One Prefect, Norbanus, was a dedicated Domitian supporter; he arrived here via the army route, after making his name during the Saturninus Revolt. He had taken troops from Raetia to aid Lappius Maximus in defeating Saturninus, earning himself Domitian’s gratitude and the reward of this prefecture. The other new man, Petronius Secundus, had risen through civil positions, including the prestigious post of Prefect of Egypt. It was unclear how well, if at all, the two men had known each other previously; there were signs they did not gel. That was the point of having two. While they jostled for supremacy, they were unlikely to acquire too much power at the expense of the Emperor. Nobody had ever forgotten how the brutal Sejanus tried to grab the throne from Tiberius.
Domitian must remember this: his favourite reading, perhaps his only reading nowadays, was Tiberius’ Memoirs, a book most people would place on the highest shelf of their library to gather dust. Gaius had a copy in his office; one of the scrolls had just the right flexibility to whack flies.
Petronius Secundus kept his head down at first. He let Norbanus lead. Gaius felt irritated, though not entirely surprised, when Norbanus had his personal secretary (a creepy hack who had come with him from Raetia) send a stiff little note in spidery writing to say it would be of value if the chief-of-staff dropped by for a review of his duties. For that, in the ludicrous way of public service, Gaius prepared career notes on himself.
He took his draft to Lucilla before he submitted it. She made him beef up the parts where he had shown bravery in the field.
He highlighted the Abascantus safety committee, because he knew that among his handover notes from Casperius Aelianus, Norbanus possessed a secret file on Preserving the Emperor. Gaius, who had drafted most of the file, had much entertainment outlining his own role, in the third-person narrative he conventionally used when briefing seniors: whether it would be cost-effective to remove Clodianus from his important work on granary records to be co-opted onto the safety committee, the verdict of the suitability assessment, plus exactly what security checks on Clodianus had revealed. He gave Clodianus the all-clear for loyalty.
When Gaius sauntered along, the Prefect was wearing his full uniform. He always did. Praetorian commanders were military and Norbanus enjoyed that. Guards judged a Prefect by whether, in the privacy of his quarters, he felt it necessary to retain formal marks of status or threw off his huge cloak with a groan of relief as anyone sensible did.
Norbanus had little to say about the cornicularius duties. He wanted to thrill himself sick with top secret subjects. ‘I noticed you mentioned Abascantus and his special group.’
‘Yes, sir. I hope it did not come across as flippant.’
Norbanus thought for a nerve-racking period. ‘No.’ He considered some more. He was a slow thinker. Gaius had learned to pace him. ‘No, I like your attitude.’
Gaius said nothing.
Norbanus suddenly produced a beaming smile that his officer distrusted. ‘So, Clodianus — this is a tricky one!’
Hades!
‘“Preserving the Emperor” — that’s what we’re all here for… What’s the mood at barracks level, tell me? Talking to cohort commanders, do I sense a dangerous yearning for change? Are any Guards wondering, at what point do we have to start making awkward decisions? What do you think? Have you noticed whispers?’
Shit! What change? What decisions? Surely the man was not making dangerous suggestions of a new regime?
The Prefect was staring directly at him, twitching up one hairy eyebrow in enquiry.
‘We take the Oath, sir.’
‘And the rest!’ Norbanus spoke low. ‘Our Master handed out a whacking bonus to secure the Praetorians, back when he became Emperor. Your curriculum shows you on the complement then, so you were one of the lucky ones.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘That was fourteen years ago. If the term in service for a Guard is sixteen years — well, you see my thinking. The number who received the bonus must be dwindling fast. Do new boys feel the same obligation, in your opinion?’
‘They are proud to serve, sir.’ Gaius sounded like his father. They had got him at last.
Norbanus whistled. ‘Gods, you’re a cool one! I can see why they appointed you, Clodianus.’
Longing for this to be over, Gaius applied a cool man’s close expression. As a soldier he was good at it.
‘Well, I want you to keep attending this committee. Watch what they are up to and report back to me personally.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘I don’t entirely trust these freedmen — load of funny buggers wearing fancy necklaces. I weep no tears for the loss of Abascantus.’
‘No, sir. By the way, sir; with Abascantus packed off, I have been wondering who I should liaise with instead?’
‘Parthenius!’ Norbanus announced. ‘Don’t ask me how they fixed it up between them, but Parthenius is your man now.’
Gaius went so far as to raise his eyebrows. ‘The chamberlain? Doesn’t he spend his life counting pillowcases?’ He could not envisage it working, but until he had the measure of this change, he decided not to protest. The chamberlain shadowed the Emperor and controlled his visitors, so it could be appropriate.
‘Well, the same aim applies. The Emperor’s safety is paramount. That will always have my personal attention. Now Clodianus, this briefing is absolutely confidential — just between ourselves.’ Norbanus addressed him in the manner of a slightly sinister uncle. ‘I don’t need to tell you that if anything goes off, it is absolutely essential the Guards nip trouble in the bud. Vigilance! We need absolute vigilance.’
‘Absolutely!’ Gaius knew how to pick up jargon. ‘Just one query, Prefect. On the safety issue, do you know the position of Petronius Secundus?’
Norbanus looked guarded. ‘He has his own ideas. I am sure we can count on him.’ So he viewed Secundus as treacherous. ‘I don’t want you to feel inhibited. Any problems, come to me.’
‘Jolly good, sir!’
‘My door is always open.’
It was closed at the moment so nobody could overhear Norbanus insinuating disloyalty in his fellow Prefect.
Once Norbanus had meddled enough to establish himself, Secundus started his own exercise. Gaius monitored the interplay between them as a kind of scientific experiment for an encyclopaedia, a section with insects.
Secundus decided to emerge from his chrysalis and interview all his cohort tribunes about their careers: he called this ‘the personal touch’. To anyone who had been in the army twenty years the phenomenon was well known. The cornicularius patiently took charge of the diary to book in the ten tribunes for their little chats, then he produced helpful briefing notes on each man’s history. Straightforward stuff. It was no different from when, in the vigiles, he had sent a criminal to the City Prefect, appearing to ask for advice on the case but giving a strong steer on what the culprit had done and how to punish him. He gained a few drinks out of this exercise, as the more astute tribunes tried to influence what he said about them.
He could have landed one or two of them in it, had he been that type. Which they must hope he wasn’t.
Of course not.
He watched them return from their interviews, seeing who looked deflated and who swaggered. One or two would receive their discharge diploma quicker than they had expected; Gaius, who gave instructions to the calligrapher who incised the tablets, had already set this in motion. The Prefect’s exercise was excellent man-management, although like most such party games it severely unsettled the men who were being managed, even those who survived the process. Although there was never any suggestion Domitian know about it, this was just the kind of mental cruelty the Emperor himself enjoyed.
Gaius had to submit to the ‘personal touch’ himself. Secundus set him at his ease — always embarrassing for both parties. The Prefect plodded through various aspects of his work as cornicularius. Ever thoughtful, Gaius had prepared a list for him, to smooth this process.