Rome's Executioner (6 page)

‘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.’