Emperor

Karus-'

With an elaborate sigh he produced some coins for her, and she turned to the counter.

Brigonius and Karus stood stiffly side by side. Then, as one, they turned to each other.

'Look, Karus-'

'Brigonius, I didn't mean-'

They laughed, broke off, and Karus started again. 'It looks as if we're going to be working together, perhaps for years if all goes well. So we shouldn't let a gorgeous but silly girl lead us both around like two stallions on heat. I mean, it's not to say that I wouldn't-if she chose-to tell you the truth I think I prefer the mother, now I've met her- that proud bust of hers, and the way she walks -' He stumbled to a halt. 'Isn't she marvellous?'

'We should keep love and work apart,' Brigonius said firmly.

'Or at least we can try,' Karus murmured.

Lepidina returned with a handful of food. 'Here,' she said, handing some of it to Brigonius. 'You see? You don't have to cook for yourself, you buy!'

The food turned out to be a patty of ground pork, stuffed in the middle of a slab of bread. The meat was well-cooked and flavoured with onions. Brigonius took a bite. 'Might be better if it was beef.'

Karus said around a mouthful, 'Oh, Romans don't much like beef. Or mutton. Barbarian foods, they say.'

'The soldiers at Vindolanda eat plenty of it.'

'They're probably all provincials themselves.'

Already Brigonius had finished his meal. 'Is that it?'

'I'll buy you more later. Come on, let's go to the forum and do some shopping.' Lepidina took his hand-then, judiciously, Karus's too-and they walked along the street.

The roads were paved, with gutters running down either side; the stonework was good, Brigonius noted. Along with the people animals thronged the streets-chickens, pigs, and many dogs. This was still a town for farmers. Most of the buildings were wattle and daub, like Karus's apartment building, though one or two of the grander houses were built in stone. Most buildings were one-storey private houses, but some had their fronts opened out, like Karus's restaurant, to reveal workshops where pottery was thrown, iron worked, glass poured, cloth woven.

Some of the images on the walls were there to show you what kind of workshop or store this was: cartoon potters turned their wheels, women displayed gaudy jewellery, and the taverns were marked by fat, merry drinkers. Even the brothels had their insignia, stick figures in remarkably inventive postures that Brigonius tried not to stare at. The lettering on the walls sometimes told you who lived here or what they did. Some of it, rougher carvings, was more casual, prayers, insults, curses. And some of it, lauding the Reds, Blues and Yellows, baffled Brigonius altogether. Karus said it was to do with support of the main teams of charioteers in the races. The various factions worshipped their heroes and loathed each other, and rioted on race nights.

Outside one store stood a large pot into which a burly man was noisily pissing; steam rose up from the pot's neck.

Karus watched Brigonius's expression with amusement. 'This is a fuller's; he will use the urine he collects from passers-by to fix his dye. I don't cook in my apartment, and neither do I piss.'

Brigonius grunted, unimpressed. 'And who collects your shit?'

Karus grinned. 'Funny you should ask that.'

They came to a locked door fronting an enclosed hall. Karus produced a low-denomination coin and dropped it into a slot. He pulled levers on the lock mechanism until the coin was swallowed up, and with a satisfying clunk the lock came free.

Karus opened the door to reveal a latrine. Over two rows of holes in the floor people sat on wooden benches, men, women and children alike. Some read letters on bits of wood, others talked, some gambled over dice on the floor between them. One man was bending over to wipe his arse with a bit of sponge on a stick. There was a predictable stink, but it wasn't as bad as Brigonius might have thought-and then he heard a gurgle of water coming from beneath the holes.

'Ah,' he said. 'A stream runs beneath to take the shit away. Cunning.'

Karus shrugged. 'More likely the water is piped here from the river to the north. Public water supply, you see. You'd have to ask an engineer; I'm no expert.'

They walked on. They passed a baths-unfinished, but in use, and quite unmistakable to Brigonius from its musty, boggy smell, just like the soldiers' baths at Vindolanda.

They reached the marketplace. Lepidina, with a squeal of excitement, begged more money from Karus. Soon she was working her way through stalls heaped with jewellery and little bottles of perfume and hair oil. The men walked on.

Once more Brigonius felt overwhelmed. Compared to the rough-and-ready market that had grown up outside the Vindolanda fort there was a bewildering array of goods for sale here: cosmetics of all sorts in little glass jars and bottles, silver and copper pins and brooches, plates and bowls and tiles, stalls heaped with shoes of stitched leather. There were bakers and vendors of broiled meat, and the heat of their ovens turned the air ferociously hot. There were even moneylenders, bankers and lawyers-and many, many bookmakers.

Shoppers thronged. There were plenty of Catuvellaunians, of course. But Brigonius saw Germans and Gauls of the kind the army was full of, and still more exotic types with very pale skin, or very dark, who sold wines and spices for exorbitant prices. They were traders from perhaps far across the empire or even beyond, come here to this corner of Britain to sell their wares. Everyone seemed confident here, happily buying and selling, all of them at home in a place where they knew the rules, all save Brigonius.

And beggars crowded around every stall, silently pleading for change. There were no beggars in Banna; people looked after their own. Brigonius wondered what old Cunobelin would have thought of what had become of his descendants.

More public buildings surrounded the forum. Karus led Brigonius to a great hall whose unfinished walls rose above the heads of the shoppers. They walked through a colonnade of pillars and over a stone floor that was, as yet, unroofed. Brigonius saw that the floor was weather-stained; evidently the building had been in this half-finished state for some time.

'This will be the basilica,' Karus said. 'The great folk of the town will run their local government from here- they will collect the taxes for one thing, and bundle them all off down to Londinium for the procurator to count up.' The construction of the building was proceeding only as the funds became available, so was taking a long time. 'Still, this is the task of our generation. Our fathers set out the town. Now we must build it.'

Brigonius frowned. 'I think I imagined the Emperor would pay for all this.'

Karus pursed his lips. 'Not a bit of it. We enjoy the fruits of Roman civilisation but we must pay for it ourselves. Which we do, of course, gladly. You know, Brigonius, if you're to become a rich man you'll have to learn about how to handle your wealth. To begin with you must have wealth-the more the better. From wealth flows power and status; with wealth you are a source of patronage. Second, you mustn't flaunt your wealth. Oh, spend it, yes; make sure people know you have it-but in a restrained way. And you must be sure you invest your wealth in projects for the public good, like this basilica. Paradoxical, isn't it? But Romans are paradoxical folk, in many ways.'

The lawyer seemed to have opened up to Brigonius during this brief walk. 'You know, Brigonius, I'm not much of one for reflection. Live for the day, I say, for yesterday is irrelevant, and tomorrow may never come! But one thing I've enjoyed about Severa's correspondence is her sense of perspective-of history. Just think, a hundred years ago there was no city like this, no building remotely like this roofless basilica, not anywhere in Britain. They've all sprung up like mushrooms. My grandfather was a hunter. He wore moleskins on his feet, stuffed with bird feathers. Now look at me, his grandson! I'm a lawyer. I go to work in an office in a block several storeys high, with windows of glass. I buy my food from vendors, my coins operate locks on latrines-and stamped on every coin is an uplifting message from the Emperor himself. Somehow the Prophecy has enabled Severa to see all this, to see these great changes, as if she is standing outside history altogether.'

But Brigonius pulled on his beard, unconvinced. He thought of his northern home, where the people herded their cattle just as they had always done-as indeed the mass of people even in the south still scraped at the soil. This heaped-up wonder of stone and commerce was a fragile, light confection, he thought, built on the extraction of wealth from farmers to whose lives the Roman presence hardly made any difference at all.

'And if it all should end, as fast as it has arisen-what then?'