Sarum - Edward Rutherfurd [115]
“Let me have the harbour which the Durotriges stole from my family; I know how to run it profitably.” This claim was in fact true; but it was of no particular interest to the legate, who could see that the Celt was bursting to ask for more. Without letting Tosutigus see that his questions were little more than grim teasing he asked with apparent seriousness:
“And what else?”
Tosutigus paused.
For many months he had pondered his grand design; he had even prepared his approach to the governor on the subject; and now, lured on by what he took to be the legate’s interest in him – this legate who was about to destroy the powerful Durotriges and who certainly must have the ear of the governor, he threw aside his usual caution. This, he thought to himself, is my moment: it has come sooner than I expected. His hope had been to approach the governor himself with his plan, if he could only get the opportunity; but it seemed to him now that he must seek to win over this commander of the legion which was about to destroy the Durotriges, for Vespasian was probably his only way to the governor.
Slowly he drew out of his tunic a parchment scroll. It was a letter, addressed to governor Aulus Plautius, and it was the result of endless nights of secret composition. This was his plan to make Sarum great again.
The letter was not yet sealed.
“Read it,” he said proudly.
Vespasian read, with grim amusement, and then astonishment. Before him, couched in a Latin and handwriting that would have made any Roman schoolboy burst out laughing, was the mind of Tosutigus – his grand plan for the reorganisation of the south-west of the island, for his personal benefit. Stripped of its fervent expressions of devotion and absurd flattery it said: Tosutigus is loyal to Rome: give him the entire land of the Durotriges to rule over and you will never repent of your choice.
“The Durotriges hate the Romans,” Tosutigus explained excitedly. “They will fight to the death, but even when you have conquered them, none of their own chiefs will ever be loyal and you’ll have nothing but trouble. You will either have to garrison the whole territory, which is expensive, or kill them all, and leave behind you a desert. But I am a Celt,” he went on. “I understand these Durotriges and their ways, and furthermore I am loyal to Rome. I could hold their lands as your client – or some of their lands, at least,” he added hopefully.
So that was it. Even Vespasian was surprised by the ambition of this foolish fellow’s dream: there was even a certain logic to it, he acknowledged. But it was wholly impractical – from start to finish a young man’s plan. If the Durotriges were too proud to submit to Rome, there was even less chance that they would accept as their king this obscure young chief who had already betrayed his fort. The idea was absurd.
In his heart of hearts, Tosutigus knew it himself; but it was a gamble worth a try. The Roman invaders, he reasoned, knowing little of the country, might be attracted by the prospect of an easy solution to the problem of governing the area – for he did not realise the thoroughness and relentless attention to detail of the imperial administration; and besides, how else was he to revenge his family for the years of indignity under Durotrigan domination, and restore Sarum to its ancient glory?
Vespasian saw all this clearly, but his face remained impassive.
“I will convey your letter to the governor,” he replied gravely.
For he had already decided how to make use of the foolish young Celt at his side, and now he craftily introduced the subject that was really on his mind.
“If you want to be a client king, you will not only need to please the governor,” he said. “You must show your loyalty to the emperor himself. Claudius is impressed by action, not words.”
Tosutigus waited expectantly. It seemed to him that his negotiations were going better than he had dared to hope.
Vespasian knew very well what Claudius wanted from his new province. Before leaving the island, the lame emperor had