Vespasian had seen it all before, on many occasions, but was still filled with satisfaction and pride by the sight. There was something almost miraculous about the way nearly thirty thousand men could build something on the scale of a small city in so short a time, and then level it and move on before the sun had even begun to warm the earth. Of course, he reminded himself, there was no miracle involved, only long years of hard training to ensure the efficiency with which the whole job was carried out. It was the Roman way of war, and upon it rested the future of the empire.
On the far side of the camp a dense column of men was marching out through a gap in the ramparts where the gatehouse had already been torn down. Vespasian squinted to make out the detail as tiny twinkles of light flickered up and down the column from sunlight reflecting off polished helmets. As the soldiers tramped along, they quickly kicked up a dusty haze that swallowed up the main body of legionaries.
The Ninth Legion, with two regiments of cavalry and four cohorts of auxiliary infantry, turned away from the Tamesis and marched east to crush any last thoughts of resistance amongst the Icenians and the Trinovantians. Once that had been achieved Legate Hosidius Geta was tasked with constructing a network of small forts to police the rolling expanse of rich farmland, trailing off into vast impenetrable marshes on the northern fringe of the Icenian kingdom. An army, much larger than the pitiful remnants that still clung to Caratacus, could easily hide itself away in these marshes and never be discovered by Roman patrols.
Now that the Britons had been defeated on the battlefield, Plautius was free to disperse his forces and begin the process of turning the war-ravaged south of the island into a new province. There were colonies to be established, towns to build and a network of roads to be laid down to link them all. Then there was the need to build up a parallel network of administrators and clerks to run the province and make sure that it began to pay its way at the earliest possible date.
Even now, with Caratacus defeated scant days before, the general had received instructions to appoint local officials to prepare the groundwork for the tax farmers who had won the contracts for the new province. A full inventory was to be taken of the kingdoms of the tribes who had already passed completely under Roman rule. A number of client kingdoms were also to be approached to determine the appropriate level of tribute that they would be expected to pay into the imperial treasury.
This was a delicate task, since some client kingdoms were more important, strategically, than others. While there was no chance of the Cantians affecting the outcome of the current campaign, the Icenians – a large and war-like tribe – bordered the right flank of the Roman advance, and needed to be treated with careful respect, until sufficient force could be brought to bear on them and put them in their place. Further north, much further north, lay the kingdom of the Brigantians, ruled by Cartimandua, a young queen of formidable will, who had decided that there was more to be gained from appeasing rather than opposing Rome. For now at least. But in time, these client kingdoms would be remorselessly drawn into the Empire and subjected to its rule. The presence of a legion camped on their doorstep was usually enough to quell any temptation to rebel against the new order. And if they did resist then they would be taught a swift and bloody lesson in the realities of the new order. The dispatching of Hosidius Geta's column to the east was merely the first step in adding the lands of the Icenians to the new province.
Meanwhile General Plautius would take the Twentieth and the Fourteenth legions, and most of the auxiliary cohorts and push forward north of the Tamesis to establish the other end of the new province's frontier, and begin the task of constructing military roads to link up the forces dispersing across the width of the island.
The third column, under Vespasian, consisted of his legion, the Second, four cohorts of Batavian horse, two cohorts of Batavian infantry and two large mixed units of Illyrians. General Plautius had also promised his legate use of the British fleet based at Gesoriacum in Gaul, as soon as Vespasian had finished off Caratacus and could move on to subdue the remaining southern tribes still intent on defying Rome. But Caratacus had gone to ground and Vespasian was consumed with frustration at the prospect of digging the wily British commander out of his hole. It was already late summer and soon the leaves would begin to brown and fall. There would be plenty of rain and the native tracks would turn into glutinous rivers of mud that would slow down the heavy wagons of the baggage train to an exhausting and filthy crawl. Removing the threat of Caratacus might be the last operation Vespasian would be able to carry out before the campaigning season came to an end.
He had been in command of the legion for nearly three years already, and he doubted whether he had distinguished himself enough for his tenure of command to be extended much longer. The cordial relationship he had established with his general over the last two years was dead. Both men regarded each other with open hostility now, and Vespasian was convinced that Aulus Plautius would have him replaced at the earliest opportunity. Under normal circumstances legates were left to command a legion for three to five years, before returning to Rome to further their political careers. But Vespasian had little taste for such ambitions any more. What was the point of high political office in the senate when the real power in Rome was wielded from the imperial palace? Worse still, promotion to any position of real significance depended on currying favour with the Emperor's Imperial Secretary, Narcissus. The thought of toadying up to a freedman, a decadent Greek at that, made Vespasian feel sick. But he was realist enough to know that the old Republican values his grandfather had set so much faith in were largely irrelevant in the modern world. Where before hundreds of senators had once debated the destiny of Rome, now one emperor ruled. That was the reality he must live with.
From the moment of taking up his appointment to command the Second Legion Vespasian had felt at home. Army life was free of the endless deception and obsequious grovelling that characterised political life in the capital. Serving with the Eagles a man was largely in charge of his own destiny and most men rose through the ranks on merit. There was no intricate weaving of self-interested schemes, and schemes within schemes. Instead, a soldier was given a clear-cut task and left to improvise the best method of carrying out his orders. To be sure, there was a distressing amount of paperwork involved, and Vespasian had never had so little time for rest before in his life. Yet, after the few hours of sleep he managed to snatch, he awoke with a fresh sense of purpose, and a feeling that he was doing something with real value, something that genuinely furthered the destiny of his people, and of Rome itself.
Flavia would be delighted when the time came for him to quit the legion, he reflected guiltily. His wife had always regarded the post of legate as an unfortunate formality, to be undergone before her husband rose to high office. The discomforts of life in the fortress on the Rhine had put her off the army for ever, and now she waited impatiently at the family home in Rome. Not alone though, Vespasian smiled. She had little Titus to keep her company, and that boy had become quite a handful, if the tactful sentences in her letters were anything to go by. The lad should keep his wife busy. Too busy for her to be occupied by anything else.
All the quiet joy of the morning faded away as the prospect of a return to the snakepit of politics in Rome loomed in Vespasian's mind. Even here, on the fringe of the known world, surrounded by his soldiers, he felt the tentacles of treachery and peril reaching out from the heart of the Empire to entangle and crush him. There would be no simple life of a soldier for him, Vespasian reflected bitterly. He was a fool to think otherwise. Politics was part of the air that his class breathed and there was nothing he could do to alter that fact.