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.’
Tryphaena thought for a moment and then shook her head. ‘So Asinius died for nothing then; well, we must be sure that his death doesn’t go unavenged.’ She rose to her feet to indicate that the audience was at an end. ‘Go now, my prayers will go with you.’
The brothers stood. ‘Thank you, domina,’ they said in unison.
‘And I thank you, because if you succeed you will rid me of my greatest enemy as well as helping my kinswoman safeguard our family’s position in Rome.’ She embraced them in turn. ‘Good luck, gentlemen. Get that priest to Antonia so that she can use him to bring down Sejanus.’
Vespasian’s mind was racing as he walked with Sabinus through the dim, high-ceilinged corridors of the palace; their footsteps echoed off the marble walls. The prospect of action and relief from the ennui that plagued him was indeed welcome. He also relished the chance to avenge the death of Asinius, to whom he owed his position as a military tribune, by bringing to Rome the one man who could link the silver used to finance the Thracian rebellion to Sejanus’ freedman Hasdro. Whether it would be enough to damn Sejanus in the Emperor’s eyes he did not know, but if Antonia had requested it he felt sure that it would be worth the effort and risk. But how long would it take? He had been living in anticipation of going back to Rome and Caenis next month, but now he had to go in completely the opposite direction to find and capture a man whose whereabouts were, to say the least, obscure.
‘Bugger it, I thought I’d be going home soon,’ he muttered.
‘You’re going home tomorrow little brother,’ Sabinus laughed. ‘It’s just that we’re taking the long way.’
Vespasian did not share the joke. ‘Yes, but this could take us half a year.’
‘It had better not, I need to be in Rome for the elections; Antonia’s managed to secure the Emperor’s permission for me to be included on the list of prospective quaestors. With her backing I have a very good chance of being elected, especially as now the electorate is only the senate and not the tribal assembly.’
‘Well, good for you,’ Vespasian said gruffly; he found it hard to enthuse about his brothers successes.
‘Thank you for that warm, fraternal speech of congratulations, little brother.’
‘Stop calling me that.’
‘Bollocks to you.’
‘Sir, sir!’ It was Magnus waiting at the palace entrance; two well-built, armoured palace guards blocked his path with spears.
‘Magnus, what is it?’
‘Bastards wouldn’t let me in,’ he replied, eyeing the two ginger-bearded guards.
‘Careful Roman,’ the larger of the two growled, he was at least a head taller than Magnus. ‘Rome does not rule here.’
‘Go piss in your mother’s mouth, fox-fucker.’
The huge Thracian slammed the shaft of his spear towards Magnus’ face; he ducked under it, hooked his right leg behind the guard’s left and pulled, sending him crashing on to his arse.
‘That’s enough!’ Vespasian leapt between them, pushing Magnus away from his adversary. ‘Back off, Magnus.’ He turned to the guard. ‘We leave it there, I apologise on this man’s behalf.’
Sabinus moved in front of the second guard who had raised his spear at Vespasian. The prostrate guard glanced quickly between the two brothers, gave Magnus a venomous look and slowly nodded; he knew better than to tangle with two Romans who had the look of men of authority.
Vespasian led Magnus away downhill across the torch-lit square in front of the palace. ‘That was fucking stupid; you don’t go around picking fights with palace guards.’
Magnus was unrepentant. ‘Well, they should have let me through; it was urgent. Paetus sent me to get you as quickly as possible; it’s getting a bit out of control at the camp.’
As they passed through the ancient gates of Philippopolis shouts and jeers could be clearly heard emanating from the Roman camp a half-mile away. Breaking into a run they covered the distance across the rough ground as quickly as was possible in the dim light of a half-moon. Magnus had been unable to tell the brothers the reason for the disturbance; all he knew was that there had been some fighting and then Paetus had received an angry deputation from the men. He now wanted to consult with Vespasian, as the tribune of the two cohorts of the IIII Scythica, before he replied.
There were no legionary guards at the Praetorian Gate, just the centurion of the watch who looked grimly at Vespasian as they approached.
‘I don’t know what’s got into them, sir,’ he said, saluting. ‘It’s been brewing all day since we found the bodies.’
‘What bodies, Albinus?’ Vespasian asked returning the salute.
‘Three of our lads were found this morning in the woods, sir; they’d been missing for a couple of days. They were nastily cut up, been worked over with knives so I’m told; didn’t see them myself though. Two of them are dead and the survivor’s in a pretty bad way.’
‘Thank you, centurion,’ Vespasian said, passing through the gate on to the Via Praetoria, followed by Sabinus and Magnus.
The camp was speckled with large and small groups of legionaries arguing amongst themselves either in the pools of flickering torchlight or in the shadows between the barrack huts. Here and there fights had broken out which the hard-pressed centurions, aided by their seconds-in-command, the optiones, were having trouble stopping, but they seemed to still retain their authority and received no counter-blows as they waded into the knots of fighting legionaries, breaking them up with sharp cracks from their vine canes.
‘At least discipline hasn’t totally broken down,’ Vespasian observed as he watched a centurion violently haul a grizzled-looking veteran off his bloodied younger opponent. The older man went to strike the centurion but then lowered his fist as he realised that there were no mitigating circumstances for striking a senior officer: the punishment was death.
‘It’s a fucking shambles,’ Sabinus said derisively. ‘What do you call good discipline in the Fourth Scythica if this isn’t a total breakdown? This would have been a cause for decimation in the Ninth Hispana.’
Vespasian was not about to get into an argument about the relative merits of his and Sabinus’ old legion. ‘Shut it, Sabinus; if there is one thing that I need to do now it is to look dignified. I must find Paetus, you go with Magnus and wait in my quarters; this is a military matter and doesn’t involve you.’ He adjusted his toga over his left arm, crooked before him, and, with his head held high, started to walk slowly down the Via Praetoria, disdaining the chaos all around him. As he passed the various groups, the shouting and fighting gradually ceased as the legionaries noticed their tribune, haughty as a magistrate back in Rome, resolutely refusing to acknowledge them. The innate respect that they held for the authority of those of higher birth brought them back to their senses and they disengaged from their arguments and confrontations and began to follow Vespasian, in silence, towards the Principia at the centre of the camp.
Once there, the crowd that was already gathered outside parted for him and he ascended the few steps and passed between the columns that supported the portico. The two centurions guarding the garrison’s headquarters from the angry mob snapped to attention with a jangling of phalerae and presented immaculate salutes. Vespasian responded then entered the building without looking back at the hundreds of men now congregated outside.
Publius Junius Caesennius Paetus rose from his chair behind the large desk at the far end of the room. ‘Ah, tribune, good of you to come,’ he exclaimed, beautifully enunciating each syllable with his clipped aristocratic tone. ‘I do hope I didn’t interrupt your evening with the Queen; your man said that you and your brother were visiting her.’
‘No, sir, we met Magnus on our way out,’ Vespasian replied, walking the twenty or so paces to the desk in
