Masters of Rome

CHAPTER II

‘We picked up their trail, sir; they doubled back and headed west.’ Lucius Junius Caesennius Paetus, the young prefect of the Batavian auxiliary cavalry ala, reported in clipped patrician tones, standing to attention on the opposite side of the desk to Vespasian in the praetorium tent. ‘Judging by the tracks, they were a good two hours ahead of us. After five miles or so they met up with a group of at least thirty horsemen and changed direction to just north of west. By that time the light was fading and we had to turn back.’

‘Thank you, prefect. Maximus, have you had the legion’s casualty list?’

‘I’m just waiting for the second, third and fourth cohorts’ reports; they suffered the most scaling the walls. I’ll bring it to you when it’s complete.’

‘Has there been a report of an optio going missing just before the attack?’

Maximus looked surprised. ‘How did you know, sir?’

‘A guess. Well?’

‘The optio from the sixth century, ninth cohort went missing just before the assault started as the cohort moved into position.’

‘Thank you, Maximus.’ Vespasian looked over to Cogidubnus, seated to the right of him next to Valens. ‘How long is it since you’ve seen your cousin Alienus?’

‘Verica’s grandson? Why?’

‘Because I believe that he was the man masquerading as the optio who got Caratacus through our lines.’

The Britannic King thought for a few moments. ‘Not since he was a boy, well before he went to Rome, say six or seven years. Why?’

‘Could you identify him?’

‘I doubt it after all this time; he’d be a man now and I only saw him a few times as a lad.’

‘A pity.’ Vespasian looked at the crude map rolled out before him; there was not much detail on it south or west of where they were, just the coastline of the peninsula that narrowed as it ran southwest into the ocean and marked with a couple of rivers. ‘Where do you think they’re headed?’

The Briton got up and peered at the map in the lamplight. ‘My western scouts who came back in this afternoon reported another hill-fort about here.’ He pointed a dirty-nailed finger at the map slightly north of west of their present position, almost halfway to the sea on the north coast of the peninsula.

Vespasian noted its whereabouts on the map; most of the markings were in his hand, the cartographic record of the island being sparse to say the least. ‘How large is it?’

‘Larger than this one; it’s got three ditches and four ramparts.’

‘Is it occupied?’

‘According to my men there is a small force holding it but not more than a few hundred; it would seem that most of the warriors were called to muster here.’

‘Question the prisoners and find out all that you can about the place.’

Cogidubnus nodded.

Vespasian considered the facts for a few moments, running a hand through his thinning hair. ‘We’ll need to take it anyway as we move west, although I can’t imagine that Caratacus will let himself be caught in a siege again. What’s between here and there?’

‘Hills and some flat land; there are a few settlements but none are fortified so they’ll probably be abandoned as we approach them.’

‘What news from the scouts in the north?’

‘They’re not back but if any hostile body was close enough to threaten us they would have sent a message.’

‘Have that agent of yours report to me, he may know something about the place.’

‘I will, as soon as I can find him.’

‘What happened to him?’

‘I don’t know; he disappeared soon after we brought him down.’

Vespasian paused, frowning. ‘How long has this agent been working for you?’

‘He appeared before me about four months ago, just as you were settling into your winter camp, saying that he was an Atrebas who’d been captured by the Durotriges as a child and had spent ten years as a slave on a farm. He’d managed to escape and came to me to offer his services in return for some land of his own to farm; he said that it would be easy for him to pass unnoticed in and out of any Durotrigan hill-fort as he had no status. I could see the logic of that so I accepted; and, having so nearly caught Caratacus today, I think that I was right to do so.’

Vespasian nodded before studying the map again. After a few moments he pointed to a small peninsula attached to the southern coast by a thin strip of land, about thirty miles directly south of the hill-fort. ‘This looks like a good sheltered anchorage for the fleet; have your scouts had a look at it?’

Cogidubnus squinted at where he was pointing. ‘They’re not good judges of nautical affairs, but they said that there are a couple of fishing settlements on the eastern side of the promontory, but there is another well-fortified settlement about six or seven miles inland from it.’

‘Then we’ll take that on our way down to the coast having dealt with this next problem.’ Vespasian turned to Valens. ‘Get a message to the fleet and have them rendezvous with us there in ten days’ time with next month’s supplies.’

‘He’ll leave at first light.’

‘Good. Maximus, we’ll leave the Gallic cohort that led the assault here to garrison the fort; I expect they could do with the time to lick their wounds. Have another cohort escort the prisoners back to our winter camp; the slave-traders can assess their value there. The legion will strike camp before dawn tomorrow and force-march towards this hill-fort; there is a chance that we can get there by dusk. Paetus, you will take your Batavians and ride at the speed of Mercury and get to the western side of that fort without being seen; take one of Cogidubnus’ scouts as a guide. I want you to intercept anyone who tries to leave the place; and I mean anyone, even the ugliest old crone.’ Vespasian stood, leaning on the desk with his hands; his officers also got to their feet. ‘Gentlemen, once again speed is essential. The chances are Caratacus will leave that fort in the morning and head on west; but if he doesn’t, I want him caught like we had him today, although this time we do not allow him to escape. We’ll take these two forts, resupply with the fleet and then continue west along the coast to this estuary here that marks the border between the Durotriges’ and the Dumnoni’s lands.’ He pointed to a large river mouth twenty or so miles from the rendezvous point. ‘This is our objective this season and then we’ll strike north across the peninsula to the northern coast next year to link up with our allies the Dobunni’s land. Any questions?’

There was a general shaking of heads and positive mumbling.

‘Gentlemen, you have your orders; dismiss.’

The officers saluted and they and Cogidubnus turned and left.

‘You didn’t ask them the obvious question,’ Magnus said, sitting in the shadows in the far corner of the tent.

‘How do they think that Caratacus and Alienus communicated to effect the rescue?’

‘Precisely.’

Vespasian smiled, raising his eyebrows. ‘That’s because I’ve just worked that out. They didn’t need to; Alienus was in the fort already.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Hormus!’

The slave appeared from the private quarters. ‘Yes, master.’

‘Fetch us some wine.’

With a bow, Hormus disappeared.

Vespasian sat opposite Magnus and told him of Sabinus’ disappearance whilst being led to a fictitious meeting by Alienus and then of Cogidubnus’ agent escaping from the fort just before the attack.

‘You’re saying that these two people were the same man?’ Magnus said after digesting the information.

‘Yes.’

‘They can’t be; Cogidubnus’ agent had long hair and the tribune Alienus must have had short hair.’

‘It’s a wig.’

‘Ah, yes; I suppose it could be.’

‘Of course it is and that and the dirt smeared over his face prevented me from recognising him. Which means that he’s a double agent. Cogidubnus doesn’t recognise him either because it’s been so long since he saw him and he thinks that he’s his man; he wasn’t surprised when Alienus made a break for it and then personally vouched for him. He doesn’t even know that the treacherous little shit speaks Latin; they spoke together in their own language. No one was suspicious that he managed to escape from a fort filled with armed warriors only a few of whom bothered to try to bring him down with javelins and they all missed, even at such close range, because he then confirmed that Caratacus was inside.’

‘But he was the one who told you that Caratacus might be there in the first place.’

‘I know, which means that Caratacus wanted us here; he used himself as bait to draw us in.’

‘Why? What’s he achieved by having four thousand of his warriors either killed or enslaved?’

‘I don’t know but there must be a bigger picture in which that sacrifice is justified. A means to an end.’

Hormus returned with a tray and placed it on the table between them.

Vespasian waved him away. ‘We’ll serve ourselves; leave us. So once he’d got us here he had to remain, otherwise the tribe would have surrendered in the face of such odds; only his presence would’ve induced them into that sacrifice. But then he had to escape. He knew that there was no way he could get through our lines unless he pretended to be a Roman agent being smuggled out of the camp; to do that he had to get a man to pose as a Roman. Alienus was ideal: he speaks fluent Latin. It was set up and Alienus played the part perfectly: having seemingly made a daring escape, the double agent disappears at the same time as an optio goes missing and then within an hour an optio calling himself Alienus appears with forged orders to escort a spy out of the camp by a secret tunnel that no one in this army knew about.’

Magnus picked up a clay pitcher and poured them both a cup of wine. ‘But why did he give that name? He could have used any name he liked.’

‘That troubles me too; someone that devious wouldn’t have made such an elementary mistake.’ Vespasian took a sip of wine and ruminated as he savoured its taste. ‘He must have wanted me to know that it was him; but why? I shall have to think about that, but in the meantime I’ll keep after him because at the moment he’s my only chance of finding out what happened to Sabinus.’

Magnus took a healthy gulp of wine. ‘I have to say, it don’t look good for him.’

Vespasian rubbed his forehead, feeling the exertion of the day catching up with him. ‘Yes, well, I’m not going to believe the worst until it’s proven to me.’ He took another sip and looked across the table at his friend of almost twenty years. ‘But tell me, why are you here?’

‘Ah, well. There was a bit of a misunderstanding about the ownership of a burning tenement block on our area; I’ve been moving the Brotherhood’s finances into property. Anyway, once it was resolved, a couple of people ended up not too well, if you take my meaning?’

‘Dead, you mean?’

‘In a manner of speaking, yes. So I thought it best to remove myself from Rome while it was all sorted out.’

‘You mean my uncle Gaius is covering your tracks for you?’

‘I’ll admit that Senator Pollo is using his influence on my behalf.’

Vespasian smiled, shaking his head; having witnessed a few times the criminal activity undertaken by the South Quirinal Crossroads Brotherhood, of which Magnus was the patronus, the leader, he decided not to enquire further into the subject. The shady underbelly of Rome was, thankfully, a long way away. ‘So, other than clearing up your mess, my uncle’s well?’

‘Ah! He does have a few difficulties of his own, not least his trying to remain publicly uncommitted but privately supporting both sides in the ongoing feud between the Empress Messalina and Claudius’ freedmen.’

‘Narcissus, Pallas and Callistus are still trying to remove her?’

‘Yes, but Claudius won’t believe a word against her. Despite the fact she’s fucked everyone in Rome with a working penis under the age of seventy they can’t convince the Emperor of her infidelity. Last winter she had a competition with Scylla — know her? The most artful and expensive whore in the city — as to who could satisfy the most men in one whole day and night; and by satisfy they didn’t just mean a quick coupling up against the wall. No, this had to be to the highest standards of the profession and witnessed by crowds of people; every sort of technique had to be employed so that the men were physically — and quite literally — drained. That’s what they meant by satisfied. It was the talk of Rome for months; everybody heard about it but, according to your uncle, when Pallas and Narcissus — but oddly enough, not Callistus, actually — both separately told Claudius about it he dismissed the story as the lascivious imaginings of jealous minds and reminded them that she was the mother of his two children and therefore it was impossible that she would act in such a grossly improper manner. Some people prefer not to see the truth.’

‘In Claudius’ case I think it’s more because he’s got such an overinflated opinion of his own abilities that he can’t believe anyone would prefer someone else to him, even though he’s a fool that drools.’

Magnus considered this for a few moments. ‘I suppose he reckons his saliva-dripping ruttings to be the height of prowess.’

‘Yes, and I expect Messalina is intelligent enough not to disabuse him of that notion. Who won, by the way?’

‘What? Oh, Messalina by one, with a score of twenty-five in twenty-four hours, each one completely exhausted.’

‘Well, I suppose it keeps her occupied and her thoughts away from Flavia and the children.’

Vespasian had been living in constant fear for his wife and two children, Titus and Domitilla, since Claudius had requested that they live in the palace, ostensibly so that Titus could be educated alongside his own son, Britannicus. However, Vespasian knew it was not the real reason — that was far more sinister. The Emperor had been manoeuvred into making the offer by Messalina’s brother, Corvinus. Having made an enemy of Corvinus almost ten years previously, before his sister had become the Empress, Vespasian and Sabinus had then helped Narcissus, Claudius’ most influential freedman, foil Corvinus’ attempt to hijack the invasion of Britannia for his and his sister’s personal gain. Claudius had not believed Corvinus had been plotting against him and had pardoned him, leaving Vespasian exposed to his continued hatred. In revenge and to demonstrate the power that he held over Vespasian, Corvinus had persuaded Claudius to invite Vespasian’s family to the palace: at any time they chose, Corvinus and Messalina could dispose of Flavia and the children. Claudius had been only too pleased to make the offer, thinking that he was conferring an honour on one of his victorious legates rather than putting him at the mercy of the ambitious and unscrupulous Corvinus and his depraved, power-mad sister.

‘I’ve got letters for you, including one from Flavia,’ Magnus said.

Vespasian grimaced. ‘The only time she writes nowadays is when she needs more money.’

‘I did warn you about marrying a woman with expensive tastes. Anyway you must be doing well out of the invasion; that was a lot of captives you got today.’

‘Yes, but the slave-traders are constantly lowering the price they pay for them claiming that we’re flooding the market.’ Vespasian raised his eyebrows incredulously.

‘Whereas you think that they’re lying and just taking a bigger percentage for themselves?’

‘Wouldn’t you?’

‘Of course I would.’

‘And they’re probably paying Plautius a cut to make sure that he doesn’t look too closely into their dealings.’

‘If they’re sensible; and if he’s sensible he’s taking it. What are you going to do about it?’

‘I’m not sure yet; it’s very difficult to put any pressure on them as they stay so far behind the lines, nice and safe and surrounded by bodyguards.’

‘Then draw them out; don’t send the captives back to them, make them come to you to assess them.’

‘I thought about that but they’ll just offer less per slave because they’ll claim, with some justification, that their overheads are higher as they have further to transport their stock.’

Magnus scratched the rough grey stubble on his chin, sucking air through his teeth. ‘I see your point; it would seem you’re stuck with the situation.’

‘Oh, I’ll have them — somehow; don’t worry about that.’

Magnus’ scarred and battered face creased into a grin in the dim lamplight. ‘I’m sure you will; I know it pains you being cheated out of money almost as much as it pains you to spend it. You must’ve been in agony when you bought Hormus.’

‘Very funny.’

‘I thought so. But back to my news: Caenis told me to tell you that she’s got a very comfortable apartment in the palace next to Flavia and she and Pallas are keeping a close eye on Flavia’s safety. She says that she sees her and the children daily.’

‘That’s good to hear; but what a bizarre situation …’

Vespasian still found it hard to comprehend how Caenis, his lover for almost twenty years, and Flavia, his wife, seemed to have become friends in the four years that he had been away from Rome. Caenis had been the slave of his patron, Antonia; she had freed her in her will. However, as it was illegal for senators to marry freedwomen, Vespasian had been forced to look elsewhere for a mother for his children; Flavia had married him knowing that his mistress was no threat to her position as wife. The rapprochement between the two women had begun in the aftermath of Caligula’s assassination when both their houses had been searched by Narcissus’ agents looking for Sabinus; they had joined forces in a bond of mutual outrage at Vespasian when he had brought his wounded brother home without explanation. It was Caenis who had pieced together what had happened: that Sabinus had secretly taken part in the assassination in vengeance for Caligula’s brutal rape of his wife, Clementina. Both women had realised the imperative of ensuring that the fact never became public knowledge. The secret shared had created a mutual respect that now seemed to have turned into friendship.

‘… I dread to think what they talk about.’

‘Yeah, I know, it don’t bear contemplation; but the main thing is that she and Pallas are keeping her safe. Flavia still has no idea that both Messalina and Corvinus are a threat to her or the children’s safety and Pallas reckons it’s best to keep it that way.’

Vespasian looked dubious. ‘I suppose he’s right.’

‘Course he is, sir. He knows the workings of Claudius’ court as well as anyone; he’s convinced that if Flavia was to live in fear then she could well do something stupid and offend someone important. As it is she sometimes dines with Messalina because Titus and Britannicus have become such good friends.’

‘Yes, she mentioned that in her last letter — she was full of it. I wrote back trying to explain that it’s not such a good thing for our son to be too friendly with someone who could become emperor, even though he’s only six. A lot of future emperors never fulfil their promise and their friends can suffer too.’

‘Well, there ain’t anything that you can do about that at the moment; worry about it when you get back to Rome.’

‘That could be another two years at this rate.’

‘Two more years to get rich in.’ Magnus drained his cup and then rummaged in his bag; he brought out five scrolls and placed them on the table. ‘I’m off to find a spare tent; I’ll leave you with these. There’s one from Flavia, Caenis, your uncle, your mother and Pallas.’

‘Pallas! What does he want?’

‘How would I know? The letter’s addressed to you.’

Vespasian lay on his camp-bed, perusing the last of his letters in the flickering light of the single oil lamp on a low table next to him. The first four had been much as expected: words of love and reassurance from Caenis; news of dinner parties and a request for more money from Flavia; complaints about Flavia’s attitude to parenthood from his mother, Vespasia; and advice from his uncle as to which political factions to pretend publicly to support and which to really support privately upon his return to Rome. It was the fifth letter, which he was now rereading, that had caused him some surprise.

It had seemed odd that Pallas had chosen to send his letter via Magnus rather than use the official couriers that daily set out from Rome on the long journey to the new province; but when he had seen the content of the letter he realised that Claudius’ powerful freedman had been frightened that the missive would be intercepted. As a veteran of imperial politics, Pallas was forever embroiled in intrigue and as Vespasian finished the letter for the second time he shook his head, chewing on his lower lip, his expression strained; even here on the fringes of the Empire he was not beyond the reach of the schemes and plots of his masters back in Rome.

Hormus slipped through the entrance to Vespasian’s sleeping quarters with his breastplate, helmet and greaves all freshly polished and hung them on his armour-stand. ‘Will there be anything else, master?’

Vespasian glanced at the letter again. ‘Yes, Hormus; ask Paetus to report to me an hour before dawn. Wake me by then.’

The slave bowed and went about his errand. Vespasian rolled up Pallas’ letter, placed it with the others on the table, and then blew out the lamp. In the dark of the tent he closed his eyes to the sound of almost ten thousand men settling down for the night and the scent of the smoke spiralling up from the smouldering wick.

The lamp was burning when Vespasian opened his eyes; he shivered despite being well wrapped in woollen blankets. Feeling more tired than when he went to bed, he sat up; the flap to his sleeping quarters was swinging as if someone had just passed through. ‘Hormus!’ He waited a few moments, yawning deeply; there was no reply. ‘Hormus?’ Untangling himself from the blankets he sat on the edge of the bed, stretching.

‘Yes, master,’ his slave said, walking in, wiping the sleep from his eyes.

‘Bring me some bread and warmed wine.’

‘Yes, master.’

‘Is Paetus here yet?’

‘I’m sorry, master?’

‘You heard me.’

The slave shook his head looking nonplussed. ‘No, master, he’s not; I only got back a couple of hours ago. It’s at least five hours until dawn.’

‘Then why did you wake me?’

‘What do you mean, master?’

‘The flap was swinging when I woke up — you’d just gone through it.’

Hormus was looking increasingly confused. ‘I was asleep in my bedding-roll just the other side of the entrance.’

‘Then who came in?’

‘No one; they would have had to step over me; I would have woken.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes, master, no one came in.’

‘Then who lit the lamp?’

Hormus looked at the spluttering flame and shook his head mutely, his eyes wide.

Vespasian felt another chill. The hairs on the back of his neck and on his arms bristled.

‘The wick must have just reignited,’ Magnus asserted, looking down at the offending item four hours later.

Vespasian shook his head, his expression again strained. ‘Impossible, it was completely out; I remember smelling the smoke from it.’

‘Perhaps Hormus is lying; perhaps he did light it and then pretended he didn’t to scare you.’

‘Why would he want to do that?’

Magnus hunched his shoulders, spreading his hands. ‘I don’t know; perhaps he just doesn’t like you. Or perhaps he’s been planted by the enemy to distract you, take your mind off the campaign.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous. He wouldn’t need to do that; he could kill me in my bed any night.’

‘How long have you had him?’

‘I bought him soon after you left for Rome, so May last year. I’ve had him nearly a year; he’s placid, meticulous, unobtrusive and, I believe, honest, as nothing has ever gone missing.’

‘What is he?’

‘He’s a slave.’

‘Yes, I know that; I mean what was he?’

‘He was born a slave, that’s why I chose him; he’s never known anything else so I wouldn’t have to tame him. I think he said that his mother was originally from somewhere around Armenia; he doesn’t know who his father was but I suspect that he was his mother’s owner. She never told him and died when he was ten. That’s all I know about him.’

‘So you’re sure he wasn’t lying?’

‘Yes. So if he didn’t do it, who did?’

‘Well, I don’t know, sir; does it really matter?’

‘Yes, it does; it matters greatly.’

‘Why?’

‘Because last night someone got past the guards at the front, past Hormus sleeping outside my door, into my room and then for some strange reason lit my oil lamp and then walked back out.’

‘Or something did.’

‘Now you’re being ridiculous again.’

‘Am I? You know what this island’s like; you heard the stories: the strange spirits, wraiths, old gods that have been here for centuries, from even before the Britons arrived. Things that we don’t understand. Ancient things.’

‘I’ll admit that this is a strange place. Sabinus talked to me about it when I saw him at Plautius’ briefing this winter; he told me about a legionary who had been found dead, with no visible wound and yet there wasn’t a drop of blood in him. Another had been flayed alive and yet was still wearing his uniform; apparently before he died he rambled on about spirits that sucked the skin from his limbs. I pretended to Sabinus that I didn’t believe it, that I thought they were just exaggerated legionary stories designed to frighten the new recruits.’

‘But you did believe them?’

‘I don’t know; I suppose there has to be some truth in them somewhere.’

‘The island is haunted, there’s no doubt. I never like being on my own, especially outside the camp at night. I always get the feeling that I’m being watched and it don’t feel like human eyes on me, if you take my meaning?’

Vespasian did but did not like to admit it.

‘Do you remember the power of the Germanic gods we felt in the forests of Germania Magna? It felt like our gods were weak there compared to them because we were so far away from their home. Here we’re even further away and, what’s more, we’re across the sea. What chance do our deities have to protect us here in a country full of strange gods and daemons and the druids who seem to feed off their power? I spent my time constantly clutching my thumb and spitting to avert the evil-eye while I was last here and I’m sure that I’ll be doing the same thing this time.’

‘I’m sure you will. But whatever power there is in this land and however the druids harness it and whatever sacrifices they make to their gods to try to ensure that they keep them safe there’s one thing that I’m sure of: no god or daemon or spirit, wraith, ghost or whatever is going to waste its time coming into my sleeping quarters and lighting one little oil lamp.’

Magnus slumped down on the bed and heaved a sigh. ‘Then as I said: either it reignited because you hadn’t extinguished it properly or Hormus is lying to you.’

‘Master,’ Hormus said, standing in the entrance, ‘Paetus is here.’

‘Back to Rome immediately?’ Paetus looked confused as he stood in front of Vespasian’s desk an hour before dawn. ‘There’s nothing that I’d like more; but my replacement hasn’t arrived yet.’

‘As the senior decurion, Ansigar is more than capable of looking after the ala until he does.’

‘I suppose so; but why now, all of a sudden?’

‘Politics, prefect,’ Vespasian replied, aware as ever of the difference between the young man’s patrician accent and his Sabine country burr; he had always tried to lessen it when talking with Paetus’ father, his long-dead friend, but now he no longer felt the need to obfuscate his background.

‘But I’m not eligible to take my seat in the Senate until next year at the earliest; I’m not involved in politics yet.’

Vespasian turned Pallas’ letter over in his hands. ‘Every Roman of your class is involved in politics sooner or later, Paetus, and I’m afraid your turn has arrived now whether you like it or not. Sit down and I’ll explain.’

Paetus took a seat opposite Vespasian.

Vespasian unfurled Pallas’ letter and scanned it again before raising his eyes to his young subordinate. ‘This letter is from one of the most powerful men in Rome, one whom I am lucky enough to call a friend but upon whose friendship I cannot presume. So, when I get a request from him, I know better than to refuse it because, however it’s been worded, I’m well aware that it’s an order.’

‘Who’s it from?’

‘It’s from Marcus Antonius Pallas, freedman of the late Lady Antonia. Upon her suicide he, quite naturally, transferred his allegiance to her only surviving son, the Emperor Claudius.

‘Now, I don’t need to tell you what the Emperor is like; you have seen him for yourself and have no doubt formed your own opinion. I will not say anything treasonous about him to you nor will I get you to compromise yourself in that way by asking you to express your true opinion of the man. Do I make myself clear?’

Paetus nodded slowly. ‘As clear as you can, sir; I believe from the phrasing of that sentence that our opinions are broadly similar.’

Vespasian allowed himself a half-smile as he inclined his head in acknowledgement. ‘We understand each other; good. So therefore it won’t surprise you to learn that Claudius is not much more than a figurehead emperor who is subject, in the main, to the will of four, normally conflicting, forces.’

‘I had heard that that was how the government worked at the moment although I don’t know the details — I haven’t been in Rome since before Caligula’s death and it’s not something to discuss in letters nor speak loosely about in the officers’ mess.’

‘A very wise precaution and one which we shall now ignore in the privacy of this tent. Three of these four forces are Claudius’ freedmen: Pallas, the secretary to the Treasury; Callistus, whose sphere of influence is justice and the law courts; and then there’s his chief freedman, Narcissus, who’s been with him the longest and was responsible for keeping him safe during the reigns of Caligula and Tiberius — he’s the imperial secretary, in charge of Claudius’ correspondence and diary. That means he has complete control over all foreign and domestic policy as well as access to the Emperor; no one can get to Claudius except by going through him. No one, that is, except for the Empress, Messalina. Neither Narcissus nor Messalina are happy with this arrangement — both feel that the other exerts too much influence on their malleable Emperor; Callistus and Pallas meanwhile both squabble for second place behind Narcissus whilst supporting him in his feud for the mastery of Rome with the Empress. Now, whatever you might think of this and however outraged you may be that the Senate has no influence in the matter, it is best to be pragmatic and accept the situation because there is nothing that you or I can do to change it. Would you agree?’

‘It would seem that we have little choice.’

‘Very little indeed. The only choice most of us have is which one of these four people to support in order to gain advancement; but I’m afraid that in your case you’ve had that decision made for you.’

Paetus frowned. ‘By whom?’

‘By me, and I apologise for that, Paetus. I promised your father, who was my good friend, that I would look out for you. It was a promise that I did not keep that well and I’ve compounded that fault by getting you involved in the feuding of those in power.’

‘When?’

‘When you reported to me, two years ago, that your scouts had told you that Corvinus had not stopped his Ninth Hispana on the northern bank of the Tamesis River as ordered, but had carried on. I told you not to tell anyone and that I would inform Plautius when I felt the time was right; in doing so I made you complicit in a plot against Messalina and her brother, Corvinus, which had been set in motion by Narcissus. They are no doubt aware of your part and so that makes you their enemy. Pallas is also aware of it and wants to use the fact to help bolster his position. If you don’t co-operate he will halt your career and that gives you no alternative other than to go to Rome and do his bidding.’

Around the camp bucinae sounded the general reveille, announcing yet another day under the Eagle of the II Augusta.

Paetus paused for a few moments’ reflection before acknowledging with a small hand gesture the veracity of his commander’s words. ‘What does he want me to do?’

‘He wants you to do what any man of your age and class would do: he wants you to go back and get elected as one of the quaestors. He will see to it that you don’t get posted to a province but, rather, serve as an Urban Quaestor, as your father did, so that you can take your seat in the Senate immediately.’

‘That’s what I was planning to do as soon as my replacement arrives; why the rush?’

‘Because Pallas wants you to be back in time for this year’s elections; he wants you to be in place in the Senate by next year, not the year after.’

Paetus leant forward in his chair. ‘In place to do what?’

‘In place to be prepared to act as a witness at a treason trial.’

‘Who’s to be prosecuted?’

‘Corvinus, of course, and you’re to be the star witness; a senator from the Junii, one of the oldest and most renowned families in Rome, who can swear that the Ninth Hispana carried on across the Tamesis without provocation and their legate thereby committed an act of treason.’

‘I could swear to that.’

‘I know and so does Callistus, which is why Pallas thinks that it will never come to trial, it’ll never get anywhere near a court.’

‘But Callistus is the secretary in charge of justice.’

‘Yes, and as you know from when he tried to have Sabinus, you and me killed four years ago he’s …’

‘And me,’ Magnus’ voice came from the shadows.

‘Yes, and you … he’s the most duplicitous, slimy piece of treacherous filth that ever walked the corridors of the Palatine Hill and that is saying something indeed.’

Paetus grimaced at the memory of Callistus’ treachery when he, Paetus, had helped Vespasian and Sabinus in the search for the lost Eagle of the XVII Legion.

From outside the murmur of thousands of waking voices gradually grew into a constant hubbub, punctuated by bellowing centurions encouraging the less keen from their blankets.

Paetus’ face brightened. ‘If it means that I’m going to get a measure of revenge on him, then I’m willing to do whatever Pallas wants.’

‘It will. Callistus has made it a habit to change his allegiances at what he considers to be the right time. He used to be Caligula’s freedman but when it looked for certain that it was only a matter of time before Caligula fell to an assassin’s blade he decided to hasten that moment and join in the conspiracy against him by allying himself with Narcissus and Pallas.’ Vespasian glanced at the letter again. ‘Now, according to Pallas, it seems that he might be thinking about changing sides again and throwing his lot in with Messalina or, at the very least, backing both sides.

‘But apart from Callistus failing to report an outrageous infidelity of Messalina’s to the Emperor, Pallas hasn’t any positive proof of this matter. However …’ Vespasian paused to see whether the young man had the political acumen to finish the sentence; he was not disappointed.

‘… however, if a prosecution were to be brought against the Empress’s brother which would carry the death penalty if it were proven, then Callistus would be obliged to delay it or dismiss it out of hand if he was secretly supporting Messalina, thereby exposing himself.’

‘Exactly. But it gets better than that; it’s all about timing. Pallas is convinced that Narcissus will soon be in a position to bring down Messalina so the prosecution would be brought just before he presents the damning evidence to the Emperor and Callistus will go down with the Empress.’

‘That’ll suit me perfectly.’

‘Indeed, as it suits me.’

‘And me,’ Magnus put in.

‘Yes, and you. But more to the point it suits Pallas because he’ll secure his place as the second most powerful man in the Empire.’

Paetus raised his eyebrows. ‘Just one more step to negotiate, eh?’

Vespasian contemplated the implication of that remark for a moment, enjoying the mingled smell of woodsmoke and cooking, seeping into the tent. ‘I don’t know about that but he’s certainly thought this step through.’

‘So who will bring the prosecution?’

‘Ah! That’s the problem for you. Obviously it can’t be Pallas, as Callistus would see through the ploy straight away, so he’s chosen someone to act as his proxy. Someone whose career has been halted since his half-sister was assassinated along with her husband, Caligula.’

‘Corbulo?’

‘Yes. He’s desperate to be given a province; he’s had no advancement since he was consul six years ago.’

‘But he’s a jumped-up snob from a family that can’t even boast one consul before him.’

‘Prefect! I would remind you that I come from an even newer family. Do not let the fact that the Junii can trace their family back to before the Republic prevent you from working with men who have slightly less lineage but pretend to more.’

‘I apologise, legate. My personal views on Gnaeus Domitius Corbulo will not be an issue.’

Paetus’ emphasis on Corbulo’s full name implied he was not being exactly truthful, but Vespasian decided against pursuing the point. ‘Good, let’s hope that his less than favourable opinion of you is likewise put to one side.’

‘I’ve got one question.’

‘Go on.’

‘Apart from the chance of revenge on Callistus, what’s in this for me?’

‘In the long term you might be thrown a scrap or two but the real reward is short term: as I said, you’ll get the chance to further your career; but that’s mainly because you’ll get to keep your life.’