twice as many wounded, of which almost a hundred would never serve again. Dead or severely wounded centurions, optiones and
standard-bearers had to be replaced and promotions were made under guidance from the surviving officers of each cohort. Finally, the few centuries that had been badly mauled were temporarily disbanded and the survivors used to bring others up to a respectable strength. All this had been achieved in haste on the day after the battle so as to bring the legion and, more importantly, its chain of command, back up to battle readiness.

And battle there would be; Vespasian was sure of it. As Plautius had predicted, the bulk of the Britons had crossed the Tamesis, despite the best endeavours of the fleet, which had massacred thousands in the water. The auxiliaries had tried to follow them through the marsh tracks to the river, but without local knowledge they found it all but impossible and many foundered, sucked into the slime, weighed down by their chain mail. A couple of Batavian cohorts did manage to find a way through and foolishly swam across, only to be repulsed with heavy losses by a few thousand tribesmen who had rallied on the north bank, despite receiving artillery support from the ballistae mounted on the bows of the fleet’s triremes.

Vespasian reached the front of the column. He raised his arm in the air and, with a slight flourish, swiped it down; a deep horn sounded, the signal was relayed and the II Augusta moved forward. Before them, two auxiliary cohorts scouted ahead in open order with two more on either flank; behind followed the XX and XIIII Legions, both without their legates – although Sabinus had been pronounced fit enough to travel in a covered wagon. Geta, however, although conscious, was very weak from loss of blood and had been despatched to the hospital tents at Rutupiae, along with the other wounded.

As he rode, Vespasian contemplated Narcissus’ skill in engineering a situation whereby from a safe distance back in Gaul he could force an enemy to expose himself for what he was and thereby set in train a sequence of events that might well topple an empress. Again, he knew that he was being used as a small piece in a bigger game; but it was ever thus in the murky world of imperial politics whose fringes he felt he would be always destined to inhabit – unless, of course, he retired to his estates. But, then,
would he be happy to live out his life quietly as he had once wanted? A life in which his only excitement would be, as Sabinus had described it so disparagingly, to see if this year’s wine would be better than the last. He thought back to that conversation two years previously in Germania: at the time he had genuinely considered retirement as a way of avoiding being caught up in imperial politics, but now he realised that his brother had been right, he would be bored. Now that he had commanded a legion in battle and received the praise of his commanding officer for his conduct; now that he knew he was capable of such command and that there would be more battles ahead from which to learn, how could he possibly retire to a farm and watch the changing of the seasons? He looked back at the legion at whose head he was riding and exalted in the pride that he felt. There would be no retirement – at least not yet – he would continue his career and the price would be his involvement with politics.

He consoled himself with the fact that this time his role was more crucial in that he now had to judge how long it should be before he reported to Plautius what he was sure his scouts would be telling him in just a few hours. He knew that it was imperative for Corvinus to have enough time to damn himself completely in Plautius’ eyes; it was not so much that he cared about Narcissus’ power struggle with Messalina – although he realised that in the choice of the two evils he was better off with Narcissus winning that struggle – it was the chance of revenge for Corvinus’ abduction of Clementina and deliverance of her to Caligula for violent and repeated rape. He smiled coldly, his eyes set with satisfaction, as he contemplated the sweet sensation of delivering vengeance upon a man who had so wronged his family.

‘You’re looking pleased with yourself,’ Magnus said, pulling his horse up next to him. ‘Did you have a particularly good shit before we left?’

‘I did, as a matter of fact. Where’ve you been? I was looking for you earlier to tell you all about it.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry to have missed out on that treat; but don’t worry, I’ve been down to see Sabinus and he made up for it by easing one out in his wagon whilst I was there. More to the point,
I saw my orderly mate again and he told me that he had overheard a mightily displeased Plautius ask Geta to explain to him why he made the elementary mistake of letting his unit probe too deeply into the routing enemy and allowing forty of his precious cavalry to go absent without leave across the Styx.’

Magnus paused; Vespasian waited for a moment and then looked at him. ‘Well, go on then, tell me what he said.’

‘He didn’t really have a reason, he just said that he’d been fired up with enthusiasm and it would never happen again.’

‘Did Plautius accept that?’

‘Apparently; he shouted at Geta for a short while, until the doctor advised against it for medical reasons, and then he left, seemingly satisfied with the explanation, and with no more than a warning about not being a reckless arsehole in his army again and a vague threat concerning his testicles, a weighty hammer and an anvil.’

‘It doesn’t make sense. Whatever you might think about Geta, he’s got a reputation as being an excellent soldier; just take the Mauretanian campaign, for example – from all accounts his conduct was exemplary. He’s not the sort of person to make a stupid mistake like that.’

‘We all do, now and again.’

‘If you’re alluding to my failure to advance quickly enough on Cantiacum, it’s not the same; I’m not nearly as experienced as Geta and yet I know not to lose my head and go chasing off into the heart of a horde of very angry Britons with just my legion’s cavalry.’

‘Fair point; but there was a time when you might have lost your head.’

‘I’m over that now.’

‘Thank the gods; I always thought that that would be how you’d get yourself killed. But I agree, Geta wouldn’t do that. Anyway, who gives a fuck? He’s done it now and pissed off Plautius into the bargain.’

‘You’re right, I suppose, it’s just a pity he didn’t get himself killed along with all the other poor sods he did for. How’s Sabinus?’

‘Oh, he’s much better, the wound’s healing up like a Vestal’s gash; the doctor says he can ride tomorrow, so he’ll be fine for your little chat with Corvinus.’

‘I’m pleased to hear it,’ Vespasian replied, looking ahead to where Paetus was riding towards him. ‘Here it comes.’

‘Here comes what?’

‘Decision time.’

‘My patrol has just returned from the Tamesis crossing, sir,’ Paetus reported as he slowed his mount.

‘And apart from a century on either bank there was no sign of the Ninth?’

The young prefect looked momentarily astonished. ‘How did you know, sir?’

‘That doesn’t matter; send that patrol out again, I don’t want that to be public knowledge.’

‘But Plautius—’

‘Will be told when the time is right; I’ll take the responsibility for it, Paetus, you’ve just got to trust me. As far as you’re concerned the Ninth is making itself nice and comfy on the northern bank of the Tamesis and if you say otherwise to anyone I think that you’ll find yourself on the wrong side of Narcissus.’

Paetus raised his eyebrows. ‘I’d rather not find myself on any side of Narcissus, sir. I’ll report back when I’ve got news that the Ninth have finished building their camp.’

‘Thank you, prefect, I’ll be very interested to know just how long it takes them.’

Paetus grinned and saluted.

Magnus looked dubious as Paetus rode away. ‘This is a very dangerous game that Narcissus has got you playing, sir. When Plautius finds out it won’t just be Geta’s testicles that will be feeling the weight of the general’s hammer, if you take my meaning?’

‘I’m rather hoping that it’ll be Corvinus’ balls that’ll receive Plautius’ kind attentions.’

‘There’s room for more than one pair on the general’s anvil.’

*

The inevitable delay of one day after the battle forced Plautius to drive his army on as fast as possible and the march west was an arduous affair for the weary legionaries. The going, however, was easy, over gently undulating farmland that, with the VIIII Hispana so close behind, Caratacus had mainly left untouched. It was through fields of ripening wheat and barley or arable land that the column made its way and not a landscape blackened and destroyed by a retreating army intent upon denying its pursuer the ability to forage.

The morning of the second day saw them descending a hill into a basin through which the Tamesis, now just a mile to the north, wound in a ponderous, looping fashion, forcing the part of the fleet shadowing their advance to row harder in order to keep pace with the column.

In the distance, five miles or so to the west, Vespasian could see the ships that had supported Corvinus’ advance, bobbing at anchor at what he guessed must be the Tamesis ford. He knew that his hoodwinking of Plautius could not go undetected for much longer. A smudge on the horizon, well to the north of the river, caught his eye and he pulled his horse to one side, allowing the men of the first cohort to tramp past, as he scrutinised it carefully. After a few moments’ deliberation, chewing on his bottom lip, he turned his mount and headed back down the column.