‘Thank you, dominus,’ Castus said with lowered eyes.
‘You will make a further and more detailed report to my notaries,’ the emperor went on, in a harder, brisker tone, ‘giving all pertinent information on the Picts, their forces, their leaders and their strongholds. Centurion, you are dismissed.’
Castus saluted, then paced backwards until he reached the purple drapes and passed out of the Sacred Presence. He dared not breathe until he reached the fresh air of the garden colonnades.
He was halfway across the vestibule to the main doors when he heard his name called again. The eunuch in the embroidered linen tunic gestured to him.
‘Centurion Castus,’ the man said again, in that same flat voice. ‘You will now make your report to the notary. Come.’
Already? Castus thought, with dull foreboding. He had been looking forward to finding Valens and drinking a cup of good wine, in celebration. The eunuch nodded, as if in answer to the silent question. Foolish to imagine, Castus told himself, that he had escaped with such ease.
He followed the eunuch down narrowing corridors, away from the palatial wings of the praetorium and into the admin shy;istrative area. The eunuch paused at an open door, and motioned with his palm. The room beyond was a small dining chamber, the couches moved back to the walls and a couple of chairs placed beside a low table in the centre. A man in a plain blue tunic sat waiting. Castus recognised him at once. That bland face, the skinny throat, the ugly bowl-cut hair. Julius Nigrinus, Tribune of Notaries.
Castus felt an uneasy pressure growing at the nape of his neck. The door was closed, and they were alone.
‘Please be seated,’ Nigrinus said. ‘Take some wine, if you like.’
Castus sat down. The notary had a waxed tablet open in his hands, and was passing his eyes over the written text.
‘This is the report you gave to Arpagius,’ he said. He closed the tablet and dropped it on the table. ‘A fascinating document. Is it all true?’
‘Of course,’ Castus said. He could barely hear the notary’s quiet laugh.
‘Stirring stuff!’ Nigrinus went on. He sipped wine. ‘Of course, I’m sad shy;dened to learn of the death of Aelius Marcellinus. And Strabo too, particularly. Strabo was one of my most effective agents in this province.’
‘Your agents, dominus?’ Important to retain the correct address, Castus told himself. This was not personal.
‘Yes, mine. I’ve been in charge of all the intelligence opera shy;tions in Britannia Secunda for some years now. So, as you can imagine, centurion, I’m very interested in what you can tell me of… affairs in the north.’
His voice was too smooth, too subtle. Castus tried to remain impassive. The man was goading him in some way. But to what end?
‘Was there anything, do you think, that you failed to mention when you made your report?’
The line was before him now. Castus dared himself to step across it. Nigrinus was an imperial officer, a tribune, and it was his duty to tell him everything he knew. Had Cunomagla not asked him to do just that? Tell the imperial command about her support for Rome, her innocence in the deaths of the king and the others? Yes, Castus thought – but whom was he to tell, and when? He stayed silent.
‘Arpagius tells me’, the notary went on, ‘that you did mention something to him, subsequent to your official report. He tells me you claim to have spoken with a renegade Roman officer named Julius Decentius. Shortly before putting him to death, of course… He tells me that this Decentius made certain allega shy;tions about imperial involvement in the uprising. Do you have anything to say about that?’
‘I told the governor all I know… dominus.’
‘Indeed.’ Nigrinus picked up a gold stylus and circled it between his fingers. ‘Well, it’s an extraordinary story.’
‘So is it true?’ Castus felt the heat rise to his face as he spoke. The notary put down the stylus. When he spoke again his voice was stony cold.
‘True?’ he said. ‘Is it true that the emperor planned to provoke an uprising among the Picts? What do you think, Centurion?’
‘I… I don’t know. Dominus.’
‘The emperor,’ Nigrinus said, leaning forward, ‘does not plan anything! The emperor merely wishes for certain things to be. It is up to others to plan – others such as me, centurion. And others still to carry out those plans.’
Castus clamped his jaw shut and spoke through his teeth. ‘My men died!’
‘They were soldiers. Dying is their job.’
A long moment passed, glaring. Castus had already been threatened with death for desertion – what would the punish shy;ment be, he wondered, for murdering an officer of the imperial household? Perhaps one day he would find out. But not yet – not with the balance so steeply set against him. He breathed out, tried to ease his shoulders down from their aggressive hunch.
‘But of course,’ the notary said, in a mild tone, ‘the story isn’t true at all. Merely the rantings of a condemned man. I don’t blame you for being troubled by it – in those circumstances, who wouldn’t be? But I happen to know that this whole sorry episode was planned and directed by somebody else.’
‘Somebody else?’
‘Hmm. In your report you mentioned several of the Pictish chiefs and leaders – one Talorcagus… Drustagnus… But it turns out that the conspiracy to assassinate the old king and several others and create a breach with Rome was led by a woman!’
Castus said nothing, but his heart was beating fast.
‘Yes! Who would credit it? A barbarian Cleopatra. This woman, Cunomagla is her name, was the wife of one of the murdered men. Apparently she wanted to use a war with Rome to extinguish the entire royal bloodline and leave the succession open to her own bastard offspring. So this unsavoury bitch, this harlot princess, arranged the poisoning of the king, his chief supporter and her own husband and fixed the blame on… well, on you and your party.’
Stunned, Castus sat with his jaw hanging loose. The man was lying – of course it was not true. That was his first reaction. But then, he thought, but then… He remembered those nights in the hut, when Cunomagla had come to him. Her offer of marriage, then her demand that he carry her promise of allegiance back to his commanders. If the other leaders were slain in battle, she would be left in control and Rome would not act against her. It made terrible sense. But everything inside him revolted against the idea.
‘I dare say,’ Nigrinus continued, ‘that the renegade Decentius was probably part of the plan himself. Apparently he was a former paramour of this Cunomagla woman. Oh, they’re most profligate, the barbarians – they wrestle in their kennels with anyone, their women fuck without thought or feeling. But soon enough she and all her people will suffer a just punishment.’
‘Dominus?’
‘It’s too late in the season now. But next spring the Augustus Constantius will lead an army into the north to harry the Picts and destroy their lands and homes. They must learn that they cannot rise against Rome with impunity! Then, no doubt, their leaders will die or be delivered up to us, and pay with their lives for their crimes. Your men, centurion, will be avenged.’
Castus managed to nod. A fierce anger was boiling in his throat. Anger against this sly officer and his duplicity; anger against the Picts. Anger against fate, and against Cunomagla for involving him in something he could not hope to understand.
‘Tell me something, centurion,’ the notary said. ‘Do you believe in the gods?’
‘Yes. Of course.’
‘And you believe the gods direct our fate?’
Castus blinked, uncertain. His anger had chilled into a glazed loathing.
‘Our friend Strabo had his own faith, did he not? His belief in that single all-knowing, all-loving deity. Do you think it was a comfort to him, his Christianity, when he died?’