Sarum - Edward Rutherfurd [122]
Yet another, perhaps worse: many island chiefs are deep in debt to Roman creditors. They say that one of the greatest creditors of all is the philosopher Seneca. It seems amazing: I remember as a student with what admiration we studied his philosophy which told us to live a simple life, to be merciful to all men and to eschew worldly goods! Well, it seems he has millions of sesterces out on loan to native chiefs here and that he and a number of other great financiers have recently panicked and are calling in all their debts. Since the chiefs are having their property taken, they can’t pay, and they’ll be completely ruined!
It seems to me that if this province is ever going to be a success, we must not only win the war but also win the peace as well, and we can’t do that if no one trusts us. But the governor, who is a great man, thinks only of military mountain operations to swell his reputation amongst the other generals, and the procurator is no more than a rogue. The situation is drifting from bad to worse. It is particularly serious in the east, in the lands of the Trinovantes and the Iceni.
I think perhaps others in the administration see this too, but no one says a word – if you met Suetonius, you’d see why: they’re all terrified of him, and so am I!
I wish I could do something, but I don’t know what. Give me your advice.
Porteus read this second missive over and grunted with satisfaction. He was pleased with its neat, epigrammatic statements; the views he expressed were both honest and perceptive. The question was, did he dare send such a dangerous letter at all when there was a risk it might be opened, or would it be wiser to burn it and say nothing?
His ambition told him it was none of his business to worry about such things; but his conscience troubled him, and this difficult question was still unresolved when he fell asleep.
He never had to make the decision. Because at dawn he was awoken by Marcus in his tent, shaking him by the shoulder.
“Wake up, Porteus: quick!”
As he struggled into consciousness he saw that the young aristocrat’s face was set grimly.
“What is it?”
“It’s action, my friend. The Iceni have revolted!”
There was no need for him to send the letter to his father now: it was already too late; and as he soon discovered, the revolt was worse than anything he had ever imagined.
It was the procurator’s fault: King Prasutagus of the proud Iceni tribe in the east of the island had recently died leaving his widow and two daughters in the care of the emperor: but instead of protecting them, Decianus Catus had immediately confiscated most of their property and when the Iceni protested, Roman troops moved in.
It was a potentially explosive situation, created by the greed and stupidity of a worthless bureaucrat and an unsympathetic governor. Had there been a cool and more broad-minded administrator in the region to conciliate the Iceni, trouble might still have been averted.
When the troops moved in they found the Iceni in a state of justifiable rage. There were insults hurled at them and small skirmishes. Believing that their job was to teach these British natives a lesson, the officers led their men to the residence of the king’s widow, Boudicca, and ordered them to confiscate her possessions. This was the final insult to the powerful tribe, and the operation turned into a fiasco. The queen’s faithful servants began to attack those who, it seemed to them, had come to loot the royal house, and the Roman troops in no time were out of control. By the end of that day, Boudicca had been dragged out of her house and flogged, and her two daughters raped.
It was all that was needed. The fire of revolt against Roman oppression was lit – and the conflagration spread with a speed that astonished the conquerors.
The entire tribe of the Iceni and their powerful neighbours the Trinovantes rose at once. The arms