S. Turney: The Belgae

“Not for a trial in the field. If the man is found guilty of treason against the army, the general can do whatever he likes with him. Oh, there might be ripples to deal with later in Rome, but nothing will stick to Caesar or us. See, if Paetus is linked to Clodius, then that means he’s linked to Salonius, and that bastard tried to turn the army against us. I think Paetus has made some bad choices.”

He turned back to the parchment.

“We’re to detain him and ‘extract’ a confession from him. Caesar authorises us to do whatever we must to get any useful information about other saboteurs and ‘problem individuals’.”

Balventius stepped forward from the door and gestured at Labienus.

“Sorry to have to point this out, sir but, with you and Paetus being long-standing friends, then you really need to delegate this to someone, and quickly.”

Labienus nodded and gestured to Fronto.

“What do you think, Marcus?”

Fronto let the scroll roll up once more and turned to the one-eyed veteran centurion.

“Well, Balventius. If you’re willing to do this, I would feel confident in passing it to you.” He held out the scroll. “Also, Paetus is the camp prefect and since Caesar wanted you to consider the position, you may have to fill in for a while in the role. Besides, if Labienus appoints you to the role of interim camp prefect, you’ll have enough of a level of authority to arrest Paetus without having a senior officer present.”

Balventius sighed and nodded.

“I can handle it. Do I assume none of you gentlemen want in on the details?”

Labienus shook his head.

“Just get results. That’s what Caesar cares about.”

Balventius nodded and turned to the three legates.

“I’ll draw a few of the less reputable men from my legion.”

“Be very careful,” Balbus cautioned him. “If this goes wrong or Caesar changes his mind, there could be accusations of all sorts. Make sure you cover your own back and those of your associates. I don’t like this.”

Balventius nodded.

“Don’t you worry, sir. I can scare the shit out of a man without even touching him. I’ll bet he drops his traitor friends in it before I get within a foot of him.”

* * * * *

Paetus stood with his back to a hut wall and three centurions before him like disobedient children being disciplined. Balventius stopped at the entrance to the compound to where he’d tracked the man and leaned casually against a gate post. This had to be done professionally, but also subtly, since it could cause ripples as far as Rome.

The camp prefect jabbed in the direction of one of the junior centurions with his vine staff in the manner of a disciplinarian. Balventius was only half-listening, planning, as he was, how to approach the problem. Behind him, out in the road, were half a dozen men, hand-picked from three legions for their loyalty, their discretion and, above all, their willingness to overlook certain proprieties.

What was being said was something to do with use of the training ground that had been levelled out in the area beyond the camps; something about efficient booking of facilities. Once again, Balventius smiled at the very idea of anyone suggesting that he would have been any good in that job. Too much bureaucracy, not enough exercise. Indeed, Paetus was becoming slightly expansive around the middle, despite having been on campaign for a year.

The grizzled centurion waved a hand behind him at his men, gesturing that they should maintain their position and stay out of sight. As he mused on what sort of a man would actually want the job of camp prefect, he realised something. For all the lack of respect he felt towards men like Paetus who ate and slept well and stayed out of the fighting, getting slowly more rotund, he would rather poke his remaining eye out than try that job. That anyone had the patience, let alone the desire, to solve problems in camp logistics boggled the mind.

And whether Paetus had been involved in conspiracy at any level or not, he had to admit that, under the man’s careful observance, life in the camps of six legions had run pretty damn smoothly.

He shook his head irritably. He was spending too much time these days hanging around with the officer class. He was starting to analyse his orders before carrying them out.

Blinking away a bead of sweat in the height of the afternoon sun, he focused on the scene before him again. Paetus had finished dressing down the three centurions who, chastised, saluted and turned to march away.

Balventius watched the camp prefect open a wax tablet and scribble a few notes. With a quick gesture to the men behind him, he strode forward purposely across the compound, grinding his teeth. Paetus looked up as the shadow of the frightening veteran loomed over him.

“Centurion Balventius? Can I do something for you?”

The primus pilus adjusted his thinking at the last moment and came to a halt, standing easily in front of his prey.

“Prefect. May I request we adjourn to your office?”

Paetus raised an eyebrow.

“This a private matter, centurion?”

“Somewhat delicate” agreed Balventius with a nod.

“Very well.”

Closing his hinged wax tablet and putting away his stylus, Paetus turned and walked calmly across the dusty ground toward his office. This compound in the corner of Vesontio’s citadel had been allocated as quarters for the camp prefect and his staff, and was surrounded by a new Roman stockade of its own. The low building in the centre that held half a dozen offices was obviously an original Gaulish structure of stone and rough hewn timber. The largest office was that of Paetus, while the others belonged to three tribunes assigned to assist him and the two chief clerks under his command.

The door to the room lay open and Paetus strolled into the cool interior, lit by two windows in opposite walls that also allowed for a breeze to pass through; a feature the lesser offices almost certainly wouldn’t have, Balventius would be willing to bet.

The grizzled centurion stopped at the door and made a number of gestures at his men. Efficiently, the group split up; two men following Balventius into the office while, immediately behind them, two more pushed the door closed and stood outside it.

Paetus looked up uncertainly.

“It’s a warm week, Balventius” he said with a slight smile. “I’m generally leaving the door open for the breeze.”

Balventius remained silent but gestured at the two men with him, who lit the oil lamps that stood on shelves at points round the room. As the camp prefect watched them with confusion and a sinking feeling, the window shutters were pushed closed from outside with a gentle thud, plunging the room into a deep gloom.

“What is the meaning of this, centurion?”

Balventius allowed himself a sad sigh.

“Actually, Paetus, I’m not currently holding the rank of centurion. Today I hold the temporary rank of prefect.”

Confusion forced Paetus’ face to change repeatedly. The room was dark and warming by the moment with the cloying smell of the burning oil.

“What’s going on, Balventius?” he said, earnestly, and with a slight tremor of fear.

“I’m afraid, Paetus, that I have been asked to assume your duties for the time being.”

He let that sink in for a moment and as Paetus opened his mouth to speak, the primus pilus rode roughshod over him.

“On the authority of Titus Labienus, commander of the forces of Rome in Gaul and of Gaius Julius Caesar, praetor, governor of Cisalpine and Transalpine Gaul, and of Illyricum, I arrest you on suspicion of complicity in conspiring against the army and its commander, and in the causing of unrest among the legions last summer.”

Paetus was staring at him, open-mouthed.