Rome's executioner

CHAPTER II

Queen Tryphaena placed Antonia’s letter down on the polished oak table and looked at the two brothers; Vespasian, like Sabinus, wore a toga as it was a private meeting. They were sitting in her sumptuous, warmly lit study, part of her suite of private rooms deep within the palace complex and far away from the flapping ears of the numerous palace functionaries and slaves that infested the formal areas. Here only her secretary and body slave could come and go as they pleased; even her son, King Rhoemetalces, had to wait outside whilst one of the four sentries that constantly guarded the suite’s only access sought permission granting him an audience. Because of his close ties with Antonia, Vespasian always found himself quickly welcomed into Tryphaena’s presence.

‘So my kinswoman has located the priest that would kill my son and me and rule Thracia in the gods’ name,’ she said, flicking her sharp, blue eyes between the brothers. ‘And she requests that I help you capture him by providing men; which I am happy to do, but of how much use they will be against the Getae I don’t know.’

‘What do you mean, domina?’ Vespasian asked, leaning forward on his lavishly cushioned chair in an attempt to get out of the way of the wafts of pungent incense emanating from a brazier close behind him.

‘My people are mainly foot soldiers; only the moderately wealthy can afford horses so we have relatively few cavalry. The Getae however live on the grasslands to the north of the Danuvius where horses are plentiful; they fight almost exclusively on horseback; our cavalry would be no match for them and our infantry would never catch them. I could even, as the highest-ranking Roman citizen in Thracia and Rome’s puppet ruler, order you to take the two cohorts stationed here but they would also be ineffective against such a mobile force; remember Carrhae, gentlemen?’

‘Then we have to wait for them to come to us,’ Sabinus said, recalling the strategy that had been employed to defeat the Numidian rebels when he had served with the VIIII Hispana in Africa. ‘We go north and speak to Pomponius Labeo and find out where they’ve been raiding, then work out a likely target and wait for them to attack it; with luck the priest will be with them as he has been for the last few raids.’

Vespasian cast a scathing, sidelong glance at his brother. ‘That seems a bit hit or miss.’

‘You got any better ideas, little brother?’ Sabinus retorted. ‘Send them an invitation to the games and then back to yours for dinner after, I suppose?’

‘Your brother is right Vespasian,’ the Queen cut in before the argument got out of hand. ‘It may take time but eventually you will get close to them, and then you will have to see what opportunities Fortuna presents you with.’

‘I’m sorry, domina.’ Vespasian felt chastened; his brother was right no matter how much it irked him. He quickly put his feelings to one side and expanded on Sabinus’ idea. ‘We will need men but not many; this would be better done with a half-dozen picked fighters. Stealth is the key if we can’t match them in open battle.’

‘Well done, little brother, you’re catching on.’

‘If stealth is the key, gentlemen, then may I suggest that harmony should be the watchword?’

The brothers looked at each other and with a slight nod of their heads called a silent truce.

‘Good,’ Tryphaena continued, ‘that’s agreed then. I shall get the captain of my guard to provide you with six of my best men, skilled in all weaponry, especially the bow as you will be up against the best archers that you have ever encountered.’

‘But you said they were mainly cavalry,’ Vespasian pointed out. ‘Thracians don’t use horse-archers.’

‘This tribe does; they’ve taken on quite a few of the customs of their northern neighbours, the Sarmatians and the Scythians; they even wear trousers.’

Vespasian’s eyes widened at the implication. ‘Trousers? I think that I may have met a couple of them today.’

Tryphaena looked amused. ‘Impossible, we’ve had no contact with the Getae since Rome took Moesia as a province over fifty years ago.’

Vespasian quickly related the events of the afternoon, taking care to emphasise Artebudz’s role and the promise that he had made to him. When he had finished the Queen sat in silence for a while thinking.

‘From your description of them they certainly seem to be Getic,’ she affirmed. ‘You’re convinced that they were targeting you?’

‘Without a doubt.’

‘Then it would seem that our friend Rhoteces has not forgiven you for preventing him from killing my son and has sent some assassins after you as revenge.’

‘Why’s he waited nearly four years?’

‘Once he fled to the Getae it would have taken him time to ingratiate himself with the tribal leaders; they don’t have the same customs as we do and they’d have viewed him with deep suspicion.’

‘So, assuming that he eventually persuaded the tribal leaders to send assassins, how did they know what my brother looks like?’ Sabinus asked.

‘I don’t have the answer to that; but what I do know is that Rhoteces is a fanatic and he sees people who thwart his plans as corpses that have to be stepped over; so it won’t end until one of you is dead, which will make your trip back to Rome with him very interesting indeed. But first you must capture him. You should leave tomorrow; the snow in the Haemus Mountains is receding and the Succi pass into Moesia has reopened. I will have your men outside the Roman camp at noon and I’ll send a message to your commanding officer Prefect Paetus telling him that you will not be coming back.’

‘We have every intention of coming back, domina,’ Vespasian insisted.

‘Yes I’m sure you have, but not through here. I cannot risk having that man in my kingdom again; many of my subjects see him as a hero who could save them from growing Roman encroachment into our affairs. If his presence in Thracia became known and I was seen to be helping you get him to Rome then we would have a very combustive situation which would have only one outcome: Rome would annex us after a lot of killing.’

‘So what should we do with him?’ Vespasian asked.

‘Head for Tomi on the Euxine Sea; I will have my personal quinquireme waiting for you in the port from the beginning of May; its crew are completely loyal to me. They will have orders to stay there until you arrive and will take you directly to Ostia. I think that a month at sea with the priest chained in the hold will be far preferable to two months travelling overland having to watch him day and night, don’t you, gentlemen?’

‘You are very generous, domina,’ Sabinus said, starting to feel a little easier about the mission now that the return trip would involve no more than a month of vomiting.

‘I am generous, but am I generous enough to free my most expensive hunting slave, I wonder?’ She smiled at Vespasian who reddened, realising that he had been free with someone else’s property without knowing its value.

‘I’ll pay you for your loss, domina.’

‘I doubt that you could afford Artebudz; he is worth a small fortune. Not only is he a most talented tracker but he‘s also the finest shot with a bow that I have ever seen, and it is because of that I will free him; but on the condition that he comes with you. Now, before I start to give away the rest of my kingdom tell me, Sabinus, how is Antonia’s campaign against Sejanus proceeding? She only makes oblique references to it in her letters for fear of them being intercepted.’

Sabinus grimaced and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. ‘Not well, domina. Sejanus has strengthened his position with the Emperor; he is now almost the only person with any access to him on Capreae. He has managed to convince Tiberius that it’s his family that are plotting against him and not Sejanus himself. Just before I left Antonia’s eldest grandson Nero Germanicus and his mother Agrippina were arrested and tried for treason on Sejanus’ orders; she’s been imprisoned on the island of Pandateria and he’s been sent to the island of Pontiae. Antonia is now worried that her other two grandsons and prospective heirs to the Purple, Drusus and Caligula, will soon follow their mother and older brother. Sejanus is being very careful, just picking off his targets slowly and methodically.’

The Queen nodded her head whilst digesting the news. ‘That’s logical; for Sejanus to succeed he’ll have to eliminate all of Tiberius’ potential heirs who would be too old to warrant a regent; that surely is his route to power: to be made regent of a young emperor who would then tragically die leaving the Senate little alternative but to proclaim him Emperor or risk another period of civil war.’

Vespasian felt unease at the thought of his friend Caligula being the subject of Sejanus’ machinations. ‘What about Sejanus’ letters to Poppaeus proving that they were in league? Even though they were destroyed, has she been able to use the threat that she might be in possession of them to coerce Poppaeus into changing his allegiances?’

Sabinus looked downcast. ‘I’m afraid not. Poppaeus was worried for a while and I think he would have come around, but he called her bluff and asked her to produce them, which of course she couldn’t. Then Asinius’ surviving lictors disappeared and the truth about his death must have been tortured out of them because Poppaeus wrote to her saying that he knew for certain that she didn’t have anything on him.’

Tryphaena thought for a moment and then shook her head. ‘So Asinius died for nothing then; well, we must be sure that his death doesn’t go unavenged.’ She rose to her feet to indicate that the audience was at an end. ‘Go now, my prayers will go with you.’

The brothers stood. ‘Thank you, domina,’ they said in unison.

‘And I thank you, because if you succeed you will rid me of my greatest enemy as well as helping my kinswoman safeguard our family’s position in Rome.’ She embraced them in turn. ‘Good luck, gentlemen. Get that priest to Antonia so that she can use him to bring down Sejanus.’

Vespasian’s mind was racing as he walked with Sabinus through the dim, high-ceilinged corridors of the palace; their footsteps echoed off the marble walls. The prospect of action and relief from the ennui that plagued him was indeed welcome. He also relished the chance to avenge the death of Asinius, to whom he owed his position as a military tribune, by bringing to Rome the one man who could link the silver used to finance the Thracian rebellion to Sejanus’ freedman Hasdro. Whether it would be enough to damn Sejanus in the Emperor’s eyes he did not know, but if Antonia had requested it he felt sure that it would be worth the effort and risk. But how long would it take? He had been living in anticipation of going back to Rome and Caenis next month, but now he had to go in completely the opposite direction to find and capture a man whose whereabouts were, to say the least, obscure.

‘Bugger it, I thought I’d be going home soon,’ he muttered.

‘You’re going home tomorrow little brother,’ Sabinus laughed. ‘It’s just that we’re taking the long way.’

Vespasian did not share the joke. ‘Yes, but this could take us half a year.’

‘It had better not, I need to be in Rome for the elections; Antonia’s managed to secure the Emperor’s permission for me to be included on the list of prospective quaestors. With her backing I have a very good chance of being elected, especially as now the electorate is only the senate and not the tribal assembly.’

‘Well, good for you,’ Vespasian said gruffly; he found it hard to enthuse about his brothers successes.

‘Thank you for that warm, fraternal speech of congratulations, little brother.’

‘Stop calling me that.’

‘Bollocks to you.’

‘Sir, sir!’ It was Magnus waiting at the palace entrance; two well-built, armoured palace guards blocked his path with spears.

‘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.’

‘That is impossible, Varinus. Both men hit an officer; they must die.’

From the faces of the legionaries Vespasian could see that if this sentence was carried out it would leave a residue of discontent amongst the men. He leant over to Paetus and whispered urgently in his ear. Paetus’ face lit up; he too wanted a way out of this impasse. He nodded at Vespasian who turned and addressed the crowd.

‘Prefect Paetus agrees with me that as it was dark when these offences took place there may be a case of mistaken identity; it may be that just one man committed both offences. Seeing as we cannot be sure which man is guilty they should draw lots: the loser will be executed, the winner will receive the same punishment as the rest of the ringleaders. There will be no further negotiation on this matter.’

Varinus and his two mates snapped a salute.

‘Centurion Caelus,’ Paetus called, ‘have them taken away; punishment will be tomorrow at the second hour. Dismiss the men.’

A square-jawed centurion in his mid-thirties stepped forward, resplendent in his traverse white horsehair plumed helmet and numerous phalerae that glinted in the torchlight.

‘Sir, before the men are dismissed I wish to make a suggestion.’

Paetus rolled his eyes, he was beginning to think that this meeting would never end, but he was obliged to hear what his senior centurion and acting prefect of the camp had to say. ‘Yes, centurion.’

Caelus turned his cold, suspicious eyes on Vespasian. ‘I applaud the tribune’s offer to intercede on the men’s behalf with the legate; however, I think that weight would be added to that appeal if a member of the centurionate were with him.’ There was a murmur of agreement from the crowd. ‘And it would be appropriate if, as the most senior in the garrison, I were that centurion.’

The murmur turned to cheers then to chants of ‘Caelus’. Paetus turned to Vespasian and smiled apologetically. ‘I’m sorry, old chap, we’ve been outmanoeuvred, it appears that you have an unwelcome guest in your party,’ he said quietly, then he raised his voice: ‘I agree; the centurion will accompany your tribune.’ With that he turned and walked down the side steps of the Principia towards the hospital. As Vespasian followed he glanced at Caelus, who gave him a thin smile filled with latent animosity.

‘It would seem that the centurion means to keep an eye on you,’ Paetus observed as they walked across the dimly lit parade ground behind the Principia towards the hospital situated on the other side.

‘Yes, something has made him suspicious,’ Vespasian replied, ‘but it’s pointless worrying about it now, I’m stuck with him. The more pressing questions are how I’m going to explain the presence of six of the Queen’s men in the expedition and how I’m going to give Caelus the slip once I’ve spoken to Pomponius.’

‘The answer to the first is easy, you just say that they are carrying a message from Tryphaena to Pomponius and are taking advantage of your numbers for protection on the journey. The answer to the second is a little trickier.’ Paetus looked meaningfully at Vespasian.

‘I’ll have to kill him?’

‘In all probability, yes; unless of course you want Poppaeus to know where you’re going and what you’re doing.’ Paetus passed through the hospital door; Vespasian followed, realising that he was right.

Inside the smell of rotting flesh and stale blood assailed their nostrils. Paetus called to a slave mopping down the floor. ‘Go and fetch the doctor.’ The slave bowed briefly then scuttled off.

The doctor arrived without much delay. ‘Good evening, sir, how can I be of service?’ His accent showed that he was Greek, as were most army doctors in the East.

‘Take us to see the man brought in this afternoon, Hesiod.’

‘He is sleeping, sir.’

‘Well, wake him up then; we need to speak with him.’

Grudgingly the doctor nodded and, picking up an oil lamp, led them off. They passed through a ward of twenty beds, most of them occupied, and on through a door at the end into a dark corridor with three doors down one side. The smell was more intense here. The doctor paused at the first door. ‘The putrefaction of the flesh has grown worse since you last saw him, sir. I now don’t think that he will live.’

‘I don’t think he wants to anyway,’ Paetus said, following the doctor through the door.

Vespasian almost gagged as he entered; the sickly-sweet, cloying smell of decaying flesh was overpowering. The doctor raised his lamp and Vespasian could see why the man would have no further interest in life. His nose and ears had been severed, the wounds covered by a blood-spotted bandage wrapped around his face. The palms of his hands were likewise bandaged, but just the palms, his fingers and thumbs were all missing and, judging by the bloody dressing on his groin, they were not the only appendages that he had lost. He woke as the light fell on his face and looked up at the visitors with desperate pleading eyes.

‘Help me die, sir,’ he croaked. ‘I cannot hold a sword with these hands.’

Paetus looked at the doctor who shrugged. ‘Very well, legionary,’ he said, ‘but first I want you to tell the tribune what you told me earlier.’

The legionary looked at Vespasian with sorrowful eyes; he couldn’t have been more than eighteen. ‘They were waiting for us in the woods, sir.’ His words came slowly with shallow breaths. ‘We killed two of them before we were overpowered. They looked like Thracians, but their language was different to what they speak here and they wore trousers.’ His voice grew thinner as he spoke; the doctor held a cup of water to his mouth and he drank greedily. ‘They started with Postumus first, they bound his mouth to stop him screaming and then went to work on him with their knives — slowly; he’d been badly wounded in the ambush and so didn’t last long. One of them spoke Greek and told us that was what would happen to us if we didn’t cooperate. My mate told them to go fuck themselves; that pissed them off and they cut him up worse than Postumus. I was terrified by this time, sir, and after they cut me a few times I said that I would help them. I’m sorry.’

‘What did they want?’ Vespasian asked.

‘They wanted me to identify you when you came out of the camp, sir. We waited for a couple of days, and then you came out this morning with two slaves to go hunting. I’m sorry to say that I was relieved, I thought that they would leave me alone. But they called me a coward for betraying my people and two of them did this to me while the other two followed you.’

‘There were four?’ Vespasian glanced over to Paetus who raised his eyebrows.

‘Yes, sir. Now finish it.’

Paetus drew his sword. ‘What’s your name, legionary?’

‘Decimus Falens, sir.’

He placed the tip of the sword under his lower left rib. ‘Leave this life in peace, Decimus Falens, you will be remembered.’ He cupped the man’s head in his left hand and thrust his sword up under his ribcage and into his heart. Falens spasmed violently, his eyes bulging with pain, then, as the life fled out of him, he looked at Paetus with relief.