‘Ah!’
‘Ah indeed. And I suspect that it is no coincidence that he is our senior centurion set here to watch over us and report our doings back to Poppaeus and his friend. If he reported that I let you go to Moesia with some of Tryphaena’s soldiers it would look as if I was actively working against them and that is something that I wish to avoid, especially if you’re successful and take back to Rome what I suspect. And you need an escort because I know for a fact that your life is in danger.’
Vespasian started. ‘How did you know? Two men tried to kill me this afternoon, but the only people I’ve told are my brother and the Queen.’
‘Two, eh?’
‘Yes and they’re both dead.’
‘Well, I think you should come and talk to the poor chap in the hospital, but first let’s address the men.’
Vespasian and Paetus stepped out of the Principia into the torch-washed camp. All the men of the two cohorts and the auxiliary ala were there waiting upon their commanders’ decision; their steaming breath rose above them in the cold night air. An expectant hush fell over the crowd as Paetus, standing on top of the steps, opened his arms to them in a rhetorical gesture signifying unity.
‘Men of the Thracian garrison,’ he called in loud, high voice, pitched so that it carried to the rear ranks. ‘You have come to me with a just grievance. It is shameful that we cannot avenge our comrades here in Thracia. However, I have consulted with your tribune and he has offered to personally ride to the legion’s headquarters and put your case to the legate himself; he will beg the legate to relieve you so that you can have your vengeance in Moesia.’
A massive cheer went up.
‘However,’ Paetus continued over the noise, ‘there have been acts of insubordination that cannot go unpunished for the good of morale. The two men guilty of striking senior officers will be executed in the morning.’ The cheering petered out. ‘It cannot be otherwise. And furthermore you will hand over the ringleaders for punishment; each will receive two dozen stokes of the cane and then, as it would be impossible for them to remain here with the taint of insubordination hanging over them, they will accompany the tribune to the legion’s headquarters where they will be transferred to another cohort. This is the price you must pay for threatening mutiny and not first bringing your grievance to me in a dignified manner befitting soldiers of Rome. Rome will not tolerate rebelliousness in the ranks of her legions. If you do not accept these terms then you will have to kill me and your tribune and then you will be hunted men for the rest of your short lives. Raise your right hands if you agree.’
The legionaries fell to muttering amongst themselves; here and there a voice was raised but there was nothing like the tension that Vespasian had witnessed earlier. Gradually hands started to go up until eventually every man held his right hand aloft.
Paetus nodded. ‘Very well, now give up your ringleaders. In a spirit of reconciliation, if they come forward on their own free will I will reduce the number of strokes to one dozen.’
At this there was some movement within the crowd and three men stepped forward. Amongst them Vespasian recognised the grizzled veteran he had seen earlier restraining himself from striking the centurion. The man brought himself to attention and addressed Paetus.
‘Legionary Varinus of the second century, fifth cohort, begs permission to make a statement, sir.’
‘Carry on, legionary,’ Paetus replied.
‘We three are the mess-mates of the two men in the guardhouse and the three men found today. We take full responsibility for the disturbance which we started out of our natural desire to avenge our comrades and gladly submit ourselves to punishment. We would ask one thing: clemency for our two mates under sentence of death, sir.’
‘That is impossible, Varinus. Both men hit an officer; they must die.’
From the faces of the legionaries Vespasian could see that if this sentence was carried out it would leave a residue of discontent amongst the men. He leant over to Paetus and whispered urgently in his ear. Paetus’ face lit up; he too wanted a way out of this impasse. He nodded at Vespasian who turned and addressed the crowd.
‘Prefect Paetus agrees with me that as it was dark when these offences took place there may be a case of mistaken identity; it may be that just one man committed both offences. Seeing as we cannot be sure which man is guilty they should draw lots: the loser will be executed, the winner will receive the same punishment as the rest of the ringleaders. There will be no further negotiation on this matter.’
Varinus and his two mates snapped a salute.
‘Centurion Caelus,’ Paetus called, ‘have them taken away; punishment will be tomorrow at the second hour. Dismiss the men.’
A square-jawed centurion in his mid-thirties stepped forward, resplendent in his traverse white horsehair plumed helmet and numerous phalerae that glinted in the torchlight.
‘Sir, before the men are dismissed I wish to make a suggestion.’
Paetus rolled his eyes, he was beginning to think that this meeting would never end, but he was obliged to hear what his senior centurion and acting prefect of the camp had to say. ‘Yes, centurion.’
Caelus turned his cold, suspicious eyes on Vespasian. ‘I applaud the tribune’s offer to intercede on the men’s behalf with the legate; however, I think that weight would be added to that appeal if a member of the centurionate were with him.’ There was a murmur of agreement from the crowd. ‘And it would be appropriate if, as the most senior in the garrison, I were that centurion.’
The murmur turned to cheers then to chants of ‘Caelus’. Paetus turned to Vespasian and smiled apologetically. ‘I’m sorry, old chap, we’ve been outmanoeuvred, it appears that you have an unwelcome guest in your party,’ he said quietly, then he raised his voice: ‘I agree; the centurion will accompany your tribune.’ With that he turned and walked down the side steps of the Principia towards the hospital. As Vespasian followed he glanced at Caelus, who gave him a thin smile filled with latent animosity.
‘It would seem that the centurion means to keep an eye on you,’ Paetus observed as they walked across the dimly lit parade ground behind the Principia towards the hospital situated on the other side.
‘Yes, something has made him suspicious,’ Vespasian replied, ‘but it’s pointless worrying about it now, I’m stuck with him. The more pressing questions are how I’m going to explain the presence of six of the Queen’s men in the expedition and how I’m going to give Caelus the slip once I’ve spoken to Pomponius.’
‘The answer to the first is easy, you just say that they are carrying a message from Tryphaena to Pomponius and are taking advantage of your numbers for protection on the journey. The answer to the second is a little trickier.’ Paetus looked meaningfully at Vespasian.
‘I’ll have to kill him?’
‘In all probability, yes; unless of course you want Poppaeus to know where you’re going and what you’re doing.’ Paetus passed through the hospital door; Vespasian followed, realising that he was right.
Inside the smell of rotting flesh and stale blood assailed their nostrils. Paetus called to a slave mopping down the floor. ‘Go and fetch the doctor.’ The slave bowed briefly then scuttled off.
The doctor arrived without much delay. ‘Good evening, sir, how can I be of service?’ His accent showed that he was Greek, as were most army doctors in the East.
‘Take us to see the man brought in this afternoon, Hesiod.’
‘He is sleeping, sir.’
‘Well, wake him up then; we need to speak with him.’
Grudgingly the doctor nodded and, picking up an oil lamp, led them off. They passed through a ward of twenty beds, most of them occupied, and on through a door at the end into a dark corridor with three doors down one side. The smell was more intense here. The doctor paused at the first door. ‘The putrefaction of the flesh has grown worse since you last saw him, sir. I now don’t think that he will live.’
‘I don’t think he wants to anyway,’ Paetus said, following the doctor through the door.
Vespasian almost gagged as he entered; the sickly-sweet, cloying smell of decaying flesh was overpowering. The doctor raised his lamp and Vespasian could see why the man would have no further interest in life. His nose and ears had been severed, the wounds covered by a blood-spotted bandage wrapped around his face. The palms of his hands were likewise bandaged, but just the palms, his fingers and thumbs were all missing and, judging by the bloody dressing on his groin, they were not the only appendages that he had lost. He woke as the light fell on his face and looked up at the visitors with desperate pleading eyes.
‘Help me die, sir,’ he croaked. ‘I cannot hold a sword with these hands.’
