The Eagle and the Wolves

On either side of the entrance to Verica's great hall, torches wavered gently in the darkness. By their light Vespasian was surprised to see that the building had been completed since his last visit to Calleva. Clearly the king of the Atrebatans had aspirations towards a higher standard of living. Not surprising, Vespasian considered, given that so many of the island's nobles had enjoyed years of exile in the comfortable accommodation afforded by Rome.

A figure stepped out of the imposing entrance hall, a youth in his early twenties, Vespasian guessed. He had light brown hair tied back and was broad-shouldered and tall – taller than Vespasian by a few inches. He wore a short tunic over his check-weave leggings and soft leather boots, a compromise of native and Roman attire.

The man grasped Vespasian's arm with an easy familiar smile.

'Greetings, Legate.' He spoke in faintly accented Latin.

'Do I know you? I don't recall…'

'We haven't met formally, sir. My name's Tincommius. I was with my uncle's entourage when he rode out to greet you… when your legion arrived here at the beginning of spring?'

'I see,' Vespasian nodded, not recalling the man at all. 'Your uncle?'

'Verica,' Tincommius smiled modestly. 'Our king.'

Vespasian looked at him again, giving the man a more serious appraisal. 'Your Latin's pretty fluent.'

'I spent much of my youth in Gaul, sir. I fell out with my father when he swore allegiance to the Catuvellaunians. So I went and joined my uncle in exile… Anyway, if you would care to leave your bodyguards here, I can take you through to see the king.'

Vespasian ordered his men to wait for him, and followed Tincommius through the tall oak doors. Inside there was an imposing open space, with a high vaulted thatch roof held up by huge timber beams. Tincommius noted that Vespasian was impressed.

'The king remembers his time in exile with a degree of fondness for Roman architecture. This was completed only a month ago.'

'It's certainly fit accommodation for a king,' Vespasian replied politely as he followed Tincommius into the hall. Tincommius had turned right and bowed respectfully, and Vespasian followed his lead. Verica was sitting alone on a dais. To one side stood a small table covered with dishes bearing a variety of luxury foods. To the other side, on the floor, rested an elegant iron brazier, from which a small bundle of logs hissed and cracked on red-hot embers. Verica beckoned to them, and with the sharp echoing footsteps of his nailed boots Vespasian approached the king of the Atrebatans. Though Verica was nearly seventy, underneath the wrinkled skin and long grey hair his eyes sparkled brightly. He was tall and lean, and still had the air of command that must have made him an imposing figure at the height of his powers, Vespasian realised.

Verica slowly finished the small pastry he had in his hand and then brushed the crumbs on to the floor. He coughed to clear his throat.

'I summoned you to discuss this afternoon's events, Legate.'

'I imagined that was the reason, sir.'

'You must stop these enemy raids into Atrebatan lands. They can't be allowed to continue a moment longer. It's not just your convoys that are being attacked; my people have been driven from their farms.'

'I understand that, sir.'

'Empathy does not fill stomachs, Legate. Why can't we have some of the reserves in your depot? You have plenty there, yet your Centurion Veranius refused to release any supplies to us.'

'He was acting on my orders. My legion may require everything that's in the depot.'

'Everything? There must be far more there than you could ever need. My people are starving now.'

'I've no doubt it'll be a long campaign, sir,' Vespasian countered. 'And I've no doubt we will lose yet more supplies to the Durotrigans before the season is over. Then, of course, I'll need to stockpile food at an advance base for next winter.'

'And what of my people?' Verica's hand moved over towards a dish of honeyed dates. 'They can't be allowed to go hungry.'

'Once we've defeated the Durotrigans your people can return to their farms. But we can't beat the enemy while my troops have no food in their stomachs.'

It was an impasse, and both men knew it. Tincommius eventually broke the silence.

'Legate, have you considered what might happen if you don't feed our people. What if the Atrebatans rose up against Verica?'

Vespasian had indeed considered the prospect, and the consequences of such a rising were deeply disturbing. If the Atrebatans deposed Verica and threw in their lot with the other tribes fighting for Caratacus then General Plautius and his legions would be cut off from the supply base at Rutupiae. With enemies before, behind and between the Roman columns, Plautius would have to retreat to the safety of Camulodunum. And if the Trinovantans there, cowed as they were, took heart from the revolt of the Atrebatans, then only a miracle could save Plautius and his legions from succumbing to a fate similar to that of General Varus and his three legions in the depths of Germania nearly forty years ago.

Vespasian controlled his anxiety and fixed Tincommius with a steady look. 'Do you think it is likely that your people will rise up against the king?'

'Not the king. Rome,' replied Tincommius. Then he smiled. 'They're only grumbling right now. But who knows what men might do if they're hungry enough?'

Vespasian kept his expression fixed while Tincommius continued, 'Hunger is not the only danger. There are some nobles who are less than enthusiastic about our alliance with Rome. Hundreds of our best warriors are fighting alongside Caratacus even now. Rome should not take the loyalty of the Atrebatans for granted.'

'I see,' Vespasian smiled faintly. 'You're threatening me.'

'No, my dear Legate!' Verica interrupted. 'Not at all. You must pardon the boy. Youngsters are prone to overstatement, are they not? Tincommius was merely stating the possibility in the most extreme terms, unlikely as it might seem.'

'Fair enough.'

'Be that as it may, you should know that there is a very real threat to my position, one that might be exploited if you continue to let my people go hungry.'

There was a palpable tension between the three men now and Vespasian's anger at the naked attempt to blackmail him threatened to erupt in a most undiplomatic flow of invective. He forced himself to suppress his feelings and reconsider the situation. It was bad enough that the Atrebatans were in two minds about their alliance with Rome; there was no point in making matters worse by fostering bad relations with those Atrebatans who still cherished the link.

'What would you have me do?'

'Hand over your food supplies,' Tincommius answered.

'Impossible.'

'Then give us enough men to hunt down and destroy these raiders.'

'That's impossible too. I can't spare a single man.'