Praetorian: The Price of Treason

by S. J. A. Turney

  ‘No. Enough.’ Legate Perennis pointed to the door. ‘I must think. Let me think. Cestius, see them to barracks and then attend me at my house. I wish to discuss matters.’

  Rufinus started to open his mouth, but caught Mercator’s expression and fell silent. With a bow and a salute to the commander of the Tenth, the four men filed out on the heels of the senior tribune. In the corridor, when Dexter had once more closed the door behind them, Mercator cleared his throat. ‘What happens now, Tribune?’

  Cestius glanced over his shoulder at them.

  ‘We go to the clerks and assign you quarters, then you wait upon the legate’s decision.’

  Your decision, more like, thought Rufinus sourly.

  ‘We have a similar document for the legate’s brother in Carnuntum, tribune, and then our task is done.’

  Interesting, Rufinus mused, that his friend made no mention of Cleander’s package for the civil authorities in that city. But then who knew who to trust in this complicated web?

  ‘If the legate is content as to your intentions and loyalty, I myself shall escort you to Carnuntum to complete your duty. Until then you will stay here and not leave the fortress. You may use the baths and the communal mess hall, but other than that I expect you to consider yourselves confined to quarters.’

  The tribune stopped at an open door from which issued clattering noises and the sounds of furious scribbling. Leaning inside, he gestured. ‘Cortus, I want quarters assigned for four visitors. I want them as close to the headquarters as possible.’

  ‘Tribune, that’s impossible. The lack of space…’ came a plaintive voice from within.

  ‘Shift a contubernium of veterans out to the overflow. They can tent it for a night or two. Block twelve will be perfect. An end room.’

  There was a strained silence for a moment, and then an affirmative. ‘Block twelve, end room.’ There was the sound of more scribbling and then the clerk appeared at the door. ‘Here’s the orders sir.’

  Cestius nodded and gestured to his office. ‘Collect your weapons and follow me.’ The four men retrieved and belted their swords and daggers and accompanied the tribune as he left the office complex and traipsed in his odd, almost silent boots into the grand basilica, where they next collected and shouldered their kit bags. Across the square, now lamp-lit in the last of the daylight, they trudged, and out into the main street.

  Across the road Acheron sat alert and slavering, his snack long-since gone. The two soldiers on guard were still watching the dog nervously, and almost pressed back into the wall to keep as far from him as possible. Acheron waited patiently as the five men crossed the road and, when tribune Cestius stepped toward the big animal, Rufinus jumped forward to stop him.

  ‘Sir, he’s…’

  But Cestius waved him aside and stepped in front of Acheron, reaching out with one pale, bony hand and ruffling the hair between the hound’s ears as though he were a playful puppy and not the terrifying black monster most people saw. Indeed, Acheron broke into a contented smile, his tongue lolling out happily at the feel of the officer’s fingers scratting around in the thick hair. Rufinus stared in astonishment. No one approached Acheron that easily, and never did Acheron let a stranger do such a thing without at least a warning growl. Even his bunk mates and friends like Pompeianus had taken months to win Acheron’s trust.

  The tribune patted the beast absently and turned.

  ‘Sarmatian. Beautiful animal. Yours, I presume.’ It was not a question, and Cestius was already walking on to a barrack block opposite the headquarters’ gateway. Acheron trotted along happily in the officer’s wake, the four Praetorians following, looking at each other in surprise. At the barracks an off-duty legionary who had been slouching against the veranda with a wineskin in his hand straightened sharply, the skin disappearing behind his back.

  ‘Sir.’

  The tribune raised one eyebrow.

  ‘Petilius, if I catch you drinking wine that has been earmarked for transport to other camps again, I will have you stuffed into a winesack and thrown into the Danuvius. Do you understand?’

  ‘Sir!’ Petilius saluted, almost concussing himself with the wineskin. Rufinus noted the transport order stamped into the leather and ogled in surprise. How had the tribune seen that mark at such a distance, in the failing light and in the half heartbeat before it was hidden. He reminded himself to be very careful around this alert and perceptive officer.

  ‘Come on.’

  The tribune led them into the block and, stopping at the room next to the end, he peered inside.

  ‘Valerius? Granius? Go have a bath. Take at least an hour.’

  There was no argument from within and as Rufinus and Mercator shared another surprised look, two legionaries scurried out, nodding to the tribune and hurrying off into the gloom, giving Acheron as wide a berth as the corridor allowed. The officer then stepped on to the end room. As the others came up behind him, Cestius leaned inside and addressed the occupants. ‘Good. All four of you are at home. Pack your gear and move out to the overflow camp. If you hurry, you’ll get your tent up before proper dark.’

  There were low murmurs of disgruntlement from within, but no open complaints as four men gathered up their kit and shouldered it as best they could.

  ‘You can come back in the morning for anything you can’t carry in a hurry. Just go.’ The prefect brandished the orders he’d received from the clerk. ‘Give these to the duty centurion at the camp and he’ll allocate you a space. Don’t worry. It’s temporary. You’ll be back in a day or two.’

  Rufinus caught the gazes of all four veterans as they left the room, disappearing out into the night, again skirting wide around Acheron, and realised with a sigh that he had just pissed off yet another unit of regular legionaries. And it was not as if it was even their decision to stay.

  The tribune stood to one side as the four men entered. At least the brazier was already warm and the lamps already lit. Wearily, the visiting Praetorians dropped their kit to the floor and selected a bunk each, Acheron jumping up onto the one against which Rufinus leaned. To their dismay, rather than leaving, tribune Cestius entered and pulled the door closed behind him.

  ‘And now we’re in less formal conditions, I want to hear it all,’ Cestius said quietly.

  ‘Sir?’ Mercator plastered across his face an expression of innocent confusion.

  ‘Don’t bullshit me, man. I’m no raw impressionable junior tribune climbing the ladder. I am a veteran of standing. I know Vindobona and Pannonia and the Tenth like I know the back of my hand. I served on the governor’s staff in the last war and fought against the Marcomanni while bruisers like you were still weaning. Yes, I know your unit were at the grand finish a few years back, but some of us had been fighting for a generation before that. Now tell me why Perennis would send you. He’s not a man given to trust.’

  Mercator sighed and sat on the edge of a bunk, his hands folded between his thighs. ‘Our unit were instrumental in the removal of his predecessor. He considers us his most loyal troops.’

  ‘And yet you have no idea who to trust either, do you guardsman? I could sense the uncertainty back in the legate’s office. This young fellow,’ he indicated Rufinus, ‘was almost exploding with tension, waiting for the legate to open the scroll. Did you think you would be killed as a witness to some treason or other, young man?’

  Rufinus swallowed nervously but nodded slowly.

  ‘Are you perchance acquainted with Cleander, the imperial chamberlain?’ the tribune asked.

  Mercator frowned. ‘Acquainted, yes.’

  The tribune folded his arms. ‘The Gemina Legions are the law in Pannonia. We are all that stand between the empire and those tribes that have ravaged her for decades. We are proud and we are strong and we do not look for outside interference.’

  ‘Have you any idea how close those words skate to treason, Tribune?’ said Icarion quietly.

  ‘I am well aware of what is treasonous and what is not, guardsman. Living
out here on the edge gives one a more objective perspective on what is happening in the capital. I am confident that in the morning the legate will approve your continued mission and you will be permitted to move on to Carnuntum under my own watchful eye. But as long as you are sheltering under the standards of the Gemina Legions, I will caution you to keeping your curiosity in check. Keep your noses out of our business and they will not all end up looking like the young fellow’s.’

  ‘That sounds suspiciously like a threat, Tribune,’ Mercator replied.

  ‘Consider it a warning, guardsman. You are not the first Praetorians we’ve seen this winter, and we do not like interference from Rome in provincial affairs. Watch your back.’

  Unfolding his arms, Cestius turned and opened the door, striding out and closing it behind him. The four men watched the closed door for some time until finally Rufinus rose and opened it again to peer out. With those soft boots, the officer could easily have still been standing there outside the door, listening, but the tribune had gone.

  ‘What do you make of that?’ he asked.

  ‘Even without the rumours we heard in Rome,’ Icarion replied, ‘I would have looked at this place and thought they were building an army. And all that claptrap about the “Gemina Legions”. Both commanded by brothers and with a senior tribune from Rome that seems to have influence over both of them. And they’ve seen Praetorians this winter? Who?’

  ‘Whatever the case,’ Mercator said, ‘our task is half done. As soon as those two sanction us leaving, we get to ride for Carnuntum, deliver our packages and go home. The sooner the better in my opinion.’

  ‘That’s if the tribune lets us out of his sight long enough to deliver the other package,’ Rufinus sighed. ‘I don’t much like the idea of that man finding out what else we’re carrying.’

  ‘Who would have thought delivering the post was such a dangerous occupation?’ grinned Icarion.

  ‘Never send a scorpion in a loose bag.’

  ‘You said it, Dexter. You said it.’

  XI – Proliferation and deliveries made

  January 14th 185AD

  Carnuntum stole the breath from Rufinus’ lungs. Along with Vindobona, this place formed the heart of the defensive system of Rome’s north-eastern frontier, and during the Marcomannic Wars when Rufinus had been stationed in the province, the emperor and his court had divided their time between the two places. Yet despite the concentration of the military in the region during the war – and its relatively short distance from Vindobona at perhaps thirty miles – Rufinus had never before set foot in Carnuntum. His legion – the Tenth – had been based at Vindobona and had remained there when not actively pursuing the campaign across the river.

  The two places were vastly different.

  Vindobona had grown over two centuries from the single fort by the river, a civilian settlement spreading out around it, the whole thing resembling a cooked egg with the fortress as the yolk, the civil town as the white, and the countryside the pan in which it sizzled.

  The sprawl of Carnuntum made Vindobona look like a small provincial village. The fortress here, home to first the Fifteenth – and then the Fourteenth – legions, lurked heavy and imposing by the river’s south bank, surrounded by its own civil settlement full of unofficial wives, taverns, sutlers and whores in much the same way as could be found at any fort. Here, however, rather than that canabae – the support settlement – growing into a full town, a purpose-founded civil centre had been established along the river bank a mile or so upstream, the intervening space taken up by farmland and a smaller auxiliary fort. The two main sprawls had grown over a century to the point where they had almost merged, creating a vast urban area with different purposes.

  Rufinus had peered around the civil settlement – the Municipium Aelium Carnuntum dedicated by Hadrianus – as they had passed through, weary and saddle-sore, and taken note of everything he saw. Carnuntum might be two centuries younger than his home at Tarraco but already it was starting to rival that ancient metropolis, with its grand buildings and adornments.

  The small column of riders had not stopped in the civil settlement, the bone-thin tribune Cestius and young legate Perennis leading the four Praetorians with an escort of a turma of legionary cavalry, trotting along the well-paved street with their gazes locked on the road ahead, a disapproving silence the general tone set by the strange officer. Rufinus had caught a few glances from the regular cavalry as they travelled and had seen little there other than distrust and a faint sneer – and occasionally nervousness as Acheron trotted a little too close to them for comfort. Some time back Rufinus had harboured a dream of leaving the Guard and returning to the regular army where things were straightforward and Romans were rarely the enemy. Yet now, as he rode among the regulars, it was becoming very much apparent that he could never go back. The knowledge that he had served with the Praetorians would always be there, and it would be a stigma that clung to him like a bad smell no matter what he tried. He was a Praetorian now and there was no going back.

  As the riders emerged into the area of market gardens and orchards that filled the short gap between the two large centres, Rufinus found himself whistling through his teeth. Off through the trees lay the auxiliary fort, though it was not that specifically that had caught his attention. The cavalry unit known as Ala I Thracum Victrix had been based here since long before the war, and they had fought alongside the Tenth during Rufinus’ years of service. But the long-term fortified camp of the auxiliary cavalry that plugged the green gap between the civil and military settlements now rose on its ramparts at the heart of a sea of tents. No legionary banners were in evidence there, but Rufinus could pick out at least four different auxiliary flags there. Four units meant anywhere between two thousand and four thousand men, in addition to the Fourteenth Gemina legion itself and the half thousand Thracian riders of the First Ala.

  He nudged Mercator, but the older veteran had already noticed and nodded his acknowledgement. The build-up of troops here was, if anything, more obvious and impressive than at Vindobona. Between them, the brothers Perennis should command a total of roughly ten thousand legionaries and a thousand auxiliaries. Based on what they had seen so far, Rufinus would estimate the region’s current strength at thirteen thousand regulars and five thousand auxilia. Nearing twice the headcount one might expect. Eighteen thousand men was a formidable force.

  Enough to seize a crown, perhaps?

  His increasing disquiet at the military build-up heightened as the column passed through the last of the regular ordered gardens and toward the great fortress of the Fourteenth Gemina, for the rise in Pannonia’s strength did not stop at the auxiliary camp. A wide space that served as both parade ground and cavalry training zone formed an area of open ground between the residential areas, and lay next to a huge colonnaded square. Both of those spaces, colonnaded and open, had been given over to the tents of an overflow annexe. Several thousand legionaries lived in mean accommodation here. Rufinus mentally pushed the total force commanded by the Perennis brothers to over twenty thousand and he couldn’t help but picture that force marching on Rome.

  Tribune Cestius led them along one of the main streets, the crowds of soldiers and civilians melting out of their way even before they spotted Acheron, who moved with a small, nervous circle of space around him at all times. A large structure loomed above the roofs to their left and the sea of tents lay to their right, separated from the settlement’s buildings only by a fence of sudis stakes. It came as no surprise to Rufinus that the only banners he could see in passing were those of the Fourteenth, and that those very flags were newly made, fresh, bright and vibrant. Here was another over-strength legion showing signs of very recent recruitment.

  The younger Perennis seemingly commanded even more men than his older brother.

  Finally, as they reached the far edge of the temporary camp, the tribune reined in and held up a hand to halt the column. The cavalry decurion rode forward at a gesture from the officer, an
d Cestius passed over a leather scroll case, sealed with the bull of the Tenth.

  ‘Take the visitors to the camp prefect and see that they are given appropriate accommodation, then settle your men into the cavalry transit barracks. We may be here for a day or two.’

  The decurion nodded and took the documents as Cestius turned to the four Praetorians. ‘The legate and I will visit the governor’s palace to make our presence known. You will be sent for in due course, when the legates have consulted.’

  There seemed little point in arguing with the tribune, and Mercator simply nodded. Better to acquiesce to the man’s orders and see this duty out as fast as possible than to argue and cause dangerous waves that might capsize them. As the older Perennis brother rode off with the tribune, the cavalry detachment urged their steeds on once more toward the fortress. Approaching the great gates of the Fourteenth’s home base, Rufinus glanced back and watched the two officers disappearing off to the left, toward the river, where a huge, palatial complex rose above the surrounding buildings.

  ‘The legate of the Fourteenth lives in the governor’s palace?’ he asked of no one in particular.

  ‘The legate of the Fourteenth is the governor,’ the cavalry decurion replied. ‘Old Sempronius went back to Rome a month ago. Legate Perennis was made a proconsul and given the governorship.’

  Rufinus chewed his lip. It was not unusual for a governor to command a legion but usually, in a senatorial province, where more than one legion was based, the civil and military functions were separated, with the governor having overall control but each legion commanded by a separate legate. Also, a proconsul should have served a term as a consul or at least a praetor back in Rome, which at such a young age legate Perennis would almost certainly not have done. Everything about Pannonia reeked of nepotism, rule-bending and the founding of a power base.

  And yet the fresh innocence in the face of the brother they had already met sat at odds in Rufinus’ mind with the idea of a conspiratorial family busily building a personal empire. On a personal level it seemed unlikely that young Caelus Tigidius Perennis was at the root of any of this. The image of the odd tribune Cestius popped into Rufinus’ head instead, and the notion that the man was here as an extension of the Praetorian prefect’s hand insisted itself. But that in itself raised more questions. If Cestius was busy building a power base here for the sons of Perennis, then why the hostility he seemed to be displaying toward Praetorians sent by the prefect himself? And why would Perennis not have told them in advance of the tribune’s presence?