‘It must be from the couriers that were intercepted; Paetus told me about them, poor buggers. We’ll look at it later. Let’s go.’ He slipped the case under his belt and started to make the steep, snow-ridden descent.
The snow had completely stopped and the clouds were breaking up by the time they got back to the rendezvous point. The surviving Illyrian troopers had finished rounding up the horses and Caelus and the three legionaries were already back with the Getae’s mounts: squat, hardy-looking beasts with thick, rough coats.
Artebudz set about cleaning and dressing Vespasian’s wound. He had just finished binding it with a bandage when Sabinus and the other Thracians came in.
‘All done?’ Vespasian asked his brother through chattering teeth; the adrenalin-fuelled heat of close combat had worn off and they were all now freezing again, despite the sun breaking through.
‘Yes, just; but as I always say, just is good enough. Tricky bastard though, he very nearly had Bryzos here,’ Sabinus replied, pointing to Sitalces’ ginger-bearded mate, who grinned viciously.
‘Drenis and Ziles need a bit of target practice,’ Bryzos said. His two dark-haired compatriots looked suitably sheepish. ‘Only one of them managed to hit the bastard before I took him from behind; he was barely wounded and he fought like a lion. I got the stinking heathen, though.’ He lifted a bloody scalp that hung from his belt.
‘Heathen?’ Vespasian looked at Bryzos quizzically. ‘I thought all the Thracian tribes had the same gods.’
‘Not the Getae,’ Bryzos replied, spitting on the ground. ‘They rejected all our gods except one, Zalmoxis. The fools, how can there be just one god?’
‘What’s your chief priest doing with them, then?’
‘We don’t know or care,’ Sitalces said, also spitting on the ground, ‘but the fact that he is makes him an apostate in our eyes and so we no longer fear him.’
Vespasian nodded and gave orders to strap the dead, seven in all, on to the spare mounts; they would cremate them when they got down from the pass. As he mounted his horse he felt relieved of one of his concerns: he had been secretly worried that when it came to the final reckoning Rhoteces would put the fear of the gods into the Thracians and they would prevent him from being captured. From what Vespasian knew of the Thracian gods they were a pretty grisly lot and not to be crossed.
The column moved out and, with the ever-brightening conditions, began to make good headway along the pass as it cut straight through the snow-covered mountains, which were now bathing majestically in dazzling, clear sunlight under an azure sky.
As they approached the far end Vespasian, riding between Magnus and Sabinus, remembered the despatch case and pulled it from his belt.
‘What’s that?’ Sabinus asked.
‘I don’t know, we found it on the archer,’ Vespasian replied, slipping off the lid and shaking it upside down; a scroll fell into his lap. He picked it up and looked at the seal.‘Tiberius Claudius Nero Germanicus,’ he read out loud. ‘Shit, that’s Antonia’s son.’
‘And an idiot from all accounts, or at least he pretends to be,’ Sabinus informed him, ‘but the consensus of opinion is that you have to be an idiot in the first place to be able to play the idiot; at least that’s what Antonia says.’
‘Who’s he writing to?’ Magnus asked, leaning over to look at the seal.
Sabinus looked at Vespasian. ‘There’s only one way to find out, are you up to opening private letters from a member of the imperial family, little brother?’
Vespasian contemplated that for a moment. ‘If we don’t open it we won’t know who to deliver it to.’ He broke the seal, then scanned the scroll and whistled softly.
‘Well?’ Magnus asked.
‘It’s to Poppaeus, and it’s not signed by Claudius but by someone called Boter, and apart from the greeting and the signature it seems to be all in a code of some sort.’
‘Now that is interesting,’ Sabinus mused. ‘Boter is one of Claudius’ freedmen; I’ve not met him, but Pallas knows him. A few years back he got Claudius’ first wife pregnant. Surprisingly, Claudius didn’t do anything to Boter at the time, but now I think I can see why: with that sort of hold over the man Claudius can use him to do his dirty work, then if it goes wrong he can distance himself from it by saying that he’s been set up by a resentful member of his household. Boter goes down and Claudius has his revenge and is in the clear at the same time. Very crafty.’
‘Do you think that he could be going behind Claudius’ back?’ Magnus asked.
‘He could be; Pallas says that he’s very ambitious.’ Sabinus stopped and thought for a few moments. ‘No, he wouldn’t have used Claudius’ seal if he was; this letter must have been written with Claudius’ knowledge. However, as it isn’t signed by Claudius but bears his seal it’s at the same time both authentic and deniable. Perhaps he really isn’t the idiot that everyone takes him for. I think we had better hang on to this and show it to Antonia when we get back; Pallas will probably be able to break the code.’
‘Why he should be writing to Poppaeus in code unless he’s working in league with him and Sejanus?’ Vespasian asked, replacing the scroll in its case. They had reached the end of the pass and started their descent; far into the distance, below them and the snow-line, stretched the heavily wooded, rolling hills of Moesia.
‘That is a real possibility; as the nephew of the Emperor and the brother of Germanicus, Tiberius’ original heir according to the terms of the deal that he did with Augustus, Claudius is technically very well placed to inherit the Purple, especially if Sejanus helps him.’
‘Why would he do that?’
‘Because he probably thinks that Claudius is a weak fool whom he can control, which he already seems to be doing.’
‘How?’
‘Well, after she bore him Boter’s daughter Claudius divorced his first wife, Plautia Urgulanilla, for adultery. Then two years ago Tiberius insisted, no doubt on Sejanus’ advice, that he get married again, this time to a woman called Aelia Paetina.’
Vespasian frowned; he didn’t know the name. ‘So?’
‘So nobody thought much of it at the time because Claudius is considered such a booby. But Aelia’s parents had died when she was very young and she was brought up by her maternal uncle, Lucius Seius Strabo.’
Vespasian’s eyes widened in disbelief. ‘Shit, not Sejanus’ father?’
‘Yes, little brother, Sejanus’ father, which makes Aelia Sejanus’ adoptive sister and Sejanus Claudius’ brother-in-law and therefore, should Claudius become Emperor, a legitimate heir.’
PART II
CHAPTER V
‘Thank you for your reports, gentlemen,’ Pomponius Labeo said, eyeing Vespasian and Caelus with a look of mild amusement on his jowly face. ‘I’ve given some thought to your request and I will grant it. As soon as the siege of the castle at Sagadava has been brought to a successful conclusion I will send the third and eighth cohorts to relieve the Thracian garrison.’
Vespasian and Caelus snapped a salute in grateful acknowledgement of their commanding officer’s decision. They were closeted in Pomponius’ study in the newly constructed fortress of Durostorum on the banks of the Danuvius, which had only recently been occupied by a small detachment of the IIII Scythia. The main building work having been finished towards the end of the previous year, the room still smelt of newly waxed wooden floorboards and freshly whitewashed walls. The sounds of hundreds of slaves working on the final stages of the construction and the shouts of their overseers floated through the unshuttered window.
‘I can only assume,’ Pomponius went on, resting his pudgy arms on the desk and leaning towards them, ‘that the marked difference in your accounts of your journey here is down to a personal animosity that in my opinion did
