The Pillars of Rome r-1

by Jack Ludlow

  Thoughts of booty often turned his mind to that charm. To Clodius, the more he thought about it, the greater his sense of injustice. Damn Fulmina and her dreams; damn Drisia and her spitting; never mind her bag of bones. Here he was, on short rations half the time, stuck in the middle of nowhere, under a false name, at the beck and call of anyone who cared to order him to do anything, including die a painful death, all this while his wife kept the means of his deliverance locked away and lavished on a strange child the affection that should properly, as her husband, have come to him. It was hard to recall that he had once looked forward to raising him like his own son.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  The imminent arrival of the senatorial commission stirred Vegetius Flaminus to action. Now instead of boredom and digging ditches, Clodius was faced with danger and mutilation as the legions rushed from one place to the next, always in danger of ambush, in an attempt to flush out the rebels and bring them to battle, but Vegetius had left it too late and the province was still in turmoil when the senators arrived. Clodius was delighted that, at the head of the commission came the great Macedonicus himself. Now there was a proper soldier, a man who had made a mint of money, both for himself and the troops he commanded. Every legionary prayed that he would take things over, and they were not disappointed. Despite the very vocal protests of the titular commander, Aulus started to take a hand in the direction of operations. He was working through Vegetius, certainly, pretending to consult him at every stage, but they all knew, just by their nature, where these new instructions were coming from.

  First Aulus instituted some proper training in field and battle tactics; then when he felt that the troops had relearnt their job, he let them loose on the enemy and, based on proper intelligence, things took a turn for the better. Rebel encampments were found and destroyed; treasonable chieftains taken and crucified until the insurrection seemed to peter out from lack of leadership. Those who survived the onslaught had apparently retired over the border, into barbarian lands, and the province seemed, finally, at peace. Clodius was not downhearted; even if he had failed to get his hands on any booty, at least he could look forward to going home.

  The messenger that rode into the legionary camp at Salonae soon spoilt that notion. Vegetius Flaminus was with Aulus when the news arrived and the dust coated messenger was brought straight to the command tent by the oration platform to blurt out his despatch to the general.

  ‘Greetings to the noble Vegetius Flaminus, commander of the illustrious 10th legion, from the noble Publius Trebonius, governor of the province of Epirus…’

  The messenger seemed set to go through all the formalities, plus the rituals of address from one high-born Roman to another. Aulus, however, intervened. ‘We’re all noble, Tribune, but, by the state of your dress I suspect the message is urgent. Have a drink of wine to refresh yourself, then be so good as to deliver it.’

  Vegetius frowned quite openly. This was his command tent; he had the right to offer or refuse hospitality to this filthy young fellow. Aulus Macedonicus had been behaving like this ever since he arrived and Vegetius was tempted to issue a reminder that the message was intended for him. Then he checked himself; Aulus had hinted that regardless of what his fellow commissioners, and Vegetius’s friends, thought, he had enquired into certain allegations of bribery that were floating around. It would be a bad idea to upset him. The governor did not know that he had already upset his fellow senator more than enough. Having kept Roman soldiers here for years, rather than months, he had committed a cardinal sin in the Cornelii eye. Aulus was not only aware that the bribery allegations were true, he fully intended to have Vegetius impeached before the Senate when he got home and had privately sent Lucius Falerius as arranged, full details of what he had been able to find out.

  The tribune drank deeply from the cup he was offered then brought himself back to attention and rattled out his despatch in a parade ground voice. ‘Publius Trebonius sends to tell you that he has had to flee from Epirus, taking with him as many of the local Roman population as he could.’

  ‘Damn these Greeks,’ said Aulus. ‘Will they never tire of revolt?’

  ‘Perhaps we have been too lenient in the past,’ suggested Vegetius, smoothly. ‘They see us as simple barbarians, content to dress like peasants and worship at their shrines.’

  Aulus ignored the allusion to himself. As an act of reconciliation, after his successful war in Macedonia, the victor had toured Greece, dressed simply, accompanied by just a personal bodyguard and his servant Cholon. He had worshipped at most of the major shrines and engaged in philosophical debates with the academics of Athens, all in an attempt to show the Greeks that if they stayed at peace, they had nothing to fear from the Imperium of Rome.

  ‘We cannot rule the world by force, Vegetius. We lack the means.’

  Vegetius continued in the same smooth voice, pitched just on the polite side of insult. ‘It seems we lack the means to rule by consent.’

  Aulus snapped back at him. ‘Our task would be made easier if some of our generals were more diligent.’

  That brought forth a gubernatorial flush, as Aulus indicated that the messenger should continue. The man looked from one to the other, confused, before addressing Aulus.

  ‘Many of the outlying communities have been massacred. Publius Trebonius wishes it to be clear that Roman blood has been spilt, in some quantity, and that some form of punitive action seems appropriate. He also knows that the noble Vegetius Flaminus will be aware that Epirus lies on the direct route of Roman communications with the east. He feels that a swift example must be made and urges that, since he lacks troops in sufficient quantity, the 10th legion with auxiliaries should march south to restore order.’

  ‘A request that should have properly been sent to Rome,’ said Vegetius haughtily.

  Aulus sighed, but felt it necessary to state the obvious. ‘I daresay Trebonius, with a revolt on his hands, feels that haste in these matters often brings a swift conclusion. He will be concerned that the uprising doesn’t spread.’

  ‘Very admirable, but I cannot move my troops to another province without permission.’

  ‘Leave us,’ said Aulus, addressing the tribune. ‘Give the details of what is required to the Quaestor, with a request that the troops be alerted to undertake a forced march as soon as is practicable.’

  ‘You’ll do no such thing. You go too far, Aulus Cornelius!’ shouted Vegetius, for the first time stung out of his relaxed pose. The tribune, who had started his salute, stood rigid, not sure what to do.

  ‘Better that, I think, than to go nowhere,’ replied Aulus softly. Then, with a benign smile, he looked at the tribune, staring at the ceiling, still halfway though his salute, with his arm, fist closed tight, across his leather breastplate. ‘You, young man, go to my tent. Instruct my servant to provide you with a bath. I’m sure the tribunes of the 10th will be happy to give you some food, as well as lend you clean clothes. When you have eaten, you will be provided with a fresh horse. Your orders are to proceed to Brindisium by ship, then take post horses to Rome with a message, from me, to the Senate.’

  Vegetius sat silent, his fat face flushing a very deep red. The tribune finished his salute, turned on his heel and marched out. Aulus, still with the same benign smile, turned back to the titular commander. ‘As you see, Vegetius, I am taking responsibility. If the Senate questions my actions, I feel sure that I’ll be able to convince them of my personal probity. Not something I fear, however, that will be available to you.’

  Vegetius felt a knot of fear in his stomach. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘I think you do. If you want to hang on to any of that money you’ve acquired these last few years, I should get hold of your Quaestor, right away, and confirm the orders that I gave to the tribune.’

  Vegetius tried to bluff it out, but the words wouldn’t come. ‘I…’

  Aulus finally lost his patience, and, in a voice that had addressed an entire consular army, he told Vegetius
in plain language what his fate would be if he did not order the preparations necessary to march.

  ‘I must warn you that my despatches concerning your actions, or rather the lack of them, are already on their way to Rome. Do as I say or I will personally see you impeached, stripped of all you own, and thrown into the pit of the Tulliniam to be consumed by the rats. You are a disgrace to the name of Rome. Do you think the locals don’t know, to a man, what you have been about? I have already said we can’t rule by force, we must rule by the respect of law, the laws of the city we represent. How can we impose respect for the Imperium of Rome with petty thieves, like you, lining your own pockets? You have a choice Vegetius, redeem yourself or I’ll have you hauled back to Rome in chains.’

  Vegetius positively ran out of the tent, and those officers who had little respect for him smiled to themselves.

  ‘And who knows,’ said Clodius, when the news swept through the camp that they were headed south. ‘There might be a bit of loot to be had after all.’

  Claudia would have readily admitted, had she been taxed, that she was probably on a fruitless search. Revisiting the villa was easy, since it belonged to a member of her own family and was, at present, as it had been the night of the birth, unoccupied. She had been tempted to come here so many times, but finding an occasion when Aulus was out of Rome, at the same time as both his sons, had proved an insurmountable obstacle and even now she risked discovery. It was a rare thing that someone as well-born as she should choose to travel with just her personal maid, Callista, and her maid’s husband Thoas, in attendance.

  Thoas, sworn to secrecy, had hired strangers to carry her litter instead of using the household slaves. This alone was bound to excite comment in the Cornelii abode and leave a trace that could surface in an accidental comment. Aulus and Titus would be gone for so long that her travelling would hopefully fade from the collective memory before either of them returned. Quintus would be back in a month or so, but he was so heartily disliked that she had every reason to believe the household slaves would ensure he remained ignorant of her strange excursion.

  ‘I wish you to try and find a midwife who answers to the name of Marcia.’ She took a small bag of coins from her chest and handed it to Thoas.

  ‘Do you have another name, lady?’ asked Thoas.

  ‘No,’ she replied with a slightly waspish tone. ‘Nor do I wish you to enquire further. Merely find her, and bring her to me.’

  The tall Numidian bowed, which at least brought his head down to her level and Claudia realised, with a start, that she did not know this man very well. He was not the type for domestic service, being tall and physically strong, surely more fitted for manual labour or as a protective body slave. But he was Callista’s husband, so it made sense to bring him along to perform this task, since she could hardly go asking around the neighbourhood herself. He had married the person she had been most intimate with for the last eight years; Claudia trusted Callista absolutely, so surely she could trust him.

  ‘This is a very personal matter, Thoas,’ she added in a more pleasant tone. ‘I am relying on you to be discreet. It’s not something I would want discussed by the rest of the household.’

  The Numidian bowed again. ‘I am yours to command, lady.’

  He found Marcia fairly quickly; there was a finite number of local midwives but Thoas was no fool; he added several more days to the search, purloining a fair amount of his mistress’s money in the process, supposedly distributed as bribes to gather information, in reality spent on wine, women and pleasure as well as the greatest of all satisfactions; the ability to behave like a free man.

  Those were days that dragged for Claudia, days when she relived every event in her life: her childhood, in the home of indulgent parents; her father an upright but far from wealthy senator, a good soldier who brought her up as a proud Roman; the flattery of marriage to a man like Aulus Cornelius Macedonicus, whose gravity, presence and achievements so impressed a sixteen-year-old girl. It was a match that shocked her friends, yet Claudia had sensed their jealousy too; had she not snared the city’s leading soldier, as well as the richest man in Rome? And despite the age difference, he was handsome as well as gentle, showing to all with eyes to see that he was besotted with her.

  Life after the wedding ceremonies turned her head even more; she was no longer a young girl to be indulged but had become the Lady Claudia Cornelia, a person of substance. People, certainly older women, who would have been condescending in her previous station, now showed due deference. She became the mistress of a great house instead of the child of another and Aulus had immediately signified his trust in her by giving her the keys to the strongbox and the doors, so that everyone in the household knew she was in charge of all the domestic arrangements.

  Men of all ages, who had in the past flattered her for her looks, now professed themselves amazed at her sagacity when she advanced an opinion. Her husband treated her with just as much respect and, with an almost paternal care, awoke in her the passionate side of her nature. To wound such a paragon was not easy and Claudia took no pleasure in it, but over the first weeks in the company of Brennos she had realised that she had married Aulus for his standing, not his person, as well as to please her father. She was in love with the image, not the man, and nothing proved that more to her than the physical reaction she felt to the Celt’s presence, a vibrancy to their lovemaking so very different to the tender couplings she had enjoyed with Aulus. There were times she cursed the decision to travel with Aulus to Spain, something that had been brought about partly by her own pleading. Still young, she craved adventure, was in thrall to the notion of being the other half of a Proconsular Imperium. In her imagination, as well as lording it over the provincial Romans of Spain, she would comfort the great general at the same time as inspiring his legions to feats of arms hitherto unheard of. With Claudia by his side Aulus Cornelius Macedonicus would add even more lustre to his name.

  She should have stayed at home! In Rome Claudia would have avoided temptation, bound by family, name and responsibility: she would never have met Brennos, never have experienced the all-consuming nature of true love, have remained content with her station; she would not have made her upright husband unhappy and never suffered the torment of losing the child of her Celtic lover. Claudia would not have had to live the lie that the child she bore had been unwillingly conceived. To tell Aulus otherwise, to proclaim the joy she felt when she knew she was pregnant by another man, would be to destroy him. She might have been happy, instead of tormented by the knowledge that, having compelled Brennos to break his vows of celibacy, she had failed him by her inability to protect his son.

  Many times she imagined telling Aulus, only to recoil from such a thought; first of the battle that had seen the wagon she was travelling in taken by Quintus, of the look in her stepson’s eyes when he had realised her condition. She had thought of killing herself then, in the time between that meeting and his arrival, but with a baby in her womb she could not do it, that followed by a determination to see the child born at whatever cost. Tell Aulus the truth and even he might, in a jealous rage, kill them both. Had that been the right choice? Once under her husband’s care his desire to hide what he thought to be her disgrace had created a prison from which she could not escape. In guarding her from prying eyes, under the protection of strangers whose only task was to make sure she remained unseen, all choice had been taken away. Her heart was wrenched with fear as she heard of Roman victories, a terror that one day Aulus would walk though her door to tell her Brennos was dead. That did not come, but her lover’s dream collapsed, and with a speed that meant the child in her womb was born here in Italy, instead of Spain.

  When the legions came home, Aulus had to come with them. That he chose not to march with them, instead taking ship, was considered strange to troops who had been victorious. When they landed as Ostia the litter in which she was to travel was brought aboard so that no one on shore should see her and they had travelled incognito to thi
s villa, where she had given birth on this very floor on which she now paced to and fro. So much for the pride of the Lady Claudia Cornelia! The image of that baby would be with her forever; the bright blue eyes and that hair, russet mixed with gold, wet from the waters that had eased his birth. Perhaps the charm she had placed round his foot was too valuable, but it was the only thing she had had that might save him, a talisman she had taken from his father the better to remember Brennos. That Celtic goldsmith had been clever, the replica he had made so perfect that had she not switched them directly, she could never have been sure she had the original. And Brennos had never noticed, even when he fingered the replacement around his neck.

  She had felt something very strange at the moment when she put the charm round the baby’s foot, as if her head was filled with flashes of lightning interspersed with fleeting images of her blue-eyed Celtic warrior, images that had subsided as soon as she let go. But then Claudia knew she had been exhausted, and could not be sure that what she had been vouchsafed were genuine visions, instead of hallucinations.

  Claudia was so nervous her throat refused to function, sure that the midwife felt more at ease than her. It was way short of true, for in the presence of this high-born lady, whom she recognised at once, Marcia kept her head half-bowed, which hid the fright in her eyes. Each question was answered in a monotone, which suggested indifference.

  ‘This is a matter of some importance to me.’

  The lady’s sharp tone finally made Marcia lift her head and look Claudia in the eye. ‘You forget that I saw you place that talisman round the child’s ankle. I knew you wished him to live.’