Traitors of Rome (Eagles of the Empire 18)

by Simon Scarrow

  At the top of the tower, Cato slumped forward onto his elbows, feeling suddenly exhausted and cold. To one side the bucina still sounded as the Praetorian continued to carry out his orders. Cato turned to him. ‘That’ll do, thank you. It’s over now. It’s all over . . .’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Two days later, General Corbulo sat warming himself in front of the fireplace in the hall of the largest house in Thapsis. It had belonged to one of the wealthiest merchants in the city, one of the leaders of the revolt against Roman authority. The merchant had paid a high price for his treachery and was manacled along with nearly two thousand others in what had been the siege camp, which now served as a pen for those who had been captured by Corbulo’s army. Assuming they survived the winter, they faced a life of slavery.

  Food was no longer a problem for the Romans or those they had defeated. The surrender of Thapsis had revealed vast stocks of grain and other supplies in the chambers carved into the rock beneath the city. Corbulo had permitted his men to loot the town for a day after the surrender, and his soldiers had sated their hunger and their thirst for wine, as well as their carnal appetites. The wagons from the hunt had supplied meat to roast and the aroma still hung over the city. There was even enough left over to add to the thin gruel that was prepared for the prisoners, who were nonetheless better fed than their erstwhile enemies had been for the last month of the siege.

  By some divinely inspired sense of irony, the supply convoy had arrived the second morning after the battle, too late to assuage the starvation that had been a cause of the mutiny, its supplies no longer required. Their former miserable living conditions were a dim memory as the men enjoyed the comforts of being billeted in the city. Warm, dry, well fed and victorious, they had put the mutiny behind them and morale was as high as it had ever been; such was the fickle nature of soldiers, who cursed their general at dawn and acclaimed him a hero before the same day was out.

  The largest proportion of the losses had been borne by the Praetorians, with scarcely a hundred and fifty men surviving from the five hundred who had left Rome with Corbulo less than two years ago. Of that number, fifteen were recovering with the other Roman wounded in one of the city’s bathhouses, which now served as the army’s hospital. One of the Sixth Legion’s tribunes had died holding the northern gate; the only other senior casualty had been Prefect Orfitus, killed during the first evening of looting. His body had been discovered in an alley, his throat cut from ear to ear. Apollonius insisted it must have been the work of the rebels, and the body was accorded a proper funeral the very next morning.

  It had been a very convenient death, as most men in the army quietly acknowledged. Even if the Syrian cohort and its commander had fought well, there was never any question of General Corbulo being able to overlook the not insignificant fact that Orfitus had instigated a mutiny and threatened to defect to Parthia should his terms be rejected. The rest of the ringleaders had been rounded up, their punishments ranging from demotion to the ranks to dishonourable discharge. Mild sentences for the crime concerned, but Corbulo had no wish to provide his men with any further cause for disgruntlement, for a while at least.

  The general had every reason to be pleased with the outcome of the siege. The rebels had been crushed and an example had been made of them that would serve as a stark warning to other frontier cities and minor kingdoms of the price that would be exacted for the betrayal of an alliance with Rome. He sighed with contentment as he stared into the fire and felt its warm glow embrace his body.

  His reverie was interrupted by a knock on the door.

  ‘Come!’

  The door opened and Tribune Cato stepped into the room. ‘You sent for me, sir.’

  ‘Indeed. Come and warm yourself by the fire.’

  Cato did as he was told, and the general shouted through the open door for his slave to bring them some wine. He turned back to Cato. ‘You’ll take a cup, I hope.’

  ‘With pleasure, sir,’ Cato replied as he pulled up a chair to join his commander.

  Once he was settled and both men were nursing a cup of wine, Corbulo cleared his throat and looked up at his guest. ‘I’ve called you here for two reasons. The first concerns a rather distasteful matter touching on the betrayal of Rome, and of yourself.’

  Cato frowned. ‘I’m not sure I follow, sir.’

  ‘You will, soon enough. One of the prisoners was recognised by a legionary as having been one of the instigators of the mutiny. Apparently he was seen in the camp on a number of occasions provoking dissatisfaction amongst the men. He had given a false name. He was also seen several times in the company of Orfitus. It turns out he was in the pay of the rebels and their Parthian friends. Once he was identified, I had him questioned by Apollonius, who has a talent for knowing precisely how best to loosen the tongues of spies and traitors. Anyway, you’ll find out the full details for yourself when he arrives with the prisoner. Once the man has been, ah, cleaned up and made presentable.’

  Cato nodded, not yet certain what connection the prisoner had to him, although he was beginning to suspect the truth. But he was equally intrigued by the other matter the general had mentioned. ‘You spoke of two reasons, sir.’

  ‘Yes, I did,’ Corbulo replied with a hint of sadness in his voice. ‘There was a dispatch from Rome amongst the letters and paperwork brought from Tarsus by the supply convoy. It pains me to say it, but—’

  He was interrupted by the sound of footsteps and the clink of chains outside the room. A moment later, Apollonius entered, leading another man. The prisoner was barefoot and wore a tattered tunic. There were livid bruises on his arms and legs, and an iron collar had been fastened around his neck, a length of chain fitted to it. Apollonius nodded a greeting to Cato before he indicated the prisoner, giving the chain a tug.

  ‘You know this one well enough.’

  He led the man to one side of the fireplace before he released the chain and sat on the edge of Corbulo’s desk. The prisoner’s head drooped as his chest rose and fell wearily.

  ‘Look up!’ Corbulo snapped, and the prisoner did as he was ordered.

  ‘What in bloody Hades?’ Cato muttered as he saw the man’s face. Despite the bruises and cuts, there was no mistaking who it was. ‘Flaminius . . .’

  ‘Our good friend Flaminius,’ Apollonius repeated with a slight sneer. ‘Who we last saw not long after we crossed the frontier.’

  ‘I thought he’d run off to escape slavery,’ said Cato. ‘How did he end up here, of all places?’

  ‘It’s quite a story.’ Apollonius nodded towards the prisoner. ‘Why don’t you tell your former master what you told me earlier? You can start with your first act of betrayal. When you were caught by the Parthians shortly after you ran away from us. You told them that if they spared you, you’d tell them where we were camping. Right?’

  Flaminius nodded.

  Apollonius tilted his head to one side and cupped a hand to his ear. ‘Sorry, I didn’t catch that. Would you like me to encourage you to speak up?’

  A look of terror etched itself on the man’s features and he shook his head. ‘No, sir! I’ll tell him. I’ll tell him everything.’

  ‘Good. See that you do.’

  Flaminius turned his gaze to Cato. ‘Sir, you know my story. I was a good soldier. Fallen on hard times, just like I told you. I was pleased when you bought me. I would have served you loyally, in exchange for a comfortable home. Then you made me go with you into Parthia. I knew it was dangerous and I didn’t want any part of it. After we crossed the frontier I decided to escape, the first chance I got. Only I ran straight into a Parthian patrol. They were all for killing me on the spot, but I traded my life for information on where to find you.’

  ‘I wondered how they knew where we were,’ Cato mused. ‘Go on.’

  ‘A group of them took me to Carrhae while the rest hunted you down. That’s where a Parthian o
fficer offered me money to serve Vologases. He told me there was a revolt brewing in Thapsis, and that he could use a man who could pass for a soldier. I said I’d take his silver and do the job.’ Flaminius’s head sank in shame.

  ‘Look up!’ Apollonius barked, and the prisoner flinched. ‘Continue.’

  ‘I was taken north as part of a Parthian contingent sent to help the rebels. I advised them on how the Roman army fought. And then . . . and then . . .’

  ‘Don’t pretend you have any shame,’ Apollonius said casually. ‘It’s far too late for that, my treacherous friend.’

  Flaminius swallowed before he continued. ‘It was me who led Prefect Orfitus into the trap, sir.’

  ‘Thermon.’ Corbulo sniffed. ‘Just one of your roles, eh?’

  ‘Yes, sir. And after that, they sent me into the Roman lines of the siege camp to sow dissent. When the mutiny broke out, I was instructed to broker a deal with Orfitus for food in exchange for him putting an end to the siege . . . That’s all there is, sir.’

  Cato felt a wave of disgust at the man’s confession. At the same time, he was human enough to understand the degree to which Flaminius had resented being a slave. He knew from his own experience the stigma that attached to slavery. But betrayal on this scale was beyond any question of forgiveness. Flaminius’s treachery had cost many lives. The lives of the kind of men he had once fought alongside.

  ‘Traitor . . .’

  ‘Quite.’ Corbulo nodded. ‘If there’s nothing more to be confessed, you can take this scum away from us, Apollonius. I find his company disagreeable.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Apollonius pushed himself away from the desk and took up the end of the chain. ‘Back to your cell. Last stop for you, Flaminius.’

  He led the other man away, closing the door as he left.

  Cato turned to Corbulo. ‘What will happen to him, sir?’

  ‘He’s to be crucified outside the city gates tomorrow morning. I thought you might want to see that before you leave.’

  ‘Leave, sir?’

  Corbulo nodded. ‘That’s the other reason I sent for you. I’ve received an order from Nero that you and your men are to return to Rome. I can’t delay sending you back. Not without provoking the emperor’s temper. It’s a pity. You’re a fine officer and I would have been honoured to have you serve with me when war breaks out with Parthia. But we are servants of Nero. His will is absolute, no matter how much we would prefer not to answer to it.’

  They shared a smile of complicity.

  ‘When does my cohort leave?’ Cato asked.

  ‘At once, is what the order said. Tomorrow morning, then. Apollonius will be joining you to make my report to the emperor.’

  ‘Ah,’ Cato muttered, uncertain how much he would enjoy the agent’s company on the voyage to Rome.

  ‘Will your men be ready to march at such short notice?’

  Cato considered this for a moment. He would need a couple of wagons for the wounded, and marching supplies to get them back to Tarsus. From there he could requisition three or four ships to sail to Rome. There was no reason for the cohort not to be ready to leave Thapsis the next day.

  ‘They’ll be ready. I just need to make the arrangements with Macro.’ He drained his cup and stood up. ‘If you’ll excuse me, sir?’

  ‘Of course. I’ll have my aide draft you an authority to draw supplies and whatever else you need for the journey.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  Corbulo rose to his feet and they clasped forearms. The general held his gaze, and Cato stared back unflinchingly.

  ‘I’ll say farewell tomorrow, Tribune. Of course, it is my firm hope that we will serve together again someday.’

  Corbulo released his grip and they exchanged a salute, then Cato turned to go in search of Macro to relay the news and give the orders for the remaining men of the cohort to make ready to march back to Tarsus.

  ‘Back to Rome?’ Macro raised an eyebrow as he pushed the half-eaten platter of cold roast boar to one side. He clicked his fingers to attract the attention of one of the serving girls of the inn he had chosen for his quarters. She cleared his plate away and gave him a shy smile before scurrying off. ‘Well, I’m sure the lads will be happy to get back to their barracks. We’ll be sure to get our cut from the sale of the prisoners, though?’

  ‘I’ll make certain of it,’ said Cato. ‘We’ve earned it. And the families of the men we lost will get their fair share too. It’ll be a sizeable sum of money all round.’

  Macro smiled happily. ‘Just what I need to see me right after I apply for my discharge.’

  Cato felt a nagging ache in his guts. ‘You’ve decided, then?’

  ‘I have. Twenty-eight years I’ve served. I’ll be fifty in a few years. I want to grow old with my woman and enjoy life while I can. Rome owes me that. I’ve kept to my side of the bargain and given loyal service. It’s time I was allowed to enjoy the rewards.’

  ‘I can think of no man more deserving of a long and happy retirement, brother.’

  Macro smiled. ‘Thank you, sir. Coming from you, that means a lot.’

  ‘Let’s hope they approve the discharge swiftly, before someone finds you another campaign to get stuck into. You know how it goes.’ Cato shook his head. ‘What am I saying? I’m sure there won’t be any problems.’

  There was a silence before Macro scratched his nose. ‘It’ll be good for us all. You can take Lucius back to his home and raise him in peace. I know Petronella will be pleased to see her sister again. Once my discharge comes through, we’ll have more than enough from my bonus, my share of the spoils from this place and the savings held by my banker to see us through. If we stick with the plan I discussed with her, then we’ll give Britannia a try. Go into business with my mother.’

  ‘That I would like to see,’ Cato laughed.

  Macro’s expression was serious. ‘You think there’ll be trouble between her and Petronella?’

  ‘Given what I know of them both, I’d be a liar if I said I expected nothing but harmony and mutual affection. But you’ll be there to keep the peace between them.’

  ‘You make war with Parthia sound like the easy option.’

  ‘Ah, I’m joking, brother. You’ll be fine. We’ll all be fine. We’re going home at long last, wherever home may be. But right now, that’s Rome.’

  Cato picked up the wine jar, filled the cup Macro had been drinking from and then handed the jug to his friend. ‘A toast. To Rome!’

  Macro picked up the jar in both hands and tapped it against the side of Cato’s cup as he grinned. ‘To Rome!’

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