‘Anyone for a run?’
‘I think we’re done with exercise for the day,’ said Silus. ‘Let’s get a massage.’
‘And then go and find me that whore,’ said Atius.
* * *
Silus sipped his beer at the table outside the brothel, watching Daya curiously. She drank water and ate chestnuts sparingly. Silus figured he had seen about fifteen more years than the prospective Arcanus, and yet the young woman held herself with an air of unperturbable confidence. Her back was straight, her limbs relaxed, her eyes watchful and alert but not anxious.
They had time to kill while waiting for Atius. Daya had been true to her word and had found Silus’ friend a beautiful prostitute, a mature Caledonian slave, and paid for Atius to spend half an hour with her. Silus decided to indulge his curiosity.
‘Where are you from, girl?’
Daya took a sip from her cup, looked around, then looked at Silus steadily, saying nothing.
‘Lost your tongue, girl?’
‘Are you talking to me?’ said Daya.
‘Who else would I be talking to?’ asked Silus, confused.
‘It’s just you seemed to be addressing a girl, and I don’t see any girl within earshot.’
Silus sighed.
‘Fine, fine. Can I call you young woman?’
Daya seemed to consider for a moment, head tilted to one side. Then she nodded. ‘That will be acceptable.’
‘Then I’ll try again. Your accent is Syrian?’ It was a guess. Not only had Silus never travelled outside Britannia, but he was exposed to a relatively small mix of ethnicities.
Daya shook her head. ‘I’m from Mauretania. Mauri tribe.’
Silus racked his brain for mental images from the maps of the world that his father had shown him as a child. He had a vague recollection that Mauretania was to the west of the province of Africa.
‘So how did you end up at the other end of the Empire?’
‘Why do you want to know?’
Silus shrugged. ‘Listen, girl, young woman, whatever you are. I don’t really give a shit about you. But right now, I’m bored, freezing my ass off, and was looking for some conversation. We can sit here in silence if you prefer.’
Daya sipped her water again, and Silus resigned himself to seeing out the rest of Atius’ prize half-hour in tedium. Then Daya spoke.
‘My mother and I were kidnapped by pirates when I was young. My father was killed trying to save us. We were sold into slavery.’
Silus nodded, and waited. It seemed like Daya would tell her tale at her own pace, and with her own level of detail.
‘We were bought by a merchant from Byzantium, who travelled a lot. He kept my mother as his mistress for when he was away from home. She became pregnant. But she died in childbirth. My baby sister only lived a few days.’
So far so ordinary, thought Silus. A tale replicated thousands of times every year across the Empire. Still, he felt sorry for the lass. Traumatic as Silus’ upbringing had been, he had never been a slave, and his wife and daughter were freeborn. He couldn’t imagine what it did to a person’s soul, even if they later became free, to have been owned, entirely at the whim of their master or mistress, to be put to work or beaten or used sexually or killed as they willed it.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Silus, realising how inadequate that sounded. Daya dismissed the sympathy with a wave.
‘I was left behind at the merchant’s domus in Rome and raised by the house slaves. The mistress of the house resented me. I think she found her husband’s closeness to my mother upsetting, and I was guilty by association. I ran domestic chores for the household, but I was regularly beaten and whipped for minor mistakes. I think the mistress was a little bit insane. She drank a lot of unwatered wine and then would lose her temper and strike out. She once threw a serving girl down some stairs. The girl broke her leg and never walked straight again afterwards. The girl’s father, the steward of the house, lost his temper and struck the mistress. He was crucified.’
Less ordinary now, thought Silus. What an environment for a girl to grow up in! A stout, middle-aged man walked past them and into the brothel without a sideways glance. Daya watched him until he was out of earshot.
‘So what happened?’ asked Silus. ‘How did you get out of there?’
‘Her money started to run out. She carried on drinking the best wine. She looked for a lover to support her, but no one was interested in this drunk old woman. So she sold possessions. Furniture. Jewellery. Me.’
‘I see. So who was your next master or mistress?’
‘I have had no owner since that evil woman.’
Silus raised his eyebrows. ‘So you…’
Daya nodded. ‘I ran away.’
Silus whistled. ‘Does Oclatinius know that he has recruited a runaway slave?’
‘Of course,’ snapped Daya.
Of course, thought Silus. No way that Oclatinius would entertain allowing someone into the Arcani who he didn’t know inside and out.
‘Well, your story doesn’t end there. It’s a long journey from a runaway slave in Italy to a candidate for the Arcani in northern Britannia, any way you measure it.’
‘Why are you so curious? I’ve been through all this with Oclatinius.’
‘Like I said, mainly boredom. But also, if we might be working together, I think I have a right to know more about you.’
‘You have no rights over me,’ snapped Daya. ‘I have pledged my loyalty to one man. The rest have to earn my trust.’
Silus opened his mouth to snap back, then closed it again. He had never been a slave. How would he feel if he had had that humiliation in his past? He made an open-handed gesture.
‘Tell me what you will.’
Daya paused, then nodded.
‘I got out of Rome in the back of a cart taking empty vegetable sacks back to the latifundia. The carter found me a few miles out of the city and chased me, but I had nearly fifteen summers by then and he was fat and out of shape. I disappeared into the countryside and survived by stealing food from farmers.’
‘Brave. And hard. The slave hunters are pretty thorough in Italia, I hear. And aren’t there bandits? I don’t believe you made it long on your own.’
‘You’re right. I thought I was doing fine, until one day I was caught by a vicious slaver. He beat me, put an iron collar around my neck and threw me into a cage on the back of a cart to take me back to Rome.’
‘You were enslaved a second time?’
‘No. I was rescued.’
‘Rescued. Who would rescue an escaped slave? Spartacus is long dead.’
‘Bulla Felix,’ said Daya, in a flat, matter-of-fact tone.
‘What!’
‘Greetings, brothers,’ said Atius, strolling out of the brothel, his face flushed, and his hair a mess.
Silus looked round at Atius, then back at Daya, his mouth hanging open.
‘What did you say?’
‘I said, “Greetings,”’ said Atius.
‘Not you, you idiot,’ said Silus, causing Atius to adopt an offended air. Silus ignored him and looked pointedly at Daya.
‘Bulla Felix rescued me,’ said Daya and took a long drink of his water.
Atius looked confused. ‘Who? What? When?’
‘Atius, sit down, have a beer and try to catch up. Daya is telling us how she ended up in Britannia. She is an escaped slave who was rescued by Bulla Felix.’
‘I don’t know who that is,’ said Atius.
Silus waited for Daya to interject, but when she showed no inclination to do so, with a sigh, Silus spoke.
‘Bulla Felix was a bandit who terrorised the Italian peninsula with six hundred men for two or three years, what, five years ago?’
Daya nodded.
‘So it was Bulla Felix who taught you to fight?’ asked Silus.
‘Yes,’ said Daya. ‘He took me under his wing and trained me. He was a great man. Brave, cultured, strong and a skilled warrior. He only took what he thought was
fair from those he robbed, and distributed the gains to the local community.’
‘Oh, a kind-hearted thug,’ commented Atius dismissively.
‘Don’t talk about what you don’t know about,’ said Daya and her tone was low in warning.
‘There are all sorts of tales told about Bulla Felix, Atius,’ said Silus. ‘I can’t believe you haven’t heard of him. Once he rescued two of his men who were about to be killed in the arena by disguising himself as a provincial governor, telling the prison warden he needed prisoners for labour and describing the type of men he needed so that the warden himself picked out Bulla’s men and handed them over. Another time he ambushed a centurion who had been sent to capture him, gave him a mock trial, shaved his head like a slave, then sent him back with the message for his masters to feed his slaves properly so they didn’t become bandits too.’
‘Fine, maybe I would like him if I met him,’ said Atius.
‘He is dead,’ said Daya, and her face showed real grief.
‘Were you lovers?’ asked Atius bluntly.
‘No!’ said Daya vehemently. ‘I’ve never…’ She stopped speaking and reddened uncharacteristically.
‘The Emperor was furious,’ said Silus, smoothing over the embarrassing moment. ‘No one could catch Bulla Felix, and he seemed to be mocking authority at every turn. Severus sent out a military tribune and a bunch of Praetorians and told him that either he came back with Bulla or he would suffer dire punishment himself.’
‘So the Praetorians actually did something useful?’ said Atius.
‘It was no skill of theirs,’ said Daya. ‘He was betrayed.’
‘Really?’ said Silus. ‘I just heard that the Praetorians tracked him down.’
Daya shook her head. ‘Bulla was sleeping with the wife of one of his soldiers. The soldier found out, and told the Praetorians his location for revenge.’
‘So Severus got his man in the end,’ said Atius. ‘I think he defeated everyone who opposed him.’
‘Bulla was thrown to the beasts in the arena,’ said Daya. ‘Many of us from the band went along in secret to witness his end. He was a brave man to the last. The Emperor himself watched. I was close enough to see his expression. He showed no compassion or admiration for a defeated enemy. Only contempt.’
She paused, then said, ‘After Bulla was gone, everyone went their separate ways. Without him, we were nothing.’
‘He sounded like a great leader,’ said Silus. ‘But I still don’t understand how you got from there to here.’
There was silence. She seemed to be wrestling with something. Silus and Atius waited for her to ready herself to tell them. She opened her mouth, then something over Silus’ shoulder caught her eye. Silus turned to see two Praetorians in full uniform approaching at a brisk march. He thought it odd that they should visit the brothel in that dress, until he realised they were approaching the three of them at the table.
The guardsmen came to a halt, saluted, and said, ‘Centurion Gaius Sergius Silus?’
Silus hadn’t really got used to being addressed as a centurion. It seemed to him a purely honorary title since he didn’t command a century. He nodded acknowledgement.
‘Greetings from Oclatinius Adventus. He said we would find you here.’
How did the wily old man know where they were? They had only come to this place because of Atius’ stupid bet. Did he have spies following them? Spies spying on the spies? Or was it just his natural intelligence and intuition? He reminded himself never to underestimate the spymaster.
‘Yes, what does he want?’
‘I presume these with you are Atius and Daya.’
‘They are. Speak.’
‘Oclatinius orders you to attend him immediately in his offices.’
Silus’ eyes narrowed.
‘Why?’
‘Oclatinius said you would ask why, and said to tell you to obey your orders, you insolent bastard.’
Atius let out a laugh, which he had to choke back after a dagger glare from the silent Praetorian.
‘But he did authorise us to tell you this. The Emperor, Lucius Septimius Severus Augustus Parthicus Britannicus, is dead.’
Silus, Atius and Daya looked at each other in stunned silence. Atius spoke first.
‘Fuck.’
Chapter Five
Argentocoxos, the Chief of the Caledonians, was an imposing figure. Tall, broad, with a long red beard and flowing long red hair which had been streaked and shaped with lime. He wore an ornate bronze helmet, and blue tattoos of animals and plants decorated his bare chest. Around his neck was a beautiful golden torc, flattened into a ribbon and twisted into a tight helix along its length.
Beside him was his wife Barita. She was tall and flat-chested, with a thin nose and narrow chin. Her long blonde hair was braided with gold balls fastened to the ends of the strands, and her eyebrows were darkened with berry juice.
The royal couple stood before Caracalla’s throne, where Caracalla was seated next to Julia Domna, backs straight and gazes steady, but Silus was sure he could see the defeat and despair in their eyes. Silus wondered if he should be feeling hatred towards the man who had commanded one half of the confederation that Rome had been fighting for years. But the Caledonians had not been the ones who had initiated the attack, and it had not been Caledonian tribesmen that had attacked the vicus at Voltanio and killed his wife and child. So all he could muster was some pity, and some admiration for their attempt to keep their dignity in the face of the utter destruction of their peoples.
Caracalla’s campaigns of the previous year had followed his father’s instructions to the letter. Not a man left alive, not a woman, not a child, not even the unborn in its mother’s womb. Silus had seen first-hand the results of those orders. Old men, children, pregnant women, massacred without mercy. Those who escaped doomed to death by starvation after the destruction of their crops and herds. Even Argentocoxos and Barita looked thin-faced, no doubt sharing the deprivations of their subjects.
Silus, Atius and Daya had accompanied Oclatinius on this diplomatic mission from Eboracum to Caledonia. Oclatinius seemed to like having the two Arcani and the apprentice spy close. Silus guessed that the old man wanted some dependable bodies around him in case they became needed. Certainly the political situation was very uncertain right now. After they had reported to Oclatinius on being told the news of Severus’ death, the spymaster had detailed them to mingle with the soldiers and ascertain their loyalty. He had given them some simple spying assignments, checking out some middle-ranking officers of suspect allegiance, but they had found no wrongdoing.
The funeral had been tense. Domna had seemed genuinely upset, while the two sons had been brooding and nervous. All three of the Imperial family had given speeches, praising Severus’ achievements as Emperor: defeating the usurpers, the Parthians and the northern British tribes and leaving an Empire in magnificent military and financial health. But everyone was scared of what was coming next, now the man who had held everything together was no more, and there was no sign of a united front from the two surviving co-Emperors. Anyone Silus spoke to about the situation prayed to the gods that Julia Domna would remain in good health and continue to act as a mediator and conciliator between the two feuding brothers.
Oclatinius had explained to Silus that despite the fact that all power had been centralised into the hands of the Emperor since the time of Augustus, and no one would have dared to question Severus’ authority, with Rome now in possession of two antagonistic co-Emperors of similar standing, both Augusti would need to travel to Rome as soon as possible to start to gather support for their positions.
Hence why they were here now. If Severus had survived in good health, he would no doubt have continued his campaign until the whole of Caledonia was subdued and made into a province of the Empire. But despite the wholesale slaughter and destruction of the Maeatae and Caledonians, pockets of resistance remained in the further-flung parts of the island, and it would take a long time and a l
ot of soldiers to complete the subjugation. Caracalla declared that the objective of the Expeditio Felicissima Britannica, the securing of the borders of Britannia province, was achieved, and that a peace treaty should be concluded as soon as possible.
Silus couldn’t imagine the relief and celebration that news of the death of Severus must have been greeted with in Caledonia. It was like some miraculous intercession, to prevent the total annihilation of their people. Now, with an entourage of Caledonian nobles, Argentocoxos greeted Caracalla, while Silus lurked in the background with Daya and Atius, watching Oclatinius for instructions.
The negotiations had already been carried out prior to this meeting – the concessions of territory, the agreements to withdraw military forces from buffer zones, the payment of hefty reparations and tribute by the Caledonian tribes and the handing over of hostages. This meeting was the formal acceptance of the terms of the peace treaty.
Silus noted that the Maeatae were sparsely represented. Argentocoxos had pleaded that the aggression was mainly Maeataen in origin, and the Caledonians had only joined the fight reluctantly when the Romans had invaded. While this was probably true, it meant little to most Romans. Barbarians were barbarians after all, and none of them could be trusted.
Argentocoxos’ voice was deep, and he spoke loudly for the benefit of all present on both sides. His Latin was heavily accented, but fluent.
‘I accept the generous terms of peace offered by the Emperor Antoninus, who men call Caracalla, on behalf of the Senate and People of Rome,’ he said. ‘I pledge that in perpetuity the peoples of Caledonia will leave in peace their neighbours to the south, and will not wage war. Moreover, we will pay the agreed sum in tribute, and hand over the agreed hostages. I swear this by my ancestors, and by Teutates, Esus and Taranis.’
‘And I,’ said Caracalla, ‘pledge the peace of the Roman Empire to the people of Caledonia, as long as the terms of this treaty are honoured. The boundary of the province of Britannia will once again be set at the wall of Hadrianus. I swear this on my father’s ashes, and by Jupiter Optimus Maximus and Serapis.’
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