Seneca objected to what he termed the luxury of such a conveyance. I was a criminal taken under arms, and therefore under sentence of death already. I must be made an example to everyone meeting us on the road — Caius's own original contention — so there could be no hint of softness in the treatment accorded me. On this point Caius could not reasonably disagree, and so they compromised. I would travel on a cart, but in a manner of Seneca's devising. Caius told me this in the dead of the night before we were to leave. He felt terrible, I could see, about the way in which I would be forced to spend the next week, but I shrugged my shoulders and told him to put it out of his mind. I would be riding, even on a cart. That had to be better than walking the entire distance to Londinium.
I must have been mad to think so, knowing that Seneca had the ordering of my passage.
Nevertheless, I slept well that night, aware that the men who guarded me would be my own. All of them knew what was happening, and I would have trusted any of them with my life without a moment's thought. It occurred to me just before I fell asleep that that was exactly what I was doing.
They took me out before dawn and allowed me to wash in cold water before leading me to my cart. I blinked at it in the pre-dawn light, seeing only the single pole that had been sunk into the floorboards and fastened securely with braces. Only my own men were around as they helped me up on to the flat bed, and there we waited for a space of minutes. Finally Draco, the chief of my guards, spoke in a low voice.
"I don't like this one little bit, Commander. Not one bit, and neither do the others. You say the word and we'll have you out of here in no time."
I grinned at him in the greying light and stretched my arms straight downwards, not wanting to look too relaxed in case we were being watched. "Don't worry about it, Draco. It's better than having to walk. I'll be all right."
"You think so?" His voice was an angry growl. "I doubt it. We're waiting for chains. That whoreson wants to keep you standing all the way to Londinium."
"So? Then I'll stand. I've spent half my life standing, usually over a forge."
"Aye, but not chained to the damned thing. You are to be chained to that post. You won't be able to fall down, even if you pass out."
"Then I won't pass out. We'll be in Londinium within the week. After that, everything will be fine."
"Hum! I hope you're right. But a week's a long time to stay on your feet."
"I'll manage it."
I could see his face clearly now. There was an expression of doubt and concern stamped on his features. "I hope so, Commander Varrus, I hope so. But I'll tell you, the minute you pass out, or one of these fancy horse-topping bastards starts to abuse you, that'll be the end of it. We'll spill blood."
I reached out and laid my hand on his arm, swiftly and cautiously. "No. You will not. But I thank you for the concern, Draco. I think the only time you will have to worry for my safety is at night, and even then, there should be little danger."
"Aye. Here comes their armourer."
I heard the clank of chains and the sound of hobnailed sandals approaching, and one of Seneca's centurions came straight towards us and vaulted nimbly up to where I waited. I was looking curiously at the apparatus he held in his huge hand but could not make it out clearly, except for the coils of chains. He left me little time to wonder what it was, for he dropped the long length of chains on the wooden deck and hoisted the thing up to my gaze.
"Right. Let's see you get out of this, rebel," he snarled.
The apparatus was a pair of thick, wide leather belts, one much longer than the other, joined by two short lengths of chain. These chains were attached to each of the belts by strong rings through the leather. He buckled the larger of the belts around my waist, tight, and then attached the smaller one to the thick post behind me. I stood motionless until he was finished, and then tested the strength of my binding. It was solid. I could sway my body no more than two handspans to right or left, and had no hope of sitting down. The thought of just relaxing occurred to me, and I bent my knees, letting the whole of my body weight drop into the belt. It was thick and solid, catching painfully beneath my rib-cage. Little hope of comfort there.
"All right, take off those irons on his wrists."
I held out my hands and Draco unfastened the light manacles I wore.
The centurion chuckled and jumped down from the cart again. "You're going to love this, rebel."
I watched, uncomprehending, as he raised a thick, heavy iron ring that had been fastened to the side of the cart directly to my right and fed one end of the long chain through it. It was a big ring. Big enough for the manacle on the end of the chain to pass through it easily. And it was a thick, heavy manacle, too. Much bigger than the ones Draco had just taken off me.
"You're just going to love this," he said again, talking to himself more than to me, and he sprang back up onto the bed of the cart, breathing slightly more heavily now. I was looking at the chain. It was almost six paces in length and it was strong. I knew, because I had forged it myself, though someone else had added the manacles to it. He squatted at my feet and reached across to thread the manacle on the other end through a matching ring on the opposite side of the cart, pulling it firmly through and straightening up to face me.
"Now," he said, and he smiled so that I wanted to kick him in the balls. "Let's have your wrists. Hold them out."
I did. I had no choice. The manacles were tight, biting at my wrists, which had always been thick.
"Now, one wrong move and I'll smash your lights out," he grunted, fumbling at his belt with one hand while he held the hinged clasp about my right wrist with the other. He produced a length of iron wire, again my own, I suspected, and held it in his teeth while he drew out a pair of small tong-like pincers that had also been stuck in his belt. Then, his breath coming more and more rapidly as he concentrated, he threaded the iron wire through the bolt holes of the manacle and began to twist the ends with the pincers, drawing the halves of the bracelet together until I hissed with pain. When he was satisfied that it was tight enough, he repeated the procedure with my other wrist. I gritted my teeth in silence, but I knew then it was going to be a long journey.
"Good!" He stepped back and surveyed the job he had done. "Now!" He knelt at my feet and took twin grips on the chain, pulling it both ways through the ring bolts at the side of the cart until my arms were taut. He gauged the tension of my arms, and then released the pressure so that they sagged a little. "That's better! We don't want it too tight, do we?"
"Don't we?" I asked, trying to keep my voice unconcerned. "Why not?"
"Well, rebel, we have to leave you room to sway with the wagon."
He ignored me then and returned to his work and I watched in wonder as he drew carefully at the chain in each of his hands, gauging and adjusting until at last he had two links touching, one protruding from each of his fists, with the remainder of the chain, the middle part, piled beneath.
"Here. You. Give me a hand here!"
Draco had been standing by all this time, watching in silence, and I could see from his face that he was about to explode. I frowned at him, catching his eye, and shook my head warningly, indicating that he should do as the centurion demanded. He knelt beside him, his face a study of disgust.
"What?"
"Hold these links while I bind them together." He repeated his trick with the iron wire, binding the links together strongly, and I still could not see the purpose behind this. The chain was far too long. It would have been a simple matter to measure the length needed and shorten it. Draco thought the same thing. "Why not just shorten the chain?" he asked.