Germania (Veteran of Rome Book 5)

by William Kelso

  Up ahead the forest was coming to an end and beyond, set amongst the cleared fields, sat the small and prosperous-looking Roman town of Noviomagus Reginorum. An earthen bank topped by a timber palisade surrounded the town and smoke was drifting upwards into the blue sky. In the parched, green, yellow fields dotted with sheep and cattle, that surrounded the settlement, a few labourers were at work and except for the odd barking dog, everything was quiet and peaceful. Warily Marcus peered at the town as he remembered the last time he’d visited, when he’d stayed the night in a tavern on the final stretch of his long, journey home from the Dacian frontier. As an empty ox-drawn wagon with a single driver rumbled towards them across the dusty track, Marcus turned to Dylis.

  ‘Who is our agent? Who is the man whom arranges buyers for us? I would like to speak to him before I see Priscinus,’ Marcus growled.

  ‘That would be Ninian,’ Dylis muttered with a sour look, ‘He has an office beside the Temple to Neptune and Minerva.’

  ‘Is that the temple which Petrus defiled?’

  Dylis nodded and Marcus looked away, shaking his head. As if he didn’t have enough problems to worry about.

  The gateway into the settlement was guarded by two elderly armed civilians who were deep in conversation with each other, as they leaned against the wooden gates. They made no effort to stop or question anyone and Marcus, Dylis and their slave slipped quietly into the town. The settlement street pattern still seemed to follow the lines of the old Legionary Winter Camp of the Second Augusta Legion, which had first arrived at this spot some sixty years earlier. The soldiers however had long since departed, leaving their winter camp to be taken over by civilians; Roman traders; retired veterans and the wealthier individuals of the local Regnenses tribe. Marcus strode down the dusty, unpaved, main street and the three of them were soon lost in the busy, market traffic. The town was filled with farmers, who’d come in from the surrounding countryside, to sell their produce, and the streets were noisy and packed. At a corner, scaffolding had been erected and workmen were toiling over the new, stone public-bath house. Further down the street, close to the cattle market, more scaffolding and more workers were labouring away on a new amphitheatre.

  Without saying a word, Dylis steered them through the busy traffic towards an impressive looking, stone building. Marcus grunted as he recognised the Temple of Neptune and Minerva. As he drew closer, he caught sight of a marble dedication slab, which had been proudly erected in front of the temple doors. The inscription on the marble was easy to read.

  ‘To Neptune and Minerva, for the welfare of the Divine House, by the authority of Tiberius Claudius Cogidubnus, great King of the Britons, the Guild of Smiths and those in it, gave this temple at their own expense. Valens, son of Pudentinus, erected this.’

  Someone had scratched the sign of the Christian cross into the marble just below the inscription and Marcus’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, as he caught sight of the graffiti. Had that too been Petrus’s doing?

  ‘Ninian, Ninian,’ Dylis called out in a loud tense voice, as she approached the open, front door of the narrow, strip house that stood beside the temple.

  A moment later a man with a fat, fleshy face poked his head out of the doorway. The man’s forehead glistened with sweat. Catching sight of Dylis, an enormous smile appeared on his lips. Stepping out into the street Ninian affectionately grasped Dylis by her shoulders and quickly kissed her twice on her cheeks.

  ‘Always a pleasure to see you Dylis,’ the agent said smoothly.

  ‘This is my brother, Marcus,’ Dylis said sourly gesturing at Marcus. ‘He has been away but now he is back.’ Then she turned to Ninian. ‘We need to talk with you; it’s about Priscinus.’

  ‘Of course,’ the broker said lowering his eyes to look at the ground. ‘You had better come inside. Things are starting to get ugly I’m afraid.’

  ***

  Marcus leaned against the doorpost just inside the small front room of the building and folded his arms across his chest. Ninian had installed himself on a wooden bench beside a table and Dylis had sat down opposite him. Around them the small office was filled with dozens of small, wooden, writing-tablets, scrolls and files. The place stank of leather and glue.

  ‘So what is the latest news?’ Marcus growled.

  Ninian glanced quickly at Dylis and turned to look up at Marcus with a respectful look. Then carefully he wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand and sighed.

  ‘It’s not good for you, I’m afraid,’ Ninian replied in a quiet voice. ‘Priscinus is an unpredictable man, a dangerous man, a clever man. When he decides to do something, he does not give up. He is like a dog that refuses to let go of a bone. He is tenacious. His family have deep roots in this district, ever since the days when Claudius was Emperor. Their business is to supply horses to the army and they have done very well for themselves.’ Ninian paused and gave Dylis a sympathetic look. ‘I have heard that he has hired a top lawyer from Londinium. This lawyer has been tasked with looking into legal ways in which he can take over your farm. Priscinus is preparing his case. He claims to have evidence that Agricola left your farm to him.’

  ‘That’s horse shit,’ Marcus growled. ‘What proof can he possibly have?’

  ‘He says he has a document signed by Agricola, leaving the farm and land to him which supersedes your claim,’ Ninian replied smoothly. ‘I haven’t seen it personally, no one has, but Priscinus is confident that he has the authority.’

  ‘It must be a forgery,’ Marcus snapped glaring at Ninian. ‘I knew Agricola. The man employed my father to look after his estates here in Britannia. If anyone is speaking the truth it is us.’

  ‘In court the truth doesn’t really matter,’ Ninian said with a sad sigh.

  Marcus frowned. ‘What chance of success does he have,’ he snapped. ‘The farm and its land belonged to Agricola and he left it all to my father Corbulo and myself. I still have the document in which Agricola confirms this. I have proof.’

  Ninian shrugged. ‘I don’t doubt your claim or sincerity. If I was the court judge in this matter I would rule in your favour but I am not the judge, and that is the problem.’

  ‘What problem?’ Marcus growled angrily.

  Ninian sighed again and peered up at Marcus with a weary, sympathetic look. “If the matter goes to court, who the judge will be, will be of critical importance. Priscinus is friends with nearly all of them. He’s a knight after all. He and his family have the connections. They are part of the ruling class. The judges will rule in his favour; despite what evidence you can produce. The best way to protect yourself is to have a powerful patron, who can defend you, but alas you don’t have one.’

  ‘So what can we do?’ Dylis interrupted.

  ‘Well,’ Ninian said looking down at the table. ‘The next best thing would be to try and get the case heard by a senior figure from within the army. Your family are retired veterans. An army judge may look more sympathetically on your situation. Or you could try and make a deal with Priscinus, in which he drops his claims. Or you could try and bribe the judge, but that is a dangerous game and even if you are successful it will cost you a fortune.’

  ‘So if the verdict is already all but certain,’ Dylis cried out in sudden frustration, ‘why go through all this charade of going to court? What’s the point of going to court, wasting our time and paying lawyers, when it makes no difference?’

  Quickly Ninian raised his hand in the air and glanced anxiously towards the doorway.

  ‘The law,’ he hissed, ‘must be seen to be followed and obeyed. I agree that sometimes it’s pointless. The rich and powerful are never going to lose a court case against the poorer and lower classes. That’s just the way it is. But as long as the correct court rituals and procedures are followed, and justice is seen to have been administered, no one, apart from the losers, gives a shit.’

  ‘What if my family were members of the equites,’ Marcus grunted. ‘Would it make any difference if I were of the
same class and rank as Priscinus?’

  For a moment, Ninian fixed Marcus with a curious look. Then he shook his head.

  ‘It won’t make any difference,’ the broker replied. ‘It is the person who has the most power and influence who decide these things. Priscinus may be a little bit politer to you in court, but the brute truth is that he has the resources and connections to win and he knows it.’

  Marcus turned to look at Dylis. His half-sister was furiously biting her fingernails as she stared at the ground.

  ‘And another thing,’ Ninian exclaimed. ‘I have heard that Priscinus is gathering together a band of armed fighting men. Court cases can mean bad publicity even for the victor. So, it is possible that in order to avoid going to court, Priscinus is planning to use violence to shift you from your land.’ Ninian turned to look at Marcus and Dylis with a genuinely sad expression. ‘I am sorry,’ he murmured. ‘You should be careful, both of you.’

  For a long moment, the small room remained silent. Then at last Dylis rose to her feet and gracefully reached out and grasped Ninian’s hand.

  ‘Thank you Ninian,’ she said quietly. ‘You have been a good friend to me and my family. It will not be forgotten.’

  ***

  Priscinus’s farm lay a mile outside the town boundary. As Marcus, Dylis and the slave approached the front gate, six dogs came charging towards them, barking loudly. Ignoring the animals Marcus marched down the dusty, rutted-track towards the gate and low wooden fence that demarked the property. Beside the gate in an alcove, a stone bust of the head of Emperor Trajan silently glared at the newcomers.

  ‘I will do the talking,’ Marcus hissed giving Dylis a warning look. ‘I will try and reason with the man. That seems to be our best option. Maybe he is willing to consider a deal.’

  His sister did not reply. Her eyes were fixed on the sumptuous Roman villa that sat in the shade of a copse of trees, fifty paces away. In the enclosed fields beyond the farm, dozens of horses milled around a pond, their long necks stretched down towards the water. Calmly Marcus reached out to the small bronze bell that was attached to the gate and gave it a ring. On the other side of the fence the pack of dogs was still barking at them. The six, big powerful, drooling animals, their keen, alert eyes fixed on the strangers, had their mouths open, displaying rows of razor sharp and menacing teeth. Thick streams of saliva were hanging from their jaws and behind him, Marcus sensed his slave start to back away nervously. As Marcus stood waiting, a woman appeared, hastening towards them. As she came up to the gate Marcus saw that her left eye and cheek were covered by dark blue bruises. She gave Marcus and Dylis a nervous, embarrassed glance.

  ‘We are here to see your master, Priscinus,’ Marcus said, ‘Is he at home?’

  ‘He is,’ the woman replied lowering her eyes respectfully. ‘Who shall I say is here to visit him?’

  ‘You can tell him,’ Marcus said sharply, ‘that my name is Marcus and that I own the farm and land on Vectis which he is trying to steal from me. I have come to discuss the matter with him.’

  ‘Wait here,’ the woman said in an emotionless voice. Abruptly she turned away and headed back towards the house.

  ‘So now we know what kind of man we are dealing with,’ Dylis hissed. ‘A man who protects his property with a pack of aggressive dogs and who likes to beat up his slaves. Did you see her face?’

  Marcus nodded. ‘That’s not all,’ he muttered. ‘Look over there.’

  He gestured in the direction of some large stables. Outside the barn doors, a dozen or so men were facing each other, practising their fighting skills with wooden swords and old legionary shields. The clatter and clash of their weapons and the cries and curses of their trainer, mingled with that of the barking, dog-pack. As the dogs continued their barking, a few of the fighters turned to peer in Marcus’s direction.

  ‘Looks like they may be the armed men that Ninian spoke about,’ Marcus growled. ‘He was speaking the truth then.’

  Dylis said nothing. Her face seemed to have become set in stone as she coldly stared at the main entrance to the house. The woman had re-appeared and behind her came four slaves, carrying a specially modified chair, upon which sat a young man in his early twenties, with a shock of blond nearly white hair. The slaves groaned and strained under the weight of the chair, but the occupant seemed completely oblivious to their situation. As they approached the gate Marcus grunted in surprise as he caught sight of the young man’s wasted and deformed legs. Priscinus was a cripple. Beside him, Dylis went very still.

  ‘Silence,’ the young blond haired man cried, turning to glare at the dogs and obediently the animals lowered their heads and stopped barking. When the party was only a few paces away, the four slaves, their faces expressionless, halted, but instead of placing the chair on the ground, they kept it up in the air so that their master looked down on Marcus and Dylis. From up on his chair, the young man turned to study Marcus. Then his eyes flicked to Dylis and he smiled as he seemed to recognise her.

  ‘I am Priscinus,’ he said grandly. ‘So, you have come to have a word with me about your farm have you?’

  ‘Are you not going to invite us into your house,’ Marcus growled. ‘We have travelled a long way to speak with you. It is common courtesy.’

  Slowly Priscinus turned to gaze at Marcus. ‘No,’ he replied sharply. ‘I don’t think I will. You are just fine where you are now. So, what do you wish to discuss?’

  Marcus placed his hands on his hips as he glared at Priscinus. He’d not been expecting Priscinus to be such a young man, and he had not been expecting him to be a cripple either or for him to refuse them entry to his property.

  ‘What happened to your legs?’ Marcus said.

  ‘Childhood disease, incurable, the Gods didn’t want me to walk,’ Priscinus replied. ‘But really have you come all this way just to discuss my useless legs?’

  Marcus’s face darkened. ‘My name is Marcus,’ he said. “’I am the owner of the farm and land on Vectis, the farm which you are claiming as your own. I want to know on what legal basis you think my property belongs to you? I want to see the proof that you claim to have.’

  Up on his chair Priscinus’s eyes twinkled and a smirk appeared on his face.

  ‘You know,’ Priscinus said lightly, ‘I was looking forward to contesting this issue with your lovely sister here, but now I suppose I will have to deal with you.’ Then he leaned forwards in his chair and the smirk turned into a sneer. ‘Your farm does not belong to you. It belongs to me. Agricola gave it to my family. I have the written proof and will produce this in court in due course. Until then you will just have to wait.’

  ‘I knew Agricola,’ Marcus retorted, “He never mentioned you or your family. It is easy to produce proof these days. Forgeries are common.’

  On his chair Priscinus pointed a finger at him.

  ‘Careful,’ Priscinus whined. ‘You had better start choosing your words carefully or else you will find yourself in court on a charge of slander.’

  ‘Why now?’ Marcus said angrily. ‘Why press your claims on my farm now, after all these years.’

  ‘I wanted to see if you would make a success of the place,’ Priscinus retorted. ‘And now that you have, I am going to take it all.’ Once more the young man leaned forwards in his chair and sneered at Marcus. ‘How does it feel to know that all that hard work, that back breaking hard work, planning and investment, has all been for nothing? All this time you were just slaving away to make me a wealthier man. You just didn’t realise it.’

  ‘You will not be taking my farm and home away from me,’ Marcus growled as his hand dropped to the pommel of his sword. ‘Just you try.’

  At Marcus’s side, Dylis was silently staring at the woman with the bruised face, who was standing quietly behind her master, her eyes facing the ground.

  ‘It hurts doesn’t it,” Priscinus sneered. ‘Oh, it must burn, the fact that you are going to lose your home. It’s so unfair. A bit like the gods taking away my ability to
walk. But I am not a completely heartless man.”

  For a moment Priscinus studied Marcus with a speculative look.

  ‘I will make you a deal,’ he called out. ‘Walk away from the farm and never come back and I will pay you twenty-five thousand denarii. That’s a good sum. You and your family will be wealthy and will be able to live well.’

  ‘That’s barely a quarter of what the place is worth,’ Marcus cried out, his face darkening with anger. With an effort, he managed to control himself. ‘No, I have a better offer,’ he said forcing himself to speak in a calmer voice. ‘Your farm supplies horses to the army. I am willing to supply you with fodder for your horses, below the market price. We could be partners. There is no need to take this matter to court. There is no need for violence. What do you say?’

  ‘Violence?’ Priscinus’s face cracked into a sudden sheepish smile. ‘Who said anything about violence? I am not a violent man. I am a law-abiding citizen.’

  Marcus muttered something to himself as he glared up at Priscinus. “Well,” he growled, ‘do we have a deal?’

  On his chair Priscinus leaned forwards. ‘Fuck off,’ he spat, ‘If you are not willing to accept my offer then I am just going to have to take your farm and land. I was being generous but you have made the wrong decision.’

  ‘No, you have made the wrong decision,’ Marcus retorted. ‘You will come to regret crossing paths with me.’

  ‘Whatever,’ Priscinus sneered. ‘Back to the house,’ he barked turning to his slaves. ‘We are done here.’

  As Priscinus and his party moved away, Marcus, seething with rage, watched them go in impotent silence. Then he glanced quickly at Dylis. His sister too was watching the chair and its occupant being carried away. Then she turned and fixed her cold, emotionless eyes on Marcus.

  ‘So that went well,’ she hissed sarcastically. ‘A good strategy brother. And you wanted to negotiate with that man.’