Guard, with all the privileges that went with the job, they swiftly cast around for a successor to the throne, and came up with Claudius. Infirm and stammering, he was hardly the ideal figurehead for the greatest empire in the known world, but he had proved himself a generally fair and effective ruler, Balbus conceded.
His gaze shifted to the last five sections of the German auxiliaries marching behind the wagons. While they might not look like proper soldiers, Balbus knew that they were good in a fight, and their reputation was such that only the most foolhardy of brigands would dare to attack the convoy. Anyway, the danger, such as it was, had passed as the convoy descended on to the broad flat valley of the River Po.
He clicked his tongue and pressed his boots into the flanks of his mount. With a brief snort the horse lurched forward into a walk and Balbus steered it back on to the road, passing the leading ranks of auxiliaries and their commander, Centurion Arminius, until he had resumed his position at the head of the convoy. They had made good time. It was not yet noon and they would reach Picenum within the hour, there to await the Praetorian escort if it had not already reached the town.
They were still some two miles from Picenum when Balbus heard the sound of approaching horses. The convoy was passing through a small forest of pine trees whose sharp scent filled the cold air. An outcrop of rock a short distance ahead obscured the road beyond. Balbus instinctively recalled his days on the Danube where the enemy’s favourite trick was to trap Roman columns in similar confined settings. He reined in and threw his hand up.
‘Halt! Down packs!’
As the wagons rumbled to a standstill, the German auxiliaries hurriedly set down their marching yokes, laden with kit, on to the side of the road and closed ranks at the head and tail of the convoy. Balbus passed the reins into his left hand, ready to draw his sword, and glanced round into the shadows beneath the trees on either side. Nothing moved. The sound of hoofbeats grew louder, echoing off the hard surface of the paved road and the rocks. Then the first of the riders came into view round the bend, wearing the red cloak of an officer. His crested helmet hung from one of the saddle horns. Behind him rode another twenty men in the mud-spattered white cloaks of Praetorian Guard rankers.
Balbus puffed his cheeks and let out a sharp sigh of relief. ‘At ease!’
The auxiliaries lowered their shields and the shafts of their spears, and Balbus waited for the riders to approach. Their leader slowed his horse to a trot and then to a walk for the last fifty paces.
‘Tribune Balbus, sir?’
Balbus looked closely at the other officer. The face was familiar.
‘What is the correct challenge, Centurion?’ he demanded.
‘The grapes of Campania are ripe to pick, sir,’ the other man replied formally.
Balbus nodded at the phrase he was expecting to hear. ‘Very well. You were supposed to wait for us at Picenum, Centurion …’
‘Gaius Sinius, sir. Centurion of the Second Century, Eighth Cohort.’
‘Ah yes.’ Balbus vaguely recalled the name. ‘So, what are you doing out on the road?’
‘We reached Picenum yesterday, sir. Place was like a ghost town. Most of the people had gone to a nearby shrine for some local festival. I thought we would ride out and meet you, and your boys there.’ He gestured towards the German auxiliaries.
‘They’re not mine,’ Balbus growled.
‘Anyway, we saw you approaching the town, sir, and, well, here we are. Ready to escort the wagons back to Rome.’
Balbus regarded the centurion silently for a moment. He liked soldiers who stuck to the letter of their orders and was not sure that he approved of Sinius and his men meeting them here on the road instead of in the town, as arranged. Clear plans for the delivery of the silver had been made in Rome some two months earlier and all concerned should obey their instructions. The moment officers began to play free and easy with their orders, plans began to fall apart. He resolved to have a word with Sinius’s commanding officer when they returned to the Praetorian camp just outside the walls of Rome.
‘Centurion Arminius!’ Balbus called over his shoulder. ‘On me!’
The officer in charge of the German auxiliaries hurried forward. He was a tall, broad-shouldered individual whose scale armour just about fitted his muscular torso. He looked up at the tribune, his beard almost flame-red in the sunshine.
‘Sir?’
Balbus nodded to the horsemen. ‘The escort from Rome. They’ll protect the wagons from here. You and your men can turn back towards Narbonensis at once.’
The German pursed his lips and replied in heavily accented Latin. ‘We were supposed to make the handover in Picenum, sir. The lads were hoping to enjoy themselves in the town for the night before we headed back.’
‘Yes, well, that’s not necessary now. Besides, I doubt the locals will take kindly to being invaded by a small horde of Germans. I know what your men are like when they get some drink inside ‘em.’
Centurion Arminius frowned. ‘I’ll see to it that they don’t cause any trouble, sir.’
‘Nor will they. I’m ordering you to turn round and march back to Gaul at once, d’you hear?’
The other man nodded slowly, his bitterness quite clear. Then, with a curt nod to his superior he turned and strode back to the convoy. ‘Take up your packs! Make ready to march! It’s back to Gaul for us, boys.’
Some of his men groaned and one swore a loud oath in his native tongue, drawing a sharp rebuke from the centurion.
Balbus glanced at Sinius and spoke softly. ‘Can’t have a bunch of hairy-arsed barbarians imposing themselves on decent folk.’
‘Indeed not, sir.’ Sinius nodded. ‘Bad enough that the Germans have been tasked with guarding the mint and the silver convoys as it is. That should be work for proper soldiers, legionaries, or a cohort of the Guard.’
‘Seems that we are not to be trusted by the Emperor,’ Balbus said ruefully. ‘Too many senior officers playing at politics in recent years. And this is what the rest of us have to put up with. Anyway, there’s nothing we can do about it.’ He drew himself up in his saddle. ‘Have your men form up either end of the wagons. As soon as the auxiliaries are out of the way we can proceed.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Centurion Sinius saluted and turned away to call out the orders to his men. As the Germans grumpily formed a single column beyond the wagons, the mounted men eased their horses into place and soon the two small forces were ready to part company. Balbus approached Centurion Arminius to issue his parting instructions.
‘You’re to return to Narbonensis as swiftly as possible. Since I won’t be there to keep watch on your men, don’t let them cause any trouble in any settlements you pass through on the way back. Understand?’
The centurion pressed his lips together in a tight line and nodded.
‘Then you can be off.’
Without waiting for a response, Balbus turned his horse in the other direction and trotted back to the head of the small column where Centurion Sinius was waiting. He waved his arm forward and gave the order for horsemen and wagons to advance. With a crack of the reins from the drivers, the wagons began to move with a clatter and deep rumble from the heavy iron-rimmed wheels. The clop of the hoofs of mules and horses added to the din. Balbus rode on without looking back until he reached the rocky outcrop. Then he glanced round and saw the rear of the auxiliary column a quarter of a mile down the road, tramping back towards Gaul.
‘Good riddance,’ he muttered to himself.
The wagons, with their new escort, followed the road round the rocks and the route resumed its straight direction, through another quarter of a mile of pine trees, towards Picenum. Now that he was well clear of the German troops Balbus felt his mood improve. He slowed his horse until he was riding alongside Centurion Sinius.
‘So, what’s the latest news from Rome?’
Sinius thought for a moment and replied with an amused smile. ‘The Emperor’s new squeeze continues to tighten her grip on the old boy.’
‘Oh?’ Balbus frowned at the coarse reference to the Empress.
‘Yes. Word round the palace is that Agrippina has told Claudius to get rid of his mistresses. Naturally, he isn’t so keen. But that’s the least of his worries. You know that kid of hers, Lucius Domitius? She’s putting it about that the boy is going to be adopted by Claudius.’
