Rome's executioner

CHAPTER V

‘Thank you for your reports, gentlemen,’ Pomponius Labeo said, eyeing Vespasian and Caelus with a look of mild amusement on his jowly face. ‘I’ve given some thought to your request and I will grant it. As soon as the siege of the castle at Sagadava has been brought to a successful conclusion I will send the third and eighth cohorts to relieve the Thracian garrison.’

Vespasian and Caelus snapped a salute in grateful acknowledgement of their commanding officer’s decision. They were closeted in Pomponius’ study in the newly constructed fortress of Durostorum on the banks of the Danuvius, which had only recently been occupied by a small detachment of the IIII Scythia. The main building work having been finished towards the end of the previous year, the room still smelt of newly waxed wooden floorboards and freshly whitewashed walls. The sounds of hundreds of slaves working on the final stages of the construction and the shouts of their overseers floated through the unshuttered window.

‘I can only assume,’ Pomponius went on, resting his pudgy arms on the desk and leaning towards them, ‘that the marked difference in your accounts of your journey here is down to a personal animosity that in my opinion did not unnecessarily put the men’s lives in danger and therefore, in view of Tribune Vespasian’s imminent recall to Rome, I am willing to overlook it.’

Vespasian breathed a sigh of relief; during the twenty days that it had taken them to find Pomponius, having been told by the garrison commander at Oescus that the IIII Scythia was campaigning against a Getic raiding party of at least three thousand men that had been ravaging the east of Moesia, he had fully expected to be seriously reprimanded for his impetuousness in taking the column through the Succi Pass in a blizzard. In an effort to protect himself, when he made his verbal report to Pomponius, which, owing to his rank, he had been able to do before Caelus, he had taken care not to mention Caelus’ insistence that they should turn back, stressing instead the supposed urgency of placing the garrison’s request before Pomponius. He had also augmented that urgency with an exaggerated assessment of the men’s dissatisfaction, which he knew would reflect badly on Caelus, as their senior centurion and therefore responsible for their discipline, for allowing things to get that far, and well on Paetus and himself for quelling a potential mutiny.

‘Permission to speak, legate,’ Caelus barked.

‘You will remain silent, centurion,’ Pomponius snapped, causing his jowls to quiver. ‘You had your say when you made your report to me upon your arrival this morning. The matter is closed. On your way back to Thracia you will take the three legionaries that Paetus has sent for transfer to the siege lines at Sagadava where you will hand them over to Primus Pilus Faustus; they wanted to avenge their comrades, well, they’ll have plenty of opportunities to do so in the first century of the first cohort when they storm the castle. My secretary has their transfer orders as well as some despatches for Paetus; pick them up on your way out. You’re to leave immediately; understood, centurion?’

‘Yes, sir!’

‘Good. Take the Illyrian auxiliaries with you and get them back to Thracia as soon as possible. Dismissed.’

Caelus saluted, turned smartly on his heel and marched out of the room, burning with ill-concealed rage.

As the door closed behind him Pomponius smiled grimly. ‘He was always Poppaeus’ sneak and he’ll have a lot to say to him when he gets to Sagadava.’

‘Poppaeus is at Sagadava?’ Vespasian blurted out, forgetting that he was still at attention and therefore should not speak unless he was addressed directly.

Pomponius overlooked the offence. ‘At ease, tribune, sit down. Yes, he arrived four days ago, the slippery little bastard. I spent the last two months chasing the Getae around eastern Moesia and I finally managed to corner them at Sagadava, whilst they were waiting for their transports to ship them back across the river. Then, three days ago, as soon as the siege lines were completed and it was obvious the horse-fuckers were going nowhere without a fight, he turns up with four cohorts of the Fifth Macedonica aboard two squadrons of the Danuvius fleet, takes overall command and orders me straight back here to sit and wait whilst, again, he grabs all the glory. He even had the temerity to accuse me of failing in my duty to Rome for not stopping the Getae’s raids, as if it were that easy against an enemy that can move thirty or forty miles a day as opposed to our fifteen, if we’re lucky. Pluto’s balls, we need more cavalry in this province.’ Pomponius slumped back in his chair and wiped the beads of sweat from his brow that, despite the cool temperature in the room, had accumulated there.

Vespasian shifted uneasily in his seat, wondering how he was going to find out whether Rhoteces was with the besieged raiding party and, if he was, how they were going to get through the Roman lines, into the castle, apprehend him and then get him back out without it coming to the attention of Poppaeus.‘Why have the Getae started raiding the province so often?’ he asked. ‘It’s not as if there’s a lot to plunder here and if they carry on it will surely just provoke the Emperor into extending the Empire over the river.’

Pomponius looked up from the self-pitying reverie into which he had sunk. ‘What? Oh, I know; strategically it’s pure madness on their part. But it seems that their king, Cotiso, who’s the grandson of the king of the same name that we defeated over fifty years ago, has been encouraged to exact revenge for that humiliation to his people.’

‘By whom?’

‘That disgusting priest that had the ear of Poppaeus; you might have seen him when he led Dinas’ people down to surrender — you were there, weren’t you?’

‘Yes, I was,’ Vespasian replied, trying to keep his voice neutral. ‘So he’s been with the Getae ever since the revolt was put down?’

‘I don’t know if he went to them immediately but he’s certainly been with them for the last year or so; he’s been seen with them during some of their raids.’

‘Was he spotted on this one?’ Vespasian asked innocently.

Pomponius was about to answer, but then stopped himself and peered at his young tribune with his piggy eyes. ‘Ah, I see,’ he said slowly. ‘Your brother’s with you, isn’t he?’

Vespasian’s pulse quickened. ‘Yes, sir.’

‘Yet he doesn’t hold a military commission at the moment, does he?’

‘No, he’s a civilian.’

‘Has he recently arrived from Rome?’

Vespasian knew that it was pointless denying it. ‘Yes, sir, at the end of March.’

Pomponius nodded thoughtfully and raised himself to his feet. Vespasian stood immediately.

‘I have other business to attend to now, tribune,’ Pomponius said, indicating that the interview was over, ‘but I would be pleased if you and your brother would dine with me this evening.’

‘I think you’ll find this dish to be particularly fine,’ Pomponius enthused as a huge platter of river perch, topped with a thick brown sauce, was placed upon the table. ‘This is my cook’s speciality, his honeyed-wine and plum sauce is second to none and he understands exactly how to poach a fish so that the flesh peels perfectly off the bones. He’s a marvel; I bought him twelve years ago and, like a good wine, he gets even better as the years pass.’ To emphasise the point he took long draught of the excellent wine, belched, and then set his cup down whilst greedily eyeing the beautifully presented dish.

Vespasian glanced across the table to Sabinus, who was showing no sign of fatigue, and then smiled politely at his host. ‘It does look most appetising, Pomponius,’ he managed to say, half-truthfully.

It would indeed have looked most appetising if it had been the second or third course; however, it was the eighth. Vespasian had assumed, judging by the girth of his host, that the dinner would be an arduous affair, and not for the faint-hearted, so he had paced himself over the first four courses, thinking that the pastries and fruit would surely come soon after; but he had been sadly mistaken. He had since been obliged to contend with a roast suckling goat, a plate of various game birds and a haunch of venison, all swathed in sundry rich sauces. It would be the height of impoliteness to refuse a portion of any of the courses set before him even though the words full, replete, stuffed and bloated were echoing around his head. His only respite had come from emulating Pomponius’ habit of breaking wind freely from both ends — a practice that he did not normally approve of at the dinner table. However, by the sixth course he had put his scruples to one side and had since, on numerous occasions, followed his host’s lead and eased his straining innards. Feeling very envious of Magnus, whom they had left carousing with Artebudz and the Thracians and an inordinate amount of wine, he uncomfortably adjusted his position on the couch as Sabinus helped himself to an unnecessarily large portion of perch and spooned a copious amount of sauce over it.

‘Tuck in, little brother,’ he said with a malicious glint in his eye. ‘Our host has saved his best dish for last. We should do it justice.’ He popped a large, dripping hunk of fish into his mouth and started to chew whilst making appreciative sounds.

‘You are mistaken, Sabinus,’ Pomponius corrected him as he enthusiastically pulled the dish towards him and took an even larger portion. ‘It would surely be a mistake to save the best for last, we would be too full to enjoy it properly; I believe we’ve still got a couple more courses to come, and then of course the honeyed dormice just to fill in the corners before the sweet pastries.’

Sabinus blanched at the news; Vespasian felt sick. He braced himself and then manfully spooned the smallest piece of perch that good manners dictated on to his plate and then made a show of eating with gusto whilst discreetly dropping as much as he could on the napkin spread before him on the couch.

‘Poppaeus may travel with all the trappings that his new money can buy,’ Pomponius said, returning to his favourite subject of the evening, ‘a marble-floored tent, mobile frescoes, gaudy pieces of furniture and too many horses, but his lack of breeding prevents him from understanding the finer points of life.’ He began to mop up the excess sauce on his plate with a large hunk of bread. ‘Believe me, gentlemen, I know, I’ve had the misfortune to dine with him many times and, if it’d been down to me, I would’ve had his cook whipped for the paltry fare that he served up. Almost as bad as common legionary rations — it’s no wonder the general’s so small.’ He enjoyed his own witticism so much that he almost choked as he drained his wine cup. ‘On those pitiful occasions I always make sure that my cook has a proper meal waiting for me upon my return,’ he carried on, wiping away the wine that had come up through his nose. ‘It’s only the thought of that that gets me through his frugal little dinner parties.’ He held his cup out to be refilled by a waiting slave, adding, ‘And his wine, of course. I’ll give the man his due: he does serve a decent wine.’

‘As do you, Pomponius,’ Sabinus said, raising his cup, pleased that he had managed to get a word in. ‘Where does it come from?’

‘From my estates in Aventicum in the south of Germania Superior,’ Pomponius replied, taking another mighty slug. He looked wistfully at the brothers. ‘It’s a beautiful place, on the shore of Lake Murten in the tribal lands of the Helvetii. My grandfather, Titus Pomponius Atticus, bought a lot of land around there whilst he was extending our banking business into the province.’

Vespasian tried to look interested as Pomponius went on about his family’s business venture, bemoaning the fact that his lack of financial acumen meant that under his tenure it was beginning to fail and he was thinking of selling it. Another course came and went, followed by yet another, and he began to wish that he could call for the vomit bowl, another practice that he disapproved of but of which he would have happily taken advantage had Pomponius had not already made his views clear on the subject: a waste of good food.

At last his plate, with a half-eaten dormouse on it, was taken away, the pastries and fruit were laid out, two full jugs of barely watered wine were placed on the table and Pomponius dismissed the slaves.

‘So, gentlemen, to the matter in hand,’ Pomponius said as the last slave closed the door and they were left alone in the large, unadorned room, which had only just begun to take on an intimate air with the setting of the sun and the lighting of oil lamps and braziers. ‘I’d be very interested to know, Vespasian, why you led our conversation this afternoon so quickly, and with some degree of skill, to the subject of Rhoteces? I may be a plain soldier and administrator with no political aptitude and pickled in my own wine but I can tell when a man asks me three questions in quick succession to which he knows the answers and then asks a fourth to which he doesn’t, but desperately wants to.’

Vespasian found himself cornered. To deny that he had been trying to wheedle out information from Pomponius concerning the whereabouts of Rhoteces would be to insult his host’s intelligence; to confirm it would only leave him open to a series of questions as to why he, as a mere military tribune, wished to know whether the priest was with the Getic raiding party. Making a mental note to be more subtle in his questioning in future, he glanced over to Sabinus, who shrugged unhelpfully.

‘You’re going to have to be quicker than that when you find yourself in a tight spot, Vespasian,’ Pomponius remarked sternly. ‘The very fact that you paused for so long and looked to your brother for advice tells me that that you want to find this priest but you don’t want to tell me why.’

‘Yes, sir,’ Vespasian replied.

‘This is a private dinner not the parade ground, there’s no need to call me “sir”,’ Pomponius snapped. ‘Why do you want to find this priest?’

‘We’ve been asked to take him to Rome.’ Vespasian felt his over-full belly starting to churn.

‘By whom?’ Pomponius’ eyes had lost all sense of joviality and now bored into Vespasian’s with an intensity that made him suddenly afraid.

‘I can’t tell you that, Pomponius,’ he answered with an edge of adrenalin-fuelled steel in his voice. He could sense Sabinus tensing on the other side of the table, preparing himself to pounce on Pomponius.

‘You will tell me, tribune, or by the gods I will forget the fact that I owe you my life, which was the only thing that prevented me from upholding Caelus’ complaints about your leadership this morning, and reverse that decision and have you sent back to Rome in disgrace.’

‘Then that is what you must do, legate, for I cannot tell you.’

Pomponius looked for a moment as though he might explode, then he controlled himself. ‘Very well, tribune, so be it.’

‘May I ask a question, Pomponius?’ Sabinus said quickly.

‘If it helps us out of this impasse.’

‘My brother rightly won’t tell you who has asked us to take this man back to Rome, but equally would you wish to tell us why you’re so keen to know?’

Pomponius did not need to think about it. ‘No.’

‘Because you’re aware that what this man knows is important to two opposing factions within Rome and neither of us can be sure, as yet, who the other one is working for?’

‘I think that sums it up.’

‘So you have an interest in a certain party getting hold of the priest before he falls into the hands of someone else, or is eliminated?’

Pomponius laughed. ‘You must think that I was born yesterday if you believed for one moment that I would answer that question. We both know that only one party would be happy to see Rhoteces dead.’

‘Yes, but we’ve already told you that we want to take him to Rome, and that means keeping him alive.’

‘So you say, but what if I was to want him dead?’

Sabinus swiftly slipped his hand under his tunic, pulled out a knife and advanced on Pomponius. ‘Then I would have to kill you, which I might do anyway just to be on the safe side.’ Pomponius heaved himself to his feet and stood his ground.

‘Sabinus, stop,’ Vespasian shouted. ‘You’ve heard him this evening — you know how he despises Poppaeus. He wouldn’t be working to further his interests.’

Pomponius smiled. ‘Young man, you do have a lot to learn; despising someone is no reason not to work with them if your interests coincide. I know that you hate him too, otherwise you wouldn’t have told me that he stole my victory when we defeated the Thracian revolt, but that’s almost four years ago and your allegiances may well have changed. However, by appealing to your brother in my defence just now has proved to me that we are on the same side; unless you are a very good actor, which I don’t think you are… yet. So I will trust you, despite the fact that you’ve pulled a knife on me in my own dining room, Sabinus, which I consider to be the height of ill manners. The priest is in Sagadava.’

Sabinus kept his knife raised. ‘How can we trust you?’

Pomponius looked him in the eye. ‘Because I was the person who told Antonia, whom I assume sent you to find him, that Rhoteces was with the Getae.’

‘You’re Antonia’s agent in Moesia?’ Vespasian sounded incredulous.

‘Don’t be absurd, I’m nobody’s agent, I told her because I know that our interests do coincide. You told me after the battle, Vespasian, how Sejanus and Poppaeus had used Rhoteces as a go-between, so when he turned up again last year I passed on the information anonymously to Antonia assuming — correctly because she sent you to get him — that he would be of use to her. I know that she is working to bring down Sejanus and if she is successful then with luck Poppaeus will go down with him and I shall have revenge for his theft of my rightful victory.’

‘How did you know that Antonia is working against Sejanus?’

‘Sit down both of you and refill your cups, and mine as well whilst you’re about it, and I’ll explain.’

The brothers did as they were told and soon felt much calmer for the strong wine. Pomponius drained his cup in one gulp and held it out for more; Vespasian obliged him.

‘Thank you,’ Pomponius said, reclining back down on his couch. ‘I’ll be brief. When the Thracians threatened to revolt six years ago I was in Rome. I had just been appointed legate of the Fourth Scythica and was about to leave for Moesia. Asinius approached me to act as his eyes and ears in Moesia and Thracia. He took me into his confidence and told me that he was working with Antonia against the rising threat of Sejanus. Because of the large amount of Roman money found in Tacfarinas’ possession, after the Numidian revolt had been suppressed, Antonia and Asinius had begun to suspect that fomenting rebellions in the provinces was part of Sejanus’ wider strategy to destabilise the Empire as he secured his position with the Emperor. They suspected that the threatened revolt in Thracia was a part of this strategy. At this point they didn’t suspect Poppaeus of being involved as he had been out of Rome since he’d been appointed Governor of both Moesia and Macedonia ten years earlier and had had no known contact with Sejanus; also because he is considered respectable but with no striking abilities — a threat to nobody. However, they had no reason to trust him either, so they needed their own man on the spot.’

‘Why did he trust you enough to tell you all this?’ Vespasian asked.

‘Because we’re kinsmen. His mother, Vipsania Agrippina, is my father’s niece.’

‘And she was Tiberius’s first wife and the mother of his late son Drusus who Antonia believes was murdered by her daughter Livilla, Sejanus’ mistress,’ Sabinus said, understanding the connection.

‘Exactly. So we both had a kinsman to avenge and an Emperor, to whom we are both connected to by marriage, to defend. So I seemed like a safe bet to him — but I refused.’

‘Why?’

Pomponius smiled at the look of outraged disbelief on Vespasian’s face. ‘Because my judgement is no longer clouded by the enthusiasm and idealism of youth, as yours evidently still is, by the look on your face. Sejanus had just blocked me from becoming Consul in order to put one of his men forward; he had given me the Fourth Scythica as a sop, and I knew that his eyes were on me and probably still are. I would have been a liability to Asinius and Antonia and, more importantly, I intend to die in my bed, unlike most of the people who come to Sejanus’ notice.’

‘So why the change of heart?’ Vespasian asked with more than a trace of scorn.

Pomponius regarded him levelly. ‘You will speak civilly to me in my dining room, young man, and refrain from judging me by your own rather impetuous and naive standards.’

Vespasian reddened, embarrassed as much by Pomponius’ assessment of him as he was by the realisation that he was right. ‘Forgive me, Pomponius; that was crass of me.’

Pomponius inclined his head. ‘To answer your question: my time here is up; in a month or so I’ll return to my estates in Aventicum to lie low and drink my wine until the political turmoil in Rome resolves itself one way or the other. So I decided to risk passing Antonia a piece of information that would hurt Poppaeus, in the hope that she would use it.’

‘Why didn’t you try to capture Rhoteces when he first reappeared and have him sent to her?’

‘I have been trying to get my hands on that priest for over a year now and just when I had him cornered, and was trying to think of a way to extract him, Poppaeus turns up. Sejanus must have heard that Rhoteces had resurfaced and persuaded the Emperor to reinstate Poppaeus as Governor, using the increased raids over the river and my seeming inability to deal with them as a valid excuse. So Poppaeus has taken command at Sagadava because he knows that Rhoteces is there and he means to make certain that he never comes out. You need to ensure that he does.’

The brothers looked at each other as Pomponius drained his cup and, with slight nods of their heads, silently agreed to trust him.

‘How do you recommend we do that, Pomponius?’ Sabinus asked. ‘You said that you were working on a plan.’

‘I said that I was trying to think of a way to get him out,’ Pomponius corrected him. ‘I hadn’t completely formulated a plan. It’s going to be difficult. There are nearly three thousand of the bastards crammed together in the fortress and the fortifications next to it; I imagine that there is barely room to move, although they have left most of their horses out in the open.’

‘And if we did manage to get in we’d be very conspicuous,’ Vespasian added, not liking the scenario one bit.

‘Unless we disguise ourselves as Getae,’ Sabinus pointed out.

‘Exactly,’ Pomponius agreed, ‘that was what I had been thinking of, but I didn’t have the men to do it; there’re no Thracians that I would trust with such a delicate task and we Romans wouldn’t be able to pass ourselves off as Getae, even if we were wearing their festering trousers.’

‘We’ve brought five of Queen Tryphaena’s men with us, they’ll be able to if they have the clothes,’ Vespasian said. ‘Sabinus, Magnus and I will just have to make the best of it and try to blend in with them.’

Pomponius looked at him and raised his eyebrows. ‘That’s very risky. Why don’t you just send the Thracians in by themselves?’

‘Because it will take at least two of them to carry the priest out, which would leave only three men to defend them; if one or two get killed then it would be all over. We need to go too to lower the odds.’

Sabinus grunted. ‘I’ve a nasty feeling that my brother’s right, Pomponius. So how do we get in and out?’

‘Well, first you’ve got to get the clothes, that should be easy enough as there is a compound full of prisoners in the Roman camp; Centurion Faustus, whom you know, Vespasian, and we both trust, will be able to help you. As to getting in, that’s much harder; there are only three ways that I can see and the best one, in my opinion, is through a little sewage drain in the north wall facing the river; you could reach it by boat which would mean that you wouldn’t have to go through the siege lines as they only extend as far as the river on either side of the fortress.’

Sabinus turned up his nose. ‘I really don’t like the idea of wading through Getic shit. What are the other two ways?’

‘Through the main gate in the west wall, or scale the walls themselves, neither of which you’ll be able to do without someone noticing.’

‘We could just wait until Poppaeus storms the fortress and try and grab Rhoteces in the chaos of the attack,’ Vespasian suggested.

‘You could, but if I were Poppaeus I would have a crack squad of legionaries charged with eliminating him and you would find yourselves fighting Romans as well as Getae.’

‘It looks like we’re going to be in the shit, then,’ Vespasian observed. ‘Don’t worry, Sabinus, you won’t be able to smell it over the stench of your clothes.’

Sabinus allowed himself a wry smile. ‘Very funny, little brother. What about getting away, Pomponius?’

‘By boat again; get Faustus to have your horses and things waiting a mile or so downstream and you’ll be away before Poppaeus even knows you were there. The only thing you’ll have to worry about is not bumping into the Danuvius fleet, which is stationed in the river to prevent the Getae’s transports from rescuing them.’

Vespasian resigned himself to the inevitable. ‘Well, I suppose it’s a plan of sorts, and seeing as it’s the only one we have it will have to do. The only alternative is to walk away and let the priest die in Sagadava.’

‘That sounds like an appealing option,’ Sabinus observed, ‘and a lot less hassle.’

‘In the short term, yes,’ Pomponius said, ‘but in the long term if Sejanus isn’t removed everyone suspected of opposing him will find themselves and their families faced with options a great deal less appealing. So I suggest that you go and get a decent night’s sleep, gentlemen, because you’ve got a day and a half’s hard ride ahead of you followed by a long and dangerous night’s work as soon as you get there.’

‘We should do it the night that we arrive?’ Vespasian exclaimed. ‘Surely we should make a reconnaissance of the place and finalise the plan?’

‘I’m afraid you don’t have the time. When I left, Poppaeus boasted to me that every Getic warrior would be dead by the end of this month. If he’s going to keep that promise I imagine that he’s going to attack on the second to last night of the month and that is only three days away.’