PART II - Chapter XX - ''Hoodwinked"

by Michael Wyndham Thomas

Bad weather dogs Marcus and his party on their trek to Glevum. Their stay at the fort is pleasant enough, although the nature of his talk with the new commanders makes Marcus realise how much is changing in Rome's attitude to Britannia. Other changes await him--most astonishingly at Vertis, on the return journey. And they continue--for the worse-- once he reaches Canovium. But Vectis finally goes on his leave to Livorno, bringing back word that all is well with Marcus's family and his own--or so it seems.

After two days at Vertis, the party from Canovium were ready to depart for Glevum. The snow had eased off during that time. Now, as though it knew their need to press on, it sent down its blankets again. More, it seemed to suspend the very notion of time. At some point, either late morning or early afternoon, Impigus left the others lounging at headquarters and went to wait at the Vertis bridge for his replacement. Perhaps the worsening weather had delayed his departure from Salinae. The prospect saddened Impigus, who wished to ride back to his fort with his old commander. Then again, how far would they get if they left? Frustration pricked at Impigus: though he held the same station as Firmus, he had Vectis's sense of organisation; any change of anticipated plan was irksome to him. He was just about to turn back when a figure appeared on the far side of the bridge, flanked by two escorts.

'Impigus?' called a voice through the steady snow.

'Here, Aequitas,' replied Impigus. 'I feared you might not reach us.'

'It's been easing off along our route,' said the centurion from Salinae. 'Legionary back at base told me it would. Fancies himself as a prophet of the weather. Said you'd probably reach Glevum with less trouble than you might think. As long as any marauders spare you, of course.'

'I doubt there'll be cause for worry there,' said Impigus and told his opposite number of the esteemed company he would be keeping on his way.

'Marcus Vinicius is still with you? Excellent! I never wished him good fortune properly.'

They made their way to headquarters, where there were welcomes and, after Impigus had gathered and strapped up his belongings, protracted farewells.

'I was glad to find the salt secure,' Marcus said to Aequitas.

'Not much fear otherwise, sir, in this weather,' replied the centurion. 'Come the thaw, mind, we'll probably discover we've mislaid it.'

The dangers on the road to Glevum were natural rather than man-made. Here and there, drifting made the going perilous and, at one point, only a warning cry from Firmus saved Vectis from laming his horse on a thinly covered crop of rock. For much of the time--as with their entire journey southward--they walked their mounts, who were doubtless grateful to bear belongings and provisions alone. But the snow did lift a little, giving them occasion to thank the powers (or lucky guess) of the legionary at Salinae. All was equable at Glevum. The new commander and second-in-command were genial men who had previously been in charge of Rhenus legions and had come across to augment Suetonius's campaign in the south It made perfect sense, really, for them to end up where they were. They had seen more than their share of lethal action against Boudica and across the water; but by nature they were organisers--reconsolidators, in fact. Somewhere like Glevum was now their natural home: so, by extension, was the whole new phase of maintenance and reconnaisance. Talking with them, sharing strategy plans and giving them the lie of the Cambrian lands, Marcus now felt that he was addressing his younger self in the shape of twins: these men were seasoned campaigners, but there was also something wide-eyed about their manner--as though they were preparing to set off northwards, say, to bridge a river and christen their labours 'Vertis.' To Vectis they were deferential, having heard much of his engineering triumphs; with Firmus they were jocular and enjoyed (in their subdued way) the banter that passed between him and the engineer. Benevolus, however, they treated like the Emperor himself; several times one or the other of them would take him on a detailed tour of this or that section of the fort, seeking his approval for changes made since his departure. Benevolus, whose old injuries were stirred into a dull ache by the cold, gave his blessings readily, his mind ever on the blazing fire at the villa.

A week later, Marcus and his party left. His duties were discharged. He had brought with him the wisdom of his fellow commanders around Canovium, adding such of his own observations as seemed likely to help. In the proper time, he would bear back to them the reasonings and suggestions of his affable hosts at Glevum. So then--business was ticking over. Like Benevolus, Marcus felt weary--but it was not altogether the virtuous weariness that comes from a deed accomplished. Though he'd had no chance to speak to Vectis about it over the last few days, the engineer's puzzlement at his sudden grant of leave still haunted him. More immediately worrying, however, was the conversation he'd overheard the previous night, between Firmus and Impigus:

'. . . we're well and truly in for it if that Maximus doesn't get his finger out and start on some new fronts,' Impigus was saying. 'The lads here won't put up with idleness much longer, building or no building. Aequitas says it's the same tale up Salinae.'

'We're luckier on the coast,' replied Firmus. 'For the moment, anyway. Cambria could boil over again, and the likes of Vectis have Mona to muck around on. But nothing's happened for an age, not really. Some of my men have had a quiet word about transfers to Gaul--even Parthia. Now there's a place for plenty of action.'

Pondering this exchange, Marcus now shook his head. Mutiny, he thought: marvellous. But he wasn't wholly surprised; and a goodly part of him was in sympathy. Oh well, he concluded with a sigh, it would have to be looked into--like all the other things awaiting him, no doubt, at Canovium. Suddenly he felt nothing like a Tribune; a middling factotum on horseback, that's what he was.

The journey back to Vertis was comparatively easy, and Marcus's plan was to push straight on to Salinae, stopping only to see Aequitas and take back any news he may have:

'No news, sir,' said the centurion, shivering in the middle of his headquarters. 'Only confirmation of something I'd long suspected: the good quartermasters of Salinae and Glevum have some strange notions of adequate blankets and bedding for this demon weather. I don't know how Impigus stuck it. Get some fresh sent down for us, sir, please. Gods above, we wouldn't say no to pickings from a Dobunni hutment.'

'I don't think Trebellius Maximus would thank us for trying that option,' said Marcus. 'But we'll see to your needs, Aequitas. And meanwhile'--here he stepped outside, returning with his own blanket, stiff with cold but twice the thickness of anything at Vertis. The rest of his party followed suit.

'Not enough for you all, I'm afraid,' said Benevolus.

'You'll have to organise a rota till Salinae augment your stock,' added Marcus.

'A rota,' muttered Aequitas bitterly. 'We're good at those. That's all the army game's about, these days.' Firmus glanced at Marcus, who just stopped himself from nodding fervently.

'We shall demand that Salinae accede to your request,' added Vectis. Aequitas frowned.

'He means we'll fix it up,' said Benevolus, and Vectis threw up his hands as if mortified at such a vulgar rephrasing of his words.

Somewhat cheered, Aequitas accompanied them to the bridge: 'I've hardly been out these last two days. No-one's come through, friend or foe.'

The snow, no more than a dusting when they reached the headquarters, was falling heavily again. They'd hardly descended the steps before they heard a commotion from the direction of the bridge. Someone was coming through--a number of folk, in fact, though it was impossible to see anything but vague, slow-moving shapes: 'Me and my mouth,' said Aequitas. 'Probably some Dobunni types trying to flog us their tat. Bet they've got hold of some extra-thick blankets meant for us. All right,' he called out. 'What delights do you have for us, gentlemen, ladies, whoever?'

By way of reply, Balatrus loomed over him and spread out his cloak like an eagle's wings:

'Not much use as a blanket, centurion,' he said. 'Hardly any use as a cloak in all this bitterness. Alas, alas.' And he wrapped the blue fabric grandly about him, took in the whole party with a magisterial smile and passed on. A ten-strong escort followed him, lances at the ready; in their midst was a hooded figure, wrists bound.

'They've bagged a druid,' whispered Aequitas; then he saw the astonishment on all the other faces. 'Do you know that tubby geezer?' he asked Firmus, who nodded weakly.

Marcus and Benevolus were the first to recover: 'Balatrus!' Marcus yelled out and made to run forward; he slipped and tumbled heavily, raising his head just in time to see a chubby arm rising against the swirling sky:

'Another time, Tribune,' the emissary called. 'Do not impede me in the execution of my duty.' And he disappeared into the snows.

As for Benevolus, simple humanity urged him to wish the bound captive well, whatever his tribe, whatever his crime. He ran onto the bridge and hissed 'Good fortune save you' as the man drew level with him. In answer, the man leant down so that the side of his hood fell away: 'Have no fear, Benevolus,' said Spesis, his face not three feet from his friend's. 'It will.' He gave a wink. None of the escort tried to prevent the exchange; no lance was lowered in threat. Still on his knees, Marcus twisted round. But the procession moved purposefully on, ignoring him, and the hooded figure averted his head so that none of the rest saw who it was. Aequitas looked at Vectis and Firmus, at Benevolus--who was stumbling back to the group--and at Marcus, who was slowly regaining his feet. They and their escorts were all in shock again. 'Bloody management,' he muttered; something told him that, if he could get that lump of lard to stop, it would at least create some diversion in that forsaken place. Clearly the rest of them weren't about to do anything. Bunch of dummies.

'At least stay and refresh yourselves,' he called hoarsely. The rear escort, about to join Balatrus in snowy invisibility, turned and mouthed his thanks for the offer. Then the whole procession vanished.

'I say we go after them,' said Firmus, breaking out of his trance. Benevolus restrained him:

'I say some bumbling buffoon has come good,' he said. 'Trust Spesis to escape in style.'

'Spesis!' whispered Marcus and seemed about to fall over again. The rest simply stood and goggled at Benevolus.

'They're doing tableau rubbish now,' thought Aequitas. 'All right, gents, back inside. I've got some grog to sort your reflexes out.'

Canovium was full of the news when they returned. Apparently Benevolus had materialised, just as he had at Vertis, and promptly requisitioned a boat for Mona.

'What could I do?' pleaded Scapha. 'No use trying to flannel him while the lads took off over there and got Spesis away. He'd have seen us sure as sure--anyone would have with those sluggish tides. Not that it stopped him. He and his ginks took our regular boat and glided out of here. Must have the strength of gods, those boys. Well, we all spent the day scanning the water. Then I said, this is no good, let's at least intercept them, ask the roly-poly one what his game is. Just as I said that, they were back--up the shore, past the camp, onto their horses--ffft!' Here he made the sound of something going up in smoke.

'At first we weren't sure it was him they'd taken,' said Currerus. 'With him being all bundled up. We found out soon enough.'

'Well, it would seem,' said Marcus, 'that he was happy to be thus bundled off.' He gestured to Benevolus, who told Scapha and Currerus the tale of the wink.

'And he did say,' said Benevolus at the end of his account, 'that he had a soft spot for Balatrus. He must have found a way to make it pay off.'

Vectis clutched the sides of his head in exasperation: 'Yes, but the governor's own emissary!' he exclaimed, then repeated the words slowly, as though he was back at Vertis and the rest of them were frozen in incomprehension. 'Spesis must be for the chop.'

'You've changed your tune,' said Firmus. 'You seemed to think this Balatrus was a harmless old buffer before. It was the Tribune here who was suspicious of him.'

'That, centurion, was before all of this cloak-and-dagger nonsense.'

'Hold on,' said Firmus, 'I'm not saying you're totally wrong. Spesis might be for the chop if old Aequitas blabs anything--not that you could blame him, going stir crazy in all that snow. He might want a good gossip with the next folk across the bridge. If the whole business is a put-up job, word might spread to, well, the wrong ears.'

'I swore the centurion to secrecy,' said Marcus. 'And I, too, find I've changed my tune. Do we know that the governor has a hand in this? We don't. No, I'm inclined to believe--believe and hope--that Spesis and Balatrus are the only real players here. An offer extended, a debt called in, as between old campaigners. Spesis the orchestrator, Benevolus the fixer. We all knew about Spesis and his ways of setting things up--or rather, we didn't know at all. I mean, who's to say our friend didn't part company from his so-called captors once they'd vanished from sight?'

'No, no, no,' persisted Vectis. 'You yourselves saw how Balatrus carried on when he was here before. He's obviously a canary bird. He sets store by being an emissary.'

'He sets store, I think,' said Marcus, 'by occupying an exalted position. His real allegiance would appear to lie elsewhere.'

'With your sometime engineer, Vectis,' added Benevolus; he laughed quietly: 'How like him--to escape in plain sight, thanks to Imperial aid. Remember--he tipped me the wink.'

'We shall see him again,' said Marcus. 'Or hear good reports of him. Speaking of reports, I assume one will be reaching us from Balatrus himself, explaining his arraignment of our felon? He is duty-bound to provide such--and give notice of it at the time of capture.' Scapha and Currerus stared blankly at each other:

'He said nothing to us or Decurio, or Tignum,' said Currerus.

'Fffft!' repeated Scapha.

'Ah, well . . ,' mused Marcus. 'There we are.'

'Are we?' asked Vectis. 'I hope you're right.'

Though gone, Spesis and his mordant humour continued to haunt life at Canovium--and even more on Mona. As it turned out, however, his astonishing departure signalled the start of a general break-up. Almost immediately, Vectis received official reiteration that he should start out for Livorno. He delayed a little while, ensuring that everything was as it should be on Mona; and he departed on the day when--to Solatius's joy if no-one else's--the first cautious signs of spring broke through the melting snow. Anxious not to stir up the Tribune's worries about life in Cremona, he hadn't mentioned again his bewilderment at this holiday out of the blue. Marcus sensed that this was the case, trying to communicate as much with repeated exhortations that Vectis should take care.

'I shall indeed, Tribune,' said Marcus. 'And I shall send word on how I find my family and yours.'

Vectis hadn't been gone a month before Marcus found other allies slipping away. More orders came, transferring Benevolus to Varis and Decurio to Rutunium. In his official capacity, Marcus wished them well; both were capable men, Benevolus especially, and they deserved the recognition that such new responsibilities implied. Still, their departure made the world a greyer place--a world filled more and more with patrols, dispatches, fort maintenance and increasingly tedious journeys across the Straits of Mona, where an embattled Tignum cursed the loss of the two would-be engineers: 'They didn't just idle about, sir,' he told Marcus. 'Whatever they may have told you.'

The one bright spot in all of this came from Vectis. As good as his word, he contrived to keep Marcus posted on life at home during his long months of leave. All was well in Livorno--and in Cremona, where he'd been made lavishly welcome. One or two messages made extensive reference to the flowers at his own family's villa, as well as to the vines that Marcus knew so well. They were flourishing, Vectis assured Marcus; so, too, were the flowers and herbs in villas belonging to people Marcus had never heard of.

'Hmm,' said Solatius when the nonplussed Tribune showed him these communications. 'Never knew our august engineer had such a love of nature and her bounty. Kept it well under wraps, I must say.' He dawdled out of headquarters and back to the hospital: 'Could be code of course,' Marcus heard him mumble to himself as he descended the steps. The Tribune literally kicked himself; thereafter, he kept a sharp eye out for any digression on flora or fauna in the messages. The last one he received before Vectis's return contained some anecdote about a strange kind of wasp that had apparently taken up residence, during the summer, under the eaves of Livorno: 'Quite peculiar,' ran the message. 'Harmless as a butterfly. No sting at all. Like some dozy old scorpion.' Marcus nearly fainted with relief: a stingless scorpion--Nero had taken his lethal fancies elsewhere.

The engineer returned as the Britannia days were drawing in. Inevitably, he recounted (verbatim, it seemed) everything he'd put in his messages to Marcus, adding more besides. Marcus didn't begrudge him this; nor did he think it strange that Vectis showed no immediate interest in the departure of so many friends from Canovium, or in the way things had gone in his absence. He would calm down, Marcus told himself: he was revelling in the memories of leave long overdue--and hadn't Marcus himself bent his friend's ear on his return from Cremona? But Vectis took his time calming down; as the days passed, Marcus's indulgence turned to anxiety; even comments about Tignum's progress on Mona were met with, 'Oh, I've no doubt he's doing sterling work. He can take over as permanent chief engineer, Marcus, and welcome.'

'He said that??' said Firmus, wide-eyed, when Marcus told him. Currerus shook his head, then searched the skies for an explanation.

'I never thought . . ,' he began.

'Did any of us?' asked his Tribune.

It dawned on Marcus that Vectis was more than thrilled by his leave: he was intoxicated. It should have come before it did, Marcus told himself; he should have lobbied hard on behalf of the man when he was preparing to journey to Cremona, instead of leaving him behind to contract a kind of cabin-fever. But he soon checked this train of thought: it was no good living in a world of regret; the real world had its own demands, and Marcus had to ease Vectis back into it as soon as he could.

Gradually, Vectis did adjust to his old surroundings, accepting that reconsolidation was likely to remain the name of the game, that the days of campaigning were, if not over, at least suspended. Not everyone was thus resigned. The legions' restlessness, pondered by Firmus and Impigus, gave rise to real fears of mutiny as 64 gave way to 65. It didn't happen, but there was enough in messengers' reports to suggest that a crisis was brewing. Luckily, being highly regarded, Marcus, Benevolus and Decurio were able to keep order among the troops in northern Cambria and the marches. But, conferring amongst themselves and with the commanders to the south, they sensed that it was only a matter of time before discontent would explode as revolt.

Meanwhile, as the seasons rolled on, the legionaries grudgingly pursued their orders: another road here, another fort there, sweltering sun and driving snow in turn--and rain, lots of it. A rumour spread that Spesis had been sighted in Gaul, near the border with Germania, but there was no way of substantiating this.

Messages continued to arrive from Cremona and Livorno: all was well. Vectis even remarked that, in the last message he received, his father described meeting an old business partner on the Livorno quayside. The man had long vanished from the area; now, by all accounts, he was a 'sort of close' to the Emperor:

'Greeted father like a long-lost brother, he did. Said he was sure the house of Vectis was destined for yet greater things. Spoke about unexpected bounties.'

'Good,' said Marcus simply. 'May such things come true, for your loved ones and mine.' Only later, walking alone around the Canovium fort, did he consider that the practice of using code was available to everyone, and that it could accommodate irony as well as reveries about flowers and harmless wasps. He wasn't partial to the idea of an unexpected bounty, though it was largely in the nature of bounties to be so. And as for this chap's having something to do with Nero . . . but then Currerus appeared, full of urgent words about the next patrol to Brannogenium: the cocksure Ordovices had been causing trouble down there of late. Marcus lost his train of thought, transforming himself again into the diligent boss.

End of Chapter XX

Part I - Part II - XIII - XIV - XV - XVI - XVII - XVIII - XIX - XX - XXI - Part III

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