Cogidubnus was first, head held high and secure in the knowledge that his people would prosper. Adminius, who had watched his rival with undisguised hatred, followed to reap the rewards of his perfidy. Of the others, Rufus recognized Prasutagus of the Iceni, and Bodvoc, the Regni king, who had the glazed eye and unsteady feet of a drunkard. One king did not look like a king at all; a small, wiry figure in shabby clothing whose eyes darted nervously and who looked as if he believed Bersheba was about to devour him.
And finally the delicacy that made the rest of the banquet seem like ashes on the tongue. Rufus felt the Emperor shift in his seat as Cartimandua, queen of the Brigantes, walked barefoot across the sward until she could almost touch Bersheba with her outstretched hand. She wore a shimmering gown of translucent blue that hinted at transparency but didn’t quite achieve it.
‘Down.’ Rufus was surprised by the command; this had not been part of the order of ceremony. But an Emperor’s order was an Emperor’s order. He touched Bersheba’s shoulder and she went to her knees, allowing Narcissus to help Claudius from the howdah.
He gestured to Cartimandua to approach. She really was strikingly beautiful. In a way she reminded Claudius of Messalina, only darker — and more dangerous. ‘Welcome, lady. Your fame and your devotion to your people have reached our ears.’ Narcissus handed him a long, cloth-covered bundle. ‘A gift, Queen Cartimandua, from your Emperor’s own hands, in recognition of past loyalty — and future service.’
Cartimandua bowed her head and accepted the parcel, but her eyes were puzzled. She slowly unwound the cloth wrapping and the Emperor was rewarded by a gasp of what might have been either admiration or outrage. The gift was a sword; a beautiful ceremonial sword in a bronze scabbard that had been polished until it glowed bright as gold. Scabbard and grip were decorated with what looked like rubies, but she knew were not. She recognized the sword. She had last seen it on Caratacus’s hip and though she did not know it, it had been found among his possessions in the aftermath of the battle. Perhaps the gift would do after all. She smiled her thanks and turned smoothly to return to the line of rulers, making certain all could see the worth of the Emperor’s gift. As she went, her eyes fell on the flame-haired figure who had stood emotionless by her husband’s side throughout the humiliation of the parade and the oath-taking. Boudicca of the Iceni gave a little half-smile that could have been mistaken for pity, and pushed the green cloak that matched her eyes back from her shoulders. For a moment, Cartimandua was dazzled by a blaze of light. When her vision cleared she recognized the golden brooch at Boudicca’s throat; the brooch in the shape of a boar with a ruby for its eye.
Narcissus saw her stiffen, and understood the reason for it. How..?
‘Two formidable ladies. I am glad I have neither for my wife.’ The Greek nodded dutifully at Claudius’s comment, though no one knew more than he that the Emperor would have been better served by either than the wife he had. ‘Ten rulers of Britain I believe you promised me,’ Claudius continued. ‘Though I think I counted eleven. Who was the little man, the one who smelled of the sea and was dressed like a street urchin?’
‘Why, Caesar, that was the most important king of all.’
Claudius stared at him. Narcissus was allowed licence beyond other courtiers, but not so much as to mock his Emperor.
‘King Donnal rules the Orcades,’ the Greek explained.
‘The Orcades?’
‘Islands, I am assured, at the edge of the known world. He must have been at sea for weeks. Apparently his island was once visited by Roman ships which brought gifts. He considers himself a client of the Empire.’
‘And why should the king of a few fishermen trouble the Emperor of Rome?’
‘Because, Caesar,’ Narcissus said with the utmost patience, ‘King Donnal’s submission extends your dominion to the very ends of this land and beyond.’
The realization dawned on Claudius slowly. Now he could go home.
XLIII
‘I am sorry for your loss.’
Rufus raised his head sharply and stared hard into Narcissus’s eyes. They were sitting in the Greek’s tent, which had been moved back among those set aside for Claudius’s closest aides.
‘Your son is well?’
‘He is well, but no thanks to you.’
Narcissus winced. He was forced to acknowledge that, this once, he had been wrong. He’d thought to spare them both a painful confrontation over Togodumnus’s brooch. If Ballan had retrieved it, Rufus would never have known. What was one more lost treasure in a camp full of thieves?
‘I should have realized Cogidubnus would seek the brooch out and that he would calculate you were the source of my knowledge. Owning it would have given him a hold over the Catuvellauni and the Trinovantes, perhaps the Dobunni too, and King Cogidubnus is an ambitious man. He has petitioned Claudius to create a new title — King of all the Britons, no less. Of the Druid’s movements I knew nothing. That was a lapse on my part, for which, I repeat, I am sorry.’
Rufus had a vision of Nuada’s predator’s eyes and shivered. Narcissus had recognized the power of the brooch’s symbolism, but he had scoffed at its so-called magic. Rufus was not so sure. He wondered at its potential in the hands of a woman like Boudicca. Perhaps it would have been safer with Caratacus. He said none of this. It didn’t matter any more. They were going home. Narcissus had just completed packing his effects when Rufus had arrived.
‘You have been a good soldier, Rufus. The Emperor wishes you to keep your Praetorian uniform, and creates you an honorary member of the Guard.’ The Greek reached inside the folds of his tunic and held out a small bronze plaque. ‘He also wants you to have this. He fulfils his promise.’
For a moment Rufus felt light-headed, and when he reached out his hand it was trembling. It was his manumission. He was free. ‘I…’
Narcissus held up a hand. ‘There is a condition.’
‘I…’
‘You must never return to Rome.’
It was as if the words were jumbled or spoken in a foreign language, the message was so improbable. ‘But why? I have never let him down. I belong with him. He-’ He stopped abruptly. ‘Who will look after Bersheba?’
Narcissus laid his hands on Rufus’s shoulders and forced him to look into his eyes. ‘That is the Emperor’s final gift to you and your son. Bersheba will remain here, in Britain, with you. You are free to come and go as you please in this land, but the legate has orders that you are to be kept on the ration strength as a soldier of the Twentieth. Bersheba too will retain her status, on condition that if she can be of use to the legion, you will provide her. You must understand, Rufus, that this is for the best. You have seen and heard too much for the Emperor to be comfortable in your presence.’
Rufus opened his mouth to protest, but the truth of what he was being told suddenly became clear. The Emperor’s gift wasn’t only freedom, it was life itself. How much easier to rid himself of this nuisance on the voyage back to Rome, with a knife in the back and a weighted sack into the depths? Who would miss a slave and his son?
Narcissus continued, his tone almost kindly. ‘You have two great assets. The first is your self. You are intelligent and hard-working and many a man has made his fortune on those qualities alone. Never underestimate your worth. The other is large and grey and cleverer than both of us put together. Use her well, and kindly, and you and Gaius need never go hungry.’ He smiled and turned to go, then hesitated as if he had changed his mind. ‘I almost forgot. Here is my gift.’
He held out two small leather bags. Rufus took them. They were heavy and he realized that they were familiar. Even Narcissus’s gifts were not what they seemed. The last time he had held the bags was when his friend Cornelius Aurius Fronto had shown them to him in Rome, promising him their contents would buy his freedom. Narcissus had claimed they were lost for ever.