Traitors of Rome (Eagles of the Empire 18)

by Simon Scarrow

  ‘Oh, for Jupiter’s sake! Stop looking at me that way!’ She balled her fist and struck him on the chest, hard enough for Macro to think fleetingly about the generous odds he might give her as a gladiatrix.

  ‘Go then. See if I care,’ she added defiantly, though he could detect a slight quiver in her bottom lip. ‘Bugger off with your soldiers and win yourself a little more glory. With my luck you’ll be given another of those bloody medallions for your harness that it’ll be up to me to keep clean.’

  He went to hug her again, but she pushed him away firmly with both hands. ‘Don’t you dare!’

  Macro stepped back with a hurt look, and at once Petronella lurched forward, threw her arms around him and drew him in, crushing his face into her cleavage as she let out a deep moan of frustration and grief. ‘Oh Macro, my love. Promise me – swear to me by all you hold sacred – that you will come back to me unharmed.’

  Now that’s just unfair, Macro thought. How was a soldier expected to make such a commitment? Did she really expect that in the heat of battle he would suddenly recall the promise and politely decline to continue fighting on the grounds that he had given an undertaking to his wife not to come to any harm? If experience had taught him anything, it was that barbarians tended to pay scant attention to such domestic niceties. All the same, he must offer her some crumb of comfort, before he suffocated between her breasts. As delightful a demise as that might be.

  ‘I will do everything I can to come back to you alive and well, I swear,’ came the muffled reply.

  She released him and raised his face to hers, and as she kissed him on the lips, he felt the warm wetness of her tears on his cheek. Then she pulled away and wiped her eyes quickly with her fingertips. ‘Just make sure that you do. Now, there’s a lot for me to do if I’m going to have your kit ready in time. You’ll need warm clothes for the mountains, mittens and plenty of spare socks, and I’ll prepare a small hamper of treats to take with you. Oh, and the dog needs a walk. Better take Lucius with you to tire him out, or he’ll be impossible to get to bed at a sensible hour.’ She stopped and looked at him. ‘What am I thinking? You must have plenty of preparations to make, and here I am keeping you from your duties like some blubbing old fishwife. You’d better get back to it.’

  He nodded gratefully and responded with the two wisest words ever uttered by married men: ‘Yes, dear.’

  They kissed, and Macro left the house to return to headquarters, pleased with himself for having mollified Petronella. With that deed out of the way, all that remained was the slightly less daunting task of preparing the Second Praetorian Cohort for war.

  CHAPTER TEN

  There was a palpable atmosphere of fear as Cato and his men passed through the city of Zeugma, less than a day’s ride from the frontier. A steady stream of carts and people and animals was leaving by the western gate to escape the threat of a Parthian invasion. As they rode by the civilians, Cato saw the mixture of anxiety and hostility on their faces. One man, carrying a small girl on his shoulders, stopped and took a step towards them, jabbing the finger of his spare hand accusingly as he shouted in Greek.

  ‘Rome is supposed to protect us! That’s what we pay our taxes for, but the Parthians are crossing the frontier without any attempt to stop them! And look.’ He waved his arm towards the column fleeing the city. ‘We are forced to leave our land and homes in order to save our lives. When is Rome going to help us? When?’

  ‘Want me to deal with him, master?’ asked Flaminius. ‘That’s no way to address a tribune. Bastard should keep a civil tongue in his head.’

  ‘No,’ Cato replied quietly. ‘He has a point. Leave him be.’

  The man continued to shout as the small group of soldiers rode by without Cato or any of the others responding to his accusations. Then he spat in the dust and turned to rejoin the column.

  Apollonius clicked his tongue and edged his mount alongside Cato as they approached the twin arches of the city gate. ‘I wouldn’t take it to heart, Tribune. That man’s a fool. He’d be far safer if he remained in Zeugma. I doubt the Parthians have any siege equipment, and in any case, they’re carrying out raids, not an invasion.’

  ‘That’s as maybe,’ Cato replied. ‘But these people don’t know that. They hear stories of the attacks, which become exaggerated in the retelling and no doubt gilded with tales of atrocities, and the result is panic. I’ve seen it before and there is no reasoning with it. Besides, he’s right. We make them pay taxes in exchange for protection, and we’re failing to keep our side of the bargain as far as they are concerned. They shout their outrage now, but in a year or two’s time they will be cheering us wildly once we have defeated the Parthians. People are fickle. It’s the same all over the Empire.’

  ‘Then let’s hope we can give them peace now, or a swift victory if Vologases insists on war,’ said Apollonius.

  They stopped to make themselves known to the optio commanding the sentries at the gate and then entered the city. The same tense atmosphere filled the streets like a foul odour, as those passing by glanced at them resentfully. Many of the shops in the forum were shut, and Cato noted that there were large open spaces between the clusters of stalls that remained. They halted and dismounted at a stable on the edge of the market to rest and water the horses. Some of the men crossed the street to an inn to top up their wineskins and buy hot food, while Apollonius wandered into the market to gather information from the locals and traders passing through. Once the agent was out of earshot, Cato turned to Flaminius.

  ‘Have you found out anything more about him?’

  The veteran tilted his head slightly to one side. ‘I’m not sure, master.’

  ‘What do you mean, you’re not sure? Either you have or you haven’t.’

  ‘It’s not so easy to tell. For example, this morning, as I was packing our kit and loading it onto the horses, we exchanged a few words about our backgrounds. He asked me where I was from, what my family were like and so forth. I answered him, then asked the same. He said his father was a peasant, a shepherd from Creta, and that his mother had died giving birth to his little sister, who was then sold to a pimp when the father could no longer afford to feed her.’

  ‘Oh really?’ Cato smiled cynically.

  ‘Yes, master. And then he said something odd. He told me that he doesn’t say any of that to the Roman officers or aristocrats he meets. Instead he tells them that his father was a philosopher, so that they will find him more acceptable, and more inclined to listen to and believe what he says to them.’

  Cato sucked in a quick breath. ‘Is that so? How interesting . . .’

  He was starting to feel like a fool. Apollonius had played him, and possibly General Corbulo as well, unless the latter was in on the truth of his agent’s origins. Or maybe he was just having fun at Flaminius’s expense. He stared hard at the veteran.

  ‘Do you think he was telling you the truth?’

  Flaminius thought for a moment and sighed. ‘I don’t know, master. He seems convincing enough, and then you catch a look on his face and you just don’t know. Either way, I think he’s a slippery bastard and I don’t trust him any further than I could shit him.’

  Cato raised an eyebrow. ‘As far as that? All right then, keep at it. But don’t make it too obvious, and let me know if he reveals anything else.’

  ‘Yes, master.’

  Cato took a sestertian out of his purse and flipped it to Flaminius. ‘Go and buy yourself something to eat.’

  Flaminius nodded his thanks and hurried over to join the Praetorians crowding the counter at the inn.

  Cato stood still, gently scratching the bristles on his neck as he thought over what the veteran had told him. While it was impossible to say which account of Apollonius’s origins was true, that ambiguity alone predisposed him to place even less trust in General Corbulo’s agent. Cursing under his breath, he walked over to the market and l
ooked down the row of stalls in the direction that Apollonius had taken. He was just in time to see the agent disappear round the end of the last stall.

  Cato increased his pace as he moved between the lines of stalls, many of which had been abandoned by their owners. Halfway along the row, he turned aside and slipped between two cloth merchants, whose wares hung from lines stretched around the rear and sides, providing good cover from which to observe Apollonius as he made his way along the second row. Cautiously, he peered round the edge of a large sheet of linen decorated with bright zigzags and looked in the direction he expected to see the agent. But there was no sign of him amongst the crowds milling around the stalls that were still trading. Cato waited a moment longer, until he was certain that Apollonius was not in the second row, then he stepped out from between the cloth stalls and craned his neck, but there was still no sign of the man and he cursed himself for losing track of the agent so easily. Apollonius could be speaking to anyone. Who knew what he was scheming? Or even if he truly served Rome at all.

  ‘Tribune Cato, looking for something in particular?’

  The voice came from directly behind him, and Cato spun round, reaching instinctively for the handle of his sword. Apollonius stood no more than four feet away, smiling mockingly.

  ‘I apologise if I alarmed you. I just happened to see you admiring the wares of this stall and wondered if I might be of assistance. I am an experienced haggler.’

  Cato took a calming breath and eased his hand away from the sword, tucking his thumb into the top of his belt. ‘Is there no end to your talents, or your secrets?’

  Apollonius affected a modest smile and reached up to run his fingers over the linen sheet. ‘It’s a nice piece. Fine workmanship. Far better than you find anywhere in Rome. I can see why it caught your attention. Is it for you, or perhaps your son, Lucius?’

  The familiarity with the details of his life felt faintly menacing, and Cato shook his head. ‘No. Not for either of us.’

  ‘Who then, I wonder? Is there some fine lady in your life that you have not mentioned to me yet?’

  ‘No . . . I was thinking of it as a present for my friend’s wife.’

  ‘Ah yes. The fair, though some might say robust, Petronella. The boldness of the design suits her well.’

  Cato had had enough. He turned to the stallholder, who had been watching the exchange and who now edged forward with a welcoming smile. ‘How much for this one?’

  ‘Oh sir, you have a fine eye for quality. That is the very best of my wares, and were it not for the need to feed my children, I would save it for my poor sick mother, who—’

  ‘I didn’t ask for your bloody life story. I asked how much this was.’

  ‘The price, sir, is fifty sestertians.’

  Cato made to protest, but Apollonius gently took his arm and led him off a short distance. ‘Sir, the game is generally played by offering him no more than half of what he asks and then splitting the difference. But I am sure I can do even better.’

  ‘I am quite aware of how it works,’ Cato responded irritably. He returned to the stall and examined the sheet again. ‘Twenty sestertians.’

  ‘Sir, that would be an insult to the craftsmen who created this fine piece of work. I can, however, offer you a very special price of forty sestertians, since you are clearly a great Roman noble who honours me with his custom.’

  ‘Thirty,’ Cato countered.

  ‘Thirty-five.’

  ‘Done.’

  The trader took down the cloth and folded it carefully as Cato took out his purse and counted out the coins, somewhat surprised and angry that he had put himself in the position of adding an expensive item to his baggage when he had only intended to follow and watch Corbulo’s agent. Once he had the bound sheet tucked under his arm, he turned to Apollonius. ‘It’s time for us to get back on the road. I want to reach Bactris by nightfall.’

  ‘That would be best,’ Apollonius agreed. ‘This close to the border, it would be unwise to camp for the night in the open. Besides, it is uncomfortable.’

  ‘I would have thought the son of a shepherd would be used to sleeping in the open.’

  Apollonius clicked his tongue. ‘I see that you have set Flaminius to spy on me. I wondered how long that would take. He seemed wholly convinced by the scenes of rural tragedy I made up for him. In fact, if I may sing my own praises for a moment, I was so adept at it that I almost convinced myself.’

  Cato’s expression remained deadpan. ‘I do not trust a man I do not know. And you in particular. I would be happier if you convinced me you were on my side.’

  ‘General Corbulo trusts me, and that should be good enough for you, Tribune.’

  Cato ground his teeth. ‘It will have to do for the present, at least . . .’

  Night had fallen by the time they came in sight of the frontier outpost of Bactris, a small town built on a low bluff overlooking a stretch of shingle banks that served as a ford across the Euphrates. A small cluster of flickering torches and braziers marked out the line of the town’s walls and, a short distance away, the fortified camp of an auxiliary cohort against the dark sprawl of the shadowy landscape. Overhead, the velvet blackness was sprinkled with stars, and thin skeins of silvery cloud crawled across the face of the heavens as the party descended from a low ridge and approached the town gate warily. In the present dangerous atmosphere, a jumpy sentry might well loose an arrow or javelin at riders approaching the city in the darkness before they thought to issue a challenge.

  Cato cupped a hand to his mouth and called out, ‘Roman column approaching!’

  A moment later came the response: ‘Advance and be recognised!’

  They continued towards the town, while dark figures peered down from the battlements above the gatehouse.

  ‘Halt! Wait there.’

  There was a delay before the riders heard the rumble of the locking bar being eased from its brackets.

  ‘Is this really necessary,’ Apollonius asked in a droll tone. ‘It’s hardly as if our little party is going to storm the town and reduce it to a smoking ruin.’

  ‘The lads are just obeying orders,’ Flaminius explained. ‘You should be glad they’re alert. Means we’ll be able to get a peaceful night’s sleep.’

  ‘I’m not worried. Not with you and these fine Praetorians to protect me.’

  ‘That’s enough,’ growled Cato, then raised his voice. ‘Dismount!’

  The men slipped down from their saddles, some groaning as they stretched and rubbed their backsides. One of the gates opened with a dull squeal from the iron hinges, and a score of soldiers marched out and advanced their javelins.

  An officer stepped ahead of his men. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘Tribune Quintus Licinius Cato, Second Cohort of the Praetorian Guard, commanding a detachment under the orders of General Corbulo. I need shelter for the night for me and my men.’

  The officer saluted. ‘Yes, sir. A moment.’

  He looked back over his shoulder and ordered his men to stand down and make way for the riders. Cato handed his reins to Flaminius and stood aside to let his party enter ahead of him as he spoke to the officer.

  ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Optio Albanus, sir. First Dacian.’

  ‘First Dacian?’ Cato mused. ‘I’ve not heard of you before.’

  ‘We’d only just arrived in Judaea when Governor Quadratus sent us up here to bolster the garrison, sir. Been here less than a month.

  ‘Can’t say I’m happy to be here, sir. All alone on the frontier, with the enemy just the other side of the river.’

  ‘You’re safe enough,’ said Cato. ‘Bactris may be a small town, but it has strong defences.’

  ‘I hope so, sir.’

  The last of the riders passed through the gate, and the optio ordered his men to follow them inside before he and Cato entered
. The gates were closed behind them and the locking bar replaced.

  ‘Have you seen any Parthians yet?’ asked Cato.

  ‘Not many,’ the optio admitted. ‘And not up close. Just a few scouting parties. They appear on the far bank once in a while. Keeping an eye on us, I suppose.’

  ‘Nothing more than that?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Hmm. Very well. I need stabling for the horses, and feed. Then food for me and my men and a place to sleep.’

  The optio pointed up the street towards the heart of the town. ‘Headquarters is up that way, sir. The prefect has taken over the town council’s hall and most of the forum. There’ll be someone there who can sort out your needs. Do you want one of my men to show you the way?’

  ‘No need. I’ve been here before, a year ago.’

  Cato nodded his thanks, and then ordered his men to follow him as they made their way along the dark thoroughfare. There was little sign of life. The dull gleam of light cast by candles and lamps showed along the edges of some doors and windows. Few of the town’s inhabitants were abroad, and they passed only one inn that was open, serving a handful of customers, most of whom were soldiers. Flaminius cast a longing look towards the counter before he moved out of the pool of light cast through the doorway and back into the shadows.

  When they reached the town’s modest forum, they saw that most of the marketplace was taken up with carts and equipment being stockpiled for the coming campaign. The auction yard had been converted into stables, and Cato left the others to see to the mounts while he entered the headquarters to find the garrison commander. A clerk showed him through to a large room with stone benches lining the walls either side of the entrance. Two campaign tables, pushed together, stood at the far end of the room, and a man dressed in an unbelted tunic was leaning over them looking at an open tablet while he tore a strip of meat from a chicken leg and chewed.