Rome's Executioner (Vespasian) Read online

  Vespasian steeled himself for another quick burst of energy. He pushed the stag to his right, heard the sharp hiss and thud of another hit to the carcass, then leapt left towards the fallen tree, drawing and releasing his shot in one swift movement. He rolled head over heels through the undergrowth and made cover as an arrow embedded itself, juddering, in the trunk. An instant later came the faint but unmistakable sound of sudden and violent exhalation; someone had been hit.

  ‘I got him, masters,’ Artebudz shouted, his voice raised an octave in his excitement.

  ‘Is he dead?’ Magnus called.

  There was a slight pause.

  ‘He is now.’

  ‘Thank fuck for that.’

  Vespasian found Magnus and Artebudz standing over one of the bowmen’s corpses.

  Magnus wrinkled his nose as he approached. ‘I can’t believe we didn’t smell them before they saw us, I’ve never smelt a savage as strong; they must have kept downwind of us.’

  It was indeed a pungent aroma: a heady cocktail of all the major human male excretions, secretions and discharges that had been allowed to fester for years within clothes of semi-cured animal hide, which had probably never been removed since they were first donned; it was crowned with the acid stench of very old and ingrained horse sweat.

  ‘What is he?’ Vespasian asked recoiling, unable to believe his nose.

  ‘No idea. Artebudz, have you ever seen one of these?’

  ‘No master; but his beard’s ginger and his cap seems to be Thracian in style.’

  Vespasian studied the man’s clothing; his cap was definitely Thracian in appearance, a leather skull-cap with long cheek flaps and neck protection, similar to those of the northern tribes in Moesia, as opposed the fox-fur hats of the southern tribes in Thracia itself. But this had crude depictions of horses embroidered in it with dyed twine and the cheek straps were tied under the chin. Apart from knee-length boots, the rest of his attire was definitely not Thracian: hide trousers, well worn on the inside thighs, suggesting a long time spent in the saddle, and a thigh-length leather top-coat worn over an undyed woollen tunic.

  ‘Scythian perhaps,’ Magnus ventured, picking up and examining the dead man’s composite horn and wood bow.

  ‘No, we’ve got one of them at home, they’re darker and they’ve got strange eyes; this man looks normal. Well, we can’t worry about it now, I need to get back to see my brother; we’ll send Artebudz back with some slaves to pick them and our dead hunting slave up tomorrow.’

  Artebudz grinned, enjoying the implication that he would soon be free.

  Vespasian turned away. ‘Let’s find the horses.’

  It was dark by the time they reached the permanent garrison camp just outside the gates of Philippopolis. Vespasian dismissed Artebudz back to the royal stables with a warning to say nothing of the day’s events until he had spoken to the Queen, whose property he was. Returning the centurion of the watch’s salute at the Praetorian Gate, he and Magnus rode as quickly as possible, without causing alarm, down the Via Praetoria, between the low brick-built barrack huts towards his more comfortable residence on the junction with Via Principalis. Such was his anxiety that he barely noticed the ill feeling and restlessness with which over a thousand soldiers were taking their evening meal washed down with the generous garrison wine ration that was supplemented with stronger stuff that they had bought locally. His thoughts were alternating between the reason for his brother’s journey, how he would react to seeing him again after four years and why two outlandish-looking men had tried to kill him that afternoon.

  ‘The lads seem tense this evening.’ Magnus broke into his train of thought.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’ve seen it before, sir, it can happen quite quickly; after a long time farting about doing a lot of bugger all on regular basis with nothing to show for it, the lads start to get edgy, and wonder what the fuck they’re doing here and how much longer they’re going to be stuck in this arsehole of a place. They’re legionaries and they haven’t had a decent fight for over three years, whereas the boys that went back to Moesia are getting plenty of action if half the rumours are true.’

  Vespasian glanced around at the men sitting around braziers and saw more than a few of them glaring at him with resentful, sullen eyes over the top of their wine-filled cups. One or two of them even held his look, a minor act of insubordination that he would normally have dealt with then and there had he not been so preoccupied.

  ‘I’ll speak to Centurion Caelus in the morning and find out what’s going on,’ he said wearily, knowing full well that it was Caelus’ duty to come to him and report any bad feeling amongst the two cohorts that he commanded. It was just another example of how Caelus sought to subtly undermine his authority.

  Vespasian dismounted outside his quarters; it was the same construction as that of the men’s but slightly larger and he was not obliged to share the two rooms inside with seven others.

  ‘I’ll get the horses stabled,’ Magnus offered, taking the reins from him.

  ‘Thank you, I’ll see you later.’ Vespasian took a deep breath and walked through the door.

  ‘So, little brother, you’re back from skulking about in the woods,’ drawled the familiar voice with no trace of affection or even friendship. Sabinus was sprawled out on the dining couch; he had evidently made use of the officers’ bath house as there was no sign of the dust and grime of travel about his appearance, and he was wearing a crisp, white, Equestrian toga over a clean tunic.

  ‘I may be your younger brother but I ceased to be little when I joined the Eagles,’ Vespasian snapped. ‘And, furthermore, I do not, and never did, skulk.’

  Sabinus raised himself to his feet; his dark eyes glinted in the dim light of a couple of oil lamps as they glared mockingly at his brother. ‘Playing the big soldier are we? Next you’ll be telling me that you don’t fuck mules any more.’

  ‘Look Sabinus, if you’ve come all this way to have a fight let’s have it right now and then you can piss off back home again, otherwise try to remain civil and tell me what you’ve got to say.’ Vespasian squared up to his brother, his fists clenched by his side. Sabinus smiled thinly at him. Vespasian noticed that he had put on a bit of weight – four years out of the army and living the good life in Rome had left its mark.

  ‘Fair enough, little brother,’ Sabinus said, sitting down on a camp stool, ‘but old habits die hard. I’m not here to fight; I’m here on the Lady Antonia’s business. Aren’t you going to offer me a drink?’

  ‘If you’ve finished insulting me, then yes.’ Vespasian crossed to the far end of the room and took a pitcher from a cheaply constructed wooden chest standing next to the door leading through to the bedroom. He mixed a couple of cups of the rough, local wine with water and handed one to his brother. ‘How are our parents?’

  ‘They’re both well, I have letters for you from them.’

  ‘Letters?’ Vespasian’s eyes lit up.

  ‘Yes. I’ve got one from Caenis too, you can read it later; but first you should clean up and get changed, we have to deliver a letter from Antonia to Queen Tryphaena. We’ve got a job to do and we need her help.’

  ‘What sort of job?’

  ‘One that will make rescuing Caenis seem like a pleasant stroll through the Gardens of Lucullus. Do you know a Thracian tribe called the Getae?’

  ‘Never heard of them.’

  ‘Well, I don’t know much about them either except that they live outside the Empire across the Danuvius. They generally keep themselves busy fighting the tribes to their north but recently they’ve taken to crossing the river and raiding Moesia. The raids have been getting larger and more frequent in the last year or so and the Fifth Macedonica and the Fourth Scythica have been struggling to repel them; the Emperor has become concerned enough about the situation to reinstate Poppaeus Sabinus as Governor.’

  ‘What are we supposed to do about it?’ Vespasian asked, not liking the idea of going anywhere near Poppaeus again,
knowing, as he did, that he was an ally of Sejanus.

  ‘Antonia doesn’t want us to do anything about the raids, they’re no concern of hers; but what does interest her is a piece of intelligence that one of her agents in Moesia sent a few months back.’

  ‘She’s got agents in Moesia?’

  ‘She’s got agents everywhere. Anyway, this one reported the presence in the last three or four of the raids of someone with whom the good lady is keen to have a nice little chat with back in Rome.’

  ‘And we’ve been asked to go and fetch him for her.’

  Sabinus grinned. ‘How did you guess?’

  Vespasian had a sinking feeling in the pit of his belly. ‘Who?’ he asked, already suspecting the answer.

  ‘Sejanus’ go-between; the Thracian chief priest, Rhoteces.’

  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.’