Lucius was too busy to visit very often but Cleon made a point of coming to see them at least once a day, claiming that Lucius had no real need of him anyway. “There are more than enough secretaries and clerks in the fortress already for me to make much difference,” he told Brude one evening as they sat under the shelter of the colonnade surrounding Caralugnus’ peristyle garden, watching the rain splatter down.
“I can’t believe you came here in the first place,” said Brude. “I never thought you’d leave Rome.”
Cleon looked around to check they were alone. Then he leaned close, switching to Greek as he said, “Things were not the same after old Aquila died.”
“I can imagine. He was a decent man,” Brude replied, his brain struggling to switch to Greek after so many months of not hearing or speaking the language.
“Indeed he was,” Cleon agreed. “Bt he had a blind spot when it came to his wife.” He paused, staring out over the garden, not looking at Brude. “Vipsania told me why you left.”
Brude felt his face begin to redden. Cleon looked at him and gave a short bark of a laugh. “Don’t worry, I haven’t told anyone. Lucius would never believe me, even if I did tell him. And before you ask, I have no intentions of saying anything to your lovely new wife.”
“She’s guessed already that there was a woman involved,” Brude admitted. “I am not proud of it, but it was difficult to say no to Agrippina.”
“I can imagine,” Cleon nodded. “I always thought she was a devious woman. She soon got her claws into Lucius when she discovered that Aquila had left nearly everything to him. She realised she could only keep the wealth through marrying Lucius. The poor boy didn’t stand a chance once she turned her charms on him. It’s caused a bit of a scandal in Rome, but she is only his step-mother and not much older than he is.”
“And he’s not so much of a boy now,” observed Brude dryly.
“No indeed. He is turning into a most ambitious young man. Not the quiet child I once knew at all. His father’s dreams and his new wife’s urgings are pushing him into exalted circles. He aspires to the senate and I dare say he will get there. He sold all his father’s business interests and invested in land, to make himself eligible. With no business to run, I had very little to do.”
“So you decided to come to Britannia?” Brude could not hide his amusement.
“It was either that or stay in Rome, watching that conniving bitch try to scale the social ladder by climbing into other men’s beds.” Cleon shook his head. “I had no wish for that. And I suppose I did half hope to find you. Britannia looked such a small place on the maps. I had no idea it was so large.”
Brude laughed. “You know damn well how large it is. It was you who showed me the maps.”
Cleon chuckled. “Well, it worked anyway. Here you are. Perhaps the gods do listen, after all.”
“I missed you too,” Brude told him. “I am glad you came here. It is good to see you again.”
“You have a family now awell,” Cleon said.
“But probably no home to go back to.”
“The war will not last. Another year and the whole island will be part of the empire. Then you can go home. Perhaps I might even come with you to see these houses of mud and sticks that you think are so wonderful.”
The mention of the war made Brude sombre again. “There were hardly any houses left in my village when we left. The Romans destroyed most of them.”
Cleon patted his knee. “I understand your concern, Marcus, but there is nothing you can do about it at the moment. You need to get your son well first. Then we shall discuss what is to be done next. One thing at a time.”
Brude nodded. As usual, Cleon was right.
Castatin was up and about after two weeks but he was very weak. He coughed whenever he tried to exert himself. Brude sought advice from the Roman doctors at the legionary fort but they could not suggest anything more than rest, warmth and the herbs Brude already had. Castatin wanted to know what had happened at Broch Tava so Mairead took him aside to explain the truth about who his father really was. It was a difficult conversation and Castatin was quiet for a while afterwards before he came to Brude and said, “My mother tells me that you are my real father.”
Brude, sitting in the peristyle garden enjoying a rare bout of sunshine between rain showers, patted the wall beside him, telling Castatin to sit. “I only found out a few months ago myself. It’s a bit of a shock, isn’t it?”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Because your father, I mean Colm, was my friend once and because your mother wanted it kept quiet. It would only have caused trouble. Anyway, I hadn’t exactly been around for you when you were growing up.”
“I’m glad he’s dead,” Castatin said with feeling. “He used to beat me, and my mother.”
“I can understand your feelings,” said Brude. “But he was not all bad. He did a lot of good things for the village. His problem was that he never learned to be content with what he had. He always wanted more.”
“I hated him. I am glad you are my father.”
“I am glad, too, Castatin. Now we have to learn how to be a family. It probably won’t be easy for either of us. But as for hatred, try to keep that out of your heart. It does as much harm to you as to the person you hate. Perhaps it would be better for you simply to be glad that Colm is gone, not that he is dead. You would have been just as happy if he had gone off to be king of Parthia. It’s his absence you are pleased about, not his death.”
Castatin considered that for a moment, then asked, “Where is Parthia?”
Brude laughed. The boy was just like he had been at that age, always asking questions. “It’s a long way from here. Ask Cleon to show you a map some time. Come on, Caralugnus has invited us all to dine with him this evening. In the meantime, I think a visit to the baths would be good for you. The hot steam might help you. If not, at least you’ll be clean for meeting our host.”
The baths were still what Brude missed most about life in Rome. The bathhouse in Eboracum was small and always busy. In true Pritani style, the locals did not bother too much with separate bathing times for men and women. The bathhouse had some times set aside for only men, and some for only women but, for most of the day, everyone mingled together, although Brude noticed that there were none of the sexual overtones Agrippina had introduced him to at the House of Venus. Not that it stopped Fothair arranging a few assignations. His height and lean, muscled body attracted a lot of attention, making him very popular with the young women.
Over their evening meal, dining from silver plates and goblets, Caralugnus regaled them with the benefits of Roman civilisation. “My grandfather insisted on living in a draughty wooden hut on a hilltop,” he told them. “Our people scraped a living from the land, surviving on a diet which was bland, to say the least. And they were constantly fighting with neighbouring tribes. My father moved here when he decided to try the Roman way of life. I have to say that I am glad he did. I really couldn’t imagine going back to the way our people used to live. We have the markets, we have the baths, we have roads and we have security.”
Brude could see that Mairead and Fothair were both nodding in agreement. They were already starting to appreciate the comfort of life under Roman rule. Castatin had enjoyed the luxury of the baths as well. Only Barabal looked unconvinced.
“Brude and I built a house,” said Fothair with his habitual grin. “No draughts at all. It even had its own well. The Romans burned it down, though. Just as well we never did build that bathhouse you were after. Imagine all that effort just for a wash, then the Romans coming along to burn it down.”
Brude saw Barabal smile at that, and was pleased. She seemed to enjoy being around Fothair who was just about the only person who could make her smile.
“Civilisation comes at a price,” Brude said to Caralugnus. “You are free to do as you want as long as what you want is the same thing the Romans want.”
“I suspect that is the same whoeve
r is in charge,” replied Caralugnus.
“Maybe so, but the Romans enforce it far more effectively than anyone else. Didn’t one of their own writers say that they like to make a desert and then call it peace?”
Caralugnus was impressed. “You have read Tacitus’ work?”
“My friend Cleon has read it,” Brude admitted. “But the other thing to keep in mind is that the poor in the empire are very poor indeed. Among the Boresti we care for our sick and elderly and nobody really goes hungry.”
“The Romans believe people should work to earn their living. Festus said you had lived in Rome itself. I would have thought you would appreciate all the things life in the empire can offer.”
Brude did not want to offend his host but he also wanted his friends to understand what was at stake. “The material things Rome can offer are beyond question,” he said. “It is the things of the spirit that we risk losing. The soul of our people. For myself, I am not sure the price is worth paying.”
Caralugnus nodded politely. “Well, each to his own. I have a cousin who still insists on living in a traditional village. He refuses to have any more to do with the Romans than he has to. But as for you, I fear you may have little choice in the matter. I hear that Caracalla is subduing all who oppose him in Caledonia.”
Brude had heard that too. The official announcements were of great victories, towns taken and fierce tribes defeated, but he had also heard from Cleon that things were not going entirely the Romans’ way. The Maeatae and the Caledonii were proving elusive, engaging in hit and run attacks rather than meeting the legions in open battle. “According to Lucius, it’s going to be a long, slow job,” Cleon had reported. In the end, though, there could only be one victor.
Caralugnus diplomatically changed the subject. Turning to Castatin he as, “How is your health, young man? You still seem in some discomfort.”
“My chest is still tight, sir,” Castatin answered, “but I am feeling a lot better than I was.”
“I’m afraid that it will be several weeks before he is fit to travel,” Brude said. “We must impose on your hospitality for some time yet.”
“It is a pleasure for me to have you here,” Caralugnus replied. “Anyway, I would not recommend travelling back north just now. Not while there is a war on. Best to stay here until things settle down.”
So they stayed a few more weeks, trying to keep a low profile. Caralugnus, obviously a more important figure than he let on, had many clients who visited him daily to pay their respects. Brude discovered that the nobleman had paid for the construction of a local temple for the worship of the imperial family. Their host was obviously a man of some means who was well regarded by the Romans.
Brude had wanted to be away by the time of the Lughnasa festival, which would still allow plenty of time to return to Broch Tava before the colder weather arrived. He was worried about what might have happened to his mother and old Seoras, and about the villagers who had fled into the forests with Caroc. They needed food and shelter for the winter and harvest time was approaching.
Despite his wishes, events conspired against him. By the time Castatin’s health had improved enough to make travel possible, Barabal was looking pale and feeling permanently tired. Brude heard her being sick one morning but when he asked her what was wrong, she told him it was just an upset stomach. But she was sick again the next morning. Mairead told him what the problem was. “She’s pregnant.”
“Don’t look at me!” Fothair protested in response to Brude’s first reaction.
“You’ve been very friendly with her these past weeks,” Brude commented.
“Not that friendly,” said Fothair. “I mean, I would have, but she’s been through a hard time and she just needs friends at the moment.”
“She needs to know it was not her fault that she was raped,” Mairead insisted, “and she certainly needs to know that the baby will be hers, one of the Boresti, not a Roman.” She looked at the two men and shook her head, clearly suggesting they were not up to the task. “I’ll talk to her. You two would just upset her.”
Whatever Mairead said to Barabal seemed to put the girl ts mind at rest but the pregnancy made her extremely unwell. She had difficulty keeping any food down and was permanently tired. Then she began to worry that her child would not have a father but, as soon as Fothair heard that, he solved the problem by telling her that he would be the father if she wanted him. She smiled and said yes, so they had a small celebration feast. The two of them spoke the words in front of Brude and Mairead as their witnesses and they were married. Fothair immediately stopped going to the bathhouse during the morning, visiting instead during the late afternoon when women were not allowed in.
Barabal, though, was too unwell to travel far, so the feast of Lughnasa came and went and the long, wet summer slowly turned to autumn, bringing biting winds and more rain. Brude resigned himself to the probability of staying in Eboracum for the winter. He was not bored because Cleon was always willing to talk, but the call of home was strong in him now. He was torn between the desire to return north with his new family and wanting to stay near Cleon.
To pass the time during their enforced stay, he took Mairead and Castatin on long walks round the city, teaching them some Latin and how to read some of the simpler signs. They enjoyed being together and life in Eboracum was easy for them, because they were staying with Caralugnus and Brude still had plenty of money. After a while, though, Mairead admitted that the attractions of the city were not so great that she would relish staying permanently.
Some days later, they got a reminder of the harsher side to life under the Romans when they saw slaves being herded onto ships that were moored on the broad river, preparing to sail out to sea and south towards Rome. Mairead put her arm round Castatin’s shoulders, holding him close, knowing that if things had turned out differently he could have been among the captives being shepherded on to the galleys.
In Caralugnus’ home, things were more pleasant. The nobleman often invited other people to dine with them, mostly wealthy Romano-Britons, like himself, so Brude kept up with all the gossip. As the days grew shorter and nightfall came earlier, he heard some momentous news. The emperor had returned to Eboracum, bringing his wife, who always accompanied him on campaign, together with a host of Praetorian Guards. Eboracum was, once again, the centre of government for the whole empire. It threatened to be an uncertain government, for the emperor was said to be very ill, so ill it was rumoured he might not last the winter. Caracalla had been left to continue the fighting in Caledonia.
Unbidden, Veleda’s words came back to haunt Brude. Cut off the head and the beast will die, she had said. He recalled, vividly, the long night that he and Fothair had spent talking with Nechtan’s druid in her hut. Trouble elsewhere would make the Romans leave, Brude had told her. Yet trouble was not likely to erupt with Septimius Severus as emperor, for he had an iron fist and thirty legions at his command. He had kept the empire under control for seventeen years.
But if the emperor were to die, everything would change. Brude realised that there might be salvation for his people after all. If he was prepared to pay the price as Veleda had suggested.
Eboracum A.D. 210
Julia Domna, wife of the emperor Septimius Severus, was a formidable woman. At forty years old, she was twenty-five years younger than her husband but she was every bit his equal in ambition and astuteness. Some said she was his superior in intellect. She had created a stir in Rome by insisting on accompanying her husband on his campaigns against Parthia, ignoring the tradition which kept most upper class Roman wives at home while their husbands went off to war. In a society that normally allowed women no role in public life, she was an exception, regarded by many as the real power behind the imperial throne. Cleon, always a source of gossip, said that Severus reputedly made no major political decisions without discussing them with his wife first. Rumour said he always followed her advice. She was well read, spoke Greek and Punic as well as Latin, and was intereste
d in philosophy to such an extent that she had been known to argue with some of the famous Greek sophists who were trained in rhetoric.
She sat at the head of the table beside her younger son, Geta, leading the after-dinner conversations on whatever subject happened to crop up. Brude, sitting at the far end, beside Caralugnus, made a point of keeping quiet, content to merely listen to the conversation. He had been surprised by the invitation but Caralugnus had insisted he come along as his guest. Mairead had selected some new clothes for him, trimmed his hair and sent him off with a kiss and a look of envy. “I wish I was going,” she had said. Brude had wished that he was not going.
Still, he could not help but be impressed with the way Julia Domna acted. She was elegant and poised but, while she was not unattractive, the things that were most notable about her were her wit and intelligence.
There were around thirty guests at the table, mostly local nobles like Caralugnus, although there was a handful of Geta’s officers, including Lucius. It soon became evident that Julia Domna was keen to let everyone know that, even though her husband was seriously ill, she was hopeful that he would recover. She made it plain that, if he did not, the empire would still be in safe hands. “My husband has named both of our sons as Caesar,” she said pleasantly. “I can assure you all that between them they have the abilirty govern the empire. Caracalla is turning out to be a very successful general, just like his father, while Geta here has proved he is a very able administrator. So I am sure that, if the worst were to happen, which I pray it will not, my sons are more than capable of taking over.”
Caralugnus leaned over to Brude and whispered, “What she means is that she will rule through them.” He grinned mischievously, “Mind you, I think she’d make a better emperor than either of them.”
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