As Flaccus left the soothsayer’s house, he did not fail to say, as he passed though the door, a quick prayer to the Goddess Cardea.
Little interest was taken, at home, in the doings of the 10th legion. Conquest excited the citizens; what happened in a rebellious Roman province like Illyricum meant little by comparison, so Clodius and his fellow soldiers felt ignored and with good cause. To be away from the centre of attention was bad enough, but to then be cursed with a commander like Vegetius made things ten times worse.
‘He don’t give a fig about us,’ said Clodius/Dabo, to the closest of his workmates. ‘He treats us like a private work force, then pockets our pay for months on end.’
The vine sapling caught him across his naked back, for in the deep drainage ditch, shovelling the earth over the side above his head, he had not seen Flaccus approach. Clodius cried out as the thin, swishing length of pliant wood struck him.
‘He might pay you out with a proper floggin’ at the wheel.’
Clodius crouched down trying to get below the range of that vine sapling he saw swinging in Flaccus’s hand. ‘Save your wind to dig, scum, or you’ll have no puff left at all.’
Clodius cursed under his breath, careful to ensure that the departing Flaccus could not hear him. ‘It’s all right for you, you greedy bastard. Old Vegetius Flaminus pays you a portion of his take for our labour.’
‘You need eyes in the back of your head when that sod’s around,’ whispered one of the men in his section. ‘I hope something happens soon, or we’ll have dug up the whole damn province!’
By keeping his soldiers from their proper occupation Vegetius Flaminus was able to hire them out, digging irrigation ditches and the like, pocketing the proceeds and while this pleased some of the absentee Roman ranchers, it failed to excite the ones who actually lived in the province, especially those on the borders. The rumbles of discontent were getting worse. Not that Vegetius cared; the need to confront the rebels and bring Illyricum back to peace and prosperity took second place to his own well being and the state of his coffers. He was selling the tax farming concessions at exorbitant rates, costs which only fuelled unrest since they were passed on to the already overburdened provincials and rumour had it he was making a pretty penny from bribes paid by the locals for protection as well, parcelling out small pockets of troops to protect the outlying farms. Stands to reason that you only need protection from a threat, so it was in the senator’s interest to keep the danger alive.
Some of this filtered back to Fulmina. Most soldiers had started off richer and were, in any case, less of a spendthrift than her husband, or perhaps they served under centurions who charged them an affordable amount to go on leave. Messages drifted back that Clodius was alive and well, if far from happy, accompanied by promises of his imminent return laden with booty.
‘Never out of trouble, is Clodius,’ was the basic refrain she heard from these itinerant messengers, to whom his true identity was no secret. Fulmina always took care to show them the golden-headed boy, thanked the messengers kindly, gave them wine, oil and freshly baked bread, and sent them on their way with a return message, this to the effect that she and Aquila were well and happy.
‘Clodius Terentius must put his duty to the Republic before any thoughts of our welfare,’ she would say, imbuing the words with as much sincerity as she could muster.
Clodius/Dabo was not fooled when this message returned. These high flown sentiments were just a barely disguised message to say that if he wished to stay away forever, she would not pine to death for the lack of his company. Of course the returnees would all praise the boy, saying what a fine lad he was, big for his age and lively. At first Clodius welcomed the praise, but time and the thought of the comforts of home made him less and less inclined to do so, until any mention of this changeling child was met with a growl. This would be followed by all his well-rehearsed grievances, most notably the lack of any prospect of plunder.
Thoughts of booty often turned his mind to that charm. To Clodius, the more he thought about it, the greater his sense of injustice. Damn Fulmina and her dreams; damn Drisia and her spitting; never mind her bag of bones. Here he was, on short rations half the time, stuck in the middle of nowhere, under a false name, at the beck and call of anyone who cared to order him to do anything, including die a painful death, all this while his wife kept the means of his deliverance locked away and lavished on a strange child the affection that should properly, as her husband, have come to him. It was hard to recall that he had once looked forward to raising him like his own son.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The imminent arrival of the senatorial commission stirred Vegetius Flaminus to action. Now instead of boredom and digging ditches, Clodius was faced with danger and mutilation as the legions rushed from one place to the next, always in danger of ambush, in an attempt to flush out the rebels and bring them to battle, but Vegetius had left it too late and the province was still in turmoil when the senators arrived. Clodius was delighted that, at the head of the commission came the great Macedonicus himself. Now there was a proper soldier, a man who had made a mint of money, both for himself and the troops he commanded. Every legionary prayed that he would take things over, and they were not disappointed. Despite the very vocal protests of the titular commander, Aulus started to take a hand in the direction of operations. He was working through Vegetius, certainly, pretending to consult him at every stage, but they all knew, just by their nature, where these new instructions were coming from.
First Aulus instituted some proper training in field and battle tactics; then when he felt that the troops had relearnt their job, he let them loose on the enemy and, based on proper intelligence, things took a turn for the better. Rebel encampments were found and destroyed; treasonable chieftains taken and crucified until the insurrection seemed to peter out from lack of leadership. Those who survived the onslaught had apparently retired over the border, into barbarian lands, and the province seemed, finally, at peace. Clodius was not downhearted; even if he had failed to get his hands on any booty, at least he could look forward to going home.
The messenger that rode into the legionary camp at Salonae soon spoilt that notion. Vegetius Flaminus was with Aulus when the news arrived and the dust coated messenger was brought straight to the command tent by the oration platform to blurt out his despatch to the general.
‘Greetings to the noble Vegetius Flaminus, commander of the illustrious 10th legion, from the noble Publius Trebonius, governor of the province of Epirus…’
The messenger seemed set to go through all the formalities, plus the rituals of address from one high-born Roman to another. Aulus, however, intervened. ‘We’re all noble, Tribune, but, by the state of your dress I suspect the message is urgent. Have a drink of wine to refresh yourself, then be so good as to deliver it.’
Vegetius frowned quite openly. This was his command tent; he had the right to offer or refuse hospitality to this filthy young fellow. Aulus Macedonicus had been behaving like this ever since he arrived and Vegetius was tempted to issue a reminder that the message was intended for him. Then he checked himself; Aulus had hinted that regardless of what his fellow commissioners, and Vegetius’s friends, thought, he had enquired into certain allegations of bribery that were floating around. It would be a bad idea to upset him. The governor did not know that he had already upset his fellow senator more than enough. Having kept Roman soldiers here for years, rather than months, he had committed a cardinal sin in the Cornelii eye. Aulus was not only aware that the bribery allegations were true, he fully intended to have Vegetius impeached before the Senate when he got home and had privately sent Lucius Falerius as arranged, full details of what he had been able to find out.
The tribune drank deeply from the cup he was offered then brought himself back to attention and rattled out his despatch in a parade ground voice. ‘Publius Trebonius sends to tell you that he has had to flee from Epirus, taking with him as many of the local Roman population as he could.’
‘Damn these Greeks,’ said Aulus. ‘Will they never tire of revolt?’
‘Perhaps we have been too lenient in the past,’ suggested Vegetius, smoothly. ‘They see us as simple barbarians, content to dress like peasants and worship at their shrines.’
Aulus ignored the allusion to himself. As an act of reconciliation, after his successful war in Macedonia, the victor had toured Greece, dressed simply, accompanied by just a personal bodyguard and his servant Cholon. He had worshipped at most of the major shrines and engaged in philosophical debates with the academics of Athens, all in an attempt to show the Greeks that if they stayed at peace, they had nothing to fear from the Imperium of
