Robert Fabbri: Rome's executioner

‘Thank you, I’ll see you later.’ Vespasian took a deep breath and walked through the door.

‘So, little brother, you’re back from skulking about in the woods,’ drawled the familiar voice with no trace of affection or even friendship. Sabinus was sprawled out on the dining couch; he had evidently made use of the officers’ bath house as there was no sign of the dust and grime of travel about his appearance, and he was wearing a crisp, white, Equestrian toga over a clean tunic.

‘I may be your younger brother but I ceased to be little when I joined the Eagles,’ Vespasian snapped. ‘And, furthermore, I do not, and never did, skulk.’

Sabinus raised himself to his feet; his dark eyes glinted in the dim light of a couple of oil lamps as they glared mockingly at his brother. ‘Playing the big soldier are we? Next you’ll be telling me that you don’t fuck mules any more.’

‘Look Sabinus, if you’ve come all this way to have a fight let’s have it right now and then you can piss off back home again, otherwise try to remain civil and tell me what you’ve got to say.’ Vespasian squared up to his brother, his fists clenched by his side. Sabinus smiled thinly at him. Vespasian noticed that he had put on a bit of weight — four years out of the army and living the good life in Rome had left its mark.

‘Fair enough, little brother,’ Sabinus said, sitting down on a camp stool, ‘but old habits die hard. I’m not here to fight; I’m here on the Lady Antonia’s business. Aren’t you going to offer me a drink?’

‘If you’ve finished insulting me, then yes.’ Vespasian crossed to the far end of the room and took a pitcher from a cheaply constructed wooden chest standing next to the door leading through to the bedroom. He mixed a couple of cups of the rough, local wine with water and handed one to his brother. ‘How are our parents?’

‘They’re both well, I have letters for you from them.’

‘Letters?’ Vespasian’s eyes lit up.

‘Yes. I’ve got one from Caenis too, you can read it later; but first you should clean up and get changed, we have to deliver a letter from Antonia to Queen Tryphaena. We’ve got a job to do and we need her help.’

‘What sort of job?’

‘One that will make rescuing Caenis seem like a pleasant stroll through the Gardens of Lucullus. Do you know a Thracian tribe called the Getae?’

‘Never heard of them.’

‘Well, I don’t know much about them either except that they live outside the Empire across the Danuvius. They generally keep themselves busy fighting the tribes to their north but recently they’ve taken to crossing the river and raiding Moesia. The raids have been getting larger and more frequent in the last year or so and the Fifth Macedonica and the Fourth Scythica have been struggling to repel them; the Emperor has become concerned enough about the situation to reinstate Poppaeus Sabinus as Governor.’

‘What are we supposed to do about it?’ Vespasian asked, not liking the idea of going anywhere near Poppaeus again, knowing, as he did, that he was an ally of Sejanus.

‘Antonia doesn’t want us to do anything about the raids, they’re no concern of hers; but what does interest her is a piece of intelligence that one of her agents in Moesia sent a few months back.’

‘She’s got agents in Moesia?’

‘She’s got agents everywhere. Anyway, this one reported the presence in the last three or four of the raids of someone with whom the good lady is keen to have a nice little chat with back in Rome.’

‘And we’ve been asked to go and fetch him for her.’

Sabinus grinned. ‘How did you guess?’

Vespasian had a sinking feeling in the pit of his belly. ‘Who?’ he asked, already suspecting the answer.

‘Sejanus’ go-between; the Thracian chief priest, Rhoteces.’

Queen Tryphaena placed Antonia’s letter down on the polished oak table and looked at the two brothers; Vespasian, like Sabinus, wore a toga as it was a private meeting. They were sitting in her sumptuous, warmly lit study, part of her suite of private rooms deep within the palace complex and far away from the flapping ears of the numerous palace functionaries and slaves that infested the formal areas. Here only her secretary and body slave could come and go as they pleased; even her son, King Rhoemetalces, had to wait outside whilst one of the four sentries that constantly guarded the suite’s only access sought permission granting him an audience. Because of his close ties with Antonia, Vespasian always found himself quickly welcomed into Tryphaena’s presence.

‘So my kinswoman has located the priest that would kill my son and me and rule Thracia in the gods’ name,’ she said, flicking her sharp, blue eyes between the brothers. ‘And she requests that I help you capture him by providing men; which I am happy to do, but of how much use they will be against the Getae I don’t know.’

‘What do you mean, domina?’ Vespasian asked, leaning forward on his lavishly cushioned chair in an attempt to get out of the way of the wafts of pungent incense emanating from a brazier close behind him.

‘My people are mainly foot soldiers; only the moderately wealthy can afford horses so we have relatively few cavalry. The Getae however live on the grasslands to the north of the Danuvius where horses are plentiful; they fight almost exclusively on horseback; our cavalry would be no match for them and our infantry would never catch them. I could even, as the highest-ranking Roman citizen in Thracia and Rome’s puppet ruler, order you to take the two cohorts stationed here but they would also be ineffective against such a mobile force; remember Carrhae, gentlemen?’

‘Then we have to wait for them to come to us,’ Sabinus said, recalling the strategy that had been employed to defeat the Numidian rebels when he had served with the VIIII Hispana in Africa. ‘We go north and speak to Pomponius Labeo and find out where they’ve been raiding, then work out a likely target and wait for them to attack it; with luck the priest will be with them as he has been for the last few raids.’

Vespasian cast a scathing, sidelong glance at his brother. ‘That seems a bit hit or miss.’

‘You got any better ideas, little brother?’ Sabinus retorted. ‘Send them an invitation to the games and then back to yours for dinner after, I suppose?’

‘Your brother is right Vespasian,’ the Queen cut in before the argument got out of hand. ‘It may take time but eventually you will get close to them, and then you will have to see what opportunities Fortuna presents you with.’

‘I’m sorry, domina.’ Vespasian felt chastened; his brother was right no matter how much it irked him. He quickly put his feelings to one side and expanded on Sabinus’ idea. ‘We will need men but not many; this would be better done with a half-dozen picked fighters. Stealth is the key if we can’t match them in open battle.’

‘Well done, little brother, you’re catching on.’

‘If stealth is the key, gentlemen, then may I suggest that harmony should be the watchword?’

The brothers looked at each other and with a slight nod of their heads called a silent truce.

‘Good,’ Tryphaena continued, ‘that’s agreed then. I shall get the captain of my guard to provide you with six of my best men, skilled in all weaponry, especially the bow as you will be up against the best archers that you have ever encountered.’

‘But you said they were mainly cavalry,’ Vespasian pointed out. ‘Thracians don’t use horse-archers.’

‘This tribe does; they’ve taken on quite a few of the customs of their northern neighbours, the Sarmatians and the Scythians; they even wear trousers.’