At the far end of the street he turned left in what he hoped was the direction of the Quirinal. Suddenly a hand clamped over his mouth and the sharp point of a dagger pressed into the small of his back.
‘My master is going to be so pleased to make your acquaintance,’ hissed a thickly accented voice in his ear. The pungent smell of raw onion and wine hung on the man’s breath.
Vespasian froze. He looked at the passersby for help but to a man they ignored the situation, unwilling to get caught up in someone else’s argument.
‘Now be a good boy and you may meet him intact. Bring your hands behind your back.’
Slowly Vespasian obeyed. He felt the dagger withdraw and heard it being slipped back into its sheath. He took his chance. Thrusting his hands back between the legs of his assailant he grabbed the man’s testicles and squeezed. Immediately he felt teeth bite into his shoulder and the hand on his mouth move down to his throat and clasp it. He squeezed harder. A huge roar of pain exploded behind him and he was released. Vespasian pelted forward. A quick glance behind him as he rounded the next corner told him that his attacker was doubled up on his knees, his long, oiled black hair completely covering his face.
Hasdro.
Vespasian ran.
CHAPTER XV
Gaius was waiting back at the house.
‘Dear boy, how are you?’ he said, waddling out of his study as Vespasian was let in slowly by the ancient doorkeeper. ‘Where is Sabinus? Did your parents find you? I told them not to go but I’m afraid when my sister wants something there’s no stopping her. Sit down and tell me what happened.’
Gaius clapped his hands and ordered some wine from the waiting slave boy. Vespasian sat down and caught his breath. Once he had been served his wine he gave his uncle a quick rundown of the last twelve hours’ events.
‘As for Sabinus,’ he said, finishing his story, ‘I’m hoping that he’ll be back here soon.’
‘It sounds like you had quite a night; it was lucky that none of you were hurt. Did Hasdro see your face?’
‘He couldn’t have done, he was always behind me.’
‘Pray to the gods that you are right.’ Gaius suddenly looked puzzled. ‘What I don’t understand is why didn’t Sejanus go straight to Antonia’s house instead of following Magnus down the hill?’
‘He didn’t see which house we went into, it was too dark and pissing with rain.’
‘Yes, but only one other person knew that Caenis was at Livilla’s house and needed rescuing, and that was Antonia. As soon as the attempt was detected why didn’t he go straight to her house?’
‘I don’t know, perhaps he’s just stupid.’
‘Never think that of Sejanus. But look at you, you must be tired, my boy, I’d say that you need a bath and a good rub down. I’ll have them prepared.’
‘Don’t worry, Uncle, I must organise my packing. I’m leaving for the north tonight.’
‘My steward will do that for you. Now go and relax, I must insist, dear boy; you have plenty of time, it is not even midday yet.’
Vespasian suddenly found himself too tired to argue and headed off in the direction of the baths.
An hour later, dressed in a fresh tunic and with his skin still tingling from the pummelling that it had received from the hands of one of Gaius’ German boys, he walked back into the atrium to find Sabinus had just returned with Magnus.
‘Your friend Caligula gave me this for you.’ Sabinus threw him a heavy purse that jangled as he caught it. Vespasian opened it. Inside were thirty or so aurei, gold coins. ‘He said that he thought you might need a war chest. So use it well, and don’t go spending it on mules and slave girls or whatever it is that you get off on these days.’
‘That’s very good of him, thank him for me when you see him next,’ Vespasian replied, ignoring his brother’s insult. ‘I assume that you got away unseen?’
‘Only just, but just is good enough. They saw me slip out of the litter but Antonia’s bodyguards prevented them from getting to me before I disappeared into the crowd. I made it to Magnus’ place unseen and he brought me here by the back streets.’
‘Did they get a look at you?’
‘No. Caligula gave me his cloak to hide my face.’
‘Sabinus, you’re back, well done, my dear boy,’ Gaius boomed, coming in from the courtyard garden. ‘You are not hurt, I hope?’
‘No, I’m fine, thank you, Uncle.’
‘Good. Good. Ah, Magnus, none the worse for wear as usual, you have a charmed life, of that I’m sure.’
‘I don’t know about that, sir, we only just managed to outrun those Praetorians last night. Me and the lads aren’t as fit as we used to be. That is when it comes to running, if you take my meaning?’ he added patting his groin with a grin.
‘I’m sure I do.’ Gaius smiled. ‘Now, what did you do to make those Praetorians follow you last night?’
‘Well, nothing really, sir, we just ran as fast as we could down the hill making as much of a hullabaloo as possible to draw them bastards away from the gentlemen at Antonia’s house.’
‘That’s my point; Sejanus knew where they were heading with the girl so why did he let himself be drawn away?’
‘Ah, well, it weren’t Sejanus who was following us, was it?’
‘But I saw him as I jumped over the wall,’ Vespasian said adamantly.
‘And you may well have done, sir, but he never came over the wall, Marius and Sextus will swear to it. They watched all the bastards out of the alley and then followed them down the hill. That new tribune, who’s recently transferred in from the Night Watch, he was leading them.’
‘Who is he, this new tribune?’ Gaius asked, intrigued.
‘Another nasty piece of work, only out for himself, but aren’t we all? I only know him as Macro.’
‘Naevius Sutorius Macro,’ Gaius said slowly, ‘well, well.’
‘You know him, Uncle?’ Vespasian asked.
‘Yes, I do, he used to be a client of mine until it became apparent that I wouldn’t be able to help him to get what he wanted.’
‘What was that?’
‘What do you think? A transfer to the Praetorian Guard, of course; and now he’s got it.’
‘Well, he won’t get far if he’s so stupid as to go following Magnus into the night rather than just going straight to Antonia’s,’ Vespasian said dismissively.
‘Oh, he’s not stupid either, no; he will have sworn blind by now to Sejanus that he was close enough to see that no one went into Antonia’s house, that’s why he carried on chasing you.’
‘Why would he do that?’ Sabinus asked.
‘Because he didn’t want to catch the girl, she was an asset to Sejanus. He’s happy to have Sejanus in the dark about any conspiracies against him.’
‘What for?’ Sabinus was puzzled.
‘Don’t you see? He doesn’t want to help Sejanus secure his position. He’s got his sights set on becoming prefect of the Guard.’ Gaius chuckled. ‘Sejanus had better watch out, he’s got a rat in his nest; and on the basis that your enemy’s enemy is your friend we may well be able to use this rat against him.’
Vespasian was ready to leave by the second to last hour of the day. He had put on his military tribune’s uniform for the first time and felt a new swagger in his step as he walked from his room into the atrium with his red cloak billowing behind him. The muscled bronze cuirass felt heavy on his chest and the protective skirt, made of strips of leather reinforced with polished iron, slapped against his thighs through his white woollen tunic as he walked. The shiny bronze greaves on his lower legs chafed slightly but he knew that in time he would cease to notice them. He brought himself to attention in front of his uncle, bronze helmet with its white horsehair plume in the crook of his left arm.
‘Well, Uncle, how do I look?’
‘Probably as you feel, a fine specimen of a man, but don’t let it go to your head – and take your sword off, you’re not allowed to carry it in the city.’
Feeling slightly deflated he unbuckled the short two-foot gladius that hung at his right hip and stuffed it into a saddlebag waiting by the door next to his small kit-bag.
‘I’ve employed Magnus and two of his friends to see you safely to Genua,’ Gaius said, raising his hand and stopping Vespasian’s objection before it was even voiced. ‘Don’t be stupid, of course you need an escort, what were you planning? Two hundred miles up the Via Aurelia on your own?’
‘I’m going to stop at my grandmother’s estate at Cosa for a four or five days, I don’t need to be in Genua until the calends of February.’
‘Oh, well, that’s all right then, you’ll be safe for a few nights at least. Dear boy, we don’t want you running into trouble before you’ve even left Italia; and I’m sure your grandmother would love to meet Magnus.’
Vespasian winced at the thought, but Gaius was adamant.
‘Not another word, he’ll be back here shortly. Now, in the absence of your father, here’s some travelling money.’ He handed him over a small leather purse. ‘Don’t use the gold that Caligula gave you to pay at inns, you’ll soon attract some unpleasant company if you do.’
‘Thank you, Uncle.’
There was a loud knock and the ancient doorkeeper unfurled himself from his stool and with some difficulty opened the door. Magnus walked in with a thick, undyed woollen travelling cloak around his shoulders.
‘We should go, sir, we need to cross the Aemilian Bridge and be on the road before dark; we’ll be less likely to be questioned during the day.’
‘Of course; where’s my brother, Uncle?’
‘He’s here,’ Sabinus said, walking into the room. He looked at Vespasian and nodded his approval. ‘Well, little brother, I have to say you almost look the part, so let’s hope that you’ve got the balls to play it.’
‘I’ll take that as a compliment, coming from you.’
‘Do, it’ll be the last one you’ll ever get.’
‘I hope not,’ Gaius said seriously. ‘Now, if that is the extent of your emotional fraternal farewell, you had best be off. Good luck, dear boy.’
He grabbed Vespasian by his shoulders and gave him a moist, rubbery kiss on each cheek. ‘Write when you get there, but nothing concerning our business, only your news.’
‘I will; goodbye, Uncle, and keep well. And you too, brother.’ He disengaged himself from Gaius, picked up his two bags and walked out of the door to find Marius and Sextus waiting with four horses. He attached the bags to his horse whilst Gaius had a quick word with Magnus, clapping him on the shoulder as he did.
Once all were ready they led their horses down the Quirinal Hill on the same route that they’d taken to the Circus Maximus on Vespasian’s first day in Rome.
Vespasian glanced back at Marius and Sextus and then leant close to Magnus. ‘I don’t mean to be funny, Magnus,’ he said quietly, ‘but what use is Marius on a horse?’
Magnus burst out laughing. ‘You hear that, Marius? The young gentleman is wondering how you are going to able to fight on horseback.’
Marius and Sextus joined in the laughter.
‘What’s so funny?’
‘Well, the very idea of it,’ Magnus said through his mirth.
‘Of what?’
‘Of fighting on horseback like some trouser-wearing savage. No, sir, horses are for travelling on or escaping with; if there’s fighting to be done we do it on our feet; we’re foot soldiers, sir, and proud of it. You, sir, on the other hand, are a different class of Roman, an eques, an equestrian: if you do well in your first couple of years they might give you command of an auxiliary cavalry unit, and then you’ll have to fight on horseback, and may the gods help you.’
Vespasian remembered the fight with the runaway slaves barely four months ago and thought it no bad thing to fight mounted.
They carried on in silence, pushing through the crowds of people making their way to whatever they called home, until they came into the Forum Boarium. The cattle market held there on market days was being cleared up. The smell of manure invaded their nostrils, and the cries of the beasts being led off to the slaughterhouses filled the air. Small boys with sticks beat the docile creatures savagely to move them off in the right direction, whilst farmers and slaughterhouse agents did last moment deals and counted their money. At a table on a dais sat a togate aedile, the magistrate overseeing the market, taking complaints from buyers and sellers alike and adjudicating on them, then and there. As the stock was moved out hundreds of wretched public slaves began shovelling the manure into sacks, dismantling the temporary pens and piling them on to carts to be taken away and stored, ready for the next market in eight days’ time.
As they crossed the forum in the direction of the Tiber they passed by the small circular temple of Hercules Victor with its tiled roof supported by columns. It was almost as old as the city itself; next to it stood the massive altar to Hercules. Vespasian looked at these ancient sites and wished that he had had more time for sightseeing; he had hardly seen anything of Rome in his brief stay.
With the bridge in sight, a new, powerful smell assailed their senses. Upstream on either side of the river were many of Rome’s tanneries. There they had a plentiful supply of water and an outlet into which they pumped their effluent. The stench from the process of turning dried, stiff hides into leather, firstly by soaking them in human urine, to loosen the hair enough to scrap it off with a knife, then by pounding them with a mixture of animal brains and faeces to make them supple, produced a stench of such hideous intensity that Vespasian had to pull his cloak over his face as he crossed the bridge. He looked down at the river and to his amazement saw young boys playing and swimming amongst the filth.
Halfway across a loud shout stopped them in their tracks.
‘You lot there, leading the horses, stop where you are.’
Vespasian looked over in the direction of the shout. At the far end of the bridge by a guardhouse was stationed a unit of the Urban Cohort. A centurion had detached himself and was walking towards him, flanked by two soldiers.
‘Don’t give your real name,’ Magnus hissed at his side whilst motioning Marius and Sextus to fall back slightly.
‘What have you got to hide, then, covering your face like that?’ the centurion asked, coming up to them.
Vespasian immediately pulled his cloak away from his face. ‘Nothing, I was just trying to protect my nose from the terrible smell,’ he replied honestly.
‘Don’t give me that, son, everyone’s used to it. Can you see anyone else covering their faces like some sneaking villain? I don’t think so.’
Vespasian looked at the crowds of people passing, all seemingly oblivious to the reek of the tanneries. ‘I’m sorry, centurion, but I’m just not used to it.’
‘Bollocks, I’d say you were acting suspiciously and I’ve got orders to detain anyone acting suspiciously. What’s your name? And where are you going?’
‘Gaius Aemilius Rufus, I’m on my way to Pannonia to serve with the Ninth Hispana.’ Vespasian pulled back his cloak to reveal his uniform.
‘Are you now? Well, with that Sabine accent you don’t sound like one of the Aemilii to me and you’re going in the wrong direction for a start. Where’re your papers?’
‘I’m to be issued with them at Genua, that’s why I’m taking the Via Aurelia.’
‘A likely story, and who are these unpleasant-looking thugs with you?’
‘Tullius Priscus, sir, at your service, and these are my associates Crispus and Sallius,’ Magnus said, stepping forward to the centurion. ‘The young gentleman has hired us to escort him north.’
‘Well, you’re going nowhere until the Praetorians have had a look at you.’ The centurion turned to one of his soldiers. ‘Go to the guardhouse and get the tribune up here immediately.’
The soldier saluted and ran back towards his comrades. Magnus gave a quick gesture to Sextus and Marius and then, stepping forward and bending
down in one swift motion, head-butted the centurion in the groin. He doubled up in pain. With a monumental effort Magnus straightened himself up with the centurion over his shoulder and hurled him over the parapet and down into the river where he sank like a stone. Sextus and Marius leapt at the remaining soldier who, before he had time to react, found himself following his superior into the brown water below.
‘Mount up and ride,’ Magnus shouted, leaping on to his horse and kicking it into action. Vespasian jumped into the saddle and urged his mount forward through the panicking crowd towards the rest of the Urban Cohort soldiers who, alerted to the trouble, were forming up in a line at the far side of the bridge. The crowd parted as his horse gained momentum. He could see Magnus ahead and hear the brothers behind him urging their horses on. The soldiers, shieldless and armed only with swords because they were serving within the city, took one look at the four horses only ten paces away charging towards them, and broke, scrambling over each other in their haste to avoid the trampling hooves.
‘Stop!’ A Praetorian tribune stepped out of the guardhouse into the road; his sword was raised, aiming at Magnus’ chest. With one swift movement Magnus unsheathed his own sword and brought it crashing down, backhand, on to the tribune’s blade. The force of the blow jarred the sword from the man’s hand and forced him to his knees.
Reacting quickly to being disarmed the tribune whipped his pugio, a long dagger, from his belt and confronted Vespasian. Seeing that he had no alternative other than to charge him down, Vespasian reached into his saddlebag and pulled out his sword. He swung it wildly, sending the scabbard flying through the air, and bore down on the tribune. At the last moment before contact he pulled his horse to the left and aimed a cut at the tribune’s neck. The tribune ducked and, as Vespasian sped by, thrust his dagger towards the horse’s belly, hitting instead Vespasian’s leg; the blade pierced the greave, embedding itself in muscle and bronze. Vespasian’s momentum pulled it clean from the tribune’s grasp and sent him rolling in the dirt. Pain seared up Vespasian’s leg but he knew he had to keep going. He put his head down and drove his horse forward, the dagger wedged firmly in his leg as it gripped his mount’s heaving flank.
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