To Kill the Christ! - Chapter Twenty-three: Roman Intrigue

Carl still was angry the next morning. Rebecca, too. But this time they were angry with Gaio. Breakfast was quiet while both mulled their own thoughts, interrupted only by occasional outbursts from Curtis.

"I can hardly believe Gaio would do such a thing," Rebecca finally blurted. "When you told me last night what he had said about the hospital, I couldn't believe. He told me just the opposite."

"Yes, it's too devious to believe. If people talked with each other instead of burying their thoughts when they get suspicious, most problems could be worked out. Thank God, Raphael challenged me on the Messalina story, and that he believed me. It could have created a terrible split."

"What were you doing with her?"

Carl darted a glance at Rebecca and noticed a smile twitching the corners of her mouth. Two could play that game. "I figured if you could spend time with Cunovali, I could spend time with Messalina."

It was Rebecca's turn to check Carl's face. His eyes crinkled, a sure sign he had countered her sally.

"But, all kidding aside," he continued, "what should we do with Gaio?" Sometimes they carried their quips too far.

"Send him back to Aaron, with our 'blessing'." Rebecca was angry with Aaron, too.

"I'll call him in this morning and send him on his way, but not before I've listed the reasons for doing so. He could have loused up a beautiful relationship, not only between us, but between us and Raphael and Messalina."

He pushed aside his plate before continuing. "As I lay in bed last night I concluded we still have to respond to what he's done. Gaio has poisoned our thoughts, and it will take time to recover from them, even though we know they're without foundation. I'll send Cunovali to scout out other tribes. I've also considered sending Raphael back to Camulodunum to make that his headquarters. He and Messalina can do a better job from there, since we have competent people to keep the books straight here. We need him to build or acquire a merchant fleet for trading and a naval fleet for defense. What do you think?"

"More importantly, what will Raphael think," Rebecca answered. "Messalina would like to return, of that I'm sure. There she would head the household, here she's an interloper. Even though we've made them as welcome as possible, it's difficult living under someone else's roof, even when the roof is over an annex."

"Perhaps you're right. I'll talk with Raphael to see whether he would like to return. If he doesn't, I won't press him on it, although I would like for him to set up a school of trade in Camulodunum, much as he has done here in accounting and business methods, to train those who will follow him."

Carl took a cup of hot, dark berry juice from the servant. The coffee had run out years ago, and he still missed it. In fact, there were many mundane things of life he missed, but he wouldn't allow his mind to dwell on them.

"Gaio needs a squad of cavalry to see him safely through to Aaron, that old liar. They deserve each other. I. . ." He slapped his hand on the table forcefully. "No, I won't either. I'll send Gaio to Camulodunum. I've set him free in good faith, why should I return him to Aaron? I should send him off on his own, but that would be murder. And I once promised Gaio I would send him to Camulodunum with a squadron for protection. I'll keep my promise of protection, even though he doesn't deserve it. Somebody has to keep his word in this cockeyed society."

"Why did Aaron do it?"

"For his family, community, and, I suspect, but I don't know for sure, because of his daughter. He mentioned her once just after Gaio left the tent, but in such a way that I assumed that's why Gaio was with him and not at home as he had no functional role to play on that trip. Anyway, that may excuse him, but it doesn't mean I have to support his deception. If he'd asked us to train Gaio for a year or two and then return him, we would've done it. But no one trusts anyone in this world. Everything's a tissue of lies."

"Don't become such a cynic. He didn't know how we would react to such a suggestion." She smiled, but she was serious.

"You're right."

"Why are you sending Cunovali on assignment?"

"Largely to get him away from here. He's been spending time with you and the archers for the wrong reasons—he is studying the wrong tactics. But he deserves to be rewarded for his initiative. He'll travel around the country learning from warriors in different tribes how archers are used to support infantry. The fact he is Dubonnii and has a distinct accent will keep others from identifying him with Nottingham or Long Reach."

Carl looked full into Rebecca's eyes. "No, I'm not sending him away because of a potential infatuation with you, but being away from Nottingham for a couple of months may cool whatever infatuation exists. This will kill three birds with one stone—Gaio's removed, Cunovali studies the opposition, and we defuse an attachment that could only get him into trouble, assuming that's correct."

"You've just mixed a metaphor."

"I did it on purpose. That's ok."

"I wouldn't dare argue with a Ph.D. in English history."

"I didn't finish, remember? We were interrupted."

They refused to dwell on what they had left in the Twenty-first Century, but it entered both of their minds from time to time.

It's good to see Rebecca back to her normal, kidding self, Carl thought. Gaio's been a serpent in Eden, such as it is. He needs to be expelled before he causes our expulsion. Though I'd like to see him crawl on the ground as a penalty, I can't impose more than exile.

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Carl was brutally abrupt with him. "Gaio, I really believe I should ship you back to Aaron cut into little pieces. If I were that kind of man I'd do it without shame, because you deserve it. And Aaron deserves to receive pieces of the 'slave' he never really gave me."

He tightened the screws. "You truly belong to each other." He gave a long pause. "But I won't. I promised you freedom, and you have it, if you can keep it. You will return to Camulodunum and, if you're lucky, ship off to Greece before Aaron claims you. Your escort leaves tomorrow at dawn. You may take your goods and any of those young apprentices who're willing to follow you. But Rebecca is telling them exactly what you are—the slave of a trader who will try to reclaim you. I don't trust you to tell them the truth."

Carl examined Gaio carefully as he stood before him. He was not especially handsome, but his ingratiating style usually won over people. He would be a loss to Long Reach's medicine. He had learned a great deal from Rebecca, and he had contributed to Rebecca's understanding of native medicines. He also was a good teacher, better than Rebecca, who lacked the actor's skills that Gaio exuded. But his loss was small compared with what would happen should he stay. A backbiter and schemer was as bad as an assassin. Both killed, but the assassin did his own killing while the schemer provoked others to do it.

It was early March when the escort left Gaio to fend for himself in Camulodunum. Before they left the city, he had arranged passage on a merchant ship going to Iberia, from there he would find his way to Greece. He was leaving Britannia as quickly as possible. Aaron had lost his prize.

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In the fifth summer of their sojourn in Britannia, AD24, Raphael and Messalina bade goodbye to Carl and Rebecca. Their train of wagons was loaded with personal belongings and merchandise from the small mills and factories of Nottingham. It would be slow going and a very rich coup for brigands, but with two squadrons of cavalry along for protection, enough to scare off all but an army, there was little fear of attack. It was a tearful farewell, but promises were made to see each other in the winter, though Raphael would return infrequently to keep Carl and Rebecca abreast of his activities.

One squadron was to stay with Raphael in Camulodunum, to serve as guards and protect both him and Messalina; the other would return. But every three months the squadrons would rotate, otherwise one unit of Nottingham's superb cavalry would grow sedentary in the city.

Carl's parting words to Raphael were "Keep those men in training. I don't want them growing Camulodunum-fat and lazy."

Raphael nodded and waved goodbye.

They were riding in one of the new carriages Mannus had constructed using ball bearings and leaf springs.

The carriage maker had made many of the two-man chariots for warriors in Britannia. Short, fussy, and detailed, he had hated to leave Camulodunum, but the pay and the chance to work with Nottingham's new materials induced him to move. They supplied him with talented men to work in his carriage shop, including some brought in from other parts of the kingdom. He quickly built a shop in Long Reach capable of producing eight-person carriages and the new military "truck-wagons" required to move the infantry to the battlefield.

Raphael's arrival in Camulodunum caught the fancy of the city. It was the first carriage the people had seen. It traveled over dirt roads on metal strips nailed to the wheels. There hadn't been time to develop softer wheels. The carriage had enough height to get the undercarriage over brush and other debris that littered the trails of Britannia, but the suspension held Raphael and Messalina in comfort. It contained improvements that leaped ahead nearly two millenia.

Raphael immediately set about building a house with large grounds, designed for business and living, but also capable of being defended. He had learned something from his previous experience. He enlarged his network of spies, most of them commercial spies, for he could tell which kingdom was building up arms from the increase of supplies. And he set up a school of trade to begin the long process of teaching young men—no women—the intricacies of trade and contracts. Since contracts and contract law were still being developed in Britannia, he emulated the Roman system as much as feasible. Perhaps Roman Lex would conquer Britannia without the use of Legions.

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Indeed, Rome intended to conquer Britannia one way or another. Gaius Marcellus Antonius, a minister to Tiberius, traveled to Britannia to meet expressly with Carl of the Long Reach. The Treaty of Rome had been signed with Tasciovanus, and now his successor was Cunobelin of the Catuvellauni. But trade with Carl of the Long Reach showed that he was more than equal to Cunobelin, except perhaps, in the strength of  his army. Rome had to sort out the situation on the island.

Raphael found out as much as possible about the man before Carl met with him.

Marcellus had commanded a Roman Legion on the northern front under Augustus. Severely wounded in fighting in Cisalpingaul, he nevertheless led his men in storming a barbarian stronghold and winning the province for Rome. Many more battles were needed to subdue the entire province, but Marcellus had won great honor through his bravery and leadership. His military record and his family connections resulted in a position of responsibility with Augustus in Rome instead of retirement to an estate. He proved as able a diplomat as commander and stayed on when Tiberius became emperor.

It was early fall when Marcellus arrived in Camulodunum, where he stayed for several days with King Cunobelin, covertly learning more about the growing economic and military power of Nottingham before meeting with Raphael in the mansion.

Marcellus was unimpressed with the crab-handed Raphael, and he did little to hide his contempt, a serious mistake.

Raphael was quick to respond and would have created an early breech with Rome, but for wise counsel from Messalina. "Marcellus' contempt is a weakness you should exploit," she suggested.

He reluctantly agreed for it was good advice. The best revenge is to beat the enemy, so he played the simpleton for the Roman ambassador, learning all the more about Rome's intentions and its situation in Gaul, where Raphael already knew of the Empire's precarious position. Rome was in no position to push into Britannia, no matter how blustering its representatives might be. Marcellus' attitude toward Raphael would cost Rome many a gold coin in the years that lay ahead.

Carl was unsure whether to present Nottingham to Marcellus as a formidable power, one capable of severely blunting if not destroying Roman Legions, or as a bumbling little kingdom. Raphael's insights helped him decide. Rome was impressed by only one thing—strength.

Warmly received, a supercilious Marcellus was bedazzled by Nottingham's military demonstration, with the cavalry showing blazing speed in attack followed by a rapid wheeling away to smash an enemy flank, all done without men and horses crashing to the ground in confusion. The accuracy and power of the archers convinced Marcellus, a seasoned commander, that Rome should wait a spell before attacking Britannia, unless it was absolutely necessary to bring the island to heel in order to plunder its rich mineral resources and granaries.

Carl had one last surprise for Marcellus. He had arranged to stake a young bull two hundred feet away, and then prepared a blind from which he would shoot the beast.

"Your excellency," he told Marcellus through Vashi, his Coritani minister and interpreter, though Carl's Latin was better than Vashi's because of his regular conversations with Marcus and the other Romans at Long Reach, "we will dine on the meat from that bull this evening. And, to show you why I am called Carl of the Long Reach, I will kill the bull from that little tent."

"Will you use a bow and arrow? I've seen the great range of your archers."

"No, what I do is a mystery. But without using a bow, I will slay that young bull for dinner."

Carl prepared to enter the tent when he noticed one of the Roman guards standing nearby with his heavy shield. An idea presented itself that would make the demonstration more vivid and serve as a warning to the Romans.

With Marcellus' help he persuaded the guard to loan him his shield. Two Coritani soldiers firmly tethered the squalling bull by head and tail, a Roman guard was brought over to hold the shield upright between the bull and the blind, and a second guard stood nearby to be sure no one approached the bull, additional proof that Carl alone had killed it.

It was a cool but clear afternoon. As he returned to the tent, he found an attentive group of Roman guards observing every movement, his own soldiers curious.

It was demonstration time, nearly all eyes shifted to the bull.

Four drummers began a roll upon his entry into the tent, two other musicians began to bang cymbals in cadence. Carl sighted through a hole in the front of the tent, and waited to catch the cadence, timing his shot to coincide with their crashing sounds. He fired one shot. The shield spun out of the guard's grasp, and the bawling young bull suddenly drooped its head, slowly kneeling to the ground before falling over on its side, breaking a rope.

In the tent, Carl stuffed the remaining bullets into his pocket and replaced the rifle in its case. Upon leaving the tent, he looked first at Rebecca. She shook her head slightly. She hadn't heard the sound of the rifle.

The shield was carried to Marcellus, who poked his index finger through the hole, accidentally sticking a splinter in his finger from the badly splintered wood on the arm side of the shield. One guard stood before him, earnestly explaining what had happened to the bull. He held his index finger and thumb together, forming a circle nearly an inch in diameter, indicating the size of the wound.

Nottingham butchers picked up the carcass as soon as the soldiers had finished examining it, with instructions to save the metal slug for the king. No one else was to see it.

Marcellus was a savvy warrior and not easily impressed, but this incident visibly shook him. Such a weapon meant no Roman soldier was safe behind a shield. Arrows might be blunted or even stopped by disciplined soldiers with good shields, but such power as Carl of the Long Reach exhibited was unstoppable, without greater armament. And that meant less mobility. It was a frightening moment in the history of Rome. And he reacted as Nottingham thought he would by recruiting spies.

His first attempt was to suborn Vashi, his Coritani interpreter. Vashi was fluent in Latin and could spend time with the Roman emissary without casting doubts on his motives. Marcellus did not know that Vashi had been told to become a double agent for the Romans if he were approached, although he was to do so only after carefully bargaining for significant gold and a promise of future protection. He was not to be easily recruited lest he alert the Romans. Marcellus would augment Vashi's efforts by sending emissaries into the area to find officers willing to spy for gold and future security.

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The young bull, though freshly killed, made a delicious meal, one Marcellus remarked on when the dinner party retired to the front room with its large, overstuffed arm chairs covered with wolfskins. There they sipped wine brought from Rome by Marcellus and fresh fruits imported from Spain by Raphael just for the occasion.

It was an eye-opener for Marcellus in other ways, too. Unlike the Romans, who recline at banquets and dinners, the entire party sat at tables and ate with forks and other utensils. A napkin on the lap was the sole concession to Roman ways of eating.

"I know you are used to reclining and eating with your hands," Carl said, "but we do not have slaves to wipe your hands. I'm sure you are familiar with barbarian dining practices."

"Yes, I am," Marcellus replied, "but no barbarian banquet I've attended ever used these instruments. You call them 'forks'?"

"Yes, they keep food from soiling the hands." He didn't add that they also were healthier.

After dinner, while relaxing over drinks, the diplomatic talk began.

"I am really a soldier, not a diplomat," Marcellus began, after the obligatory toasts and chatter. "I am, therefore, a blunt man and desire to come to a meeting of minds as quickly as possible."

The Roman carefully watched Carl and Rebecca as he made his comments. He was surprised to see a woman even taking part in the discussion. He had learned that Carl tired quickly of diplomatic niceties and tended toward a straightforward, "let's get to the point" discussion. Marcellus was diplomat enough to take advantage of this attitude, one he found congenial.

In fact, from his view, the entire visit so far had been a great success. He had learned much about Nottingham's war abilities. It was not a tribe or group of tribes to fear. It was too small, and Carl had few desires to expand. As soldiers, the two of them had found a common interest. Although Carl was a barbarian, he was the most unusual barbarian Marcellus had ever met, and from what he had seen of Rebecca, she was a beautiful but formidable queen, a fascinating combination of healer and destroyer.

"Emperor Tiberius has given me the power to appoint you rex Britannicus, king of Britannia, if you swear allegiance to Rome. It is far more than he has ever offered any other king in Britannia." Marcellus was uncertain how Carl would react to the offer and the title.

"The Emperor does me too much honor, Marcellus. I don't control Britannia, and I'm sure Cunobelin would prefer the title. But I thank him for the honor."

He continued, not giving Marcellus a chance to counter. "But since the Emperor is primarily interested in gaining iron, copper, and grains from Britannia with such a noble gesture, I think we can agree on a treaty and make arrangements for Rome to secure many of the things she wants."

He walked to the wall and pulled down a map of Britannia, the details of which staggered Marcellus, who had never seen even a crude map of the island. He had difficulty getting oriented to it since military maps dealt with mileage between towns or cities, not contours of the country. Using a pointer, Carl marked out several areas of Britannia that contained iron, copper, and other metals, and locations where livestock, such as cattle and sheep, were raised, and where various grains were grown.

"Let's be candid, Marcellus. Rome wants, perhaps needs, the grain and ores of Britannia. She can get them one of three ways: conquest, purchase, or trade. The first is often practiced by countries today, but it need not be. We wish peace with Rome. But should Rome decide to conquer Britannia, it would be a very expensive campaign. More important, it would be a costly venture compared with what might have been."

He spoke directly to Marcellus in Coritani with English phrases, but paused regularly for Vashi to translate.

He then spoke more deliberately. `"If Rome invaded today or next year, she could capture much of Britannia. But to extend her control over the most worthwhile areas would require that she conquer nearly fifteen major tribes, and numerous petty chiefs, most of whom can't agree on anything. It would require three, perhaps four Roman divisions... ah, Legions to maintain security and develop Britannia's resources." He exaggerated not a whit.

"But Rome can accomplish many of her own goals by helping us to develop our resources. We need engineers, lawyers, teachers, and miners, and we will pay for them. They, in turn, will increase our ability to meet Rome's needs. If Rome were to share with us some of the things she does so well, we in turn would share some of the new technologies we have developed which will help Rome increase her grain production and improve distribution of grain and ores. Let me show you what I mean."

Three objects were brought into the room: the iron plow, the harness, and iron ball bearings.

"In the morning we will show you how these work, but I can assure you now that if Roman farmers would use the first two devices, you would reduce your need to import grain from Alexandria or Carthage. And if your carts had wheels mounted with ball bearings, the Roman Legions could be transported to the battlefield much faster, especially in Asia and Asia Minor."

Vashi stumbled over the translation.

"Just call them 'ball bearings,' Vashi. The Romans might as well get used to a few English words."

He explained the advantages of each tool. Marcellus was no farmer, but he understood immediately what benefits the new technologies would bring, if Carl's words were true. They would enable the Romans to rely more upon their own land for grains, reducing their needs for foreign involvements. He did not understand the function of the ball bearings, but that might become clear the next day.

"What you say makes a great deal of sense," Marcellus replied. "I will need to think upon this tonight and consider its meaning. But it seems reasonable to me. A treaty would have to be carefully worked out in Rome."

"Of course. You can see that we have great need for men trained in many fields. We need teachers of Latin so we can gain access to the information and knowledge of your people. I am studying Latin now. We need teachers of Greek, too. Still, in some areas, we are ahead of Rome. We can teach those who come here about things that will benefit Rome. In any case, we are willing to pay for everything we receive in trade or gold. And we will expect Rome to do the same."

Carl and Raphael had already prepared a proposal in Latin for Marcellus. Nottingham could increase grain shipments to Gaul, to support the Roman presence there, for a price. In addition, new supplies of iron and copper would be available to Rome, in exchange for her precious metals, such as gold and silver, and for chemicals not yet available in Britannia. Unlike the continental Gauls, who traded so heavily for Italian wine, there was little need of that in Nottingham. The treaty would meet the needs of both countries.

"Your excellency," Carl said, "I hope you understand that Nottingham and the resources of most of Britannia are available to Rome right now, if agreement can be reached on the prices. We will load your ships, to be manned by your men, in either of two places: Camulodunum, for finished products, like glass windows, or on the Trent River or the Humber estuary, for grains and iron."

Carl pointed to the location of each port on the map. "But, each shipment must be paid for at the time of purchase. If the ship is lost in transit, it is at the risk of the buyer. We will do the same when we buy from Rome, although we will allow you to ship minerals to us when your ships come to pick up Britannia's grains or minerals."

Marcellus hesitated. The advantage so clearly lay with Rome that he felt he was moving into a trap. He was. In exchange for a form of détente—a breathing space for Britannia—Rome would receive far more than it would give, although the cost of purchasing the mineral resources would be substantial. But such purchases would be cheaper by far than the cost of developing Britannia with Roman legions. Carl knew this, because of history, but Marcellus did not. Still, he knew how long and costly it had been to conquer Gaul.

In any case, the financial and chemical resources gained by Britannia would enable Carl to complete Long Reach and to build a small industrial base in support of future projects to protect the island.

He had spoken more truthfully than he intended when he said, "If Rome invaded today or next year, she could capture much of Britannia." To Marcellus he had emphasized "Rome," but to himself he had emphasized "today or next year." Give Nottingham a few years and perhaps even Rome could not successfully invade the island, but an adequate defense would take time and resources to build.

For the next few days negotiations dragged on, and Marcellus cautiously asked to see the new village of Long Reach and the fortress, but Carl held him off, saying he would be pleased to show him both if they were completed, but since they weren't, he felt such a visit would leave a misimpression upon his Excellency.

In fact, Carl was afraid that the size of the foundation would raise warning flags in Marcellus' mind. If he saw how solid were the houses in the village, and how large the town would be, he might counsel immediate invasion before the fortress' wall could be erected, thus ruining the carefully laid strategy. Carl did outline on dirt the layout of the village and its location next to the fort, but he did not indicate how large it would be.

His dissimulation succeeded. Neither Marcellus nor his guard ever saw the site, and Carl was sure reports by others of the size of the fort would be greatly discounted by the Romans, for they believed nothing large or permanent could be built in Britannia. Nottingham itself was proof of that, for even with many new buildings it was a crude village by Roman standards. What Marcellus had witnessed carried greater weight than what he later heard from spies.

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Carl consulted with his Roman engineer. "Marcus, before you start on the fortress foundation on the east side, we need to make a tunnel. It will go under the moat, so it must be water tight."

"That is foolhardy!" Marcus minced no words. He knew that Carl not only permitted opposition to his ideas, he encouraged them. "The enemy will invade the fortress through the tunnel."

"Maybe," Carl replied, "but it won't be easy to do." He drew a sketch in the dirt. "The entrance will be a real cave over there," and he pointed northeast of the castle side. "It leads away from the castle and is small. I can't walk upright in it."

"It must be deep in order to go under the moat." Marcus still was not persuaded.

"Yes, it must be deep. It will have five killing corners," Carl said.

"Killing corners? What are those?"

"The tunnel must be so narrow that men must walk single-file, one man at a time. When the leader gets to a killing corner, he must give a password or be impaled as he tries to slip around the corner. To do so, he must expose either stomach or back to the guards waiting to kill him. He can't see the guard and he can't fend off a blow because he must turn sideways to get through the very narrow corner. Dead or wounded, he can't easily be pulled back and moved from the corner because there isn't room to carry him without moving every man back to the cave."

Marcus began to see the utility of the tunnel. "What about the corner. Can't they attack that?"

"Not with a ram rod, and you'll build it with iron bars so it can't easily be cut away. It won't be dirt or stone but concrete."

"You've thought of everything."

"Probably not, but we can adjust. Morius will select a detachment of guards who are to keep their duty secret. They'll be rotated frequently and given extra provisions.

"Done. I'll start on that immediately."

"Good. I've got a schematic prepared. One more thing. It must have some way of flooding it in case the enemy does succeed. I'll leave that up to you." He gave a big smile. He wanted his chief engineer to invest time in the tunnel. There had to be a fail safe way of entering or leaving the fortress when it was besieged.

"By the way, Marcus, tell anyone working on the tunnel that it is for water, and put only a few men on it."

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Three months later, Marcellus met with Tiberius in Rome to discuss Britannia. Marcellus counseled caution, but advised keeping a close eye on Nottingham.

"I have set spies loose in his own kingdom, and they will keep us aware of what is happening there. Carl of the Long Reach is an extraordinary man and the weapon he kept secret, which I wrote to you about, is greater than anything in the world today. No bow and arrow or even javelin could do what he did. The guard said he neither saw nor heard whatever it was King Carl used, but his shield was easily punctured and the bull calf died with a hole in its side the size of that made by a javelin. Yet there was nothing sticking from either the calf or the shield."

An aide gave the shield to Tiberius. The Emperor's eyes squinted as he examined the splintered hole. "What about his fortress. What will it be like?"

"I tried to visit it, but by one pretext or another he kept me and my men away. I think he feels it is not impressive enough and will try to make it appear larger than it really is. At least that is what Vashi said."

"Do you trust this Vashi?"

"I trust no barbarian, but he has already proved himself by information he has sent, so I will continue to trust him as long as the information we receive is worth the money we pay him."

At this Marcellus looked apologetic. "I had to promise him more than I pay King Cunobelin's chief minister. He drove a very hard bargain, but because of that I feel he is quite willing to serve us."

"What about King Carl himself. What kind of a man is he?" The craggy-faced Emperor was interested from a personal as well as strategic viewpoint. He had met many strong men in his time, and he had conquered most of them. But this Carl of the Long Reach seemed cut from different material, if Marcellus' reports were to be believed.

"I don't know how to assess him. He is from no tribe of Britannia. He speaks a little Latin; he understands no Greek. He speaks a Coritani dialect of the lower German tribes and a language that only he and his wife and minister understand, so he is a barbarian. Yet he and his compatriots have developed practical devices that no barbarian has ever devised, such as the plow and stirrup and glass windows. He is not only a warrior, he is a builder. The streets of Nottingham no longer are open sewers, and they have moved farm animals out of the town itself, something no other place in Britannia has done. But Nottingham is still a small, rude village so he poses no threat to us."

"But he has been there only a few years. True?"

"Yes."

"Then it will take longer to build Nottingham into a town or city."

"Yes, which is why he wants us to send engineers to help them build the city and roads and to teach our engineering principles to their people. He also wants teachers of Latin and Greek and those who can teach mathematics, although he already is ahead of us in mathematics. There is much we can learn from him, too."

Marcellus had been taken by Carl and the excitement that permeated Nottingham. He watched Tiberius carefully, then spoke again. "As I wrote to you, we can get what we want from Nottingham, including new materials such as porcelain and a thinner, clearer window glass than we make by paying either in goods or in gold and silver.

"He will sell us 'ball bearings' to use in the wheels of carts and wagons. I don't know how they make the iron balls perfectly round, but they are cast iron, a new process. Carl of the Long Reach concedes that we can capture Britannia, but he argues that to do so would split our forces and risk the heavy costs of war. Nottingham will pay for our help as well as our goods."

Tiberius had read Marcellus' letter carefully. The argument was not new. "The point, Marcellus, is not that we get the raw materials we need but that we earn gold while doing so. We need the minerals to pay for our government and Legions."

"Yes, I understand. But since we can help Nottingham develop those minerals we will get them at a good price. We will ship them in our boats, and we can use them or resell them at a price that will make your Rome rich."

He knew when to stop pushing. "But, if you wish to invade Britannia to gain direct control over her resources, I will be happy to assist in any planning based upon what I've seen and information from our spies."

"It won't be necessary. I have made several contingency plans over the years. We have too many German and Armenian border problems to risk sending three or four Legions to Britannia. But if this Carl will stop Britannia's Belgae from exporting warriors to Belgae Gaul to assist their tribal relations, he may be of more use to us than if we ruled."

He, too, was watching his companion. Marcellus was a longtime friend and worthy soldier. It was unlike him to be taken with a barbarian. Something was happening in Britannia that would bear watching.

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The Second Treaty of Rome was signed nearly a year later, after Raphael visited Rome to discuss particulars with Marcellus and others. It gave both sides what they wanted. More important, it gave Long Reach time to develop.