Traitors of Rome (Eagles of the Empire 18)

by Simon Scarrow

  ‘Possibly, sir. But no one’s come forward with any information yet.’

  Corbulo regarded the body again and then cleared his throat. ‘I want to speak with Centurion Macro alone. The rest of you, leave us. And make sure we’re not interrupted.’

  Manlius and the others strode off to the other side of the open ground between the rampart and the lines of huts around which the men were gathering while they waited for the trumpet call to signal morning assembly.

  ‘Who do you think did this?’ Corbulo asked. ‘Could it have been the rebels?’ he continued in a hopeful tone. Even the thought of a rebel getting into the camp to kill Piso was preferable to the prospect of a centurion being murdered by one of his own men.

  ‘I doubt it, sir. The only possible way in without the sentries seeing is the opening where the latrine drain passes through the rampart. But you’d have a struggle to get through that. Whoever did it was taking a risk going for a man like Piso. There’s a reason why the men’s nickname for him is the Beast. There are other reasons, of course.’

  Corbulo arched an eyebrow. ‘Other reasons?’

  ‘From what I understand, Piso has – had – a reputation for being more than a bit free with the use of his cane. Seems the Beast was also a beater. Officers like that tend to make enemies.’

  ‘Are you saying he was killed by one of the men?’

  Macro tilted his head to one side. ‘I’m saying it’s likely, especially given the mood in the camp. The lads are hungry, and they’re not happy about the constant punishments. Especially with regard to the men forced to camp outside the palisade.’

  ‘Hardship’s a way of life in the army, Macro. You understand that as well as any man. But murdering a centurion? That’s an outrage.’

  ‘Yes, sir. It is.’

  ‘I will not tolerate it. The centurions are the backbone of the army. They are what holds it together through thick and thin. If the men start turning on their officers, then the army is nothing more than a mutinous rabble.’ Corbulo paused and glanced round to make sure he would not be overheard. ‘It looks like we may be facing the beginnings of a mutiny.’

  Macro breathed deeply and nodded. ‘Yes, sir. I fear so.’

  ‘Do we know who the ringleaders are? Any names at all? Once they’ve spent a few hours with the torturers, we’ll have the details of all those involved.’

  ‘There is a name, sir. A rumour, at any rate. A man called Borenus. He’s supposed to be a legionary from the Eighth Cohort.’

  ‘Then arrest him.’

  Macro shook his head. ‘It’s a false name, sir. I checked the rolls.’

  ‘Whoever he is, do you think he’s responsible for murdering Piso?’

  ‘Maybe. Or it might just be one of Piso’s men who has had enough of being beaten.’ Macro cleared his throat. ‘The thing that concerns me is that this might just be the start of it. Unless morale improves, it could get worse. And what with the men being on half-rations, and grumbling with it, the centurions have no choice but to go in hard to keep them doing their duty. Which only makes the men’s mood worse.’ Macro shrugged and made a circular gesture with his finger. ‘Bit of a downward spiral, sir.’

  Corbulo grimaced. ‘Well, there’s not much I can do about increasing the rations, as things stand. So the only way I can keep order is through maintaining an iron discipline. That’s what will get them through this winter siege. They might grumble now, but they’ll thank me for it later.’

  Macro was doubtful. ‘I hope so, sir. But I think things have gone beyond a bit of a grumble.’ He gestured towards the body.

  Corbulo made a face. ‘Quite.’

  A trumpet note sounded across the camp and the men shuffled into formation between their huts before the optios started to call their names. Corbulo regarded them for a moment before reaching a decision. ‘Pass the word. I want a general assembly once the roll call is complete. It’s time to nip this mutiny nonsense in the bud.’

  An hour later, the modest army of some four thousand men stood formed up on the open ground outside the camp amid occasional light flurries of snow. The general regarded them from his position on the review mound in front of the standards, while the Praetorians took their station around the mound, facing the rest of the soldiers. Macro could not help feeling that the formal arrangement had something of a confrontational air about it, given the tensions in the camp. There was an unsettling quiet about the scene as well. Mostly due to the muting effect of the snow, but also in the sullen silence of the men as they waited for their commanding officer to speak. Macro stood stiffly a short distance from the general’s shoulder and concentrated on trying not to shiver as Corbulo filled his lungs to begin his address.

  ‘Last night, Centurion Piso of the Sixth Legion was murdered outside the latrine block. His killer struck from behind, like the craven coward he undoubtedly is, and garrotted him. I will have you know that Piso was a man with a long and distinguished career. He fought his way up from the ranks and was decorated for bravery on a number of occasions. It is, therefore, an outrage that his life was cut short when he had many years of service left to perform. Such men are not easily replaced. Such men are depended upon to lead from the front, to stand firm in battle and be the last to leave the field. The centurions set the standard for the common soldiers to look up to and emulate. Therefore, the murder of Piso is a loss for us all. And I will not rest until his killer is identified, arrested, tried and executed for the murder of our comrade.

  ‘There are amongst you some who know who the guilty party is. Or who at least suspect who he may be. To them I say: it is your sacred duty to tell your superiors what you know, and to do it without delay. I have little doubt that the murderer is a man from Piso’s own century, or possibly his cohort. As is the custom, in the absence of a specific guilty individual, the unit must be held accountable, and therefore I condemn the men of Piso’s century to exile from the camp, effective as of this moment.’

  Macro heard some faint groans from the ranks of soldiers standing before the reviewing platform and bellowed at them, ‘Silence!’

  When all was quiet again, Corbulo continued. ‘If I do not have the name of the killer within five days, then the rest of the cohort will share the same fate. There is no place for such a man in the Roman army, nor for those who would protect him by keeping silent.

  ‘I am told that there is some discontent over the privations we are all forced to endure for the sake of this siege. I have heard that there are complaints about short rations and hard discipline. To those who complain about such things, I say that the choice is yours. If you are not prepared to honour your oath to serve without question the emperor and the officers he places over you, then I say you may quit this army. You may choose to turn your back on your comrades. You may choose to betray them. But if you do, you will leave behind all that the army has seen fit to equip you with. Your armour, your weapons, your clothing issue, your boots and whatever rations you may have hoarded. These things are not yours to keep. So, who here chooses to leave?’

  He allowed his challenge to settle in their minds and waited for a moment before he spoke again. ‘No one? None of you? Then it is settled. You choose to remain, and that means you choose to accept the discipline I impose upon you. That is the nature of the bargain between us. I have nothing to promise you but hardship and a single-minded dedication to duty. The reward for which awaits you up there!’ He turned and thrust his arm towards Thapsis. ‘All the food you can eat. All the loot you can carry back to Tarsus. The wine and women of Thapsis are yours. But you must earn it all. And it will not be long before those prizes are yours. Already our siege battery is beating down a section of their wall. Before long, there will be a breach, and on that day I, Gnaeus Domitius Corbulo, will lead the attack that takes the city!’ He drew his sword and punched it into the air. ‘Who is with me?’

  Macro dutifully followed suit, as did a
lmost all of the rest of the officers, but their cries were muffled by the snow, and their men stood in silence, unmoving and unwilling to share their commander’s fervour. Corbulo slowly lowered his blade and then let his arm hang at his side as he regarded the assembled men with contempt.

  ‘So be it. You disappoint me and shame the honour of Rome with your cowardly silence. I will not have it. And I will not allow the murderer of Piso to escape justice. Soldiers! Attention!’

  The order was echoed by the centurions, and their units stamped to attention in the snow. Corbulo spared them a last withering look before he called out, ‘General assembly . . . dismissed!’

  As the men were marched off, one unit at a time, Corbulo turned to Macro. ‘I don’t like their mood one bit. They will need to be watched closely. The smallest infraction must be punished. Discipline is everything in the army, and I will see it enforced.’

  Macro nodded. The general was right, to a point. But even something as essential and necessary as discipline was tested by circumstances and had its breaking point. And when it came close to snapping, a commander had but two choices: to enforce it even more rigorously to eke it out to the limit, and hopefully beyond; or to compromise and make concessions. The problem with the latter course of action was that one compromise inevitably led to more, which smacked of weakness. And Corbulo was not a commander who was prepared to appear weak.

  ‘Your silence is thunderous, Centurion Macro. Do I take it that you disapprove of my firmness with the men?’

  ‘No, sir. But it might be useful to find a way to ease some of their complaints while maintaining discipline.’

  ‘If there is such a way, I am willing to hear suggestions.’

  ‘They’re hungry, sir. Starving, in fact.’

  ‘As are we all,’ Corbulo responded pointedly. ‘Whatever scurrilous rumours may be doing the rounds about me and other senior officers. But with supply convoys struggling to get through to us and your foragers having exhausted the surrounding farms and villages, there’s not much we can do about that.’

  ‘Maybe not, but there’s a forest some ten miles to the west, sir. Near the far end of the valley. I stopped close to the edge when I took a party out a few days back and saw a boar run into the treeline. As big a boar as I have ever seen, sir. I dare say there’s plenty of game in there, and with the snow on the ground, it’ll be easy to spot. If we mount a hunting expedition and take some wagons, and a few hundred men, we should come back with a good haul. It’ll mean fresh meat to supplement the rations, and once the men catch a whiff of roasting meat, and fill their stomachs, it’ll go a long way towards restoring their morale.’

  Corbulo considered the prospect carefully, and then his stomach growled and both men could not help smiling. ‘Very well, Macro. Make the arrangements. We’ll go tomorrow. I’ll lead the party. You’ll remain here, in charge of the camp. It’ll be good for the men to have me to thank for providing them with a fine roast.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Macro was disappointed not to have command of the hunting party, given that it had been his idea, but Corbulo’s absence from camp for a couple of days might help reduce the tension between the general and his men.

  Corbulo looked over his shoulder and squinted. ‘Who’s that?’

  Macro turned and saw a small group of riders, dark against the snow, making their way along the road from Tarsus. As they drew closer, they spurred into a steady canter, their mounts kicking up snow as the riders made their way between the columns of men marching back into the camp. At their head rode an officer wrapped in a thick fur coat, and at his side a figure in a dark cloak with the hood drawn up.

  Macro could not help smiling broadly. ‘It’s the tribune, sir. Cato’s back.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  ‘The mission was something of a success, then,’ Corbulo concluded once Apollonius and Cato had given their oral reports later in the day, and the general had read through the extensive notes and maps that his agent had prepared since leaving Palmyra. They were sitting around the brazier in his hut, and Corbulo reached to the side to pick up another split log to toss on the blaze before he continued. ‘We may have lost the chance for a peace treaty to hold the Parthians off for a while, but I have some useful intelligence about the lie of the land, and the very satisfying bonus of having Vologases turn on one of his most powerful nobles. Haghrar’s clan are not going to forgive the king for doing away with him. With luck, and a judicious bit of bribery, we might yet have another uprising to keep Vologases busy.’

  ‘We didn’t just lose the chance of a peace treaty, sir,’ said Cato. ‘We lost all the men of my escort. They were the pick of my cohort.’

  ‘Fortunes of war, Tribune. Their sacrifice may well save lives when Rome invades Parthia.’

  Cato’s lips pressed together in a thin line and his disapproval was palpable. He swallowed his anger before he spoke. ‘With respect, sir. You used me, and my men. You sent me to negotiate a deal with Vologases with no real hope of securing peace.’

  ‘I disagree. I genuinely hoped you would make a deal, if only to delay war. I never promised it would be the easiest negotiation in history. Nor did I say we held all the bargaining chips. Any deal would have been better than no deal for the present. And now the mob back in Rome will have another war to keep them happy. It gives them an excuse to get drunk and roam around the forum boasting to any foreigners they come across about how great Rome is.’ The corners of his mouth curled in contempt as he briefly considered the fickle and shallow politics of the plebs before he focused his attention on Cato again. ‘I apologise if you feel I misled you. Sometimes that is necessary in the interests of the empire that we both serve. But I am delighted that you managed to escape from Parthia along with Apollonius. It would have been a sad loss for Rome if you had been executed by Vologases.’

  Cato was not convinced by the general’s concern. He was exhausted by the long journey from Tarsus through the snow-covered mountains to the camp outside Thapsis. Moreover, he did not trust himself not to say something indiscreet to his superior. ‘Sir, you’ve had my report. If there’s nothing else you require, might I be dismissed to find some food and get some sleep?’

  Corbulo nodded. ‘Good idea. It’ll refresh you in time for the hunt Centurion Macro is organising for tomorrow.’

  ‘Hunt?’

  ‘He’s found a forest he reckons may be well stocked with game. If we can bring back a few wagonloads of boar and deer, it’ll fill the men’s bellies and warm their hearts. We could all use a bit of cheer at the moment.’ Corbulo’s forehead creased into a frown. ‘Given the situation.’

  ‘What situation?’

  ‘I’ll let Centurion Macro explain. In the meantime, it’s good to see you back, Cato. Truly. The way things are going, I’m going to need every good man I can find before this winter is over.’

  Macro had cleared his kit out of the hut he had been using to make way for Cato.

  ‘It’s not much.’ He shrugged. ‘But it’s dry and windproof and I’ll have one of the lads get a fire going for you. It’ll be as cosy as being tucked up at home. Speaking of which,’ he added hopefully, ‘did you happen to stop in Tarsus on your way here?’

  ‘Briefly. I saw Lucius, Petronella and the dog.’

  ‘How are they?’

  ‘Cassius has refrained from eating anyone. The boy’s caught a cold and is covered in snot. And Petronella sends you her love and told me to make sure you come back to her alive and well, or else she will do me great violence.’

  Macro smiled happily. ‘That’s my girl.’

  ‘I think she means it.’

  ‘Of course she does,’ he replied with a quick tug of his neck cloth. He gestured towards the bed made of piled pine boughs. ‘Like I said, it ain’t home, but it’s comfortable enough, and it’s as good as it gets out here in the mountains.’

  Cato nodded wearily. ‘My t
hanks, brother. Where will you be kipping down?’

  ‘I’ve bumped Porcino out of his hut. He’ll share with Nicolis. He’s none too happy, but privileges of rank and all that. Anyway, it’s good to have you back, lad. I have to admit, I wasn’t too keen on the idea of you running around in Parthia. I guess things must have worked out pretty well for us, given that you’re still alive.’

  ‘I’m afraid not.’ Cato described briefly what had happened to the embassy, and Macro gave a sad heave of his shoulders.

  ‘That’s a waste of good men. And no way for a soldier to die. Can’t say I’m pleased with the way the general used you and the boys. You deserve to be treated better than that. He betrayed your trust.’

  ‘There seems to be a lot of treachery of one kind or another these days.’

  Macro chuckled mirthlessly. ‘You don’t know the half of it. We’ve got a camp full of starving men, a general who thinks his soldiers can fight with their stomachs backed up against their spines, just as long as they can be beaten into formation, traitors wandering around the camp stirring up mutiny, and now one of them has gone and murdered a centurion. We’re sitting on a box of vipers here, lad.’

  ‘Seems like I can’t trust you on your own for a moment.’ Cato smiled. ‘You’d better tell me everything.’

  Macro related the sorry tale of the campaign, and when he had finished, Cato shook his head at the catalogue of disasters, large and small. ‘At this rate, the authority of Rome is going to be a joke the length of the eastern frontier when word gets out. The only hope for Corbulo now is that we take Thapsis before we are forced to retreat. Or before there’s a mutiny, unlikely as that may be.’

  ‘Unlikely? I wouldn’t be so sure. You’ll see for yourself as soon as you’ve had a chance to walk the lines.’ Macro stepped towards the leather flap that served as a door. ‘I have to go. I’ve got to organise tomorrow’s hunt. Not that I’m going to be joining in all the fun, since Corbulo’s appointed me acting camp prefect.’