Reaching the bottom they began to scramble along the rocks back to the isthmus. As they negotiated the treacherous slabs of rock, Vespasian felt the urge to stop and look back at the sheer cliff above; seeing Myrddin standing there, he knew that the thought had been placed in his mind.
‘Vespasian!’ the druid cried. ‘We will let you go. Your guardian god’s will has proven too strong for us and our power cannot fight it — this time. Go! Leave this island and return to Rome where you may yet fulfil the prophecy laid out for you. But remember, nothing is absolute; there are many ways for a man to accept death willingly without him realising. We failed to secure yours because we made the mistake of allowing you to see the true extent of our power before you came here. Therefore you feared us. We see that now; Alienus will pay dearly for leading you to Sullis. We pray that another will succeed where we have not and by your death, which we still demand, help to bring to an early end the abomination that threatens the freedom of us all that, even now, grows in the bosom of Rome. The abomination that, although you will have the power to do so, you will not crush.’ Myrddin extended his right arm and held his palm towards Vespasian for a few moments before walking backwards to disappear behind the brow of the cliff.
‘What was that all about?’ Magnus asked.
‘I’ve no idea; what he said made no sense to me whatsoever.’
‘Said? He didn’t say a word; you just stared at each other. And none of us could move.’
Vespasian looked into Magnus’ one remaining eye and saw he was in earnest. ‘I’ve had enough of this; let’s get away from here.’
*
Vespasian’s chest was tight by the time they descended into the haven, following the downhill path of the stream that flowed into the inlet. A marine optio met them, looking nervous to see his commanding officer whom he had left to die.
‘It’s all right, optio,’ Vespasian reassured him, ‘I can’t blame any man for running from that horror.’ He looked over the man’s shoulder to his men who were busy floating the Cornovii’s currachs. ‘Have you sighted the ships?’
The tension on the optio’s face cleared and he looked mightily relieved. ‘Yes, sir; they’re about a quarter of a mile offshore.’
Four of Cogidubnus’ followers pushed a currach over and held it steady for Vespasian to climb in. ‘Good; how many men have you got here?’
‘Just seventy-four, sir.’
‘Seventy-four! That’s worse than I thought.’
‘Well, it’s seventy-six actually.’ The optio nodded to the men holding the boat as Magnus got reluctantly aboard. ‘But a couple rowed one of Cogidubnus’ men with your message out to the master trierarchus about half an hour ago.’
‘I didn’t send any messages.’ Vespasian turned to Cogidubnus. ‘Did you?’
‘No.’ The King shook his head and raised his eyebrows in admiration as he swung himself into the currach. ‘But you’ve got to hand it to the man; he’s got balls.’
‘I don’t suppose the two lads floating with their throats cut are feeling that complimentary about him right now,’ Magnus pointed out, settling heavily in the bow.
‘We could chase him.’
Vespasian sighed in resignation as Cogidubnus’ men pushed the boat out before jumping in to man the oars. ‘No, he’ll have headed further southwest. By the time we’re all aboard he’ll have a two-hour head start; we’ll never catch him. I’d like to know how he escaped from Judoc, though.’
Cogidubnus took up the steering-oar. ‘There seems to be nothing that can hold him; best just to kill him as soon as you have him.’
‘Well, that’s down to you now, Cogidubnus. Kill Alienus when you find him. Although where he will go with Rome, you and Myrddin all wanting him, I don’t know.’
The King’s florid, round face cracked into a smile as his men pulled on the sweeps, propelling the boat out into the harbour. ‘He’ll turn up. Men who want vengeance always do.’
‘Yes,’ Magnus muttered, dabbing at his seeping socket, ‘and normally they turn up just when you least expect them to.’
‘Oh, I’ll be expecting him every day; it’ll give me great pleasure to send his head to you in Rome.’
Vespasian patted the Britannic King’s shoulder. ‘Cogidubnus, my friend, when I’m back in Rome the last thing I shall want to receive is a souvenir of this island, however pretty it might be.’
PART III
CHAPTER XI
The sea, calm and azure, reflected a myriad of tiny, transient suns off its gentle undulations. Vespasian squinted and pulled his face into an expression even more strained than had become the norm during his last six years under the Eagle of the II Augusta. Above, the cause of each fleeting flash of golden light burnt down from its midday high onto his uncovered, thinning hair with an intensity that had been just a memory to him after so long in northern climes far away from Rome. Feeling the strength of the sun warming his body warmed his heart in equal measure as he watched the warehouses, cranes and tenements surrounding the ship-lined harbour of Ostia, just a mile away on the southern bank of the Tiber mouth, come closer with every shrill-piped pull of the trireme’s one hundred and twenty oars.
The flitting shadows of gulls played on the wooden deck, bleached by sun and salt and worn smooth by sailors’ calloused feet; swooping and soaring above, they serenaded the ship with their mournful cries as they escorted it on its final leg of the sixday voyage from Massalia via Corsica. Vespasian turned his head left, shading his eyes, and tried to focus on the huge construction site a couple of miles north of the Tiber and Ostia; two great curving moles extended into the sea enclosing what would be a spacious harbour at whose centre, on a rectangular man-made island, stood the beginnings of a lighthouse.
The trierarchus, standing next to him, saw the direction of his gaze. ‘Claudius had one of the great ships that Caligula built to transport obelisks from Egypt filled with rocks and concrete and then sunk to provide the foundations for the lighthouse.’
Vespasian whistled softly as he surveyed the thousands of tiny figures slaving away — literally — on the new port and the buildings surrounding it. ‘That is a massive undertaking.’
‘It’s even bigger than what you can see; Claudius has ordered that a canal be cut to the southeast to link the port to the Tiber. That way the river transports won’t have to brave the open sea with the prevailing wind blowing straight up the river mouth as they have to when coming to and from Ostia.’
‘It’ll put Ostia out of business.’
‘I doubt it; Rome is becoming so big that she needs two mouths to feed her.’ Laughing at his wit, the trierarchus began to issue incomprehensible orders of a nautical nature, sending bare-footed sailors scurrying around the deck in preparation for docking.
Vespasian adjusted his toga and walked over to join Magnus, leaning on the larboard rail and admiring the scale of the project. ‘Do you remember when we sailed into Alexandria and saw the Pharos, and I said that’s the way to be remembered: build something that benefits the people?’
‘What of it?’ Magnus asked, not bothering to turn his blind eye to Vespasian.
‘You asked who built the Circus Maximus and when I didn’t know you said, “See, it doesn’t always work.” Well, this time it will work: Claudius will be remembered as the Emperor who built Rome’s great harbour and not the drooling fool who invaded an irrelevant island to fake a victory that will never and can never be complete because the inland tribes have little interest in the benefits of becoming Roman.’
‘You’re wrong, sir; he’ll always be remembered for that and future emperors will curse him for giving them a thorn in their side that they can’t walk away from without losing face and endangering their position. And Claudius has chosen the wrong project to be remembered by: the Pharos is finite; it’s as big as it’s going to be. That port, however, can always be improved upon. I’ll bet whatever you like that the next few emperors, whoever they are, will expand it or just change its name out of spite as they struggle to put down another expensive rebellion in Britannia.’