Cogidubnus turned to Vespasian, anger burning in his eyes. ‘We have our answer. They were good men.’
Vespasian pulled on his mount’s reins, turning back towards the labouring legionaries of the II Augusta who were now constructing a new camp having force-marched all day. ‘A night assault it is then.’
‘The lads have been told to get some sleep now, it’ll be a short night,’ Maximus reported to Vespasian in the crowded interior of the lamp-washed praetorium tent.
Vespasian glanced around the shadowed faces of his officers. ‘If you’re all happy with the plan and your orders, then I suggest that you do the same, gentlemen. There’ll be a silent reveille at the sixth hour of the night; any man making unnecessary noise will be dealt with severely. Primus pilus, make sure that your centurions understand that; I know it goes against their nature to give orders in anything quieter than a bellow but tonight they’re going to have to try.’
‘They’ve all been told, legate, and are all prepared to bring down righteous retribution on malingerers with no more than a purr.’
‘Good. So to recap, the four cohorts taking part in the initial phase of the assault, as well as the Hamians, will muster in the Via Principalis immediately after the reveille. The rest of the legion and the auxiliaries will stand-to in the camp ready to march out and form up in front of it in support once the assault has begun and noise won’t be an issue. The gates will be opened at the seventh hour, after the moon has set, and all five cohorts will be in position an hour after that, giving us four hours until dawn to take the fort. Goodnight, gentlemen.’
With a chorus of crashed salutes the officers turned and made their way from the tent. Vespasian slumped down onto his chair and rubbed his eyes, dismissing any thought of writing his report to Plautius about yesterday’s storming of the hill-fort.
‘I’ve warmed you some wine, master,’ Hormus said, stepping out from the private quarters.
‘What? Oh, put it on the desk.’ Vespasian watched his slave approach; his eyes were lowered and everything about his demeanour spoke of subservience. ‘Do you think that I believe you lied to me about the lamp?’
‘It doesn’t matter what I think, master; it won’t alter anything.’
‘But surely you don’t want me to think that you are untrustworthy?’
Hormus placed the cup before his master. ‘No, but if you believe me to be so then how can I change that?’
‘By telling me the truth now.’
‘Master, before you bought me I had three owners in my life; my first master, in Lugdunum, in Gaul, used to bugger me brutally from almost before I can remember-’
‘But he was probably your natural father!’ Vespasian cut in aghast.
Hormus raised his eyes slightly so that he almost met Vespasian’s. ‘Whatever I was to him in blood had no bearing upon how he treated me or my sister.’
‘You have a sister?’
‘I did; whether I still have, I don’t know.’
Vespasian picked up the cup and blew on its hot contents. ‘Tell me.’
‘After my mother died our master lost interest in us as he always used to abuse us in front of her; it made it more enjoyable for him. With her gone we were nothing more than two extra mouths to feed, so he sold us. Where my sister ended up I don’t know; she was a couple of years older than me so old enough for the brothels.’
‘What happened to you?’
‘I was sold to an elderly man who not only buggered me but forced me to do the same to him and whipped me if I was unable to. He died two years ago and his sons sold off his slaves as a job lot to the slave-trader, Theron. He locked me and twenty others in an airless wagon and transported us to Britannia to sell at a premium to officers in the invasion force who would rather not have freshly enslaved locals near them, for obvious reasons.’
‘And it was quite a premium that he did charge, the rogue. But what has all this to do with telling me the truth about the lamp?’
Hormus met Vespasian’s eyes for the first time in their relationship. ‘Because, master, in the months since you bought me I have never been happier in my whole life.’ His gaze dropped back down to the floor. ‘You don’t abuse me or beat me; you don’t starve me nor do you give me a cold stone floor to sleep on, and my duties are not arduous. Why would I risk that happiness by lying to you about anything, let alone something as trivial as whether or not I lit a lamp?’
Vespasian looked at his slave, realising that he had never before really noted the young man’s features. He would be able to describe him, yes, but only in broad terms; the fact that his thin nose was slightly upturned, his eyes hazel, his chin weak and slightly undershot beneath a patchy, black beard trimmed without any special attention to regularity had not previously pierced his consciousness. It was an unremarkable face, the face of a man of no consequence, the face of a man whose definition of happiness was made up entirely of negatives. ‘I believe you, Hormus.’
Hormus looked up again; his eyes were moist and a faint smile quivered on his lips. ‘Thank you, master.’
Vespasian waved the gratitude away and instantly regretted the gesture as the smile faded and Hormus’ chest heaved with a suppressed sob. ‘I’m sorry, Hormus; I understand why you feel thankful. Now, enough of this; if you didn’t light the lamp and if you are sure that no one came into my room then how do you explain it?’
‘I can’t, master. All I can say is that my mother told me that when something strange happens it is a god trying to warn us about something and that you should pay special attention to anything that seems not quite right.’
Vespasian thought about this for a few moments, sipping his drink. ‘I suppose that could make some sort of sense,’ he mused eventually. ‘A god, one of my gods, perhaps my guardian god, Mars, would have the power to do that; it’s well known that the gods can manifest themselves. It’s a lot of trouble to go to just to frighten me, but to warn me, now that’s a different matter. What sort of signs have you had?’
Hormus looked momentarily confused. ‘Me, master? What god is going to bother with the likes of me; what god even knows I exist? But a man like you, a powerful man, would easily come to their attention and if you have made a big mistake or overlooked something then it would make sense that they should try to warn you. My mother knew this because she was the daughter of a great man — but he was also a foolish man; she told me that twice he had received a warning from the gods, both times after he’d had a conversation with his younger brother. One time it was a cup that shattered just as he picked it up and the other time it was a torch lighting itself, just as your lamp did. His wife, my grandmother, told him that it was a god trying to warn him that he was making a mistake in trusting his brother and that he should kill him or, at the very least, exile him. He took no notice of her or the god and laughed the whole thing off. The next time the brother came, he came with many men and killed him and his wife and sold all his children into slavery.’
‘So you’re the grandson of a chieftain?’
‘No, master, I’m the son of a slave woman.’
‘Have it your own way.’ Vespasian downed the rest of his wine and stood. ‘I’m going to bed now, wake me in three hours.’
‘Yes, master.’
‘And thank you, Hormus; I shall think about what happened yesterday and see if there is anything that a god might take the time to warn me about.’
Vespasian shivered; his breath steamed in the cold night air as he stood, watching rank upon rank of shadowy figures emerging from the camp’s gates. Even though the men had been given orders to muffle their equipment, tying rags around their scabbards and hobnailed sandals, there was still the occasional metallic clank or jangle that made Vespasian look nervously towards the dark shadow that was the fortified hill. The many fires within the settlement had all died down, leaving just a few trails of smoke rising as darker smudges in a sky that was almost completely devoid of light.