'Not in this instance, but you're wise to be cautious. No, I was merely trying to reassure you that your commanding general is not quite the fool you seem to think he is.'
'Sir!' Vespasian protested. 'I never meant to-'
'Peace, Legate.' Plautius raised his hands. 'I know what you and the others must be thinking. In your place I would feel the same. But I am the Emperor's man, charged with doing his bidding. Should I fail to obey his orders I'll be damned as insubordinate, or worse. If I fail to beat the enemy I'm also damned, but at least I'll have the defence that I was only obeying orders.' Plautius paused. 'You must think me contemptibly weak. Maybe. But one day, if your star continues to rise, you will find yourself in my position, with a talented and impatient legate anxious to execute the necessary military strategy without once considering the political agenda from which it emanates. I hope you remember my words then.'
Vespasian made no reply, just stared coldly at the general, ashamed of his inability to confront the man's patronising comments. Homilies delivered by senior officers could only be listened to in frustrated silence. 'Now then,' Plautius continued, 'the good news I promised you. Your wife and child will be travelling with the Emperor.'
'Flavia will be in his entourage? But why?'
'Don't feel overly delighted at the honour. It's a large party, well over a hundred, according to Narcissus' dispatch. I imagine Claudius just wanted to be surrounded by colourful types to keep him entertained while he's away from Rome. Whatever the reason, you'll get the chance to see her again. Quite a looker, as I recall.'
The cheap comment soured Vespasian even further. He nodded, without any attempt to convey manly pride in the possession of a wife of such striking appearance. What was between them went far deeper than any superficial attraction. But that was personal, and he would break the confidence of such an intimacy with no man. The thrilling prospect that Flavia would soon be travelling towards him was quickly submerged by anxiety about her inclusion in the Emperor's entourage. People were requested to attend the Emperor on his travels for one of two reasons. Either they were great entertainers and flatterers, or they were people who posed a sufficient threat to the Emperor that he dare not leave them out of his sight.
In view of her recent plotting, Flavia could be in the greatest possible danger – if she was under suspicion. Within the pageantry of the imperial court's travelling party, she would be secretly watched. The faintest glimmer of treason would result in her falling into the sinister claws of Narcissus' interrogators.
'Will that be all, sir?'
'Yes, that's all. Make sure you and your men make the most of the time while we wait for Claudius to arrive.'
The Eagles Conquest
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Once the fortifications were completed, three of the other legions were ferried across the Tamesis and moved into their allocated areas. The auxiliaries and the Twentieth legion remained behind to guard the army's draught animals which grazed over an enormous region on every available strip of pasture land. A string of small forts stretched out along the lines of communication all the way back to Rutupiae and occasional convoys of supplies trundled up to the front, returning empty apart from those bearing invalids destined for an early discharge and subsequent dependence on the corn dole in Rome. Most of the supplies were now being carried along the coast and thence upriver by the transports of the invasion fleet.
A huge supply depot had been established in the legions' encampment, and every day more rations, weapons and spare equipment were unloaded, carefully recorded by the quartermasters, and deposited within the meticulously marked-out grid laid down by the engineers. When the army next took to the field, it would be as well-provisioned and planned as it had been at the start of the campaign.
The legionaries rested while they waited for the Emperor and his coterie to arrive, although there were still many duties to perform. The fort's walls had to be manned, latrines dug and maintained, forage parties sent out to secure firewood and seize any supplies of grain or farm animals they might discover, and scores of other routine duties that comprised army life. Initially the forage parties had set out in full cohort strength, but as the cavalry scouts continued to report few signs of the enemy, smaller groups of legionaries were permitted to leave the camp during daylight hours.
Although Cato had been excused duties until he had fully recovered from his burns, he found that he needed to fill his days doing something useful. Macro had scoffed at his request to help him catch up with the administration. Most veterans placed a premium on snatching as much free time as possible and had learned all the tricks and scams to get out of duties. When Cato presented himself at the centurion's tent with an offer to help, Macro's first inclination was to question what the optio was really up to.
'I just want to do something useful, sir.'
'I see,' Macro replied with a contemplative scratch of his chin.
'Something useful, eh?'
'Yes, sir.'
'Why?'
'I'm bored, sir.'
'Bored?' Macro responded with genuine horror. The possibility of rejecting the chance to indulge in the panoply of off-duty activities of legionary life was something he had never considered. He pondered the matter for a while. Any normal optio might have discovered some new wheeze for screwing extra rations or payout of the century's accounts. But Cato had demonstrated a quite deplorable integrity in his administration of the century's records. In his more charitable moments Macro assumed that Cato must be directing his powerful intelligence into some hitherto overlooked opportunity for personal enrichment at the army's expense. In his less charitable moments he put the lad's conscientiousness down to youthful ignorance of army ways, which experience would eventually put right. But here he was, abusing his excused-all-duties status, and actually requesting something to do.
'Well, let me think,' said Macro. 'The dead men's accounts need settling. How about that?'
'That's fine, sir. I'll get started right away.'
As the bemused centurion looked on, Cato heaved open the lid of the century's record chest and carefully extracted the financial accounts and wills of all the men marked down as 'discharged dead' on the most recent strength return. Before the wills could be validated, each dead man's accounts had to be brought up to date with every chargeable item of equipment offset against accumulated savings. The net value of the legionary's estate was apportioned according to the terms set out in the man's will. If no will existed, written or oral, then strictly speaking the estate should be conferred on the eldest male relative. But in practice most centurions claimed that the man had made an oral will bequeathing their worldly goods to the unit's funeral club. Such additional sources of revenue were needed on active service to fund the large number of memorial stones required. The increased demand pushed up prices, and the grief that the legion's masons felt at the deaths of their comrades was in some small measure assuaged by the tidy sums to be earned in preparing their tombstones.
In the shade of the awning at the front of the centurion's tent, Cato sat quietly, finger moving from item to item, mentally adding up the debts and subtracting the totals from the figures in the savings column. Many of the dead men had left behind more debts than savings, reflecting the fact that they were recent recruits, who were always less likely to survive than seasoned veterans. Most of the names meant little, but some leapt from the page and brought a wave of sadness: Pyrax, the easygoing veteran who had showed Cato the ropes when he had arrived in barracks; Harmon, the bovine brick shithouse who entertained his comrades with farmyard impersonations and ear-splitting farts on demand (perhaps that last was no great loss to civilisation, Cato decided on reflection). They were all men like himself, once living, breathing, laughing human beings with their complement of virtues and faults. Men he had marched alongside for the past months, men who knew each other better than most men know their own families. Now they were dead, their rich experiences of life reduced to a line of figures on a financial record scroll and the few personal belongings that made up their bequest.