‘Magnus, what is it?’
‘Bastards wouldn’t let me in,’ he replied, eyeing the two ginger-bearded guards.
‘Careful Roman,’ the larger of the two growled, he was at least a head taller than Magnus. ‘Rome does not rule here.’
‘Go piss in your mother’s mouth, fox-fucker.’
The huge Thracian slammed the shaft of his spear towards Magnus’ face; he ducked under it, hooked his right leg behind the guard’s left and pulled, sending him crashing on to his arse.
‘That’s enough!’ Vespasian leapt between them, pushing Magnus away from his adversary. ‘Back off, Magnus.’ He turned to the guard. ‘We leave it there, I apologise on this man’s behalf.’
Sabinus moved in front of the second guard who had raised his spear at Vespasian. The prostrate guard glanced quickly between the two brothers, gave Magnus a venomous look and slowly nodded; he knew better than to tangle with two Romans who had the look of men of authority.
Vespasian led Magnus away downhill across the torch-lit square in front of the palace. ‘That was fucking stupid; you don’t go around picking fights with palace guards.’
Magnus was unrepentant. ‘Well, they should have let me through; it was urgent. Paetus sent me to get you as quickly as possible; it’s getting a bit out of control at the camp.’
As they passed through the ancient gates of Philippopolis shouts and jeers could be clearly heard emanating from the Roman camp a half-mile away. Breaking into a run they covered the distance across the rough ground as quickly as was possible in the dim light of a half-moon. Magnus had been unable to tell the brothers the reason for the disturbance; all he knew was that there had been some fighting and then Paetus had received an angry deputation from the men. He now wanted to consult with Vespasian, as the tribune of the two cohorts of the IIII Scythica, before he replied.
There were no legionary guards at the Praetorian Gate, just the centurion of the watch who looked grimly at Vespasian as they approached.
‘I don’t know what’s got into them, sir,’ he said, saluting. ‘It’s been brewing all day since we found the bodies.’
‘What bodies, Albinus?’ Vespasian asked returning the salute.
‘Three of our lads were found this morning in the woods, sir; they’d been missing for a couple of days. They were nastily cut up, been worked over with knives so I’m told; didn’t see them myself though. Two of them are dead and the survivor’s in a pretty bad way.’
‘Thank you, centurion,’ Vespasian said, passing through the gate on to the Via Praetoria, followed by Sabinus and Magnus.
The camp was speckled with large and small groups of legionaries arguing amongst themselves either in the pools of flickering torchlight or in the shadows between the barrack huts. Here and there fights had broken out which the hard-pressed centurions, aided by their seconds-in-command, the optiones, were having trouble stopping, but they seemed to still retain their authority and received no counter-blows as they waded into the knots of fighting legionaries, breaking them up with sharp cracks from their vine canes.
‘At least discipline hasn’t totally broken down,’ Vespasian observed as he watched a centurion violently haul a grizzled-looking veteran off his bloodied younger opponent. The older man went to strike the centurion but then lowered his fist as he realised that there were no mitigating circumstances for striking a senior officer: the punishment was death.
‘It’s a fucking shambles,’ Sabinus said derisively. ‘What do you call good discipline in the Fourth Scythica if this isn’t a total breakdown? This would have been a cause for decimation in the Ninth Hispana.’
Vespasian was not about to get into an argument about the relative merits of his and Sabinus’ old legion. ‘Shut it, Sabinus; if there is one thing that I need to do now it is to look dignified. I must find Paetus, you go with Magnus and wait in my quarters; this is a military matter and doesn’t involve you.’ He adjusted his toga over his left arm, crooked before him, and, with his head held high, started to walk slowly down the Via Praetoria, disdaining the chaos all around him. As he passed the various groups, the shouting and fighting gradually ceased as the legionaries noticed their tribune, haughty as a magistrate back in Rome, resolutely refusing to acknowledge them. The innate respect that they held for the authority of those of higher birth brought them back to their senses and they disengaged from their arguments and confrontations and began to follow Vespasian, in silence, towards the Principia at the centre of the camp.
Once there, the crowd that was already gathered outside parted for him and he ascended the few steps and passed between the columns that supported the portico. The two centurions guarding the garrison’s headquarters from the angry mob snapped to attention with a jangling of phalerae and presented immaculate salutes. Vespasian responded then entered the building without looking back at the hundreds of men now congregated outside.
Publius Junius Caesennius Paetus rose from his chair behind the large desk at the far end of the room. ‘Ah, tribune, good of you to come,’ he exclaimed, beautifully enunciating each syllable with his clipped aristocratic tone. ‘I do hope I didn’t interrupt your evening with the Queen; your man said that you and your brother were visiting her.’
‘No, sir, we met Magnus on our way out,’ Vespasian replied, walking the twenty or so paces to the desk in the sputtering light of flaming sconces.
‘Oh, good, good. I’m looking forward to meeting your brother, he served with the Ninth Hispana in Africa during the rebellion, I believe? My cousin was there as a tribune with the Third Augusta at the time; they had a tricky time of it. Perhaps you will both dine with me tomorrow?’ Paetus said, sitting back down and gesturing to the chair on the other side of the desk. ‘Please, make yourself comfortable, Vespasian.’
‘Thank you, Paetus,’ Vespasian said, following his superior’s lead and dropping out of military formality.
‘We’ve a bit of a delicate situation on our hands at the moment: the men aren’t happy, they started fighting amongst themselves this evening, then later I had a deputation from them. It is, as you know, their right to bring their grievances to their commanding officer.’
‘Indeed. I noticed some discontent amongst them when I came back from hunting earlier,’ Vespasian replied, trying to keep the provincial burr of his Sabine country accent to a minimum, as he always did when talking with this cultured patrician. ‘What are their complaints?’
‘Well the crux of the matter is that they’re bored, but we all knew that. Hades, we’re all bored, I’m bored witless stuck in this poxy place; but they at least get their annual leave, whereas the likes of you and I are here for the duration. I haven’t seen my little Lucius since he was five, he’s almost ten now. Nor have I been to the theatre or seen a wild beast hunt for over four years, and I love a good wild beast hunt as you know.’
‘Yes, but boredom is no excuse for what was going on out there.’
‘No, no, of course not; the ring leaders will have to be flogged then transferred to another cohort, and I’m afraid we’ve got to execute a couple of the chaps tomorrow morning for striking superior officers; they’re in the guardhouse at the moment feeling pretty stupid, I should imagine. There’s no need for that sort of behaviour.
‘The trouble is that this morning we found three men who’d been tortured rather savagely; one’s still alive, he’s in the hospital, the doctor says he may live, though I don’t think that I’d want to if I were him, but that’s by the by. There were two other bodies found, incidentally, a couple of messengers; they looked to be imperial couriers but there was nothing on them to identify them so we’ll never know. Anyway a lot the men want their revenge; you know, go and torch a few villages, lop off some limbs and rape any female under the age of sixty. I explained to them that that sort of thing is just not on any more since we put down the rebellion and most of them took the point. But then a few hotheads started going around saying that it wasn’t fair that they were stuck here and their mates in the
other eight cohorts are up in Moesia having a fine old time of it fighting off the incursions from the other side of the river.’
‘I can see their point, but what can we do about it?’
‘Ah, well, that was what the deputation was about. They want me to write to Governor Pomponius Labeo and ask him to rotate them back to Moesia and send another two cohorts to replace them. I have to say that I think it’s not such a bad idea. I wanted to run it past you, as their tribune, before I spoke to them again; which I must do soon as they are still arguing amongst themselves. There’s a hard core that won’t take no for an answer and want to take matters into their own hands.’
‘It is a good idea. The men are losing their sharpness after so much inactivity, so from a military point of view it makes sense; but the trouble is that my brother tells me that Poppaeus Sabinus is back in charge in Moesia, Pomponius is now just the legate of the Fourth Scythica again.’
Paetus screwed his face up; he and Poppaeus had never got on. ‘Well, I’ll write to Poppaeus then, the oily little new man.’ Paetus looked at Vespasian apologetically. ‘Sorry, dear chap, no offence meant.’
Vespasian smiled at him; although Paetus came from a very old and noble family of Etruscan origin that boasted many consuls, he had always treated Vespasian as an equal, at least in military terms. ‘None taken, Paetus.’
‘Quite; but it occurs to me that my relationship with Poppaeus won’t make him keen to grant my request whereas if you write to Pomponius as a tribune of the Fourth Scythica, making a request of his legate, then it would be a purely internal matter within the legion and therefore nothing to do with Poppaeus.’
Vespasian realised that he should not keep his superior in the dark about his plans any longer. ‘I can do better that that, Paetus, I can appeal to him in person on the men’s behalf.’
‘No need to go that far, my dear fellow.’
‘I was going to wait until the Queen sent you a message making it official before I told you, but I’ve been asked to do something for her.’ He told Paetus as much as he could without mentioning Antonia’s name or whom he was searching for.
When he had finished Paetus leant forward on the desk and contemplated him, resting his steepled hands against his lips.
‘There’s more to this than you’ve told me,’ he said after a while. ‘Your brother arrives from Rome; you both rush off to see the Queen and then suddenly have to go to Moesia with a small party of the Queen’s guard to intercept a Getic raiding party for reasons that you say you can’t divulge and then you won’t be coming back here. That’s about the size of it, isn’t it, Vespasian?’
‘Yes,’ Vespasian admitted, feeling that the whole affair must sound very suspicious.
‘Well, I am no fool; I come from a family that has played politics for centuries and I’ll fill in a couple of gaps for you, if I may. Firstly, Tryphaena is Marcus Antonius’ great-granddaughter, and he, coincidentally, was also the father of Antonia, who was an ally of the late Consul Asinius, to whom you owe your posting, and whom you rushed off to see as soon as he arrived in Poppaeus’ camp. You have never told me what you discussed with him and I have never asked you, but perhaps that is irrelevant as Asinius left very soon after and then died of fever on his way to his province, or so we are led to believe.’ Paetus spread his hands and gave an incredulous look. ‘However, the day Asinius left I found Poppaeus’ secretary Kratos, some of Asinius’ lictors, a few Praetorian guardsmen and another person, who seemed to have mislaid his head, all dead in the very tent that Asinius had been using; and then you went missing for two days and didn’t return until Poppaeus had left for Rome.’
Vespasian shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He could see that Paetus was putting the pieces together, but as much as he liked and respected him he had no idea of where his political sympathies lay; to open up to him could be very dangerous indeed. Paetus sensed his unease, smiled and pressed on.
‘Now, you weren’t the only person who wasn’t there; there was a particularly unpleasant weaselly faced priest who was never seen again after that day, if I remember rightly.’ Paetus paused and leant forward over the desk, looking directly into Vespasian’s dark eyes. ‘Now, if I told you that I know that the decapitated body in the tent was Sejanus’ freedman Hasdro, whom I recognised from Rome, and if I also told you that I know that he and Poppaeus had dealings with the priest because I saw them together; and if I further told you that I know that Antonia is no friend to Sejanus, would you then like me to make an educated guess as to what you are involved in?’
‘I think that it would be better not to, Paetus, for both our sakes,’ Vespasian replied carefully. ‘The facts as you’ve laid them out are correct, but I wouldn’t like to be put into the position of having to, perhaps untruthfully, deny the accuracy of any possible conclusion that you may draw from them.’
Paetus nodded slowly. ‘I see, well, perhaps it would be best if I keep my thoughts to myself. I will say one thing, though: if your brother has come here to see Tryphaena on Antonia’s business and if that business has anything to do with the facts that I have just presented you with, I would be happy to aid you in any way I can because it would be furthering the interests of my family.’
‘If those things were all true then I would gladly accept your help, Paetus,’ Vespasian said, feeling mightily relieved.
‘Good, well, that’s as clear as it can be then.’ Paetus clapped his hands and then rubbed them together. ‘We will use this disturbance in the camp as a cover for you going north: we’ll tell the men that you are going to appeal to Pomponius on their behalf and take the ringleaders to him for transfer. I’ll provide you with a turma of my auxiliary cavalry to escort you over the Succi pass into Moesia.’
‘Why do I need a cover story and an escort?’ Vespasian asked, thinking that this was over-complicating matters.
‘The cover story is because not all of our centurions think the way that, perhaps, we do. I know for a fact that certain people in Rome suspect either you or me of killing Hasdro and Kratos; you, because you disappeared for a while straight afterwards and me because I didn’t report the killings.’
‘Who knew that you knew about them?’
‘Our very own centurion Caelus saw me come out of the tent and, as you may or may not know, he is Poppaeus’ man through and through.’
‘Ah!’
‘Ah indeed. And I suspect that it is no coincidence that he is our senior centurion set here to watch over us and report our doings back to Poppaeus and his friend. If he reported that I let you go to Moesia with some of Tryphaena’s soldiers it would look as if I was actively working against them and that is something that I wish to avoid, especially if you’re successful and take back to Rome what I suspect. And you need an escort because I know for a fact that your life is in danger.’
Vespasian started. ‘How did you know? Two men tried to kill me this afternoon, but the only people I’ve told are my brother and the Queen.’
‘Two, eh?’
‘Yes and they’re both dead.’
‘Well, I think you should come and talk to the poor chap in the hospital, but first let’s address the men.’
Vespasian and Paetus stepped out of the Principia into the torch-washed camp. All the men of the two cohorts and the auxiliary ala were there waiting upon their commanders’ decision; their steaming breath rose above them in the cold night air. An expectant hush fell over the crowd as Paetus, standing on top of the steps, opened his arms to them in a rhetorical gesture signifying unity.
‘Men of the Thracian garrison,’ he called in loud, high voice, pitched so that it carried to the rear ranks. ‘You have come to me with a just grievance. It is shameful that we cannot avenge our comrades here in Thracia. However, I have consulted with your tribune and he has offered to personally ride to the legion’s headquarters and put your case to the legate himself; he will beg the legate to relieve you so that you can have your vengeance in Moesia.’
A massive cheer went up.
‘However,’ Paetus continued over the noise, ‘there have been acts of insubordination that cannot go unpunished for the good of morale. The two men guilty of striking senior officers will be executed in the morning.’ The cheering petered out. ‘It cannot be otherwise. And furthermore you will hand over the ringleaders for punishment; each will receive two dozen stokes of the cane and then, as it would be impossible for them to remain here with the taint of insubordination hanging over them, they will accompany the tribune to the legion’s headquarters where they will be transferred to another cohort. This is the price you must pay for threatening mutiny and not first bringing your grievance to me in a dignified manner befitting soldiers of Rome. Rome will not tolerate rebelliousness in the ranks of her legions. If you do not accept these terms then you will have to kill me and your tribune and then you will be hunted men for the rest of your short lives. Raise your right hands if you agree.’
The legionaries fell to muttering amongst themselves; here and there a voice was raised but there was nothing like the tension that Vespasian had witnessed earlier. Gradually hands started to go up until eventually every man held his right hand aloft.
Paetus nodded. ‘Very well, now give up your ringleaders. In a spirit of reconciliation, if they come forward on their own free will I will reduce the number of strokes to one dozen.’
At this there was some movement within the crowd and three men stepped forward. Amongst them Vespasian recognised the grizzled veteran he had seen earlier restraining himself from striking the centurion. The man brought himself to attention and addressed Paetus.
‘Legionary Varinus of the second century, fifth cohort, begs permission to make a statement, sir.’
‘Carry on, legionary,’ Paetus replied.
‘We three are the mess-mates of the two men in the guardhouse and the three men found today. We take full responsibility for the disturbance which we started out of our natural desire to avenge our comrades and gladly submit ourselves to punishment. We would ask one thing: clemency for our two mates under sentence of death, sir.’
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