Slaves of Fear: A Land Unconquered (26 page)

“Noble Caratacus,” he said, speaking slowly so as to stifle his natural stammer. “You come before us with dignity and grace worthy of your noble ancestors, and that of a true Britannic king. The power of Rome lies not with the sword but with civility and justice. Your words have moved me, as they have every member of this august assembly. And through our clemency will the greatness of both our people’s be realized.”

The emperor slowly descended the steps. Caratacus towered over him and looked as if he could snap him like a twig. However, it was Claudius, not he who wielded power in Rome. The emperor gazed up at him for a moment before smiling to the prostrate Britannic nobles and waving for them to rise. All did so, their expressions showing a profound sense of bemusement.

“We are free to go?” Caratacus asked hesitantly.

“Sadly, we cannot allow you to return to Britannia,” Claudius answered. “But that does not mean you are slaves or prisoners. You will be my guests with a villa in Rome to call your new home.”

For Centurion Primus Ordo Magnus Flavianus, his departure from the legions was a very quiet and private affair. Rather than having an elaborate ceremony, as was the norm for senior-ranking centurions, Magnus had simply taken his discharge and retirement orders from the legion’s aquilifer and shared a few words with General Paulinus. The evening prior he said his farewells to the men of his century. He left before dawn, having instructed Optio Caelius to assume command of the century until his replacement was appointed.

By chance, he had received a reply back from Tiberius Valens just prior to his departure. Ana and young Titus had taken a ship that landed not at Camulodunum but at Aqua Sulis, where they were the guests of the mayoral magistrate, Aulus Cursor. The now former centurion primus ordo saddled his horse and made the journey from the legion’s camp to the home of Britannia’s legendary hot springs. It took him three days to make the trek, and for Magnus it felt like three lifetimes.

He had only been to Aqua Sulis once before, soon after the initial invasion. While still very primitive, there were definite signs of ‘Romanization’. The River Abona brought much in the way of merchant traffic from the continent, and the docks were teaming with activity. Most of the roads were still dirt paths, but at least they were kept free of weeds and debris. Fosse Way, which connected the southwestern coast with many of the Roman towns leading into Catuvellauni and Brigantes, was the only paved road in the region.

A military fort had been erected near the northeast corner of the springs which were a series of pools locals used for bathing. The fort housed two cohorts of auxilia infantry as well as a small detachment of cavalry. Near the fort was the mayor’s residence; a magnificent villa that stood in stark contrast to the more austere buildings of the town. Aulus Cursor was rather ambitious when it came to his plans for Romanizing Aqua Sulis. Magnus noted, such assimilation of architecture and culture would take years, possibly decades.

He dismounted near the gates of the villa where a pair of auxilia troopers were on duty. It was the first time in many years soldiers had not come to attention and saluted him.

“Can we help you?” one of the men asked.

Though the Norseman now wore a plain, brown tunic, he still kept his gladius strapped to his hip, and the troopers were both staring at its rather ornate scabbard.

“Magnus Flavianus, recently retired centurion primus ordo of the Twentieth Legion and friend of Aulus Cursor. My wife and son are his guests.” It felt strange calling Ana as his wife. He wasn’t sure how else to refer to her.

“Beg your pardon, sir,” the first trooper said, coming to attention. “You may enter.”

Magnus almost saluted, then stopped himself and grinned.

“Old habits die hard, sir,” the soldier said with an appreciative smile.

The grounds of the mayor’s villa were still a work-in-progress, though they did have a very splendid garden, complete with well-groomed hedges and various shrubberies. He heard the excited cries of a child, and his face was beaming as he saw the little boy, not even a year old yet already able to walk, running through the gardens, laughing all the while.

“Where are you?” His mother’s voice called playfully from the other end of a hedge.

The boy hid behind a stone bench, then turned and ran straight into Magnus’ arms. He gave a startled shriek at first, but then giggled as he apprised the big Norseman who held him. His expression was one of curiosity and devoid of fear.

“By Odin and Jupiter,” Magnus said quietly. He heard a startled yelp as Ana came around the corner.

Her hands were over her mouth, eyes wide.

“Hello, Ana. I seem to have met young Titus.”

Without a word, she rushed forward and wrapped her arms around them both, kissing Magnus on the lips and face.

“I wasn’t sure if I’d ever see you again,” she said breathlessly. “I heard there was a terrible battle, and that Caratacus was defeated, but no one could tell me if you were alive or dead.”

“Very much alive,” Magnus reassured her with a chuckle. “And no longer a soldier of Rome.”

As he stood in the small courtyard garden, Caratacus ran his hand over his face. It was a strange feeling. He had not been clean-shaven since his youth. Eurgain had implored him to do so. As they were now captives in all but name, and did not wish to be made a spectacle of, it would be best if they made themselves look like Romans. While he had shaved, Caratacus elected to wear a far more practical tunic rather than the more formal and cumbersome toga. On this particular day, he was expecting a visit from the emperor himself, who promised to pay his respects and see how the king and his family were assimilating to Roman life. Though they had recently been mortal enemies, Emperor Claudius treated Caratacus almost as if he were a personal friend. It was still early in the day, and the visitor who beat on the large double doors of the outer courtyard was the last person he ever expected or wanted to see.

Caratacus’ face hardened as the doors opened and his brother strolled into the garden. His face was freshly shaved, his hair cropped short, and he wore a formal Roman toga. It even bore the narrow purple stripe Caratacus learned denoted a member of the imperial lesser-nobility. There was something about Amminus’ demeanour, however. A sense of sorrow and regret. His fist clenching his tunic, Caratacus fought to supress his utter hatred for his brother, whose throat he wished to tear out with his bare hands. So great was his fury that he found himself unable to speak.

“Brother,” Amminus said, nodding almost to the point of a bow. “It gladdens me to see that you live, and are being treated well.”

Eurgain came into the garden from the east wing, her eyes widening at the sight of her brother-in-law. Her teeth clenched, face red with anger, as she made ready to scream a torrent of abuse at him. Caratacus raised his hand, silencing her before she could unleash.

“What is it you want?” he asked, fighting his rage, his voice quiet and hoarse. “Have you come to gloat over your fallen kinsman? That we are prisoners of Rome is not enough for you?” Finally he could contain his emotions no longer.
“Aeron damn you, Amminus!”
His eyes were wet with tears of hatred.
“Why?”

For all his previous senses of confidence and triumph, after witnessing his brother’s defeat at Caer Caradoc, Amminus now struggled to find the words he needed.

“I did what I had to,” he finally said, tears streaming down his cheeks. Unlike his brother, he wept from pent up anguish brought on by the horrific guilt of having betrayed his own family. “The Romans have rewarded me greatly, yet each toast in my honour tastes like a bitter poison. Every gift and honour they bestow upon me scorches my soul like burning coals. My quarrel was with our father, and when he died I longed for nothing more than to return home, yet our brother would not allow it.”

“Togodumnus never forgave you,” Caratacus conceded.

“And yet I still loved him. You may think I’m a liar, but I wept for him when he was slain.”

“He was killed by those who murdered and enslaved your own people; the very people you betrayed!”

“I have no people!”
Amminus shouted in despair. “When Father had me exiled, I was no longer a Catuvellauni. I had no home, no tribe, and no family! What was I to do?”

Caratacus hardened his heart, refusing to allow his brother’s words to move him. “Well, you’ve had your revenge. Am I supposed to pity you now?”

“Not pity,” Amminus said, slowly shaking his head. He composed himself and took a deep breath, struggling with his next words. “What I have come to ask is much more difficult than simple pity. I am here to ask your forgiveness.”

Caratacus was dumbfounded by this. Amminus, who had stood triumphant with the Romans at Caer Caradoc, who had helped destroy the alliance against the invaders, was now asking—almost begging—for his forgiveness. He turned away for a few moments, composing his thoughts. Caratacus’ fearsome rage was now replaced by a series of conflicting feelings. While much of him still hated his brother, another part of him did pity Amminus, strange and perverse as that seemed. He slowly began to accept why his emotions were so powerful. He knew he could never give his brother that which he most desired. He looked to Eurgain, whose own countenance showed she was equally conflicted. She gazed at her husband and gave a slow nod of consent.

“Amminus,” he said calmly, his voice much calmer, still cracked with emotion. He stepped forward and placed both hands on his brother’s shoulders, causing him to shudder. “As Rome is no longer my enemy neither are you. It will take some time, but I promise to let go of the hate within my heart. You are a prince of Catuvellauni. But more importantly, you are my brother, and you have my love. But my forgiveness…” He shook his head sadly.

In that moment, both brothers understood.

“That is something I am unable to give you. And for that, I am sorry.”

The two embraced and Amminus took his leave, giving a sad look of acknowledgment towards Eurgain before departing.

As he watched his brother walk through the gate, Caratacus knew he had seen him for the last time.

It was late afternoon when Emperor Claudius called upon Caratacus. For this, the former high king was thankful. It had taken much time to compose himself following his emotional final encounter with his brother. The emperor wore a simple toga this day, devoid of any formal trappings.

“Welcome, Caesar,” Caratacus said with a bow. “You honour my house with your presence.”