What if Cestius was here in opposition to Perennis? As a tool of Cleander, perhaps? That would explain the hostility. But then why would he be helping the brothers build an army? Unless he saw himself slipping into the role of command when Prefect Perennis fell…
His heart skipped a beat. Something about that felt right. Perennis busily building a power base for his sons, but Cleander undermining it. If Perennis fell then his sons would be in mortal danger, with a father accused of treason under the lex majestatis. That, after all, was why the four of them were here, wasn’t it? To safeguard the brothers. And at news of the prefect’s downfall, Cestius could simply do away with both legates, probably legally and with senatorial assent, and then slip into the role of Proconsul of Pannonia with hardly a blink of an eye.
Shit.
So, if Rufinus was right, then Perennis and Cleander were both forming plans for a coup using the same province and the same army! And whatever the four Praetorians did here would probably harm one but would therefore aid the other.
Shit, shit, shit.
Their very presence here was part of that ongoing contest. Despite two years of relative peace, Rufinus was once more a piece in the great game, and both players thought they controlled him now.
He hardly registered the passing of the fortress’ buildings as his mind churned through a plethora of unpleasant possibilities. He paid scant attention as the decurion secured accommodation for them from the camp prefect while they and Acheron waited in the Via Principalis. He wandered along silently, lost in thought, as the cavalry escorted the four visitors back out of the fortress and to that huge colonnaded square. It seemed that a series of simple rooms on one corner of the structure had been assigned as transit barracks for those men moving back and forth between here and Vindobona and for those as yet unassigned.
Quarter of an hour later, the decurion left them in a modest room equipped with four bunks and a hearth, grunted a perfunctory farewell and left to go about his business. Once the cavalry unit was safely out of sight, Rufinus checked the lines of tents outside to be sure they were not being observed and then closed the door and slumped against it.
‘I don’t think there can be any doubt about a military build-up here, can there?’
Merc nodded. ‘It’s quite impressive. What to do with that knowledge remains a mystery, though. I fear we’ve learned things on this journey that could put us in danger. No good can come of noting irregularities in the governing of a province. I, for one, cannot wait to finish this and go home.’
‘I don’t think Rome will be any safer now,’ Icarion added sourly. ‘It looks a great deal as though things are coming to a head and I don’t think Rome will be a better place to be than here. Something big is coming. Back home in Thessalonica would be my choice of place to be.’
‘I’m starting to form the distinct impression that tribune Cestius is one of Cleander’s men,’ Rufinus said very quietly.
Merc nodded. ‘It’s plausible. He certainly seems to be pretty much controlling the two Perennis boys, despite his lesser rank. I have the feeling the two legates are rather innocent and impressionable.’
‘Agreed.’
‘Well whether we confront Prefect Perennis back home or not, I don’t think there’s much to gain from pushing at the tribune here. I don’t think it will do us any good,’ Icarion muttered.
‘I disagree,’ Rufinus sighed. ‘The more information we’re armed with, the better the decisions we can make. I’m all for enquiring about the military. After all, it would be a natural question. Even Cestius can’t expect us not to have noticed it and to be curious.’
‘I agree,’ Merc nodded. ‘But we need to ask the brothers, I think, rather than the tribune. I suspect you’ll get a more truthful answer from them. And as for our mission, we’ve delivered one parcel of the three we carry. We’ll be sent for soon to deliver the second, but what do we do about Cleander’s package? We don’t know how long we have before the tribune summons us, but I’m fairly sure that once we’re sent for that will be our last chance to slip away and deliver the goods unobserved. Of course, this Alfenus Avitianus the package is for is actually at the gubernatorial palace himself from what Cleander told us. Maybe we can deliver it while we’re there?’
‘No. Not with tribune Cestius breathing down our necks,’ Icarion murmured.
Rufinus straightened and stepped away from the door. ‘We need to deliver it now, else we might not get the chance. Can we secure a pass from the camp?’
‘I don’t think that will be difficult,’ Icarion smiled. ‘It’s chaos out there and there are dozens of places to slip in and out. Most of the place doesn’t even have a guard it’s so busy, and half the men are new recruits, some of whom probably don’t know the place yet. I doubt anyone will even look at us.’
‘They will. We’re in Praetorian kit,’ Merc noted. ‘But you’re right. We don’t have to worry about that. What happens if we’re out when we’re sent for, though?’
‘One or two of us will have to stay here.’
‘You two are the most senior,’ Rufinus answered, gesturing at Mercator and Icarion. ‘And you have the letter. Dexter and I will go. Hopefully we’ll be back in plenty of time, but if you’re sent for and they ask where we are, tell them I had to go and find a medic about my face. The tribune should buy that.’ He looked over at the big shape of the Sarmatian hound curled up on one of the bunks. ‘Acheron will have to stay here, though. They won’t let him in the palace, that’s for sure.’
‘I don’t like the idea of the two of you going out there on your own.’
Rufinus grinned. ‘I’m all grown up now, Merc. I can look after myself.’
‘One of those statements I’ll agree with. Alright. We need to get this done and leave as soon as possible. But be quick. Go straight there, deliver the package, and then return.’
‘And don’t talk to any strange men,’ grinned Icarion.
Rufinus rolled his eyes and fished around in his kit bag until he found the treasury parcel and slung it into his leather satchel, which he then fastened to his belt. As an afterthought, he threw on his heavy wool cloak, which covered the satchel and largely hid it from view.
‘Right. We’ll be back shortly.’
‘Be safe.’
With a nod, Rufinus opened the door again, half expecting to find a local soldier leaning against it, eavesdropping. The colonnade outside the room was empty, though the nearest tents were not far away. Behind him Dexter emerged, blinking, into the light and closed the door again.
The two men skirted around the edge of the portico, past countless rooms currently devoted to the housing of legionaries, heading for the northern exit, which faced the direction of the praetorium – the governor’s palace that sat beside the river, looming over the water. Two legionaries guarded the monumental entrance to the colonnade, but clearly they and the duty centurion who commanded them had long-since given up trying to keep control of access, with an almost constant stream of men moving in and out, a number of them speaking different languages and looking baffled, some in full kit and others in just tunics. Here and there were people that displayed all the signs of being civilians. And neither of the men on guard bothered even raising a hand to the immense flow of humanity.
Despite their Praetorian uniforms and the visible discolouration of Rufinus’ face, he and Dexter joined the current and were swept along through the huge archway without a second glance from the guards. Moments later they were out in the wide street along which they had ridden half an hour ago, on their arrival. The sea of humanity continued here and it took Rufinus a moment to get his bearings. Dexter pointed ahead, between the heads of the crowd.
‘There.’
Rufinus followed his gesture and could just see the high roofs of the palace beyond a few blocks of low-grade local housing. With some difficulty they plunged into the flow of people and began to fight their way across the street. It had been much easier forging through the crowds on horseback with
a dangerous-looking dog and a turma of regular cavalry. The locals had moved out of the way for them then. Now, it took immense effort just to cross the thoroughfare.
Panting from the exertion, the two men emerged from the flow into a narrow alleyway and sighed with relief, despite the sudden strong aroma of urine and dung from the murky ground. Trudging along the cleanest part of the alley at the edge, they passed the block and surfaced into a less packed main street. Moments later they had crossed that too and were striding on beside what looked like a warehouse, the roofs of the governor’s palace getting close now between the buildings ahead.
Rufinus almost yelled out in shock as a meaty hand landed on his shoulder, and he turned ready to swing a hefty punch, arresting his momentum just in time as he realised it was Dexter who had stopped him.
‘What is it?’
‘Dogs after cats, sniffing around,’ the big southerner said very quietly.
‘What?’
‘We’re being followed,’ explained Dexter in a whisper and with exaggerated patience.
Rufinus peered past him toward the street they had just left. Along the road he could see the general populace crossing back and forth in the main street. Here and there a beggar sat by the road, disconsolate and shivering. An old woman was busy emptying a pisspot into the road, and two children were agitating a dog. Nothing seemed out of place.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Like a black cat in a dark room.’
Rufinus frowned. ‘Can’t see it, but you know it’s there,’ explained Dexter. Was it just the situation, or were the strange southerner’s non-sequiturs beginning to make more sense?
‘Keep your eyes open,’ Rufinus whispered. ‘Let me know if you see anyone.’
With a heightened sense of nerves, Rufinus and Dexter moved on along the road, crossing another alley and emerging into a wide street on the other side of which the governor’s palace rose stately and impressive. Several sharp backward glances along the route had revealed no sign of their pursuers, though now that Dexter had alerted Rufinus to the matter, the younger guardsman felt sure he could sense eyes on them as they moved, too. He was positively prickling with nervous energy as they approached the building.
Until this moment, Rufinus had not given any thought as to what would happen when they arrived, but fortunately it seemed that there would be no difficulty gaining access. He’d never visited a governor’s palace before – even the one in Tarraco – and he’d pictured it like a grand villa, guarded carefully by select troops and accessible by only the important few. He’d imagined he would have to speak to the external guards and request an audience with the quaestor, remaining out in the chilly open while the man was contacted.
Perhaps it was normal practise, or maybe it was another symptom of the overcrowding and general chaos currently afflicting Carnuntum, but the two men on guard at the palace looked just as careless and tired as the ones at the portico gate, and were paying the same heed to the populace passing by them. Men scurried in and out of the building in a constant stream, many of them carrying satchels or piles of documents in one form or another. Rufinus shuddered. The last time he’d seen this level of military mobilization and chaotic administration had been in the last stages of the war. It all added to the uncomfortable feeling that a campaign loomed here in the near future.
Taking a deep breath, Rufinus strode into the doorway, hoping their Praetorian uniforms would not bring them too much to the attention of the guards. Again, the two bored soldiers barely batted an eyelid as the Praetorians passed through amid the torrent, one of them focusing on Rufinus’ purple brow long enough to nudge his friend and chuckle, their attention then turned elsewhere.
In the huge vestibule, things began to calm down. The flow of people split into separate streams. Three wide corridors led off from here, one straight ahead, the level of brightness suggesting that it led out into some sort of courtyard, the two side passages opening up to reveal row after row of offices. A wide stairway led up to a second level, though an upper floor existed only above the two wings, this grand, lofty vestibule open right up to the ceiling, some fifty feet above.
The stairs and the entrance ahead were guarded by soldiers, and none of the human traffic went up or forward to which were presumably the private areas of the governor’s residence and offices. The wings, though, were a hive of activity. Three clerks behind a wide desk near the entrance continually checked documentation, answered questions and directed visitors left or right, and it was to this desk that Rufinus hurried across with Dexter at his shoulder.
The two visitors waited patiently while the nearest clerk dealt with some soldier from the Fourteenth and then looked up at Rufinus and Dexter, registering barely even a passing interest in their Praetorian garb, though his eyes lingered for a moment on a point a little below Rufinus’ eyes and right between them, where the steps of the guardsman’s nose climbed to his forehead.
‘Yes?’
‘We’re here to see quaestor Alfenus Avitianus,’ Rufinus said irritably.
The man slid over a wide ledger and opened it to a piece of vellum marked with exquisitely tight scribbles.
‘Names?’
Rufinus glanced at Dexter nervously. No good could come of giving false names. If it came to anyone important’s attention, then they could be in for trouble. On the other hand, if tribune Cestius heard that they had been visiting someone in the palace without his knowledge…
He was just cooking up a plausible reason not to give a name at all when Dexter next to him cleared his throat and answered the question dangerously truthfully.
As he glared at Dexter the clerk tapped the document before him fretfully.
‘Rustius Rufinus and Asinius Dexter? You’re not on the list. You don’t have an appointment?’
‘No. But we carry a package for him from the treasury in Rome,’ Dexter supplied helpfully.
Rufinus rubbed his face, trying to look tired and hide the expression of extreme irritation that clouded it. He should have brought Merc or Icarion. Dexter was about as subtle as a donkey kick in the testicles.
‘Show me your parcel.’
Rufinus paused for a long moment. He really didn’t want to show this to anyone but the quaestor, though Dexter had already scuppered all plans of subtlety. Grinding his teeth, he undid his satchel and removed the package from within, holding it up and rotating it so that the seal of the triumviri monetales faced the man.
‘Alright,’ the clerk said in a brusque, business-like manner. ‘Take the corridor to the right. The financial offices are at the far end on the right-hand side. Their doors are marked with the image if Saturn and the plaques have a red tassel. Quaestor Avitianus is one of the nearest doors. No weapons are allowed within the civil offices. You may leave your swords and daggers here on the rack behind me and I will give you a chitty to collect them when you return.’
Moments later they had divested themselves of their weapons and were traipsing down the wide corridor, Dexter humming a jaunty little tune as they walked.
‘Did you have to do that?’
‘What?’
‘Give our names away and tell them exactly what we were carrying.’
Dexter shrugged. ‘Better a colourful fool than a grey shadow to the inquisitive eye.’ As Rufinus waited expectantly, the big man tutted and explained. ‘You were taking too long trying to lie. It was starting to look odd. Better to be upfront and not noteworthy than to stand out as deceitful.’
Rufinus blinked. Dexter was quite right. He’d been trying to be clever but had almost tripped them up. Instead, Dexter had breezed past with the truth, and in reality a busy clerk would hardly remember their names. Even if questioned later, he would be unlikely to recall anything other than that two men had delivered a treasury package to the quaestor.
Two men in Praetorian uniforms…
Ah well. It was done now, for better or for worse.
The office of the quaestor was not hard to find and a matter of mom
ents after Rufinus rapped politely on the door it was opened by a young, muscular clerk with a tired, harassed expression.
‘Yes?’
‘We have a package for the quaestor.’
‘You can give it to me. I’ll pass it on. He’s very busy.’
‘I’m afraid not,’ Rufinus said in an officious tone. ‘This is direct from the treasury in Rome and I have been tasked with placing it directly in his hands.’ To illustrate, he retrieved the package once again from his satchel and displayed the seal to the clerk. The man took a deep breath, sucked on his lip for a moment and then nodded. ‘Follow me.’
Inside, the large room held four desks, each of which was covered with documents, and all were attended by clerks barring one, presumably belonging to the man who had opened the door. Two further portals opened off to the rear of the room. The left stood open, revealing a room covered with racks, each holding scroll cases or wax tablets. The right-hand door remained closed, and it was to this that the clerk led them, tapping lightly.
‘Come,’ called a bored, nasal voice from within.
The clerk opened the door and led Rufinus and Dexter in. ‘These two men bear a package from the triumviri monetales, quaestor. They insist on delivering it to you personally.’
‘Ah, good,’ Alfenus Avitianus said, rising from his desk. He was a short, plump man with a florid face and thinning hair. His expression appeared slightly sour as though he were tasting something over-salted. ‘I have been expecting this all week. I was starting to worry.’
Praetorian: The Price of Treason Page 17