Roman Boy, page 5
At the end of his career, Valerius had been posted to Londinium, where he had served in the Governor’s Guard. It was a great honour – the Governor was appointed by the Emperor to run the province. There were a thousand troops in the Guard, and they were based at the fort in the north-western corner of the city. A few were chosen for duty at the Governor’s residence, and Valerius had been one of those men.
Lucius was impressed. He felt even more grateful now to Fortuna for leading him to the door of The Two Eagles, and offered another prayer of thanks to her. As he worked that morning, he looked forward eagerly to Valerius’s return. He didn’t have to wait as long as Arwenna had predicted, either. Valerius was back well before noon – but his news was disappointing. His visit to the fort had been unsuccessful.
“Titus wasn’t there,” said Valerius. “The Governor has gone on an inspection tour up north, and he’s taken half the Guard along with him for company, including Titus. They’re not due back in Londinium again until after the Midwinter Festival.”
“That’s a long time,” said Arwenna. “Isn’t there anyone else you can talk to?”
“Not really,” said Valerius. “Titus handles recruitment, so he’s our best bet.”
“I don’t mind waiting,” said Lucius. “But that doesn’t solve the problem… Callistus and his killer could turn up at any time. We’ll be in danger all the time I’m here.”
Valerius put a meaty arm round Lucius’s shoulders, pulling him close.
“I’ve thought about that,” said Valerius, grinning. “Just leave it to me.”
There was a great deal of coming and going at The Two Eagles over the next two days. Plenty of customers as usual, of course, but lots of Valerius’s friends as well – soldiers who had retired, men who were still serving, and men who had never served at all. Valerius was putting out the word that he wanted to track down a certain man, someone who had a broken nose and a patchy beard and wore a green cloak.
“We’ve found him,” said Valerius on the third day. “His name is Sicarius and he spends his evenings in a tavern by the river. I think we’ll pay him a visit…”
That night, Valerius and Lucius made their way through the dark streets towards the river, along with four of Valerius’s friends. They were tough-looking men, and Lucius knew they had swords concealed under their cloaks. Valerius had his sword as well, but Lucius was unarmed. It was a cold, misty evening, damp and chilling, so Lucius was glad Arwenna had given him a thicker cloak to wear.
At last they came to a tavern called The Dragon’s Nest. A torch hung on the wall above the sign, its flames casting flickering shadows. Valerius positioned his men on either side of the tavern’s door. He stood in the middle of the street, right in front of the door, with Lucius at his side. Lucius had no idea what was about to happen, but he could feel his heart pounding as if it wanted to burst out of his chest.
Just then the tavern door opened and three men emerged. They were wearing cloaks with the hoods up – and suddenly the terrible dream that had been hovering at the edge of Lucius’s mind came flooding back. The empty streets of Rome, flashes of lightning, the Temple of Jupiter, three priests in black robes, two holding him while the third pressed a blade to his throat, Jupiter reaching out to crush him…
“So we meet again, my friend,” said Valerius. He grinned and slowly pulled his sword out from beneath his cloak, the blade gleaming red in the torchlight.
The three hooded men stopped, one in front of the other two. Lucius saw it was the man who had chased him, Sicarius, and also that he looked surprised. But then Sicarius’s expression changed, and he smiled in the cruel way that Lucius remembered.
“Hail and farewell, you old fool,” said the man. He pulled a blade from beneath his cloak, a sword this time, not a dagger. “You have done my work by bringing the boy to me, and in thanks I will send you down to the Underworld together…”
He moved swiftly forward and Valerius did the same, their swords striking each other in a ringing clash of blades, sparks flying from them. Lucius was scared for Valerius. Sicarius was the younger man, and it was obvious he thought he could win easily. Yet Valerius parried every blow from his opponent, then went on the attack, relentlessly hammering away at Sicarius, steadily beating him back.
Sicarius’s two companions were no help to him either; they had immediately been seized by Valerius’s friends, disarmed and held at sword-point. Soon the fight was over, Valerius roughly knocking the sword from Sicarius’s grasp and ramming him up against the tavern wall. Valerius held him there, the edge of his own sword blade pressed hard to the pale white flesh of Sicarius’s throat.
“So, Lucius, what would you like me to do with him?” said Valerius, his eyes fixed on Sicarius’s. “It will probably save us a lot of bother if I just kill him now.”
Lucius knew without a doubt that Valerius was serious, and so did Sicarius. He turned his eyes to Lucius. There was no fear in them, but for an instant Lucius felt a sense of power. All he had to do was give the word to Valerius, and the life of this man who had tried to kill him would be finished, his blood splashing onto the cobbles of the darkened street… But the feeling vanished as quickly as it had arisen.
“Let him go, Valerius,” said Lucius. “I don’t want anyone to be killed.”
“As you wish,” said Valerius. But he tightened his grip until his forehead pressed on Sicarius’s. “Be thankful the boy is merciful,” Valerius continued, his voice quiet and full of menace. “Trust me, I won’t be if I ever see you in Londinium again.”
Then Valerius stepped back, releasing him, and nodded to his friends to free Sicarius’s companions. Sicarius rubbed his neck, staring at Lucius, the red light of the torch flames dancing in his eyes. Then he walked away, followed by his men.
That night there was a celebration at The Two Eagles. Valerius and his mates drank toasts and sang the old marching songs of the Legions, pleased with themselves and their escapade. Lucius looked on, trying to feel happy, yet all he could think about was the disturbing dream that had come back to him. His mood grew dark once more, and he drew apart as soon as he could, slipping upstairs to his room.
He thought nobody had noticed, but Arwenna followed and asked him what was wrong. At first he wouldn’t speak and just lay on the bed, his face turned from her. Yet she refused to leave him, and eventually it all came spilling out.
“There is strong magic in such a dream, as in the prophecy you were given,” she said at last. “The Gods have spoken to you twice, Lucius, and you must listen.”
“But what does it all mean? I would do what they want if I understood.”
“We have another saying in my tribe,” murmured Arwenna. “Follow the path if you want to know where it leads. Perhaps you are truly destined for greatness.”
“Do you think so?” said Lucius, surprised.
Arwenna smiled, and shrugged. “Why not? Such could be your fate. My people worship the Great Mother, the eternal Three-In-One Goddess who knows all. I will pray to her for you.”
Later that night, Lucius lay in bed, listening to the sounds of the city outside the tavern – a man yelling in a strange tongue, the barking of a distant dog. Lucius liked the idea of being destined for greatness, but it was a frightening thought too.
He recalled Hadrian speaking of a path – the one Lucius was fated to take. If only he could see the way ahead more clearly, he thought as he finally fell asleep.
NINE
SECRET OF THE LEGIONS
AUTUMN PASSED INTO early winter, the sky over Londinium turning grey, the weather cold and often rainy. The Two Eagles was warm and cosy, so it stayed busy, and Lucius helped out, quickly growing used to the working rhythms of the tavern’s days and nights. Yet he still felt uneasy, not quite believing that he was safe, fear filling him every time he saw anybody in a green cloak with the hood pulled up.
Valerius finally put his mind at rest. One afternoon he took Lucius into the city and showed him the House of Callistus. The doors were shut and bolted, the window shutters closed and barred. Lucius could see that the house was deserted.
“He’s gone; cleared out with his slaves a few days ago, according to a friend of mine,” said Valerius. “So you really don’t have to worry any more, Lucius.”
That did take some of the burden from him. He began to enjoy the city, Arwenna encouraging him to wander the streets as he had done in Rome. Londinium was much smaller, but there were plenty of interesting things to see. The city had its own Forum, a fine bath-house, a Temple of Jupiter, and even a Temple of Isis, the Egyptian Goddess who had become popular throughout the Empire.
The strangest thing was coming across a statue of Hadrian. The Emperor had visited Londinium a few years before, to take control and order his great wall in the north to be started. He had also given permission for a new Basilica to be built, a large hall where the Governor could live and hold court. So the Governor had set up a statue of Hadrian in front of it. Lucius marvelled at the close likeness.
He discovered that others spoke the same tongue as Arwenna’s tribe. He picked up a few words, much to Arwenna’s pleasure, and she taught him many more, as well as the meanings of her people’s names. Her own meant “the bright, shining one” – Lucius thought it suited her well. He remembered Gaius talking about the Britons being wild savage, yet Arwenna was kinder than most Romans Lucius had known.
“You learn fast, Lucius,” she said one day. “I’ll make a Briton of you yet.”
Valerius snorted when he heard that, but Lucius was learning from him too. He gave Lucius sword lessons with his own weapon – it was a gladius, the short, stabbing sword of the Legions. Valerius was happy to talk about his life with the Eagles, too. Lucius listened enthralled to his tales of postings in every part of the province, his battles, his thoughts about Britannia’s many tribes.
Lucius learned that the southern tribes had grown used to being in the Empire, and were more than half-Roman these days. But as Gaius had said, some northern tribes still resisted. Hardly a year went by without conflict of some kind, tribes raiding or fighting each other, or taking the war trail against Rome. Lucius recalled Gaius talking about the trouble a few years ago, and Valerius said it had been very bad. One Roman Legion – the Ninth Hispana – had been entirely cut to pieces.
“So if it’s that hard to hold the province, why do we bother?” asked Lucius.
He and Valerius had gone down to the river to collect wine for the tavern. They were standing outside a warehouse, waiting for the amphorae Valerius had ordered to be brought out and loaded onto their hand-cart. It was a bitterly cold afternoon, the grey sky heavy with dark clouds, and there were few people around.
“Because it is Rome’s destiny to rule the world,” said Valerius, shrugging as if it were obvious. “Besides, there are riches here too – gold and tin mines in the west, grain from the southern farms, plenty of timber, hunting dogs, slaves…”
“Why then is Hadrian having a wall built in the north?” said Lucius. “Has he given up on the idea of conquering the rest of Britannia? Surely that would mean he doesn’t believe it is Rome’s destiny to rule the whole world, only part of it.”
“Who knows what goes on in the mind of an Emperor? Your job in the Eagles will be very simple – to obey his orders and kill the enemies of Rome. And believe me, Lucius, there will be plenty of barbarian warriors who will want to kill you.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” Lucius murmured, the memory of a flame-haired warrior suddenly filling his mind. “Perhaps joining the Eagles might not be such a good plan for me after all. It seems I will simply be exchanging one killer for many.”
“True, but at least you won’t be on your own,” said Valerius with a grin. “You’ll have your brothers beside you. That’s the secret of the Legions. We train together, we live together, we fight together. We fight for Rome, but also for each other.”
Lucius hadn’t thought of that either. Now he did, and it sounded good.
Time seemed to pass a little more quickly after that. The Midwinter Festival came and went, with sacrifices at the temples, prayers to the Gods of Rome, Britannia and Egypt for the return of the sun, and much drinking and singing in all the taverns. It grew colder in the following days, the north wind bringing snow. But it also brought the Governor back to Londinium, and with him came Valerius’s friend Titus.
Valerius went to the fort as soon as he heard they had returned, and this time the news was good. Titus was happy to help, so it was arranged that Lucius should go to the fort himself, in the company of Valerius, of course. The pair of them set off from the tavern in the late morning of the next day. A pale, weak sun was shining down on the streets, and the snow was beginning to melt into filthy slush.
At last they came to the fort. Lucius had seen it in his wanderings, but he had never got this close before. Now he studied it carefully. Its stone walls were more than four times the height of a man and surrounded by a ditch. Lucius knew there were four gates, one in each of the fort’s sides, and Valerius had brought him to the main gate, facing the city. Two sentries stood guard, blocking the way.
Both wore thick cloaks and leggings, leather ankle boots, red tunics, round iron helmets and the armour of the legions, the lorica segmentata. Valerius had explained to Lucius that this was made up of iron strips connected together to protect the upper body, while still allowing plenty of flexibility. Each sentry had a sword and a dagger in wooden scabbards hanging from a leather belt, and was holding a spear.
“All right, lads?” said Valerius, nodding at them. “Optio Titus is expecting us.”
The sentries nodded back and stepped aside, allowing Valerius and Lucius to walk on, through the open gate and into the fort. They went down a street between long, one-storey brick buildings with colonnades and red-tiled roofs. Valerius explained these were the barracks where legionaries ate and slept when they weren’t on duty. Finally they arrived at a large building in the heart of the fort, the Principia.
They passed through a gateway and a small courtyard, and came at last to a door. Valerius opened it and they went into a room, its walls covered in shelves neatly stacked with papyrus scrolls. A man wearing a red tunic was sitting behind a wide table in the middle of the room, writing on another scroll. His dark hair was streaked with grey, but he had a hard, square face and broad shoulders. He looked up at them, and Lucius saw that his eyes were a deep, dark brown.
“Morning, Titus,” said Valerius. “This is the young man I told you about.”
“So you want to join the Eagles,” said Titus, leaning back in the chair, his gaze locking onto Lucius. “I hope Valerius warned you I can’t guarantee you’ll actually get in. You will have to go through the probatio, just like any other recruit.”
The probatio was a series of tests new recruits to the Army had to undergo. You had to pass all of them or you wouldn’t be allowed in, even if you had a letter of recommendation from the Emperor Hadrian himself.
“Yes, he did, sir,” said Lucius. “I wouldn’t expect it to be any other way.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” said Titus. “I’d better make a note of your name…”
Titus leaned forward, dipped his pen in a small inkpot and held it over the scroll, waiting for Lucius to speak. Lucius couldn’t help thinking this was another strange moment. Valerius and Arwenna had helped him think up a new name that would conceal his true identity, and now he was going to use it for the first time. Did it mean he was about to become a different person? Would he no longer be himself, Lucius Caecina Placidus? Was he becoming a nobody, with no family to honour?
“It’s … Didius Silvanus Nasica,” he said at last, the name seeming to stick to his tongue. Didius was a common first name, and Valerius had said there were so many branches of the Silvanus clan that nobody would notice if they invented another one and called it Nasica. Lucius knew he had no choice, and he was sure his new name would serve him well. Yet he still felt sad and scared, all at the same time.
“The next probatio will be in three days,” said Titus. “We’ve got a lot of recruits to test, so we’ll be starting early. Be here at dawn, and may the Gods grant you the strength and courage to get through it. The probatio can be quite an ordeal.”
Lucius touched his bulla through his tunic, and silently prayed to Jupiter that he would succeed – and that he would remain himself, whatever name he took.
TEN
TEST OF COURAGE
IT WAS STILL dark when Arwenna came to wake him on the morning of the probatio. He had been lying in bed awake for what had seemed like half the night, his nerves jangling with the thought of what he was to face that day, so he was soon up and dressed. Arwenna made porridge for him, and told him to eat it even though he said he wasn’t hungry. When he had finished, he put on his cloak, ready to leave.
“I pray the Great Mother will keep you under her care,” said Arwenna, hugging him tight. “May the Sun and the Moon always light the path you follow.”
“Come on, Lucius,” Valerius said gently at last. He was standing by the open door of the tavern. “It’s time we got going… You don’t want to be late today.”
Arwenna let Lucius go, and soon he and Valerius were walking through the cold, dark streets, the few people they encountered drifting past like ghosts returning to the Underworld. Valerius and Lucius arrived at the fort just as the sun was rising, its pale rays struggling to penetrate the thick clouds hanging low over the city.
“Good luck,” Valerius said quietly when they reached the main gate. “I will say a prayer to Fortuna for you.”
Then he walked off, back the way they had come, leaving Lucius alone.
There was quite a crowd waiting at the Principia. About twenty or so young men were standing in two rows across the middle of the courtyard, looking nervous. Lucius was relieved to see that several of the other recruits were shorter than him, but he had a feeling that he was by far the youngest. He only hoped it wasn’t obvious to everyone else.
