It was the kind of conversational flattery used socially by adults and it was plain, by his stammering response, that it was something Marcellus was unused to; what Claudia did not take into account was his lack of a mother as well as the constrained life he led, and the lowered eyes hid from her the fact that the young man’s admiration was not confined to her late husband. The woman before him was not only aristocratic and sophisticated — she was, even in mourning, still young and very beautiful, and for a boy on the cusp of puberty, she had great allure.
Quintus’s voice, with a distinct note of pique, broke the intimacy of their conversation. ‘I cannot command that Cholon speak with you, Lucius Falerius. Besides he is no longer under this roof. My father freed him in his will, and left him a great deal of money, which I fear has gone to his head.’
‘Then I shall appeal to him as a Roman citizen. Surely having just gained such a distinction he will take that seriously.’
‘If I may be permitted to advise you, Lucius Falerius,’ said Claudia, ‘appeal to him as a person who served my husband, and can serve him still by telling you all you want to know about that slimy toad who betrayed him and left him to die.’
‘I have no doubt that Vegetius Falerius deliberately sacrificed my master to further his own career and if you question my word, talk to the centurion Didius Flaccus, for it was he Aulus Cornelius sent to ask for reinforcements.’
Lucius knew all about what had happened in Illyricum, as well as at Thralaxas. He had read all the despatches and having questioned Vegetius’s officers, he had a very clear story of what the man had done. He even had it attested by the gubernatorial priests that the abandonment of Aulus and his men was a deliberate act brought on by jealousy and anger and not some tactical mistake, for the governor had asked them to sacrifice a goat and read its entrails to ensure that his actions would bring him the success he craved. He had even spoken to Flaccus to find out what Aulus had seen and done on that reconnaissance to the south where he had first realised the extent of the revolt.
Nothing the ex-centurion said had been any more enlightening than what Cholon was telling him now but it was necessary to go through the motions of questioning this newly freed slave to get to the nub of what he wanted to know. So he let him ramble on, and even sat with an air of seeming compassion as Cholon wept, until the man had drained himself of any more to say about the nobility of his late master, or the treachery of Vegetius.
‘Did your master ever mention to you anything about eagles?’
‘Eagles?’ Cholon sniffed, dried his eyes and looked confused. ‘We saw lots. Illyricum, at least the mountainous part, is full of them.’
‘Flying.’
‘That is what eagles do.’
‘Did Aulus refer to them in any way?’
‘Not that I recall.’
‘I was thinking perhaps of one that had had its wings clipped, one that might try to fly but could not.’
Cholon was clearly confused. ‘I saw no such creature.’
‘You were close to your master?’
Cholon wanted to say, ‘Closer than you know,’ but actually said, ‘Every waking moment, and I slept in the antechamber to his tent. The only time I was not, was because he sent me away. Why do you ask?’
Lucius waved an airy hand. ‘Nothing really, just something Aulus and I talked about many years ago. It was something we were told as children, and plainly the possibility exists that it was false.’
‘Might I ask what?’
Lucius was quite sharp. ‘If your late master declined to enlighten you, I think it only fitting that I should do the same.’
Cholon responded in kind, enjoying the new freedom that allowed him to address someone like Lucius as an equal. ‘When are you going to impeach Vegetius?’
‘You are sure he deserves it, Cholon?’
The Greek bridled. ‘He deserves to be tied into a sack with a dog and a snake and thrown into the Tiber, yet where is he? Sitting outside Rome with his legion waiting for the Senate to vote him a triumph.’
‘Trust me, Greek, the Senate will know how to do the right thing.’
‘Greetings, Lucius Falerius,’ said Vegetius Flaminus, his voice decidedly tremulous. ‘And welcome to the camp of the 10th Legion.’
The ex-governor was curious about the box that his visitor’s slave brought in but there was no way he could ask what it contained. He was hoping that Lucius had come to tell him he was about to support the motion to grant his triumph, which would guarantee acceptance, yet nothing in the censor’s demeanour hinted at such a thing. But then, Vegetius reminded himself, Lucius was not called Nerva for nothing. He was famous for his ability to mask his thoughts; he might be contemplating that, or a ritual disembowelling, you could never tell. That he had come out of Rome to see him in his legionary encampment, without lictors or escorts, was a positive sign.
‘I do what I must. Since successful generals are not permitted to enter the city without approval, I have to come to you, as I feel we need to speak.’
Vegetius indicated a table laden with fruit, bread, sweet delicacies and wine. ‘May I offer you refreshments?’
Lucius waved aside the offer, visibly disappointing his host who had put off nibbling at the spread so as not to disturb the careful arrangement. He was hungry and craved a glass of wine, but that was nothing new; to a man like him such desires were permanent. Lucius was thinking that Vegetius had got fatter since he had last seem him and he had, on the day he had been granted the governorship, been no slim creature. He had expanded especially in the jowls; the lips, red and wet, had always been unattractively thick.
‘I take it you captured much spoils from the rebellion?’
‘Cart loads. We stripped the living as well as the dead.’
You would, thought Lucius. You probably stripped every household in both provinces to make your triumph look more impressive. ‘Good. I would like to examine them if I may.’
The ‘why’ died on Vegetius’s fat lips. ‘As you wish. Do you need me to accompany you?’
‘No, Vegetius, I will be content with a man of lower rank to show me the carts. Meanwhile, you are obviously in need of food and drink, so you can indulge yourself while I am away.’
‘I can wait,’ Vegetius replied, unconvincingly.
‘Open that box I brought with me while I am absent, it may help to suppress your appetite. I will talk to you about what it contains when I return.’
Lucius was handed over to a slave, then to an old soldier who was responsible for the triumphal trophies. They were behind the Praetorium, rows and rows of carts laden with helmets, swords and shields, animal skins and tribal symbols, too many to examine individually. Fortunately the old man with him had helped to load them from the mess they were in when they first came into the camp.
‘Eagles? Don’t recall seein’ any, your honour, it not bein’ a symbol that the buggers use, beggin’ your pardon. They’re strong on wolves and bears, daresay ’cause they hunt and kill them, and I have seen the odd big-toothed fish, river sort, but not eagles.’
‘Who helped you load these?’
‘Praetorian guards, and a mighty moan I got from them for the order, they seeing it as beneath them.’
‘Fetch them.’
‘All of them, your honour? There be some on duty guarding the general.’
‘Vegetius is safe enough here in Italy, don’t you think?’
The old soldier would like to have replied that he was not sure, for he knew the man he served was a dab hand at making enemies, but that was not the kind of remark the likes of him made to Lucius Falerius so he did as he was asked. The soldiers came, all were questioned, and none could recall a single instance of an eagle. Finally satisfied, Lucius sent them back to their duties.
Vegetius, who had been reading the scrolls that lay in the chest, the private letters of Aulus Cornelius to Lucius Falerius, had nearly died of heart failure when his Praetorian Guards were removed, mystified when they came back and took up their posts. Then he had the thought that he was not much loved by his soldiers. Lucius did not need replacement sentinels on the Praetorian tent; some of his own soldiers would no doubt gladly take part in his arrest. That he was about to be arrested was obvious for everything he had ever done that could be misinterpreted was listed in Aulus’s letters, and, typical of the stuck-up snobbish bastard, he had seen it all in the worst possible light. Vegetius was not vain enough to believe that he was wholly innocent of the odd bit of self-serving, but that was what it was, the kind of little peculations that any provincial governor got up to. Not Aulus Cornelius of course; his predecessor had been so rich he had not indulged even in what was unquestionably his by right.