The Hadrian Legacy

by Gavin Chappell

  Scarface sat down abruptly on one of his bunkmates, dabbing at his bloody nose. His burly friend gasped and choked in the middle of the room. Flaminius dusted his hands off. ‘Anyone else?’ he barked. They all stared at him in silence.

  Then he realised that they weren’t staring at him, but instead behind him. He turned and saw two men, one in optio’s uniform, the other a decurion. The decurion pointed at him.

  ‘Out!’

  Flaminius followed the two officers outside. The rain had died away and now the sun shone down, although a cold wind blew. ‘You knocked Segovesus out cold,’ said the optio admiringly. ‘He had it coming. He’s been trouble since he was recruited six months ago. He’s not been in the service long, none of them in there have.’

  ‘Dismiss!’ snapped the decurion. ‘Sort out that mess in there.’

  As soon as the optio was gone, she took Flaminius over to the side of the yard near the stables.

  ‘I thought you were supposed to be undercover,’ Drustica hissed. ‘Not drawing attention to yourself!’

  Flaminius grunted, then cleared his throat. He really was getting into his part. He rubbed his sore head. ‘I didn’t have much choice,’ he said.

  ‘The prefect is on his way,’ she told him. ‘I wish it wasn’t me who they chose as decurion. You could do it, you’re a Roman. I’m not.’ She lifted a hand to forestall him. ‘I’m a citizen, aye, but I wasn’t born to it. I haven’t trained for the army. I’m a warrior. There’s a difference. He’ll suspect me.’

  Flaminius shushed her. ‘It looks like I’ll have to advise you, now.’

  ‘I’ll promote you,’ she offered, ‘to—what are they called? —optio.’

  Flaminius shook his head. ‘Favouritism would alienate the men, not to mention the current optio, and he’s got influence over this gang of thugs. Anyway, I’m more likely to obtain information in my current position. Now I’ve asserted myself…’

  ‘I’m worried,’ she said. ‘What if…’ She looked around her and lowered her voice. ‘What if they learn that I’m a woman?’

  Flaminius had not recognised her at first. ‘They’ll never guess,’ he reassured her.

  ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’ She bit her lip. ‘You’d better get back to your friends. The prefect will be here in a few days. I’ve got to get everything prepared. I don’t know what to do!’

  ‘Talk to the optio. What’s he called?’

  ‘Bellomarus.’

  ‘Talk to Bellomarus. He knows that you’ve just come down out of the hills. Keep him on your side, ask him for advice. There’s nothing strange about you not knowing your job. You’re a barbarian, right? Just be yourself. I’m the one who has to act here.’

  ‘I,’ she insisted, ‘am a Roman citizen.’

  She turned on her heel and marched smartly away. Flaminius watched admiringly. She’d got that bit right, at least. He winced as she stumbled turning the corner, then he went back into the barracks block.

  Bellomarus stood over the unconscious Segovesus as Scarface and another of his bunkmates lifted him onto a stretcher. The decurion glanced up at Flaminius.

  ‘Segovesus will be having a spell in the infirmary,’ he said. ‘You can sleep in his bunk in the meanwhile. And take over his duties.’

  Flaminius stared uncertainly at him.

  ‘Say “yes sir”,’ the optio barked. ‘And salute.’

  Flaminius did his best to bungle this, and the decurion sent him and Scarface—turned out his name was Urbogenos—to clean out the latrines.

  He was on latrine duties for the next few days, but by the time the prefect rode into the fort, he had graduated to sentry duty, up on the ramparts. Despite the fact it was summer, the wind blew cold from dawn to dusk and dusk to dawn, and the endless vista of rolling moors depressed Flaminius’ spirits. He’d used the opportunity to surreptitiously reinvestigate the spot where the procurator had been killed, but had found nothing of interest. The trail had gone cold.

  He was marching towards the higher level of the gatehouse when he heard a drumming of hoofs from outside the fort. A guard on lookout duty scrambled down the ladder. Moments later the gates opened.

  Flaminius leaned out over the parapet. Before he was told to haul his head back in, he saw a small contingent of mounted men. As the riders entered the main yard, he and his other patrollers stood to attention on the ramparts. As Drustica and Bellomarus came out of the headquarters building to greet the newcomers, Flaminius stared in surprise at the fat little man on the lead horse. He wore prefect’s uniform badly, which didn’t entirely surprise Flaminius. But when the man got down and wrested the helmet from his head he was truly astonished.

  It was Marcius Magnus.

  —16—

  The prefect surveyed his new command. Judging by the expression on his face he couldn’t stand the sight of them. Lined up in the courtyard, the troopers were expressionless, but somehow gave the impression they didn’t think much of him, either.

  He hobbled along the line, and very distantly, from somewhere, drifted the call of a grouse. Drustica, who was striding along behind him, looked sharply in that direction. Still up on the parapet, Flaminius tried hard not to laugh. Whoever had made the sound had got it perfect, and it was so apt. The procurator’s amanuensis walked like a red grouse strutting across the heather.

  ‘Men,’ Marcius Magnus said, his voice weak and strained, ‘I am your new commanding officer. I have heard all that has occurred in this fort in recent months and I can see that things have grown very lax. I come here to take over, and to bring you a message. In light of recent events, this troop will be withdrawn. You will be returning to base in Deva, from which place you will be sent on duties in the western mountains.’

  Drustica’s bellow broke through the chatter that ran through the men at this announcement. ‘Silence! The next man to speak out of turn will receive twenty lashes!’ For a woman, she had a very compelling bellow. She made a very convincing man—did a better job than the new prefect, in fact.

  Marcius Magnus glanced up at her. ‘Thank you, decurion,’ he said resentfully. ‘I’m perfectly capable of disciplining the men.’

  Drustica snapped to attention. ‘Sir.’

  She had her role perfectly. Flaminius looked on admiringly. It was a shame Marcius Magnus was so inept in his own part. And he was playing it for real. Or was he?

  How had Corvus’ clerkly hanger-on been cast as prefect? Miscast! Surely it was a sign of the contempt in which Platorius Nepos held Dumnorix’s Troop. And now they were being withdrawn from the frontier, back to Deva, home base of the Twentieth, the legion with which the troop was affiliated.

  Flaminius couldn’t tell if this new development would be a help or a hindrance to his mission. As the new prefect and his decurion entered the headquarters building followed by a few lesser officers and the troopers returned to their duties, he gave it some thought.

  He had infiltrated Dumnorix’s Troop to find out what was going on. It seemed that the Caledonians were trying something—although there was little evidence of that apart from the druidic connection. The frontier was quiet. But if this troop was withdrawn, what would happen? Another troop or vexillation would take its place in the fort, obviously.

  Should Flaminius and Drustica desert? He had dropped out of sight of his enemies now, surely, and was at the heart of the conspiracy. But if Dumnorix’s Troop was withdrawn, the conspirators, whoever they might be, would be forced to find other means of working their will. In the tranquil hills west of Deva, the troopers would be in a poor position to betray the province.

  He and his comrades reached the parapet leading onto the Wall itself just as a patrol came in. Each group exchanged salutes, and the patrol went down into the fort while Flaminius’ group began marching along the parapet of the Wall.

  This was Flaminius’ first time on the Wall itself. The rolling heather stretched for miles towards the horizon where dark clouds threatened rain. That way lay Caledonians, druids, barbarity
. On the nearside of the Wall was an area filled with life, a seething mass of humanity, forts, towns, workshops, and temples. The contract couldn’t be starker. And yet, where did the threat lie? Out there, in the silence of the heather? Or within the Wall, within the empire? He had already been betrayed by his own centurion.

  How in Pluto’s name had Marcius Magnus become prefect? Surely he had no military experience. Presumably it was the result of his friend Corvus pulling strings, but it was an uncomfortable coincidence. Flaminius was now glad he had joined the auxiliaries as a trooper and not as decurion. There was still a strong chance Marcius Magnus would recognise him.

  When he returned to his barracks, he saw some of his bunkmates in a corner, their heads together. It was dusk and only one lamp was burning so he couldn’t make out details. But as he swaggered in, they looked up.

  ‘He’ll know,’ Urbogenos said. They beckoned him over. Flaminius flung himself down on the opposite bunk.

  ‘What?’ he asked truculently.

  ‘Is the decurion a woman?’

  The question floored him. He stared at them open-mouthed. The speaker was not one of his bunkmates, but another Gaul.

  ‘We know you joined up at the same time,’ another man added.

  ‘It’s alright if she is,’ Urbogenos said generously. ‘She your sister, boy?’

  ‘Gaulish girls don’t fight no more,’ another one said. ‘It’s the old ways. We know you keep the old ways up in the hills.’

  ‘Not Roman ways,’ Urbogenos said slyly. ‘Not like this new prefect.’

  Flaminius flushed hotly. ‘We’re civilised in the hills,’ he protested.

  The first man lifted a hand. ‘Not saying you’re not, boy,’ he said. ‘But she’s a warrior woman, right?’

  And Flaminius had been admiring her success in the role. He recognised the man as Bellomarus, the optio.

  ‘What if she is?’ he grunted.

  ‘Nothing,’ said Bellomarus. ‘Just means… you’re like us. We hoped we’d strike lucky.’

  Flaminius scowled. ‘I’m a Briton, not a Gaul.’

  Bellomarus smiled, rose, and patted Flaminius on the shoulder. ‘We’ll talk again.’ He shook hands with him, and brushed past him before leading a couple of other men from the room.

  Right hand clenched in a fist, Flaminius went to his bunk and lay down, hands behind his head, staring up at the ceiling. He wasn’t sure, but he thought he was getting somewhere. If he could penetrate their druidic conspiracy, secret society, mystery cult, whatever it was, he might be able to find out what the plan was. Why the procurator had been murdered. And the significance of the stone Bellomarus had just slipped into his hand.

  He peered at it. As he’d suspected, a serpent’s egg like the one Probus had shown him. Yes. Although Drustica’s disguise had fooled no one—except Flaminius himself, and hopefully Marcius Magnus—it had definitely led somewhere. But where?

  What next? Would he be initiated at midnight, like he had been by the cult of Mithras?

  He slipped the stone into a belt pouch, rolled over on his side facing the wall, and fell into a doze.

  Preparations for the handover of the fort to a vexillation of legionaries filled the next few days. It was a while before Flaminius could speak with Drustica and tell him what he had learnt. He was also eager to find out what she knew about Marcius Magnus and his appointment as prefect.

  They met in the mess, by chance. Previously the only time they had been in the same vicinity was on the parade ground, during drill, and there had been no chance of conversation. Drustica entered as Flaminius was leaving to turn in after a long patrol along the Wall, accompanied by his bunkmates. These included Segovesus, who had recently return from the hospital block, a chastened man.

  Drustica made a sign to Flaminius to step aside as the others left. There was a muted cheer from them as they went out into the yard, the sort men would give when they saw a comrade with a particularly desirable whore.

  She stared after the departing troopers.

  ‘What was that about?’ she asked.

  ‘I’ll explain later,’ he promised. ‘But what about Marcius Magnus? What have you learnt? Why’s he been appointed prefect?’

  ‘You know him?’

  They went to sit at a trestle table. The mess was now deserted.

  ‘Yes, he’s a hanger-on of the new procurator,’ Flaminius said. ‘I escorted them to Londinium. Me and…’ He frowned.

  ‘You and your treacherous centurion,’ she completed his sentence. ‘I wonder where Italicus is now. Yes, it seemed strange that a man like Marcius Magnus was made prefect, he knows nothing of war. Now you tell me he has powerful friends it makes a kind of sense. Have you learnt anything?’

  Flaminius produced the serpent stone from his belt pouch. She studied it warily but refused to take it when he offered it her. Her eyes were wide.

  ‘What has happened to you?’ she whispered. ‘That’s druidic. Get rid of it.’

  ‘No one’s offered you one?’ Flaminius ignored her superstitious fear and returned it to his belt pouch. ‘I got it—from your optio! —because they think we’re both followers of… the old ways.’

  ‘The old ways?’ Her eyes widened again. ‘The druids? But why?’

  ‘Because of you,’ he said. ‘We don’t have warrior women in the Roman army.’

  ‘They know I’m a woman?’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘Was that why…?’ She jerked her head at the doorway where the men had cheered Flaminius. Her cheeks reddened.

  ‘No,’ she added. ‘No one’s approached me. Not Bellomarus or anyone else. About the old ways or anything else. The old ways!’ she repeated in scorn. ‘My father the old chief had no sons who survived infancy. I was his eldest daughter, so he brought me up as his successor. He thought the gods hated him. There’ve been no warrior women in Britain since Boudicca’s day!’ She pursed her lips. ‘So they are indeed followers of the druids?’

  ‘It seems that way,’ said Flaminius. ‘And here’s a confirmed Mithraist leading the troop.’

  ‘Leading it away from trouble,’ Drustica corrected him. ‘That’s what the prefect told me. He’s been entrusted with removing them from this sensitive area. The governor doesn’t want potential traitors guarding the Wall. Without proof, he can’t take more serious action. So the prefect has come to take them back to base.’

  ‘I see.’ It was all becoming clear. ‘Makes me wonder if this investigation won’t prove a dead end. Even if they are part of the plot, what am I going to learn in Deva, so far from the Caledonians and the druids? I should leave, look for clues elsewhere. I just don’t know where.’

  ‘I think you should stay,’ Drustica said. ‘You stand more chance of learning something here.’ She shrugged. ‘If you were to desert, I’d have to send a patrol to hunt you down.’

  Was she taking her role too seriously? ‘I was hoping you’d come with me,’ he was saying, when several auxiliaries entered the room.

  ‘Get along there, Gaesorix,’ said one. It was the optio, Bellomarus.

  Flaminius rose, saluted, and strode out. The last he saw was Bellomarus crossing over to talk to Drustica.

  Flaminius sat his horse, watching as the vexillation of legionaries marched in through the open south gate of the fort. The mounted troopers of the auxiliary unit were drawn up in serried ranks, almost filling the parade ground, leaving little room for the smaller number of infantry. At the head, facing the open gates, were Marcius Magnus, Drustica, Bellomarus, and a trumpeter. The trumpeter blew a blast on his instrument in greeting as the centurion in command saluted the prefect. They spoke a few words; then the legionaries took up positions and watched the prefect and his officers lead Dumnorix’s Troop outside.

  A cold gust struck Flaminius in the face. Cloaks and banners waved wildly in the wind as they galloped down the road. Flaminius glanced back over his shoulder at the Wall and the fort sitting in the middle of it. It looked lonely and bleak, but in the past few days he had learnt to think of i
t as home.

  He turned his eyes to the front. The mailed dragon that was the auxiliary troop snaked away across the heather. Where were they going? What would happen in Deva? Would Flaminius learn anything more? The evidence was that druidic sympathisers had infiltrated them. He felt in his belt pouch for the serpent’s egg. But now they were being withdrawn from the Wall, what harm could they do?

  When they made camp for the night, he would go to the command tent and reveal his identity, then request dismissal so he could continue his investigations elsewhere. Where he would go he wasn’t sure. Plots could be brewing in auxiliary forts the length of the Wall. The Caledonians could be massing beyond it.

  Was that where he should take his investigations? When he received dismissal from Marcius Magnus, should he ride north of the Wall?

  That evening, in an old marching fort south of Coria where they had made camp, Flaminius strode towards Marcius Magnus’ tent. He was hailed by Drustica, coming the other way.

  ‘I’m leaving,’ he told her in an undertone. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not deserting! I’m going to reveal my identity to the prefect—confidentially, you understand—and then request dismissal so I can continue my investigations. Do you want to come with me?’

  ‘Are you sure about this, Gaius?’ she said urgently. ‘Can you trust Romans? Who was it who betrayed you in the first place?’

  Segovesus sat by a nearby campfire, watching them talk.

  ‘Let’s take a walk,’ Flaminius said, and they moved away towards the horse piquets.

  ‘Wherever I go I’m in danger,’ he told her, as he curried his horse. ‘I’ve dragged you into this and I don’t want you to be associated with me any further...’ She protested but he shook his head. ‘I would appreciate your company, though.’

  He sighed. ‘You’re right. This conspiracy goes further than a few mutinous Gauls. But where? My investigations were sabotaged by an order from the governor. Is he plotting with the Caledonians? It’s happened before, of course, but that was when the governor had a chance to make himself emperor. I can’t see that happening this time.’