Jack Ludlow: The Pillars of Rome

‘Not yet.’

‘You would enjoy it, but then since it was written by friends of yours that is hardly surprising.’

Vegetius sat forward, and spoke with a degree of hope. ‘It absolves me?’

‘It does not even accuse you, so much is it a pack of lies. Keeping the soldiers pay is excused as keeping them from throwing away their hard-earned money, their labours as service to the provincial farmers, and your policy of guarding the frontiers in small detachments is described as masterful. Given the lengths you employed to pacify the indigenes, the Illyrian peasants are seen as ingrates for their revolt. When I read it I laughed until tears filled my eyes.’

‘What do you want, Lucius Falerius?’

‘A peaceful life, Vegetius, is that not what we all want? No more scraped votes in the Forum, no more having to cajole my fellow senators to do the right thing. It would be wonderful not to hear of land redistribution ever again, just as I would welcome an end to the clamour for the peoples we have defeated to be given citizenship. You and your friends represent a sizeable block of senatorial votes. If I can always count on those my mind will be at rest.’

‘These letters?’

‘Are copies. The originals I shall keep.’

‘Who has seen them?’

‘Enough people of position to ensure that I can introduce them to the house at any time I choose.’

‘They will lose potency as time passes, Lucius, and then people will ask why you hung on to them and said nothing.’

‘They might not result in your death, but ruin can be just as painful.’

‘You’re asking me to help you gain total control of the Senate.’

‘Never fear, Vegetius. No one ever has control of the Senate and if I do have power, I intend to use it wisely. That was something Aulus Cornelius never understood. Now, about your triumph.’

When Lucius departed he was content. He had what he had sought when he contrived at the murder of Tiberius Livonius, the power to ensure that the Imperium of Rome would remain unchanged and unsullied. Aulus had taken that away from him the day he had mounted his defence; now in death, without knowing it, his old friend had created the circumstances that gifted it back to him. There was another thing to cheer him up; no evidence of any eagles appeared in Aulus’s death, so perhaps, as he always half suspected, that Alban Sybil was wont to give her prophecy out for the money they brought in, not as true warnings from the gods.

The burning drawing was no more than a conjuring trick to terrify the gullible, and he could now dismiss from his mind the occasional fears it produced.

Claudia sat alone, as all over the house they prepared to commemorate, with prayers, the life of Aulus Cornelius Macedonicus. Senators were arriving and crowds had gathered in the street to mourn with the family. She knew once it was over she would have to decide what to do, and although not resolved, she had a fair idea of the course she should take. First, find the spot where her child had been exposed, then if there were bones, a proper, albeit secret burial, if not a priestly ceremony and a sacrifice to ease the passage of the child’s soul.

If that talisman was still there she could consider a return to Spain. If not, she must track it down, working out a way to effect that without bringing disgrace on the Cornelii name. But let that wait; now it was time to see to the funeral rites of her husband, and to pray to the gods that he would have more peace and happiness in Hades, than he ever enjoyed here on Earth.

The golden haired boy, now near a youth, with the dog Minca at his side, stood by the side of the Via Appia, the road that ran north to Rome and south to Sicily. He, despite his inclinations, could not travel in either direction. Having given what money Fulmina had bequeathed him to the guard, he was stuck here until something happened. Perhaps, with the news of victory in Illyricum, Clodius would come home, after all; yet the boy was not sure if he could face him. One thing he knew, that he would take food from Dabo, but never work in his fields.

Aquila turned and walked away, past the burnt outline that was all that remained of the hut in which he had grown up. He continued on down the stream to stand, after a lengthy walk, at the spot where, according to Fulmina, he had been found. He stood there for an age, trying to conjure up an image of the woman who had borne him and the people who had abandoned him, a baby wrapped in swaddling clothes. Inadvertently, his hand touched the leather amulet, his fingers tracing the outline of the eagle’s wings, wondering if what Fulmina had said was true; that his destiny lay with what was stitched inside.

Taking it off his arm, he looked at it intently, seeing the hooked beak and the wide wings of the eagle in flight. He would keep his vow to the woman who made it, and only open it when he feared no man; that was not now, but it would be soon. And then he would leave this place, to go where he did not know, and perhaps he would find the destiny that his adopted mother had seen in her dreams.