The clerk nodded his head and slipped from the wagon, leaving the other two sitting in silence.
‘Something is afoot, Ollocus, and I do not like the smell of it.’
* * *
The next morning, as Curatia and Ollocus sat in the tablinum of her sizeable townhouse overlooking the wharves and the wide river, a knock at the door announced the return of her clerk. Trenico entered with a bleak face, bowing and opening four wax tablets, placing them on the desk before his mistress wordlessly. Curatia, long used to the young man’s extremely efficient short-hand, took in the salient points the clerk had noted from the notices at the arena.
‘You missed nothing relevant?’
Trenico shook his head.
‘Then this is serious. What is the old fool trying to do? Start a civil revolt?’
Ollocus reached out and grasped one of the tablets, scanning down the details. ‘Unless this procurator is a moron, then he is well aware of the likely results of such a proclamation. One can only assume that revolt is his end intention.’
‘But why?’
The three fell silent, poring over the figures, and after some time Curatia motioned to the clerk. ‘Good job, Trenico. Go and rest now. You may have much work in the coming days.
Once the young man had left and the door clicked shut, Curatia leaned back.
‘Something you don’t want to say in front of him?’ Ollocus mused.
‘Not that I do not trust him, but I don’t want anything of this to slip out by accident in a tavern. There is purpose behind the procurator’s actions, and unless we want to watch Deva and the surrounding area descend into chaos, it would be a good idea for us to work out what it is and see if there is anything we can do about it.’
‘If we need to do anything about it.’
‘Rest assured that if a procurator is targeting a region, those who have business interests there are going to need to do something about it, Ollocus.’
‘You’re right, of course, Domina. What do we know about his previous actions on the tour?’
Curatia rifled through a pile of documents until she found the appropriate one: a neat list of financial and mercantile policies that had followed the procurator on his journey west and north before his arrival at Deva.
‘Only two tax hikes on the route. The iron producers of Venta Silurum and the potters of Glevum. And both low rises entirely within expected inflation. Indeed, glass and wheat traders both greeted a slight drop in tax at both locations in line with the scarcity of production. Both Venta and Glevum have actually seen a boost in local economy from the procurator’s visit. Moreover, my sources tell me that upon arrival at both places he was greeted with pomp and ceremony and left with gifts from the legate of the Second at Venta and the ordo of Glevum.’
She lowered the sheet of vellum and narrowed her eyes.
‘And yet he arrived here almost unnoticed. A cursory visit to the fortress and, I am reliably informed, he was welcomed by one of the tribunes, the legate refusing to interrupt his schedule just to see the man. Still, it would take a truly petty procurator to punish an entire region just because he was snubbed by a senior military officer.’
‘Tax officials are by their very nature petty,’ Ollocus noted, raising a smile from his mistress.
‘True. But it still does not add up. What do we know of Procurator Severus?’
‘Reputedly an ambitious man,’ Ollocus said, steepling his fingers. ‘There are rumours that this is his third financial posting and that he has been moved on from each office without a great deal of personal gain, his position being taken from him before he can adequately dip a finger too deep into any pie. He is a good friend, they say, of Procurator Norbanus of Raetia, who we all know to be very successful, influential and wealthy. Perhaps he feels like the poor cousin next to his friend.’
Curatia sighed. ‘Norbanus. That man knows how to play a situation. From freedman to procurator in thirty years. If not a meteoric rise, then certainly a steep one. The man owns more property and businesses than most senators, and they say he aspires to high office. If our own Severus holds up Norbanus as his ideal then he truly hopes for great things.’
‘And what of any distrust between the governors?’ Ollocus said shrewdly.
‘Explain, my friend.’
‘Well, Norbanus was instrumental in putting down the revolt of Governor Saturninus in Germania. Procurator Severus is his friend. Our own governor Lucullus, however, was a close friend of the unfortunate deceased Saturninus. Likely, then, there is no love lost between the governor and the procurator in Britannia.’
Curatia tapped her finger to her lips. ‘Smart thinking, Ollocus. Perhaps the procurator believes Lucullus to be a potential rebel and traitor, just like his former colleague. After all, Lucullus was in Germania with the fallen governor only months before the revolt. Norbanus leapt in against the rebel when he saw an opportunity to curry imperial favour. Perhaps our own Severus thinks to advance himself in a similar fashion? Or he and Norbanus are in collusion, pitting themselves against a former ally of the traitor Saturninus?’
‘Difficult to see how causing a local rising might help there. The emperor is not likely to consider Governor Lucullus a threat because he is forced to put down a revolt in Britannia.’
A slow smile dawned on Curatia.
‘Unless it is not his intention to make Lucullus look guilty, so much as incompetent.’
Ollocus drummed his fingers on the desk. ‘So why specifically target Deva? The governor rules all of Britannia.’
‘Possibly because of local loyalties, my friend? Think on the matter. The procurator has visited the legionary fortresses of Isca and Deva and has Eboracum on his list. What stands the Twentieth Legion in Deva apart from the Second in Isca and the Ninth in Eboracum?’
Ollocus thought for some time, but shook his head in exasperation. ‘I cannot find anything.’
‘Perhaps that is because you cannot appreciate the Roman military view. I remember when my husband was still serving with the twentieth, though. The Second and the Ninth owe Lucullus their loyalty in the same fashion they have any other governor. Though Agricola was popular, he has gone, and Lucullus is here. Moreover, he stems from a native line, you know, so he’s popular with the locals.’
‘And why is the Twentieth any different, Domina?’
Curatia smiled. ‘Because Agricola, before he was governor here, was the most popular legate the Twentieth has ever had, leading them to victory in the north. The legion still holds Agricola as its father figure. Even the current legate, Viator, looks on his predecessor as something of a demigod. It is distinctly possible that a stranger might look at the three legions and see the Twentieth as the weak link in the chain of loyalty. That the Twentieth owes less fealty to Lucullus, because the memory of Agricola is so fresh. The other legions would stamp out rebellion against the governor immediately. Perhaps the procurator thinks the Twentieth might not?’
‘But they would,’ frowned Ollocus.
‘Of course they would. Viator is no fool and while he may venerate Agricola, he would not defy Lucullus. But the procurator is a slippery politician and accountant. He does not understand military loyalty. He thinks it as fickle as in the ranks of the imperial court. It is not.’
‘It seems a little thin for such a man to base a complex plot upon, Domina?’
Curatia nodded. ‘Possibly. There may be other reasons for selecting Deva, of course. Perhaps he has links here about which we are unaware. Not the legate, clearly, considering his reception.’ She leaned back and stretched. ‘The fact remains that whatever his reasoning, he seems to be provoking a revolt here. We have an inkling as to why, but we need to put a stop to it regardless. He over-estimates the trouble he will cause on an empire-wide scale – it may not even reach the emperor’s ear that a small revolt happened here – but the damage to Deva will be appalling. The army will be forced to step on the civilians, production will collapse, and with it trade. Our concerns will dry up
and the merchants of Deva will become destitute, while the legion is forced to impose continual martial law on the region. It will be a step back from the civilizing of the region to the early days of oppressive rule.’
‘Then what can we do, Domina?’
‘We attempt to put a road block in place and halt the lunatic in his tracks. And if that fails, we will have to move in among the tapestry he weaves and unpick the threads.’
‘Any idea where to start?’
‘Where else? At the top.’
* * *
Curatia waited for the wagon to come to a complete halt and then stepped down from the side, alighting on the paved roadway of the fortress, the freshly sluiced down surface gleaming in the moonlight. She ground her teeth at the delay. Despite her high status in the town and her rank as the widow of a centurion, she had been unable to secure a meeting with the legate following her discussions and revelations.
But tonight she had, along with half a dozen other high-ranking Roman luminaries, been invited to the legate’s feast in honour of the procurator. The two bodyguards who had accompanied her walked at her shoulders to the legate’s house, a grand courtyard affair inside the fortress, well-appointed and beautifully decorated, filled with imported statues chosen with great taste by the legate’s Aegyptian wife.
Leaving her guards at the entrance, Curatia entered, the major domo marking her off a list and directing her to the triclinium where the guests were. She had been fashionably late, and the party was clearly in full swing. Moving into the room, the legate’s wife, an olive-skinned beauty with a thick, oily accent, rushed over to greet her and then began to lead her around the room, introducing her to the guests. The civilians she knew, of course, as well as the senior tribune, Longus, and the camp prefect, both of whom had served with her husband. Wives were introduced to her, and she noted with interest the look of suspicion and distrust in the eyes of the camp prefect’s wife as she looked upon her husband, the latter fiddling nervously with his signet ring all the time, like a man expecting trouble.
Then her attention was diverted to the five junior tribunes, all young men with a hungry look, no experience of military command and the minds of politicians. The legion’s surgeon was new and he and his wife were of Gallic extraction and eager to please. And then, finally, she was steered to the censors one by one and then to Procurator Severus.
She could not escape the impression, as she embraced the odious little man, that his tongue was about to snap out and grab a fly from the air. Indeed, she shuddered a little as they separated. The procurator praised her beauty and her business acumen, surviving as a widow and managing to build up such a concern on her own. She replied with platitudes, watching all the time. Casually, in her conversation, she dropped in the key words ‘tax’, ‘advancement’, and ‘governor’, and each time watched his eyes dart about nervously. If there had been a subtle way to mention Lucullus or Norbanus, she would certainly have done so, but there had to be no suspicion, and she was glad to move away from him, breathing deeply as though she could cleanse her lungs of him.
And then: her goal.
Legate Viator was in discussion with one of his junior tribunes when his wife introduced the latest arrival. ‘Ah yes, the lady Curatia Dionysia. It is good to see you again. Your husband remains an honoured memory among the Twentieth. I am so pleased you could attend.’
The legate’s wife smiled, her introductions complete and, embracing Curatia briefly, went about her circulating. Standing as part of a seemingly-awkward triangle, Curatia turned a look on the junior tribune, who shuffled uncomfortably under her gaze, made his excuses to his commander and shuffled off. Viator frowned at the retreating tribune and turned to Curatia with a raised eyebrow.
‘We need to talk, legate.’
‘I thought that was what we were doing?’
‘In private.’
Viator frowned again and then, checking that the party was busy and no one was watching too closely, he gestured to the atrium. Leading Curatia out across the open space, he moved into his office at the far side and gestured for her to sit before taking his own chair behind his desk.
Curatia took a deep breath and began to relate, in a low voice, everything she and Ollocus had discussed the previous day. Viator sat and listened silently, at first disbelieving, then suspicious, and finally thoughtfully. When she finished and leaned back, Viator sucked his teeth noisily and folded his arms.
‘I have known since the first moment that the odious runt was up to something. I was hoping to avoid contact with the procurator altogether. Indeed, I set Tribune Longus to be my intermediary, but the tribune advised me that it would look dreadful if I didn’t honour one of the two most powerful men in the country. Consequently: tonight’s rather hastily arranged feast, and the expensive and extravagant games in the arena tomorrow, which I have left in the hands of my senior tribune.’
He rubbed his head vigorously. ‘I’m still not sure how best to proceed, though, Curatia. I do not have the authority to overturn the man’s proclamations. Even Governor Lucullus would be hard pushed to do that, though that’s a moot point anyway, with him being trapped up in Caledonii lands, building our new fort system. I am sadly left without legal recourse to stop the procurator. All I can do is watch as he stirs things up. I can, of course, put any revolt down instantly, though that will be of little good to those who, like you, owe their income to such businesses. I cannot see a way to proceed.’
Curatia furrowed her brow. ‘That, legate, is because you are an officer with an officer’s mind. If you managed to think past your rules, regulations and oaths, you might be surprised at the number of options that open up to you.’
Viator raised that eyebrow again. ‘I shall pretend I did not hear that. I have a man working with the procurator, and I hope that he will uncover evidence of wrongdoing that will give me the authority to move against him. In the meantime, all I can suggest is that you go to those who work for you and implore them not to act in haste against new tax legislation until we have had time to speak to the governor and see if there is something we can do to overturn it.’
Curatia nodded. ‘It was my next port of call.’
Their private conversation halted as the legate’s major domo appeared with a polite cough to inform his master that a legionary bearing his seal was at the door, requesting an urgent appointment. As the slave vanished again and the legate apologised that he had to deal with this, Curatia fixed him with a meaningful look. ‘Remember my words, legate. There may come a time when you have to choose between duty and common sense. I pray you choose wisely.’
* * *
The hillsides south of Deva shone lush green in the late afternoon sun the next day. Curatia and her companions had left the town before first light, pausing only to offer fiduciary advice to a legionary who was out early praying at the Minerva shrine by the bridge. By afternoon, they had visited the tanning sheds east of the city, the timber yard to the south and the smelting plant two miles from here. And now, on the hillsides of the lead mines, they descended from the road into the open works area with its huts and shelters.
A party emerged from the hut as Curatia and her group crossed the gravel ground, Ollocus and Trenico at her sides, four of her bodyguards at her back. Numerous other workers milled around as though waiting for something.
‘Greetings Domina. You choose a poor time to survey your domain, though, if I might say.’
Curatia smiled warmly at Brocchus, the head of the lead mining operation here and one of her best men. Yet there was something about his eyes that made her falter for a moment, for all his politeness.
‘You refer to the tax rises, I presume. It is about those that I have come.’
‘You of all people, Domina, know that we cannot operate under the conditions the procurator proposes. We will starve. The only way we will stay in business is if you not only fail to take your cut but actively subsidise us. Even then we might all collapse, and certainly your business will die. T
here is no win in this for any of us.’
Her eyes danced across the gathered workers. It had not struck her as they first arrived at the camp the excessive number of men present. Not only must there be no one working the mine, but men must be here from the other two mines on the hill, probably from other Ordovice and Deceangli concerns too. And each of them held a pick or shovel or other dangerous tool.
‘Brocchus, don’t do anything stupid. This can still be settled peacefully.’
‘Oh?’ the old native grunted. ‘How?’
She paused. For too long, in fact. She wanted to tell him that legate Viator would not let the procurator ruin Britannia and start a revolt. She wanted to tell him that the announcements would be rescinded shortly. But there was no guarantee. She could not in conscience confirm any of that. Viator was a soldier of Rome. His oath to the empire might prevent him from acting for the good of his oath to his governor.
‘You see?’ Brocchus grumbled. ‘You have no answer. We also have thought long and hard on any potential solution, but the only one now is to take action. We have just one week until the next tax payment is due, and the new rises will already have taken effect. If we are to stand against such measures, we must refuse to pay that tax. And if we do, we will bring the nailed boot of the Twentieth down upon us. Their men are already constructing a fortlet in the valley below. Yes, it was meant to protect us from banditry but now, instead, it will become an outpost from which to suppress our righteous stand. If we are to protect our interests, we must not allow the Romans to complete their defences and man the place. We move to take their fort from them this afternoon. When our brother workers across the region hear that we have struck such a blow, they will flood to our support. The authorities will be forced to negotiate with us or watch their production and commerce fail district-wide.’
Deva Tales Page 9
