And battle there would be; Vespasian was sure of it. As Plautius had predicted, the bulk of the Britons had crossed the Tamesis, despite the best endeavours of the fleet, which had massacred thousands in the water. The auxiliaries had tried to follow them through the marsh tracks to the river, but without local knowledge they found it all but impossible and many foundered, sucked into the slime, weighed down by their chain mail. A couple of Batavian cohorts did manage to find a way through and foolishly swam across, only to be repulsed with heavy losses by a few thousand tribesmen who had rallied on the north bank, despite receiving artillery support from the ballistae mounted on the bows of the fleet’s triremes.
Vespasian reached the front of the column. He raised his arm in the air and, with a slight flourish, swiped it down; a deep horn sounded, the signal was relayed and the II Augusta moved forward. Before them, two auxiliary cohorts scouted ahead in open order with two more on either flank; behind followed the XX and XIIII Legions, both without their legates — although Sabinus had been pronounced fit enough to travel in a covered wagon. Geta, however, although conscious, was very weak from loss of blood and had been despatched to the hospital tents at Rutupiae, along with the other wounded.
As he rode, Vespasian contemplated Narcissus’ skill in engineering a situation whereby from a safe distance back in Gaul he could force an enemy to expose himself for what he was and thereby set in train a sequence of events that might well topple an empress. Again, he knew that he was being used as a small piece in a bigger game; but it was ever thus in the murky world of imperial politics whose fringes he felt he would be always destined to inhabit — unless, of course, he retired to his estates. But, then, would he be happy to live out his life quietly as he had once wanted? A life in which his only excitement would be, as Sabinus had described it so disparagingly, to see if this year’s wine would be better than the last. He thought back to that conversation two years previously in Germania: at the time he had genuinely considered retirement as a way of avoiding being caught up in imperial politics, but now he realised that his brother had been right, he would be bored. Now that he had commanded a legion in battle and received the praise of his commanding officer for his conduct; now that he knew he was capable of such command and that there would be more battles ahead from which to learn, how could he possibly retire to a farm and watch the changing of the seasons? He looked back at the legion at whose head he was riding and exalted in the pride that he felt. There would be no retirement — at least not yet — he would continue his career and the price would be his involvement with politics.
He consoled himself with the fact that this time his role was more crucial in that he now had to judge how long it should be before he reported to Plautius what he was sure his scouts would be telling him in just a few hours. He knew that it was imperative for Corvinus to have enough time to damn himself completely in Plautius’ eyes; it was not so much that he cared about Narcissus’ power struggle with Messalina — although he realised that in the choice of the two evils he was better off with Narcissus winning that struggle — it was the chance of revenge for Corvinus’ abduction of Clementina and deliverance of her to Caligula for violent and repeated rape. He smiled coldly, his eyes set with satisfaction, as he contemplated the sweet sensation of delivering vengeance upon a man who had so wronged his family.
‘You’re looking pleased with yourself,’ Magnus said, pulling his horse up next to him. ‘Did you have a particularly good shit before we left?’
‘I did, as a matter of fact. Where’ve you been? I was looking for you earlier to tell you all about it.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry to have missed out on that treat; but don’t worry, I’ve been down to see Sabinus and he made up for it by easing one out in his wagon whilst I was there. More to the point, I saw my orderly mate again and he told me that he had overheard a mightily displeased Plautius ask Geta to explain to him why he made the elementary mistake of letting his unit probe too deeply into the routing enemy and allowing forty of his precious cavalry to go absent without leave across the Styx.’
Magnus paused; Vespasian waited for a moment and then looked at him. ‘Well, go on then, tell me what he said.’
‘He didn’t really have a reason, he just said that he’d been fired up with enthusiasm and it would never happen again.’
‘Did Plautius accept that?’
‘Apparently; he shouted at Geta for a short while, until the doctor advised against it for medical reasons, and then he left, seemingly satisfied with the explanation, and with no more than a warning about not being a reckless arsehole in his army again and a vague threat concerning his testicles, a weighty hammer and an anvil.’
‘It doesn’t make sense. Whatever you might think about Geta, he’s got a reputation as being an excellent soldier; just take the Mauretanian campaign, for example — from all accounts his conduct was exemplary. He’s not the sort of person to make a stupid mistake like that.’
‘We all do, now and again.’
‘If you’re alluding to my failure to advance quickly enough on Cantiacum, it’s not the same; I’m not nearly as experienced as Geta and yet I know not to lose my head and go chasing off into the heart of a horde of very angry Britons with just my legion’s cavalry.’
‘Fair point; but there was a time when you might have lost your head.’
‘I’m over that now.’
‘Thank the gods; I always thought that that would be how you’d get yourself killed. But I agree, Geta wouldn’t do that. Anyway, who gives a fuck? He’s done it now and pissed off Plautius into the bargain.’
‘You’re right, I suppose, it’s just a pity he didn’t get himself killed along with all the other poor sods he did for. How’s Sabinus?’
‘Oh, he’s much better, the wound’s healing up like a Vestal’s gash; the doctor says he can ride tomorrow, so he’ll be fine for your little chat with Corvinus.’
‘I’m pleased to hear it,’ Vespasian replied, looking ahead to where Paetus was riding towards him. ‘Here it comes.’
‘Here comes what?’
‘Decision time.’
‘My patrol has just returned from the Tamesis crossing, sir,’ Paetus reported as he slowed his mount.
‘And apart from a century on either bank there was no sign of the Ninth?’
The young prefect looked momentarily astonished. ‘How did you know, sir?’
‘That doesn’t matter; send that patrol out again, I don’t want that to be public knowledge.’
‘But Plautius-’
‘Will be told when the time is right; I’ll take the responsibility for it, Paetus, you’ve just got to trust me. As far as you’re concerned the Ninth is making itself nice and comfy on the northern bank of the Tamesis and if you say otherwise to anyone I think that you’ll find yourself on the wrong side of Narcissus.’
Paetus raised his eyebrows. ‘I’d rather not find myself on any side of Narcissus, sir. I’ll report back when I’ve got news that the Ninth have finished building their camp.’
‘Thank you, prefect, I’ll be very interested to know just how long it takes them.’
Paetus grinned and saluted.
Magnus looked dubious as Paetus rode away. ‘This is a very dangerous game that Narcissus has got you playing, sir. When Plautius finds out it won’t just be Geta’s testicles that will be feeling the weight of the general’s hammer, if you take my meaning?’
‘I’m rather hoping that it’ll be Corvinus’ balls that’ll receive Plautius’ kind attentions.’