‘What?’ Vespasian looked at the wretched slave; exhausted by his unremitting labours, he no longer cried out. ‘Yes, I suppose so; still, none of them would have been in this position had they been sensible and surrendered, like the men working on the triremes, rather than fighting on and becoming captives.’
‘You should be thankful that they weren’t sensible; if they had you wouldn’t have had the manpower to drag this squadron overland and then where would you be? Losing yet more vessels trying to sail hundreds of miles around this storm-riven island, rather than simply dragging them thirty miles to the north coast.’
‘No, I’d have had them built like the triremes; but you’re right, it’s much easier and less effort to bring them overland; not to mention the time it’s saved.’
‘And lives,’ Sabinus observed. He pointed to a smaller ship, a liburnian bobbing at anchor close to the shore, in which he had arrived the day before. He had sailed south from the XIIII Gemina’s base, at General Plautius’ orders, to take personal command of his half of the twelve biremes whose arduous overland journey was now coming to an end – he had only just recovered from two days’ stomach-straining seasickness that morning. ‘The trierarchus of my ship told me that he was the only one who made it round out of a flotilla of half a dozen. Apparently the tides and the wind are very rarely in the right conjunction; three of the ships were wrecked and two turned back.’
Magnus spat. ‘Tides! They ain’t natural.’
Vespasian chuckled. ‘I’m afraid they are, Magnus. Anyway the main thing is that despite the tides we now have a naval presence on both sides of the peninsula ready for our push further west into the Dumnonii lands next season.’
With a flurry of scourging and a rise in the cacophony of agonised cries and bellows, both bestial and human, the next bireme rolled down the bank, plunging into the water, dipping its bow with a phenomenal splash that submerged many of the slaves toiling at its ropes in the river. The great vessel bounced gracefully back up as its full length floated; the resultant wave swept many of the captives from their ropes, out into midstream where they floundered, drawn down by the weight of their manacles.
‘That’s just stupid!’ Vespasian exploded, striding forward with furious intent towards the nearest centurion commanding the legionary overseers. ‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing drowning decent livestock?’
The centurion snapped to attention in the face of his legate’s wrath. ‘We unhitched the oxen, sir!’
‘I’m not talking about the oxen; I’m talking about the slaves!’
The man looked nonplussed for a few moments. ‘It’s unavoidable, sir.’
‘Unavoidable! Do you have any idea how much each one of them is worth? Your annual pay, that’s how much.’ Vespasian gestured to a stoutly built, large stockade about a quarter of a mile away into which slaves who had completed their task were being led. ‘And I make sure that every legionary and auxiliary gets their fair share of the profits for each one sold so what you’re doing is throwing your money and mine away. I suggest that you find a way to make drowning them avoidable, centurion.’
‘Yes, sir!’ the centurion barked, snapping a crisp salute before turning and marching off to berate his men for bringing him to the attention of the legate.
‘A very commendable and remunerative piece of advice, if I may say, legate,’ a smooth voice observed from behind him.
Vespasian spun on his heel. He was in no mood for insolence. ‘Theron!’ he exclaimed, looking into the dark eyes of the Macedonian slave-trader from whom he had bought his body slave, Hormus. ‘What are you doing so close to where the fighting is?’
Theron, a man only in his mid-thirties but already running to fat, bowed, bringing a hand across his ample chest; his voluminous saffron cloak wafted in the slight breeze and pendulous golden earrings glistened next to his trimmed and oiled black beard, which failed to conceal the beginnings of a double chin. Behind him stood a retinue of a dozen bulky men; their age, scars and muscles placed them unmistakably as ex-gladiators. Despite the absence of sun or rain a smooth-skinned eastern youth held a parasol, fringed with golden-threaded tassels, over his head. He was, Vespasian thought, almost a parody of the image that he tried to portray: a man whose wealth was based upon the sweat of others.
‘Greetings, legate,’ Theron said in a most deferential tone, ‘allow me to pay my compliments to you for the magnificent victories that you have won since we last met.’
‘What do you want?’
‘The smallest of favours.’
‘I doubt that.’
‘In return for greatly adding to your personal fortune.’
Vespasian’s experience of buying Hormus from Theron was in direct opposition to that statement. ‘I find that very unlikely too.’
‘Then you should hear me out, legate.’
Vespasian appraised the Macedonian for a few moments, the chance of profit fighting with his natural inclination to have the man run off military ground. ‘Go on then.’
‘May I suggest we retire to your tent and make ourselves comfortable?’
‘No, you may not; you may enjoy comfort in the day but the art of leading men rather than selling them requires me to have different priorities. Say what you have to say here.’
‘Your virtue does you credit. I am humbled by your sentiments.’
Vespasian found himself wanting to change his mind as the Macedonian oozed clichés; but knowing that his time, and therefore his money-making opportunities, must now be limited in the new province he overcame his scruples. ‘Get on with it.’
Theron looked at Magnus and Sabinus questioningly.
‘They stay as my witnesses.’
‘Indeed, your honour.’ Theron paused and cleared his throat as if he was embarking upon a carefully rehearsed speech. ‘As the instigator of this great enterprise …’ He gestured expansively over the line of ships, surrounded by slaves and overseers; oarsmen from the recently floated bireme clambered into rowing boats, lined along the jetties, to make the short journey out to their vessel. ‘As the instigator of this great enterprise now drawing to a glorious conclusion, much to your eternal credit, you are aware that the human cattle used as muscle are now, in the main, superfluous. I believe you are now having them taken to that holding stockade in readiness for their transportation back to the slave-markets in the east of Britannia. Please confirm to me that I’m not mistaken, excellency?’
Vespasian grunted his affirmation.
‘That is gratifying. You know me to be an honest man of business with much experience in the line of trade that I pursue. It therefore should not come as a complete surprise to you to learn that I have recently acquired the contracts to supply three gladiatorial schools in Rome and a further two in Capua with Britannic livestock.’
Vespasian made no move to be either surprised or not.
‘They have formed a consortium in order to buy in bulk at reasonable prices; their first order is for seventy-five men each of mixed builds, that’s …’
‘Three hundred and seventy-five, I can do multiplication!’
Theron bowed deep. ‘Humble apologies, your honour.’
‘And stop talking in clichés!’
‘Indeed, excel … Indeed, legate.’ He cleared his throat again. ‘These gentlemen behind me are all former exponents of that noble profession and are here to assess the suitability of each slave for each gladiatorial role.’
‘I see. So you want to have the first pick of the slaves before they get back to the licensed slave-markets.’
‘I would describe it as a first assessment; being a law-abiding citizen I would not wish to make a purchase outside the jurisdiction and tax-net of the licensed slave-market.’
Vespasian felt a reluctant admiration for the man. ‘But if you were allowed to take your pick here and choose the cream of the stock you would be more than happy to escort them, at your own expense, naturally …’
Theron bowed his agreement.
; ‘Back to the market and immediately make your purchase, without your rivals being able to outbid you, under the supervision of the proper authorities who would levy the correct amount of tax.’
‘Your insight does you much credit.’
‘And then you will transport them …’ Vespasian paused and raised his eyebrows.
Theron tilted his head, closing his eyes. ‘Again at my own expense.’
‘Naturally. Transport them back to Italia and share them out amongst the five schools.’
‘You see the venture in its entirety.’
‘Oh I do, Theron; I also see you taking bribes from each of the schools to provide them with the best of the excellent stock thus adding to your considerable profit.’
Theron shrugged in a ‘wouldn’t anyone behave that way’ manner.
‘And just why should I allow you to get such an advantage over your rivals?’
‘Firstly because I had the initiative to travel out here to talk with you and share your dangers whilst my colleagues remained safely back east; and secondly because I’m offering you five per cent of the resale value of the stock in Italia.’
‘Which means that you can afford to pay me fifteen.’
‘Eight.’
‘Ten and it’s a deal.’
‘But I get to keep any monies offered to me as an incentive for allocating the stock in a certain way, as you alluded to earlier.’
‘I’m sure that you would do your best to keep those sums hidden from me even if I did demand a share.’
Theron bowed extravagantly. ‘In which case ten per cent it will be. We shall keep this between ourselves as a verbal understanding.’
‘Wrong, Theron; you won’t get access to that stockade until I have a signed written contract from you.’
‘But would that be wise? What we have agreed is slightly less than completely legal.’
‘Wrong again, Theron. I’m obliged to sell these slaves once I have finished with them. The Emperor gets his share of the sale through the tax that is levied at the market; the rest is shared out amongst my legion and auxiliaries. The Emperor will also get his cut in tax from the resale in Italia. The fact that I’ll also get money from the sale as well as the resale is irrelevant because the Emperor has had his due and is therefore happy. I’m just using my position to enrich myself like any sensible commander would do, and I want a contract from you so that you can’t cheat me out of what’s rightfully mine – as I’m sure you would, given the chance.’
‘Never, your honour,’ the slave-dealer crooned, bowing even lower.
‘Stop fawning and go and draw one up.’
Theron righted himself. ‘You shall have it by this evening, noble legate.’ With a farewell oozing of obsequiousness he took his leave.
Magnus looked less than impressed. ‘I wouldn’t do business with the likes of him for all the whores on the Via Patricius.’
‘Sometimes a business opportunity is worth more than a lot of whores,’ Sabinus observed, watching the slave-trader and his retinue depart. ‘Especially when one has no initial outlay.’
Vespasian turned his attention back to the biremes as the next one neared the water’s edge. ‘Exactly; I’ve got nothing to lose and everything to gain.’
Magnus scowled. ‘I can see that – ten per cent of the value of the resale will be a lot of money which you wouldn’t otherwise have got and it’s probably your last opportunity to make a decent profit before you get recalled.’
‘Which, after five years as legate of the Second Augusta, has got to be soon; so what’s the problem?’
‘He’s going to cheat you, even if you have a contract.’
‘I know he will and he’s banking on me not taking him to court because the contract will show me publicly in a less than favourable light to my peers. Even though they all would do the same it’s best not to be seen doing it, especially if one wants to be consul some day.’
‘Exactly, you wouldn’t risk that, would you?’
‘Of course not.’
‘So you’re just going to let him make a fool of you?’
‘No, Magnus, I’m going to let him make a fool of himself.’
‘Well, good luck, because I can tell you that men like Theron ain’t made fools of easily.’
The shrill blare of a lituus cavalry horn coming from within the camp ended the discussion. Vespasian turned towards the sound and looking up the Via Principalis saw a turma of cavalry dismounting outside the praetorium. Even at that distance he recognised the imposing figure and uniform of his commanding officer. ‘Aulus Plautius! Saturn’s stones, what’s he doing here?’
*
‘We have just a month, gentlemen!’ Aulus Plautius bellowed at Vespasian and Sabinus, drowning out the cries and whip-cracks from outside the praetorium tent. ‘No more than a month before our replacements arrive and we have to spend the winter briefing them and showing them around before we return to Rome. And if we want to come home covered in glory then I suggest that we take Caratacus in chains along with us.’ Plautius fixed the two brothers sitting opposite him across the desk with an indignant, red-faced glare.
Vespasian shifted uncomfortably in his seat as he watched the veins throbbing in his commanding officer’s bull-like neck; since his arrival at the II Augusta’s camp Plautius had not been in the best of moods.
Plautius picked up a scroll and brandished it at the brothers. ‘Narcissus has written to me stating that seeing as after three and a half years Caratacus remains at large, threatening our supply lines, ambushing columns and generally making a nuisance of himself, he feels the time has come to replace me and you two with men who own a degree of military competence. Military competence! The jumped-up little Greek shit! He wouldn’t know military competence if it barged its way up his arse and saluted.’ Plautius paused, breathing deeply through flaring nostrils, contemplating, Vespasian surmised, other more solid objects that he would like to see barging their way up that particular orifice. ‘The trouble is, gentlemen,’ Plautius continued with a degree of calm returning to his voice, ‘that the soft-living bastard has got a point: why the fuck is Caratacus’ head still on his shoulders and not decorating the end of a spike? How can I claim that the southern half of this dung-heap of an island is under Roman control when our lads have to go to the latrines in groups of eight so that they can hold each other’s hands for fear of having their arses wiped by a Britannic spear rather than a decent Roman sponge?’
Vespasian felt it was best not to point out that this was a wild exaggeration. However, he could well appreciate Plautius’ exasperation at the fact that, despite having taken the surrender of all the tribes in the south of Britannia – apart from the Dumnonii in the extreme southwest – he still had Caratacus at large with the ability to pop up with a considerable force and do humiliating damage. Apart from anything else, it was not good for trade and the occupied parts of the island were now swarming with fat merchants eager, like Theron, to squeeze as much cash out of the province as possible, whether it be in tin, lead, slaves, hunting dogs, pearls or any other commodity.
Vespasian glanced sidelong at his brother and now understood why Plautius had ordered him to come in person to pick up his ships, so far from the XIIII Gemina’s camp on the east bank of the Sabrina River: this was a planned meeting to discuss a two legion offensive. The grating of wood on wood followed by a large splash and much shouting signified that another bireme had been launched.
‘We should strike west in conjunction, sir,’ Sabinus stated, having come to the same conclusion as Vespasian, ‘and try to crush Caratacus between us.’
‘No!’ Plautius slammed his fist onto the desk. ‘That’s just what we shouldn’t do, Sabinus; that’s just what he wants us to do. He would dearly love to draw your legions into the wild hills beyond the Sabrina; we don’t even know his whereabouts so we’d be blundering about on his terms. We’ve got to draw him to us.’
Feeling relieved that he had not made the suggestion that had seemed so obv
ious, Vespasian sat in silence hoping for the benefit of Plautius’ military wisdom. The unmistakable screams of a man being nailed to a cross rode through the air.
Having glared at Sabinus for long enough to communicate his severe displeasure and disappointment, Plautius turned his attention to Vespasian. ‘Well?’
Vespasian opened his mouth and then closed it.
‘Come on, legate, you must have something sensible to say even if your brother hasn’t!’
‘About Caratacus, sir?’
‘Of course about Caratacus; who else do you think we’re talking about? How do we draw Caratacus to us rather than risk doing a Varus and marching a couple of legions into miserable terrain full of valleys, all damp as a whore’s minge, that can only be described as ideal ambush country?’
‘Attack something he values, sir.’
‘Thank you; one of you at least has picked up a bit of soldiering whilst you’ve been here.’
Vespasian was aware of Sabinus bristling next to him. The crucified man’s screaming suddenly stopped but the shifting clamour of massed exertion continued.
‘So what does he value enough to make him risk venturing out of his gods-cursed hole across the Sabrina River?’
Vespasian glanced at his brother to give him a chance to make up for his earlier mistake.
‘Well, we believe that he has his wife and children with him,’ Sabinus ventured, ‘so that’s not an option. The rest of his family are either dead or have surrendered; his lands in the east are occupied and whatever wealth he had is now in our hands. It doesn’t really leave much.’
‘Of course it does, you fool! It leaves the one thing that he values most: his support. That’s the only thing that’s important to him; essential even. If he doesn’t have support he ceases to matter and goes from being a king resisting a conquering army to being a mere brigand.’
‘The druids!’ Vespasian blurted.
‘Precisely. The druids support his resistance because it’s in their interests to do so and their continued backing gives him a legitimacy that transcends tribal loyalties amongst every savage on this island. Now, the policy of cutting down their groves has worked very well in the areas that we occupy and there are very few of those filthy, matted-haired sons of gorgons left; and whenever we do come across one we nail him up pretty sharpish. However, there are a few more nests of these vermin and if we threaten one of them then I believe that Caratacus will have to come to its aid. And we’ve got a month to do it in so that we can say “Fuck you and your military competence” – in the nicest possible way of course – to Narcissus when we get back to Rome.’ Plautius referred to the map lying unrolled on the desk. ‘Now, there are two breeding grounds of this druidical abomination.’ He pointed to a small island just off the west coast, beyond the Roman sphere of influence. ‘This is called Mona; apparently it’s swarming with them. It would be ideal but it’s too far behind their lines.’
Masters of Rome: VESPASIAN V (Vespasian 5) Page 14
