Lindsey Davis - The Iron Hand of Mars

'How's that I assumed you had a rich girlfriend!' The way he spoke made the joke acceptable even to a touchy swine like me.

For once I went along with it. 'Alt, it's her father who owns the lush estates on the Alban hills. If you were him, would you let the fruits of your vintage pass into the grip of a lout like me?' Besides, I had my pride.

It was not simply the hope of possessing Helena that drove me into these mad missions for the Emperor. I had a dream of one day living without squalor. Living in my own quiet house – a house surrounded by vine-covered walkways, luxurious in space, and full of light to read by. A house where I could age an amphora of decent wine at the right temperature, then drink it philosophising with my friend Petronius Longus beside a maplewood table laid with Spanish linen – and, maybe, saurian winecups, if we were tired of my chased bronzes with the hunting scenes and my gold-flecked Phoenician glass…

I dragged the conversation to more useful gossip. 'Thanks for your message. What's this about a woman? Julia Fortun-ata is going to be put out if Gracilis has been two-timing her – not to mention the rumpus he can expect from the tight-buttocked little wife!'

'Well, I don't know anything definite…Mordanticus looked embarrassed. It was pleasant to witness how respectfully the provinces regarded Rome: he was almost ashamed to confess that one of our high-ranking officials had let down the Roman moral code. 'I hate to destroy the man's character -'

'No need for you to end up in court on a slander charge,' I prompted. 'Just tell me what you've found out, and I'll draw the defamatory conclusions for myself.'

'Well, one of my colleagues was once asked how Florius Gracilis could contact a woman called Claudia Sacrata.'

'Is that significant? Should I have heard of her?'

Again he looked decidedly awkward. 'She is a Ubian, from Colonia Agrippinensium.' He studied a beaker as if he had just noticed that its handle was affixed crookedly. 'Your general Petilius Cerialis was supposed to have had an intrigue with her.'

'Ah!'

I had an impression of Cerialis; so far women did not come into it. In Britain he had commanded the Ninth Hispana legion. When the Boudiccan Revolt flared, he had made a desperate dash to help but was ambushed by the tribes in a forest – meaning he must have been rushing along without proper scouts ahead of him. Petilius lost a large contingent of his men and only just escaped with a few dregs of cavalry. The remnants of the Ninth took part in the final battle against the Queen, though unlike the Fourteenth and the Twentieth they were not honoured by Nero afterwards. By all accounts, the general's more recent campaign to recapture Germany from Civilis had featured similar ill-considered incidents, from which the general himself had somehow escaped – always in time to take part in the winning engagements, and always keeping his good reputation intact.

I said with a deadpan expression, 'A Ubian temptress was not widely featured in the official accounts of his victories.' Perhaps because Petilius Cerialis wrote the accounts himself.

Mordanticus realised I was teasing, but did not quite know how to react. 'There was probably nothing in it…'

'I'm disappointed! But why should our own Florius Gracilis be visiting this beauty? Consoling her loneliness, now that Cerialis has popped off to Britain? I suppose he couldn't have taken her. Installing his Ubian bundle in the provincial governor's palace in Londinium would soon get back to Rome and cause a stir.' Having won his province, Petilius Cerialis would now be looking forward to a consulship. He was related to the Emperor – through marriage – and the Emperor was widely known to hold strictly old-fashioned views. Vespasian himself kept a long-term mistress now that he was a widower, but people seeking appointments from him dared not risk such a luxury. 'Do the Ubians have close links with the Batavians?'

Julius Mordanticus was writhing with unhappiness. 'That's difficult to answer. Some allies of Civilis punished the Ubians very heavily for their pro-Roman sympathies, but by the end some of them were battling against the Romans with him..

'A right tangle! Did Claudia Sacrata know Civilis?' 'Possibly. He has relations who were living in Colonia Agrippinensium.'

'Which could explain why Gracilis has gone to see her. He knows this woman has had connections with high political circles on both sides, so she might know where Civilis can be found?'

'Perhaps.'

'Alternatively,' I suggested more facetiously, 'not content with the official mistress he brought from Rome, our trusty legate Florius Gracilis is looking for an unofficial one – and Claudia Sacrata fits. Perhaps a liaison with Claudia Sacrata is the traditional perk for men in purple cloaks on tours of duty in Germany? Perhaps her address is handed on with their initial briefing reports. Which only leaves one question. Mordanticus: since I'm just a low weevil, who will give Claudia Sacrata's address to me?'

The potter was not prepared to comment on her status; but he told me where to find the woman.

That only left one other question: how could I explain to Helena Justina that I was disappearing to visit a general's courtesan?

October-November, AD 71

'Their commander… was saved by a mistake on the part of the enemy, who made haste to tow away the flagship, thinking that the commander was aboard. Cerialis in fact spent the night elsewhere (according to general belief at the time, because of an intrigue with a Ubian woman called Claudia Sacrata).'

Tacitus, Histories

It caused less strain than I feared. That was because Helena decreed CoIonia Agrippinensium to be a place she was dying to see. I went along with it, for reasons of my own.

My hope of some peace with Helena was thwarted. First her brother insisted that we take Augustinilla. Apparently he was reluctant to be left on his own at the fort with a lovesick little maid.

Then Xanthus eagerly joined the excursion. He was still suffering a serious reaction from having killed the soldier. He said it had made him think seriously about life. He liked Germany, and wanted to settle there – he could see plenty of scope for his hairdressing skills. Moguntiacum was too military, however, so he wanted to look for another town which might offer a more refined welcome to an ambitious former imperial slave. I told him flatly he could not come with me beyond Colonia, but he said that suited him.

We had the tribune's dog, too. It had bitten an armourer, so had to be removed from the fort fast.

So much for a gentle river cruise alone with my girl.

Despite the entourage, shipping north on an official fleet vessel was a joy: past jutting crags and green pastures, small quays and local moorings, outcrops of rocks and rapids, and slanting upland terraces where the new wine industry was establishing its vineyards for light, pleasant wines, some of which we tasted as we went. We dreamed on deck, watching the ducks floating downstream among occasional spars of driftwood, then heaving themselves out of the water to fly back and start again. Low barges, laden with every conceivable item, sailed down in twos or threes, then were rowed or dragged back the other way. It seemed a satisfying life. What was more, the merchants who plied their trade along this waterway were visibly affluent. With Helena beside me, I could have stayed for ever, becoming a happy river bum and never going home.

'What's in your mighty baggage pack?' Helena demanded.

'Scrolls to read.'

'Poetry?'

'History.'

'As in Thucydides?'

'As in Great Cock-ups of Modern Times.'

Helena glanced round to see if Augustinilla was in earshot of this irreverence, but saw my niece was too busy trying to find ways of falling off the boat. She laughed.