The Furies of Rome

by Robert Fabbri

  Many of the townsfolk had gathered to see them off, curious as to what these high-status new arrivals were up to, and Vespasian noticed very few amongst the indigenous Trinovantes who had taken up Roman dress; it was only the colonists, discharged legionaries and their native wives, who looked Roman. Here, far more than in Londinium, Vespasian surmised, the pacification of the province was rudimentary. That fact was also emphasised by their short journey through the town to the north gates. In this part of the town, markedly more than around the western gates by which they had entered the previous day, the houses were native in construction: round with thatched roofs and a leather door-curtain. There were definitely two sides to Camulodunum and from what Vespasian could see, apart from trading in the forum, they did not mix.

  And he had noticed the same thing as they journeyed north: small colonies of discharged legionaries living in brick-built houses with their native wives – who had been only too happy to get a husband after the mass killing and deportation to the slave markets of Gaul and Italia of so many Trinovantes men – contrasted with villages of round huts spiralling thick woodsmoke up through the holes cut in their thatched roofs. Again, the two never mixed. The further north they travelled, the more dominant the native villages and farmsteads became until by the end of the second day there was no sign of Roman occupation at all; it was as if the whole Claudian invasion had never happened and they were just a band of travellers journeying through a countryside dotted with damp, mist-wreathed farmsteads and deep woods as yet untouched by Rome.

  Thus they entered the lands of the Iceni, the independent tribe whose domain was enclosed by the sea to the north and east, almost impassable fenland and marsh to the west and then the Roman-controlled Trinovantes to the south. Here the people lived under their own law. Yes, they traded with the Empire, paid tribute into its coffers and sent their young men to serve in its auxiliary cohorts, but it was to their chieftains and, ultimately, their King that they held loyalty.

  ‘They were never conquered, did you know?’ Vespasian said to Hormus, riding next to him. ‘Sensibly, Prasutagus came to Camulodunum and submitted to Claudius without any blood spilt.’

  ‘Did he not even take hostages?’

  ‘He did but they had been returned by the time the Iceni rose against that idiot, Scapula, when he tried to disarm them. But now they are still technically independent, although I’m sure that won’t last beyond Prasutagus’ death seeing as he’s only got a wife and three daughters to inherit. I don’t know what the Iceni laws of inheritance are but in Rome they would not, in most circumstances, be able to inherit by themselves. They would need men named in the will, unless the Emperor gave a special dispensation – which is highly unlikely.’

  ‘Besides,’ Sabinus said, ‘it’s customary for client kings to leave their kingdoms to Rome in their wills. Atallus the Third of Pergamon did it and old whatshisname of Pontus.’

  ‘Polemon?’

  ‘I’m sure you’re right. Anyway, I can’t imagine us wanting to stand by and possibly let another Cartimandua take power over the Iceni; one Fury like that is quite enough for this island.’

  ‘What is the name of Prasutagus’ wife?’

  ‘I’ve no idea but I’m sure we won’t be able to avoid being introduced to the hairy beast.’

  ‘What makes you say she’s hairy?’ Magnus asked, in a tone that implied interest; he had left his plump slave back in Rome in Gaius’ household where he had supposed, rightly, that she would remain unmolested.

  Sabinus indicated around them with an expansive gesture. ‘Fog-bound marsh, dim forests all of little use for agriculture; only animals can live here and in my experience animals are always hairy.’

  ‘Elephants aren’t; they’ve got some hair on them but they ain’t hairy.’

  Sabinus sighed with irritation. ‘All right, Magnus; if she isn’t hairy she’ll be huge.’

  Magnus grunted, apparently satisfied. ‘Fair enough.’

  As it turned out Sabinus was wrong: Prasutagus’ wife was both huge and hairy. It was to her that Vespasian and his companions, having sent their names on in advance, presented themselves in the marketplace the following day upon their arrival at Venta Icenorum.

  ‘My name is Boudicca, wife of Prasutagus,’ the Queen of the Iceni announced in a harsh voice, used to command; her russet hair was piled high on her head and fell in copious unkempt waves down her back, coming to her waist. She wore the tunic and trousers of a man, brightly coloured; a cloak was fastened around her by a bronze brooch, fashioned as a coiled serpent. About her neck she wore a golden torque, the sign of a warrior old in the way of war. Standing in front of the largest, by far, of the five hundred or so round, thatched-roofed huts clustered within the stockaded settlement, she fixed the visitors with a piercing glare, one after the other, as if assessing the threat posed by each one before continuing: ‘My husband is unable to come and greet you personally as he is confined to his hall.’ Her Latin was accented but reasonable.

  Vespasian restrained an urge to snap at her, unimpressed by being treated in such an overbearing manner. ‘It is with him that we need to speak.’ He felt Caenis’ hand on his elbow and tempered his voice. ‘I suggest that we do so now.’

  ‘You can suggest all you like, Roman, but I’m telling you that you cannot see him; he is on his deathbed. You will address any issues to me or you will leave. Rome does not rule here.’ She folded her arms, the sleeves of her tunic riding up to reveal hirsute wrists. The warriors attending her shifted their positions to stand more firmly; here and there one rolled his shoulders as if limbering up. Other warriors could be seen through the haze of pungent cooking-fire smoke that wafted around the nearby huts.

  Vespasian felt the turma of cavalry, standing behind him, tense.

  Caenis stepped forward, looking up at the warrior queen. ‘If we do not get to see your husband before he dies then I can tell you that there is no chance that I will do my business with you.’

  Boudicca looked down at Caenis who was almost two heads shorter than her and well under half her body-mass. ‘Do you speak for these men?’ There was surprise in her voice.

  ‘My name is Antonia Caenis; I speak for myself. I and my companions will speak with your husband.’

  With their eyes locked, the battle of feminine wills raged in silence for a few moments.

  ‘Very well, Antonia Caenis,’ Boudicca said eventually, ‘but just you and one other.’

  ‘Seneca must think I’m stupid,’ Prasutagus wheezed; his chest heaved and he hacked out a series of phlegm-filled coughs, spitting the bloody result onto the rushes covering the floor. He grimaced in pain as he lay back down on the pillow and gave a wan smile, wrinkling his thin skin even more than age had done naturally. ‘But perhaps he’s right: I was stupid to borrow that amount of money from him. It just seemed so easy, and at the time I didn’t consider how I would pay it back as we didn’t really have any concept of bank loans on such a vast scale before you Romans came and so didn’t understand them.’

  Caenis nodded her head in sympathy that Vespasian could see was put on. ‘I’m sure that you understand them now.’

  ‘Oh, yes; I understand them. I understand them well enough to know that the interest that I’ve been paying has stopped me from amassing enough to pay off the debt.’ He wheezed again, this time through mirth. ‘Seneca’s been too greedy: he’s not allowed me the means to repay him.’

  Caenis crossed her legs and leant forward. ‘Seneca doesn’t see it that way, Prasutagus. His reasoning is that the King of the Iceni took out the loan so that the whole tribe would benefit; therefore the whole tribe is liable. So he suggests that you start collecting the taxes that you need to fulfil your obligations to him.’

  The dying King looked at Caenis, his long grey hair lank with sweat. ‘Or what?’

  Caenis smiled sweetly at him. ‘Or he has the influence to be able to send a legion to collect it and that will work out far more expensive for you and your people; especially be
aring in mind that if the amount cannot be raised in cash and bullion, then slaves are getting quite valuable again after the drop in price when so many Britons were sold off in the first years of the conquest.’ Caenis paused for a few moments to let this sink in. ‘However,’ she continued as Prasutagus acknowledged the possibility of such action, ‘Seneca is not so greedy as to insist on repayment of the full amount, since he has, as you have pointed out, already made a considerable profit on the deal.’

  Prasutagus fell into another bout of strained coughing; bloody saliva trickled from the corners of his mouth. ‘How much does he want?’ he asked once the fit had subsided.

  ‘He’s prepared to forget half of the outstanding interest if you pay by the calends of March; that gives you a little over three months to collect.’

  This sent Prasutagus into a choking mixture of mirth and dry hacking, his chest convulsing with the effort.

  ‘That’s enough!’ Boudicca’s harsh voice cut across her husband’s discomfort. ‘You will leave him now.’

  Caenis remained firmly in her seat. ‘Not until I have an answer from him.’

  ‘I am mistress here.’

  Caenis turned hard, piercing eyes onto the Britannic Queen. ‘That’s what you might think, Boudicca; however, I make this offer only once, to him, the King, not to you. If I leave now without an answer, the full sum will be due the moment I walk out the door. Can you afford that?’

  Vespasian again witnessed a silent battle of female wills, feeling relieved that he was not caught in the middle.

  Boudicca blinked first. ‘What say you, husband?’ Her voice softened; there was considerable tenderness in it.

  Prasutagus managed to get his chest under control. ‘What can I say? I have to accept. Seneca dresses up a hard deal as a generous favour by threatening me with the immediate bankruptcy of the whole Iceni tribe to be paid for by the liberty of hundreds, if not thousands, of us sent to the slave markets of Gallia and Italia.’ He looked back to Caenis. ‘Come back in March and the money will be here; even if I’m not.’

  ‘Then how can you guarantee that?’

  ‘I’ll make it a condition of my will. Seneca’s loan will be paid off and then the rest of my estate will be divided equally between the Emperor on one hand and my wife and daughters on the other.’

  Caenis tilted her head. ‘Agreed, but with one change: you bring the money to me in Camulodunum.’

  Prasutagus sighed deeply and nodded, too tired to argue any more.

  Vespasian at last saw how he could be of use. ‘Have the document drawn up now, Prasutagus, and I’ll witness it along with my brother; as former consuls our signatures and seals would make the will unchallengeable.’

  And so Caenis, taking the halting dictation of a dying man and in her ultra-neat hand, wrote down a will that favoured Seneca above all else. Sabinus was ushered into the hall and he and Vespasian witnessed the completed document under the glowering gaze of Boudicca. When it was done they took their leave of Prasutagus, leaving him emptying his lungs and cursing in equal measure.

  ‘You know that in March it’ll be with me that you’ll have to deal,’ Boudicca informed Caenis as they stepped out together into the chill, her breath immediately steaming.

  Caenis did not look at the Britannic Queen. ‘No, Boudicca; in March it’ll be me that you have to deal with. And as far as I’m concerned, your husband has already made the deal, and if he’s dead by March then I will expect you to honour it.’

  ‘And if I choose not to?’

  ‘Then it’ll be the wrong choice because Seneca will have both the law and the military power on his side. If I were you I’d spend the next few months collecting the money.’

  Caenis walked away leaving Boudicca seething, her fists clenching and unclenching. ‘I should have you all killed, Romans,’ she snarled at Vespasian and Sabinus as they passed her.

  ‘And where would that get you?’ Vespasian asked.

  Boudicca stared at him with undisguised hatred, her towering frame tense as a strung bow. ‘You think that you can come here and dictate terms to an independent king?’

  ‘We just did, didn’t we?’

  Boudicca spat. ‘No, you didn’t, your woman did. You just sat there as if she were the man wearing trousers and you were the wife.’

  Vespasian went for his gladius, ripping it from its scabbard.

  Boudicca stood firm as her bodyguards surrounded her, their spears levelled. The auxiliary cavalry troopers, suddenly alert to the tension, leapt into the saddles; horses reared up in surprise at the abrupt activity. Castor and Pollux growled, deep and guttural, straining against Magnus and Hormus respectively.

  Vespasian felt a hand grab his shoulder and another, his right wrist.

  ‘Don’t be stupid, brother,’ Sabinus shouted in his ear.

  ‘Do you expect me to let that insult pass?’ Vespasian hissed, staring into Boudicca’s mocking eyes.

  ‘We’re outnumbered; just look around you.’

  Vespasian strained against his brother’s grip, but knew that he was right. After a few moments he calmed, taking a couple of deep breaths, and then lowered the tip of his sword.

  ‘Anyway,’ he said, his voice tight with frustration, ‘Roman men don’t wear trousers.’

  Boudicca sneered. ‘Yes, I noticed.’

  Again Sabinus had to restrain his brother, and it took Caenis turning and running back to grab his face in both hands, forcing him to look into her eyes, to calm him this time. ‘Focus on me, my love; on me.’

  Vespasian looked into her eyes and saw the strength within the sapphires; he gritted his teeth and did as she had commanded and then allowed himself to be led away.

  With difficulty he ignored Boudicca’s scoff.

  ‘You make sure that you’re there in Camulodunum with the money on the calends of March, Boudicca,’ Caenis called over her shoulder.

  ‘I’ll be there, Antonia Caenis,’ the Queen replied, her voice harsh in the cold air. ‘On the calends or as soon after that as the tracks are passable, I’ll be there.’ She said something else, quieter, but neither Vespasian nor any of the others caught it as the words were drowned out by the neighing of horses and the jangle of tack.

  ‘I wonder what they did,’ Magnus mused, looking up at the bodies of four men slumped on crosses just outside the northern gate to Camulodunum; although their eyes had already become food for the crows there were faint signs of life in two of them.

  Vespasian shrugged; he did not care, brooding, as he was still, upon the insult to his masculinity by a woman – albeit a very manly woman, but a woman nonetheless. What had irked him the most was the truth in what Boudicca had said: he had been nothing more than a bystander in the negotiations between Caenis and the King. And Caenis had dealt with the situation masterfully; he gave a rueful smile at the use of such a masculine word to describe her behaviour.

  ‘Still,’ Magnus went on next to him, seemingly oblivious to the fact that Vespasian was occupying his own internal world, ‘I’d assume that it would have been serious seeing as they don’t look to have been slaves.’

  ‘Perhaps there’s been a bit of tension whilst we’ve been away,’ Hormus suggested, keeping his eyes averted from the grisly sight. ‘It didn’t feel like a very harmonious town when we arrived.’

  Vespasian grunted. ‘I agree; as soon as I’ve spoken with that little runt, Paelignus, we’ll get back to Londinium and wait there for three months whilst the Iceni get the money together and the other loans are repaid.’

  Sabinus smiled. ‘In relative comfort, you mean?’

  ‘In as much as anywhere can be comfortable in this arsehole of empire.’

  ‘Talking of arseholes,’ Magnus said, pointing ahead of them, ‘there’s a little one.’

  Vespasian looked up to see Paelignus riding towards them with an escort of auxiliaries. As he got closer Vespasian could see that the prefect had the grimace that passed for his smile spread across his face.

  ‘Ah, Senators Vesp
asian and Sabinus, it’s a pleasure to see you both back,’ Paelignus said in his most ingratiating tones as he pulled up his horse opposite them. ‘I had people on the lookout for your party so that I could come and greet you myself.’

  ‘What do you want, Paelignus?’ Vespasian asked, well aware that their return was anything but a pleasure for the prefect.

  ‘You’ll be pleased to know that I’ve been entirely successful in my task of regaining the monies owed to Seneca.’

  Vespasian hid his surprise. ‘And what about the money that you owe him?’

  The smile was sickening; it was as if Paelignus was trying to pretend that they were the best of friends talking about a thing of mutual interest that gave both of them joy. ‘That is all in hand, Vespasian. I recently squeezed some more out of the colonists as a tax to go towards the completion of the walls, but seeing as we don’t really need them I’ve appropriated that, which, along with what I have on deposit with the Cloelius Brothers’ agent in Londinium, is over half the amount.’

  The use of public funds for personal gain did not surprise Vespasian; he had seen it happen many times and was, frankly, used to it. ‘And what about the rest?’