The Eagle's Vengeance

by Anthony Riches

  ‘You called him Aurelius Cleander?’ Marcus could barely hear Scaurus’s whispered question to Albinus. ‘He’s a freedman?’

  ‘Indeed I am, Rutilius Scaurus.’ Cleander had approached them silently up the stairs, his footsteps muffled by soft slippers. He shot Scaurus a sardonic smile, his eyes and teeth gleaming white in the darkness. ‘And there’s really no need to look so surprised, a man doesn’t rise to the heights I’ve reached without being very sure to understand every situation into which he chooses to place himself. My full name, as you’ve clearly guessed, is Marcus Aurelius Cleander. I was freed by the last emperor, may the gods grant rest to his departed spirit, and since taking his name in gratitude for my freedom I have continued to give service to his family since his death. I am fortunate to have gained some small measure of responsibility for the running of our divine emperor’s household.’

  He signalled to his man to open the door ahead of them and put a cautious head around its frame, looking about him intently for a moment before nodding in apparent satisfaction.

  ‘There are no praetorians to be seen, so now seems as good a time as any. Follow me as quickly as you can.’

  He led them through the wide doorway and strode swiftly away from the shadow of the wall behind them, making for an imposing building a good hundred paces distant. The Tungrians followed as quickly as the men shuffling under the weight of the gold chests could carry their heavy burdens, Marcus and Scaurus looking about them for any sign that the guardsmen standing sentry on the palace had detected the incongruous sight of their procession, while Albinus hurried ahead of them in the freedman’s wake. Reaching the building Cleander knocked on the door to which he had led them, speaking briefly to the doorman before waving the party inside.

  ‘Let’s get that door closed … good. We’re safe from prying eyes here; the praetorians never come to this part of the palace.’

  With a sudden jolt Marcus realised where they must be.

  ‘This is the Augustana Palace?’

  Cleander fixed him with a narrow-eyed stare.

  ‘Yes. But how would you know that, Centurion, unless you’ve been here before?’

  The young officer shrugged.

  ‘I’ve heard that the emperor spends most of his time in this building, so it was a natural enough deduction.’

  The stare lingered for a moment longer.

  ‘Deduction. I see …’

  He turned away from Marcus, his momentary bafflement seemingly forgotten as he addressed Albinus.

  ‘And there, Senator, is the most difficult part of this thing done, other than the moment when we confront Prefect Perennis with the evidence of his planned treachery. I’ve sent my man to check that our route to the throne room is clear of anyone that might take exception to our carrying those chests to the door. While we wait for his return perhaps I ought to tell you what to expect once we’re in front of Commodus?’

  Albinus nodded his head gravely, and the freedman paused for a moment before speaking again.

  ‘The emperor is a young man, and is in consequence … how shall I put this … a little impulsive in his manner. On top of that, he likes to devote his energies to pursuits other than the running of the empire, which has created something of an opportunity for a man like Prefect Perennis to take a good deal more control of imperial matters than might ordinarily be deemed healthy. Within a short space of time the prefect has grown in power to the point where it is he, and not the emperor, who controls both Rome and the wider empire. Be under no illusion gentlemen, when we step into the throne room for our audience with the emperor we are choosing a fight which we must win, for if we fail to open Commodus’s eyes to the truth we will find Perennis an implacable and merciless enemy. You told me that you had incontrovertible proof of his plan to usurp the throne and install himself as emperor?’

  Albinus gestured to the nearest chest, pulling a gold aureus from his belt pouch.

  ‘Each of these boxes is full to the brim with gold coins just like this one.’

  Cleander regarded the coin for a moment before his eyebrows raised in amazement as he realised just what it was that he was looking at.

  ‘Show me.’

  Scaurus gestured to Marcus, who unlocked the nearest chest and opened the lid. The freedman pushed his hand deep into the box before pulling out a handful of aureii, looking at them one at a time to confirm what had surprised him so much.

  ‘By Jupiter, but that’s brazen even by Perennis’s standards! You, the deductive centurion, unlock the other chests. I sense the opportunity for a little theatre …’

  The slave who had been sent to check that their route to the throne room was clear returned and nodded respectfully to Cleander in confirmation. The freedman took a deep breath with his eyes closed, then turned to the waiting officers with a faint smile.

  ‘The next hour will either see us all dead or basking in the glory of having saved the emperor himself from an ignominious demise. Shall we go and meet with that fate?’ He turned away without waiting for them to reply. ‘Follow me.’

  The freedman led them through the palace by a route calculated to avoid the praetorians set to guard the approaches to the emperor, down ill-lit corridors and through rooms which were clearly not in regular use, lit sparingly by single lamps whose light struggled to penetrate their corners. Halting at length before a closed door, he took a deep breath.

  ‘Beyond this door lies the main access corridor to the emperor’s throne room. If any of you are carrying knives, then you must leave them here. We will be searched before being allowed into the imperial presence, and the detection of a weapon of any sort will not end well for any of us.’ He waited while they pulled out the daggers they had hidden in their togas and placed them in a neat pile. ‘Good. Now, the gold must stay here for the time being. What I have in mind will not work unless we are completely innocent of its presence when the guards search us. Senator, you and your companions will accompany me into the throne room while your porters will stay here with my man.’ He turned to the household slave. ‘Listen carefully, and when you hear me call for the gold don’t hesitate, but bring it into the emperor’s presence at once.’

  He opened the door and beckoned them through into a broad, well-lit corridor whose walls were richly decorated with embroidered hangings and with an exquisitely rendered mosaic underfoot. The passageway broadened out into an anteroom at its far end, and Marcus could see a pair of guards in full ceremonial uniform standing sentry duty in the royal palace, each man armed with spears whose blades and butt-spikes shone like polished silver. Cleander gestured to the door behind the guards with a smile, his words muttered so quietly as to be almost inaudible.

  ‘Follow me, and look confident. These men are trained to look for the signs of fear and nervousness.’

  He strode up the corridor and into the anteroom, greeting the guards with the weary patience of a man for whom the approach to the throne was simply a dull routine.

  ‘Good evening, gentlemen, here I am again! I have with me a noble Roman senator and two illustrious officers from one of Caesar’s foremost cohorts, distinguished men to whom Caesar has most graciously granted an audience in light of their devoted service in Britannia, Germania and Dacia! Search us please, and allow us admittance so that these officers can receive the thanks of their grateful emperor!’

  The older of the two guards frowned.

  ‘We’ve had no instructions to admit any senators or soldiers, Chamberlain, only yourself.’

  The freedman frowned.

  ‘No instructions? This audience has been planned for weeks! Are you telling me that I must turn away one of Rome’s most exalted senators, a hero of the Dacian war, simply because your superiors have managed to mislay the detail of the evening’s proceedings?’ Shaking his head, he gestured to the men standing behind him. ‘And how many men does Prefect Perennis have inside the throne room, all armed with spear, sword and dagger? A dozen? Twenty? What possible threat can three unarmed men, wh
ose loyalty to the emperor has been proven on the field of battle time after time, present in the face of such an overwhelming strength of the finest soldiers in the empire? Shall I tell the emperor that you refused to permit his honoured guests admittance?’

  The guardsman pondered for a moment before reluctantly nodding his acquiescence.

  ‘We’ll let your guests in, Chamberlain, and I’ll send my colleague here to tell my centurion of the change to what’s on the roster.’

  He signalled to the other praetorian, who set off down the corridor at a brisk pace, and Cleander bowed graciously, gesturing for his companions to step forward and surrender to the praetorian’s brisk but thorough search. Once all four men had been cleared to access the throne room Cleander led them through the door and into a large round chamber whose domed roof towered a full thirty feet above them at its peak. The walls were decorated in the same manner as the anteroom, and the floor was patterned with a mosaic of dazzling quality and meticulous detail depicting a circle of gladiators of all types in combat. In the middle of the chamber stood a single heavily decorated chair on a wide, one-foot-high dais, and eight spear-armed praetorians in full armour stood around the wall’s circular sweep. Cleander pointed to a spot midway between door and dais.

  ‘Stand here, one pace forward for you, Senator Albinus, you are the senior man in your party. When the emperor enters you must stand to attention and keep your gaze fixed on the wall before you. Commodus does not like to be challenged by any man, and that includes meeting his gaze unless he has invited you to speak.’ He smiled wryly at some memory or other. ‘And even then I advise you to meet his eyes only when you speak, and to avert your gaze at all other times. Trust me on this, you do not want to provoke Caesar, or like others before you, you may find that he is swift to anger and has very little forgiveness in him.’

  The soldier closest to the door barked an order for the guards to come to attention, and a small door on the chamber’s far side opened to admit a man in his mid-twenties. Despite the chamberlain’s warning Marcus found himself unable to turn his gaze away from the emperor, watching through narrowed eyes as Commodus walked across the room and stepped up onto the dais. Where the young centurion was wiry and muscled from years of military conditioning, the emperor was more heavily set, with a wrestler’s powerful shoulders. His beard and hair were styled in the same fashion that Albinus sported, and he was dressed in a purple toga of the highest-quality wool, intricate gold embroidery stitched around the hem to complete the traditional garment usually worn by a victorious general. Cleander strode forward across the chamber and bowed deeply to Commodus, holding the position in silence as the emperor sat down on the throne and arranged his ornate garment about him.

  ‘Stand up, Chamberlain, and detail our business this evening. And it would be to your advantage were this meeting a brief one. I have unfinished business elsewhere in the palace, and a damned sight more fragrant than this collection of guardsmen and …’ He looked at the three soldiers properly for the first time, a frown creasing his brow. ‘And whatever it is that we have here. What do we have here, Chamberlain?’

  Cleander straightened up and stood to attention.

  ‘Hail Caesar Marcus Aurelius Commodus Antoninus Augustus! I bring before you three men of the highest honour and dedication to your glorious imperial family, officers in your illustrious legions who have marched thousands of miles to bring you a gift of treasure captured in the war that has recently concluded in Britannia. With your permission, Caesar, allow me to introduce—’

  The door through which they had entered burst open with a bang, as if it had been kicked from the other side, causing the three men to turn and stare, although Marcus noted from the corner of his eye that Cleander remained exactly as he was, with his eyes fixed on the startled emperor. As the doors flew open a grim-faced man in the uniform of a senior guard officer marched through them, a troop of a dozen determined-looking guardsmen at his back. With a shiver that was part exhilaration and part dread, the young centurion realised that the man stalking into the room at their head was the prefect in command of the praetorians, and he shivered at the shock of recognition, the prefect’s face and gait instantly recognisable from his own short term of service with the guard.

  ‘Hold!’

  The statement was no more than a whisper from between Scaurus’s barely opened lips, but the tone was harsh in its urgency, the unmistakable command locking Marcus’s limbs even as he tensed himself to spring at the man who had ordered his father’s murder. Praetorian Prefect Perennis walked swiftly up to Cleander and went face-to-face with the freedman, gesturing for his guardsmen to surround the small party. Marcus stood stock still as a hard-faced soldier levelled a spear at him, guessing that the newcomers had orders to take advantage of the slightest excuse to cut them down where they stood. Turning his head slowly back to Cleander, he saw that the chamberlain had at last deigned to look at the prefect, smiling gently in the face of the older man’s bristling anger. When he spoke his voice was even softer than before, his words honeyed as he arched an eyebrow in question.

  ‘Prefect Perennis. I always knew you had a gift for the dramatic, but you appear to have surpassed even your most extravagant acts of theatre this evening.’

  He returned his gaze to the emperor, who was now sitting up on his throne where previously he had been slumped, his expression quizzical. The praetorian commander shook his head angrily, moving to block the chamberlain’s view of Commodus as he barked a harsh challenge, spittle flying unnoticed from his lips.

  ‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Cleander? You’ve just lied to my praetorians and brought three complete strangers into the emperor’s presence! Explain yourself!’

  11

  Perennis flicked a glance across the trio arrayed behind the freedman, a moment of puzzlement crossing his face as his eyes met Marcus’s. Cleander raised his hands in a gesture of resignation, and the praetorian’s eyes returned to him before the split-second sensation of recognition had time to sink in.

  ‘Forgive me, noble Caesar, for my impetuous decision to bring these men into your throne room with me. Knowing of your deep love for the men of your imperial army, Senator Albinus and these two loyal officers begged me to allow them to offer you their deepest respects in addition to their quite stupendous gift of booty from distant Britannia. How was I to resist such a heartfelt plea for them to be allowed to prostrate themselves at your feet on behalf of the senate and the legions, especially as I knew that you would be modelling your toga picta this evening? What better sight could there be for devoted officers than their emperor dressed in the very garment that celebrates the martial prowess they exercise in your name?’

  Perennis bridled, his face darkening as his anger waxed full.

  ‘You don’t talk to the emperor, Chamberlain, you talk to me! What possible justification could you have for compromising the safety of our beloved Caesar?! These men have no official permission to enter the imperial presence, no good reason for doing so, and any one of them could be an assassin bent on murder!’

  Cleander shrugged, waving an arm at the thirty or so armed and armoured men positioned around the chamber. His voice softened slightly, a note of unalloyed praise licking at his listeners’ ears.

  ‘Surely not, Prefect? For a start, your guards on the door were most assiduous in their searches of Caesar’s guests, and I note that you had more than the regulation number of men on duty even before you burst in with this fresh contingent of guards. I feel safer here and now than I would in the middle of one of Senator Albinus’s legions, given the famed loyalty of you and your men to our beloved Caesar.’ He paused significantly, allowing Albinus’s name to sink in. ‘And surely you recall the senator, he was most warmly greeted by the emperor earlier this year on his return from Dacia, having not only put down a Sarmatae rebellion both cruelly and without any danger of it being repeated for a generation or more, but also having saved one of Caesar’s most profitable gold mines f
rom an upstart German prefect and his cohort of deserters, if my memory serves me right.’

  Albinus bowed slightly to the prefect, his face a study in passivity, and the freedman pressed on, clearly calculating that he could not afford to allow the praetorian back into the conversation.

  ‘And so I entreat you to forgive me this small indulgence, Caesar. The senator and his colleagues, both men who fought alongside him with great distinction and took part in the rescue of the gold mine, represent no more threat to you than the most loyal of your guardsmen. And besides, when I saw the magnificence of the gift they have brought to you from the empire’s distant north frontier as a mark of the legions’ loyalty and love for their emperor, I knew at once that you would have me struck down as a disloyal cur were I to deny them an audience.’

  Perennis opened his mouth to speak, his eyes narrowing as he began to wonder as to the exact nature of Cleander’s game, but the emperor spoke first, his voice eager as it cut the prefect off before he had a chance to speak.

  ‘A gift? What is it, Cleander?’

  ‘Gold, my Caesar. A quite startling quantity of gold.’

  The freedman smiled into Perennis’s sudden consternation, smirking as the prefect’s face turned an ashen grey. Commodus nodded, although to Marcus he looked a little put out.

  ‘Gold, you say? I suppose an emperor can never have too much gold, although recent confiscations have swelled the imperial coffers quite nicely, eh Prefect? I was hoping for some captured barbarian weapons, and perhaps a few dozen captured slave girls.’

  Cleander spoke quickly, recognising the danger in his emperor’s lukewarm response.

  ‘Yes, my Caesar, the prefect and his men have indeed made you richer than you might ever have expected through their pursuit and prosecution of those among us whose loyalty has not been to the empire and your pre-eminent position as its ruler. But this gift of which I speak is a fortune, Caesar, enough wealth to allow you to indulge yourself in whatever way you choose. Enough money to build you your own gladiatorial arena here within the walls of the Palatine, and to recruit the cream of the empire’s gladiators for your private entertainment. Enough to recruit a harem of beauties from every province so that you can take your pleasure with a pair of different women every night for the rest of your life …’ He paused to allow Commodus’s imagination to work on the images he was suggesting before delivering the killer punch. ‘Given the apparent weight of the consignment, I estimate that they may have brought you as much as one hundred million sesterces worth of gold.’