He dipped his quill into the inkpot and began to form the letters of the next sentence in the letter he was writing to Licinius. Two years of regular correspondence, he reflected wryly, had made him almost as facile a writer as his slave secretary; at first it had been hard, but he had come to appreciate the value of a private correspondence.
“. . . the last of the legionaries who a year ago followed Saturninus into rebellion have been judged and, for the most part, split up and integrated into other legions” he wrote carefully. “The Emperor’s new order of only one legion per camp is causing some inconvenience, and a great deal of work for the engineers. I do not know if it will discourage conspiracy, but it may be a good thing to have our forces spread more evenly along the border. Has the order been implemented in Britannia?”
For a moment he paused, listening to the regular tramp of hobnailed sandals on stone as the watch went by, then bent to his work again.
“The word here is that the Marcomanni and Quadi are restive again, and Domitian has had to pause in his campaign against Dacia to deal with them. My advice would be to make an ally of King Decebalus if possible, and use the Dacians to deal with the Marcomanni. The Emperor, however, has not yet included me among the select circle of his advisers, so who knows what he will do?”
He smiled, knowing that Licinius would understand his humor. He had been in the Emperor’s presence several times before he was transferred from the Second Legion in Dacia to a cavalry command in Germania, but he rather doubted that Domitian was aware of his existence.
“Training with my wing of cavalry goes well. The Brigantes stationed here are fearless horsemen, and very grateful to have a commander who can speak to them in their own language. The poor beggars must be as homesick as I am. Give my love to Julia and the children. I suppose Cella must be quite a big girl now, and it is hard to believe that little Secunda is more than a year old.
“I think of Britannia as a haven of peace compared to the frontier of Germania,” he went on, “but I suppose that is an illusion. I overheard one of the new men in my command talking about ravens, and suddenly I am wondering about that secret society that we used to hear of years ago . . .”
Once more he paused, telling himself that the anxiety that had suddenly overwhelmed him was only his reaction to the rain, but before he could return to his writing, someone knocked on his door with word that the Legate wanted to see him, and he pulled on his cloak and left his quarters, wondering what it could be.
“It’s new orders, tribune,” said his Commander. “And I must say I’ll be sorry to lose you, for you were shaping well here —”
“Is the wing being transferred?” Gaius looked at him in some confusion, for a wave of camp gossip usually preceded any move of this kind.
“Just you, lad, more’s the pity. You’re being transferred to the staff of the Governor in Britannia. Seems there’s been some kind of local dust-up, and they need a man with your particular background there.”
The Ravens . . .thought Gaius, and Cynric’s face as he had last seen it, sullen with hatred, came to mind. I shall pay more attention to my premonitions from now on. He could see Licinius’s hand in this summons. As one officer among many on the frontier, only the greatest good luck would bring him to the attention of anyone who could offer useful patronage. But if he could prevent a rebellion . . .
Licinius was no doubt congratulating himself at finding a way for his son-in-law to do his duty and at the same time advance his career. Only Gaius would know, or care, that to do so he must destroy a man who had been his friend. He made some kind of polite response to his Commander, scarcely hearing the reply, and went back to his quarters to pack his gear.