by Jack Whyte
The hill was forested. The fort was gone. There was no sign of any human influence on the hill behind the villa.
None of us had any sleep that night. The commissary operated at peak capacity from dusk until dawn, and as our soldiers were provisioned they dispersed into the night to conceal themselves in the newly hidden fort. By dawn, everything that could be done had been done. Our army was dispersed or hidden and the signs of our frenzied preparations were covered and cleaned up. There was nothing to do but wait and try to behave normally.
The morning passed, and the midday changed into afternoon. Britannicus and I sat on a bench in the courtyard, sharing the warmth of the afternoon sun and doing our best to be casual, pretending that we were both at ease and contented.
We had no idea where our "guests" were, or when they would arrive. We had decided not to spy on their advance after the first sighting, reasoning that it was enough to know that they were coming. Victorex had come by late in the morning to ask us when we wanted to start moving the horses out of his breeding farm — we had quartered a large number of our workhorses there, rather than take the chance of the empty paddocks attracting attention. He had assumed that the cavalry would want to quarter their mounts there, forgetting that we were not supposed to know they were coming. He was most abashed when I pointed that out to him, but his understandable error made all of us realize how easy it would be to betray ourselves and our readiness for this visit. So, on that long afternoon we filled our waiting time with a review of everything that might, or could, go wrong.
We were aware that everything — the success or failure of our entire scheme — depended on the calibre of the man in charge of this investigation. We could anticipate that whoever he might be, he would be thorough in his inquiries, but we felt confident that, given an ounce of luck and a particle of good breeding on his part, we had a fair chance of disarming his suspicions. We were confident, too, that he would come directly to us. There was no other place on the road that he could stop. He would not be interested in towns — and there were none closer to us than Aquae Sulis, anyway. The few villages in the area were full of our own people, who would direct any strangers to us, and all of the other villas close to our own were controlled by us. Our visitor would have to come to us and deal with Caius Britannicus, Proconsul and Senator of Rome.
No one in the region would betray us, we knew, because everyone for miles around depended upon our good will and our support. If loyalty to the Empire dictated to any man jealous of our strength that he denounce us, the fear of losing our military presence and assistance would keep his agonizing within his breast. At least, that is what we hoped.
In the middle of the afternoon, Caius heard the blast of a trumpet in the distance and the sounds of a party of mounted men coming along the road leading to the main gates of the villa. He told me later that he sucked in a great, deep breath and went to meet them.
There were five in the advance party: a grey-bearded centurion, a trumpeter, a standard-bearer and two outriders. They came at a gallop right up to the gates, where Caius awaited them, and drew to a halt. The centurion did not dismount; he looked down on Cay from a horse several hands higher that any we had bred.
"Proconsul Caius Britannicus?" He looked unsure of himself.
Caius spoke. "I am he. Has it become customary nowadays for a centurion to talk down to a Roman senator?"
"Your pardon, Proconsul." The man had meant no disrespect. He flushed, and his eyes switched from Caius to his troopers, than back to Caius again. "Escort will dismount!" All five of them slipped heavily to the ground from the backs of their horses, the standard-bearer achieving this feat with some difficulty, to Cay's eyes, because of the size and length of the great scarlet standard he carried. As the man stiffened to attention again, Caius eyed the standard.
"What emblem is this?" he asked. "It is new to me."
The centurion saluted. "New to the whole world, Proconsul. Ours is a new unit. Heavy cavalry. Fresh arrived from Armorica by way of Gaul."
"What are you called? Your unit, I mean."
"Lead Equine Cohort, seconded from Thirty-fourth Legion on special duty, Proconsul."
"Lead Equine Cohort! I see. The Thirty-fourth Legion, you say? Welcome, and what may we do for you, Centurion?"
The man cleared his throat. "We have been sent ahead to request your hospitality, Proconsul. We have been on the road from Londinium these five days past, and our commander would like to rest here for a while with you, if you can accommodate us."
"Five days from Londinium?" Caius sounded surprised. "You have made good time. Where are you headed?"
The centurion cleared his throat again. "I regret I am not at liberty to say, Proconsul."
"No, I suppose not. A heavy cavalry unit, you say? Since when has Rome had heavy cavalry?"
"Since only very recently, Proconsul. A few years."
"Hmmm." Britannicus's grunt no doubt sounded unimpressed. "Who is your commander, and how many of you are there? Not a whole cohort, I trust? How long will you be staying?"
"No, Proconsul, three squadrons only. Marcellus Vicere is our tribune, and we have one hundred and thirty-eight men and horses, Proconsul."
"One hun — ?" Britannicus told me later he felt like an actor in a play. He widened his eyes and made his voice reflect what he called singular astonishment. "Do you have grain for your horses?"
"Aye, Proconsul, in the commissary wagons. And food for our men."
"Oh! I see." Cay now allowed himself to appear mollified. "Well, that's not so bad, I suppose. I think we can look after you. For one night, at least." He turned to one of the gawking servants. "Nestor, find Gallo and tell him to prepare enough meat to feed a hundred and fifty extra men tonight. Tell him I don't care where he finds it, even if we have to borrow it from our neighbours. We can repay it later. Tell him we have company from Londinium, and bid him have his people set up tables in the fields behind the villa of Terrix and Fermax." He held up his hand to detain the man and turned back to the centurion. "You said one hundred and thirty-eight horses?"
The man shrugged and nodded at the same time. "One hundred and forty-four, Proconsul, with the wagon horses."
Britannicus turned back to Nestor. "Send word to Victorex, as well, that we will need his walled pastures. If he has workhorses there, send them to the farms and leave them there tonight."
Nestor bowed and left at the run.
Caius turned back to the centurion. "How many officers are with you altogether?"
"Five, Proconsul. Four regular and one... guest."
"A guest? On a patrol? Who is this gentleman?"
The centurion flushed and looked away into the distance. "I... I do not know his name, Proconsul."
It was an obvious lie, according to Cay, and he ignored it. "And you? What is your mark among these mounted troops?"
The man smiled, pleased to have the subject changed. "The same as it has always been, my lord. Senior Warrant Officer. Lead Cohortal Spear. Pilus prior."
"Good. My greetings to your commander. He and his officers are welcome to share our roof tonight, and to dine with us. When your people arrive, my man here, Rollo, will show them where they are to be quartered." He nodded his dismissal and turned as if to leave before swinging back again to the centurion. "How long before your people arrive?"
"Perhaps an hour, Proconsul, little more. They are close behind us."
Caius nodded again and left them standing in the road, surrounded by gawkers. He had not taken three steps, however, before the primus pilus called out to him.
"Proconsul, your pardon, sir, but I am sore set. Could I use your latrines?"
Caius's eyebrow went up at this astonishing request, but he was too polite to rebuke the man. "Of course you may. Rollo, show the centurion where to go."
As Caius passed through the gates of the villa, he was congratulating himself on having handled the meeting without raising suspicion. He felt, he told me, that he had achieved just the correct mi
xture of surprise and indignation, tempered with a touch of well-bred impatience, and he believed that if all of us could maintain the tone he had established, we should be able to emerge from this entire exercise in control of the situation. He knew the pilus had lied when asked about their "guest" on the patrol, but he also knew the reason for the lie, because the "guest" was the Imperial Inspector. He was not surprised that the man had clearly been placed under orders to say nothing about the true purpose of this visit.
I returned about then to the villa, emerging from the woods to the east just in time to see Caius's shape disappearing through the villa gates. I took note of the standard party, but made no effort to hurry, and when I was no more than a hundred paces from them I saw their commander stride out through the gates, spring nimbly up onto his big horse, then wheel his men and ride off at their head. They did not even notice me.
I found Cay still standing on the front steps of the villa, staring in perplexity at something he held in his hand. He was turning to enter the house when he noticed me, and he stood where he was until I joined him, leaving my horse ground-tethered. The object in his hand was a thickly folded square of papyrus, and he was tapping it fretfully against the back of his left wrist, still frowning bemusedly, when I reached him. I indicated it with a nod of my head.
"What have you there? Did they deliver it?"
"Yes," he said. "But strangely, and it makes no sense."
I laughed. "Neither does what you just said. How did it go?"
"Hmmm?" He looked at me as if I were speaking Greek.
"Your meeting with them. How did it go?"
"Oh. Very well, I think. They had no idea we expected them. But this ..." He waved the folded papyrus at me. "I know not what to make of this. Most extraordinary."
I put my hand on his shoulder and turned him towards the door. "Come, I'm parched. Let's have a cup of wine while we discuss it."
A few moments later, the first edge of my thirst dealt with, I refilled my cup and slid down into a couch.
"Ye gods, what a day! I've covered the whole Colony in one afternoon. So. Tell me what happened."
He did, relating the entire conversation with the pilus prior. When he told me of the man's request to use the latrine, I laughed aloud, but Caius cut my laugh short.
"No, Publius. It was a ruse, for some obscure purpose. Look at this." He held up the papyrus again. "Rollo took him to the latrine and then came back bringing me this. The man wanted me to have it without anyone else's knowledge. The message it contains is nonsense. The word from the pilus prior, delivered to me by Rollo, was that he had brought this secretly, for my eyes only, as a favour to a friend. But who that friend might be, or what his purpose is, is beyond me."
"What?" I stood up and held out my hand and he passed the message to me. I flipped it open and read the words aloud. "When the primus pilus speaks of God, remember God and take heed. He rides with the pilus prior." It was signed "PPPP" — a signature well known to my eyes — and I read it in full: "Pontius Plautus, primus pilus."
Caius was mystified. "Plautus? But what does he mean? Your friend makes riddles, Publius."
Then suddenly his eyes went wide with alarm and he grasped me firmly as I swayed and almost fell. I felt the blood drain from my face and heard a great roaring in my ears.
"Publius! In God's name, what's wrong?"
His voice seemed to reach me from far away, and I felt him lowering me back to my seat on the couch again.
Eventually, after what seemed an age, the whirling, roaring sensation behind my eyes died down and I shook my head to clear it, but when I spoke my voice was almost a croak. "In God's name, you say... you're right, but you don't know it. That's what Plautus is telling us. God rides with this pilus prior. The devil-spawned whoreson's alive! Your friend in Rome was right! It's Seneca! It's Claudius Seneca! Deus is what his friends called him that day, the first day we crossed blades. Plautus was there! Deus! God! It was their blasphemy for Claudius. Plautus was with me and heard it. Caesarius Claudius Seneca rides with the pilus prior! He is the Imperial Inspector."
Caius was thunderstruck. "No, it can't be! He's dead. You killed him, you convinced me! It's impossible that this could be him. Seneca? Here? That animal? No, you are mistaken. He couldn't be."
I shuddered, getting hold of myself. "No. It's him. It has to be, Cay. Plautus is not a subtle man, yet this is a cryptic message. The whoreson is alive! I refused to accept the evidence that he was still alive because I didn't want to. But he must have survived — how, I'll never know — and now he's coming here. There's no other possible explanation of this message, Cay. Plautus obviously sent it with this pilus prior as the only means he had of warning us. No one else would understand it, but to me it's unmistakable, and Plautus knew it would be."
He was frowning, biting his lip, thinking furiously as he moved to close the door to his study against interruption. "Very well," he said eventually, accepting my view and signalling to me to be quiet and let him think. "It is pointless to argue with you, especially on this. I was supposed to follow up on the matter with further inquiries, but I never did. Damnation! Now we have to think this through, and we have only an hour."
I followed him with my eyes as he began to pace the floor. I slumped in my couch, my mind racing like a cataract but achieving nothing in the face of my outraged disbelief. Finally he stopped pacing.
"Well, there is no other alternative. You will simply have to go into hiding until these people leave. It is unfortunate, this development, but it does not alter the situation materially. Nothing need change, other than your absence. I shall handle everything else alone."
I shook my head. "Everything has changed already, Caius. You do not know this man."
"Nonsense! The man is a Seneca and I know the breed far better than you do. He may be slightly more dangerous, less predictable, than his fellow spawn, but he is far from invulnerable to the presence of a Britannicus. I shall wrap him in coils of silken hospitality that will befuddle him because he will not expect fair treatment from me."
"No, Caius! Our entire plan was based on the assumption we would be dealing with a normal soldier — an officer and a man of breeding, a professional. None of it holds together any more, because now you are dealing with a madman. Seneca is insane. He's capable of anything. He could have you executed just to satisfy his own mad lusts. You'll see — no rules will apply in this except his, and he'll invent those as he goes along. I've learned a lot about this man over the years. He is demented. Inhuman."
He cut off my babbling with a viciously upswept hand. "No matter! I am a Proconsul of Rome and a senior senator to this filth, in age at least. Do you expect me to be cowed by him? A Seneca? Now be quiet, please, and let me think."
He started to pace again and I forced myself to sit quietly and stifle my inordinate fear. I am no stranger to fear of many kinds, but this fear turned my bowels to water. I fixed my eyes on Caius, trying to empty my mind, and as I watched him he seemed to shed years visibly, transforming himself into the Britannicus I had first known.
"Varrus," he said at length, the use of my old name confirming his transformation, "I have a plan, and I think it's a good one. Bear with me just a little longer." His eyes were glowing yellow and I waited, reflecting that his plan had better be a good one. He stopped pacing and turned to me, his eyes seeming to bore into my soul. "Will he remember you, do you think?"
"Remember me? He'll have me crucified as soon as he sets eyes on me!"
"Nonsense!" His immediate frown and humourless expression left no doubt that Caius Britannicus was not disposed to take this matter lightly. "Be serious, Publius! From what you told me about your last confrontation with him, he was confused and almost blind, after having spent a week wearing a blindfold. Is that not so?"
I had to think about that for a second or two. I knew that what Caius was saying was correct, but I also had a nasty feeling that he was about to recommend that we put some arcane theory to the test, with my life
hanging in the balance. I conceded, but let my hesitation reflect my lack of confidence.
"More or less," I said, unwilling to be too enthusiastic. "But he saw me clearly enough when we fought. Don't forget he was trying to kill me."
Caius nodded, his face preoccupied with what were obviously portentous thoughts. My misgivings increased. I was seeing portents of my own.
"You told me also that he never knew your name. Do you still hold that to be true?"
"Yes."
"You are convinced of that?"
I nodded. "Yes, Cay, I'm convinced, but I was also convinced I'd killed him."
"Hmmm! Water under bridges, Varrus." He pursed his lips, evidently considering and rejecting several things he might say to me in extenuation of his point. Finally he nodded abruptly. "Excellent. So be it. I have a plan that will work, providing your name means nothing to him."
"What is it?"
"It is the essence of simplicity. We will hand you over to him."
I blinked, feeling that I was missing something here, some essential element of logic. "I beg your pardon, Caius," I said, my voice as casual as I could make it, "but has it occurred to you that he might choose to have me executed out of hand as soon as he lays eyes on me?"
"No, it has not occurred to me, simply because the idea is ludicrous," he snapped. "You will be my prisoner, and thus safely beyond his jurisdiction."
"Your prisoner? What does that mean?"
He was smiling now. "Think about it, Publius. He has come here to search for bandits, outlaws, rebels under arms. We, supposedly, know nothing of his mission. What if..." He paused and then continued, warming visibly to his idea as its possibilities became clearer in his mind. "What if he should arrive here to find the troubles over? To find me preparing to leave for Londinium, to see to my affairs there and to transport a prisoner, a very important prisoner, a bandit leader whose depredations have been terrorizing the entire countryside hereabout. You will be that prisoner."
I was unimpressed. "Cay," I said, "I can't share your enthusiasm for this scheme. To my eyes, Seneca's first move is so obvious it hurts my neck even to think about it. He will promptly relieve you of your prisoner, on his own authority, and execute me then and there for the crimes you have just described. That's what I would do in his position, even without the personal hatred between us."
