The Emperor's Exile (Eagles of the Empire 19)

by Simon Scarrow

  He nodded as he sat down, thinking to himself that few would ever consider her to be plain, in spite of the fact that she was dressed like a servant of the villa rather than its owner.

  She saw him looking over her attire and laughed again. ‘Not quite what you expected the emperor’s former sweetheart to be wearing. That’s what you’re thinking, eh?’

  ‘Something like that.’

  ‘This is how I dressed before Seneca noticed me and added me to his collection of young women. And then passed me on to Nero as if I was little more than a toy dressed up to delight a child. In truth, he was not much more than a child, even after he became emperor. Content to follow his own interests while the real power was exercised by his advisers, and that poisonous bitch, his mother. I tried to encourage him to stand up to her, but he hated being caught between the two of us. In the end, blood and snobbery proved to be thicker. She won – the senators won – and Nero sent me into exile. He cried when he told me. Cried like a baby while I held him in my arms. If the Senate and people of Rome could have seen him blubbing like a toddler, you can only imagine the disgust it would have provoked. All the time he told me he loved me and swore that I would live out my days like a princess and no harm would come to me. And now here I am, and I wonder how long his promise will hold true. I may as well keep myself busy and make this house into the comfortable gilded cage that it really is.’

  The slave approached with a jug and two silver cups on a tray, which she set down carefully, then bowed and retreated back towards the villa. Claudia filled the first cup and held it out for Cato before filling her own.

  ‘I’m sorry for troubling you with my woes. I never even asked you why you have come visiting. It’s not a social call, I imagine.’

  ‘Sadly not.’ Cato would have liked to continue the small talk. He enjoyed discovering that there was more to Claudia Acte than the pampered imperial mistress he had first encountered. But this was only the first of the farming estates and villas he intended to call on this day, and there was little time to waste. ‘As you know, I have been sent to deal with the brigands menacing the island. I haven’t been given enough men to do the job, and those that I do have are in poor shape. The same goes for the horses of the mounted contingent. If I am to succeed in running the enemy to ground, I’ll need good mounts. The difficulty is that the governor isn’t likely to advance me the necessary funds from the provincial treasury, and in any case, I don’t have the time to argue the toss with him. I need those horses now. Which is why I am here. This villa has a fine stud stable attached to it. Claudia, I need your horses.’

  ‘You want to buy them from me?’

  He shook his head. ‘I cannot pay for them now. I can only give you a receipt for the horses I take and a promise that you will have them returned to you or paid for.’

  She smiled cynically. ‘I doubt they will be returned in the same fit state that they leave here. And in any case, what good is your promise if you are no longer around to honour it? I do not mean to say that you will be defeated and killed, although that is a possibility in your line of work. I refer to what happens if you are victorious and move on to new campaigns, leaving this island behind you. Who is to honour any promises you make then?’

  Cato laughed self-consciously. ‘You are a shrewd thinker, Claudia. You have me there. All I can say is that my promise will be honoured, even if I have to pay for the horses myself. I have the means, back in Rome.’

  ‘You’d do that?’

  ‘I would not be able to live with myself otherwise.’

  She stared at him, then took a sip of water and gently swilled it around her mouth as she reflected. ‘I believe you,’ she said eventually. ‘You are not like the other men of your rank I knew in Rome.’

  ‘I’m not quite sure how to take that.’

  ‘I meant it as a compliment, Cato. Take it as such. You may have your pick of my horses. I have no attachment to the beasts. They are merely part of the property that Nero gifted me. Use them as you will and return those that live when you are done with them. Any money that is owed I can afford to wait for.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Cato drained his cup and stood up. ‘I have to go. There are several more villas I need to visit before the day is over. I doubt that I will be received as well elsewhere.’

  ‘I can imagine.’ Claudia rose from her end of the couch. ‘I’ll let my steward know that you have my permission to take the horses. I hope we’ll see more of each other before you march your men off to fight.’

  ‘I hope so too.’ Cato gave a polite bow in farewell before striding back to the doorway at the rear of the villa. He felt a warmth in his heart that he had not experienced for years; the recognition of a kindred spirit and intelligence. As he recalled the memory of his first wife, Julia, however, his mood instantly soured. If the daughter of a senator could play him so falsely, then why should he trust any feelings inspired by a cast-off mistress of the emperor? He was a fool to let himself be romantically distracted by Claudia. He resolved to steer clear of her. Put her out of his mind and focus on the preparations for the campaign. She was worse than a distraction; she was potentially dangerous. Particularly if she was correct in her characterisation of Nero as a child. Children, he knew from his experience of Lucius, were prone to regard their playthings covetously, even if they did not play with them any more. His standing with the emperor was precarious enough. It would be foolhardy to stir up feelings of jealousy in the imperial breast. Yes, he resolved, he must keep his distance from the woman.

  Once Cato had related the bare details of his agreement with Claudia, Massimilianus ordered his men to round up the chosen horses and the best of the saddles, harnesses and bridles while Apollonius wrote out the requisition receipt. When it was done, the agent handed it to Cato to sign his name and seal it with an impression of his equestrian ring.

  ‘Take that to Claudia’s steward,’ Cato commanded.

  Apollonius arched an eyebrow. ‘Claudia, eh?’

  Cato rounded on him. ‘I have no time for your insinuations. Just do as I say, damn you.’

  Apollonius smiled knowingly. ‘As you command, sir.’

  He sauntered off, leaving Cato furious with himself for giving away an insight into his dealings with Claudia. He thrust thoughts of her aside and joined the centurion as the horses were led out of the stable and roped together in loose strings.

  ‘Twelve of them.’ Massimilianus rubbed his hands together enthusiastically. ‘Fine horseflesh, every one. If we get another seventy like this, we’ll have the best mounted men in the entire army.’

  Cato regarded the beasts and nodded. ‘Good. Let’s be on our way. It’s going to be a long day or two before we can satisfy your ambition, Centurion.’

  Massimilianus shouted the order to his men to mount up, and once Apollonius had climbed into his saddle and taken up his reins, Cato waved his arm forward towards the gate and the small column of riders, swelled by their acquisitions, trotted out of the villa’s enclosure. As he passed through the gate, he glanced back through the haze of dust and caught sight of Claudia in front of the entrance to the villa, watching them leave. She raised a hand in farewell, but before he could even think to respond, it was too late: he had passed through the gate, and the riders behind him had closed up and obscured his view. He turned away with a feeling of regret. She might be trouble, she might even be dangerous, but he found himself wondering how he might find a way to see her again. He felt himself to be on the threshold of a path that promised as many perils as it did pleasures, and yet he already knew he would take his first steps as soon as the situation allowed.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Over the next two days they secured enough horses to supply some eighty men of the mounted contingent with another twenty beasts to serve as remounts. Some of the horse-breeders had grudgingly assented to the requisition of their stock, but most had been hostile and Cato had been obliged to threaten to take the horses by force. They had shouted insults and threats after
him as the growing column of men and horses trotted away. He was sanguine about any action they might take. If ever their complaints were aired by their friends in the Senate, by then he would have defeated the enemy and few would question the actions he had taken to achieve victory. If he failed, the complaints raised against him would be the least of his concerns.

  While the horses were being gathered, Centurion Plancinus and the other Praetorian officers drilled the men of the cohort mercilessly. Some twenty of the older and less fit amongst the auxiliaries had already been admitted to the cohort’s modest hospital, and more pallets had been set up in the neighbouring storeroom to treat the additional injured. The routine was the same served up to recruits to the legions. Up at dawn for a run around the fort before morning inspection of the barracks. Then a hastily cooked meal of a barley-based gruel that was held to be the best staple diet for men in training. The morning roll call on the parade ground was followed by weapons and formation drill. At midday they were formed up in their centuries, marching yokes loaded with the clothes and kit for campaigning, and then the cohort set off for a march along the coast road, returning along a strenuous track through the hills before reaching the fort exhausted. But there was little respite, with the evening meal to be cooked before cleaning of weapons and kit, ready to repeat the process as soon as dawn broke the next day.

  Much as the men cursed their drill instructors under their breath, they took pride in their ability to keep up with the demanding training schedule and did not want to face the shame of straggling behind, or falling out injured and having to be picked up by the cart following the marching column. The discomfort of the heat was made worse by the dust kicked up by the nailed boots, which settled on the men and their kit so that they ended each day covered in a patina of grey that made them look prematurely aged as they paced stiffly to their barrack blocks.

  Another time Cato might have trained and exercised with them, since he was of the school of thought that all officers should be as fit and handy with a sword as the men they commanded. But there were too many other tasks demanding his attention. Supplies needed to be requisitioned and sent to the forts and outposts surrounding the territory already claimed by the enemy. Each convoy had to be escorted by sufficient soldiers to deter the brigands from attack. Then there were the intelligence reports he requested from each outpost, as well as those garnered from merchants and the tribes still loyal to the Empire. The commander of the cohort at Tibula had asked for more time to prepare his men before he could meet his new superior, and Cato had been obliged to send him a terse message to come to Tharros at once. He was also worried about the handful of reports he had received about the sickness that now seemed to have the southern part of the island in its grip. He had passed the intelligence on to the governor, with advice to quarantine those towns and villages affected to prevent the pestilence spreading any further. Scurra had not responded and his silence was adding to Cato’s concerns.

  In those rare moments when his mind was not turning over the details of his new command and the plans he was making for the campaign, he found himself thinking about Claudia. It was strange the grip she had on his attention given the briefness of their acquaintance and the poor manner in which it had begun. He was tempted to send her a message asking if she would be interested in taking a ride into the hilly countryside around her villa, only to dismiss the notion as a fresh task cropped up at the fort. And so it happened, as these things will when a shrewd woman is involved, that they met, as if by chance, in the port on a fine afternoon several days after Cato had taken the horses from her villa.

  He had just concluded his business with a grain merchant for a consignment of barley and olive oil and was strolling along the quay, his gaze wandering over the vessels moored alongside and the bustle of sailors, stevedores and idlers. Above, seagulls whirled and glided against the backdrop of a deep blue sky, and occasionally swooped down to snatch up a discarded or unattended morsel of food. Whistling a refrain from one of the marching songs he had picked up in the Second Legion many years before, he caught sight of Claudia walking in the other direction, with two of the German guards following, carrying baskets laden with her purchases. Dressed in a simple yellow stola and a straw sunhat, she saw him at the same moment.

  The tune died on Cato’s lips and he felt a surge of frustration that she had intruded on his good mood and put him on edge. And then she smiled at him and nodded a greeting, and at once the frustration disappeared. Before he could check himself, he had smiled back and they greeted each other as if they were old friends.

  ‘You’re looking cheerful this morning,’ Claudia observed. ‘It makes a nice change.’

  Cato laughed. ‘I’m not always a dour army officer, you know.’

  ‘I had begun to wonder. But happiness suits you. You look like a different person.’

  ‘What brings you here?’

  ‘Shopping. I wanted some fruit and fish and the market here has a fine supply of both. My steward offered to send someone to buy what I needed, but where’s the fun in that? It was a good chance to escape from the villa and see something of my nearest town. So here I am. How about you?’

  Cato explained his presence, and there was a beat where they said nothing and just smiled.

  ‘Come,’ said Claudia. ‘I’ve been told there’s a fine inn with a terrace overlooking the port close to the end of the mole where the wine isn’t watered down too badly and the food is digestible. If you can spare the time?’

  Cato hesitated. He thought of the meeting he had arranged that afternoon with Plancinus to review the progress of the training, but there was plenty of time to spare since he had concluded his business with the merchant more quickly than he had anticipated.

  ‘Why not? I should be delighted to. Rome can spare me for an hour or so.’

  ‘I doubt the Empire will collapse in your absence,’ she teased.

  She took his arm as Cato steered a course through the throng towards the end of the mole. They were ushered inside by the owner of the inn, who glanced warily at the Germans before he ran through his patter about the food on offer that day.

  ‘We’ll have the prawns fried in garlic butter, bread, olive oil, garum and a jug of your local wine,’ Cato said before pausing to glance at Claudia. ‘If you are happy with that?’

  ‘Just what I would have chosen. Garlic and all.’

  ‘Fine. We’ll eat on the terrace.’

  The innkeeper bowed his head and indicated the stairs at the side of the building. Claudia gestured to the Germans to take one of the benches outside in the shade of an awning and followed Cato upstairs. The terrace had six tables with stools, and vines grew over the wooden beams, providing some shade and dappled light. Once Claudia had settled, she rested her elbows on the edge of the table and folded her hands together.

  ‘So, how are your plans for the campaign developing?’

  ‘As well as can be expected.’

  ‘That badly?’

  Cato gave a wry smile. ‘I expect my concerns are the same as those of every commander throughout history. Do I have enough men? Is their equipment adequate? Are they adequately supplied? Is morale good? How can I know where the enemy is and what he is planning? At the moment, none of the answers to those questions is very encouraging. But that is changing, day by day.’

  ‘Do soldiers always grumble so?’

  ‘I’m speaking from the perspective of command. I can assure you the true masters of the art of grumbling are the rank and file.’

  The innkeeper reappeared carrying their order on a large tray and set it down on the table. Cato took out his purse and paid the man, and added a generous tip, since he considered it appropriate for someone of the equestrian class to demonstrate a little largesse. The innkeeper grinned and nodded his thanks before disappearing down the stairs. There was a moment’s awkwardness about who should make the first move before Cato served food onto Claudia’s platter and then helped himself.

  The meal was delic
ious and they ate in silent appreciation before Cato noticed that Claudia was looking past him, out to sea, a frown on her face.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Look, that ship.’

  Cato turned to see a merchant vessel approaching the harbour. It was no more than a half-mile from the quay, and as they watched, the sail billowed, then flapped as the bows swung into the wind. A handful of figures on deck worked the sheets as the steersman struggled to get the ship back on course.

  ‘They don’t seem very competent, compared to the seamen on the boat that brought us from Ostia,’ Claudia observed.

  Cato grunted in agreement, shading his eyes and staring at the cargo ship as she swung off course once more. The sail flapped briefly before the vessel resumed its approach.

  ‘Something’s wrong,’ he muttered.

  Now he could see that a figure at the bow was wearing a red military cloak that rippled to the side as the wind caught it. A soldier . . . It struck him that this might be the ship from Carales with Vestinus and Prefect Bastillus of the Eighth Hispanic Cohort on board. Pushing his platter aside, he stood and moved to the rail running around the terrace, straining his eyes to make out the figures on the deck of the ship as it passed the end of the mole. As the vessel turned into the wind, the few crewmen on deck laboriously lowered the spar rather than climb up to haul in the folds of the sail. The bundled linen lay untidily across the deck, and a moment later the anchor splashed into the azure water and the ship swung slowly round into the breeze. There was no sign of any attempt to draw alongside the skiff that was tethered to the stern. Instead the soldier at the bows waved his hand from side to side to attract attention.

  ‘I have to go,’ said Cato, turning to Claudia. ‘I’m sorry. I must see what’s happening.’

  She nodded. ‘I’ll wait for you here.’