The Eagle's Vengeance (41 page)

He watched approvingly as Sorex upended the cup. The tribune shrugged at them, his face baffled at the absence of any unpleasant taste.

‘A little fruity, but there’s really nothing to it. So, how long will it take to have effect?’

Castus smiled at him, indicating his chair with a hand.

‘I’d sit down now, Fulvius Sorex, if I were you. The drug works quickly at that concentration.’

The tribune turned to walk back around his desk, but swayed where he stood as the concoction started to take a grip of him. Scaurus and Castus took an arm apiece and helped him into the chair, and the senior tribune took the replica eagle and fitted it into his hands with a faint smile.

‘Here, you can cuddle up to this. It’ll look all the more credible if anyone puts their head around the door. I’ll look after the fake for you.’

Sorex opened his mouth to speak, but although his mouth moved it made no sound. Castus tousled his hair affectionately.

‘Lost your tongue, Sorex? It’s no surprise to me, the lady who gave me the draught told me that it often silences its victims, in that short time between ingestion and the onset of the poison’s symptoms, and it seems that she was right. So I feel it only fair to tell you that while you were gibbering at Centurion Corvus, the Prefect here added another dozen drops of that rather powerful medicine to your drink.’ He smiled down at the tribune’s twitch of an eyebrow, his body apparently already paralysed by the drug’s powerful dose. ‘Yes, you’ll be dead very shortly now, and without a single mark to hint at the manner of your death. Sat here cuddling up to your legion’s eagle, I don’t doubt that the centurions will be quick to deify you as having died of the sheer joy of your success. After all, you didn’t seriously think we were going to fall for that “my word as a Roman gentleman” nonsense, did you?’

Sorex started, his tongue protruding from his mouth as he shuddered and fought for breath. Castus lifted his uncomprehending face, his smile hard and cruel as the younger man fought for his life, his breath coming in tiny pants as the poison slowly but surely squeezed the last vestiges of life from his body.

‘And now come the shakes, Sorex, the terrifying struggle to breathe and the slide into unconsciousness. Fitting punishment for a man with your delight in forcing others to your will, like my beautiful Desidra and others before her, I don’t doubt. She confessed it all to me earlier, Sorex, she told me what you’d forced her to do in defence of the last years of my career, and made me promise not to ruin my life by taking my sword to you. Fortunately your other victim had already provided me with the perfect means of taking my revenge …’ He stopped talking, realising that the last light had faded from the tribune’s eyes. ‘I think he’s gone now.’

Scaurus put a finger to the tribune’s neck.

‘Indeed he is. Let’s be on our way. You can have this, Centurion, as the reward for restraining that magnificent temper of yours.’ He passed Marcus the genuine eagle. ‘I think it’s best if we keep this for the time being, and I can’t think of a man who’s better qualified to care for it until the time comes to return it to the right person. And now I think it’s time that we were on our way. We’ve a lot to prepare if we’re going to march south at first light, and little enough time in which to do it.’

The legion’s senior centurion was waiting for them outside Sorex’s office, his pre-arranged presence clearly making the legionaries on guard nervous to judge from the sweat running down their necks, and the camp prefect took him aside with a broad smile.

‘It’s the best possible news, First Spear; the eagle that the tribune and his men captured yesterday is clearly genuine. You can’t fake that level of craftsmanship, and it has all of the secret marks that confirm it was made in Rome at the imperial armouries. Mars be praised, we’ve restored the legion’s good name!’ He handed the centurion a tablet bound in ash and secured with a shining brass hook and eye. ‘Here’s the record of its markings that your last eagle bearer kept which will help you to prove its provenance. I congratulate you upon the return of so important a symbol of imperial power, and the removal of the threat that has hung over this legion since the battle where it was lost.’

The veteran centurion nodded gravely.

‘The best possible news indeed, sir. And the tribune, sir?’

Castus winked in reply.

‘Tribune Sorex has clearly had a hard few days and, I would guess from the state of him, a few cups of wine. In truth he was half asleep when we arrived, and he fell asleep while we were examining the standard. I put it back in his hands and left him to it, and I suggest we let him sleep, rather than disturbing him. After all, he’s more than earned it.’

The senior centurion nodded solemnly, giving no clue of his complicity with the Tungrians’ scheme.

‘I’ll do that, Camp Prefect.’

Castus gestured to Scaurus and his centurions.

‘Before I forget, Tribune Sorex did confirm Legatus Equitius’s orders for the Tungrian cohorts. It seems that Tribune Scaurus here is to take both of his auxiliary cohorts south and cross the sea to Gaul. The legatus has word from a colleague in Lugdunum that the province is infested with bandits, and is requested to detach some of our strength to help in their suppression. Since the legion is forbidden to leave camp, the legatus deems it appropriate for an auxiliary task force to be sent in our place, and it seems the Tungrians are well experienced at dealing with thieves and robbers.’

Scaurus stepped forward with a respectful nod to the senior centurion.

‘We plan to march at dawn, First Spear, but it seems we have too much baggage for our carts. Perhaps you could assist us with the procurement of some additional transport capacity?’

The first spear’s answer was delivered straight faced, but there was no mistaking the tone of his voice.

‘Indeed Tribune. I’ll have the carts that carried Tribune Sorex’s cargo from Arab Town made ready. I’d imagine that should be enough to fit your needs?’

10

Rome, August,
AD
184

‘Well now, if it isn’t Gaius Rutilius Scaurus! Well met once again, Tribune, even if not in quite the circumstances we might both have expected!’

Scaurus stepped forward to meet the big man standing in the road in front of the halted Tungrian column, his armour tinted orange by the late afternoon sun and the layer of dust that coated the sculpted bronze plate. Senator Albinus was standing at the head of a group of twenty or so muscular-looking followers who to Marcus had the look of veteran soldiers for the most part, men a few years past their prime whose scars and almost sleepily calm demeanour marked them out as having been hardened in battle. Their meeting point had clearly been carefully chosen, hidden from the straggling settlements that littered the roadside at frequent intervals by trees that arched over the road to form a green tunnel, and Marcus smiled to see Julius looking about him with a look of professional discomfort, his eyes searching the greenery for any sign of movement as he addressed the men of his leading century.

‘All the way from Britannia and not a sign of anyone trying to stop us? If it’s going to happen anywhere then it’s going to happen here, before we reach the city, so just keep your fucking wits about you, gentlemen …’

The tribune took Albinus’s outstretched arm and found himself engulfed in a powerful bear hug, as the senator greeted him with the same slightly disquieting enthusiasm with which they had parted in Dacia the previous year. The last time that Scaurus had seen the big man he’d been outfitted and groomed for his position as an imperial legion’s legatus, his hair and beard cut tight to his powerful head and bull neck, but a year in Rome following his triumphant return from Dacia had clearly encouraged him to follow the latest imperial fashion. His glossy and immaculately barbered beard trailed a good four inches from his jaw, and his hair had been allowed to grow out into a tangle of artfully coiffured curls. When Albinus released him from the grip the bemused tribune stepped back with a wry smile and nodded respectfully, wincing at the dust that had transferred itself from his travel-soiled uniform to the senator’s pristine toga.

‘Forgive me, Decimus Clodius Albinus, something of my experience from the road seems to have rubbed off on you …’

An admonishing finger silenced him, and Albinus held his arms wide, his voice raised to carry to his men.

‘I told you in Dacia, Tribune, and I’ll tell you again at the gates of Rome, you and I are beyond formalities after the terrible things we’ve seen and done together …’ Julius and Marcus exchanged glances in their places behind their tribune, the first spear raising a sardonic eyebrow. ‘… and so to you I will always simply be Decimus, your
friend
.’ He brushed at the soiled tunic ineffectually, raising a grubby hand with a laugh. ‘And besides, what’s a little dust when you’ve marched for three months from the edge of the world to make it possible for us to save the empire from the grasping hands of a usurper?’ Stepping closer to Scaurus, he lowered his voice. ‘I’ve arranged for your men to be accommodated in the city’s transit barracks, and I’d suggest that my men take the gold on into Rome from here. What do you say, eh?’

The tribune looked back at him levelly, lowering his voice to match the senator’s conspiratorial tone.

‘Well Decimus, I think if you were to push the question I’d say that I’ve not marched fifteen hundred miles to abandon my task at the gates of the city. I suggest that your men march into the city alongside enough of mine to carry the chests, to demonstrate the part you’ve taken in bringing this matter to the emperor’s attention?’

Senator Albinus stared back at him for a moment, his face devoid of any expression, and Marcus saw a predator’s calculation in his eyes. After a pause just long enough to show that he clearly considered the decision his to make, the big man’s face creased in a slow smile.

‘As you suggest, Gaius, as you suggest. We’re about to carry out an act that the historians will be talking about a thousand years from now, so I see no reason for us not to share the glory of this evening.’

Scaurus returned the stare for an equally deliberate moment before speaking.

‘And the risk, Senator? Presumably the praetorian prefect wouldn’t be delighted if he were to discover just how close to hand the proof of his duplicity has come. I’d imagine that we’ll end up hanging from our scrotums if his men take us before we get the chance to present that evidence. Indeed my first spear here has been as nervous as a good-looking boy on his own at the baths for weeks now.’

The big man inclined his head.

‘As you say. Whatever is to come this evening, we will take an equal share of what results.’

Scaurus nodded and then turned back to the centurions standing behind him.

‘Stand your men down, First Spear. The senator and I are going to have a good look at the emperor’s gold.’

He led Albinus down the line of weary-looking soldiers, saluting in reply as each century snapped to attention at their centurions’ shouted commands, and the senator played a discerning eye across both their threadbare equipment and worn boots.

‘Their kit may look a little tatty, but by the gods, Gaius, your troops look bloody good for men that have marched all the way across the northern empire.’

Scaurus acknowledged the compliment with a nod.

‘Indeed so. And all the way from Britannia to Dacia and back before that. A few weeks enjoying the greatest city in the world is going to do them more good than a year of quiet garrison duty.’

Albinus snorted.

‘That won’t be cheap. How will your boys get their fill of wine and whores on auxiliary pay?’

Scaurus waved a hand dismissively.

‘Money? That won’t be a problem.’

The tribune’s response was light in tone, although Marcus knew just as well as Scaurus the direction in which the senator’s seemingly careless question had been angled. An unspoken question hung in the air between the two men for a moment before Albinus’s patience with his protégée’s apparent unwillingness to elucidate on his pronouncement reached its breaking point. While his tone remained jocular, and he smiled as he asked the question, the expression completely failed to reach his eyes.

‘You’ve not had your fingers inside those gold chests, have you Gaius?’

The steel beneath his bonhomie was sufficiently apparent that Marcus found his fingers twitching reflexively, eager for the reassuring feel of his swords’ hilts. Scaurus turned to smile at the senator with an absence of humour to match that with which the question had been asked, his grey eyes as hard as flint and his tone suddenly harsh.

‘Or rather, have I had my fingers inside those chests without sharing the spoils with
you
, Decimus?’

The senator’s eyes widened slightly under his relentless gaze, the only sign of his disquiet the younger man’s refusal to be cowed.

‘You take my meaning perfectly, young man. Well?’

The tribune shook his head, gesturing to the heavy brass-bound wooden chests each of which had been carried south from Britannia on one of the cohorts’ equipment wagons.

‘Not likely, Senator. Take a look for yourself.’

He nodded to Dubnus, who was waiting alongside the first cart with his axe’s head resting on the road’s surface by his right foot, and the heavily built centurion barked an order to the hulking pioneers waiting in silence beside each of the carts. The three men stood and watched in silence as the chests were physically manhandled to the ground ready for their inspection. Taking a key from his belt pouch, Marcus squatted down to open the closest of the heavy wooden boxes, lifting the lid to reveal a sea of gold aureii coins that filled the container almost to its brim. Frowning, Albinus reached down and took a coin, staring for a moment at the finely detailed figure of Britannia on the obverse before turning it over to look at the emperor’s head.

‘Ah.’

Scaurus took out another coin and held it up before him.

‘Ah indeed. Every coin in the entire shipment is exactly the same.’