Pomponius, will you, old chap; they seem to be close comrades and he will split them up, I’m sure, but if he knows that they’ve taken their punishment like soldiers he might put them in different contubernia in the same century.’
‘I will, sir,’ Vespasian replied, ‘when I find him. Do we know where the Fourth Scythica is at the moment?’
‘I was sending my despatches to Oescus on the Danuvius before the snows closed the pass. Tinos, the decurion of your escorting turma, has been there a few times; he knows the way.’
‘Well, we’ll go there first; if they’re not there then someone will know where they’ve headed. Thank you for your help, Paetus.’
‘Don’t mention it, I’m doing it because I believe that what Antonia has asked of you will be in my family’s and Rome’s best interests; I hope that I’m not mistaken.’
‘You’re not; if I’m successful it will be to the benefit of all the families in Rome who have an interest in preserving legitimate government.’
‘Let’s hope so, eh? I’ll say goodbye, then,’ Paetus said, clasping Vespasian’s forearm. ‘I’ll have your things sent with mine when I return home in a couple of months, once my replacement arrives. Good luck, see you in Rome.’ He turned and walked briskly up the steps of the Principia.
Vespasian called, ‘I’m sorry that my brother and I are unable to join you for dinner this evening — a prior engagement, I’m afraid.’
‘My dining facilities are far superior at home, we’ll have dinner there,’ Paetus said as he disappeared into the building, leaving Vespasian wondering whether he had a friend in Paetus or just an ally of convenience.
At noon Vespasian, Sabinus and Magnus rode out of the camp to rendezvous with Queen Tryphaena’s men. The three hills of the ancient city of Philippopolis loomed in front of them under a rain-laden sky as they approached the group waiting on their horses a few hundred paces from the gates.
Magnus let out a groan. ‘I could have had money on it; the one fucking Thracian that I’ve had a fight with all year is coming with us.’
In amongst the group, next to Artebudz, Vespasian could see the two palace guards from the previous evening; the huge one glared malevolently at Magnus and then whispered something to his mate, who grinned and nodded in agreement.
‘That’ll teach you to be more polite to the locals,’ Vespasian chuckled, ‘especially the big, hairy-arsed ones.’
‘You had better pray to whichever god you hold dearest that he doesn’t decide to make you his vixen,’ Sabinus advised.
‘Very amusing,’ Magnus snapped.
‘Yes, I thought so too,’ Vespasian said, pulling his horse up in front of the Thracians. He studied them for a short while. Next to the two guards were three other Thracians sporting thick black beards; they all wore the fox-fur caps favoured by the southern tribes and heavy cloaks against the chill, late-winter air. Each man had a short, recurved wood and horn bow in a holder attached to his saddle next to a full quiver of arrows. Swords hung from their belts and, protruding over their shoulders, Vespasian saw the handles of their lethal curved swords called rhomphaiai resting in scabbards strapped to their backs.
Artebudz pushed his horse forward and bowed his head. ‘Thank you for gaining me my freedom, master.’
‘You deserved it but I’m not your master; you will address me as sir, and that goes for all of you.’ Vespasian looked at each man in turn. ‘I am Tribune Vespasian; your Queen has seconded you to me and that means that you are under military discipline, is that clear?’ The men nodded their agreement. ‘Good. I take it that you all speak Greek?’ Again the men nodded. ‘We will be travelling north to Moesia with some auxiliary cavalry and a few legionaries. You are not to talk to them; as far as they’re concerned you are on the Queen’s business. Once there we will be looking for the chief priest Rhoteces; I intend to capture him and take him to Tomi and from there take him in a ship back to Rome. Do any of you have a problem with that?’
The huge ginger-bearded guard spat on the ground. ‘Fucking priest,’ he growled.
The other Thracians also spat and murmured oaths to the same effect.
‘Well, that’s something that we can all agree on,’ Magnus said in a conciliatory manner.
The huge guard glared at him. ‘I’m not finished with you, Roman; that’s something that we can both agree on.’
‘Enough!’ Vespasian shouted. ‘There will be no fighting amongst ourselves; any arguments that you may have you leave here.’ He glowered at the guard. ‘What’s your name, soldier?’
‘Sitalces,’ he replied gruffly.
‘Sitalces, sir!’ Vespasian barked.
‘Sitalces, sir.’
‘That’s better. Now, Sitalces, if we are to get out of this alive we need to work as a unit and little squabbles aren’t going to make that easier. Yes, Magnus may have dropped you on your arse yesterday but I will not have a small incident like that threaten our unity, so live with it, is that understood?’
Sitalces looked from Vespasian to Magnus and scratched his thick, ginger beard. ‘Yes, sir, I will live with it,’ he said finally. ‘Until this is over,’ he added.
‘Good.’ Vespasian left it there knowing that that was the best that he would get out of the man; to push him any further would make him lose face in front of his mates. ‘Wait here whilst we collect our escort.’ Vespasian pulled his horse around and the three Romans galloped back to the camp.
‘You’re going to have to look out for your new friend, Magnus,’ Vespasian said as they slowed to go through the gates.
‘Don’t worry, sir, I’ve dropped bigger ones than him,’ Magnus replied cheerfully. ‘You could always send him back, though.’
‘I thought about that but the others may resent it, and besides, he looks like he’d be useful in a close fight.’
‘So long as he stays on his feet,’ Sabinus added with a laugh.
They arrived at the horse-lines to find their escort saddled up and mounting. A tall officer in his mid-thirties with a thin, suntanned face and short curly black hair walked up to them as they approached.
‘Decurion Tinos of the auxiliary Illyrian cavalry reporting, sir,’ he said, saluting Vespasian. His accent showed that Latin was not his first language.
‘Are your men ready to move out, decurion?’ Vespasian asked, dismounting.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Good; have you seen Centurion Caelus?’
‘I’m right here,’ a voice came from behind him.
Vespasian spun round to see Caelus marching Varinus and his three mates towards him; all had kit bags over their shoulders.
‘Detail, halt!’ Caelus barked. The legionaries came to a smart stop. Vespasian noticed a couple of them wince with pain; the three younger ones had the wounds on their wrists bound with clean bandages. ‘Take a horse each,’ Caelus continued, ‘strap on your kit bags and mount up.’ The men hurried to do as they were told. In a deliberate slight to Vespasian’s authority Caelus turned away to get himself a horse without reporting to the senior officer.
‘Centurion!’ Vespasian shouted.
Caelus stopped and turned to face him slowly.
‘Centurion, come here.’ Vespasian pointed to the ground in front of him. Caelus’ cold eyes looked around quickly. The men were all busy with their horses but Tinos, Sabinus and Magnus were watching him and he could not afford a display of insubordination in front of witnesses. He sauntered over to Vespasian.
‘Report, centurion,’ Vespasian said in a quieter tone, fixing Caelus’ eyes with a hard stare.
‘Centurion Caelus-’
‘At attention, centurion.’
Caelus came to reluctant attention, hatred burning in his eyes. ‘Centurion Caelus reporting with the four legionaries being transferred away from the garrison.’
‘I didn’t hear the word “sir” in that sentence.’
