The Emperor's Exile (Eagles of the Empire 19)
Page 4
‘That’s too bad,’ Burrus growled. ‘Well, in that case, Macro takes command while his request is processed and I find a replacement for you. In the meantime, you are not to leave Rome without my permission. Do you have anything to say in response to my decision?’
Cato’s mind reeled with all the things he could say. Chief among them was his bitter indignation that he should be treated so unjustly after doing what he had always done: serving the best interests of Rome as well as he could with the orders he was given by his superiors. But he would not give the prefect the satisfaction of seeing his anger and resentment. Besides, he needed time to think and plan a defence of his actions to submit to the investigation. Assuming he was given the chance to present his side of the story.
He took a calming breath. ‘Not at present, sir.’
Burrus regarded him closely, then nodded. ‘I see. Then our business here is finished. Your rank of tribune is forfeit immediately and I want you to quit the Praetorian camp forthwith. You are not permitted to set foot inside it without my express permission. If there are any personal effects remaining in the cohort’s barracks, you may arrange for them to be delivered to your house. You will be informed of the progress of the investigation and any further action that may be taken against you. Do you understand?’
‘Yes, sir,’ Cato replied through gritted teeth.
‘Very well, you are dismissed.’ Burrus made a curt gesture with his hand towards the door and looked down as he removed the makeshift weights from the scroll, refusing to meet Cato’s gaze a moment longer.
Clenching his jaw, Cato turned and strode away, anger seething in his heart and burning through his veins as the shame of his treatment struck home with a pain almost as real as any wound he had endured during his fifteen years of service to Rome.
‘Relieved of your command?’ Macro’s eyes widened in disbelief. ‘Are you pulling my leg?’
Cato eased himself onto the marble bench beside his friend and stared at the myriad ripples criss-crossing the surface of the pond as the water from the fountain spattered down. He took a deep breath and sighed bitterly. ‘I’m afraid it’s true, Macro. The prefect’s orders are that you are to take over command until a tribune is appointed to replace me. I doubt that will take long, given the number of aristocrats thrusting themselves forward for a post in the Praetorian Guard.’ He gave Macro a sidelong look. ‘I’m sorry to be the cause of the delay in your discharge, brother.’
‘Fuck sorry,’ Macro replied. ‘What in Hades does Burrus think he’s doing? Did he give his reasons?’
Cato nodded. ‘More or less. It’s as I feared. The emperor’s advisers have learned that things aren’t going as well for Corbulo as he has made out. They want to make an example of someone so that Corbulo gets the message: deliver a success or face the consequences.’ He stooped to pick up a pebble and threw it at a lily pad at the foot of the fountain. ‘My position isn’t helped by the losses the cohort has suffered. And when they march into camp, the thinned-out ranks are going to cause eyebrows to rise. The rumour will go round that I’m just another thruster, determined to rise through the ranks no matter how many of my men it costs.’
‘That’s bullshit. Some might mutter, but when they know the full story, they’ll understand.’
‘How long will that take, I wonder? You know how it is, brother. A lie travels far faster than the truth and does more damage when it hits its target. When, or if, the true story of what happened on the eastern frontier is known, it’ll be far too late. My replacement will be firmly in place and I’ll have spent years stuck in Rome waiting for a new command. And given the shadow of doubt hanging over me, I may never be allowed to rejoin the army. My soldiering days could be over.’
‘Pfft!’ Macro sniffed. ‘With your record, no one’s going to let your talent go to waste.’
Cato shrugged. ‘I hope you’re right. But given the nature of people who make decisions in Rome, politics trumps reason every time . . . You’d better report to Burrus as soon as you can. He’ll probably want to question you on the contents of my report and see if there are any discrepancies he can use.’
‘Use? Use for what?’
‘There’s going to be an investigation of my handling of the cohort. The prefect will be gathering evidence as swiftly as possible. He wants to be seen acting quickly and sternly with an officer who loses so many of Nero’s finest troops.’
‘Then you must fight your corner, sir. I’ll do whatever I can to help. Same goes for the other centurions and the men. We’ll speak up for you. I’ll put Burrus straight.’
‘Just tell him the truth, Macro. And keep it brief. I don’t want you getting caught up in this by saying anything that could be used against you later on. I know you’ll be heading for Britannia soon, but as we both know, if you make an enemy in Rome, there is no limit to their reach. They’ll hunt you down wherever you are. Same goes for the rest of the lads. You’d better let them know when they catch up with us.’
‘They already have. The ships reached Ostia yesterday, late afternoon. Apollonius saw them come in as he was setting off with the baggage. He fetched up here after you set off for the Praetorian camp.’
Cato glanced round. ‘Where is he?’
‘Bathhouse.’ Macro jerked a thumb over his shoulder. ‘He’s been in there ever since. Typical bloody Greek, lazing around the moment he has any excuse to.’
‘He has his uses.’ Cato stood up and forced a smile as he held out his hand. ‘I suppose I should congratulate you on your promotion, however briefly you are in command of the cohort. Acting Tribune Macro. It has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?’
‘No, I fucking don’t,’ Macro growled, refusing to take Cato’s hand. ‘It ain’t right. The situation is more bollocksed up than a randy bull on heat. You should fight this, sir. I’ll back you all the way.’
‘I know you will. But for now, do your job while we wait for the investigation to take its course. It’ll be something to take your discharge having reached the rank of tribune, eh?’
‘I was perfectly happy as a centurion.’
‘I know. But that’s life in the army for you. You rarely know what the fates are going to throw your way. One thing’s for sure, though. If you don’t get your arse in gear and report to Burrus, there may be an acting senior centurion position going begging as well.’
Cato made for the bathhouse at the bottom of the garden. One of the slaves, a burly man stripped down to a loincloth, was busy feeding split logs into the furnace, sweat glistening across his broad back. Smoke curled from the chimney at the end of the building. It was a modest structure compared to some of those Cato had seen in the wealthiest homes in the capital, but it provided warm and hot rooms, a steam bath and a small plunge pool arranged around the changing vestibule, where a handful of training weights rested on a rack. He paused beside the slave, and the man hurriedly straightened and bowed his head as soon as he became aware of his master’s presence.
‘I don’t recognise you,’ said Cato. ‘Who are you?’
‘Pollenus, master.’
‘How long have you been a member of the household?’
‘Seven months, master. Croton bought me from the slave market when the previous groundsman died. I tend to the garden and the bathhouse.’ There was a distinct accent to the man’s voice. Not one Cato recognised, but he had certainly not been raised in Rome or its environs.
Cato nodded. ‘How do you know I am your master?’
‘I was in the garden when you returned yesterday. Croton pointed you out, master.’
‘I see. A belated welcome, then, Pollenus. Do your duty and serve me loyally and we’ll do right by each other.’
‘Yes, master. I will,’ Pollenus replied flatly, and Cato wondered if he heard a trace of resentment in the man’s voice, or whether perhaps he was imagining it.
‘Who owned you previously?’
‘Senator Seneca, master.’
‘Seneca? Why did he sell you?’
‘You disagreed?’ Cato arched an eyebrow. ‘You dared to disagree with the senator?’
‘Yes, master. And I was beaten for it before I was taken away to be sold.’
‘Then I trust you have learned your lesson. Being a slave is like being a soldier. Both must obey orders. If you want to remain here, you will not show me the same defiance as you showed Seneca. If you choose to repeat the offence, you’ll go back to the slave market. Do your duty here well and you will be looked after and treated fairly. Do I make myself clear, Pollenus?’
‘Yes, master.’
‘Good. Carry on.’
Cato entered the vestibule and saw Apollonius’s clothes neatly folded on a stool, beside his boots. He unfastened the clasp of his cloak and laid the folds on a small wooden bench, then removed his armour and undressed. Pollenus was still in his thoughts. Though he was a tolerant master to the handful of slaves he owned, he expected the same from them as he did from the men under his command. He paused and smiled as he corrected himself: the men he used to command. He resolved to have a word with Croton about the new slave. If Pollenus had settled into the household and was causing no trouble, then all was well. Otherwise he would be put on notice and if there were any problems with his behaviour he would be sold. In any case, despite what the slave claimed was the reason for his departure from his previous household, the fact that he was linked to Seneca justified treating him with suspicion for the present.
Once he was naked, Cato picked up one of the linen gowns and a towel from the shelves in the vestibule and made his way into the warm room. It was empty, so he moved on to the hot room, easing aside the leather curtain in the arch that divided the two. Apollonius was sitting on a bench opposite, dimly visible in the light admitted by a small glass window. His sinewy body was glistening with perspiration and he looked up as he lifted a hand slightly in greeting.
‘Back from the camp so soon?’
Cato sat on the bench opposite and briefly related what had happened. Apollonius clicked his tongue.
‘That’s tough. And hardly a fair reward for your service.’
‘Quite,’ Cato agreed with feeling. ‘It seems I might not be able to offer you a position in my cohort after all. I’m sorry about that.’
The freedman thought a moment. ‘It is a pity. But all is not lost. The investigation might find in your favour.’
‘That’s possible.’
Apollonius scrutinised Cato’s expression. ‘But not likely, you’re thinking.’
‘I was not one of Burrus’s appointments. I was given my command thanks to the influence of Narcissus.’
‘And he’s long gone,’ Apollonius mused. ‘So you have no patron at the palace to guard your interests. Tricky.’
‘To put it mildly.’
‘Is there no one you can appeal to in the Senate to support your cause?’
There was one senator Cato trusted, and who he believed might offer him some help. Vespasian had been the commander of the Second Legion when Cato had joined up. Their paths had crossed several times since then, and Vespasian had been impressed by his performance. However, the senator wielded little influence at present, and Cato found the idea of approaching his former commander more than his pride would bear.
‘No. I’m on my own. I’ll deal with this by myself.’
Apollonius sighed. ‘It’s your funeral. But if there’s anything I can do to help, I’d be happy to.’
‘If it comes to that . . . But I thank you.’
There was a brief silence as Cato began to feel the perspiration pricking out and forming beads on his skin before starting to trickle downwards. ‘Given my situation, you might want to attach yourself to someone else. I’d understand if you chose to do that.’
‘There’s no call for that just yet.’
Cato regarded the agent closely for a moment. He had come to appreciate Apollonius’s sharp intelligence and educated understanding of the world. Moreover, there were few men he had met who were as adept with weapons as the freedman. Even though they had served together on Corbulo’s embassy to Parthia, and fought side by side, Cato was concerned that he had only the most basic understanding of the other man’s character and motivations. He felt the urge to know more, and the change in circumstances emboldened him to transgress the bounds of social propriety.
‘Tell me, Apollonius, why did you leave Corbulo’s service to join me?’
‘It was a simple enough judgement. Corbulo is already yesterday’s man. I need a patron with a future. I thought you had potential. I still do.’
‘Corbulo is yesterday’s man?’ Cato shook his head. ‘He’s been given an important command. He is gathering a large army to invade Parthia. If he succeeds, he’ll be given a triumph and will be the darling of the mob and the Senate. I’d say he’s a long way from deserving that kind of dismissal of his power and influence.’
‘You think so?’ Apollonius reached up and mopped the sweat from his brow. ‘Perhaps I should explain my thinking. You’re right, Corbulo has a powerful army at his back. That will be his undoing, whether he claims a victory over the Parthians or whether he is humiliated by them. If he is successful, I’d be willing to bet that every ambitious senator in the capital is going to be envious. Worse still, if he becomes the darling of the mob, you can be sure Nero will want to clip his wings as soon as possible, or else put paid to any danger he poses with some accusation of conspiracy. If he fails, Nero will need a scapegoat. Either way, Corbulo is doomed. It’s just a question of time before he is brought low. I calculated that it was better for me to transfer my allegiance to a patron whose career was still on the rise, but not dangerously so. I doubt anyone at the palace will see you as a threat for the foreseeable future. You fitted my requirements perfectly. So here I am, at your service.’
Cato gave a dry laugh. ‘You don’t seem to have much faith in my ambition. And that was hardly the most inspiring declaration of loyalty offered by a client.’
‘Maybe not. But I think you’ll find it is one of the most honest and accurate you are likely to hear.’
‘There is that.’ Cato laughed again. ‘But as I said, I think you may find you have attached yourself to a patron whose fortunes are unlikely to rise any further as things stand.’
‘Don’t sell yourself short, sir.’
It was a rare thing for Apollonius to address him as a superior, and it pleased Cato.
‘Given what I know of you and your resourcefulness,’ the agent went on, ‘I am confident that you will survive the investigation and your fortunes will continue to prosper. So I am content to remain in your service.’
‘Assuming I am happy to keep you in my service.’
Apollonius’s expression formed into a knowing grin. ‘We both know you’d be a fool to dismiss me.’
That was true, Cato conceded. Especially now that Macro would soon obtain his discharge. Apollonius would be a good man to have at his side in a fight, and was shrewd enough to be a useful adviser. The only mark against him was his ruthless streak. He seemed to be motivated entirely by selfish concerns. Cato found that unnerving, used as he was to the unqualified bond of loyalty and honesty that had existed between himself and Macro for the last fifteen years. It would take a while before he adjusted to his new companion. It would take rather longer before he trusted him. But trust was a luxury he might not be able to afford. As things stood, he needed every ally he could get.
Chapter Four
The Second Cohort marched back into the camp the following morning, led by Centurion Ignatius at the head of the colour party. The men were as neatly turned out as they could be in clothing and kit that showed the signs of two hard campaigns. They still managed to keep in step and were belting out a marching song as they passed through the arch under the gatehouse. The Praetorians on sentry duty, and others lounging in the shade outside their barracks, looked on with eager curiosity. While a sense of e
xcitement always attended soldiers returning from war, the mood was muted as the onlookers saw how few had survived. There would be plenty of tales to tell in the drinking holes around the camp that night.
Macro was waiting for them on the steps of the tribune’s office at the end of the Second Cohort’s barracks. He was dressed in his best tunic and cloak and his medals gleamed brightly on the harness he wore over his scale vest. The sun glinted off his helmet and greaves as he idly tapped his vine cane against the side of his heel. Ignatius marched the column along the front of the building, then gave the order to halt. He paused for a beat before calling the men to face right and come to attention. The sound of nailed boots scraping on flagstones and then stamping down echoed off the surrounding walls.
Macro cast his gaze over them fondly. These were men he had come to know well, and he was proud of them. Though he would never openly admit it, they had proved themselves to be every bit as good as his former comrades of the Second Legion. He felt a stab of deep regret in his breast at the prospect of leaving them behind when he took his discharge and left for Britannia with Petronella. For now, he was their new commander and he would discharge that duty to the best of his ability. He drew a deep breath and eased his shoulders back as he addressed the men.
‘Brothers! Rome bids us welcome after our service to the Empire on the eastern frontier. The Second Cohort has done itself proud and we have served under our standard with courage and honour. While our comrades in the other cohorts have been sitting on their arses back here in the capital, we have been showing the enemy how real Romans fight. When you go off duty later today, you will walk a little taller and with the swagger of soldiers who have earned their pay. Make sure you let our friends in the other cohorts know it. If they give you any lip about your appearance when you marched back into camp, you have my permission to give them a good kicking!’
There were some laughs and grins from the men and officers in the ranks, and Macro beamed back at them. ‘Go easy on them, though, lads. It’s been a while since they’ve had to deal with anything more dangerous than a few disorderly drunks and irate whores.’