‘Not if we go by sea, sir,’ Vespasian pointed out.
‘It’s a long way, the seas are treacherous and the coast is very rocky, according to the only survey ship that has ever come back from up there. Talking of ships: how are they doing, Vespasian?’
‘They’ll all be afloat by nightfall.’
‘Good, because you’re going to need them.’ Plautius brought his finger down south on the map and rested it on the north coast of the southwestern peninsula of the island. ‘Around here somewhere is Durocornavis, the main fortress of the Cornovii. They’re a sub-tribe of the Dumnonii and may or may not be related to the Cornovii in the north of the island who are our buffer between us and the Brigantes. Just close by the fortress is a huge rock, almost an island that juts out into the sea. I’m told that this is a place of deep mysticism for the druids; they have many legends attached to it and it is of great importance to them.
‘Now, it’s too far into unconquered territory to risk a land assault in just a month but if we make Caratacus think that we’re mad enough to try he’ll come to the aid of the Cornovii and the druids, otherwise he’ll lose all credibility. And he won’t be able to resist the chance to cut a whole legion up.
‘He’ll either sail across the Sabrina channel or around it; or, perhaps, make his way there by land. Whichever way he chooses he can’t take a big force with him, just a few followers; but to his mind that’s irrelevant as there will be plenty of long-hairs down there ready to fight for him because of his reputation. He just needs to get there and we must capture him as he tries.’
Vespasian looked at the map; it was very vague, just a rough approximation of the coastline of the peninsula with the Cornovii marked towards its tip; and then to the north, across the widening Sabrina channel, another crude coastline with the Silures written in, seemingly at random. ‘We have no idea of the distances, do we, sir?’
‘None; the channel could be twenty miles wide or a hundred at any point, we just don’t know; as I said, only one survey ship has ever returned. What we do know is that they are very treacherous waters and we’ve already lost too many ships trying to get round the peninsula, which is why we’re bringing the smaller ships overland and building new big ones.’
‘So we’ve no idea how long the news of our supposed attack on these druids will take to reach Caratacus; in which case he might judge that it’s all over by the time he hears of it and it’s not worth the risk coming.’
Plautius smiled for the first time since arriving, raising his eyebrows. ‘That’s why I’ve taken the trouble to inform him of our supposed intentions in advance by using one of his own weapons against him: Alienus.’
‘Alienus!’ Vespasian and Sabinus exclaimed simultaneously.
‘Who better? After he escaped from your camp last year, Vespasian, he disappeared completely, probably judging, correctly, that his face was a bit too well known for his line of subterfuge. However, a couple of months ago he reappeared, masquerading as a Britannic merchant dealing in pearls. He’s grown his hair and a long moustache but he was recognised by one of my slaves in the market at Camulodunum. I decided not to apprehend him but instead had him followed. It turned out that not all of his pearls were traded for money or goods, some he set aside to buy information with from one of the clerks who copies out my written orders. Having completed his business he sailed west up the Tamesis and then crossed into enemy territory. I countermanded the information that he was carrying and gave orders to let him go, hoping that he would be back. Sure enough five days ago, just after I received Narcissus’ insulting letter, he arrives with more pearls. I immediately drafted orders for you, Vespasian, to take the II Augusta, destroy Durocornavis and kill all the druids that you find on the rock and that I would come down to take overall command; and to you, Sabinus, I wrote that you were not to proceed any further west this year and spend the time building defences. Needless to say I didn’t send those orders to you, I just allowed Alienus to purchase them from the clerk.’
Vespasian looked at his commanding officer with admiration, thinking that, for all his ill-temper, he never tired of learning from him. ‘So Caratacus thinks he’s free to go to the druids’ aid?’
‘Not yet, but by tomorrow or the next day he will. I made sure that I left, very publicly, before Alienus; he’s behind me and convinced that he’s got vital information for his master so he’ll be travelling fast.’
‘We’d better get a move on then.’
‘We’ll be fine as long as you sail tomorrow with your six biremes. Find this place and then cut it off from the sea, intercept every ship or boat you see and patrol the coast further west so Caratacus doesn’t land behind you. Use the marines and do some raiding; kill a few and stir them up a bit.’ Plautius turned to Sabinus. ‘Meanwhile, Sabinus, you sail back north around the coast with your ships, check every inlet and bay. I’ll stay here with the legion and keep the countryside well patrolled. Between us we should snare him. Once we have Caratacus you return to your legion and await my orders to advance across the Sabrina and start securing territory, slowly but surely. Take no risks, it’s not about quick victory, it’s about convincing a good percentage of the Silures’ chieftains that without Caratacus uniting them their defeat is inevitable and it’s just a question of how many warriors they want left in their settlements under Roman rule. Do you understand?’
‘Yes, sir. And what if I find Alienus? I’ve a score to settle with him and a nice idea of how to settle it.’
‘You can have him and nail him up for all I care. I’m not going to leave a useful asset like that around for my replacement to use and help him to look as if he has more military competence than me.’ The flush in Plautius’ face returned as he spat out that loathed and insulting phrase.
‘Thank you, sir; it’ll be a pleasure to help preserve your reputation.’
Vespasian licked his fingers and then wiped them on the napkin spread out in front of him on the couch before helping himself to another of the fine local oysters. Hormus refilled Sabinus’ proffered cup and then stepped back into the shadows.
‘And as to who my replacement will be,’ Aulus Plautius continued, breaking a duck leg in two and dripping thick, brown sauce onto his napkin, ‘I neither know nor care; he’s welcome to this province as far as I’m concerned, with all the military competence that he can muster.’ He drained his wine – his fifth cup of the dinner – before taking his anger out on his duck leg, gnawing noisily on it and then pointing it at Vespasian. ‘But mind you, according to my wife’s letters, the Rome that we’ll be returning to is not the same as the one we all left at the beginning of Claudius’ reign. The in-fighting for the mastery of Rome between his freedmen and the Empress rages on whilst Claudius, having celebrated his Triumph for his glorious victory in Britannia and having just annexed the client-kingdom of Thracia to further prove his military competence, now immerses himself in public projects and the law courts trying to create a legacy for himself. He’s busy building a new port at Ostia, two new aqueducts – as well as repairing the Aqua Virgo – and this year he’s started a project to drain the Fucine Lake. Meanwhile the business of government has been completely centralised and anyone who wants a position has to petition either one of the three ex-slaves or a vicious vixen with a sexual appetite that would have made Cleopatra blush.’ He held out his cup for Hormus to refill and refused the offer of water.
Vespasian glanced in concern at Sabinus, on the couch to his left, whilst their commanding officer’s attention was devoted to the contents of his filled cup; Sabinus put his hand to his mouth, understanding that he should not join in a conversation that was approaching the realms of treason.
‘The Senate still administer their provinces,’ Plautius continued, ripping more flesh from the thigh, ‘but increasingly their appointments have gone to the Empress’s worn-out lovers who now outnumber those in that august body who haven’t had the pleasure of ingress into one or all of the imperial orifices. And what’s worse is that the
Emperor’s provinces now seem to be the personal fiefdom of Narcissus and his cronies and to receive an appointment in one of those you have to denounce a supporter of Messalina’s in open court.’ He paused to down the rest of his cup and signal for a refill. ‘And anyone who has the stupidity to complain about the situation is immediately charged with treason by both Messalina’s faction and the supporters of that idiot Emperor’s freedm—’ Plautius stopped himself and looked with alarm at the two brothers; he put his full cup down on the table, careful not to spill a drop. ‘Forgive my foolishness, gentlemen, I’ve been too long on campaign with you and my tongue has grown loose.’ He glanced at Hormus now back in his position in the shadows.
‘My slave is loyal, sir,’ Vespasian assured him, relieved that Plautius had stopped his tirade before he had suggested a solution to the situation; his voice may well have been loud enough to carry outside the tent. ‘I too am aware from letters of the situation back home.’
‘Quite so; and it’s best not to dwell on it. It’s always hard to return to being a politician after a few years of being a blunt, plain-speaking soldier.’
And that very thought had been revolving around Vespasian’s mind repeatedly for the last couple of months as his inevitable return to Rome approached: how would he adapt back into the narrow confines of imperial politics, keeping his opinions to a minimum and well hidden whilst being subject to the will of others? How would he cope after so long in the field commanding his own legion and auxiliaries? That he would be sucked back down into the schemes of Claudius’ freedmen upon his return as they struggled for the mastery of Rome, he was in no doubt. Their plotting had even followed him to the very limits of the Empire by way of Pallas’ letter, the previous year, demanding – in the form of a polite request – that he send Paetus back to Rome. However, this time he would not just be acting to further the ambition of others; this time he would have an objective of his own in mind; this time he would have a price and that price would be the removal of Flavia and the children from the imperial palace and out of the reach of the Empress Messalina and her brother, Corvinus. But he knew that the transition from soldier to politician would be difficult and he inclined his head to indicate to Plautius his sympathy. ‘I imagine that keeping one’s political thoughts to oneself after four years of saying exactly what you think militarily will be a challenge.’
‘Thank you for your understanding, Vespasian.’ Plautius looked at Sabinus. ‘And yours too, I hope, Sabinus.’
A scratching on the leather door prevented Sabinus from replying immediately; Vespasian signalled Hormus to find out from the guards who wanted to see him.
‘I think that it is fair to say that it would be hypocritical of my brother and me to condemn the views that you may have expressed, sir,’ Sabinus observed as Hormus glanced around the door.
Plautius burst into laughter. ‘And when did hypocrisy stop anyone from doing anything?’
With a relieved glance at Sabinus in thanks for defusing the situation, Vespasian motioned to Hormus to speak.
‘Theron, the slave-trader,’ Hormus said with palpable tension in his voice.
‘Show him in.’
Hormus pulled the door aside and ushered in his former owner.
‘Greetings, most noble Vespasian,’ the Macedonian crooned, bowing unnecessarily low whilst keeping his eyes raised, taking in everyone else in the room. As they rested on Plautius they widened in alarm and his body became rigid, frozen mid-bow.
‘Good evening, Theron,’ Vespasian said, suppressing his amusement. ‘Have you brought that contract for me?’
Pulling himself upright, Theron did his best to cover his consternation at having the Governor, the Emperor’s representative in the province, overhearing their conversation. ‘Er, yes, your honour …’
‘Just address me as “legate”!’
‘Y-y-yes, legate. And greetings to you, most exalted Governor Plautius; may I say what an honour it is to meet you again?’
Plautius looked at the slave-trader with abject disgust and disdained to give an opinion as to whether he was at liberty to say that or not.
‘Give it to Hormus and I’ll look at it later; come back at dawn.’
Theron handed the scroll to Hormus who trembled visibly. ‘I trust that you are getting, er,’ he smiled knowingly, ‘satisfaction from this fine specimen that I sold to you at such generous terms, legate?’
Vespasian jumped to his feet and hurled his half-full wine cup at the slave-dealer, staining his saffron cloak red. ‘Get out, you filth! And take your contract with you. If you want me to sign it then bring it back in the morning with ten per cent crossed out and replaced by twelve.’
Theron looked in horror at Vespasian. ‘My humblest apologies, most noble legate, I meant no insult, I was merely making pleasant conversation.’
‘Hormus, you have permission to physically kick the man out.’
Hormus looked from his master to his former owner with timid uncertainty all over his face. Theron grabbed the contract from the immobile slave’s hand and bowed his way backwards from the tent with a flurry of unctuous apologies.
‘You’ll regret doing business with that man, Vespasian,’ Plautius informed him. ‘I was forced to use some rather persuasive methods to extract what he owed me for allowing the slave-traders to act as a cartel and fix the price they pay for new stock. All the others paid up reasonably promptly. I ended up throwing him out of the province last year once I got my money. I didn’t know that he was back.’
‘He turned up this morning and offered me a business proposition, which I accepted.’
‘Very wise; four years serving Rome with no reward other than the satisfaction of doing one’s duty – despite one’s lack of military prowess – can be a drain on the coffers and we don’t have long left to refill them. Just keep an eye on him, that’s all.’
‘Oh, I will, in fact I’ll do—’
A bucina’s blare from outside cut him off; the door was suddenly pushed open and Camp Prefect Maximus burst in. ‘You’d better come quickly, sir; there’s at least two dozen small boats in the estuary. They’re trying to torch the biremes.’
CHAPTER VIII
‘GET GLAUCIUS AND his Hamians down to the river now, Maximus!’ Vespasian shouted, sprinting out into the camp, slinging his sword’s baldric over his shoulder. ‘And then have Ansigar and three turmae of his Batavians meet me at the gates.’
In amongst all the tents, legionaries and auxiliaries, some still chewing on their last mouthfuls of supper, were struggling to tie on their lorica segmentata or wriggle into their chain mail, cramming helmets on their heads, fastening belts and then grabbing weapons and shields before forming up by centuries and then cohorts along the hundred-foot gap running between the palisade and the tent lines. Burnished iron glinted with torchlight, steam wafted into the air as slaves poured water onto cooking fires; centurions and optiones, themselves trying to remedy their various states of undress, bellowed at their men for more urgency as bucina calls rent the air, unnecessarily resounding the alarm.
Vespasian sprinted the length of the Via Principalis, through the gates, past the two guard-duty centuries forming up beyond them, and cursed vociferously as he came out into the golden, flickering glow of a bireme burning like a beacon in the middle of the estuary. Silhouetted by the flames, scores of figures struggled in the water, splashing to stay afloat or, if capable, swimming to shore away from the ship in which they rowed and slept, and that had now become a blazing tomb.
Small boats, fifteen to twenty feet long, under oars, circled around the next two biremes in the line, their crews lobbing lit torches onto the decks and through the oar-ports and hurling fire-spears into the hulls. Sailors fought with buckets of water to prevent the flames catching the dry planking and the pitch-sealed horsehair with which they were caulked. Other oarsmen heaved javelins, broken out from the weapons boxes at the base of the mainmasts, at their attackers, driving them off but not before many of their incendiary
weapons had struck their mark.
In the few moments that Vespasian surveyed the scene, flames burst forth from the bow of a second bireme, next in line; the faint-hearts amongst its crew dived into the water whilst the steadier members renewed their fire-fighting efforts – to little visible effect.
‘Centurions, with me!’ Vespasian roared at the officers of the two guard-duty centuries. He set off down the slope towards the triremes under construction along the riverbank, just a hundred paces away. Easily outpacing the men doubling behind him, Vespasian arrived at the skeletal frames of the great ships; a dozen of the attacking boats now steered towards them. With five or six sweeps pulling on either side their speed gradually increased as they closed on their objective. Standing at their bows and sterns, fire-wielding warriors roared their rowing comrades on, eager to spread destruction through the makeshift shipyard.
Vespasian looked back; the centuries were arriving. ‘Form up on the bank; we must stop them from landing!’
The legionaries funnelled through the gaps between the partially constructed hulks and fanned out two lines deep at the water’s edge.
Masters of Rome: VESPASIAN V (Vespasian 5) Page 15
