‘Caesar, I am a mere soldier, and lack the necessary refinement to judge the aesthetic merit of another’s loquacity.’
Claudius and Narcissus regarded him silently, one with a look of benign incomprehension, the other with close scrutiny as he looked for any trace of irony in the general’s features.
‘Well yes, quite!’ Claudius nodded. ‘It’s a good thing to be aware of one’s d-d-deficiencies.’
‘You speak truly, as ever, Caesar.’ Plautius bowed his head and Claudius limped off towards his tent, with Narcissus scurrying along to one side. Then the general turned to his officers. ‘Vespasian!’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘You’d better deal with our tribal guests.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘See that they’re made comfortable and are well looked after. But keep them under close guard. Nothing too obtrusive but just enough to let them know we’re watching closely. Can’t afford to have them wandering around if there’s anything to this rumour about an attempt on the Emperor’s life.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Vespasian saluted and left. His charges were at the headquarters tent. As he entered he was immediately aware of a marked division in the tribal representatives, between those who rose to greet him with a weary acceptance of the inevitable and those who remained squatting on the ground, glaring at him with bitter hostility. To one side, trying to be dignified without looking smug at having sided with the victors, sat Adminius. A huge man turned towards the legate and looked him over with the distastefully obvious air of a man examining an inferior. He approached Vespasian, arm raised, and greeted the legate formally. When he began to speak, Vespasian quickly indicated that Adminius should translate.
‘Venutius begs to inform you that he and the others here had the privilege of viewing the battle as guests of Caratacus. He says he still finds it a little difficult to follow the logic of your tactics in the battle, and would be most grateful if you would talk them through with him.’
‘Another time. I’m rather busy at the moment,’ Vespasian responded coldly. ‘And tell him that whatever the tactics, the outcome was inevitable. It always is when ill-disciplined natives attempt to best an army of professional soldiers. What matters is we won and that this island will eventually become a Roman province. Nothing else concerns me right now. Tell him I’ll look forward to seeing him, and these others, when they bow before Caesar and pledge their loyalty to him at the banquet tomorrow night.’
As Adminius translated, Vespasian cast his eyes over the tribal representatives and was struck by the sneering expression on the face of the youngest of them. Hatred burned in the young man’s eyes, and his gaze was unfaltering as Vespasian looked at him. For a moment the legate considered staring him out, but then decided it would be a waste of time and turned to leave. A small smile of satisfaction played on the young Briton’s lips. Vespasian cocked a finger at Adminius and ducked through the tent flap.
‘Who was the youngster?’
‘Bellonius,’ replied Adminius. ‘Son of the ruler of a small northern tribe. His father’s dying and sent his son to represent him. Not the wisest choice, I think.’
‘Why?’
‘You saw him. Not hiding much behind that expression.’
‘Dangerous?’
Adminius considered the young Briton a moment before responding. ‘No more so than any teenager who has been exposed to Caratacus’ propaganda.’
‘And Venutius?’
‘Him?’ Adminius laughed. ‘He was once a great warrior. But he’s getting on. Spends all his time talking about the old days. Bit of an old fool really.’
‘You think so?’ Vespasian raised an eyebrow as he recalled the shrewdness in the man’s grey eyes when he had stood before him and assessed his character.
Vespasian could not help thinking there was more to Venutius than Adminius gave him credit for.
Chapter Fifty
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The legions camped outside Camulodunum were in high spirits. Despite being caked in mud and exhausted by advancing so quickly after a pitched battle, there was a palpable sense of celebration in the air. A decisive victory had been won and Caratacus and the remnants of the British army were in full flight towards those tribes still loyal to the confederation resisting Rome. The tribal representatives who had been awaiting the outcome of the last battle had hurried to Camulodunum to swear allegiance to Rome. The danger of being opposed by almost every tribe on the island had passed now that the most powerful of the native tribes had been soundly beaten by the legions. Until next year’s campaigning, the Roman army would be free to consolidate its gains unopposed. Caratacus’ capital had opened its gates to the Emperor, and the following day’s festivities would mark the end of this year’s bloody campaigning. Of course, the conquest of the island was far from complete but in the prevailing mood of celebration few men spoke of it.
The Trinovantes had saved themselves from having their capital sacked, to the disappointment of some hardened veterans, but there were already ample spoils of war in the form of the thousands of Britons taken prisoner, who would be sold into slavery. Each legionary stood to gain a substantial sum of money as his share of the booty realised from the sale of prisoners. But there was even more to follow.
‘Word has it that the Emperor is going to pay us a donative!’ Macro grinned as he dropped down onto the grass outside his tent, eyes glinting at the prospect of a large handout of money from the imperial treasury.
‘Why?’ asked Cato.
‘Because it’s a good way of keeping us sweet. Why do you think? Besides, we deserve it. And he’s managed to persuade the Trinovantes to hand over a supply of booze so we can celebrate in style after tomorrow’s ceremonies. I know it’s only that crap Celt beer they insist on brewing – like that stuff we had to drink in Gaul – but whatever it is, it still gets you pissed without too much effort. Then we’re going to see some sights!’ The centurion’s eyes glazed over as he recalled previous drinking binges he had enjoyed with comrades in the past.
Cato could not help feeling a little nervous about the prospect. His body had a low tolerance for alcohol, and the slightest excess left his head reeling and made him curse the day that men first fermented their drink. He inevitably threw up and continued spewing until the pit of his stomach felt raw and the muscles were strained by the effort. Then sleep came uneasily and he would wake with a dry mouth and a foul taste on his tongue, head pounding. If what he had heard about the local brew was accurate, the after effects would be even more unpleasant. But short of volunteering for provost duties, there would be no way of avoiding the drinking session.
‘Is it wise to be drinking with Caratacus nearby?’ he asked.
‘Don’t worry about him. It’ll be a long time before he can cause us any more trouble. Besides, one of the legions will be on duty at the time. Just pray it isn’t ours.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Cato said quietly.
‘Relax, lad! The worst is over. The enemy’s on the run, we’ve a party lined up and the weather’s improved.’ Macro lay back in the grass, tucked his hands behind his head and closed his eyes. ‘Life is good, so enjoy it.’
Cato would like to have shared the mood of the centurion and the other legionaries but he could not feel content. Not while he was tormented by the spectre of Vitellius seducing Lavinia. The Emperor’s entourage had joined the army at midday, and was busy making camp in the corner of the fortifications allotted to it by General Plautius. Knowing that Lavinia was near quickened Cato’s pulse, but at the same time he was filled with dread at the prospect of encountering her again. This time she would be sure to tell him what he most feared, that she no longer wanted to see him. The thought tormented him so much that at last Cato could bear it no longer, and the need to know overwhelmed the fear of finding out.
Leaving Macro dozing quietly in the sunshine, Cato made himself walk through the camp towards the elaborate tents of the Emperor’s followers. Each step towards Lavinia was an effort, and
on all sides the light-hearted mood of the legionaries increased the weight of misery bearing down on him. It did not take him long to find the tent of the legate’s wife and her travelling household, but it took a while to steel himself to approach the entrance. A burly slave he had never seen before stood guard and from inside came the muffled chatter of female voices. Cato strained his ears to catch the sound of Lavinia’s voice.
‘What’s your business?’ asked the slave, intervening between the entrance flap and the young optio.
‘Personal. I wish to speak with a slave of Lady Flavia.’
‘Does the mistress know you?’ asked the slave contemptuously.
‘Yes. I’m an old friend.’
The slave frowned, unsure whether to turn this filthy soldier away or risk interrupting his mistress in her unpacking.
‘Tell her that it’s Cato. Tell her I’d like to talk to Lavinia.’
The slave narrowed his eyes before reluctantly reaching his decision. ‘Very well. Stay here.’
He entered the tent and left Cato standing alone. He turned away and gazed out over the camp while he waited for the slave to return. A rustling behind him caused Cato to turn back quickly. Instead of the slave he found Lady Flavia facing him, a strained smile on her face as she held her hand out in greeting.
‘My lady.’ Cato bowed his head.
‘You are well?’ asked Flavia.
‘I’m quite well, my lady.’ He raised his arms and did a quick turn, hoping to amuse her. ‘As you can see.’
‘Good . . .’
The silence was awkward, and when Flavia’s usually cheerful mood failed to materialise, a cold sense of dread welled up inside Cato.
‘My lady, might I speak to Lavinia?’
Flavia’s expression took on a pained look. She shook her head.
‘What’s the matter, my lady? Is Lavinia all right?’
‘Yes. She’s all right.’
Cato’s anxiety quickly abated. ‘Then can I see her?’
‘No. Not now. She’s not here.’
‘Where can I find her, my lady?’
‘I don’t know, Cato.’
‘Then I’ll wait for her to return. That is, if you don’t mind.’
Flavia stood silently and made no reply. Instead she looked him in the eye and her expression became sorrowful. ‘Cato, do you respect my opinion as you once used to?’
‘Of course, my lady.’
‘Then forget Lavinia. Forget her, Cato. She is not for you. No! Let me finish.’ She raised her hand to quell his objections. ‘Cato, you deserve better. Lavinia is no good for you. She’s changed her mind about you these last few weeks. She has . . . higher ambitions.’
Cato recoiled from Flavia, and she was distressed by the cold anger that hardened his youthful face.
‘Why didn’t you tell me about Vitellius, my lady?’ he asked in a strained voice. ‘Why?’
‘For your own good, Cato. You have to believe me. I have no desire to hurt you unnecessarily.’
‘Where is Lavinia?’
‘I can’t tell you.’
Cato could guess where Lavinia might be easily enough. He stared at Flavia, jaw working as he struggled to control his churning emotions. Then he suddenly clenched his fists, turned, and strode away from the tent.
‘Cato!’ Flavia took a few paces towards him, and stopped, hand half lifted as if to restrain him. She stared sadly at the thin, almost frail body of the young man striding stiffly away, the hurt he was suffering evident in the tightly clenched fists at his sides. Since she had been responsible for allowing the youngsters’ relationship to flourish in the first place, and had used it for her own political ends, Flavia felt the weight of guilt descend upon her. Despite her private justifications for her deeds, the human costs they entailed were hard to bear.
Flavia wondered if a simple brutal statement of Lavinia’s present location might not have been a quicker and kinder way to help Cato get over his youthful adoration of Lavinia.
Chapter Fifty-One
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The setting sun flooded into the tribune’s tent through the entrance flap, burnishing one side of its contents with a rich orange glow and casting long dark shadows over the other side. Lavinia snuggled her head on the tribune’s shoulder and ran her fingers through the dark curls of his chest, each hair highlighted by the glow of the dying sun. His sweaty scent filled her nostrils with the sharp tang of his masculinity, and she breathed in rhythm with the smooth rise and fall of his chest. Although his eyes were shut she knew he was awake from the light touch of a finger on the curved cleft between her buttocks as he gently traced the contours.
‘Mmmm, that’s nice,’ she breathed softly in his ear. ‘Don’t stop there.’
‘You are insatiable,’ Vitellius muttered. ‘Three times in one afternoon is more than any man can take.’
Running her hand down his chest and over his stomach, Lavinia cupped the soft malleable flesh of his penis in her slender fingers and slowly worked it.
‘Are you really sure?’
Vitellius raised his other hand and extended his index finger, the gesture of a defeated gladiator appealing to the mob. ‘I beg for mercy.’
‘I accept surrender from no man.’ Lavinia chuckled as she continued her attempt to elicit a response.
‘Not even that youngster you were involved with?’
The tone of the remark was just the wrong side of frivolous, and Lavinia withdrew her hand and shifted round, raising herself on one elbow and looking down at his face.
‘What’s the matter? Jealous?’ Lavinia waited for a response, but Vitellius silently gazed back up at her. ‘Could you really be jealous of a young boy?’
‘Not so young that he didn’t know his way around, apparently.’
‘But young enough to need to stop and ask for directions from time to time.’
‘From an even younger woman?’
‘Ah!’ Lavinia smiled. ‘I had the advantage of a head start. Thanks to you, my very own tribune.’ She lowered her head and kissed him on the lips, then slowly grazed her lips across the stubble on his cheek and kissed his eye and forehead, before reclining back on her elbow. ‘I’m so glad we’re back together. I can’t tell you how much I’ve missed being with you like this. I don’t think I have ever felt so happy.’
‘Not even with that boy?’ Vitellius asked quietly. ‘Are you quite sure?’
‘Of course I am, silly! I’ve told you, it just happened after Plinius threw me out when he caught us together that time. You remember?’
‘I’ll never forget!’ Vitellius smiled. ‘That pompous fool had it coming to him.’
‘Plinius was all right. He looked after me well. I’ve a lot to thank him for. In fact I felt very sorry for him afterwards, for a while at least. And then Cato fell for me.’
‘What on earth did you see in him?’
Lavinia pouted as she thought about her attraction to the young optio. ‘I suppose he looks handsome in an odd way. He’s tall and skinny to be sure, but he has lovely eyes. Very expressive. And there was something quite sad about him too. Always seemed preoccupied with how others saw him, never at ease with himself. Maybe I felt sorry for him.’
‘Hardly an adequate reason to bed him,’ protested Vitellius.
‘Oh you!’ Lavinia punched his chest. ‘Why shouldn’t I sleep with him? I enjoyed it. And I couldn’t see you very easily as long as I lived with Lady Flavia. What was I supposed to do?’
‘Wait until I found a way to get you out of there.’
‘Then I’d have waited for ever. I’m only here now because I managed to give my mistress the slip. If she knew where I was I’d be given a thrashing I wouldn’t forget in a hurry.’
‘You’re sure she doesn’t know you’re here now?’
‘Of course not. I’ll just tell her I went for a walk and got lost coming back. She’ll be suspicious but I doubt she’ll guess the truth.’
‘Even though she saw us together the other d
ay?’
Lavinia prodded his chest with her finger. ‘I told her that you had approached me and that I told you to leave me alone because I loved Cato.’
‘And she believed you?’ Vitellius sounded sceptical.
‘Why shouldn’t she? Now, can we talk about something else? This anxiety you men have over the physical loyalty of your women is very tiresome. It’s not as if you live by the same standard.’
‘All right then,’ replied Vitellius, pulling her forward onto him and kissing her with a passionate intensity that surprised Lavinia. Closing her eyes she surrendered to the moment, breathing in the scent of him and becoming almost dizzy with the desire that came with such physical closeness. When she drew back from his face and opened her eyes, she felt the hardness of his penis along her thigh.
‘I thought you said you weren’t up to it?’
‘You have a way of provoking a man’s desire.’ Vitellius smiled and ran his hand up the inside of her thighs. ‘Let’s see what we can do about it.’
Later, after sunset, a slave came into the tent and silently lit the lamps before disappearing. By the pale loom of the lamps Lavinia rose from the bed and yawned, stretching her slender arms above her head. The action caused her breasts to lift and Vitellius reached a hand round to cup the nearest, marvelling at its smooth softness. Lavinia allowed him to continue a moment before slapping his hand away.
‘Enough of that, you! I have to get back to my tent.’
‘When will I see you again?’
‘Tomorrow, after Caesar’s banquet. I’ll meet you back here.’
‘You’ll definitely be at the banquet?’ asked Vitellius.
‘Yes, to wait on my mistress and the legate. But I can’t wait to see the entertainments the Emperor has lined up. Should be quite a spectacle.’ Lavinia picked up her tunic from the ground where it had been dropped in their earlier haste and pulled it on over her head. Vitellius watched her, head propped up on a silk bolster, his eyes dark and cold.
‘Lavinia, I need you to do me a favour.’
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