Vespasian: Tribune of Rome (25 page)

‘It’s working. They’re not interested in us, they’re heading back to the road,’ Vespasian shouted. ‘Keep to this pace, lads, and pray to whichever god you hold dearest that we’ll be out of sight soon.’

After another half an hour they had started to climb the first of the hills. The sudden shout they had feared, ordering them to stop, had not come. As the sun reached its zenith behind the rain-filled clouds they passed over the crest of the hill and down into the comparative safety of the valley below.

N
IGHT HAD FALLEN
and the rain had stopped. They had ridden fast through the hills and had now slowed to a walk as they crossed rocky scrubland. The full moon shone through the thin cloud covering giving enough light for the horses to be able to pick their way through the rough ground. Below them, to their left, the route of the Via Aurelia could intermittently be discerned, picked out by the torches of an occasional passing carriage or a group of travellers. Beyond it, high on a cliff, were the twinkling lights of a hilltop town.

‘That is Cosa,’ Vespasian said to Magnus. ‘My grandmother’s estate is just to the north of town overlooking the sea. We need to cross the Via Aurelia and find the road that climbs up to the town. About halfway up there’s a track off to the right that leads to her land.’

‘Well, now’s as good a time as any, sir,’ Magnus replied. ‘It seems pretty quiet and I for one am looking forward to a hot meal and a warm bed, and I’m surprised that you’re still able to sit on a horse. Dismount, lads, we’ll lead them down to the road.’

They stopped in an olive grove fifty paces from the junction of the Via Aurelia and the road that wound its way up the hill to Cosa. In the distance they could hear the clatter of a large troop of cavalry coming up from the south.

‘How far away are they?’ Vespasian asked.

‘Can’t tell,’ Magnus replied.

‘They may not even be Praetorians.’

‘I’ll bet they are; if they were just army auxiliaries they would have made camp before nightfall. They’ll be Praetorians all right; they must have realised a few hours ago that we had managed to get past them so I reckon they’ll be heading further north to set up another roadblock.’

‘Do you think we should just make a run for it?’ Marius whispered.

‘Best not; we’ll let them pass.’

The torches at the head of the fast-moving column were now in sight and they watched with bated breath as they came nearer. When the column, over a hundred strong, came to the junction their leader stopped.

‘Clemens, take half the men and carry on up the road for another ten miles and block it there. Search all the inns, farms and barns on the way. I’ll take the rest of the boys and search the town; if I don’t find anything I’ll join you in the morning. Get patrols out at first light, but only groups of more than four; I don’t want a repeat of this morning’s fiasco.’

‘I shall do everything that is necessary, Macro.’ The young decurion saluted; the torchlight glinted on his helmet as he turned to the column. ‘The first two
turmae
follow me,’ he ordered, and then led off up the road at a swift trot.

As the last of the sixty-man detachment passed Macro he called out to the rest of the column: ‘Right, lads, we’re going to turn this town inside out; anyone who’s arrived today I want brought into the forum for questioning, along with all the local magistrates and tavern-owners. Don’t take no for an answer from anyone – got it?’ He turned to the familiar figure beside him. ‘Well, Hasdro, I expect there’ll be some work here for you tonight. I’m sure a few of them will appreciate a little encouragement before they talk.’ He pulled his horse around and urged it up the road towards the town.

Vespasian and his companions watched the torch-lit column wind its way through the darkness up to the unsuspecting town a mile up the hill.

‘Poor buggers,’ Magnus whispered. ‘They’re not going to get much sleep tonight with Macro and his men running wild.’

‘But that works in our favour,’ Vespasian replied, now feeling desperately tired. ‘Let’s get going while the Praetorians are busy terrorising innocent provincials.’

They led their horses down to the road, mounted up and followed the column up towards the town. They found the track that led to Tertulla’s estate as the first shouts and screams from the town echoed around the hills.

‘We need to follow this for a mile or so to the top of the hill,’ Vespasian said, struggling to see the line of the track in the dim moonlight. ‘Then bear to the left towards the sea.’

Another series of screams came from the town and the group hurried on their way, not because they were in any immediate danger but in order to get away from the sounds of anguish that they felt responsible for.

The sound of distant waves crashing below them reached their ears as they came to the summit. The smell of salt water revived Vespasian and he sucked it in greedily. He had loved the sea ever since, from the age of seven, he and Sabinus had lived here with Tertulla for the five years that their parents had been in Asia.

He looked upon that time as the happiest of his life, despite his brother’s constant bullying. But his grandmother had protected him from Sabinus, inflicting severe punishments upon him every time new bruises had appeared on Vespasian’s body and making sure that Attalus, her steward, kept an eye on the two boys if she wasn’t around. Then one glorious day, when Vespasian was eleven, Sabinus left for Rome to seek the help of their uncle Gaius in getting a posting as a military tribune.
Vespasian had then had Tertulla’s undivided attention for over a year and he had basked in her love. Each day, after he had finished his lessons with his grammaticus, they would spend time together. She told him stories as they walked along the cliffs and taught him how to knot a net whilst fishing on the beach; but, most importantly, she had taught him the workings of the estate that she ran herself, her husband having died before Vespasian was born.

When his parents had returned he had not wanted to leave Tertulla and her estate, which he had come to consider as home. It was only her accompanying him back to his parents’ newly acquired estate at Aquae Cutillae, and staying for six months whilst he settled in, that enabled him to do so. She had left the day after his thirteenth birthday; he had not seen her since.

Knowing that he had less than half a mile to go before he was home he concentrated his mind on one final effort to remain conscious. The last few hundred paces were a blur to him, but eventually they arrived at the familiar wood and iron gate that he had last walked through nearly four years ago. He slumped forward on his horse, managed to kick his right leg over its back and dismounted. He felt Magnus’ arm support him as he stumbled forward and knocked on the iron knocker with what little strength he had left.

‘I think I’d better do that a bit harder, sir,’ Magnus said, giving the knocker three huge blows.

‘Who is it?’ came a voice from the other side.

‘Tell my grandmother that it’s Vespasian and three friends.’

They waited a while and then a familiar voice came through the gate.

‘If you’re Vespasian tell me what name you call me by.’

Vespasian smiled to himself and looked apologetically at Magnus. ‘Tute.’

The gate swung open and Tertulla, now well into her eighties, rushed forward.

‘Vespasian, my darling, it is really you.’ She put her arms around him and hugged him. ‘Ow, you’ve grown a hard skin since I last saw you.’

‘I’m a military tribune now, Tute, but we should talk inside; I’ve been hurt and need to rest. These fellows are my friends.’

‘Yes, of course, come in, come in all of you.’

Vespasian lay on a couch in the triclinium drinking warmed watered wine whilst Tertulla examined his leg wound in the dim light of an oil lamp held up close by a slave.

‘Not bad, Magnus, really not bad at all,’ she said admiringly as she ran her wrinkled fingers over the swollen, blistered wound.

‘Thank you,’ Magnus replied from the other side of the room whence he and his crossroads brothers looked on anxiously.

‘What did you clean it with?’

‘Piss.’

‘Very good, the best thing if you can’t get any vinegar. The wound itself has closed, so I just need to apply a salve for the burn and then bind it tight to keep it from tearing open. Attalus!’

A tall, well-built man in his late fifties entered the room. ‘There’s no need to shout, I’m right here,’ he said in an overly patient tone of voice.

‘There you are, you great oaf. Take Magnus and his colleagues and find them something to eat, then bring some bread and ham in here. And whilst you’re about it bring my cup, I don’t know why Vespasian is drinking and I’m not.’

‘Probably because you didn’t ask for your cup before.’

‘Must I think of everything?’

‘Yes, you must, because you are the mistress and everyone else is your slave.’

‘Well, behave like one, then.’

‘I always do. Is that all?’

‘That’s three orders; I don’t think you’ll be able to remember any more.’

Attalus looked over to Vespasian and grinned. ‘Welcome home, Master Vespasian, it will be so nice to have someone sensible around the house again.’

‘Thank you, Attalus. I see that my grandmother and you are still getting along.’

‘I tolerate her,’ he said in a playful whisper.

‘Why I tolerate
you
I don’t know. I should have you crucified.’

‘Then who would remind you what day it was and what your name is?’

‘Go on, get on with it,’ Tertulla said, slapping him hard on the arse and trying not to laugh.

Attalus left the room rubbing his behind and taking the bemused crossroads brothers with him.

Tertulla gently anointed the wound with a foul-smelling balm and then carefully bound it. As she was finishing Attalus came back with the food and a silver cup.

‘You took your time, did you get lost again?’ Tertulla said sharply, tying the linen bandage with a knot.

‘I’m surprised you remembered that I’d even gone,’ Attalus replied, thumping down the tray of food with a flamboyant flourish. ‘Would the mistress like water in her wine or is she planning on drinking herself into oblivion again this evening?’

‘I’ll pour my wine and then I’ll know there’s no spit in it. Off you go and do something useful like fucking one of my body slaves, put her in a good mood for when she does my hair in the morning.’

‘As a favour to you, mistress, I’ll have all three, then you’ll be surrounded by happy smiling faces when you dress tomorrow.’

‘Get out of my sight, you old goat, and take your little friend with you. You’ll probably need his help, considering your age.’

Tertulla dismissed the lamp slave, who knew better than to laugh at his mistress’s banter with his superior.

Vespasian let out a long laugh as they left the room. ‘I’d nearly forgotten how much fun it is living here, Tute. It is so good to see you.’

‘He keeps my wits about me; a priceless commodity, wouldn’t you say?’ she said, laughing with him. She picked up the wine jug and poured a good measure of wine into her cup. Vespasian gazed at her lovingly as she caressed the plain silver cup with both hands.

‘When I think of you, I always picture you holding that cup; you never drink from anything else, do you?’

‘Your grandfather, Titus Flavius Petro, gave me this on our wedding day. I was thirteen years old and it was the first thing that I could ever call mine; up until then all my possessions had technically belonged to my father. I cherish this as I cherished that dear man, thirty years my senior, who gave me it all those years ago.’ She smiled sadly to herself, remembering the man she’d loved, and then raised her precious cup. ‘To absent friends.’

‘Absent friends.’

They drank and sat in companionable silence for a while. The throbbing in his leg returned and reminded Vespasian of his wound.

‘How long will it take to heal, Tute?’

‘Ten to fifteen days if you rest it. Come on, you must eat,’ Tertulla replied, offering him the plate of ham.

‘I need to leave in seven at the most, I have to be in Genua in twelve days’ time and we won’t be able to take the road.’

‘Why?’

Vespasian briefly related the events of the past few days. He tried to keep the details vague in order to disguise the extent of his
involvement in the conspiracy against Sejanus, but it wasn’t easy to pull the wool over Tertulla’s eyes.

‘So, you’re involved with rich, powerful people and you are already choosing sides.’

‘I chose the honourable side, the side that serves Rome.’

‘You must be careful, Vespasian; the side that seems to serve Rome may not always be the most honourable, and even if it is it may not win.’

‘So you would advise that I just choose the side that I think will win, regardless of whether it seeks to serve Rome?’

‘I advise you to keep out of politics that you don’t understand, and to keep away from the powerful, because in general they only have one goal and that is more power. They tend to use people of our class as dispensable tools. We’re very handy for doing the dirty work but a liability once it is done because we may know too much.’

‘Tute, I owe Asinius and Antonia for my commission in the Fourth Scythica; I am duty bound to do what they have asked me and that’s all there is to it.’

Tertulla looked at her grandson and smiled. He was so like her husband when they had married almost seventy-five years before: the same earnestness and desire to do what he felt was right.

‘Just remember what happened to your grandfather Petro; he was duty bound to Pompey Magnus, having served with him during his eastern campaigns, so he re-enlisted in his legions as a senior centurion when the civil war against Caesar flared up. He’d already served his twenty-five years with the legions, but at the age of forty-four, a year after our marriage, he found himself at Pharsalus fighting fellow citizens, whose sense of duty was as strong as his, but directed towards a different Roman cause. Pompey lost everything to Caesar at Pharsalus, but Petro managed to survive the battle and made it home to me. He appealed to Caesar in Rome and won a full pardon; he was allowed to live and
became a tax-collector, though he knew he could never again expect advancement.