Emperor

XXIII

Claudius left Britain after only sixteen days. And he took Agrippina and Cunedda with him, all the way back to Rome.

On the Palatine Hill, where the emperors since Augustus had been building their palaces, Agrippina and Cunedda wandered in silence under ceilings as tall as the sky, and across floors of marble as flat as lakes, all drenched in dense Mediterranean light. Claudius had talked of Rome as a system that worked on timescales that transcended human lifetimes. For more than half a millennium already the wealth of Europe, Asia and Africa had drained here, as water drains through a funnel. And the result was visible all around them in the marble-plated hills of Rome.

Though they remained under nominal guard, Claudius seemed keen to keep Cunedda and Agrippina within his household. He even assigned them tutors. They were his two Brittunculi, he said, apparently without malice. Later Agrippina learned that he had brought Gauls home too, and showed a similar interest in that relatively new province. They were treated like pets, Agrippina thought, but there were worse attitudes for a conqueror.

A month after the Emperor's return to Rome Agrippina was brought to Claudius to find him busily engaged in preparations for his triumph, scheduled for the following year. 'There's so much to do,' he told her, fussing over heaps of correspondence. 'So many details to organise! And it's hard to delegate. Even Narcissus, whom I value dearly, is a Greek, and understands little of the tradition, not to say the archaism, with which Rome runs its affairs.

'And I am also busy composing the dedicatory inscription for my triumphal arches.' He showed her a rough outline. 'You can see half of it is taken up by my own formal names, pah! But I have chosen the words carefully, I think. I mention the formal submission of eleven kings. The invasion was carried out without loss of honour to Rome, for it was a response to the breaking of treaties by British princes-it was, you know! Roman wars are always legal. And here I show that Roman rule is now extended to the barbarians across the sea.' Barbari Transoceanum.

'Where will your arches be?'

'The Senate has awarded me three-in Rome, and on the coast of the Ocean, perhaps where Plautius made his first landing, and perhaps one in Cunobelin's capital.'

Agrippina said boldly, 'There will be few celebrations in Britain.'

'Why so?'

'Your invasion was brutal. You care nothing for our culture, our identity. You want only the wealth you can extract.'

Claudius sat back and pursed his lips. 'So we are bandits. Violent robbers. But that is the way of things. On your island, you Britons have fallen behind the march of Europe. We have literacy; we have law; we have records; we have a political system which does not depend on the idiosyncrasies of its leader-at least not entirely. For all the undoubted qualities of your culture, in this new world Britain is an anachronism. And in the collision of an advanced culture with a lesser, only one outcome is possible.

'Times change, Agrippina! Once Rome was a vibrant, ancient Republic, and no one would have believed that democrats would abandon democracy-and yet in the tensions of global power Romans yielded to emperors. But the sun continues to rise and set even so. If we suppress your British identity, good: shed it! The future belongs to Rome-and you are a Roman now.'

She nodded, listening carefully. 'I value your words, sir, but-'

'"But you are a pompous old fool!"' He sat back with a sigh. 'You see, I am such a wise ruler that I can even finish your sentences for you. And what of you two? I saw the bond between you, even in that difficult night in Camulodunum. Is love blossoming here in the sweet light of Rome?'

It paid to tell an emperor what he wanted to hear, but she saw no point in concealing what must be obvious. 'We've grown apart.'

'But you loved Cunedda!'

'I did. But-' But the vast dislocation of the invasion had overwhelmed their petty human plans, and the death of her brother seemed to have aged Agrippina prematurely. 'I think I simply grew out of him.'

He studied her. 'I do understand, I think. But tell me: if you are no longer in love, what are your plans now?'

'Plans?' She frowned. 'You make the plans.'

Claudius looked irritated. 'Well, then, tell me your dreams.'

'Cunedda is a potter, like his father before him. I think he would like to go home. Back to Britain. And to begin building up his family's business once more.'

Claudius nodded. 'A shrewd choice. Believe me, now that you are part of Rome there will be a market for his pots!' He tapped his teeth. 'I see no reason to keep the boy here-not past the triumph next year, anyway. I will talk to Narcissus about it.'

She nodded. 'Thank you.'

'And what of you?'

'I would like to stay here in Rome,' she said firmly. 'As you said I am a Roman now. I believe I have wits. Perhaps I could be a clerk, a chronicler.'

'Oh, you may do better than that. I see promise in you. As a barbarian, indeed as a non-Roman, you will face prejudice; I wouldn't hide that. But you could support a suitable husband in an appropriate profession: a lawyer, perhaps, or a moneylender.'

'Or I might just make my own way,' she said.

He raised his thick eyebrows. 'You are ambitious indeed.'

More than even you know, she thought to herself. After all she had already come far. She had survived the storm of invasion. She had plotted the assassination of an emperor, and survived that too. Now here she was, a woman from the edge of the world at the centre of everything.

And, though her hatred of Rome had become meaningless so complete was its victory over her, she still clutched one dark ambition to her heart.

Claudius was immersed once more in his books and parchments. He had probably already forgotten she was here. With a bow she backed out of his presence and left the room.