Veterans of Rome (Book 9 of the Veteran of Rome Series)

by William Kelso

  “So, we are fucked then,” Cunomoltus exclaimed angrily, sending a grape flying across the table and onto the floor.

  Around the dining table in the hall, Kyna, Dylis, Petrus and the others were sombrely and silently gazing down at the oak table. It was evening and outside, darkness cloaked the land.

  “Maybe, maybe not,” Marcus replied, as he glanced at his brother. “One thing is for sure. Nigrinus is going to pack that jury with his supporters. Men who will do his bidding. That’s the real reason why the court date has been delayed. He needs time to bribe the jury members.”

  “What about the charges?” Dylis said, looking up.

  “The charge of treason against the state is preposterous,” Marcus snapped, his face darkening. “There is no evidence for that, but the second charge is more problematic. I did kill those two senators in my house.”

  “Only after they came to us demanding that you kill yourself,” Kyna cried out, her face flushed with sudden emotion. “It’s not fair. You were set-up Marcus. You have done nothing wrong. Those men died because they gave you no choice. You have always worked in the interests of Rome, all your life. Everyone knows that.”

  “What about offering to pay compensation to the families of the two dead senators,” Petrus exclaimed. “Would that work?”

  Marcus sighed. “Maybe if the circumstances were different, but Nigrinus wants my head. He is not going to accept any money.”

  A sombre and oppressive silence descended on the room and, for a long moment no one seemed to want to speak.

  “So, what do we do Marcus?” Cunomoltus asked at last in a weary voice as he sent another grape rolling across the table.

  “We could run,” Petrus interrupted. “All of us. We could disappear.”

  “And go where?” Dylis retorted sharply. “Leave our home and everything we have worked for behind. I don’t think so.”

  “I am not running from that little shit Nigrinus,” Marcus replied in a calm voice, as he looked up at Petrus. “No, I shall go to Londinium and fight this case. We have time and I may still have some friends and allies in the city.”

  “And we have gold,” Cunomoltus blurted out, in a hopeful voice.

  “You are going to need a good defence lawyer,” Dylis said, as she turned to look at her brother. “I have business associates in Londinium who may be able to help. I will leave for the city tomorrow.”

  Sitting at the table, Marcus nodded in agreement. Then slowly he turned to look at each member of his family in turn, his gaze grave but confident and indominable.

  “I do not want any of you to despair,” he said. “You are all to hold your heads up high. We will not be bullied by the powerful. We shall not be cowed by might. We are Corbulo’s people and we fear nothing. I am going to win this trial. We are not going to be beaten by that man. We are going to win.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five – Friends and Enemies in the Capital

  The Roman bridge across the Thames looked spectacular in the sunshine, as it stretched away across the wide river. There was nothing like it in the whole of Britannia, Marcus thought. A proud statement of Rome’s technical and engineering prowess and a subtle propaganda reminder, if anyone needed it, that things were now definitely better under Roman rule. Sturdy wooden piles, rammed into the river-bed, held up the four-hundred-yard long, wooden construction. Across the bridge, in both directions, a vast multitude of pedestrians, soldiers, horsemen and convoys of wagons was crossing. The noise created by the traffic was astonishing and reminded Marcus of the Forum in Rome. As he rode his horse down Watling Street and towards the bridge, accompanied by Dylis and Indus, Marcus could see that on either side of the approach road to the bridge and the scattering of suburban houses, the Thames had broken through its banks and flood defences. The devastation that the river had caused was terrible. The floodwaters had spread out over a wide area, submerging homes, buildings, mudflats, marshes, tidal channels and creeks and making the Thames in places look nearly a mile wide. As he gazed at the natural disaster along the southern bank, a man emerged from one of the semi-flooded homes, wading through the water and clutching a pile of belongings. Further along a woman was on her knees crying, as she gazed at her ruined home.

  “We used to live just over there,” Dylis said, breaking the sombre and reflective silence that had existed between them since dawn. She pointed at one of the houses. “When our father was still in the stone-haulage business. Corbulo and my mother Efa had made their home just over there. But that was thirty years ago now.”

  Marcus glanced in the direction that Dylis was pointing, but said nothing and neither did Indus. Their faces remained masks of stoicism.

  The squad of soldiers from the governor’s personal guard, who were guarding the southern end of the bridge, barely noticed Marcus, as he and his two companions joined the congested traffic crossing northwards into the city of Londinium. Out on the sparkling and gleaming waters of the river and to the right of the bridge, ocean-going ships were approaching the harbour, whilst dozens of other vessels lay tied up against the massive wooden quays. Their cargos were being lifted out of the holds by an army of wooden cranes. Idly Marcus gazed at the harbour front. It had been from here that he and the Hermes had set out on their epic voyage across the western ocean to Hyperborea. The city, Marcus thought, struggling with a sudden melancholy, contained many memories and wherever he looked he was reminded of them.

  Up on the higher ground, on the northern bank of the Thames, stood Londinium, capital and largest city of Britannia with sixty thousand inhabitants. There was no city wall but, rising majestically above the mass of terraced buildings and grid-like pattern of city streets, the massive Basilica and Forum dominated the city’s skyline. Walking his horse across the bridge, Marcus gazed silently at the awesome stone construction, several storey’s high. It was the very heart of the city, where the merchants, banking and legal guilds had their offices and stalls and where the city council met. It had been some time since he had been back to Londinium and the signs of rapid change and booming growth were everywhere.

  Slowly Marcus turned his attention to the governor’s palace, whose grounds came right up to the waterfront to the left of the bridge. Beyond the outdoor pool and river-front terrace, a proud imperial banner was flying from the top of the fine-looking building. For a moment Marcus gazed at the palace. It was from this building that Rome ruled Britannia. It was from here that orders would be dispatched to the three legionary legates and the commanders of the fifty or so auxiliary cohorts, stationed in the province. It was rumoured too, that it was beneath the palace, in the warren of tunnels and tiny prison cells, that the enemies of Rome - rebels, traitors and Christians were tortured in the most gruesome manner, before finally being put to death. There seemed to be some truth to the rumours Marcus thought. For thirty years ago, Corbulo, his father had managed to rescue Efa, his wife, from those very same dungeons, during the time of the Christian pogroms. Marcus turned to look away. There were still two weeks to go before his court date, but Dylis had insisted that they leave for Londinium well before then, to prepare his defence. His sister had hired a defence lawyer. One of the best in town she had claimed, and now they were on their way to stay at his house.

  ***

  It was evening and Marcus, Dylis and Senovarus, his defence lawyer, were reclining on their individual couches around the dinner table, picking at the considerable array of food dishes. The richly decorated dining hall was lit by flickering oil lamps and, near the door leading to the kitchens, a crackling brazier was heating up the room.

  “May I speak candidly, Marcus,” Senovarus said at last, as he reached out to take a sip of wine from his cup. The lawyer was a thin and wiry man with a head that seemed out of proportion to the rest of his body.

  “Of course,” Marcus replied. “That’s why we came to see you, isn’t it? That’s what I am paying you for.”

  Senovarus shot Dylis a quick bemused glance, before carefully clearing his throat and placing
his cup back on the table.

  “I have known your sister, Dylis for a long time,” Senovarus began smoothly. “She has briefed me on all the details surrounding your case. It is an unfortunate business and it has complications now that the new governor has become personally involved. The situation is especially delicate because it involves imperial politics. We must tread carefully.”

  “Can we win the case or not?” Marcus shot back, as he fixed his eyes on the lawyer.

  The lawyer grinned and for a moment he said nothing.

  “I will be open and honest with you Marcus,” Senovarus said at last. “I am a supporter of Hadrian and the Peace Party. I have been so for a long time. Most of the populace in Londinium are supporters of Hadrian. In my mind there is no doubt that Hadrian will become the next emperor. I have it on good authority that Trajan’s health is beginning to deteriorate. It will not be long now before we have a new emperor. It is just a matter of time.”

  “Or maybe we shall have civil war,” Marcus replied.

  “I doubt it,” Senovarus said, with a quick dismissive gesture. “Hadrian’s influence and control over the legions grows ever stronger and Trajan will officially nominate him as the next emperor before he dies. Plotina, Trajan’s wife will ensure that. The army will not follow Nigrinus. They may follow Quietus, but Hadrian will take precautions to ensure that Quietus will not get the chance to do so.”

  “You seem very confident of yourself,” Marcus said.

  “It is my job to appear confident and sure of myself,” Senovarus said, with a little amused grin. “How else can I convince the jury that you are innocent?”

  “Tell my brother about our defence strategy,” Dylis interrupted.

  “Right,” Senovarus replied. For a moment he hesitated. “The new governor has a reputation for being incorruptible. I doubt he can be bribed. It is my belief however that our new governor Marcus Appius Bradua, also knows that it is likely that Hadrian will become the next emperor,” the lawyer exclaimed. “As a prominent member of the War Party and an opponent of Hadrian, I believe the governor is primarily concerned with saving his own skin and rescuing his career. He may have doubts about the wisdom of prosecuting someone like yourself, Marcus.”

  “Why is that?” Marcus shot back in a sceptical voice.

  “Well you are not just a nobody, Marcus,” Senovarus said gingerly. “You are a former senator of Rome, a war veteran and a hero in some quarters. You have money; you have land; you are a leading Roman citizen. Prosecuting a man like that makes Rome look bad. It’s like turning on one of your own. It’s bad publicity, especially in the provinces. But Bradua will most likely be concerned because of your son, Fergus, and his close association with Hadrian,” the lawyer replied. “Dylis told me how close your son is to Hadrian. That will work to our advantage. Bradua will know that your family have connections to Hadrian. It will make him more cautious. He will fear Hadrian’s reaction; offend the next emperor and it is likely that his career will be over. Do you understand what I am saying?”

  “I do,” Marcus growled, as he reached out to the bowl of olives. “But I know Bradua. I worked with him in the senate in Rome. He is a loyal dog. He is even more scared of Nigrinus than of Hadrian. He will do exactly what Nigrinus tells him to do.”

  “Maybe, maybe not,” Senovarus replied. “I am however convinced that Bradua harbours doubts about prosecuting you. What we need to do is encourage his doubts to the point where he abandons the case. We need to get Bradua to change his mind. The governor is in a difficult position. Prosecute you - a former senator, and he will no doubt offend Hadrian and ruin his career but do nothing and he will offend Nigrinus and be accused of failing to uphold the law. I think Bradua is looking for a way out. He is searching for a compromise that will allow him to emerge without damaging his career.”

  “And you think that will work?” Marcus snapped.

  The lawyer nodded.

  “Marcus,” Dylis said sharply, as she leaned forwards and gazed across the table at her brother. “What we are saying is, that in order to conduct an effective defence, we need you to become a firm supporter of Hadrian and the Peace Party and we need you to declare your allegiance to Hadrian in public.”

  Marcus raised his eyebrows, and for a long moment he said nothing as he stared back at his sister.

  “I have already prepared a full programme of speaking engagements and public appearances here in Londinium,” Dylis went on, unperturbed by Marcus’s silence. “The people of Londinium need to know where you stand, Marcus. They need to hear your support for Hadrian. They need to realise that this trial is politically motivated. In that way there can be no doubt in the governor’s mind, as to the risk that he is taking by prosecuting you. We must get the people on our side. It is crucial. The crowds love an underdog, Marcus. They love a fight between the small man and the powerful. Most of the people of Londinium support Hadrian. We need them to be on your side during the trial. That matters because the jury is to be chosen from amongst them.”

  “Your sister has already been spreading the word amongst the business and mercantile community that your son Fergus is a close ally of Hadrian,” Senovarus added. “She is right. You must now publicly declare your allegiance to Hadrian and the Peace Party. I can then argue in court that this trial is not about murder or treason, but about politics, and that you are being persecuted for your politics. That is the only way in which I can save you from being convicted.”

  Dylis and Senovarus peered at Marcus expectantly, but on his couch, Marcus said nothing, his eyes staring down at the floor. Then slowly he raised his head to look at his two dining companions and, as he did there was something indomitable in Marcus’s gaze.

  “I swore an oath of allegiance and loyalty to the War Party,” he said sternly. “A solemn oath. Nigrinus may have become my mortal enemy and I may no longer be an active member of the War Party, but I still swore an oath. Such a thing cannot be undone. What you ask from me is dishonourable. No, I will not now break my word. I will not change sides and support Hadrian just to save my skin. A soldier’s oath once given, cannot be taken back.”

  ***

  The narrow city street was filled with noise and activity as Dylis led Marcus and Indus through the morning crowds and onwards in the direction of the Forum. Two days had passed since their arrival in Londinium. Leading the way down the street, Dylis looked tense and unhappy, as she cut a determined path through the crowds. Despite Marcus’s refusal to renounce his oath of allegiance, she had insisted that they proceed with her plan anyway. The compromise that they had settled upon was for Dylis to do all the talking, whilst Marcus remained silent, standing at her side. Grimly Marcus gazed at his sister as they strode on down the busy street. It was a messy and unsatisfactory compromise, a dysfunctionality at the heart of his defence, that would not and could not work. The speaking engagements and public appearances that Dylis had planned, were not going to sway the populace as soon as they discovered that his heart and loyalty were not with Hadrian. They were going to make a mockery of him, but Dylis had insisted and there was no doubting her determination.

  Around them, the busy street was teeming with shoppers and merchants and, from their simple, terraced two-room dwellings, the advertising cries of the shopkeepers mingled with barking dogs, bellowing oxen, shrieking children and the rundle of wagon wheels on the paving stones. At Marcus’s side, Indus, armed with his short sword and a knife, was gazing at the people in his usual silent and stoical manner; his alert eyes darting from one face to the next.

  The odour of unwashed bodies hung heavily over the crowds but, as they headed eastwards, the stench of raw sewage grew stronger. Soon they reached the small wooden bridge over the Walbrook and the source of the stench became clearer. The locals were using the small stream, that cut Londinium in half, as a sewer and rubbish dump. Wrinkling his nose in disgust, Marcus crossed the bridge as he followed Dylis eastwards along Watling Street. To his right, down an alley, he caught sight of the ston
e temple to Mithras, that stood on the banks of the Walbrook. Further down the river’s course, where the Walbrook split in two, he caught a glimpse of the Thames. A couple of hundred yards directly ahead of him, the huge, imposing colonnaded Basilica and Forum loomed above the densely crowded homes and buildings - like some giant spider sitting at the heart of its web. Reaching an intersection with a side street, Dylis paused and quickly turned to Marcus.

  “All right, the plan is to first try and attract the crowds in the Forum,” she said in a determined voice. “We need to drum up support and attention for our case. It’s market day today and the Forum will be crowded with farmers and their customers. It’s going to be busy and noisy with a lot of distractions. That’s why I have arranged for us to be given a few barrels, so that we can stand up on them and be seen and heard. We’re going to be competing with all the quacks, religious nuts and attention seekers. If anyone asks you anything Marcus, just smile. Give them your best smile and try to look innocent. I will do the talking.”

  “This is a shit plan,” Marcus snapped. “We’re wasting our time.”

  Ignoring her brother, Dylis sighed and turned to look back the way they’d come.

  “Once we have done the Forum we will head for the Amphitheatre,” she said. “There is always a good crowd there. After that we will visit the baths and the temples, ending today’s work outside the governor’s palace. An appearance there should get everyone’s attention.”

  “The governor’s palace. Is that a wise idea?” Marcus grunted in a sceptical voice.