worked so hard on the external appearance of his dignitas.
‘Good evening, gentlemen, this is a surprise – not you obviously, Paetus, you’ll only surprise me when you stop being such verbose clot.’
‘Indeed, general.’ Paetus showed no sign of rising to the insult. Vespasian wondered if Kratos had noted down that remark.
‘Come forward, please,’ Poppaeus said, seating himself behind the desk.
They stepped forward and stood in a row in front of the diminutive general. He didn’t ask them to sit down; if he always had to look up at people he obviously preferred to do it from a position of power, seated behind a big desk.
‘Make your report, prefect, and make it brief.’
‘We patrolled between here and Philippopolis yesterday, saw nothing unusual, came back today, saw nothing unusual, apart from four men who were supposed to be dead, sir!’ Paetus managed to walk the fine line between mocking insolence and military brevity.
Poppaeus scowled. That he hated this affable young patrician was obvious; that Paetus didn’t care was equally obvious. He knew that since he came from an ancient family like the Junii a New Man like Poppaeus would find it hard to touch him.
‘Very good, prefect,’ Poppaeus said with as much dignity as he could muster. ‘Dismissed.’
‘Sir! Thank you, sir!’ Paetus bawled in his best centurion voice, turned on his heel and marched smartly out.
Poppaeus winced, then he gathered himself and looked slowly from Corbulo to Faustus and finally let his sharp, black eyes rest on Vespasian.
‘Well, tribune? Report.’
‘Tribunus Angusticlavius Titus Flavius Vespasianus, reporting for duty with the Legio Quarta Scythica, sir.’
‘Ah, Marcus Asinius Agrippa’s young protege. He wrote Legate Pomponius Labeo a very insistent letter recommending you. Why do you suppose he was so keen for him to take you on to his staff?’
‘I wanted a posting where there would be some fighting, sir, not just frontier duty.’
‘A young fire-breather, are you? From the country, judging by your accent. Well, you’ll see some action here, but you haven’t answered my question. Why did Asinius help you? What are you to him?’
‘My uncle Gaius Vespasius Pollo is his client,’ Vespasian lied; it would be a convincing enough reason for Asinius to promote his career.
Poppaeus stared hard at him for a moment and then, apparently satisfied with this explanation, nodded. ‘Very well, I am pleased to have you here, tribune. After you have been dismissed report to Pomponius Labeo, at the Fourth Scythica principia. He will assign you your duties, which will be minimal; you are here to learn, don’t you forget that.’
‘No, sir.’ Vespasian saluted.
Poppaeus then turned his attention to Faustus. ‘Well, centurion, I’m happy to see you, and I’m sure that Pomponius and the men and officers of the Fourth Scythica will be pleased to have their primus pilus back, apart from the acting primus pilus, of course.’
‘Thank you, sir.’ Faustus snapped a salute.
Poppaeus turned to Corbulo. ‘Tribune, I’m intrigued to know how you all come to be still alive. Tribune Gallus was convinced that you had been taken prisoner. Begin your report, please.’
Corbulo started the story from the moment he’d left Poppaeus’ headquarters in Moesia to travel to Genua, six months previously. He made it as brief as possible, including only the important details. He did however mention Vespasian’s late arrival, which caused Poppaeus to raise an eyebrow and look shrewdly at Vespasian. He also commended Vespasian for his actions at the river, and detailed how Caenis’ amulet had saved them, although he did not mention that Caenis was Antonia’s slave. Neither did he mention the chest of denarii.
After almost half an hour he finished.
Poppaeus sat in silence for a few moments digesting the report, and then, to Vespasian’s surprise, dismissed them without asking any questions about the state of the Caenii’s revolt. As they turned to go Corbulo spoke.
‘General, I request a private interview. Completely private.’ He looked towards Kratos.
‘I see,’ Poppaeus said slowly. ‘This is most irregular, tribune.’
‘What I have to say is for your ears only.’
‘Very well. Thank you, Kratos.’
Kratos put down his stylus and showed Vespasian and Faustus out.
It was dark when they emerged from the tent. Magnus was nowhere to be seen.
‘We’d better report to Pomponius now, sir,’ Faustus reminded him. ‘The Fourth Scythica’s headquarters will be this way.’
An hour later, after a long wait and a brief interview with a half-drunk and extremely disinterested Pomponius, Faustus dropped Vespasian off at the IIII Scythica’s tribunes’ lines. Magnus was already there, having requisitioned him a tent, busying himself cooking the evening meal.
‘I managed to get hold of some fresh pork and some lentils and onions and this.’
He threw him a skin of wine. Vespasian sat by the fire and gratefully poured himself a cup.
‘How was the general?’ Magnus asked, dropping cubed pork into the hot olive oil in the pot, and stirring it as it sizzled.
‘He listened to Corbulo’s report and then dismissed us. He wasn’t interested in the Caenii’s revolt at all.’
‘Perhaps he got all he needed to know from Gallus.’
‘Yes, perhaps, but if it had been me I would have wanted to know as many details as possible.’
‘But it wasn’t you, and the general’s problem is here, not with the Caenii – they’re miles away.’
Before he could argue Corbulo joined them. ‘I need to talk to you, Vespasian.’
‘Sit down, then, and have a cup of wine.’
‘I mean alone.’
‘Magnus is fine, he knows all our business.’
Corbulo looked at the ex-boxer and, remembering how Magnus had dealt with the Thracian guards, managed to overcome his aristocratic prejudices. He sat down on a stool and took the cup of wine that Vespasian proffered.
‘I told Poppaeus about the Thracian denarii and how they got it,’ he said quietly, as if anyone would overhear them in the dull roar of twenty thousand men eating their evening meals. ‘I said that it was only me that saw it, the rest of you were all outside the tent, and I said nothing to you about it after.’
‘That was probably a good move, sir,’ Magnus said, adding the onions to the pot.
Corbulo scowled at him, unused to someone so lowly being a part of his conversations. ‘Yes, well, I thought it best. Poppaeus pushed me on this point but I think that he believed me because I had insisted on telling him about it privately, and after all why should I lie?’
‘So why did you?’ Vespasian asked.
‘I had just started to tell Poppaeus about the chest when a slave walked into the room from the sleeping quarters at the back. Poppaeus shouted at him to get out, and he ran out through the main door. As he left the room I glimpsed Kratos and another man through the door. They were eavesdropping. I recognised the other man from Rome. And then I remembered Coronus’ description of the fourth Roman who came with the chest: powerfully built, dark-skinned, with long black hair and a small beard. It had to be the same man – he’s Sejanus’ freedman, Hasdro.’
Vespasian shot Magnus a warning look; he nodded and began to add water to his pot. ‘Go on,’ he said to Corbulo.
‘Well, if Sejanus’ freedman did deliver the money to the Caenii, to pay them to kill Poppaeus’ reinforcements, why is he now here? And why did Kratos let him listen to my private conversation?’
‘So you think that Kratos is in league with Hasdro?’ Vespasian was intrigued.
‘It’s a possibility; Hasdro certainly seems to have access to enough money to buy the loyalty of a slave. If it’s true, then Poppaeus and I are in danger of being murdered for what we know. So I decided that the best thing to do to protect myself and you, knowing that Kratos and Hasdro were listening, was to say nothing about its link to Sejanus, and that I didn’t know who had delivered it to the Caenii, and that no one else saw it.’ Corbulo drained his
