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  EMPEROR

  TIME’S TAPESTRY: 1

  EMPEROR

  TIME’S TAPESTRY: 1

  Stephen Baxter

  ACE BOOKS, NEW YORK

  THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  Copyright © 2007 by Orion Books.

  All rights reserved.

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  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Baxter, Stephen

  Emperor / Stephen Baxter.

  p. cm.—(Time’s tapestry; bk.1)

  ISBN: 1-4295-0250-9

  1. Great Britain—History—Roman period, 55 B.C.–449 A.D.—Fiction. [1. Romans—Great Britain—Fiction.] I. Title.

  PR6052.A849E47 2007

  823’.914—dc22

  2006049924

  Contents

  Oraculum Nectovelinium

  The Prophecy of Nectovelin

  PROLOGUE 4 BC

  Chapter I

  Chapter II

  Chapter III

  I INVADER AD 43-70

  Chapter I

  Chapter II

  Chapter III

  Chapter IV

  Chapter V

  Chapter VI

  Chapter VII

  Chapter VIII

  Chapter IX

  Chapter X

  Chapter XI

  Chapter XII

  Chapter XIII

  Chapter XIV

  Chapter XV

  Chapter XVI

  Chapter XVII

  Chapter XVIII

  Chapter XIX

  Chapter XX

  Chapter XXI

  Chapter XXII

  Chapter XXIII

  Chapter XXIV

  Chapter XXV

  Chapter XXVI

  II BUILDER AD 122-138

  Chapter I

  Chapter II

  Chapter III

  Chapter IV

  Chapter V

  Chapter VI

  Chapter VII

  Chapter VIII

  Chapter IX

  Chapter X

  Chapter XI

  Chapter XII

  Chapter XIII

  Chapter XIV

  Chapter XV

  Chapter XVI

  Chapter XVII

  Chapter XVIII

  Chapter XIX

  Chapter XX

  Chapter XXI

  III EMPEROR AD 314-337

  Chapter I

  Chapter II

  Chapter III

  Chapter IV

  Chapter V

  Chapter VI

  Chapter VII

  Chapter VIII

  Chapter IX

  Chapter X

  Chapter XI

  Chapter XII

  Chapter XIII

  Chapter XIV

  Chapter XV

  EPILOGUE AD 418

  Chapter I

  Chapter II

  Chapter III

  Chapter IV

  Afterword

  Place names:

  Banna, Birdoswald

  Caledonia, Scotland

  Camulodunum, Colchester

  Durovernum, Canterbury

  Eburacum, York

  Dolaucothi

  Londinium, London

  Mona, Anglesey

  Rutupiae, Richborough

  Tamesis, R Thames

  Sabrina, R Severn

  Tinea, R Tyne

  Ituna, R Solway

  Cantiaci River, R Medway

  Gesoriacum, Boulogne

  Massilia, Marseilles

  Principal British Nations:

  Atrebates

  Brigantia

  Catuvellauni

  Cantiaci

  Durotriges

  Iceni

  Ordovices

  Silures

  Timeline

  55-54BC

  Julius Caesar’s expeditions to Britain

  4BC

  Birth of Nectovelin

  c.AD38

  Death of Cunobelin

  AD43

  Invasion of Britain by Claudius

  AD51

  Defeat of Caratacus

  AD60-61

  Revolt of Boudicca

  AD69-71

  Brigantian civil war and annexation

  AD77-84

  Agricola’s campaigns in Scotland

  AD122

  Hadrian in Britain; construction of Wall begins

  AD193-197

  Britain under the rule of Clodius Albinus

  AD208-211

  Campaigns of Severus in Scotland

  AD259-274

  Britain under the rule of the Gallic Emperors

  AD287-296

  Britain under the rule of Carausias and Allectus

  AD296

  Invasion of Britain by Constantius Chlorus

  AD306

  Constantine the Great elevated in Britain

  AD312

  Constantine’s defeat of Maxentius in the west

  AD314

  Constantine raises troops in Britain for war with the east

  AD324

  Constantine sole emperor, Constantinople founded

  AD337

  Death of Constantine

  AD350

  Magnentius proclaimed emperor in Britain

  AD367

  The Barbarian Conspiracy

  AD378

  Roman defeat by Visigoths at Adrianopolis

  AD383

  Magnus Maximus proclaimed emperor in Britain

  AD407

  Constantine III proclaimed emperor in Britain

  AD409

  British Revolution; formal end of Roman rule in Britain

  AD418

  Excommunication of Pelagius

  Note on Measurements

  1 Roman foot = 0.96 modern foot = 11.5 modern inches (292 mm)

  1 Roman mile = 0.96 modern mile = 1686 modern yards (1.54 km)

  Oraculum Nectovelinium

  (The Prophecy of Nectovelin, 4BC)

  Aulaeum temporum te involvat, puer, at libertas
habes:

  Cano ad tibi de memoriam atque posteritam,

  Omni gentum et omni deorum, imperatori tres erunt.

  Nomabitur vir Germanicus cum oculum hyalum;

  Scandabit equos enormes quam domuum dentate quasi gladio.

  Tremefacabit caelum, erit filius Romulum potens

  Atque graeculus parvus erit. Nascitur deus iuvenus.

  Ruabit Roma cervixis islae in laqueui cautei.

  Emergabit in Brigantio, exaltabitur in Romae.

  Pudor! comprecabit deum servi, sed ispe apparebit deum.

  Ecclesiam marmori moribundi fiet complexus imperii.

  Reminisce! Habemus has verita et sunt manifesta:

  Indico: omnis humanitas factus aequus sunt,

  Rebus civicum dati sunt ab architecto magno,

  Et sunt vita et libertas et venatus felicitae.

  O puer! involvaris in aulaeum temporum, fere!

  The Prophecy of Nectovelin

  (freely translated with acrostic preserved):

  Ah child! Bound in time’s tapestry, and yet you are born free

  Come, let me sing to you of what there is and what will be,

  Of all men and all gods, and of the mighty emperors three.

  Named with a German name, a man will come with eyes of glass

  Straddling horses large as houses bearing teeth like scimitars.

  The trembling skies declare that Rome’s great son has come to earth

  A little Greek his name will be. Whilst God-as-babe has birth

  Roman force will ram the island’s neck into a noose of stone.

  Emerging first in Brigantia, exalted later then in Rome!

  Prostrate before a slavish god, at last he is revealed divine,

  Embrace imperial will make dead marble of the Church’s shrine.

  Remember this: We hold these truths self-evident to be–

  I say to you that all men are created equal, free

  Rights inalienable assuréd by the Maker’s attribute

  Endowed with Life and Liberty and Happiness’s pursuit.

  O child! thou tapestried in time, strike home! Strike at the root!

  PROLOGUE 4 BC

  I

  It was a hard day when Brica’s baby, Cunovic’s nephew, struggled to be born, a hard, long day of birth and death. And it was the day, Cunovic later believed, when the wintry fingers of the Weaver first began to pluck at the threads of the tapestry of time.

  The labour began in the bright light of noon, but the midwinter day was short, and the ordeal dragged on into the dark. Cunovic sat through it with his brother Ban, the child’s father, and the rest of his family. In the smoky gloom under the thick thatched roof, Brica’s mother Sula and the women of the family clustered in the day half of the house, uttering soothing words and wiping Brica’s face with warmed cloths. The watchful faces of the family were like captive moons suspended within the house’s round walls, Cunovic thought fancifully. But as the difficult birth continued Ban grew quietly more agitated, and even the children became pensive.

  The druidh was the only stranger here, the only one not related by blood ties to the unborn child. The priest was a thin man with a light, sing-song accent, which, according to him, emanated from Mona itself, the western island of prayer and teaching where he claimed to have been born. Now he wandered around the house and chanted steadily, his half-closed eyes flickering. No help to anybody, Cunovic thought sourly.

  It was old Nectovelin, Cunovic’s grandfather, who lost his patience first. With a growl he got to his feet, a mountain of muscle and fat, and crossed the floor. His heavy leather cloak brushed past Cunovic, smelling of blood and sweat and fat, of dogs, horses and cattle, and he limped, favouring his left leg heavily, an injury said to be a relic of the war against Caesar fifty years ago. He stalked out of the house, shoving aside the leather door flap. The other men, who had been sitting quietly in the house’s night half, stood stiffly, and one by one followed Nectovelin out of the door.

  When Ban himself got up Cunovic sighed and followed. Nectovelin was old; he would be the great-grandfather of the child being born tonight. But all Cunovic’s life it had been Nectovelin with his size and power and legacy of youthful combat who had led the family, and especially since the death of his only son, father of Cunovic and Ban. So it was tonight: where Nectovelin led, others followed.

  Outside the night was crisp, cloudless, the stars like shards of bone. The men stood in little groups, talking in low voices, some of them chewing bits of bark. Their breath-steam gathered around their heads like helmets. The dogs, excluded from the house tonight, pulled at their leashes and whined as they tried to get to the men. Even in the frosty cold there was a rich moistness in the air; this was an area of wet moorland.

  Cunovic spotted his brother standing a little way away from the others, at the edge of the ditch that ringed the little huddle of houses. Cunovic walked over, frost crackling under the leather soles of his shoes.

  The brothers stared out into the stillness. This little community, which was called Banna, stood on a ridge that looked south over a steep-walled wooded valley. There was no moon tonight, but starlight glinted on the waters of the river at the foot of the cliff, and Cunovic could make out the sensuous sweep of the shadowed hills further south. This was the home of the Brigantian nation. In the morning you could see trails of smoke spiralling up from houses studded across a landscape thick with people and their cattle. People had been here a very long time, as you could tell from the worn burial mounds that crowded this cliff edge, amid tangles of ancient trees. But now there was not a light to be seen, for the houses sealed in their light and warmth like closed mouths.

  Cunovic waited until his brother was ready to talk. Ban was only twenty, five years younger than Cunovic himself.

  ‘I’m glad you’re here,’ Ban said at last. ‘I could do with the company.’

  Cunovic was touched. ‘I know I’ve been away a lot. I thought we were growing apart—’

  ‘Never.’

  ‘And besides, I’m not much use. I have no children of my own. I haven’t been through this, not yet.’

  ‘But you’re here,’ Ban said solemnly. ‘As I will be for you. I suppose you miss the comforts of your travels. On a night like this a dip in a pool of steaming water would be welcome.’

  Cunovic grunted. ‘Don’t believe everything you hear. The king of the Catuvellaunians has built himself a bath house. He paid through the nose for a Roman architect to design it for him. But the traders from Gaul say that to them it’s no more than a muddy hole where you’d let your pigs wallow. Not that they would say such a thing to the king’s face, of course.’

  That made Ban laugh, but Cunovic was uncomfortably aware that some of the Latin terms he sprinkled in his conversation, unthinking–architect, design, even paid–meant little to his brother.

  Ban said, ‘But you got away. You’re making a success of your trading. Doesn’t it feel strange to come back? You’re a grown dog returning to the litter, brother.’

  Cunovic looked around at the sleeping landscape. ‘No,’ he said simply. ‘In the south they have fussy little hills and valleys, so jammed in together you can’t see past the next brow. The soil is clogged with chalk. The summers are too hot and the winters too muddy. And you don’t get nights like this,’ and he took a deep, cleansing breath of the ice-laden air.

  ‘Ah.’ Ban smiled. ‘You miss Coventina.’

  Coventina was the goddess of this place. You could see the curves of her body in the swelling of the hills, her sex in the green shadows of the valleys. ‘Yes, I miss the old girl,’ Cunovic admitted.

  He was startled by a loud snort, close by his ear. It was Nectovelin. ‘Home you call it. But you weren’t around to help with the building of the new house, were you? I think we know where your heart is, Cunovic.’

  II

  Nectovelin had a way of sneaking up on you. Despite his bulk and his limp he could move stealthily, and he always stayed downwind. He still ha
d a warrior’s instincts, Cunovic thought, grooves like wheel ruts cut deep into his personality that told more about Nectovelin’s past than all his boasts.

  It always hurt Cunovic that this impressive man, his grandfather, seemed to think so little of him. ‘You’re wrong about me, you know,’ he said. ‘Maybe I didn’t put my back into building the house, but the gifts I sent home helped pay for it, didn’t they?’

  Nectovelin hawked and spat. ‘You talk like that bowel-creasing druidh. But words are as dust. Look at what you are! You wear a woollen tunic like your brother’s, but your face is smooth, your hair brushed–even your nostrils and ears plucked, if I’m not mistaken. The house of your body shows what you aspire to be.’

  Cunovic took a step closer to the old man, a deliberate challenge, and Nectovelin stiffened subtly. ‘And you’re a hypocrite,’ Cunovic said softly. ‘I don’t recall you turning down my silver brooches and my amphorae of wine, with which only yesterday you bought five head of cattle from Macha, that other old curmudgeon from the valley. You may not like it, grandfather. It may not be like the old days. But this is the way the world works now.’

  Nectovelin glared back, as still as a wolf, his face a mask pooled with shadows.

  Ban came to their rescue. He stood between brother and grandfather. ‘Not tonight, lads. I’ve got enough to deal with.’