‘Antonia and Asinius sent me here because they suspected as much, and it seems that they have been proven right.’
Magnus looked at his young friend in surprise. ‘You’ve been sent up here after a traitor?’ he snorted. ‘And what are you meant to do about it?’
‘I’m to find evidence that links him with Sejanus and take it back to Rome,’ Vespasian replied, trying not to feel out of his depth.
‘And there was me thinking that we were just going on some little jaunt to the provinces with the odd fight to keep us amused. But, no, it turns out that the young gentleman is playing high politics with the big boys, and it’ll be my place to protect him when they start to play rough.’
‘Well, I didn’t ask you to come.’ Vespasian didn’t appreciate Magnus’ patronising tone.
‘No, you didn’t, but I didn’t have a lot of choice after that incident on the bridge, did I?’
‘You could have gone anywhere; there was no need to come with me.’
‘No need! Your uncle would never forgive me if I let anything happen to you.’
‘Why? What is he to you?’ Vespasian was now intrigued.
‘I owe him my life.’ Magnus paused.
‘Go on.’
‘When he was a praetor I was condemned to the arena for murder; but because I’d done him a few favours, if you take my meaning, he pulled some strings and got me reprieved. It cost him more than a few denarii in bribes and blood money, I can tell you. So to repay part of the debt I’m here, looking after your-’ Magnus stopped abruptly and looked away.
‘What do you mean? You were always going to come with me?’
Magnus looked sheepish. ‘Well, not with you,’ he muttered, ‘but I was to follow you. Gaius knew that you would never let me accompany you so I was just to stay close, in case you got into any nasty scrapes.’
‘For four years?’
‘Well, yes, they are four years that I wouldn’t have had if it hadn’t been for him. I owe them to him. Mind you, he didn’t tell me that you would be doing anything more than a bit of soldiering. Anyway, after Macro saw me on the bridge I had an excuse to stay with you. I knew that you wouldn’t be able to refuse, so it worked out quite well in the end, didn’t it?’
‘If you say so.’ Vespasian smiled at his friend. He was torn between feeling grateful to his uncle for cashing in a debt in order to help him and slightly humiliated because his uncle evidently thought that he couldn’t manage on his own. ‘Well, now we’ve got all that out in the open, what do you think?’
‘About what?’
‘About finding the traitor, that’s what.’
‘I would have thought that it has to be someone on Poppaeus’ staff who either discussed the orders with him, or wrote them out, or conveyed them, or perhaps the person who liaised with the Caeletae to organise the guides.’
‘That’s as far as I’ve got,’ Vespasian said, sounding disappointed.
‘Then why ask me?’
‘I was hoping for a different angle.’
‘Well, don’t be disappointed when you don’t get one from me,’ Magnus huffed; he had felt pleased with his analyses. ‘I’m here as muscle, not brain.’
‘I’m sorry, Magnus.’
Magnus grunted an acknowledgement and they rode on in silence. The pounding of hundreds of hoofs and hob-nailed sandals on the hard ground filled the air. It was the fourth hour of the day and the sun was beginning to burn; all around men and horses were starting to sweat. Vespasian loosened the red neckerchief that he wore to stop his armour chafing. He looked up to the sky. The eagles had gone. He felt a pang of dread, but then dismissed it as superstitious nonsense; of course they weren’t going to follow the column all the way to its destination, they must have far better things to do. Nevertheless he searched the cloudless sky in the hope that they were still visible. Away over his right shoulder he saw a dark blur travelling swiftly towards them. He shaded his eyes against the bright light, and tried to make out what it was. As it got closer individual shapes of large birds could be seen. Others had noticed it too and an uneasy muttering started to come from the ranks.
‘What are they, Magnus?’
Magnus spat over his shoulder and clenched his thumb in his fist to avert the evil eye. ‘Rooks coming from the east; not a good omen, that’s going to unsettle the lads.’
Sure enough as the birds flew overhead there was much spitting and clenching of thumbs; prayers to every god imaginable were offered up and the men started to look nervously behind them.
‘Keep your eyes front,’ Centurion Faustus barked. ‘Optio, take the name of anyone looking back.’
The column pressed on in glum silence. They were descending the last foothills on the north side of the Rhodope chain and coming down on to easier terrain. Ahead of them, about twelve miles away, could be made out the line of the valley through which flowed the Harpessus River. The column’s pace seemed to quicken as the men began to think of camping near cool, cleansing water in just a few hours’ time. The bad omen was soon put to the backs of their minds.
At the midday halt Vespasian and Magnus both dismounted and stretched their legs. All around men were slumped on the ground sucking gratefully at water skins or chewing on bread and dried meat. The smell of urine and faeces from over a thousand men having relieved themselves in the open was overpowering.
Suddenly shouts could be heard coming from the hills above them. Vespasian looked up. Running down the slopes, almost out of control, was a unit of their light archers, who had been scouting above them. They were making straight for Corbulo at the head if the column. Another deep cornu signal blared out: ‘Senior officers to report to commander’. Vespasian hurried to the front to stand by for orders.
Corbulo stood in front of the panting infantrymen as their officer made his report.
‘Over to the east, sir, a good twenty miles away, you can see it from further up the mountain.’ The man paused to catch his breath, taking off his broad-rimmed leather sun hat and wiping his forehead with the back of his hand.
‘What? Out with it, man!’ Corbulo wasn’t the most patient of men.
‘A dust cloud, and smoke. We’ve been watching it for an hour or so, until I was certain; the dust cloud’s moving but the smoke isn’t, it looks like a war band on the move, burning as they go.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘We’ve been watching it; the dust cloud is definitely coming this way.’ His men nodded their heads and voiced their agreement.
‘Silence!’ Corbulo cried, raising a hand. ‘Dismissed, and thank you, you’ve done well.’ He turned to Mauricius. ‘Prefect, get hold of one of the light cavalry patrols and send them out there; I want to know just what we’re up against.’
‘Sir!’ Mauricius saluted and rode off to carry out his orders.
Corbulo beckoned to Vespasian. ‘Tribune, the midday break is curtailed. Slaughter the oxen and get the carcases loaded on to carts. Have the men draw five days’ rations before forming up; we may need to abandon the baggage. If it is a rebel war band we need to get across that river before they catch up with us.’
The marching pace had increased to quick time, a speed at which the mules of the baggage train could just keep up; it was imperative to keep the column together. Corbulo had given orders that any animals going lame or carts breaking down should be immediately abandoned with their loads. Vespasian calculated that at this rate they should reach the river in three hours, giving them just three hours of daylight to cross. It would be a close-run thing, especially if the Thracian commander sent his cavalry forward to skirmish without infantry support, forcing the column to mount a fighting withdrawal.
After an hour the foothills were behind them and they had started to cross the lush pastures of the plain that would lead them down to the river. Behind, clearly visible now from their lower altitude, they could see the dust cloud above the Thracian advance.
The fertile plain was dotted with farmsteads and small villages; horse breeding and sheep farming were the mainstays of this comparatively wealthy part of the country. Speed being essential, Corbulo steered a straight course towards the river, not bothering to avoid larger settlements; instead he sent units of his Gallic cavalry through them in advance as a precaution, hoping that his instinct was correct and the Caeletae were still loyal.
