Artebudz and the Thracians joined the rear of the small, double-filed column as it clattered out of the gates at a canter and headed along the newly paved road northwest towards the pass that led into Moesia. Caelus looked back at them suspiciously as they took their place behind the four spare mounts.
‘What in Hades are those fox-fuckers doing?’ he snarled.
Vespasian knew that the question had been directed at him but did not deign to answer as Caelus, again, had not addressed him as ‘sir’.
‘Messengers to Moesia from the Queen coming along for the ride,’ Tinos replied, having been forewarned by Vespasian of their arrival and seen nothing out of the ordinary in it. ‘They often come with us when we go north with despatches; safety in numbers, you see.’
Caelus grunted and let the subject drop. Vespasian smiled inwardly, thanking Paetus for his simple ruse. He turned to Tinos next to him. ‘Decurion, send a four-man scouting party a mile ahead on either side of the road and tell them to send a report back every hour.’
The decurion looked at him quizzically, unused to taking such precautions in the now peaceful client kingdom of Thracia.
‘Do it,’ Vespasian ordered, ‘and tell them to keep a sharp lookout.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Tinos replied, peeling away back down the column to give the orders. A few moments later a lituus, a long, straight cavalry horn with an upturned bell end, shrieked a series of high notes and eight troopers galloped past the column and off into the distance towards the looming snow-covered, cloud-ridden massifs of the Haemus to the north and the Rhodope to the west.
Magnus fell back to get himself acquainted with Varinus and his mates whilst Vespasian settled down to the ride, making pleasant conversation with Tinos as the road started to gently climb through familiar rough country. After the first hour of brisk riding two of the scouts returned within moments of each other; both briefly reported nothing moving in the surrounding area before galloping off again to rejoin their respective units. The rain that had been threatening all day finally started to fall lightly; Vespasian pulled his cloak tight around his shoulders and dropped back next to his brother.
‘You did well to spot the discrepancy between the amount of silver bullion at the mint and the amount of denarii minted,’ he said referring to Sabinus’ part in uncovering how Sejanus had utilised Poppaeus’ silver to strike the coinage that he had used to encourage the Thracian rebellion. He had been the junior magistrate overseeing the striking of silver and bronze coinage at the time.
Sabinus looked at his brother, surprised; he had never received a compliment from him before, which was not surprising as he had never paid Vespasian one. ‘I suppose you want me to compliment you on the thorough way you taught me accountancy,’ he replied suspiciously.
‘Not necessarily, although you’ve just implied a compliment by using the word “thorough”, so thank you.’
‘Hmph, well, thank you too,’ Sabinus grunted grudgingly. He turned his head away and hunched his body against the intensifying rain.
They rode on in silence for a while, Vespasian casting the odd sidelong glance at his brother, who resolutely refused to acknowledge him. He smiled to himself, amused by the unintentional compliment that Sabinus had paid him and how it was quite obviously irking him.
‘What have you been doing in Rome since you finished your year with the Vigintiviri?’ Vespasian eventually asked conversationally.
Sabinus frowned. ‘What’s it to you?’
‘I’m interested; you are my brother, after all.’
‘If you must know, little brother, I’ve been cultivating people to secure me votes in the quaestor elections this year.’
‘It can’t have been just arse-licking surely?’ Vespasian wiped away the drops of rain that dripped from his red-plumed helmet.
‘Of course it was; that’s how it works, and the bigger the arse the harder I lick it. Your fellow tribune in the Fourth Scythica, Corbulo, for example, he was a quaestor last year and is now in the Senate, his arse has been well and truly licked.’
‘You know Corbulo?’
‘Don’t sound so surprised, it’s down to you that his arse was put my way for a good licking.’
‘How so?’ Vespasian was intrigued.
Sabinus grinned. ‘Uncle Gaius knows his father; they were praetors in the same year and didn’t tread on each other’s toes and so remain on good terms. When Corbulo came home two years ago his father invited Gaius and I to dinner as a thank you from one family to another.’
‘What for?’
‘Well, little brother, it seems that Corbulo thinks that he’s got you to be grateful to for saving his life; something about a strange talisman that you were wearing getting you freed from a Thracian camp just as you were being forced to fight to the death. I didn’t quite understand it all, but he seemed convinced that the gods saved you to fulfil your destiny.’ Sabinus gave his brother an appraising look, adding, ‘Whatever that may be.’
‘Well, if he’s grateful he never made it obvious to me.’
‘That’s because he’s an arrogant arsehole and would have thought that thanking you would put him in your debt, which it would. His father, on the other hand, has always been a more honourable man and has made it clear that he will do anything to help us because of the a debt of gratitude that he feels his family owes ours. That means he’s lobbying for me to become a quaestor and therefore enter the Senate, so you can just imagine how enthusiastically Uncle Gaius and I licked his arse. For once you have been some use to the family, little brother.’
‘And you’ll be the beneficiary,’ Vespasian said with more than a hint of bitterness in his voice.
Sabinus beamed smugly at his brother and nodded. ‘As the older brother that is only right and proper, but don’t worry, it’s not just me who’ll benefit; Corbulo also told us about a conversation that he had when he got back to Moesia with a centurion named Faustus whom I believe was with you that day in the Thracian camp.’
‘What about?’
Sabinus looked over his shoulder to where Caelus was to make sure that he was out of earshot. ‘About Poppaeus,’ he said lowering his voice.
‘Ah, I see. I had to confide in Faustus in order to get help. I knew that he wouldn’t be at all happy to find out that Poppaeus had tried to kill us and the whole relief column for his and Sejanus’ political ends; so he told Corbulo?’
‘Yes, and Corbulo and his father told us, not knowing that we already knew because Tryphaena and Rhoemetalces had written to Antonia.’
‘So?’
‘Don’t be so obtuse, little brother; they want revenge on Poppaeus and, because your life had also been threatened by his schemes, assumed, correctly, that we would also be looking for revenge. They were offering an alliance of families; so we took them to see Antonia, and Corbulo agreed to come with us when we take the priest to Tiberius. He’ll testify before him that Poppaeus wanted the discovery of the Thracian’s chest of denarii kept secret when he should have reported it to the Emperor and the Senate.’
Vespasian looked aghast at his brother. ‘What? We’re to take Rhoteces to Capreae? You never said anything about that to me.’
‘Well, someone’s got to do it, the Emperor’s only going to believe the priest if he’s submitted to torture in front of him; and you will have to give your evidence along with Corbulo. Anyway, what difference would it have made if you had known, you’d still be here, wouldn’t you?’
Vespasian nodded slowly. He had not guessed that the priest would have to go before the most powerful man in the world, but his brother was right, it would not have changed his mind even if he had; he would still do it.
The rain had become a steady downpour, obscuring the mountain ranges to the left and right. A solitary scout appeared out of the torrent from the west. Vespasian pushed his horse forward to come level with Tinos so that he could hear the man’s report, which was again happily negative. As the scout headed off again Vespasian turned his eyes to the north; there was no sign of the other scout. They travelled on another half-mile and still no one had come to report from the north. A sense of foreboding fell over Vespasian. He glanced over to Tinos, who shrugged, sharing his unease. A guttural shout came from up ahead. Tinos raised his hand and halted the column. The shapes of four approaching horses, just visible two hundred paces away through the rain, caused them both to relax momentarily. They kicked their mounts forward towards the returning scouts, but upon drawing closer it became apparent that only one of the horses’ riders was upright in the saddle; the other three lay across their mounts, the arrows protruding from them told, only too vividly, of what had happened. Vespasian looked at the surviving scout; watered-down blood dripped off his face and covered his tunic, the broken stub of an arrow shaft jutted out of his right shoulder; he stared back at Vespasian with a terror bordering on madness in his eyes.