Vespasian: Tribune of Rome (37 page)

‘What did these Romans look like?’ Vespasian asked.

‘Three of them were wearing fine uniforms, very ornate, the fourth was a civilian, a big man with darker skin and long black hair and a small beard; he did the talking.’

Vespasian exchanged a glance with Magnus.

The tent flaps opened and four slaves came in carrying a very heavy-looking chest. They put it down and left.

‘See for yourselves, my friends; look at what Rome paid me to take your lives.’

Corbulo walked over to the chest. It was not locked; he opened it and drew his breath. Vespasian joined him and looked in. His eyes widened. It was full of silver denarii, more than he had ever seen. He dipped his hand in and brought out a handful, letting them clatter back down on to the pile. Each coin had Tiberius’ head on it; each one was as clean and unmarked as the day that it had left the mint.

F
OR FIVE DAYS they followed the course of the Hebrus River northwest, stopping only to eat or sleep, pushing their horses as much as they dared. Coronus had given them an escort through his lands, but they had turned back once they’d reached the territory of the Odrysae. Although not in revolt, there was still a bitter resentment of Rome after its violent quelling of that tribe’s rebellion four years previously. Vespasian and his three comrades kept well away from settlements, relying instead on the ample supplies that they had been given by the Caenii and water from the murky but drinkable Hebrus.

His companions took it in turns to quiz Vespasian about how he had come to be in possession of an amulet that guaranteed the protection and friendship of the Caenii, despite the fact that they had been in part responsible for the deaths of hundreds of their warriors and the chief’s youngest son. But Vespasian was unable to tell them any more than he had told Coronus, forcing each man to come up with his own theory.

‘Luck,’ Magnus said, ‘pure and simple luck.’

‘The will of the gods,’ Corbulo opined. ‘It shows us that they have a destiny for every man and enjoy teasing us until it is fulfilled.’

‘Caenis must have the power of foresight,’ Faustus theorised. ‘She saw where you would come into danger and gave you the amulet because she knew it would save you.’

‘And by luck she just happened to have it on her.’ Magnus felt that his case rested.

Vespasian smiled to himself. Each of these theories was in part correct, but there was one thing that overrode all of them: love. Whether it was the will of the gods, luck or foresight, without her love for him Caenis would never have given up her only memento of her mother.

Vespasian, however, had his own concerns. He had no doubts that the chest of denarii had come from Sejanus, using the imperial seal. And that Asinius and Antonia were right: Sejanus was financing the rebellion for his own ends. In destroying the relief column he would be able to go to the Senate, in the Emperor’s name, and demand a more robust approach in Thracia, more legions to punish the Caenii, and no doubt to slyly retrieve his chest of money. This would in turn create more resentment and incite more tribes to revolt, thus escalating the problem and giving him more time and space to seize the purple while the army was looking the other way.

Corbulo would be duty bound to report the chest of denarii, where it had come from and what it had paid for, to Poppaeus. The conversation would be recorded by a secretary, and then copied by others. It would not be long before news of the discovery spread and reached the ears of Sejanus’ agent, who would undoubtedly send a message to his master warning him that the conspiracy risked being uncovered. The agent would then, in all probability, lie low until he received further instructions, which could be two or three months, months in which he, Vespasian, would be unable to get any closer to discovering the his identity.

Feeling sure that Corbulo wouldn’t have been party to a plan that involved his own death at the hands of the Caenii, he decided to partially confide in him one evening, whilst Magnus and Faustus were away watering the horses.

‘Have you given any thought as to who might have paid to see us and our men dead, Corbulo?’

Corbulo looked at him over his long thin nose, his angular face illuminated on one side by the small fire that they had set.

‘Nothing troubles me more, not even how you came to have that amulet in the right place at the right time.’

‘What conclusions have you come to?’

Corbulo looked around to make sure that they were still alone.

‘I cannot believe that it was the Emperor, even though the messengers bore the imperial seal. What would he have to gain by killing two of his own cohorts?’

‘My thoughts entirely. But if it was not the Emperor, who else has access to the imperial seal, and to that amount of newly minted money?’

Corbulo looked down and shook his head.

Vespasian decided to change tack. ‘What do you propose to do once we get to Poppaeus?’

‘I shall report all that we saw, of course.’

‘Would that be in our best interests? After all, whoever paid the Caenii to kill us may well have someone close to Poppaeus, and then he would find out that his conspiracy has been uncovered and, more to the point, who uncovered it.’

Corbulo stared at Vespasian in the firelight as if reappraising him.

‘You’re right,’ he said slowly. ‘And I had you down as a snotty-nosed little thin-stripe tribune; I can see that there is more to you than I thought, Vespasian. So if we’re to avoid the attention of . . .’ He paused and looked Vespasian in the eye. ‘Sejanus?’

Vespasian nodded.

‘Then I should make my report to Poppaeus in private, no records and no witnesses,’ Corbulo concluded.

‘I think that that is a good idea of yours, Corbulo.’

Corbulo continued staring at Vespasian. He had the odd feeling that it hadn’t been his idea at all.

When Magnus returned later, he sat down next to Vespasian. ‘Did you have a nice little chat with the arsehole, sir?’ he whispered.

‘What do you mean? And he’s not so much of an arsehole as I thought he was. His actions saved a lot of men back at the crossing.’

‘Point taken. I mean what did you persuade the not-so-much-of-an-arsehole to do about that chest of denarii?’

‘How did you know that I was going to talk to him about that?’

‘Stands to reason, don’t it? The more people who know that we know about it, the worse it may go for us. I hope you told him to report in discreetly, if you take my meaning?’

‘I did, as a matter of fact; I got him to agree to report in private to Poppaeus.’

‘Well done, sir. That was a good idea.’

Vespasian peered at Magnus through the darkness and couldn’t help wondering just whose idea it really had been.

On the evening of the fifth day they arrived at the walled town of Philippopolis, the seat of the Thracian King Rhoemetalces and his mother Queen Tryphaena. Here they learnt from the commander of the small Roman garrison, a much-decorated old centurion in his last few months of service, that Poppaeus’ victory had been impressive but not decisive, his field camp was another hard day’s ride west, and that Gallus had brought the column of recruits through four days earlier.

They decided to spend the night with the garrison, and availed themselves of the pleasures of the small but fully functioning bath house, the first that they had seen since Philippi fourteen days before. The garrison commander provided them with a decent hot
meal and some decent women, again their first since Philippi, before they retired for a decent night’s sleep.

At dawn on the following morning, feeling much refreshed in body and spirit, they were about to leave with an escort of a turma of Illyrian auxiliary cavalry, commanded by an amiable round-faced young patrician cavalry prefect, Publius Junius Caesennius Paetus, when the garrison commander rushed into the stable yard.

‘Tribune Vespasian, sir, there is a messenger here from the palace. Queen Tryphaena requests that you visit her before you leave.’

‘Minerva’s tits,’ Corbulo spat. ‘That could delay us all day. Lead the way, centurion.’

‘The messenger was very clear, sir. Only the tribune.’

Corbulo glowered at Vespasian.

‘What could she want with me?’ Vespasian was intrigued.

‘You watch yourself, dear chap,’ Paetus chuckled. ‘She’s a feisty creature, and very good-looking. Partial to strong young bucks like yourself, so I’m told. Good luck.’

Vespasian decided to play along with him. ‘I’ll be as quick as I can.’

‘In that case we’ll hardly notice your absence.’

Vespasian left smiling to the sound of laughter and ribald jokes at the expense of his prowess, about which, after the previous night, he had no concerns.

The messenger led him through the narrow streets of the ancient town, older than Rome itself, to the royal palace on the top of the largest of the three hills upon which the town was built.

They were admitted without hindrance. Vespasian was shown immediately through to the private quarters and then into a small east-facing room on the first floor. The low, early-morning sun flooded through its solitary window, illuminating the surprisingly sparse room with golden light. The walls were whitewashed
and the floor was of waxed wooden boards. Under the window stood a simple wooden desk of such antiquity that Vespasian thought it would collapse if so much as a scroll was laid upon it. In the centre of the room were two chairs and a table of more recent manufacture.

Vespasian went to the window and gazed out to the east towards the rising sun.

‘That is the same view that Alexander looked upon every morning he awoke here,’ came a soft voice from behind him.

Vespasian spun round and stepped back from the window. In the doorway stood a tall, slender woman in her mid-thirties, dressed in a plain ivory stola that highlighted, but did not flaunt, the curve of her hips and the fullness of her breasts. Her thick black hair was dressed high upon her head. Three ringlets hung down to her shoulders on either side of her pale face, which was dominated by full lips painted with red ochre. Her clear blue eyes, delicately rimmed with kohl, sparkled in the soft sunlight.

‘This was his room when he came to muster my people for the invasion of the great Persian Empire. He chose it because it looks east.’

She walked gracefully across to the ancient desk and brushed her hand lightly over it.

‘He sat at this very desk each morning, dealing with his correspondence and looking out towards the lands that he would conquer.’

Vespasian looked down at the simple desk with awe and felt the closeness of history within the room. She shared his quiet reverence for a moment before moving away from the window to the chairs behind them.

‘But I haven’t brought you here for a history lesson, Vespasian. I am Tryphaena, nominally the queen of this country but in practice the puppet of the Emperor and Senate.’

‘Domina, I am honoured to meet you,’ Vespasian said, grateful for the small history lesson that she had given him.

‘It is as well that through my great-grandfather, Marcus Antonius, I am firstly a Roman citizen, otherwise I might also be hiding up in the mountains with the rebels.’

Tryphaena sat down and motioned that he should do the same.

‘My people have been forced into this rebellion. When Alexander came here looking for troops he brought money to pay them and asked only for volunteers. Over five thousand answered his call; most of them never came back. Now, almost three hundred years later, we have a new master: Rome.

‘Up until last year Rome was content for our warriors to serve in our army, under our own commanders, keeping the peace within the borders of the kingdom. Then two things changed: firstly, recruiting officers arrived from Moesia demanding that our army be formed into auxiliary cohorts for service in Moesia; and then our priests started to rouse the tribes in rebellion against this new measure, encouraging the chiefs with money, Roman denarii, that they suddenly seemed to have in abundance.’

‘Where did it come from?’

‘From what my informants tell me it was distributed by Rhoteces, the leader of our priests, but from whom he received it I don’t know, I can only guess.’

‘Why would he encourage your people into a fight that they were bound to lose?’

‘The Thracians are a proud, warlike people. They have only ever served other nations as mercenaries, never as conscripts; they see that as another form of slavery. It wasn’t difficult to get them to rebel. Why Rhoteces did it is an easy question: he hates me and my son. He hates the monarchy because we rule Thracia – in Rome’s name, granted, but nonetheless we rule. He thinks that if we were to disappear then power would pass to the priests,
who, like us have no tribal loyalties, and Rhoteces is the chief priest.’

‘But Rome would still be supreme.’

‘Of course it would, and this is what that idiot doesn’t understand; my son and I are all that stand between an autonomous Thracia and annexation by Rome.’

‘So if the rebellion were to succeed, Rome would annex Thracia, and its people would be subject to conscription, and if it fails Rome gets its conscription anyway. Either way the legions will be busy here for some time pacifying the country.’

‘Exactly, and Rhoteces has unwittingly been the architect of this disaster through his lust for power and inability to understand politics. Sejanus has played him well.’

‘You are sure that he is behind this, domina?’

‘Antonia is my kinswoman and friend, we correspond regularly and I am aware of her fear of Sejanus. She has told me what she believes he would gain by destabilising Thracia.

‘In her last letter she asked me to look out for you on your way to Poppaeus’ camp, and to give you any assistance I could.’

‘She is most kind, domina.’

‘Indeed she is – to her friends.’ Tryphaena smiled. ‘I am unable to help you in any material way but I can give you a warning: three days ago four men passed through. They stopped only briefly to change horses; they were bearing an imperial travel warrant. They were Praetorian Guardsmen – well, three of them were. The fourth could not have been as his hair was too long.’