Armenia Capta

by William Kelso

  Coming on behind the generals and commanders were two open litters, carried on the shoulders of a team of stoical litter bearers. The two richly-dressed women reclining on the divans were waving to the crowds. From his vantage point Fergus turned to look at them curiously. Their position, so close to the emperor, must mean that the women were senior, female members of the imperial family. Most likely Trajan’s wife, Plotina and Trajan’s niece Matidia - both important allies of Hadrian. And as he watched the women on their litters approach, Fergus reached up to stroke his short beard in a thoughtful manner. Plotina and Matidia may just be women without any official positions, but behind the scenes they were a formidable power. The news, received by Hadrian a month ago, that Trajan had ordered Nigrinus and Paulinus to remain behind in Rome, could well have been down to their work and influence. It certainly had prevented an ugly showdown and confrontation between the leaders of the War and Peace Parties just when the emperor needed unity and was about to begin a major war.

  Quickly Fergus’s eyes flitted back to the figure of Lusius Quietus, who was now nearly level with him. From up close, the general looked rather small and his darkish Berber skin and woolly hair reminded Fergus of the Numidian cavalry men he had seen crossing the Danube during the Dacian war. There was a calm, competent look on Quietus’s face, as he gazed ahead without acknowledging the cheering crowds. Fergus squinted as he examined him recalling Adalwolf’s words as he did. Quietus is an outstanding soldier and general. The best and most popular military man that the emperor has got, Adalwolf had briefed him. He is Trajan’s man, utterly devoted to him but beyond that, his loyalties are ambivalent. And an ambivalent man like that with such qualities, connections and resources, Adalwolf had added, is highly dangerous. Quietus holds the balance of power. The army is loyal to him. In public, he supports Nigrinus and the War Party but we do not know his real ambitions. When the time comes he could continue to support Nigrinus, or he may prove loyal to Hadrian or he could be tempted to launch his own bid to become the next emperor after Trajan dies. We need to know what his real ambitions are Fergus. That is your real job. Find out!

  Fergus kept his eyes on Quietus as the horsemen passed on by and headed up the street towards the Nymphaeum. Hadrian had arranged everything. Fergus himself was to report to Quietus’s HQ in Antioch in two days’ time, where he would be in charge of managing the supplies and logistics for the two legions and five thousand Numidian and Berber light-cavalry who had been assigned to Quietus. His rank and pay was to be that of a centurion, a hefty increase on what he had been earning before, but it was all illusory just like his job. On the broad thoroughfare, the litter bearers were followed by the rest of Trajan’s entourage and then a long column of heavily-armed Praetorians and legionaries marching eight abreast, their iron-studded boots crashing and thudding on the paving stones. Wrenching his gaze away from the procession, Fergus left his spot beside the pillar and started to make his way back to the house where Hadrian had set up his HQ. There was something sneaky about his new role that he didn’t especially like, but at least the new job would mean staying in Antioch and being close to Galena and the girls whilst the preparations for war continued.

  Chapter Twelve - The L ist of Death

  Fergus sat beside the pool in the lush garden of Hadrian’s lavish villa and grinned at the antics of Skula and Flavius. The two big bodyguards were sweating, puffing and groaning as they engaged each other in an arm wrestle that had the whole close protection team up on their feet and yelling encouragements. The two men however seemed well matched and determined to win and the contest looked like it would never end. On the arm wrestlers table lay a large heap of coins, the gamblers’ eventual prize. Idly Fergus took a swig of watered-down wine from a leather flask and placed his hand on Galena’s knee. His wife was chuckling as she watched the trial of strength threaten to move one way and then the other way. Noticing his hand Galena gave Fergus a little wink. It was after noon and in the sky above them the clouds were blocking out the sun. It was his last day as head of security for Hadrian Fergus thought, with sudden melancholy. With Hadrian’s permission, his team had organised a leaving party beside the pool and had presented him with a small gift of a figurine of Mars, the god of war. And as he silently turned to look at each member of his team, Fergus’s melancholy grew. Seven years long he had been doing this job. Seven years!

  They were all there except of course for Alexander and Korbis. There was Flavius, the German boxer, Fergus’s deputy and the ugliest man in the world; Skula, with his flat nose, bald-head and his deep love for horses; the Italian brothers, legionary veterans, the old men of the team and its practical jokers. Saadi, the youngest and only woman - an orphan and pickpocket by trade. Arlyn, the tall, redheaded Hibernian who loved to sing his beautiful Celtic songs and who was now fully recovered from his wounds sustained in the assassination attempt. Then finally there were the two new boys. Numerius, a former Praetorian guardsman from Rome who had been kicked out of the force with a dishonourable discharge for seducing his commander’s wife, although he claimed it was the other way around. And Barukh, the young Jew, a local of Antioch, who claimed to have fought once as a gladiator in the city’s arena. All of them good loyal mates, Fergus thought, and suddenly he realised that he was going to miss his team. Hadrian had, acting on Fergus’s recommendation, decided to promote Flavius to be the head of security. Hadrian had also agreed to allow Galena and his daughters to remain in the house whilst Fergus went about his new job.

  At the arm wrestlers table Flavius suddenly rose to his feet in a deep bellow of noise and frustration, grasped hold of Skula in a bear hug, lifting the Scythian boldly off his feet before turning and leaping into the pool with his opponent. As the two of them came spluttering and gasping to the surface, the rest of the team crowded around the edge of the pool shaking their fists and cheering loudly in glee and amusement. Then before Fergus could stop them, his team had caught hold of him by his arms and legs and, despite his protests they tossed him into the pool as well. In the garden, Galena shrieked with laughter and clapped her hands, as Fergus crashed into the water. At the pool-side the team too were laughing as they passed around the leather flask of wine. Shaking his head with a good-natured grin and finding himself soaking wet, Fergus clambered out of the pool and tried to dry himself on his wife’s stola dress, which produced an outraged squeal of protest that ended in Fergus and Galena tumbling over each other in the grass in a loud fit of giggling.

  “Fergus,” a stern and commanding voice suddenly cried out. As he heard the voice the grin vanished from Fergus’s lips and he hastily rose to his feet. Coming towards him, striding across the garden, were Hadrian and Adalwolf and Hadrian looked angry. His eyes were fixed on Fergus, glaring at him with uncharacteristic coldness. At his side Adalwolf too was looking distinctly unhappy.

  “Sir,” Fergus said quickly, looking a tad confused as the two men approached.

  “Fergus, a word, come with us,” Adalwolf snapped, as the adviser caught Fergus by his arm and began to lead him away from the party.

  Fergus snatched a quick glance over his shoulder at his team as he was led away. The laughter had ceased abruptly and everyone was gazing at him in surprised silence. What was going on, he thought. What had put Hadrian into this foul mood? Was this some practical joke they were about to play on him? But, as he turned to glance hastily at Hadrian he saw that his boss was beyond angry. Hadrian was furious and as Fergus sensed the fury. He started to feel alarmed. Something was wrong, something felt terribly wrong.

  As the three of them marched into Hadrian’s private quarters Fergus caught sight of old Attianus standing beside the window looking out. As he entered the room Attianus turned around to gaze at Fergus, his grim, unfriendly face cold and hard as death. In his hands Hadrian’s former guardian was holding a papyrus scroll.

  “Your knife, give it to me,” Adalwolf snapped as he turned to Fergus.

  “You want my knife” Fergus replied with a confused frown.
“What is this all about Sir? Have I done something wrong? The team were just having a bit of fun out there in the garden. If I have offended you…”

  “Your knife, give it to me,” Adalwolf hissed.

  Silently Fergus pulled his pugio, army knife from his belt and handed it to Adalwolf who stuffed it into his own belt and then moved to close the doors behind them, so that the four of them were alone in the room. Hadrian had taken the scroll from Attianus’s hand and was clutching it tightly as he came to stand behind his desk. He had his back turned to Fergus, but the boss’s shoulders were taut with fury and tension. For a moment, no one spoke.

  Fergus licked his lips nervously as he sensed he was in for some serious trouble.

  “You may remember that before we left Athens,” Hadrian said in an ice-cold voice, without turning to look at Fergus, “I tasked Admiral Turbo to speak to Laberius, the courtier at Trajan’s court, to see whether he knew about or was involved in the plot to murder me. Today, I received Turbo’s reply in a letter from Rome.”

  Slowly Hadrian turned to glare at Fergus, his expression cold and hard, whilst he held up the scroll as if it were a weapon.

  “The letter from Turbo makes interesting reading,” Hadrian hissed. “In it the admiral writes that after some persuasion Laberius made a full confession. He himself was not involved in the assassination plot but he gave Turbo a list of people who knew about it and who helped to organise the attempt to murder me. This list here,” Hadrian growled shaking the scroll in the air - is my death list. Today, it has grown a little longer. I am going to have every one of these fuckers on this list executed when I become emperor. First up is Nigrinus, the ring leader. No surprises there. The list continues - Palma, Celsus, Paulinus, somebody called Cunitius and then here at number nine is a most interesting name. A senator from Britannia called Marcus, a close friend of Paulinus, lady Claudia and Nigrinus. I do believe you know this man for Turbo says that he is none other than your father, Fergus.”

  Fergus’s cheeks had turned bright red as he heard Marcus’s name being mentioned, but before he could say anything, Hadrian took a step towards him, still holding up the scroll, his face contorted in rage.

  “Your father,” Hadrian roared, as spit flew from his mouth. “Your father was in on the plot to murder me. How the fuck can this have happened? I didn’t even know that your father was a supporter of the War Party. He is my fucking enemy and here I am with his son as my head of security! What kind of madness is this. The gods are having a laugh.”

  “I am sure that he knew nothing of the attempt on your life Sir,” Fergus stammered, as he struggled to find the words. “He is not a very senior member of the War Party. He is not really that involved. Most of his time is spent on running his military veteran’s charity in Rome. He’s a harmless old man Sir, believe me.”

  “Why did you not tell me he was a senator who supports Nigrinus?” Hadrian screamed taking another step towards Fergus, “They are my mortal enemies. They tried to kill me for fuck’s sake. I should have known about this. For all I know you could have been working for them all along. You could have been spying on me all these years. You could have been supplying your father with everything the War Party needs to know about me. Well? Are you a War Party spy?”

  “Answer the question boy,” Attianus hissed as he stared at Fergus.

  “You told us that your father was a farmer and that he had a plot of land on the Island of Vectis in Britannia,” Adalwolf growled unhappily. “Why did you lie to us? Why did you not tell us the truth about your father’s position? You make us doubt your loyalty and commitment Fergus.”

  “Did you know about the attack?” Hadrian said pointing an accusing finger at Fergus. “Did your father tell you that the attempt was going to be made?”

  “Answer the questions boy,” Attianus hissed again, his eyes fixed on Fergus with dark intent.

  Fergus struggled to deal with the questions as they came in thick and fast, like hammer blows to his head and body. Then finally, with a painful grimace he managed to gather himself.

  “Sir,” he said sharply, at last finding his voice as he turned to Hadrian. “I am loyal to you and you alone. Twice now I have saved your life. That should be proof enough of my loyalty. And I am no spy nor have I ever given away any information on you Sir. If my father had known about the plot, he would have warned me, but he did not. I knew nothing about the attempt on your life and my father is a good man. He is only a supporter of Nigrinus because it was a way for him to get on in the world. I know my father. He is an honourable man. He doesn’t give a shit who becomes the next emperor. He will have wanted to have nothing to do with this. Please Sir, you must believe me. Take him off the list. I beg you.”

  “He may have lied about his father but it is true that he twice saved your life,” Adalwolf said, glancing at Hadrian. “And if he was in on the plot he had ample chance to strike you down himself. As to being a spy,” Adalwolf shrugged, “what’s the point in being a spy if he could have just killed you. If the War Party had managed to get one of their men so close they would surely have ordered him to kill you.”

  “Yes, yes, I know he has saved my life twice,” Hadrian snarled, in an angry and annoyed voice, “But the fact remains that he kept this information from me and that pisses me off and makes me doubt him.”

  Angrily Hadrian turned around and rubbed his hand across his forehead as he seemed to consider what to do next. “I feel betrayed Fergus,” he hissed at last. “You have let me down. You have deceived me and your lack of honesty has wounded me. Now get out of my sight and do your job. For the sake of our past friendship and your service to me I am giving you this one chance to redeem yourself.”

  “My father Sir, please take him off that list, he is innocent. I beg you,” Fergus stammered hastily.

  “Get out!” Hadrian roared.

  Chapter Thirteen – Taskforce Red

  It was still dark and it was cold, as Fergus made his way through the quiet deserted streets, of Antioch. His heavy iron-studded army boots rasped on the paving stones and he was wearing a fine, brand new centurion’s uniform and body armour. Tucked under his left arm was his plumed helmet of black horsehair and from his army belt hung Corbulo’s old legionary sword, protected by an elaborately decorated leather sheath. In his right-hand Fergus was clutching a brand-new officer’s vine staff. Galena had said that he made a dashing figure as he had kissed her goodbye, but her words had not been able to cheer him up. Here and there a lamp glowed inside a house and somewhere in the gloom a dog was barking. As he passed a drunk lying asleep in the street, Fergus lowered his head to the ground with a depressed sigh. He should have been happy and excited to have been promoted to the rank of centurion. It was a significant promotion, one of the highest ranks that a common soldier could hope for and he had made it at the age of twenty-seven. It should have been a triumph but it all felt terribly fake. He was still in Hadrian’s service and the promotion seemed only temporary and designed only for the job he was required to do. Hadrian controlled everything. When Hadrian finally recalled him, there would be no longer any need for him to be a centurion and he would have to give it all up. And there seemed little chance now that Hadrian would allow him to return to the army.

  No, nothing seemed to be going right anymore he thought, with growing despair. There had been no news from his mother, nothing to say that she was still alive and now Marcus, his father had found his way onto Hadrian’s death list and there was nothing he could do about it. Worse still he was being sent away to do a job, which meant he would not be seeing much of Hadrian. There would be few opportunities to change his boss’s mind. And yet the only way he was going to save Marcus and his family was by getting Hadrian to change his mind. It was imperative that he tried. But how was he going to do that from a distance? After the tense meeting with Hadrian and Adalwolf, Fergus had sought out Galena and had found her in their quarters, close to tears. Someone had been through their rooms, looking for something. The plac
e was a complete mess. Grimly Fergus raised his head as he continued down the deserted street towards the imperial palace. He had a fair idea of what Hadrian, Attianus and Adalwolf had been looking for. Evidence to prove that he had been involved in the assassination plot. Thank the gods Galena had had the sense to burn his father’s letter, before they had set out from Athens. If Hadrian, Attianus or Adalwolf had found Marcus’s letter with its subtly coded warning it would have been a disaster. It was clear now that he would have to write to his father and warn him of the danger he was in. But what real difference would it make? Marcus was already in danger, simply by supporting Hadrian’s rivals and he would know that. And there was something else that unsettled him. Hadrian had proposed and agreed to allow Galena and his daughters to stay at his villa for the duration. It had seemed a fair and generous offer, for Hadrian’s house was both large and luxurious but it also meant that his family were completely at Hadrian’s mercy. Had the boss made the proposal with just that in mind?

  The city of Antioch had been built on the eastern bank of the Orontes river and, as Fergus passed the main city roundabout and the Nymphaeum with its magnificent fountains and statues dedicated to the water Nymphs, he paused to gaze down the broad colonnaded street that led southwards towards the Cherubim Gate and the Jewish quarter. A few merchants and stall owners were already about, preparing for the day and setting up their market stalls. No one paid him any attention and as he gazed down the empty street a wild crazy idea came to him. Why did he not just turn around, fetch Galena and his girls and simply vanish. They could go to Greece or even back to Britannia. They could disappear and he could ditch all the shit and leave his troubles behind. Would he not be happier? Would that not be something? For a long moment Fergus seemed torn and unable to move, as he gazed down the colonnaded street with its fine porticos and covered walkways. Then at last he lowered his head with a little weary shake. He had given Hadrian his oath and solemn vow of allegiance. He could not break that for to do so, would be forfeiting all honour and self-respect. No, he could not run away. He would just have to endure what the gods threw at him and take it like a man and keep going and hope for better days to come. Corbulo his grandfather had never run away from anything and so neither would he. And as he thought about his grandfather, a new resolve seemed to fill his heart. Corbulo had never given up. Taking a deep breath, Fergus turned and with a renewed determination, he set off again towards the imperial palace.