Dreaming the Eagle (62 page)

He had let go of the halter. His voice was moving. The colt knew where. Ban followed the lie of the part-white ear. ‘He was kind as a foal,’ he said.

‘They say Gaius Germanicus was quiet as a child. Look at him now. Men of Corvus’ calibre quake at his glance.’

‘Corvus doesn’t—’

‘No, of course not. A man who has lived through one shipwreck will always choose to wear full body armour aboard ship. Don’t be ridiculous; Gaius is a monster and everyone knows it.’

‘You’re still alive.’ He sounded like a child, pleading. He stopped.

‘I am useful. He will parade me through Rome and the Senate will vote him a games in honour of his victory and set his statue in the temple of Mars Ultor. Next year, if Galba believes he can spare him the legions, I will be his excuse to invade Britannia, and when the legions have won I will be his client king in the lands of the Trinovantes and the Catuvellauni. I can wait.’

‘I saw you in a vision once as Mandubracios, the traitor. If I had known how true it was, I would have killed you.’

‘And brought on yourself the dreamer’s death? No, you wouldn’t.’ The voice flowed from beyond the brown mare. Ban edged away from it, towards the colt. The scents of the baths drifted past him: of rosemary oil and lavender, of steam and smoke and Iccius’ death. But Iccius was beside him, vividly. His father balanced his spear in his hand, his dead gaze fixed on one place. Amminios said, ‘Did you know that in Trinovantian legend, Mandubracios was a hero who fought to the death with his comrades? It was Andurovic of the Eceni who betrayed the tribes to Caesar. It is why we never trusted you.’

He was close, perhaps in the stall beyond the mare. Ban moved past the colt. He spoke towards the wall, making his voice echo. ‘You’re lying. The Eceni have always hated Rome. All of the tribes know it.’

‘Of course. Which is why Ban of the Eceni has accepted a place in Caesar’s cavalry. I hear you are newly posted to the Ala Quinta Gallorum. Favourite of the prefect and his emperor, granted full citizenship, by the god on earth in person.’ They had been speaking the tongue of the tribes. He changed to Latin, mocking. ‘Julius Valerius. Does Gaius know you hate Rome and everything it stands for?’

‘He’ll find out.’

‘Only if you live long enough. I am tempted to leave you alive. Gaius will take far longer killing you than I have time to do.’

‘But when it’s over I will be free. You will be hunted through the lands of the dead by those you killed by treachery.’

‘If I believed that, my poor barbarian savage, do you suppose I would have-Oh, no, not yet, my beauty …’ He had circled back, behind. The colt had kicked out, at the shape as much as the sound of the voice. Amminios slipped past him. His voice spun on, softly malevolent. ‘Ah, he’s a fighter. It will be good to have him back.’

‘You couldn’t take him. He would never work for you.’

‘Of course he will. Who do you think broke him to ride in the first place? It wasn’t your Dacian friend. He could never get near him.’

‘Liar. Fox was ten times the horseman you are.’

‘Maybe, but I broke the colt. See, he knows me …’

Amminios was at the head, fingers tugging at the halter rope. Hemp whispered past the tie post. The Crow stood rigid with his feet braced wide, snoring a warning. Ban counted a handful of heartbeats, his eyes wide in the dark for movement he could feel but not see. As the rope came loose, he snapped forward, slapping his hand against the dark hide. The colt jerked back, found his halter rope loose and spun sideways, snaking his head. Bared, murderous teeth showed dimly white. Amminios ducked, laughing. ‘Ban, Ban - you are so very predictable. But then, so am I.’

Ban rolled sideways, into the space between the horses. Iron hissed in leather. A knife called light from the dark. Iccius shouted a warning that had no sound and swung his shield, wielding the edge like a club. Eburovic stabbed with his spear, blocking the escape. The Crow, freed of all restraint, struck with its forefeet as it had done against the Chatti, striving to kill with a raw, unhampered passion. It screamed its rage, covering the truncated noise of human death. The smell of blood rose and fled down the line, stirring the other horses and, soon, the watch. Voices and running torches gathered on the far side of the bridge. A single shadowed figure squeezed out between the horses at the far end of the line and ran for cover amongst the thousands of other mounts wakened by the sudden presence of death amongst them.

XXIV.

HE WAS LYING AWAKE IN THE TENT WHEN THEY CAME FOR HIM: eight men and a centurion of the II nd Augusta, all of them strangers. The men of his tent would have fought for him until they heard the charge; then they stood back, pale in the morning, and let the others take him. Ban walked in the centre of the eight, matching pace effortlessly with the men on either side. He was awake. More than that, he was fully alive. A fierce joy flared in his chest. Beneath the mist and the blistering flare of the lighthouse, the morning was sublime. The camp woke around him, busily organized. Ban smelled the smoke of a thousand camp fires and baking bread and the latrines and thought them equally perfect. He imagined his death and the pain that would come before it and did not care. Iccius and his father had departed from him, but he lived with the certainty that he would join them by nightfall or perhaps the next dawn. Nothing else mattered.

The emperor was not prepared to deal with judicial matters at daybreak. The guards beat their prisoner carefully, leaving no bruises on his face or hands, and locked him in a storeroom in the magistrate’s residence until the summons came. Ban lay back with his head on a bale of undyed linen and his feet cushioned on cards of raw wool and watched a pregnant female rat make a nest in the centre of a neighbouring bale and did not disturb her. He remembered the gods of his childhood and gave thanks to Nemain of the waters and to Briga, goddess of death. He did not ask their favour. In granting Amminios’ death and the manner of it, they had given more than he could ever request; his world was perfect, and nothing could diminish it. When they came for him again, he was singing the death song of his people.

He was used by now to the realities of an imperial audience room: the fresh limewash on the walls, the excess of gold, the ravishing silks that could be packed and unpacked at need. Only the people standing to attention near the dais had the capacity to surprise him. He had not expected Theophilus to be at the hearing, or Corvus. Temporarily, their presence took the shine from morning; it was no part of his plan that others should suffer because he must. The physician frowned as the prisoner entered; already he regretted the loss of a promising pupil who lacked the sense to heed good advice. Corvus was standing rigidly to attention, his eyes locked on nowhere with dark rings in the olive skin beneath. Ban knew himself to be radiant and felt a moment’s guilt; then the emperor entered and it was impossible to look elsewhere.

Gaius walked at ease, making the Praetorians ahead and behind slow their pace. He wore the toga, the first time Ban had seen him do so, and carried a scroll. The great, carved eagle chair awaited his presence. He passed it and stood in front of the prisoner. He was always taller than one remembered him; not the height of the Batavians, but taller than most Romans. As once before, Ban saw the extraordinary pain locked in his eyes. They fixed on him now, drawing the joy from the morning.

‘A good night?’ asked the emperor, softly.

‘My lord, yes.’ He did not intend to lie.

‘Good. Hold to it. The memory will sustain you through the rest of your life.’ Ever the master of ambiguity. Smiling, Gaius ascended the throne.

Men of the II nd Augusta had found the body and one of their junior tribunes read the charge: that during the first watch of the night, the accused, Julius Valerius Corvus, did loose his horse, a pied colt known for its unstable temperament, and did set it to kill one Amminios, son of Cunobelinos, against whom he was known to hold a grudge, this man being under the protection and care of his most noble majesty the Emperor Gaius Julius Caesar Germanicus.

The charge was known to those present. Theophilus closed his eyes. The caduceus rose and fell on his chest, raggedly. The rest stared straight ahead and offered no views. The emperor leaned forward, his elbow on his knee, his hand balancing his chin. His smile carried a hunger that Ban had not seen before. For the first time he understood the full magnitude of the promised pain. Terror thrilled through him, jangling his nerves. He felt the life drain from his heart.

The emperor sat back, slowly. He made a tent of his fingers and tapped them to his lips. Time became a space between them. At the end of it, he said, ‘Did you loose the colt?’

‘My lord, I did not.’

‘Will you swear in the name of Jupiter, best and greatest, and on the genius of your emperor, as the most sacred of all things you hold dear, that you did not loose the colt?’

‘I will.’ He did so. It would make no difference later. The emperor glanced sideways at Corvus. The prefect could have been cast in marble, so little had he moved. The emperor’s index finger tapped at his thin, unpainted lips. Around him, men awaited the relevant questions and the inevitable verdict. Only the sentence remained in doubt.

Gaius kept them waiting. His smile was indulgent. He nodded more clearly at Corvus.

‘The prefect tells me that love between men is a disgrace amongst your people. Is that so?’

‘My lord?’ Ban could feel himself frown. It was not a proper expression to bring before one’s emperor. He fought for the earlier calm. Gaius gave him no time to find it.

‘I have seen you together. At the river fighting the Chatti, on board the Euridyke, here and there about the camp. Seeing how you fought for his life, I had thought it had happened long since, but I am told last night was the first time. I am also told that you would die before you admitted to it, which would be unfortunate, and a denial of that which is beautiful.’

‘My lord?’ Ban felt the world tilt beneath his feet. For a moment he stood on the edge of a precipice, denying the evidence of his ears. Then understanding flooded him, bringing its own destruction. A door crashed shut that had been open and in its place he felt the weight of a new obligation, a life held in balance by his own. He could deny what they palpably believed to be true and they would not believe him, simply label him a child; or he could provide them with evidence of the truth - that he had killed Amminios - and Corvus’ life would be forfeit with his own. On the periphery of his vision, Iccius shrugged and departed.

‘Corvus-‘ He rounded on the prefect. A single muscle jumped in the man’s cheek. Grey eyes fixed their space on the wall and would not leave it. Of all men, the prefect understood the depth of his betrayal.

Ban forced his gaze back to the gilded chair. The emperor was smiling as Amminios had smiled on winning the first hard-fought game of Warrior’s Dance. He said, ‘We have men skilled in the asking of questions. I do not believe you would die before admitting it, but you would not be fit to repeat your experience, or to fight for your emperor afterwards, and we still have need of you. And’ - the cavernous gaze circled the room; none escaped it - ‘there are other ways to arrive at the truth than pain. His words might deny the reality, but his body cannot.’

The emperor’s eyes fixed, at last, on the tribune of the II nd. ‘Titus Pompeius, we commend your prompt action, but we do not believe the charge as brought bears up to scrutiny. There are factors of which you are not aware, not least of which is that the dead man had requested the pied colt as a gift and had been denied it. It is clear to us that he attempted to take what he desired and that the horse, knowing its duty to its emperor, would not be taken. It is a lesson to us all, that we should trust the integrity of the beast, which knows only its true master. Is that not so?’

It may have been a rhetorical question but it was not safe to assume so. The tribune nodded. ‘My lord, it is.’

‘Good. The guilt lies with the dead man and he has paid his price. Your legionaries, however, allowed a thief to enter the horse lines and lay hands upon our property and therefore stand guilty of dereliction of duty. The punishment should be exemplary and swift and should encompass the full chain of command up to and including the centurion. Do I make myself clear?’

‘My lord, you do.’ The tribune had been expecting other things. Ashen, he saluted and was dismissed.

Ban had not moved. He opened his mouth. The emperor smiled and he shut it. Fear churned in him, threatening the hold of his bowels. The emperor glanced down at the scroll in his hand.

‘one year from now, our commander on the Rhine believes he will be able to spare us the legions we require to complete the business begun by our honoured predecessor, Gaius Julius Caesar. We will have need of you then, for you are our most reliable guide amongst your people. Today, however, is yours and you should celebrate. I envy you. Love such as this - the truest love that neither betrays nor is betrayed - comes only once in a lifetime. There is no shame in it. Do not feel it base. Equally, do not feel it to excess, for we would not lose you to sleepless nights, either.’ He grinned, lewdly. From behind the throne, the Greek freedman laughed. Ban nodded. He was beyond speech. The laughter crawled across his skin. Looking round, he saw it echoed in the eyes of those less favoured, who must, perforce, remain silent in the presence of their emperor. He had heard the same, in the same tone, of the women and boys who sold themselves to the legions and heard in it now the ruin of his pride. If he could have died simply by wishing it, he would have done so.

Gaius’ eyes flayed the raw pulp of his soul. His emperor, who owned his life, said acidly, ‘Julius Valerius, you have not been betrayed.’

‘No, my lord.’

‘You may go. Prefect’ - he turned to Corvus - ‘take him home and take care of him. He has been misused by the guards. If you have need of my physician, call him. That is an order. You are dismissed.’

‘Corvus-‘

‘Don’t say it.’

‘But-‘

‘Don’t.’ Dry lips pressed on his head. A warm voice, full of love and longing, said, ‘My dear, I’m sorry. We agreed not to speak of it but what else could I do?’ They stood in Corvus’ lodgings, in a room that had once aped the opulence of the emperor’s audience room, but from which the glitter had been summarily removed. It was clean and spare and smelled of harness leather and lamp oil and polishing sand. The servant hovering in the doorway had been airily dismissed, leaving them alone.