in getting the men to use it.”
“Why, Aquila? Don’t they like washing?”
He smiled. “Yes, sir, but they prefer to use the river?”
“When I was young they used the bath house as a club. They played dice in it and gambled away their pay.”
He said patiently, “They prefer to do that in the town, sir.”
“Habits change, is that it? Yes, of course. The thing is, I don’t want trouble with the local women. These people have very strict ideas, and if our men get their girls into the family way there will be some fighting. I had to buy off a village last month when some young fool in the second cohort got too friendly with their chief’s daughter. I need gold for more important things than that.”
“I know, sir.”
“Very well, Aquila. See what you can do. Find some other way of amusing them in their spare time.”
He said, “Are you going to Treverorum, sir?”
“Yes. Why? Do you want me to bring you back a present?”
He smiled. “No, sir. But there’s that business of the legionary who killed himself last week.”
“I remember. He was in the Headquarters Cohort. Flavius Betto was his name, wasn’t it?”
Aquila nodded. “He was a Brigante, sir. Worried about his family. Wanted his discharge papers.”
I said, “We all want our discharge. I refused him, didn’t I?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What’s the problem?”
“It’s about his property, sir. His father owned a big estate near Eburacum, sir. He bought it out of his profits as a silversmith.”
“Yes. Land was cheap enough then. I remember.”
“The father died a month ago and left him everything.”
“Any next of kin?”
“One sister, but she may be dead.”
“Did our chap make a will?”
Aquila looked straight ahead of him. “We haven’t found one yet, sir.”
I knew what he was thinking. If there were no will and no next of kin his property belonged to the legion. We were short of funds. Even a patched-up estate in Britannia might bring in some revenue.
I shook my head. “You had better see if you can find it. Give me his documents and I’ll put the matter in the hands of the magistrate. He can sort the thing out.”
“You won’t forget the boots, sir?”
“No. I won’t forget the boots.”
We made a slow journey to Treverorum, stopping to inspect the signal posts on the way and taking pains to establish contact with the new auxiliaries who now manned them. Twice we met detachments of men returning from leave, for I would not let them travel alone, and once a cavalry patrol appeared suddenly out of the scrub, their commander, young Marcus Severus, explaining apologetically that he had used us as a target for a practice ambush. Quintus said brusquely, “Very well done, but don’t spread out so much. And get those horses’ manes plaited. I’ve told you about that before.”
Back in the city we established ourselves in Romulus and sent for the Curator and his staff. Brieflly I told him the news. He went white when he learned that our stay was to be extended indefinitely.
“What can we do for you?” he asked cautiously.
“Firstly, there’s the matter of trading dishonesty. My quartermaster made a contract with a number of leather-smiths here for the supply of boots. They were to be made in standard sizes and each was to contain four thicknesses of leather in the sole. When they were delivered and issued it was found that they had only two thicknesses of leather. Here is a pair in proof of the matter.”
Artorius turned the boot over in his hand. “This is a matter for the courts.”
“I have not the time to go to the courts to sue the man for fraud. I need the boots now, not in four months time.”
He said nervously, “How can I help?”
“I am not going to pay again for a fresh supply. Quintus Veronius has the details. A word from you, and a little pressure, and the matter is attended to. You had better tell your guilds that my legion has an unusual quartermaster—one who is honest. He neither makes money for himself nor allows others to make a profit out of him. Value for value is all we ask.”
He nodded, speechless. He owned two big estates to the south of the city and kept herds of cattle and goats that supplied much of the leather for the entire district. And he knew that I knew this thing.
“One other matter. The grain supply we received last week, and for which we paid, was two pounds underweight in each sack. I know, because I weighed them myself. This also, Quintus Veronius will deal with.”
I paused and looked at the silent, hostile faces around me.
“And now,” I said gently. “I want men for the army.”
The Curator stiffened and I saw his knuckles whiten. But he kept himself admirably in check.
He said apologetically, “I don’t really think—”
“Just a moment,” I said. I took from my tunic a rolled letter than even Quintus had not seen. “I had this a week ago. It is from an old friend, a man named Saturninus, who succeeded me in command of Borcovicum, a fort on the Great Wall where I used to serve. Would you like to hear what he says?”
I had their interest now, and Quintus was looking at me with something of the old expression that I had not seen since the early days with Stilicho.
“The Wall has been abandoned, the whole seventy miles of it. Do you know what that means? The garrisons have gone and the local people use the stones to build their houses with. The great gates lie open and rattle in the wind until they drop to the ground from their rusted hinges. Nothing moves along the sentry walks except the wild cats, while the kestrels fly above the empty towers and leave their droppings on the roofs where our sentries once kept watch. The forts crumble in the rain and the slates drop from the roof of the house in which I once lived.” At my side, Quintus started violently and I saw, out of the corner of my eye, his knuckles whiten as he clenched his hands. He, too, had his memories then… “Only the inscriptions remain to commemorate the men who served there….”
I broke off and turned away and looked out at the road that led north to where my legion stood at arms. What had happened to her stone? Did it stand upright still or was it lying on the damp ground, covered with weeds? What did it matter anyway?
I thought of the words I had carved on the stone. ‘She died but not altogether.’ Saturninus had suggested them. It was what she believed and perhaps she was right. But I found it hard sometimes, to think that it could be so.
I turned and said, “Even Corstopitum is an empty husk. And Eburacum where the Sixth Legion once proclaimed an emperor of Rome, is deserted too. The troops have moved south and the great headquarters is an abandoned barrack, occupied only by mice.”
“Is that what you want to happen here? Do you want your city to sink into the ground and have the wild birds build their nests in the scrub which hides its ruins? Because if it is I will take my legion and go, and let the Alemanni do their worst.”
A senator, who owned half the vineyards in the area, said, in exasperation, “What exactly do you want?”
“What do you want, Statitius?” I said politely. “Shall I tell you—peace. You were born here, and your family before you. Your ancestors never knew peace or security till Rome came. Peace means soldiers; soldiers mean pay; pay means taxes.”
Statitius yawned. “Oh, if it’s more money then—”
“No.”
The Curator, his face pale, said hoarsely, “How can we help more than you have had us help already?”
“I want men—young men—who are willing to become soldiers. And I need educated young men who can be trained to become their future officers. Is it too much to ask that the people of Gaul learn to defend themselves?”
