Hammer of Rome Page 6

  He pushed Domitian from his mind and remembered his father’s final words. ‘I think I am becoming a god.’ A genuine smile this time. How typical of the man that he would face approaching death, and a vile death at that, with the contents of his bowels streaming down his thin legs, with a joke. Yet there was more to the words than merely a jest. Vespasian had known they would be remembered and repeated. They would make his rise to the godhead all the more legitimate, and that legitimacy would pass to his son, who would become Emperor in his stead.

  Titus knew his advancement would not be universally welcomed. The views expressed by Marcellus and the late Caecina were more widely held than he could accept with equanimity, spread and encouraged by those who should know better. Yet Vespasian had prepared the way with the same meticulous attention to detail that characterized his military campaigns. Almost every day of his reign had, in one form or another, been devoted to ensuring an orderly transition that would place his elder son upon the throne of the Empire. Seven consulships, the appointment as Praetorian prefect, priesthoods beyond number, a triumph at his father’s side, the hailing as Imperator by his legions. All Titus lacked was the title of pontifex maximus, high priest of the temple, and he would accept that honour on the day he donned the purple. Rome would thank Vespasian for ensuring a smooth transition, with none of the confusion and bloodshed that had characterized the reigns of his four predecessors. Titus would be proclaimed Emperor and his appointment confirmed by the Senate and people of Rome.

  But the first question any emperor faced was: how long could he keep it?

  That would depend on the legions. His generalship in Judaea had made him a favourite of the legionaries, but a man could never be too careful. History showed that the legions would follow the lead of the men who governed their provinces. Of these, the two Germanias, Inferior and Superior, were the most important, because they were garrisoned by eight legions, all close enough to march on Rome in less than three weeks, as the late and unlamented Caecina had proved. Priscus, at Colonia Claudia, was an old comrade of both Titus and his father, and could be trusted to keep his legions loyal. Corellius Rufus in Germania Superior was an unknown quantity to Titus, but he wouldn’t move from Mogontiacum without Priscus’s support or he risked pitting legionary against legionary on equal terms. That would invite either a bloodbath or the removal of Rufus’s head, neither of which he suspected the proconsul would be prepared to risk.

  Gaul and Hispania he could discount. Their garrisons were not strong enough to rebel against a sitting emperor. The Balkan legions were spread across their mountainous region and would take months to unite, so they could also be ignored for now. An image of a tall, silver-haired man swam into view in his head. Flavius Silva, in Titus’s old Judaean stamping ground, was another old comrade and the hero of Masada.

  Silva had revered Titus’s father. Between them, he and Ulpius Trajanus, once commander of the Tenth Fretensis but now governor of Asia, could be relied on to keep Praianus, proconsul of Syria and a man known to have lofty ambitions, safely in his palace in Antioch. Logically, there didn’t appear too great a threat, but who knew the undercurrents and intrigues those bald statements of fact hid. When he thought about it, Silva might be a welcome ally closer to home. The Senate still hadn’t confirmed his triumph for his great victory. Yes, a triumph and a consulship would guarantee Titus a good man to cover his rear. In truth, Silva probably didn’t need the incentive, but there were others who might. Aulus Veieneto for one, a greasy little worm, but one who had made himself a necessary part of government. Caelius, too, might be thrown a bone. And …

  ‘You will share my first consulship as Emperor, of course, brother.’

  ‘It would be my honour.’ The tone didn’t quite match the words.

  Titus turned away from his father’s body. Of course it would be an honour. For whatever reason, Vespasian had never chosen to grace Domitian with anything but a temporary suffect consulship. Titus knew his brother regarded it as a calculated slight, but had never had the courage to raise the matter directly.

  ‘He was a good man.’

  ‘He was a great emperor.’

  Titus studied the other man for a long moment, trying to detect any hint of a challenge in the pale grey eyes. Of similar height to his brother, but with a slim, almost slight build, Domitian had sandy hair styled in tight curls. His jutting, rather fine nose marked him as a Flavian, but he had a weak chin he tried to disguise by thrusting it forward aggressively like a ship’s ram. No challenge, but no hint of grief in the expressionless eyes either. The end had not been unexpected, Vespasian’s medicus had predicted he wouldn’t last the night. Still, there should have been some show of emotion for the man who had shaped their lives and raised them from the sons of a family of penniless equestrians to princes of Rome. Titus’s throat tightened as he remembered the moment the slim hand had slipped lifeless from his grip. Now was not the time for suspicion. Vespasian had striven to create a dynasty. It was up to his sons to make it happen.

  ‘Come, Domitianus, we must help the clerks prepare the official announcement. I intend to accelerate work on the great arena so we can stage a games on his birthday such as has never been seen since Nero.’

  Domitian murmured his agreement as they walked from the room side by side. Titus would have been concerned had he seen the almost contemptuous sidelong glance his brother gave him, but his mind had already moved on to the dilemma that had eluded him earlier.

  Britannia. Julius Agricola held sway over four legions on the gloomy island where Titus had served as a young tribune. Agricola was Vespasian’s man, but the son had never taken to the aristocratic soldier. Titus regarded the governor as a subtly ambitious politician with more faces than a gambling die who had timed his defection to Vespasian’s cause suspiciously close to perfection during the civil war.

  His father had believed the province a backwater of little value and certainly not worth the services of four legions. Yet too much had been invested – in gold and blood – to abandon the place. Instead, Vespasian had ordered Agricola to emasculate and subdue the northern tribes, so that at least one legion could be withdrawn.

  For the moment it suited Titus that Agricola continue to execute his father’s strategy. A governor busy avoiding Caledonian skinning knives would be too busy to become involved in the political manoeuvring that would follow the succession. Yet in the longer term it might be better to have Agricola closer to hand. A new face replaced the governor’s, scarred and savage, the lips twisted in a parody of a smile. One of the very few men he could call friend. Yes, it could do very well.

  VIII

  Londinium

  She was being followed. It wasn’t so much a possibility as a certainty. The years she’d spent carrying messages for Berenice of Cilicia had taught her to trust her instincts. And her instincts had saved her life. Yes, she was being followed. But by whom?

  Tabitha clutched little Olivia closer to her breast and tightened her grip on Lucius’s hand, but she continued her leisurely contemplation of the silversmith’s wares. ‘How much for this?’ She released Lucius’s hand and held up a slim bracelet to the hovering shopkeeper.

  ‘That piece would be two denarii, lady,’ he said. ‘It is some of our finest work.’

  Tabitha smiled. It was a pretty enough trinket, but it could never be called fine. ‘I think you have looked upon my soft clothes and mistaken me for someone who uses gold aurei for loom weights.’

  The man, a Greek or Armenian if she were any judge, pretended a look of shock. ‘But lady, do I not have six mouths to feed? The silver itself is worth a denarius, the craftsmanship …’

  ‘Still,’ she said.

  He sighed, a man used to oppression, but one who knew when a compromise was required. ‘One denarius and four sestertii then. I would be robbing myself if I let it go for anything less.’

  Tabitha contemplated the bracelet again, and shook her head. ‘I will think on it, but first let us see if you have anythin
g else that would suit me.’ The shopkeeper held the curtain aside and she entered the darkened interior with the children, followed by her maid.

  ‘Livia, please take Olivia and Lucius while I search for a present for the lady Domitia.’

  The girl accepted Olivia, who at six months was already a squirming bundle of mischief, and took Lucius by the hand. Tabitha picked up a piece of jewellery and carried it to the door as if to inspect it in the natural light. She stood in the shadow and gently pulled the curtain aside, just enough to have a view of the far side of the street. A street of metalworkers, midway between the fort and the governor’s palace, and busy today. The people she saw pass by were mostly Romanized Celts, with a scattering of off-duty legionaries, and the occasional exotic foreign merchant to be expected in a cosmopolitan trading centre. One or two slowed to study the wares on the silversmith’s table, but at first she could detect no one taking an undue interest in the shop.

  Then she saw him. He was standing in the doorway of a shop opposite and, like Tabitha, almost lost in the shadows. As she watched, another man appeared with a copper pan in his hand and began a conversation. She was no lip-reader, but from what she saw she could tell the second man was trying to sell the first the pan. The gestures became more animated and eventually the first man shrugged and stepped out into the light.

  Short dark hair, medium build, not young, but not old either, the sort of face you walked past on the street every day without noticing. Not a slave or a servant – they acted in a certain way she could always recognize – and he wore the nondescript clothes of an artisan. His face was set in a frown of concentration and his eyes never left the front of the silversmith’s shop. Had she seen him before? She didn’t think so. But that meant nothing. The important thing was she had identified him and would know him again.

  The question was what to do about it. Her first instinct was to leave by the back entrance. Most of the shop-owners lived behind their premises, for reasons of security, convenience and economics. Yet all that would do was alert whoever was having her followed. Her shadow would be replaced by someone else, possibly someone more competent.

  ‘Do you have a boy who would send a message for me?’ She reached beneath her shawl for her purse and pulled out a copper as.

  ‘Of course, lady.’ The man bowed his head.

  ‘Then fetch him, please.’

  ‘Cestus!’ the shopkeeper called. A small tousle-haired boy not much older than Lucius appeared through a curtained doorway at the rear, holding a shabby piece of cloth. ‘My son. He’s a bright lad. You can rely on him.’

  Tabitha pulled a ring from her finger and placed it in the boy’s palm. It was a gold circlet set with a small gemstone and of obvious quality. Cestus was obviously fully aware of its value and he looked from the ring to his father with consternation, but the silversmith only nodded. ‘You are to take this to the villa that stands by the broad stream, opposite the fort,’ Tabitha told the child. ‘The one with the eagle statues on the gateposts. You know it?’

  ‘Yes, lady,’ the boy said nervously. ‘The quickest way would be through the cattle market and up by the baths.’

  ‘Good,’ she said. ‘You will ask for Ceris, the Celtic girl. Say you come from the lady Tabitha, give the ring to her and ask her to return with you immediately and to bring Rufius. Immediately, you hear?’

  ‘Yes, lady, but what if—’

  ‘Ceris will understand,’ Tabitha assured him. ‘Now go. Your father will give you this as when you return.’ When the boy would have pulled aside the entrance curtain she stopped him with a word. ‘No, go out by the back door and return the same way.’

  When he was gone the father turned to Tabitha. ‘My lady, if I’d known you were the wife of the legate of the Ninth I would have—’

  ‘It is no matter.’ Tabitha rewarded him with her most forgiving smile. ‘Now, we will spend a few more minutes studying this beautiful work, then go back outside and take a final look at the bracelet. I think I will buy it as a present for the governor’s wife.’

  When they stepped out into the sunlight the man who’d been watching the shop darted back into the metalworker’s doorway. As she picked up the bracelet Tabitha heard a muffled conversation that ended with a snarled threat. She pretended to study the trinket for a few moments until she caught the unmistakable sound of someone entering the shop from the rear. ‘Yes, I’ll definitely take this,’ she said to the silversmith.

  Inside, the boy was waiting expectantly beside a slim, pale girl with close-cut black hair, piercing blue eyes and a sullen cast to her thin lips. Tabitha nodded to the shopkeeper to pay his son and drew Ceris aside. Livia, the servant girl, stood by the wooden counter with Olivia and Lucius, with a look of frank curiosity on her stolid features.

  ‘I suppose you’ll want this back.’ Ceris handed Tabitha the gold ring. On another occasion the glint in the Celtic girl’s eyes would have prompted a light-hearted exchange between two women who had formed an unlikely friendship despite the difference in race and class, but they had little time.

  ‘Where is Rufius?’ Rufius was Ceris’s lover and a member of Valerius’s escort. He’d been left behind with five others to guard the household while the legate was on campaign.

  Ceris shrugged. ‘He had to go to the fort. The boy said it was urgent so I came alone.’

  Tabitha pursed her lips. It would have to be enough. ‘Go to the door, but do not let yourself be seen. Tell me what you see on the street.’

  Ceris did as she was asked. ‘I see a man who thinks he is invisible,’ she said quietly. ‘And who has an unlikely interest in silverware, judging by the fact that his eyes never leave this shop.’

  ‘He followed us here.’

  ‘And now you want to know where he goes and to whom he reports?’

  ‘If it can be done without exposing you to danger.’

  ‘While he is concentrating on you it will be simple. The difficult part is when you return to the villa and he is on his own. Perhaps he will see the servant girl skipping along in his wake.’ Ceris laughed. She wore a simple short tunic over a long skirt, and a shawl draped across her back. With a deft flick of the wrist she turned the shawl into a hood and bent her shoulders in a way that added thirty years to her age. ‘But not the elderly matron hobbling from shop to shop. Give me to the count of a hundred.’

  ‘We won’t be returning to the villa just yet,’ Tabitha warned as Ceris made for the rear entrance. ‘I have business at the palace.’

  With Ceris gone, Tabitha took a moment to compose herself. ‘Now, how much do I owe you?’

  But the silversmith would take nothing for the bracelet. ‘Please let this be my gift to you. All I ask is that the governor’s lady knows whence it came.’

  ‘Of course,’ Tabitha agreed. ‘And I hope I can count on your discretion about anything which may have looked … curious today.’

  The shopkeeper gave her a wry look. ‘To a man of my calling nothing is curious and silence comes as second nature.’

  ‘In that case, I will ensure that all the governor’s friends are also aware of the quality of your merchandise.’

  ‘Tabitha!’ Domitia Decidiana greeted her with a radiant smile and a kiss on the cheek. She was a few years older than Tabitha and from a family that gave Agricola entry to the highest levels of Roman society. They’d become firm friends despite a certain reserve that existed between their husbands. ‘And you have brought the children.’

  Her delight couldn’t have been greater. Tabitha knew Domitia liked little more than to spend an hour with Olivia wriggling against her breast. Yet her greatest joy was Lucius. She laughed to see his endless energy and restlessness, but look closer and you could see the shadow in her eyes. She had borne a son who would have been of a similar age, but died in infancy.

  Eventually, Domitia handed Olivia back to the servant girl and she and Tabitha lay on couches to exchange gossip about acquaintances and the meagre news they’d had from their husbands. Eventual
ly, Tabitha produced the bracelet.

  Domitia accepted it with a little gasp of delight and immediately placed it on her wrist to hold it up to the light. ‘It will go perfectly with my new dress,’ she said.

  Before the governor’s wife could thank her, Tabitha told her that when the shopkeeper had discovered the identity of the recipient of the gift he’d insisted on giving her it for free. ‘He seems honest, and his workmanship is of the highest quality. I said I would recommend him to you and your friends.’

  ‘Of course.’ Domitia smiled. ‘We will arrange a visit.’

  A servant coughed discreetly in the doorway. ‘The governor’s aide is waiting in the outer room.’

  ‘Oh.’ Domitia put a hand to her mouth. ‘You must forgive me, Tabitha. I’m so forgetful these days. I’m to accompany Metilius to welcome some dreadful delegation of merchants. Julius hasn’t made his decision whether to allow them an import licence yet, but we must maintain the proprieties.’

  ‘Of course, Domitia.’ Tabitha smiled. ‘It is time we were going in any case.’

  Before they could move they heard a boyish shout from outside the window. Tabitha stepped into the garden where a muscular young man was wrestling playfully with Lucius. Metilius Aprilis had long aristocratic features and crimped dark hair and wore a formal toga of the best finespun wool.