Jack Whyte - The Singing Sword

My legs almost gave way with relief! As I struggled to keep my breathing normal, the Legate Titanius rose to his feet and detailed the meticulous testimony of the witnesses we had brought from home concerning the affair in Aquae Sulis. When he had finished and sat down again, Stilicho looked around the room and spoke again.

"Bear in mind, everyone here, that this manhunt for the prisoner was unjustifiable... No punishable crime had been committed by him. In the year that followed the original assault, however, the prisoner undertook a journey to the west, to be married. In the course of that journey, he survived three attempts upon his life, all made by the same group of hired assassins. On the last of these occasions, the prisoner captured one of these men alive and handed him over to the military authorities in Alchester. The assassin, before he was hanged, made a full confession. He confessed to being in the paid employ of Quinctus Nesca, who had offered a large reward in gold for the head of a man — any man — fitting the prisoner's description. The officer who took that confession is stationed now in the north of the province, at Arboricum. Senator Seneca, do you wish this tribunal to order the recall of that officer for questioning before we pass judgment on this matter?"

Again the terrible, afflicted silence before a jerked, negative headshake and a whispered "No."

"So let it be. It is the judgment of this tribunal that the prisoner, Publius Varrus, is innocent of complicity in the murder of Quinctus Nesca. This tribunal also finds the prisoner justified in taking the lives of Nesca's two employees in the protection of his own."

He paused. "Now, in the matter of armed rebellion and banditry." He looked directly at me. "Senator Caius Britannicus will address this tribunal."

Caius rose to his feet, and my guards made no move to check me as I turned my head to look at him.

"Explain the circumstances of your arrest of this man Varrus on these charges." Stilicho's voice was devoid of emphasis.

Caius looked around at the assembled officers, at me, and then at Seneca, before returning his eyes to Stilicho and his two legates. "The charges are specious, my Lord Regent," he said. "They are totally without substance. I fabricated them an hour before the arrival of Claudius Seneca." I knew that Caius had purposely avoided the use of Seneca's senatorial rank. "I had received warning of his imminent arrival, and I knew all the circumstances relating to his hatred for this man, my friend, Publius Varrus. I conceived the subterfuge of bringing Varrus to Londinium under guard as the only means at my disposal of guaranteeing his life."

I could feel Seneca's eyes on me, the hatred in his gaze stinging my skin like acid.

Stilicho spoke again. "How long have you known the prisoner, Senator?"

"For almost three decades, my Lord Regent."

"And you have found him honourable in all that time?"

"Completely."

"To what extent?"

Caius looked at me before continuing and then turned back to the rostrum. "Publius Varrus served with me as a centurion before the first attack on the Wall, my Lord Regent. In the aftermath of the Invasion, I elevated him to the rank of tribune for his conduct in the field. He received the wound that crippled him towards the close of the campaign conducted by the Emperor Theodosius against the invaders, and was responsible for saving my life on that occasion, when we were ambushed in the high mountains. In all the time that I have known him, he has consistently behaved with honour, loyalty, integrity and all of the finest attributes of what we are proud to call the Roman Way."

"Thank you, Proconsul." Caius sat down as Stilicho rose to his feet and banged his ivory baton on the rostrum. "Let all men present hear. In the name of Honorius, Emperor, this tribunal declares the accused, Publius Varrus, innocent of all charges and exonerated completely in the eyes of God and man. So let it be. Strike off the prisoner's chains and see that he is fed and bathed and dressed as befits his rank and the injustices done him. This tribunal is adjourned. Tribune Seneca! My quarters, please. Immediately."

As conversations broke out all around, I stood there alone and knew beyond a doubt that all of the enemies Caius had ever made, combined, could not add up to one-tenth of the hatred he had earned that day from Caesarius Claudius Seneca. Until that day, Seneca's obsession with me had, it seemed, been the driving impetus of his life, apart from making money. But now he had another focus for his hatred. Caius Britannicus. And I felt heavily in my guts that Claudius Seneca had ample capacity for double hatred.

XIV

Even as the shackles fell away from my wrists and ankles, I was sick and shaking inside. I had lived twenty-one days, I estimated, chained either in a cage or in a cell, and the knowledge that the whole exercise was a ruse had given me no shred of comfort. None at all. It was a soul-shattering experience, and at the end, as I stood in front of that tribunal under guard and heard the charges being read by Stilicho, I really believed that I was doomed. The charges sounded very black, and I was quite convinced that Seneca had succeeded in getting rid of me after fourteen years. When I heard the verdict of exoneration on all counts, I thought that I would swoon, or vomit, or both; there was a roaring in my ears, and afterwards I saw no face nor heard any of the words addressed to me.

They took me to a smithy and struck off my chains, and they took me to a bath house and washed and steamed and scrubbed away the filth of three weeks, and they took me to an officers' dining room and made me eat, and all the time they talked to me and I to them, but nothing registered. In my mind, in my soul, I had been robbed of my humanity.

I found redemption waiting for me, however, when I awoke the following morning. Catharsis, that abstract purging of the soul, is normally effected through the skills of tragedians and dramatists working on the emotions of their listeners. In my case, however, it was embodied by Plautus. I opened my eyes to find him leaning lazily against the doorpost of my sleeping cubicle with his arms folded on his chest as he watched me. I blinked once at him and he said, "You always were an ugly whoreson, Varrus, but now you're getting lazy, too. D'you intend to lie sweating in that pit of fleas all day?" I sat up, swung my legs to the floor and smiled at him with my whole being, and I felt good!

A half hour later we sat together in the refectory, sizing each other up again, oblivious to the comings and goings of the officers all around us.

"So," I asked him, "how are you finding this posting? You are in high company, with all these imperial troops around."

He frowned and spoke in a deep, growling tone. "What d'you mean, in good company? Are you mocking me? What posting? Look at me, for God's sake! I'm a civilian! I'm out!"

"Out?" I had noticed his civilian garb but had presumed him to be merely off duty, knowing he would never voluntarily present himself in staff officers' territory in uniform. "What do you mean, out? You can't be! You've another five to go."

"No." He shook his head. "Thirty-five years. That's maximum. I'm fifty-three years old."

I stared at him in astonishment. "Good God, Plautus, I had no idea! Why didn't you let me know? You knew how to find me. If it hadn't been for that warning you sent me I'd probably be dead now. I would have walked right out to meet that ill-gotten swine Seneca and he'd have had my balls on a platter within minutes."

He dismissed that with a wave of his hand. "Forget it." He was saying nothing else, and very obviously.

"You didn't answer me. Why didn't you let me know you were out?"

The bitter tone of his voice told me even more than his words. "What good would that have done? What was there to tell you? That I was finished? Out to pasture? That the army has no further use for me? That I'm too old to contribute any more? No, I just got out and decided to stay here for a while — until it's over."