Praetorian: The Price of Treason

by S. J. A. Turney

  His latest attacker announced himself by slamming a short, straight blade into Rufinus’ left shoulder. Pain burst like white fire though him and he blinked away the blood, flailing wildly with his sword in an attempt to keep the man at bay until he could see properly. It was a desperate measure and he prepared himself for the man’s next blow, which he felt must be coming.

  It never came.

  Still blinking madly, Rufinus reached up with his bandaged hand and rubbed the warm sticky liquid from his eyes.

  The man who’d been attacking him was now face down on the floor.

  Indeed, the whole bunch had turned their attentions elsewhere, only a couple of them keeping Merc and Icarion busy. Rufinus blinked again and as his vision cleared he could see legionaries in full kit stabbing with their blades and smashing out with shield bosses as though they were on the battlefield and not the top floor of an inn. Four of them were in the room, putting down the thugs. Unlike the room’s previous occupants, these newly-arrived legionaries were fully armoured, with helmets and shields, and were making short work of the hired killers. There was no sign of a white tunic anywhere, and Rufinus stared in shock at the apparent rescue.

  Moments later it was over and the legionaries were deploying. Two men, one with the crest of an optio, took up position by the ruined door, while the rest retreated along the corridor and down the stairs. Rufinus’ glance shot to Acheron, but the dog seemed to be fine. He was busy breaking his fast early, chewing on one of his attackers whose throat had been torn open. Indeed, three men now lay in heaps in that corner, exhibiting the horrible wounds that were evidence of Acheron’s sheer power.

  A groan caught his attention and he turned in surprise to see Dexter rolling back and forth on his bed, moaning. Icarion was first to the cot-side as Dexter tried to sit up and cried out in pain. Mercator took a deep breath and began the grisly job of administering a final blow to each body he found, just to be sure they were dead. He didn’t want any nasty surprises.

  Rufinus stared as light footsteps began to echo up the stairs, and finally a figure in black emerged from the corridor, shaking his head.

  ‘Thank you, optio,’ tribune Cestius nodded at the soldier. ‘Good work. Get down below and set a guard on the inn. I want this floor cleared. Have two tent parties scour the nearby streets looking for anything out of the ordinary, and when the capsarius arrives send him up.’

  The optio saluted and he and his companion moved out of the door and ran down the stairs. As Rufinus continued to stare in shock, Vibius Cestius grasped the broken door and with a grunt of effort pushed what was left of it back across the gap, affording them a modicum of privacy. He then turned those strange, mismatched eyes on them.

  ‘Swords down now, all of you.’

  As Rufinus and Mercator dropped their blades obediently, the tribune stalked over to the bed where Icarion was trying to keep Dexter still. With a quick look at the wound, Cestius crouched and examined the red pool beneath the bed.

  ‘He might very well live. The blood is bright, so his liver is intact. Keep him very still. I have sent for capsarii and a medicus. As long as his gut was not damaged, he can be saved.’

  ‘How did you find us?’ Mercator asked quietly.

  Cestius rolled his peculiar mismatched eyes upwards. ‘The same way they did, I expect. Young Rustius Rufinus here has left a tell-tale trail of blood for anyone with a modicum of intelligence to follow. His clean up at the warehouse was shoddy to say the least, and he’s left sprinkles of it at your quarters. It wasn’t hard to locate the Greek doctor you visited – there are only two practitioners in the town – and from there to local accommodation was simple. Plus the two of you galumphing around Carnuntum looking for Praetorians might as well have been waving torches and shouting ‘here I am.’ And let’s face it, your hound is hardly unobtrusive either. Half a dozen people remember seeing him.’

  Rufinus turned in surprise. ‘You know about the warehouse?’

  ‘I do now, yes.’

  As the tribune folded his arms, Rufinus scuttled over to the upturned table and scoured the floor, heart in his throat, until with relief he located the coin. Rising again, he placed it in his palm and showed it to Cestius. ‘And you’ve seen these?’

  ‘I’ll see your coin and raise your stake,’ the tribune said quietly, fishing something from his pouch and displaying it on his palm.’

  ‘What is it?’ Rufinus frowned, peering at the odd metal cylinder with the concave head on one end.

  ‘This, Rufinus, is a coin die. One of the pair, in fact, sent from the capital to our friend the quaestor and used to mint these dangerous sestertii. You really must be more careful what courier duties you accept,’ the gaunt man sighed.

  ‘Where did you get that?’

  ‘From the office of the quaestor Alfenus Avitianus.’

  ‘Who are you?’ Mercator hissed, striding over to examine the die in the tribune’s hand.

  ‘Can you not guess?’ the odd-eyed tribune murmured. ‘I am one of his imperial majesty’s grain men. The frumentarii. It seems that your young friend here is picking up a nasty habit of interfering in our work.’

  Rufinus stared.

  ‘Yes, Rufinus, I know all about you. Your name has become a byword for interference in the Castra Peregrina. The moment you arrived I knew you’d be trouble. I tried to keep you separated and uninvolved, but you just cannot keep your grubby little fingers out of anything you come across, can you?’

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Merc asked.

  ‘I am not at liberty to discuss every aspect of my work, but suffice it to say that I was sent here over a year ago, when the Perennis boys were first assigned to the Gemina Legions. I have been keeping them under observation.’

  ‘And you knew about the quaestor?’

  ‘His involvement with the coins you mean? Not until you mentioned the man of the urban cohorts serving in his department. That tipped me off to his connection, though I’ve been investigating him anyway. He is suspiciously incorrupt. No financial officer across the empire has such tidy accounts with no discrepancies, so he was clearly hiding something.’

  ‘But,’ Rufinus frowned in confusion, ‘if the coin dies came from Cleander and the coins have just been minted here, then how do they tie to Perennis?’

  ‘They don’t, you imbecile,’ Cestius sighed. ‘They are evidence of the prefect’s guilt manufactured by Cleander’s men. I am certain above all else that Perennis’ sons are innocent of all wrongdoing, and while I cannot beyond doubt claim their father to be above any treachery, he is certainly not the one minting coins in his own image. It matters not, though. If these coins get back to Rome without sufficient contradictory evidence, Perennis will die a traitor’s death.’

  Rufinus felt his heart lurch.

  ‘The coins are already on their way,’ he said. ‘A Praetorian cavalryman called Glabrio, who is also the one who sent tonight’s killers, dispatched half his men with a bag of the coins to Rome yesterday.’ He scratched his head. ‘I still don’t understand why you came looking for us in the first place, though.’

  The tribune tapped a foot impatiently. ‘I was not looking for you, as it happens, though be sure I knew where you were. I was looking for those very same Praetorians – Glabrio’s men. Last night legate Secundus Perennis was found dead in his bath. It appeared to be purely accidental drowning, but in my experience when plots are in the works innocent accidents are unlikely things. A little enquiry provided me with the information that a small party of Praetorians were admitted to the palace last night. It was either you four or these others who have been in Pannonia on and off over the winter, and I discounted you from the way you spoke to the legates yesterday and from your unquestionably loyal service history.’

  ‘The legate is dead?’ Rufinus whispered, picturing that innocent young man floating face down in his pool.

  ‘He is. Caelus is now under very secure guard assigned by me. My first port of call was the quaestor’s office since
I knew him to be involved, but the Praetorians had already got to him. Alfenus Avitianus met with an unfortunate accident last night too. Fortunately, he had secured the coin dies in his hidden compartment beneath the office floor, whence I easily retrieved them.’ He sighed. ‘Bureaucrats are so predictable. Still, it makes my task easier.’

  ‘So Cleander is manufacturing evidence to bring Perennis down,’ Icarion whistled through his teeth. ‘It’s a dangerous game. He could so easily be tripped up and find the treason charges levelled at him instead.’

  ‘At this point, he is winning the game. The only piece of material evidence we control to stop him is this.’ Cestius lifted his palm again, displaying the coin die. ‘This was manufactured in the capital. It had to be done by someone with a good knowledge of Perennis to achieve such a likeness and had to be made in Rome anyway. Pannonia is not licenced to mint coins, so there is no one here with the appropriate knowledge to create a proper coin die. A little digging in Rome and we might be able to identify the manufacturer, which will give us our evidence against Cleander, though at this stage even that might not be enough to turn the tide.’

  ‘Why are Praetorians and urban cohorts working for Cleander?’ Rufinus asked, his brow knotted.

  ‘Many reasons, I imagine,’ Vibius Cestius shrugged. ‘Money, perhaps. Security, for sure. A lot of sensible men will be watching the way the wind is blowing and pledging their support to the chamberlain, with Perennis apparently damned as he is. When Perennis falls, I will eat my own boot if Cleander is not Praetorian prefect within the month. And don’t forget there are still plenty of Praetorians who were loyal to Paternus and have harboured a grudge against Perennis since the old man’s death.’

  ‘Shit. He’s right,’ Merc said. ‘We all used to like the old man, didn’t we? And that was why you were so cagey around us, then, tribune?’

  ‘I couldn’t be sure about you until you landed yourselves right in the middle of it all. Praetorians simply cannot be trusted right now. Cleander probably controls more than half the Guard at the moment. I felt confident in you when this Glabrio tried to kill you, though. I suspect his motive was two-fold: to silence you all, and to see if you had the coin dies he failed to find at the quaestor’s office. He will have been trying to tidy up after himself. Fortunately for me, he’s as ineffectual at the job as you are.’

  Rufinus shivered. All this time, the man he’d thought was the deepest of enemies was an imperial agent. He sighed. Had he learned nothing from his encounters with Dis?

  ‘Why did you let the brothers accept all these troop transfers and build up the army here? You must know how that looked to the court? It will have contributed to the case against the prefect.’

  Cestius nodded. ‘Yes, but that is merely suggestive of corruption. It is not true evidence of guilt. If I had started turning away troop assignments it would have brought suspicion on my role here, which I could not afford, and might have raised alarms among the echelons of power in Rome. And with the situation as it currently is I am content to have a sizeable force at my fingertips and under trustworthy commanders.’

  ‘Commander,’ corrected Icarion quietly.

  ‘Yes. Though I have already issued orders that the Fourteenth are to look to Caelus Perennis as their interim legate. He might be young, but he is an able administrator and is well-respected by his men.’

  ’And if the prefect falls and Caelus is removed from office?’

  ‘I already have the next commander for both legions lined up, and with senatorial consent, against any such eventuality. The Pannonian army will remain loyal and ready should any fool in Rome decide to make a move against the emperor.’

  Rufinus shook his head in wonder. ‘I always thought that Dis was an exception, but you’re all like this aren’t you? The frumentarii, I mean. You’ve got everything ready and you have eyes everywhere. No wonder the legions all hate you. You do hide among their number.’

  Cestius smiled and Rufinus realised it was the first time he’d seen that happen. The effect was disconcerting to say the least.

  ‘To remain concealed among the army is often a requirement for our duty. Do you think I could have wrapped this up had I been wearing a service badge on my chest? And yes we have eyes everywhere. We are the eyes that are everywhere. The emperor has implicit trust in his agents, you see. The populace may think the emperor uninterested in his realm as he sits back and plays the hedonist, but never believe that he is uninformed. He has his frumentarii at work constantly, keeping him apprised of what happens in every corner of his empire. We work for him and him alone, and only the very best are drawn into our number.’ He stretched. ‘Very well. I have given the order for the Gemina Legions to stand to and to expel from their camps anyone who is not on their lists. That will include you, of course. As soon as the sun rises we ride for Rome with relay horses. Events that are unfolding must be brought to the attention of my superiors and my time in Pannonia is at an end. Perhaps these coin dies and my own testimony can save your prefect, but if those coins reach the city without our contrary evidence, Perennis will die swiftly and badly.’

  ‘Dexter cannot ride,’ Icarion pointed out.

  ‘I will speak to the optio downstairs and have Dexter admitted to the fortress hospital for the duration. He will be cared for, but we cannot delay. Evidence of the prefect’s apparent guilt is a day ahead of us already and they will be moving at the fastest speed possible.’

  ‘We slowed our pace coming here, for Acheron’s sake,’ Rufinus muttered, gesturing to the blood-soaked animal. If the tribune was thinking of matching a courier pace, he would have to leave Acheron here, and the very idea was abhorrent.

  Cestius frowned. ‘Nonsense. That animal could outpace your horse. He’s a Sarmatian hunting hound. Sarmatians are mounted tribes, remember? He’s bred to run with horsemen and to bring down a bear at the end of it. It’s you who needs to keep up, young guardsman. Not him.

  Rufinus rubbed at his temple. Every time he thought he had the hang of what was going on, it turned out that he was wrong. Still, there could be no more surprises lying in wait. It came down to a race now. A convincing lie against the plain truth, and if the truth took too long, the lie would kill Perennis.

  PART THREE: RACE AGAINST THE HEADSMAN

  XIV – Cold welcomes

  January 17th 185AD

  It had taken only two days this time, instead of four, to travel from Carnuntum to Pietas Iulia. The Praetorians’ orders had not accounted for a ship for the return journey but it hardly came as any surprise when Cestius disappeared into the harbour master’s office and returned a short while later with the name of a vessel that had been ordered to disgorge its expensive cargo and carry them instead. The ship’s trierarch had clearly been very unhappy at the situation, but whatever Cestius had told the harbour master had apparently been passed on to the ship’s owner and he worked swiftly and without comment, regarding the three Praetorians, the tribune and their accompanying sweaty hound with the utmost nervous respect.

  The voyage had been a boon to Rufinus. The wound he had taken in the shoulder had, on examination, been only a small and shallow flesh wound, and most of the blood coating him had proved to be someone else’s anyway. But still the blade had impacted upon his shoulder joint and had done something that made lifting his arm at certain angles excruciating. And riding seemed to be bad for it, since every step of the various horses he had ridden had jolted the shoulder and made him wince. For half a day, though, he had recuperated as he stood at the ship’s rail, watching the endless grey and hoping no storm would come for them this time. They had, after all, been sure to pour a king’s ransom in good wine into the harbour to placate Neptune – and Poseidon! – before departure.

  The crossing had been swift and calm, and now Ancona closed on them, its harbour moles like outstretched arms welcoming them back to Italia. Cestius was almost vibrating with anticipation, a thing Rufinus lacked entirely. Despite the importance of their mission and the urgency of their
journey, in truth he could happily have done without going back to Rome at all.

  But they were so close, now.

  As on their outward journey, the small group used the mansios – the imperial waystations that served the vast courier network and which required official orders to utilise. And if they’d needed any confirmation that they were on the trail of the incriminating coins, the records at the mansios had provided it. With Cestius’ overriding authorisation they had examined the records and identified a group of four men that had used the mansios at Savaria, Poetovio, Aemona and Pietas Iulia with the authorisation of a Praetorian cavalry decurion by the name of Quintus Oppius Glabrio.

  So Glabrio was one day ahead of them and travelling as fast as he could, and his men with the coins had been less than half a day ahead of him. Almost certainly the two groups would have met up again at Pietas Iulia before sailing. And even at their own exhausting pace, the four pursuers had gained at most a few hours so far. They could only hope that Glabrio and his men had come to grief with the crossing of the Adriaticum and that either he had sunk outright or had been delayed enough that he was now within their grasp. A landing at Ancona would tell soon enough.

  Rufinus found himself staring at the city clinging like a sprawling grey limpet to the Italian coastline and wondering what his odd friend Dexter would be saying right now. ‘Pregnant cows never fly straight’ or some such mysterious rubbish. It brought a smile to his face to think of it, and he realised once more how much they missed Dexter’s company. The man might be dead by now for all they knew. But he had been tended by the Fourteenth’s medicus, who had pronounced the wounded Praetorian’s prognosis good. Unless there was intestinal damage, the medic believed Dexter would be his old self within the month. If, though, the blade had cut a tube in his gut, which was not unlikely, then the strange Praetorian would have a day or two of agonising pain and would then flit off to Elysium.