Glory of Rome: (Gaius Valerius Verrens 8)

by Douglas Jackson

  A long sniff from the back of the hall broke the silence and they began banging their cups in appreciation. Valerius stood for a moment and allowed his gaze to drift over the stern, approving features until eventually the banging died away and he could bow his thanks before taking his place beside Cantaber. The militia tribune nodded gravely and handed him a cup of wine.

  ‘My thanks, legate. Most inspiring for us to hear of the sacrifices of our predecessors from one who witnessed them. I doubt we’ll have many absentees from our training sessions for the next few months.’

  ‘I’m pleased if I’ve done some good, Terentius,’ Valerius replied quietly. ‘Tell me, do you know of a veteran called Sextus Marcellus?’

  Cantaber went very still. Clearly the question was unexpected. ‘Yes,’ he said at last. ‘He is in the third century, Second cohort. Not one of our most enthusiastic militiamen. He currently has some personal problems.’

  ‘So I understand.’ Valerius held his gaze. ‘Tell me what you know of him.’

  When he returned to the townhouse, Valerius was surprised to find a smiling toga-clad figure waiting for him in the vestibule under the watchful eye of Marius and Didius.

  ‘He says he wishes to talk to you on a private matter, lord,’ Marius said, his grizzled features wrinkled with distaste. ‘The lady agreed he could wait here until your return.’

  ‘Larcius Dexter, lord, member of the ordo and friend to Roman justice, at your service.’ The visitor introduced himself with an oily flattery that made Valerius immediately dislike him. The narrow pointed nose and simpering, buck-toothed smile reminded him of a self-satisfied rat.

  ‘Take him through to the library,’ he ordered. He bowed. ‘I will join you in a moment, sir, but you must excuse me. I have to change my clothes.’

  Valerius walked through to the tablinum, where Tabitha sat by a window reading a book borrowed from Liberalis’s collection. She rose and kissed him on the lips with a smile, then stepped back to look into his face. ‘You seem troubled, husband. Is it the man waiting outside?’ She sighed. ‘I would have sent him away, but he claimed it was important.’

  ‘No, you did right,’ Valerius assured her. ‘I have a feeling I know why he’s here. Best to deal with it now. Have a jug of wine sent through – we must observe the proprieties.’

  By the time he’d changed and walked through to the library the wine had been placed on a table. Larcius Dexter stood nearby, studying the shelves. ‘Old Liberalis does himself well,’ he sniffed. ‘All a bit clever for me. Personally I prefer a bit of Horace.’

  Valerius poured him a cup of wine and then one for himself. ‘So, Larcius Dexter, friend to Roman justice, what brings you to see Gaius Valerius Verrens, legatus iuridicus, on the eve of the courts?’

  Dexter’s smile froze at Valerius’s directness and the use of the full title. Clearly he was accustomed to more in the way of preamble to his business discussions. He hesitated, considering the other man, taking in the scars of old wounds and the missing right hand.

  ‘I wished to honour you with my own personal welcome.’ He put down his cup and his hand reached into the sleeve of his toga. Valerius tensed and stepped a little closer to make any attack more awkward, but relaxed as the hand emerged holding a leather pouch. A substantial and patently weighty leather pouch. Dexter placed it on the table between them with an audible chink. ‘I discussed it with a friend and we thought you might well wish to make a sacrifice at the temple. This small donation would go towards the purchase of a white lamb for the purpose.’

  Valerius considered the purse for a moment before he reached down to pick it up. Weighty indeed. As Dexter watched he returned it to the table and held it down with his wooden fist while he worked at the ties with the fingers of his left hand. When he opened the leather mouth he could see the buttery glint of gold inside. Enough golden aurei to buy a whole flock of lambs.

  ‘You and your friend are very generous.’

  Dexter bowed his head in acknowledgement.

  ‘Perhaps I should know his identity,’ Valerius persisted.

  The other man smiled. ‘His name would mean nothing to you, but should you meet him while you are in Colonia you would know him by this ring.’ He held out his hand so Valerius had a clear view of a thick gold band with a massive ruby at its centre. ‘He also commends to you his cousin by marriage, Titus Flavius Clemens.’

  Valerius choked on a laugh and managed to turn it into a cough. Did they really think he could be swayed by a powerful name and a few gold coins? He nodded slowly.

  ‘I thank you for your gift and your welcome.’ Valerius ushered Dexter towards the door. ‘You may tell your friend that I will take this into consideration should we meet over the next few days.’

  ‘He will be pleased to hear it.’ Dexter gave him what he obviously thought was a conspiratorial smile.

  When Valerius was alone, Tabitha appeared from behind the curtained doorway to the tablinum. ‘They are not very sophisticated in Britannia.’ She shook her head with a smile. ‘We conducted things much more subtly in Emesa.’

  ‘Oh, you can guarantee there’ll be a trail of witnesses that will place the money here, just in case I’m thinking of changing my mind.’

  ‘Titus Flavius Clemens?’

  ‘Vespasian’s nephew. A very powerful young man these days. He was with Sabinus when the temple burned down on the Capitoline. If I remember correctly I persuaded Vitellius not to have him executed, though it might have been his brother.’

  ‘And what will you do about this?’ She pointed to the purse.

  ‘I have an idea.’ He grinned, despite the anger that boiled inside him. ‘But first have Felix buy a plump white lamb and tell him we’ll be parading to the basilica from the temple tomorrow at the third hour.’

  XXVII

  Hilario led the procession carrying the fasces, the bundled birch rods which symbolized Valerius’s right to dispense justice. A gleaming axe at their centre showed that he wielded the power of imperium, directly granted by the Emperor, which included the licence to sentence a man to death. His status as a legate entitled him to five lictors. The others, Shabolz and three of his Pannonians, flanked the one-handed Roman and Tabitha, her face and hair hidden by the folds of her palla. Behind them marched the clerks who would assist him in the court, followed by the hundred members of the ordo ranked in pairs.

  The scent of roasting meat perfumed the morning air. Valerius’s sacrifice had been pronounced a success and the day unusually auspicious. As they approached the basilica he had a vivid memory of looking down from the temple steps and seeing Larcius Dexter wink at him.

  ‘I wish you’d tell me what you have planned,’ Tabitha whispered. ‘Sometimes, husband, you can be very impulsive.’

  He reached down and squeezed her hand. A century of militia veterans lined the route to the courts, keeping the hundreds hoping to attend the proceedings at a safe distance. Accusers and defendants in the four cases stood in separate groups on the basilica steps. They broke off from eyeing each other with wary suspicion to stare at the man who would decide their fates. What they saw matched their expectations of the legal might of Rome. Stern, scarred features and close-cropped, iron-grey hair. A man who walked with the confidence of worldly experience and carried the wounds of his military years without embarrassment. A few looked upon the narrowed, pitiless eyes and felt a shiver, but one man whispered reassurance to his companions.

  Inside, Valerius escorted Tabitha to her seat, set to the right hand of the dais, before taking his own. Hilario handed the fasces to Shabolz and extracted the long-handled axe. He looked to Valerius, who answered with a nod. Hilario stepped on to the dais to stand at the right hand of the legatus iuridicus with the axe held easily across his massive chest, brutish features set in a grim scowl. Valerius heard a murmur of unease as the members of the ordo filed into their places on four rows of benches. No man in this court would be under any illusion about who was in charge or the extent of his powers. They loo
ked upon Hilario and saw the legate’s executioner.

  The clerks stood beside their desks as the defendants and accusers and their representatives took their positions at opposite sides of the hall. Their witnesses would be kept out of earshot until called to give evidence. When the participants were in place one of the clerks signalled to a militiaman guarding the door and a wave of citizens from Colonia and the surrounding farmlands surged in to jostle for the best positions behind the ordo. When they were more or less settled the clerk approached the dais and whispered to Valerius that they were ready.

  ‘Have you decided the order of the cases, lord?’

  Valerius nodded grimly. ‘I had thought to take the Marcellus trial first, but circumstances have changed. We will decide the Prince Claudius land dispute.’

  He saw the clerk’s look of surprise. This was the case that had been going on for years and was undoubtedly the most complex. It could take days.

  ‘Very well,’ the clerk said after a moment. ‘On the Marcellus affair I must tell you that the defendant’s counsel has asked to make an application.’

  ‘Does he say what it is?’

  ‘I believe he seeks a postponement, lord.’

  Valerius nodded. It was a usual tactic in such serious cases. The client’s lawyer trying to keep him at liberty until he could come before a lesser court or a local judge who might prove more sympathetic. ‘Very well, have him approach.’ The clerk went off and returned with a tall thin man who walked with a curious high-stepping lope that reminded Valerius of a stalking heron. He was quickly joined by the prosecutor.

  ‘I’m told you have an application to make,’ Valerius prompted.

  The thin man bowed. ‘I regret to inform my lord that I require more time to prepare my client. Potential new evidence. Change of circumstances of certain witnesses …’

  The prosecutor grunted and took a deep breath, but Valerius raised a hand before he could speak. ‘This – incident – occurred six months ago. According to the court papers, the denuntiatio was served two months ago. If you haven’t been able to prepare your client by now I doubt you ever will. The application is dismissed.’

  The lawyer made a choking noise, drowned out by the prosecutor’s triumphant ‘harrumph’, and both men retreated to their places. Valerius rose to his feet and announced to the packed hall: ‘We will now take the case of Prince Claudius Tasciovanus against Priscus, Severus, Victor and Silenus, and the countercharge of fraud by the aforementioned against the prince.’

  A murmur ran through the crowd and the clerk called for silence. As he sat down Valerius noticed a hooded figure in ragged clothing slip in at the back of the court. The man was checked by a militiaman, who pulled back the cowl but then retreated and allowed the latecomer into the body of the court. Valerius wasn’t certain why the incident registered, but he had little time to dwell on it. Four prosperous-looking men stepped forward to stand to his left and a single silver-haired elder in an ill-fitting toga approached from his right. Of those on the left, three had the weary, troubled faces of men uncertain of the outcome. The fourth wore a garish ruby ring on the middle finger of his right hand and a look of smug self-confidence. In contrast, Claudius Tasciovanus stood straight-backed, long moustaches drooping below his lips and head held high, radiating a natural, unforced dignity that stirred a distant memory in Valerius’s breast.

  The clerk read out the details of the case. Before the Boudiccan rebellion, Claudius Tasciovanus, a prince of the Trinovante tribe, had owned a substantial estate north of Colonia. In the chaotic aftermath of the insurrection the lands had been confiscated and parcelled out between the four defendants. Claudius claimed he had fought on the Roman side and had been assured his estate was safe, and he wanted the lands returned, with suitable compensation for seventeen years of lost revenues. The four farmers accused Tasciovanus of fabricating evidence, which, if proven, would merit a ruinous fine. Previous courts had failed to reach a conclusion and simply deferred the case time after time.

  As the opposing lawyers laid out their cases Valerius studied one of the four almost identical documents lodged on the part of the Romans. In it, Priscus, Severus and Victor, former centurions of the Twentieth legion, ceded a twenty-five iugera portion of land, identified by its various boundary marks, to their old comrade Silenus, in perpetuity, and asked Colonia’s registrar to record the transaction in the land register. It concluded: ‘The public treasury in no way suffers detriment or loss. It is for the information and protection of Your Honour and of the treasury that we have directed to you this communication which, duly signed, is to be valid and binding.’

  On the face of it, a perfectly proper and legal land transfer – if the signatories owned the land in the first place. It was replicated by three others in which only the beneficiaries and the land boundaries differed.

  Valerius looked up and found himself the focus of Tasciovanus’s emotionless grey eyes. What was the Briton thinking? This must be the fourth or fifth time he’d suffered this ordeal. A rich man, he had other estates; why not just give up a fight so obviously weighted against him? The answer, of course, was pride. The Celts Valerius remembered had all been proud regardless of status or class. Men who reacted to a slight by drawing a sword and could hold a grudge for generations. Some ancestor had fought to win this land. His father would have held it, and his father before him. It would be a personal humiliation to lose it.

  Tasciovanus’s counsel came to the end of his outline. ‘As my first witness I would call upon …’

  Valerius raised a hand and the lawyer’s voice drifted into silence.

  ‘I have studied transcripts of the evidence and cross-examination from previous appearances of this case before the courts and I see no profit in going over it all again.’ He saw the lawyers’ look of consternation mirrored on the face of Priscus and his co-defendants. ‘Certain facts are not in dispute. The land in question was once under the ownership of Prince Claudius Tasciovanus. The transfer of the lands to the defendants in the aftermath of the rebellion is recorded in proper legal fashion. As I see it the only salient point at issue here is the claim that Prince Claudius supported the Imperial forces against Boudicca and that therefore his lands should have been protected. I’m told a letter exists?’ he asked Tasciovanus’s counsel.

  ‘Yes, lord.’

  ‘Then why isn’t it with the rest of the evidence?’ Valerius demanded. ‘Why haven’t I seen it?’

  ‘The defendants dispute the authenticity of this letter, lord,’ Priscus’s lawyer interrupted.

  ‘So I understand,’ Valerius said. ‘Well?’

  ‘It is my client’s only proof of his service to the then governor. He has vowed never to let it out of his sight.’

  Valerius turned to the Trinovante. ‘May I see it, sir?’

  Tasciovanus hesitated for a heartbeat before approaching the dais and pulling a leather scroll case from the sleeve of his toga.

  ‘Open it, please.’ As the prince worked at the straps Valerius continued: ‘It is the defendants’ contention that this letter is a fabrication,’ he said. ‘And should that be the case they seek to have Prince Claudius Tasciovanus prosecuted for misleading the court. Previous courts decided that the letter could not be properly verified because no one could be found who could confirm or refute the signature.’ This wasn’t exactly true. One man had been perfectly capable of validating the letter, but he was travelling westwards to join his generals for the assault on the Ordovices. It was now clear to Valerius that Julius Agricola had not cared to risk his career by getting involved in such a contentious case. Prince Tasciovanus had power and influence among the tribal chiefs of southern Britannia; finding against him would be seen as a slight against every Celt south of Eboracum. Priscus, on the other hand, had connections that reached to the heart of the Palatium who could cause trouble even for a man like the governor. No wonder Agricola wanted to keep his hands clean.

  Finally, Tasciovanus removed the scroll from the case. His ha
nds trembled as he set the yellowing piece of parchment in Valerius’s palm. Valerius placed the scroll on his knee and held it down with his right fist so he could unroll it.

  ‘Suetonius Paulinus,’ he read in a voice loud enough to echo through the great chamber, ‘governor of the Province of Britannia, thanks Prince Claudius Tasciovanus for his gallant service in support of the forces of the State against treasonous native elements bent on subverting the rule of law in the province. This letter exempts the lands, property, goods and slaves of the said Prince Claudius Tasciovanus from any general punishment imposed in the future against the native population for the treasonable actions outlined above.’ He paused to allow the import of his words to register. ‘It is signed Gaius Suetonius Paulinus, governor.’

  ‘An obvious fake,’ Priscus barked, ignoring his counsel’s signal to be quiet.

  ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘It has no seal. Any document from the governor would carry his seal.’

  Valerius nodded as if he was considering the suggestion. He could feel Tabitha’s eyes on him and knew she would be wondering how this was going to end. ‘Any official document,’ he agreed. ‘But this could be construed as a personal letter.’

  Priscus spluttered dangerously, and his lawyer hastily intervened. ‘But it is impossible to verify the signature,’ he pointed out.

  ‘Perhaps,’ Valerius agreed. ‘Let us find out.’ He raised his voice. ‘Is anyone in this room in a position to verify or otherwise the signature of the former governor Suetonius Paulinus?’ A murmur went through the crowd and a few of the ordo looked to each other and shook their heads. Valerius waited long enough for someone to come forward, allowing the tension to build. ‘Then it is fortunate,’ he continued at last, ‘that I spent nine months serving as aide to the governor Gaius Suetonius Paulinus … and this signature,’ he had recognized the almost savage sweep of the pen in an instant, ‘is genuine.’ A collective gasp from the audience and an outraged shout of ‘No’ from Priscus. ‘Accordingly, by the power of imperium granted me by the Emperor, I hereby order that all the lands identified in the court documents should be returned immediately to Prince Claudius Tasciovanus, and recorded in the land register as his property. Any question of compensation should take into consideration improvements carried out to the land by the defendants.’