Praetorian: The Price of Treason

by S. J. A. Turney

  ‘We ran into a little trouble on the Adriaticum,’ Rufinus said placatingly. ‘Nothing drastic.’

  The quaestor peered at Rufinus. ‘Your face suggests otherwise,’ the man huffed. ‘Anyway. Good. Thank you.’ He reached out and took the package. Rufinus couldn’t help but note how the man gripped it as though it were worth more than gold – which, being from the treasury, might well be the case, of course – and immediately tucked it into his desk drawer, locking it and fastening the key to a chain around his neck.

  ‘You have a delivery note to complete?’

  Rufinus frowned and shook his head. The chamberlain hadn’t said anything about a note.

  ‘Then I had best at least give you a document of receipt.’

  ‘That won’t be necessary,’ Rufinus said quickly.

  ‘Oh but it is. Can’t have the treasury thinking you failed to deliver it. What happens if I lose it? You need a signature to say it passed from your hands into mine. Rest assured that when I pass it on to appropriate staff I also shall be claiming my receipt note. These things must be done. They are the building blocks of civilisation. Without such strictures we might as well be barbarians, living in mud huts.’

  Hurriedly, the man grabbed a piece of vellum, scribbled a receipt and put his name to the bottom. A second copy followed, and he held them out. ‘The first one is for you and your records. The second, if you will be good enough to sign, is for my records.’

  Rufinus paused. Did he really want to attach his name to this? Still, what choice did he have now? Biting his lip nervously, he wrote his name at the bottom of the sheet and passed it back. Dexter reached out for it, but the quaestor shook his head. ‘One signature is all that’s required. Wouldn’t want to overburden the administration. Now, was there anything else?’

  Rufinus glanced at Dexter, who shrugged.

  ‘I don’t think so, quaestor. Thank you.’

  ‘No. Thank you. That’s a weight off my mind. Good luck on your return journey, soldier. I hope the Adriaticum doesn’t punch you in the face this time.’

  The young clerk held out a hand, indicating the door behind them and Rufinus bowed and turned, striding out into the outer office and through it to the corridor. As the clerk closed the door to the quaestor’s rooms behind them, Rufinus sagged with relief. ‘Right, let’s get back.’

  ‘Funny,’ Dexter mused as they walked.

  ‘What is?’

  ‘A wolf dressed as a chicken.’

  Rufinus rolled his eyes. ‘I can see how that might be funny, yes.’

  ‘The tattoo,’ Dexter said quietly. ‘Did you see the tattoo?’

  A frown crossed Rufinus’ face, and Dexter leaned closer. ‘The clerk who showed us out. When he lifted his arm to point at the door, his sleeve rolled up and I saw his tattoo. He belonged to the Third Urban Cohort.’

  ‘Odd career move,’ Rufinus agreed. ‘Wonder why he didn’t just settle with his honesta missio like most retirees. I know sometimes men re-enlist, but going into provincial administration seems odd.’

  ‘What’s more odd,’ Dexter noted quietly, ‘is that he can’t be much more than twenty summers of age. He isn’t old enough to have served a term in the urban cohorts and then come out here.’

  ‘Meaning what?’ asked Rufinus suspiciously.

  ‘Meaning that either he was kicked out early and sought out a new career far from Rome, or that he’s still with them and yet serving out here on secondment. That’s unheard of for the urban cohorts, isn’t it?’

  Rufinus nodded thoughtfully. The men of the urban cohorts were almost always Italian-born, served a full term in the city protecting the people from crime and insurrection, and retired into the city. Their remit ended at the edges of the city and usually their interest ended with it. What one of their number might be doing this far from Rome shuffling requisition forms, he couldn’t imagine. Yet another troubling piece to the puzzle.

  ‘The sooner we’re on the way back home the better, Dex.’

  The big man just nodded and quickened his step.

  XII – The brothers Perennis

  January 15th 185AD

  Caelus and Secundus Perennis were an odd pair. The older brother, who they had met in Vindobona and who had accompanied them on their journey to his sibling’s command, was short and thin, pale and studious with unruly brown hair. The younger Perennis, Secundus, was almost a head taller and with the physique of a wrestler, his skin made several shades darker than Caelus’ simply through regular exposure to the sun. His hair flopped down across his brow and behind his ears, only kept in place by a thin circlet of bronze. The one thing Rufinus immediately recognised, however, and which beyond all doubt labelled the pair as brothers, was his expression. Despite a body that seemed hardened by physical exertion and a healthy tone, his face bore the same boyish innocence that had immediately struck them when they met Caelus.

  Where such a virtue and lack of guile might have come from given their parentage was interesting. Rufinus had met the prefect’s wife once in Rome, and she had clearly been, if anything, a more astute and devious player of the game than her husband. But then, Rufinus remembered how she had rushed off to herd the wayward third Perennis child, a toddler, and the prefect had cast a strange look after her. He remembered that the prefect had been married before. Presumably his first wife, the mother of the older children, had carried that same innocence in her soul?

  Vibius Cestius – the omnipresent Vibius Cestius – stood behind the four Praetorians with his arms folded, as though awaiting the order to eject the visitors on the legates’ command. There was something spine-tingling about having the man standing just out of slight behind you, only the sounds of his gentle breathing reminding you he was there.

  Rufinus wondered again why he and the others had languished in that transit room overnight awaiting the summons from the officers. What had the tribune been discussing with the brothers that had so delayed their meeting? And he wished he had Acheron with him, but bringing the great hound here had simply been impossible, and the dog waited for them back at their room.

  Secundus let the scroll – the third and final blessed delivery that meant their onerous duty was finally over – furl in his hand and dropped it to the desk.

  ‘Father cannot be in danger. He is the commander of the Praetorian Guard, and he has the ear of the emperor himself.’

  His brother sighed. ‘I’d have agreed, Secundus, but why the list of those he deems trustworthy if not?’

  Cestius cleared his throat behind them.

  ‘Commanding the Praetorian Guard can be a perilous job. Bear in mind what happened to your father’s predecessor.’

  The brothers both frowned at the tribune behind Rufinus and the young Praetorian heard a faint rustling in the silence that he was almost certain was made by Cestius drawing a suggestive thumb across his throat. The way the pair paled slightly confirmed it.

  ‘And while I do not wish to prejudice you, sirs, I would point out that the very man responsible for prefect Paternus’ death stands before you as a messenger from your father.

  Wonderful. The look of innocent worry on the brothers’ faces now shifted to one of suspicion.

  ‘I thought Father did away with the traitor Paternus?’

  ‘On the evidence and testimony of one of these guardsmen, yes. Being the commander of the Praetorian Guard is not a guarantee of untouchability. And sadly, with the pit of snakes that surround our glorious emperor, his favour can be a fleeting thing. There are those in his court who are very adept at incrimination and the shifting of blame.’

  A difficult silence fell again and finally Secundus leaned back in his chair.

  ‘We are secure here. Can Father not step down as prefect and come to Pannonia? No harm will befall him here.’

  Rufinus could sense the almost strangulated silence behind him as Cestius tried to form a reply that would not panic the boys. Clenching both fists, he coughed.

  ‘Permission to speak, sirs?’

&n
bsp; Secundus frowned, and Caelus paused for a moment before gesturing for Rufinus to go on. The young guardsman tried to ignore the unhappy sounds behind him and the stern warning glances cast sidelong by Mercator.

  ‘Respectfully, sirs, if the emperor’s court and the senate turn against your father then there is nowhere in the empire he can run.’

  He had been brutal and he knew it, but these two had to be snapped out of that dangerously ignorant naivety for their own good. He watched the brothers process that information and saw the flutter of their hearts through their eyes.

  ‘If he comes to Pannonia, he will bring the same fate upon you both, and he knows that. This is why he sent us to you with those lists. The closer your association with your father, the more chance there is that any bloodshed that occurs will include you.’

  ‘But Pannonia is strong?’ murmured Secundus doubtfully.

  ‘Yes, Pannonia is strong, but is it strong enough to fight off the other twenty six legions? Your command here might have been sourced through your father, but it continues on the authorisation of the senate. And while we’re talking about strength…’

  He felt a shock pound through his foot as Merc trod heavily on him, his expression, just visible out of the corner of Rufinus’ eye, one of warning.

  ‘Go on?’ urged Secundus Perennis.

  ‘It cannot escape the notice of any visitor that Pannonia seems to be almost buried under a sea of legionaries. Troop numbers here are – what? – perhaps double the expected strength?’

  ‘As I said,’ Secundus muttered, ‘Pannonia is strong.’

  ‘But why?’ Rufinus asked quietly, trying to ignore the increasingly painful pressure from Merc’s boot.

  ‘Only a foolish commander refuses the offer of extra troops,’ Caelus Perennis frowned.

  ‘Offers from where?’

  ‘Our father…’ he began, but was swiftly cut off as tribune Cestius’ voice rang out across the room. ‘I think that’s quite enough of this discussion, sir.’ The tribune appeared to the side, stepping around them and glaring at Rufinus with his disconcerting eyes. ‘Remember to whom you speak and where you are, guardsman.’

  Rufinus swallowed nervously. How far could he push before they pushed back? ‘Do you realise how this build-up looks in Rome?’ he asked, addressing the brothers again. ‘The damage it does your father’s reputation?’

  ‘But it was Father who…’

  ‘Enough, legate,’ snapped Cestius as though disciplining a wayward child, and Rufinus was left in no doubt as to who truly commanded in Pannonia when the brothers recoiled with chastened expressions. ‘Remember they are Praetorians, sir,’ the tribune added. ‘We know from Paternus’ example that not all Praetorians are to be trusted. They may bear your father’s favour, but I understand that they were all once Paternus’ men to the core, as well. Loyalties in the Guard, it appears, shift like sands in the wind.’

  Rufinus could feel his patience snapping. The tribune outranked him, yes, but the legates outranked the tribune and should not be restricted from discussing matters that directly affected them. And as for the man’s opinions about the Guard…

  ‘And what is this about Praetorians?’ Rufinus barked, turning to Cestius. ‘You said we were not the first Praetorians you’d seen this winter.’

  Cestius’ eyes narrowed dangerously.

  ‘And why,’ Rufinus went on, almost shouting, ‘are men of the urban cohorts serving a quaestor in the legate’s palace? Something about the running of this province stinks to Hades!’

  ‘What?’ Secundus said, leaning forward. ‘Other Praetorians? Urban cohorts?’ He turned to Cestius. ‘What is this all about, Vibius?’

  Rufinus glared at the tribune in time to see an expression of uncomfortable anger seething in those mismatched eyes as he tore his gaze from Rufinus to the commanders. ‘This is not a matter to discuss in front of outsiders, sir. Remember: we are the Gemina Legions.’

  Secundus Perennis shared a look with his brother, and then turned to Rufinus and his friends. ‘You are dismissed, soldiers. Return to the transit camp. My brother and I will ponder these matters. Delay your departure, though. I will summon you tomorrow.’

  The four Praetorians bowed and filed out of the room under the seething, furious gaze of tribune Cestius. Barely had Dexter shut the door behind them before the argument broke out within. Rufinus paused, fascinated to overhear Cestius being asked to explain a number of things to the brothers, but Merc and Dexter suddenly had hold of his shoulders and were propelling him toward the exit.

  ‘You stupid bastard,’ Merc growled as they emerged into the courtyard of the headquarters complex. ‘Can you not keep your mouth shut for ten heartbeats?’

  ‘It all needed to be said.’

  ‘We’d completed our task. We were free to go home. Now you’ve got tribune piss-eye angry, us confined to the camp for another day, and you’ve set the commanders against the tribune, which is unlikely to win us any friends. Bringing you here is like dropping a mouse into a sack of polecats. No matter what happens to the mouse, you’ve set the polecats off now. Why couldn’t you just shut up and let us go home?’

  Rufinus bridled. ‘Because I give a shit. Because we all wanted to confirm the source of the troop numbers. Because I wanted to know about the Praetorians and the urban cohorts. And now I’m convinced the Perennis brothers are completely innocent. Prefect Perennis is responsible for the troop build-up and whether he was thinking of a coup or not, we can be fairly sure his sons were not party to it other than accepting the troop drafts. And neither of them seemed to know anything about other Praetorians or the urban cohorts. But did you see how quickly Cestius leapt on it when I mentioned them? That man is so tied up in all this I don’t know where to start pulling to unravel it.’

  Merc subsided a little as they passed back through the fortress and toward the overcrowded settlement outside. ‘I will grant you that the tribune seems to be up to his neck in something. But all we should be doing now is going home and wiping our hands clean of the whole business.’

  ‘Ask yourself why Cestius permitted the build-up to happen?’ Rufinus murmured.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Well it seems clear to me that those two legates were unlikely to initiate any sort of action with two over-strength legions. And yet Cestius has sat back and watched the Pannonian army grow. Think. Perennis falls foul of the senate. An order of proscription comes out for his family. Cestius gains imperial favour by dispatching the boys and suddenly he alone commands the numerical equivalent of four legions and is in effective command of Pannonia, with Illyricum – the gateway to the east – a stone’s throw away. And it wouldn’t take much for him to secure the official command of the province.’

  ‘You think he works for Cleander, then?’

  ‘It makes sense.’

  The others nodded, and Icarion pursed his lips as they moved across the fortress ditches and into the streets. ‘I wonder about that man who denounced Perennis at the theatre? You said he was muscular – like a soldier. I wonder if he came from Pannonia?’

  Rufinus blinked. Yes, that would make sense. A soldier from Vindobona or Carnuntum who had seen the troop build-up first-hand and felt duty-bound to report it to the emperor. A man who thought, perhaps, that the local authorities were not to be trusted? ‘Odd that. I never heard anything more about him. Not even rumours. You’d expect there to be rumours about what the torturers got out of him. I took him down at the theatre, but he was bundled off the stage by other men before I even breathed. Where do you suppose they took him?’

  ‘Maybe what he told Perennis was so dangerous he stamped on any chance of information leaking out?’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Rufinus muttered, though he was less certain. ‘I think that he never even…’

  His voice trailed off, and he shoved Mercator, who lurched sideways into a narrow alley. Gesturing for Dexter and Icarion to join them, he leapt into the shadow.

  ‘What now?’ Merc grunted.

  A
s the others scurried into the alley, Rufinus waved them to silence and peered back around the corner as unobtrusively as he could manage. His immediate instinct had been spot-on. A little further down the main street, a figure stood at a stall, purchasing a small loaf. The figure wore a nondescript red military tunic, but something about him had alerted Rufinus immediately and now, as the man rose and straightened, pushing the loaf into his side pouch, Rufinus knew it was him.

  The figure turned, as though some sixth sense had alerted him, and looked back along the street, forcing Rufinus to duck back into the alley.

  ‘What is it?’ asked Icarion quietly.

  ‘A man down there. He’s dressed as a legionary, but he’s the one I saw at Ancona when we set sail. Then he’d been in Praetorian white and with a small cavalry troop.’

  ‘How can you be sure of that?’ Icarion asked. ‘He was a long way away then. And now he’s dressed in red?’

  ‘Don’t ask me how, but there’s something more than that. I can’t tell you why, but I knew him from somewhere even before Ancona. He’s familiar. But it’s him, for sure. He’s a Praetorian and he’s in Carnuntum in disguise.’

  ‘What do we do now, then?’ Merc asked quietly. ‘We’re not exactly subtle in our whites.’

  ‘Flocks don’t catch worms,’ Dexter rumbled.

  ‘What?’

  But Rufinus was becoming used to their odd friend’s seemingly-random metaphors. ‘He means a group of us will never be able to follow him, but one of us could. Dex, give me your cloak,’ he said, removing his own and proffering it to the southerner.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because you’re bigger than me, and your cloak will cover me better. I’ll follow him, see what he’s up to, and meet you back at the room. Acheron will need feeding anyway, else he gets tetchy.’

  ‘You’d best be bloody careful,’ Merc said. ‘Don’t get too close, and if he sees you, take to your heels and get straight back to us. There’s every chance, if the tribune’s already seen Praetorians this winter, that the two of them are involved.’