The Furies of Rome (34 page)

Slashing and stabbing, the Batavians held their nerve and filled the gap as the legionaries, to either side, tuned to face the Iceni who had made it through and between them they began to grind the warriors down into the bloody meat of the arena floor.

But before them still stood Myrddin and no one dared approach him; even Sabinus as he cut down the last warrior between him and the druids, opening the man’s face in a splash of blood and teeth, baulked at the prospect and pulled his horse about as Vespasian hacked his way to his brother’s side. Myrddin stared hard at the brothers, eyes piercing, as his brethren kept up an atonal chant to their dark gods; recognition flooded onto his face followed by the joy of having hated enemies within one’s power and Vespasian felt his limbs freeze as Myrddin turned his full attention onto the siblings. The druid raised his hand, pointing his finger at Vespasian, and screeched a sentence full of loathing; as he bayed the final syllables, lifting his face to the sky, a black streak shot through the air and clamped itself onto his exposed throat as another chomped onto his extended wrist. For, as with the horses, Castor and Pollux felt no fear of gods conjured by men; no dread nor creeping cold paralysis; they saw only a threat to one of their humans and, with unquestioning canine loyalty, they went for that threat. Vespasian and Sabinus jumped from their mounts and ran to where the druid lay fighting the beasts off as, beyond him, the rest of the filthy creatures backed off at the combined sight of the chief of their order down and torn and then of more Batavian horsemen coming through the gap, now that the spell was broken. Pulling the dogs off, Vespasian and Sabinus looked down at the ravaged body, blood oozing from great wounds.

Myrddin’s eyes flickered and then opened and Vespasian felt a faint voice calling him but he took no notice. ‘Do it, brother.’

Sabinus did not need a second invitation. As he raised his sword, what was left of Myrddin’s mouth twitched into a smile and his eyes told Vespasian that this meant nothing to him. Down the sword flashed and, with the wet and hollow crunch of a butcher’s cleaver, it sliced through the gorge and the spinal column and struck off Myrddin’s head, burying itself in the bloody ground below. For an instant all seemed still. Leaving his sword embedded, Sabinus grabbed the matted hair, lifted the severed head and screamed out ‘Clementina!’ over and over; as Boudicca and her warriors saw it, they despaired.

The men of the first and second cohorts began to wield their swords with renewed vigour as the warriors facing them lost heart by degrees. The men of Boudicca’s household closed about her and the Queen disappeared back into the crush. Vespasian jumped back onto his horse and turned, looking towards the place he thought he had last seen Titus. Now there was just corpse-littered ground as the Batavian line had moved forward and was now past Vespasian, following up the surviving warriors who had been beaten back through the gap.

‘He took my mount, if it’s Titus you’re looking for,’ Magnus said, nonchalantly walking through the debris of battle as it still raged not twenty paces from him.

‘It was; I saw him get unhorsed.’

‘And I helped him get up again; he looked to be quite enjoying himself, from what I could see of his expression under all that blood. Pity about Jorik, though, he was a good lad. Ah! There they are.’ Magnus bent down as Castor and Pollux came bounding up to him, slavering and licking the blood from their chops and furiously wagging their tails in evident self-satisfaction. ‘Good boys, did you get the nasty druid, did you? Goooood work; I’m proud of you I am.’ Magnus accepted their blood-tinged licks and ruffled their sticky coats as they wagged their tails, pleased at the praise.

Vespasian stared down at the incongruous scene and wondered for a moment if he was dreaming and there was not a battle of epic proportions taking place just a few paces away; then the reality of it became obvious with a mighty cheer from Roman lungs as the Britannic line crumbled and panic, mixed with shame, began to set in to the fleeing warriors. ‘Did you just ask your dogs if they got Myrddin?’

‘I did.’

‘You set them onto him, then?’

‘Of course I did. I came down with the charge, hanging about at the back, but, as you know, I just don’t hold with fighting mounted, it ain’t natural, and I can’t work up an appetite for it. Anyway, I saw Titus go down so I thought he might as well have my horse seeing as I wasn’t really putting it to good use and me and the boys could wander along on foot, just behind you and Sabinus, bringing mercy to Boudicca’s wounded, if you take my meaning?’ Magnus pulled a particularly fine silver torque from his belt. ‘I saw this just after I noticed that mess Myrddin start to take an interest in you so I sent the boys to help you out whilst I helped the former owner of this fine piece become dead.’

Vespasian, despite himself and all that was going on around him, found himself laughing.

‘Senator, we haven’t got time for idle conversation and amusing anecdotes,’ Paulinus said, pulling up his horse, his face a study in relief. He smiled and proffered his forearm. ‘You and your brother have my thanks for everything you’ve done, not least plugging that gap and taking Myrddin’s head.’

Vespasian grasped the arm as Sabinus drew up, Myrddin’s head tied to his saddle.

‘There’s one more piece of business, other than the massacre of as many of these savages as possible.’

‘Boudicca?’

‘I want her alive. Ask your son to get her for me.’

‘We’ll both go,’ Vespasian said, looking at his brother.

Sabinus inclined his head a fraction; he understood.

With no quarter asked for or expected, the army of Paulinus followed up the Britons’ rout, hacking and stabbing at the backs of the warriors; down they fell in their hundreds and thousands as they tried to flee from the moving wall of iron, muscle and wood steadily driving them back south. However, their numbers precluded speed and the slower legionaries were well able to keep in contact, causing such high casualties that the individual soldiers found it hard to keep a tally. Here and there pockets of resistance did turn to defy their tormentors only to be swept aside with brutal ease, holding up the line for a few moments. And the line was kept, the army advanced as one knowing that to do otherwise would be to offer the possibility of victory to the vanquished. The new primus pilus of each cohort – not one of the originals had survived fighting at the tip of the wedge – kept their commands rigid as they rolled inexorably down the hill. But soon the valley widened enough for the pressure to be taken off the Britons’ numbers and for their speed to increase so that they gradually broke contact with their pursuers, who nonetheless pressed on, expanding their formations as they did so that none could get around the flanks.

So it was that Vespasian and Sabinus soon caught up with Titus’ Batavians as they picked their way through the anti-chariot obstacles and the dead and dying lying in their thousands.

‘So we’ve got to carve our way through there, Father?’ Titus said, looking nervously at the seething mass of retreating Britons, having been apprised of what was expected of his half ala.

‘We wait until they get more spread out. Then it’ll be safer and easier.’

But then the Britannic confidence of their inevitable victory came back to haunt them: just as they were starting to really pull away from the legionaries they came across the multitude of wagons and carriages that had been placed across the valley upon which their families had expected to observe their crushing victory. The families had mostly fled but the laager remained, entrapping the Britons just at the moment they had thought to escape from the relentless Roman blades. As they climbed over, pushed through and crawled under the obstacle, the logjam became such that the army of Paulinus regained contact and if they had sown terror before then this time they doubled it as they killed now not out of vengeance, but for pleasure, knowing that this was their last chance to reap Britannic lives.

And they laughed as they slew, joking with their comrades at the antics of those who had by now lost all pride and were scrambling to save themselves at the expense of others. Vespasian and Sabinus joined in the slaughter with glad hearts, the Roman citizens of Camulodunum, Londinium and Verulamium in their minds: the young girl slithering down the impaling stake, the children nailed to the bridge, the women with their breasts hacked off, the human torches in the river port; all the atrocities they had seen. By the time the barricade burst open and the Britons could flood out from the valley, almost eighty thousand lay dead along its length. One man for every Roman citizen slaughtered during the rebellion.

With urgency Vespasian and Sabinus rode, accompanied by Titus and his Batavians, avoiding the bigger clumps of Iceni and cutting up the few fools who turned to try to hinder their passage. Speed was imperative as Boudicca was no more than a quarter of a mile away, her chariot plainly visible amongst the cluster of household warriors jogging beside her. Beating their mounts with the flats of their blades, the Batavians gained on the slower-moving chariot; the household warriors looked nervously over their shoulders and increased their pace. But a horse can go faster and for longer than a man, especially a man who has just suffered defeat in battle, and within half a mile the cavalry had overhauled Boudicca and her household warriors, just fifty or so of them left; they turned and formed up to face the Batavians, ready to die for their Queen.

Vespasian raised a hand and Titus gave the order to split and the Batavians streamed around the clump of Iceni, surrounding them so that they could go no further. The two sides stared warily at each other as Vespasian eased his horse forward. ‘Boudicca!’

The Queen had her driver turn her chariot about and she drove through her household warriors and up to Vespasian; Sabinus had now joined him.

‘You two!’ the Queen growled. ‘Perhaps I should have killed you.’

‘That’s why we’re here,’ Sabinus said, ‘because you didn’t.’

Vespasian checked his frisky mount. ‘Paulinus wants you alive, and you know what that means?’

The Queen’s expression showed she knew exactly. ‘And you outnumber us, yet you don’t take me; why is that?’

‘We both owe you our lives.’

‘So you wish to give me mine in return?’

‘To dispose of now, as you please.’

‘And my body?’

Vespasian nodded to her warriors. ‘If they can get away with it then it will be theirs to bury as they will.’

‘My daughters?’

‘Have suffered enough and have had their revenge; there is no further score to settle.’

Boudicca looked between the two brothers. ‘Why do you do this?’

‘To show you that not all Romans are without honour.’

She nodded slowly and then called her daughters and the leader of her warriors forward. There followed tearful words in the tongue of the Iceni as farewells were said.

‘I’m ready,’ Boudicca said eventually.

‘How will you do it?’ Sabinus asked.

Boudicca looked down at the grisly head dangling from his saddle and pulled a vial from inside her tunic. ‘Myrddin gave me this against being captured alive; he was a master of death, so this will be quick and relatively painless. You know, of course, that you haven’t defeated him? He’s already back in another form.’

Sabinus reached down and patted the head. ‘Believe what you want; all I know is that I’ve had my vengeance and this skull will sit very well on the shrine of my household gods in memory of it.’

‘Vengeance is a sweet thing and I have taken mine.’

‘If you hadn’t then you would have been free later this year,’ Vespasian said.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Nero was planning to withdraw from the whole island because the province was a drain on his finances; that’s why Seneca and all the other bankers started to call in their loans.’

The Queen thought about that for a few moments and then burst into laughter. ‘That is beautiful! I shall die content. Nero wanting to pull the legions out to save money was the catalyst that caused the rebellion; what delicious irony. Now, of course, after such a rebellion and so many dead, Rome can never leave without seeming weak. I’ve just cost your Empire untold millions in the coming years. But more than that, I’ve caused your defences along the Rhenus and Danuvius to be stretched because of the troops that you will be forced to keep here; perhaps, one day, that will be your downfall.’ She raised her vial in a toast and looked first at Sabinus and then Vespasian. ‘I said that you would be the last Roman I spoke to.’ She downed the contents in three great gulps and then sat on the floor of her chariot to wait.

She did not wait long.

Nor did Vespasian and Sabinus wait long after she had gone, but, rather, turned their horses about and, with Titus and the Batavians following, rode back north, leaving Boudicca’s warriors to carry away the body of the Fury who had defied Rome.

ROME HAD AN
air of menace hanging over it as Vespasian and Magnus followed the Via Aurelia, leading their horses, through the Trans Tiberim, on the west bank of the Tiber, and then crossed the Aemilian bridge to arrive in the Forum Boarium in the shadow of the Circus Maximus. Large groups of citizenry paraded all around holding up statues of a woman decked out in flowers. Punching their fists in the air, they chanted her name, ‘Claudia Octavia!’, over and over again as they converged on the Palatine.

Here and there were other statues, tumbled off their plinths, shattered on the ground, their painted life-like eyes staring sightlessly to the sky.

‘Poppaea Sabina,’ Vespasian said, reading the inscription on one plinth.

Magnus pressed a finger to the side of his nose and cleared a nostril. ‘She seems to have pissed people off.’

‘More to the point, what are her statues doing up anyway? She’s Nero’s mistress, not the Empress.’

‘A lot changes in eighteen months,’ Magnus observed, clearing the other nostril; Castor and Pollux both examined the produce as it hit the ground.

‘Yes, but we would have heard if Nero had divorced Claudia Octavia and married Poppaea in that time; after all we’ve only been fifty miles up the Via Aurelia in Cosa for the last four of them; news like that doesn’t travel that slowly.’

‘Your uncle will no doubt inform us.’

Vespasian did not doubt it but, nevertheless, what was of concern to him was that the citizens of Rome were behaving in such an aggressive way towards the Palatine and therefore, by extension, the Emperor and yet nothing seemed to be being done about it; there was no sign of either the Praetorian Guard, the Urban Cohorts or even the Vigiles.

Nothing.

And what was even more concerning was that there did not seem to be anyone of the equestrian or senatorial classes on the streets; no purple-edged togas, no litters, lictors or red leather sandals, nothing at all to indicate rank. The streets had been taken over by the mob and Vespasian felt very glad of his stained travel clothes. He was aware of most of the news in the eighteen months that he had been away, but this was a mystery. He pulled his hood far over his head and walked with pace towards the Quirinal.

It had taken a long time to get back to Rome, longer than Vespasian had hoped. Immediately after the battle, once he had got over his fury at the brothers allowing Boudicca to take her own life, Paulinus had sent Vespasian down to the southwest, to the II Augusta, to give the prefect of the camp, Poenius Postumus, the choice between immediate suicide or a shameful trial in Rome for cowardice in refusing to bring his legion to Paulinus’ aid. Having expressed his deep regret at depriving the legion of a share in the glory of Boudicca’s defeat, Postumus obligingly fell on his sword at Vespasian’s feet. He had then been forced to wait down in Isca until midsummer and the arrival of the new legate. With no Imperial Mandate he could not officially command the legion; however, Paulinus was anxious that he should advise the young thick-stripe military tribune – a patrician youth just out of his teens – to whom the command fell when he arrived at the legion a few days after Poenius’ suicide, on the mopping up operations in the wake of the revolt, which were considerable and province-wide. The tribune was far out of his depth but refused, with patrician pig-headed arrogance, to recognise the fact until he managed to lose most of a cohort and all of his right arm as they helped the XX legion to repel a series of serious incursions by the Silures who had been emboldened by Rome’s weakened presence in the west.

Upon the arrival of the new legate, a few days after that incident, Vespasian and Magnus had headed back to the ruins of Londinium to find a flattened, charred landscape with not one building intact. They had found the same at Camulodunum when they went to retrieve Paelignus’ strongbox from the sewer outlet, before sailing back to Germania Inferior with Sabinus, Titus and his Batavians to be reunited with Caenis and Hormus. Cerialis, however, stayed, the remnants of his legion, numbering just under a thousand, bolstered by reinforcements from Germania where Caenis had been successful in getting Governor Rufus to act with alacrity. Cerialis’ reputation was, in part, restored by the brutality with which he slaughtered any surviving Iceni war bands and then ravaged their tribal lands to the point that it would take generations for them to recover their strength.

And so Vespasian had left Titus in his province and travelled south to his estate in Cosa where he, Magnus and Hormus had spent a convivial winter. Caenis and Sabinus had both carried on to Rome whence they, along with Gaius, sent him regular reports and it was the latest one of these, received just a few days previously, which had told him that he could return to Rome: Burrus had fallen and was dead. The man responsible for keeping the memory of his collision with Nero in the circus had been poisoned by the Emperor who, according to Caenis, was so keen to pretend that he had done nothing that he actually came to Burrus’ deathbed to ask him how he was; Burrus replied: ‘
I’m
all right.’ He then refused to talk to the Emperor any more – partly because his throat had swollen up – which left Nero fretting that Burrus would go to his grave thinking badly of him.

It was with relief that Vespasian arrived at Gaius’ front door as, throughout their passage across the city, the air of menace had increased and the gangs of citizenry had grown more vocal in their support for Claudia. But there had also been something else going on and it was not just Claudia who had caused the unrest: not only had there been freeborn and freed on the streets but also a substantial proportion of slaves were about and they and many of the freedmen shared the same grievance.

‘Pedanius,’ Gaius informed Vespasian and Magnus, sitting in the sun of his courtyard garden around a table amply supplied with wine and honeyed cakes.

‘The prefect of Rome?’ Vespasian asked.

‘The very same; although we should say that he’s the ex-Urban prefect.’

‘He stepped down from the position?’

‘No, dear boy; he was murdered.’ Gaius selected his next treat. ‘By one of his slaves,’ he added just before the cake disappeared, whole, into his mouth.

‘No!’ Vespasian was appalled.

‘Yes,’ Gaius assured him, spraying crumbs over the table.

‘We haven’t had an incident like that for decades. How did it happen?’

‘I believe he reneged on his agreement to give the man his freedom after the price had already been negotiated and then, to add insult to injury, he started using his slave’s favourite boy in the most provocative manner. The man crept into Pedanius’ room whilst he was otherwise occupied with said boy and stabbed him.’

‘Is the law being invoked?’

‘It’s not certain yet as there are more than four hundred slaves in his household in Rome and on his country estate and in law they are deemed to be all equally responsible for their master’s murder and should all be crucified. There have been arguments for and against it for the last few months since the murder happened; however, it should be Nero’s final decision but he can’t make up his mind. He’s worried that the common people will think badly of him if he says yes so he’s decided that the way out for him is to give the matter over to the Senate; there’s due to be a debate about it in the House tomorrow.’

‘No wonder the slaves and freedmen are protesting,’ Magnus said, helping himself to more wine. ‘There’s always a certain amount of sympathy in these cases.’

‘I agree, Magnus. No one likes to see babes nailed to crosses on the Via Appia; but the law is the law.’

‘I shall certainly go to the debate tomorrow,’ Vespasian said.

‘Yes, it’ll be interesting because what with all the unrest about Nero divorcing Claudia Octavia and marrying Poppaea—’

‘He’s married her?’

‘Not yet; the ceremony’s set for the day after tomorrow and the whole Senate is expected to attend. Poppaea’s a few months’ pregnant and likely to go to full term so Nero divorced Claudia last month on the grounds of her being barren, which is no surprise seeing as, from all accounts, on the very few times he’s been near her since their marriage he’s used her like Pedanius did that boy; now, I may not know much about women but I do know that won’t get them pregnant. The people are up in arms about it because they see Claudia as having all the virtues of an upright Roman wife and she has their total support. They’re demanding that he recall her from exile and remarry her. The pro-Claudia sentiments have been growing and they’re now being fuelled by this slave debate and Nero doesn’t know what to do. He’s terrified and hasn’t been seen for a couple of days; meanwhile, the Praetorian Guard are refusing to move until they get a largesse to make up for Burrus’ murder. Also the Urban Cohorts are leaderless because Pedanius is dead and Nero hasn’t appointed a new Urban prefect yet and the Vigiles don’t know who to take orders from because Tigellinus has been made the new prefect of the Guard. It’s a mess that Nero shows no sign of sorting out.’

Vespasian’s mortification was plain. ‘Tigellinus is Praetorian prefect! That’s almost as bad as Burrus still being alive.’

‘I know; there was nothing that anyone could do to prevent it. Nero insisted upon promoting his playmate to the highest position; call it a reward for bad behaviour if you like. It’s put everyone in mind of Sejanus. But worry not, dear boy; for the first time in his life, Seneca has done something for the good of all and not just his purse: he persuaded Nero that he should go back to the times when there were always two prefects on the basis that Tigellinus will be too busy with the administrative work to be able to give his full attention to him. Obviously it had never occurred to Nero that there was any work connected to the position so he agreed with Seneca and now the most honest man in Rome is co-prefect with Tigellinus.’

‘What do you mean by honest?’ Magnus asked with genuine interest.

‘In that he’s been prefect of the grain supply for the last seven years and hardly took any advantage of it financially.’

‘Ah, so you really mean stupid.’ Magnus lobbed a cake towards Castor and Pollux, neither of whom took any interest in it, preoccupied as they were with a bone each.

Vespasian nodded thoughtfully, seeing the sense in this. ‘Faenius Rufus; he’s a perfect balance to Tigellinus.’

Gaius beamed his agreement. ‘So you see, if Tigellinus tries to make trouble for us over the Terpnus affair then we just protest our innocence to Rufus—’

‘And the honest man believes us,’ Vespasian cut in, finishing the sentence.

‘Precisely; and what with his support and then Paulinus’ very flattering report of both yours and Sabinus’ conduct during Boudicca’s revolt, which was read out in the Senate in front of Nero, I think it’s reasonable to assume that we’re safe from Tigellinus’ venom.’

‘For a while, at least. But I wonder if Seneca was acting for the good of all when he put Rufus forward.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘It’s just that it’s strange that Seneca’s decided to put someone in charge of Nero’s personal safety who is, perhaps, less than completely devoted to it. Remember Rufus and Piso implying that they assumed that Sabinus had given his tacit approval to the attack on Nero and Terpnus and not condemning it?’

Gaius cast his mind back, looked at Vespasian in horror and then quickly fortified himself with another cake. ‘You’re right, dear boy. Do you think he’s …?’

‘No, Seneca’s far too clever for that; he’s trying to secure his fortune and his position. Let someone else go for the top prize and then perhaps Seneca can advise and influence him.’

‘Who?’

Vespasian held his palm up as a warning. ‘It’s best not to speculate as we don’t want to be involved should it fail.’

‘Quite right.’

‘Anyway, it may be just a coincidence and Seneca doesn’t know Rufus’ true feelings. I’ll mention it to Sabinus and have him pay close attention to any informers he may have,’ Vespasian said, rising to his feet. ‘Meanwhile, I’m off to see Caenis.’

‘Not Flavia?’

‘No, I’ll stay with Caenis tonight, seeing as Flavia couldn’t be bothered to visit me whilst I waited in Cosa, on the grounds that there is nothing for her to do in the country; besides, I’m not that keen on having to see Domitian, just in case he’s got worse.’

Gaius shuddered. ‘I don’t blame you, dear boy; from all accounts, he hasn’t improved. I steer well away from the brute even though he’s your son. A boy like that makes me seriously question my choice of lifestyle.’

Vespasian declined to comment further on the subject. ‘When Hormus arrives tell him to leave Paelignus’ strongbox here and then take everything else over to my house; I’ll see him there in the morning for my salutio before we go onto the Senate together.’

‘You’re not trusting Flavia with the contents then?’

‘With two thousand aurei? Would you?’

‘Pallas guessed that you would come here first,’ Caenis said, reaching up to link her arms around Vespasian’s neck as he walked into her atrium.

‘What do you mean?’ Vespasian asked, nuzzling her hair and savouring her scent.

Caenis broke away and retrieved a wax tablet from a table. ‘I mean he sent a letter to you here; it arrived a couple of hours ago.’

‘Curious.’ Vespasian took the tablet, broke the seal and opened it. As he read, his face fell.

‘What is it, my love?’ Caenis asked.

‘He’s asked me to visit him tomorrow after the House rises and to bring you, Gaius and Magnus; also, he wants us to come in a carriage.’

‘All the way down to Baiae?’

‘No; he’s staying at his villa just outside the city on the Via Appia. He came to try and present himself to the Emperor to congratulate him on his new bride.’

‘Still trying to get back into favour?’

‘Evidently; but it’s not worked. Quite the opposite in fact: Nero replied to his request for an audience that if he really did want to please him on the occasion of his wedding he would do well to be dead; that way the Emperor would only take nine tenths of his fortune leaving him to decide on how to disperse the remainder.’

‘I suppose that concentrates the mind. Are you going to go?’