LION AND THE LARk

Rome....................August 44 B.C.................

The hot Roman sun bathed the forum in yellow light as Claudia strode past the temple of vesta and toward the Senate building. His blood red cloak hung heavily on his shoulders, but he didn't want to take it off and be out of uniform for his meeting with Ammianus scipio, the colonial governor of Britain. He threaded his way through the crowd, dodging the litters of the nobility carried by liveried servants, ignoring the cries of the vendor hawking wares from stall and the speech of the politicians delivered to the small crowds gathered in front of rostra, or speakers platforms. Slaves of all colors from all part of the world trudged past him carrying burdens, and pi dogs as well as ragged children from the insulae, or low rent apartment houses, darted across his path. He nodded at several uniformed soldiers, dressed in vivid garnet like himself, and walked around the table of a Greek scribe who had set up shop to write letter ✉️ for the largely illiterate population.A poet recited his latest creation outside a tent where skins were tanned and cured for sale, and Claudius shrugged off the touch of a Persian rug dealer who assumed an officer would have money to spend on a heavily worked tapestry from Bithynia. Claudius stopped and purchased a soft drink, made from grape must and sugared water and presented to him in a wooden cup. He swallowed the liquid in one gulp and returned the vessel to the vendor, handing him a denarius in payment. Claudius looked at the bustle surrounding him but did not see it, his mind far away. He had an idea why he had been summoned to this conference, he had just returned from an imperial base in spain, from which he had put down rebellions in Iberia and North Africa, and he suspected that he would be sent off to quell another one. Since the death of Julius Caesar in march, all the disaffected colonies had seen an opportunity to escape Roman bondage while the central government was in disarray and Claudius had traveled around the world for the last six months, putting out fire. But now that mark Anthony and Caesar's nephew octavian had stabilized the power source in Italy, many of the outlying district had also settled down. The notable exception was Britain, whose Celtic tribes were always the most restive elements in the farflung Roman Empire.

Claudius walked on, bypassing a fishmonger describing his produce as "Fresh today from Herculaneum'' and a wool merchant holding up a cloak dyed Tyrian purple. He left the forum behind and headed for the porta publica, or public gate, of the senate. He ran up the broad rounded steps of the columned building, nodding at the praetorian guards flanking the entrance who saluted him smartly. As he strode inside, his hobnailed sandals ringing on the marble floor, he bowed his head before the huge statue of capitoline Zeus which dominated the circular entrance hall. Then he turned left down a wide corridor, dark and torchlit even though it was a bright day outside, since the wall facing the street was windowless.He passed niches containing images of various gods, their carved feet graced by garlands from hopeful petitioners, and stopped before a heavily crenellated doorway, above which the letter SPQR, Senatus Populusque Romanus, were carved into the stone wall. The four guards standing outside the room presented arms when they saw him, then rested again. The guard closet to the oak paneled door opened it and announced him. "Claudius Drusus Leonatus, ''he said in stentorian tones. Scipio looked up from the scroll he was reading and gestured for Claudius to sit. Also in the room were octavian, the son of the late dictator's sister, and Mark Anthony, looking older and more world-weary than when Claudius had last seen him. "Ave lmperator, ''Claudius said to octavian, who waved his hand dismissively, indicating that they would dispense with formalities and get right down to business. Claudius took his place in the empty chair and was accustomed to keeping his own counsel untill he received his orders. The Celts are at it again, "Mark Anthony said tiredly, leaning against the far wall and folding his arms.The scrolls in the cubbyholes behind him framed his curly dark head as his expression spoke of his disgust with the recalcitrant natives of Britain.

The worst trouble is here, Scipio said, rising and pointing to a spot on a map pinned to the wall. "Camulodunum. ''Claudius looked in the direction of Scipio's finger and saw him touch the southeastern corner of the island marked Brittania.Claudius nodded. "They have been in rebellion on and off after my uncle invaded and conquered them ten years ago, but since his death, The outbreak have been constant, "Octavian Said, his sharp nose wrinking with distaste."The main troublemaker are the iceni and the Trinovantes, with the Iceni King, Borrus, leading the way. We have lost too many men and too much time already, we want to end the infighting before winter comes and they have the advantage over us."What advantage? "Claudius asked. "The ability to endure the British winter, "Scipio said dryly."Especially in the area of north londinium, the cold can be fierce. They're used to it, and we're not. Add to that their familiarity with the terrain and their facility for surprise attacks... "He spread his hands. "Tribune, we want you to take a troop of reinforcement to Britain and help stamp out this rebellion, or at least come to terms on a treaty, "Octavian said. "We want the fighting to stop, it's costing us too much. You will sail from ostia within the week.''How many men? "Claudius asked calmly, thinking ahead. The order was not a surprise. "Two thousand in ten ships, for a start. We will send more if the general's communiques indicate that they are necessary. "How much time will I have? ''As much as you need, but the snow starts falling there in the tenth month, ''scipio said warningly. ''When will you be joining me?"Claudius asked, looking inquiring at the general.