RETRIBUTION

by Anthony Riches

  ‘The prince and I have discussed your doings at length, and reluctantly come to the conclusion that while you seemed to recognise that your duty was to the Batavi, there were several occasions on which it also seemed that you were in fact a dutiful servant of Rome. Cases that went against Batavi claimants, in the interests of justice being served, of course. Compensation for damage caused by the Roman military, which were a fraction of the actual costs. You revealed your true sympathies in a host of ways, now that we understand better, thanks to this.’

  He raised the tablet again, but the former official’s vehement denials cut him off before he could speak again.

  ‘But those decisions were always agreed with Kivilaz’s father! Damages claimed by Claudian families, those most recently granted citizenship, were always played down, at his order, in favour of the ruling Julian families! And as to the legal cases …’ his brow furrowed as his thought process caught up with Draco’s words. ‘What? Thanks to … what?’

  ‘This tablet. I didn’t quite finish reading the inscription made by your fellow conspirator here.’

  ‘I am not his conspir—’

  The merchant grunted as one of Draco’s men sank a fist into his fleshy gut at the prefect’s signal, doubling over and whooping for air to replace that driven out of him by the blow.

  ‘The time for you to protest is done with, I’m afraid. You stand condemned by your own hand, and the only question now is not whether you’re guilty or not, but how to most appropriately punish that guilt. Now, where was I? Ah yes, the tablet.’ He reopened the wooden case and resumed reading from the point where he had stopped. ‘I have discharged my debt to Rome in full. Your man in Batavodurum assures me that he will continue to report via the usual route by means of his frequent visits to the capital of the Tungri. You have visited the Tungrian city of Atuataca several times in the last year, Magistrate, have you not?’

  ‘Yes. But it is well known that I have a daughter married into the Tungri tribe, wife to a former member of the emperor’s bodyguard. She has children, and my wife and I—’

  ‘Use them as a pretext to visit the city, and there to pass on intelligence as to the state of the Batavi now that war has come, and before that doubtless our readiness to fight, our sentiment towards Rome and a dozen other different subjects pertaining to the potential for war to break out. Don’t bother to lie to me, the last time you journeyed to the city you were followed from your daughter’s husband’s house to the office of the governor, where you spent the morning deep in conversation, it seems.’

  The former magistrate looked at him aghast, then nodded slowly.

  ‘Very well. I was indeed asked to provide Rome with some assessment of our readiness for war, and to be a quiet go-between in the event that the tribe openly opposed the empire, a channel of communication for a time when rationality might otherwise be completely absent. But I never, never stooped to spying for the empire! And as for this fool being some sort of co-conspirator?’ He waved a hand at the hapless merchant. ‘Don’t you find the idea ludicrous? He would be no more likely to spy for Rome than to give his fortune away on the street! The man’s totally self-interested, with no regard to anyone else!’

  Draco nodded slowly.

  ‘I see what you’re trying to say. You, a simple man of letters and the law, are selflessly willing to risk censure in the noble interests of peace. And your co-conspirator here, as you just termed him, with the perfect mask of greed and venality, is far too bound up in making a profit to care about such matters.’

  The merchant nodded eagerly at the description, but his face fell as Draco stared at them both with a quizzical expression.

  ‘Indeed, it’s the perfect cover. As the less likely of the two of you he can afford to be the more daring, and was willing to gamble his life on Rome’s behalf, whereas you are the more subtle, playing the long game for your Roman masters. I salute you both, gentlemen, your performances were almost perfect. Almost. If not for this tablet we would never have known how deeply committed to Roman rule you both were. All that remains now, I suppose, is to decide upon the date and manner of your punishment.’

  Both men stared at him in horror.

  ‘You can’t …’

  Draco shook his head at the terrified merchant.

  ‘I can, it seems. And I must, I’m afraid. Were I to show you leniency then when it got out that you were in league, conspiring against the tribe with the Romans, almost as great an outcry would be levelled at myself for sparing you as at you for your crimes. Face the facts, gentlemen, you both know that you have to die.’

  ‘But that tablet is a fake!’

  Draco shrugged.

  ‘It’s possible that the Romans planted it in the wreckage of Gelduba, hoping to implicate an innocent and take the heat off someone else, but I doubt they’re that clever. And besides, what were the odds it would come to light? It’s too subtle for them, and the handwriting alone is enough evidence to see you both dead. You’re guilty. Accept that.’ He paused, and watched the last vestige of hope leave the merchant’s face. ‘Good. And perhaps not all is lost. I’m empowered by Kivilaz himself to offer you a quiet death, one that won’t drag your respective families into the matter and leave them publicly living with your shame for the rest of their lives. You will simply disappear, and nobody will be any the wiser. Your sons will continue to serve with the cohorts as if nothing had ever happened.’ His gaze slid from the merchant to the magistrate. ‘Your daughter will never know that her father betrayed his people for an ideal. Or we can do it the other way, if you both wish to continue denying the facts of your treason? A trial, public exposition of the evidence, shame and vilification of your loved ones – is that what you’d choose as an epitaph?’ Both men shook their heads. ‘I thought not. Which is why I have statements ready for you to approve as being truthful and accurate. The work of moments, after which you can compose yourselves and then go to meet your ancestors cleanly, without blood or even very much pain. I trust you’ll both agree with me that this is by far the better approach to this difficult matter?’

  3

  Near Novaesium, Germania Inferior, January AD 70

  ‘I’m afraid I don’t quite understand what it is that you’re trying to tell me, Prefect Montanus. You’ll have to spell it out a little more clearly.’

  The Nervian officer stared at Vocula for a moment before replying, a look of slight exasperation creeping onto his face as he considered just how much more he could clarify a message that from his perspective was already perfectly clear. He had been escorted into the legatus’s campaign tent by several of Antonius’s men, chosen by the first spear for their size and brooding demeanour, and was evidently feeling the pressure of their close scrutiny.

  ‘Well, Legatus …’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘The cohorts provided to your army by the people of Gaul have decided that it is no longer in our interest—’

  ‘To continue to serve Rome. Yes. You’ve made that quite evident.’ Vocula leaned forward in his chair and turned his head slightly, as if he were afflicted with a hearing difficulty, a slight smile creasing his face, and Antonius realised with a start that despite the massive risk that the Gallic cohorts’ defection from the army presented to his life, his legatus was actually enjoying the situation in his own way. ‘Perhaps it was I that failed to make myself clear. My problem, Prefect, isn’t with your very sparsely worded message, it is with the meaning behind it.’ He held up a hand to forestall Montanus from replying. ‘And no, I can’t see any value in your simply repeating it yet again. Instead, allow me to help you by speculating as to what it might be that you’re trying to tell me on behalf of your superiors.’

  He sat back in the chair with a thoughtful expression, shooting his first spear an amused glance.

  ‘Perhaps, Prefect, what your message means is that the men who aspire to rule Gaul have decided that Rome is a spent force north of the Alps? After all, we have two legions besieged in the Old Camp by the Ba
tavians, and these two legions I intend – intended marching north to rescue them, before this unexpected decision, are evidently barely fit for purpose in terms of both their physical strength and their resolve. Am I right?’ Montanus nodded fractionally, unsure as to what game the Roman was playing with him. ‘Of course I am. And your leaders can see that, they’re no fools. The temple of Jupiter in Rome has been burned to the ground in the fighting to control the capital, they tell each other, and Roman power is crumbling as Jove himself turns his back on eight hundred years of majestic progress.’

  He smiled at the Nervian, who was clearly becoming unnerved by his apparent bonhomie in the face of disaster.

  ‘Have no fear, Prefect, I’m not the vindictive type. But indulge me a little longer, if you will? You see, I’m still baffled at such an unexpected turn of events.’ Antonius fought to keep a smile from his face at the Nervian officer’s evident discomfort, as Vocula continued in his conversational interrogation. ‘Yes, we’ve heard rumours, of course, of Gallic unrest at the threat from your neighbours to the north and east, fuelled by the way you were forced to defend yourselves from the depredations of Julius Civilis’s German allies when they crossed the Rhenus to invade your lands. We’re also very well aware of your collective dealings with Julius Civilis, or Kivilaz as you doubtless call him, and that you Gauls feel forced to offer him an alliance in order to protect yourselves from the threat of a dozen German tribes surging south at his back once the Old Camp falls. But still, what on earth could possibly persuade you to such a foolish …’ He fell silent for a moment, apparently pondering some new thought, then barked out a brief laugh. ‘I have it! I know what it is that’s brought about this betrayal of your treaties with Rome! You think …’ He mastered another guffaw with evident difficulty, shaking his head and theatrically wiping away an imaginary tear. ‘You think that with Rome on her back, and no longer able to maintain order in Gaul and Germania, you have the chance to establish an empire of your own! A Gallic empire!’

  Shaking his head in amusement, he waved a dismissive hand.

  ‘An empire of the Gauls, Prefect? Is that the intention behind this treachery?’ His face hardened abruptly. ‘Have you people taken leave of your senses? Rome’s empire was built on her irresistible urge to rule, a destiny willed to the people of Rome by the gods themselves which has enabled us to subjugate everyone and everything to the city’s will. I would tell you of the omens that foretold the city’s rise to empire, if only I thought you had the education to understand them.’

  He sighed, shaking his head sadly.

  ‘You’ve no more chance of building an empire out of your patchwork of tribes than I have of persuading my legions to grow a collective pair of balls and start acting like soldiers! Your people have grown soft after a hundred years of our influence, become used to being protected by our legions on the Rhenus. Your cohorts are fit for little more than turning tail at the first sign of a real army, you’ve proven that by never once standing up to the Batavians! So what are you going to do when a dozen legions cross the mountains and come for your heads? What will you do when the Twenty-first Rapax is facing you across a field with every intention of painting themselves red with your blood in their time-honoured manner? Yes, you can probably suborn my legions, but tell me truthfully, can you really see them resisting the battle-hardened men that Vespasianus is going to send at you? They’ll melt away like butter in sunshine, Prefect, and you’ll be forced to rely on your own men. Your own worthless cohorts, incapable of any manoeuvre other than running away in the face of a determined enemy. You fools.’

  He fell silent for a moment, staring up at the tent’s ceiling and shaking his head.

  ‘Very well. The die is very clearly and irrevocably cast. Your cohorts have separated from my army and declared yourselves no longer under my command. But you can still spare yourselves the horrific indignities that will be visited upon you all, if you limit your rebellion to that extent. Allow my legions to withdraw to Novaesium unhindered, and Vespasianus may see the sense in retaining your forces when this has all been set to rights, rather than having you all summarily executed as felons in the worst possible manner.’ He waved a hand in dismissal. ‘Take that message back to your masters, Prefect. To rebel is one thing, forgivable under certain circumstances as a short-term expedient intended only to protect your people from the real threat from the Batavians. But to raise a hand against Rome? You’ll pay for that pleasure in blood. It is your choice. I suggest you choose wisely.’

  He gestured to Antonius, who escorted the nonplussed Montanus from the tent and returned to find the legatus deep in thought.

  ‘So, Legatus …’

  ‘What now? We need to get away from those Gauls, Antonius, as far away as possible. While they’re camped within bow shot of our own men, what’s left of the legions is at severe risk of being tempted to mutiny again. We’ll march them back to Novaesium and see if we can avoid another uprising, once news of this defection gets around.’

  ‘We can march at dawn tomorrow, Legatus. But I very much doubt that doing so will decrease the potential for further disloyalty. The Gauls have been free to come and go within the camp for weeks now, so if our own men plan to betray the empire alongside them then the deed is probably already planned.’

  Vocula nodded.

  ‘I know. But as long as I have command over these two legions I must do everything I can to keep them from defecting to this so-called “Gallic empire”.’

  ‘Legatus …’ Antonius struggled for the right words momentarily before abandoning any attempt to speak diplomatically. ‘I appreciate that men of your class are raised to consider the risk of death in the service of Rome as …’

  Vocula nodded briskly.

  ‘No more than the purest expression of our duty to city and empire? True enough, First Spear.’

  ‘But surely you can see that this latest betrayal is certain to encourage the legions to mutiny again? And we won’t get away with trying to spirit you out of the camp again, not once their blood’s boiling. You should leave now, find a pretext for my cohort to march away from here, a scouting mission to the north even, and the Gauls will let you leave happily enough if it eases their takeover of the First and Sixteenth and removes the problem of having a legatus’s blood on their hands. They’ll be forced to kill you, if you stay, if the legions don’t do it for them first.’

  Vocula shook his head.

  ‘I can’t. My duty is to Rome, and Rome needs these legions to stay loyal.’

  ‘And if they kill you for doing your duty?’

  ‘As you said a moment ago, the risk of dying in the service of the empire is simply what’s expected of my class. Running from that duty would require me to die a thousand deaths of shame, First Spear, whereas my actual death, if it is required of me, can only happen once, and will reflect great honour onto my family.’

  Antonius nodded slowly.

  ‘You’re set on this?’

  ‘I am. But I’m also set upon one other thing, and that’s for you and your men not to be caught up in whatever it is that’s going to happen to me, now that the Gauls have decided to join the Germans in their revolt. Yes, we’ll march back to Novaesium tomorrow morning, but when we get there you’re going to leave the army and take your cohort with you. You can provide me with security one last time, while I tell these bastards what I think of them, and then you’re going to preserve the lives of five hundred good men by doing as you’re ordered.’

  Batavodurum, January AD 70

  ‘The Council recognises Kivilaz, honoured prince of the tribe and former prefect of the cohorts, war leader of the Batavi people.’

  The prince walked slowly out in front of the gathered elders of the tribe, his face set in solemn lines and the man himself apparently bowed under the weight of his responsibilities. Standing before the semi-circle of their chairs he looked slowly around the council’s members, meeting each man’s gaze in turn.

  ‘Honoured elders of the tribe,
I bring news from the south, and I seek guidance with regard to a matter of the Batavi people’s honour.’

  Draco leaned forward in his chair, fixing him with a stare which, given his newly reinforced reputation for ruthlessness, would have cowed most men, but the one-eyed war leader met his scrutiny with evident confidence.

  ‘This is to do with the siege of the Old Camp, I presume?’

  Kivilaz inclined his head in recognition of the point.

  ‘In part, Father of the Tribe. And partly to relate news to the council with regard to the situation elsewhere.’

  The elder leaned back in his chair.

  ‘Tell us your news first, Kivilaz. This is to do with your latest meeting with the Nervian prince Julius Classicus?’

  ‘Yes. I have recently met with the leaders of the Gauls, and I am now convinced that what we have suspected ever since the defeat of Vitellius is finally coming to pass. A Gallic empire will be declared within days, and the Roman legions under the command of Dillius Vocula will switch their loyalty to that of the Gauls rather than Rome. The Gallic auxiliary cohorts have already separated their camp from that of Vocula’s legions and declared that they will no longer fight for Rome. Their messengers have the freedom to roam the legion camp at will, and the men who follow both eagles have proven easy prey for their promises of the gold that they expected Vitellius to donate to them, had he survived as emperor.’

  Draco shook his head in a mixture of amusement and disdain.

  ‘Scum. If their loyalty is that easily bought the Gauls would be better off putting them to the sword. And a “Gallic empire”? I’d laugh if I didn’t feel such disgust. The Gauls? The people whose war bands roamed freely on both sides of the mountains for hundreds of years, and whose ancestors once sacked Rome? The tribes that used to terrify the Romans now wish to emulate them, and establish an empire, seduced by wine and baths? What will they defend this empire with, I wonder? Their soldiers have run from us at the first sign of iron being aired in every battle we’ve fought against their masters in this war, and now they hope to hold off an enraged Rome with two pitifully under-strength legions whose ranks are filled with the disaffected and incapable? What will they do when the legions come over those mountains with the scent of blood in their nostrils, I wonder?’