Cato 02 - The Eagles Conquest (34 page)

‘A Roman?’ Vespasian could not hide his shock. ‘Did this adviser of Caratacus give any names?’

Adminius shook his head. ‘He was stopped before he could. Caratacus called him away.’

‘Does Caratacus know what the man revealed?’ Adminius shrugged. ‘Don’t know.’

‘Those men chasing you - might they have been sent after you?’

‘No. We ran into them. They weren’t following us.’

‘I see.’ Vespasian thought for a moment, then turned to Cato. ‘You heard all that?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘You will not reveal one word of what Adminius has said. Not one word unless I give you express permission. Not to anyone. Understand?’

Vespasian and his escort returned to the main camp late in the afternoon. The legate dismissed his men and made straight for General Plautius’ headquarters. Vespasian’s creased brow was eloquent expression of his unease as he strode down the lines of tents. The rumour Adminius had spoken of might be no more than drunken bravado by one of Caratacus’ followers anxious to be thought of as a man in the know, but the threat could not be ignored given the large quantity of Roman arms being found in the hands of the natives. The whole thing smacked of a grand conspiracy. Was it possible that the Liberators’ network reached as far as Britain? If so, then they were truly a force to be reckoned with. If Adminius’ information was well-founded, then there was a traitor in the army.

Vespasian’s first thought was Vitellius. But would the tribune take such a terrible risk with his life? Vespasian wished he knew the man well enough to make that judgement. Was Vitellius so anogant and imprudent as to make yet another direct attempt to further his lofty political ambitions? Surely he had more sense than that.

On the other hand the assassin’s Roman contact might not be in the army at all. There was already a large number of civilians following in the wake of the army; slave agents from Rome looking for bargains, wine merchants anxious to supply the legions, land agents mapping the best of the farmland for quick purchase from the Emperor, and all manner of camp followers and traders now that the army had firmly established itself as far as the Tamesis. Perhaps the traitor was among the imperial entourage itself. Certainly such a person would be well-placed to assist an assassin. This possibility made Vespasian’s heart sink like a rock, and he suddenly felt very weary and utterly depressed.

Flavia was in the imperial entourage.

All the dreadful uncertainty about the woman he wanted to love unreservedly tortured him anew. How could she? How could she risk so much? Not just for herself, but for him and their son, Titus. How could she put them all in such danger? But, he told himself, Flavia might be innocent. It might be an altogether different person who was the traitor. In all likelihood it was.

Whatever the truth, if indeed there was a plot to kill the Emperor, then General Plautius must be informed at once. Regardless of the risk to Flavia.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

The general was just leaving his headquarters tent when Vespasian anived. Aulus Plautius was wearing his full ceremonial armour and the afternoon sun was brilliantly reflected in the fine cuirass and gilded helmet. Around him his senior officers gathered in equally gaudy attire. A string of neatly groomed horses was being led up the slope to where they waited outside the general’s headquarters.

‘Ah- There you are, Vespasian. I trust your day went well?’ ‘Sir, I have to tell you something. In private.’

‘In private?’ Plautius looked irritated. ‘Then it’ll have to wait.’

‘But, sir, it’s vital I tell you what I know straightaway.’

‘Look, we can’t delay any longer. The Emperor and the reinforcements are just beyond that ridge on the far side of the river. He has to be met with the full formalities as he enters the southern camp. Now go and get your ceremonials on. Then join me as fast as you can on the other side of the river.’

‘Sir-’

‘Vespasian, you have your orders. Kindly carry them out.’

The horses had reached the headquarters tent and vvithout another word or glance at Vespasian, Aulus Plautius hoisted himself onto a glossy black mare and pulled the reins to turn the horse in the direction of the new ly completed bridge. After a sharp kick of his booted heels the beast lurched forward into a canter and the rest of the staff scrambled onto their mounts and hurried to catch up. Vespasian watched them go, arm raised to protect his mouth from the dust churning through the air. Then he slapped his thigh angrily and marched back towards his legion.

Claudius and his reinforcements would have arrived in the camp on the south bank just before dusk, but for Narcissus. In the event, the column was halted on the far side of the ridge while the freedman went on ahead in his litter to make the appropriate arrangements for a dramatic entry. The litter drew up in front of the assembled ranks of officers and they waited in hushed anticipation for the occupant to emerge. With painstaking exactness the bearers lowered the litter to the ground, and a pair of footmen hurried to the silk curtains and drew them back. The plumes of the officers’ helmets tilted as they craned their necks to get a good view of the litter, fully expecting the Emperor to emerge in some strange twist of protocol. There was an audible sigh of disappointment as Narcissus stepped out of the litter, rose to his feet and greeted the general.

‘Aulus Plautius! Nice little camp site you’ve got here.’ Narcissus paused to examine the scarlet cloaks and polished breastplates massed before him. ‘Hello, gentlemen, I’m most touched by this welcome. You really shouldn’t have.’

Aulus Plautius ground his teeth in an effort to control his temper. He stood silently as the freedman stepped up to him with a broad smile and pumped his hand.

‘Now then, let’s not hang about any longer. We need to get on and make preparations for the arrival of the Emperor. Have your staff officers stay to help with the organisation. The rest of these chaps can go and wait wherever it is you soldiers go between battles.’

While the officers milled about impatiently in the overcrowded officers’ mess tent, Narcissus quickly issued instructions that sent legionaries scurrying around the camp to assemble the materials necessary to achieve the theatrical effect that the Emperor’s chief secretary wanted. Vespasian, bathed, scented and clad in ceremonial finery, managed to join the officers reassembled outside the headquarters just as proceedings began.

Long after the last rays of the sun had been blotted out by night, a strident blaring of trumpets at the main gate announced the arrival of Claudius. The avenue from the main gate to the wooden praetorium was lined with legionaries holding blazing torches aloft. By the light of the orange and gold flames the senior cohort of the Praetorian Guard marched into the camp. The spotless white of their uniforms and shields engendered a certain amount of quiet resentment in the men who had had to fight their way to the Tamesis. More cohorts followed and formed up on the parade ground in front of the Praetorium. Next came a score of young boys in purple tunics, carrying gilded wicker baskets, who showered flower petals along the route. Finally, another blast from the trumpets split the night air, this time accompanied by a different kind of trumpeting, which few men in the invading army had ever heard before.

Lumbering into view down the avenue of flickering torches came the elephants, with the Emperor himself riding the first in the line. Right on cue the legionaries along the route began to shout out ‘Imperator! Imperator! Imperator!’. The traditional acclamation for a beloved and respected commander. Claudius sat behind an elephant driver on an elaborate throne specially made to be carried on the back of an elephant. Without inclining or turning his head, the Emperor waved one hand in acknowledgement. He wore a magnificent silver cuirass studded with jewels that gleamed like eyes of red and green in the torchlight. Flowing around him was a cloak of imperial purple. On his brow he wore a golden wreath whose lustre reflected the flickering glow.

Magnificent as the spectacle was, the principal member of the cast would have benefited from a dress rehearsal. The unusual rolling motion of riding an elephant is uneasy on the stomach of someone new to elephants and the motion necessitated frequent adjustments to the wreath to keep it at an aesthetically pleasing angle. Otherwise, judged Vespasian, Claudius was making a decent enough fist of it.

The elephant driver halted the Emperor’s beast and urged it down with a set sequence of kicks and orders. The front knees gracefully buckled and the Emperor, still waving nonchalantly to his cheering troops, was almost pitched out of his throne and only avoided this indignity by throwing himself backward and grabbing the arms. Even so the imperial wreath was dislodged. It bounced down the flank of the elephant and would have landed on the ground had not Narcissus leaped forward and fielded it with a neat one-handed catch. The beast lowered its rear and the Emperor pulled a hidden lever to release the side of the throne, which folded out to provide a nicely angled series of steps down to the ground.

‘Ohh! Very neat!’ Vitellius marvelled, standing in his place next to Vespasian.

The Emperor descended, replaced the wreath discreetly returned to him by Narcissus, and limped forward to greet the general of his army. ‘My dear Aulus Plautius. It d-d-does my heart good to s-see you again!’

‘The pleasure and honour is all mine, Caesar,’ uttered Plautius and bowed his head.

‘Yes, m-most kind of you, I m-rn-must say.’

‘I trust Caesar’s journey was comfortable?’

‘No. N-not really. Bit of a s-storm after we left Ostia and the roads in Gaul n-need upgrading. But the chaps on the British f-f-fleet were very accommodating. And do you know, P-Plautius, every fort I’ve passed th-th-through since I landed at Rutupiae has hailed me as Imperator! What about that then?’ The eyes gleamed proudly, and the nervous tic he had never quite managed to master emphasised his pride with a sudden sideways twitch of the head that nearly shook the wreath off again. It now hung at a slight angle above his left eye and behind him Narcissus had to still his hand as it instinctively started to reach out to straighten his masters symbol of office. Abruptly Claudius swung round towards his chief secretary.

‘Narcissus’

‘How times did they call me Imperator?’

‘Eighteen times,including tonight,Caesar?’

‘There- what about that? More than either Augustus or Tiberius ever got!’ inclined his head and smiled modestly at the achievement.

‘No more than you deserve, Caesar,’ Plautius said respectfully. He turned to one side and indicated his senior officers with a wave of his hand ”May I present my legates and tribunes to you, Caesar?’

‘What did you say?’ Claudius craned an ear towards him. In the background the troops had got a little too enthusiastic in their cheering, and it was becoming hard to conduct a conversation at the prescribed distance between Emperor and subordinate. A quite different arrangement existed between Emperor and freedman since the latter was so far down the social order that no protocol existed. Claudius waved Narcissus over and shouted into one ear.

‘Look, it’s terribly n-nice of them and all that, b-b-but would you have someone tell them to shut up. Can’t hear a th-th-thing.’

‘At once, Caesar!’ Narcissus bowed, backed away and pointed to the assembled senior centurions of the Praetorian Guard and then pointed to the ground before his feet. Vespasian watched in astonishment as the centurions immediately trotted over in response to the freedman’s summons, Clearly, Narcissus was so firmly positioned at the Emperor’s side that he could command instant obedience from these free-born citizens of Rome, who were nominally his social superiors. The instructions were quickly issued and the centurions hurried off waving their arms at the men lining the route, and quickly the shouting began to subside.

‘Ah! Much b-better! Now then, Plautius, you were s-s-saying?’

‘My officers, Caesar. I would like to present them to you.’

‘Of course you would! Jolly g-good idea.’

The Emperor went down the line of legates and tribunes, arranged by legion, repeating a series of stock phrases as he passed along.

‘Having a good campaign? Wished I could have j-joined you earlier. Maybe n-n-next time, eh?

‘Had some good b-b-battles, I hear. Hope you sh-sh-showed them how tough we Romans are!

‘Hope you’ve left me enough b-barbarians for a decent fight! I’ve got a deal off-f-fighting to catch up on!’

Until he approached Vespasian,

He limped along from the last tribune of the Ninth Legion and stood before the legate of the Second.

‘Having a… Why, it’s Flavius Vespasian. How are you, my lad?’

‘I’ m well, Caesar.’

‘Well, that’s good. Jolly g·good. Been hearing excellent things about your brother. Must be proud of him.’

‘Yes. Caesar,’ Vespasian replied icily before he could stop himself. ‘Still, keep up the g-good work and maybe one day you can have a legion of your own to c-command.’

‘Caesar.’ Narcissus stepped up smoothly. ‘This is the Flavian brother who commands the Second.’

‘Then who’s the other fellow?’

‘Flavius Sabinus. Attached to the staff.’

The light of realisation dimly dawned in the Emperor’s countenance. ‘Aha! Then this is the one with that w-w-wife. What’s her name?’ ‘Flavia, Caesar,’ Vespasian answered.