Emperor

their Latin harsh and unfamiliar, their cheek galling.

But still they did not act, and as the days passed the tension of not knowing what was to come became ever harder to bear.

Agrippina and Cunedda reached Braint's house and pushed inside. Braint herself was out but Nectovelin was here, rummaging through a heap of armour and weaponry.

It was hot enough inside the house for Nectovelin to have stripped to the waist; his tunic and cloak were heaped up against the wall behind him. Agrippina's eye was caught by a slim leather folder among his effects. It looked like the kind of document case she had seen in Gaul carried by lawyers or moneylenders. She could only think of one document a Brigantian warrior like Nectovelin might carry in such a case.

Cunedda had brought her here to see the weaponry, for much of it was Roman. 'We managed to pinch all these pieces from a heap outside their fort. The Romans went out onto the battlefield after they routed us. They stripped the bodies of their fallen before taking them away.'

Nectovelin grunted. 'They reclaim the equipment of their dead for repair and reuse. Nothing if not thrifty, these Romans.'

Cunedda said, 'Look, Agrippina.' He picked up shaped strips of iron.

'A legionary's armour,' Nectovelin growled. 'They call these plates lorica segmentata. The most advanced armour anybody knows about-twice as good as chain mail, and half as light.'

'See, it's shaped to your body,' Cunedda said. 'These bits go over your chest, these your shoulders and these over your upper back.' The armour was damaged, and some of it was bloodstained, but Cunedda was able to show her how a legionary would join the strips together with metal hooks to make a flexible covering. 'You can even bend down to clean your toes while wearing it. Even their shields aren't simple.' He picked up a fragment of a broken Roman shield, a section of a half-cylinder. Where it had been broken Agrippina could see layers of thin wood. 'You see? They take the wooden plates, bend them into shape, then glue them together. Not only that, they lay the grain of the layers across each other, to give the whole greater strength.'

'Strength maybe,' Nectovelin said, 'but in the end that didn't protect this shield's owner out on the field.'

Agrippina asked, 'Any news of Caratacus?'

'Only that he flees ever west,' Nectovelin said. 'It's said he's hoping to find refuge among the Silures, or even the Ordovices.'

Agrippina asked sceptically, 'Would strangers of the west fight for a failed prince of the east?'

'It's possible,' Nectovelin snapped. 'At least Caratacus stood up to the Romans. At least he didn't just give up. People admire that, I think.'

Cunedda asked, 'And his brother-'

'As far as we know Togodumnus is dead,' Nectovelin said. 'Although the battle was so confused it's hard to say for sure. There is a rumour the Romans displayed his head.' He shook his head. 'He shouldn't have turned his back on the gods of the river.'

Braint came bustling into the house, laden with two limp chickens, their heads dangling from broken necks. She dumped the chickens near the hearth and slapped her hands to clean them of blood and feathers. 'Still playing soldiers? Look at these men, Agrippina, picking over a dead Roman's armour, while we get on with the business of staying alive. Maybe it will take a woman to really give the legionaries a fight-eh? And as for Togodumnus, if he was alive we'd know about it by now, for we'd have heard his cowardly scuttling as he ran away after his brother. The priests have scarpered too-funny, that!'

Cunedda was enough of a warrior now to be irritated by this. 'I won't have that, Braint. The priests may be able to help Caratacus put together a coalition among the nations in the west. They would be no use here-indeed they would only be meat for the Romans' swords, for the Romans hate druidh. And as for Caratacus and his brother, the princes showed courage on the field. More than those Romans, who just stood there and let us come at them.'

Nectovelin shook his head. 'And you still lack wisdom. Can you not see it takes more courage to hold your position when under attack, until the right moment to strike?'

Cunedda bristled. 'Nectovelin, I know you saved my life. And you may think you're special, armed with your famous Prophecy, which nobody has ever seen. But for all your prowess you're just a man, just like the rest of us.'

Nectovelin stared at him, like a wolf considering whether to teach a whelp a lesson. But the moment passed, and Nectovelin turned away.

The mention of the Prophecy reminded Agrippina of Nectovelin's cloak, and the leather document wallet still sticking out from under it. Curiosity stirred in her, an unfamiliar feeling for her in these dead times.

She heard noise outside, and then the thin peal of a trumpet.

Cunedda asked, 'What's going on out there?'

'More Romans in town,' Braint said. 'Walking around the place as if they own it-which, of course, they almost do.'

'Let's go see what they're up to,' Cunedda said.

Nectovelin said, 'Not me. I've seen enough Romans for one summer.'

Braint stood straight. 'If you're staying here, you miserable old man, you can do something useful for once and pluck these birds.' And she kicked the chickens on the floor over to Nectovelin's feet.

Nectovelin rumbled, 'All right, all right.' He bent to pick up the chickens. He was several paces away from his clothes, with his back turned.

The opportunity wasn't to be resisted. As she walked towards Cunedda she brushed past Nectovelin's clothes, and tucked the wallet into a fold of her tunic.

Cunedda called, 'Pina?'

'Coming.'

XVII

Vespasian and Narcissus walked into the heart of Camulodunum-if you could call it a heart, for unlike the meanest Roman town there seemed to be no real centre to this barbarian heaping of midden-like roundhouses. Everything was mixed up, houses with cesspits and grain stores and animal pens, shrines with cemeteries, pottery and metal-working shops with houses and granaries. It was more like walking through a cluttered farmyard. And yet there was industry here. Peering curiously into the doorways of the houses Narcissus saw a potter at his wheel, a woman working an upright loom with weights and spindles of bone and clay.

Vespasian, decked out in his dress armour with its gold inlays, walked with a boldness suitable for a conquering Roman general. But Narcissus's only armour was his second-best toga, and while Vespasian may have been as fearless as he looked, Narcissus was anything but, despite a palisade of a dozen burly legionaries. After all, for all its rudeness they were walking into the capital of a barbarian people who could scarcely be called subdued.

Vespasian sensed his nervousness. 'Of course there is a slight risk, secretary. But the symbolism is all. The two of us walking here, unimpeded, going as we wish, with only a few men at our side-that will be as crushing for these wretched Britons as another lost battle. And speaking of wretched Britons-' He tapped Marcus Allius's shoulder. 'Decurion, assign a couple of men to rounding up some recruits for the Emperor's showpiece battle.'

Allius nodded and spoke to his men; three of them peeled off and walked through the town, peering at resentful, wary natives.

'Symbolism, yes,' Narcissus said dryly. 'Which brings us to the matter of the Emperor. He is now resting with Aulus Plautius by the Tamesis. Two more days and he will be here.'

'Then we must be ready,' Vespasian murmured. 'I hope Plautius doesn't wear him out.'

'Oh, I doubt that. But if I know the Emperor he will be astute enough to understand the wider significance of his location. The Tamesis drains the south-eastern corner of the island, and so is sure to be a key artery for trade and communications in the future. But the locals have made little of it.'

'In fact there is a small settlement by the river,' Vespasian pointed out. 'It's said to be where Caesar crossed the Tamesis, and so Plautius planted his camp there. It's actually quite charming. Fisherfolk go out onto the river in