Robert Fabbri - Tribune of Rome

‘Up until last year Rome was content for our warriors to serve in our army, under our own commanders, keeping the peace within the borders of the kingdom. Then two things changed: firstly, recruiting officers arrived from Moesia demanding that our army be formed into auxiliary cohorts for service in Moesia; and then our priests started to rouse the tribes in rebellion against this new measure, encouraging the chiefs with money, Roman denarii, that they suddenly seemed to have in abundance.’

‘Where did it come from?’

‘From what my informants tell me it was distributed by Rhoteces, the leader of our priests, but from whom he received it I don’t know, I can only guess.’

‘Why would he encourage your people into a fight that they were bound to lose?’

‘The Thracians are a proud, warlike people. They have only ever served other nations as mercenaries, never as conscripts; they see that as another form of slavery. It wasn’t difficult to get them to rebel. Why Rhoteces did it is an easy question: he hates me and my son. He hates the monarchy because we rule Thracia – in Rome’s name, granted, but nonetheless we rule. He thinks that if we were to disappear then power would pass to the priests, who, like us have no tribal loyalties, and Rhoteces is the chief priest.’

‘But Rome would still be supreme.’

‘Of course it would, and this is what that idiot doesn’t understand; my son and I are all that stand between an autonomous Thracia and annexation by Rome.’

‘So if the rebellion were to succeed, Rome would annex Thracia, and its people would be subject to conscription, and if it fails Rome gets its conscription anyway. Either way the legions will be busy here for some time pacifying the country.’

‘Exactly, and Rhoteces has unwittingly been the architect of this disaster through his lust for power and inability to understand politics. Sejanus has played him well.’

‘You are sure that he is behind this, domina?’

‘Antonia is my kinswoman and friend, we correspond regularly and I am aware of her fear of Sejanus. She has told me what she believes he would gain by destabilising Thracia.

‘In her last letter she asked me to look out for you on your way to Poppaeus’ camp, and to give you any assistance I could.’

‘She is most kind, domina.’

‘Indeed she is – to her friends.’ Tryphaena smiled. ‘I am unable to help you in any material way but I can give you a warning: three days ago four men passed through. They stopped only briefly to change horses; they were bearing an imperial travel warrant. They were Praetorian Guardsmen – well, three of them were. The fourth could not have been as his hair was too long.’

Vespasian nodded. ‘And did this fourth man also have a small beard and very brown skin?’

‘I believe he did. You know him?’

‘We met briefly. It wasn’t the friendliest of encounters. His name is Hasdro. Should he return this way I believe Antonia would thank you for killing him. He placed a spy in her house.’

‘I will see what can be arranged,’ she replied, looking at him in a different light. She admired a man who could, with good reason, so easily order another’s death.

She stood and clapped her hands. A slave girl entered with a small scroll and handed it to her mistress.

‘Her letter also contained this.’ Tryphaena gave him the scroll. ‘I will leave you to read it. When you have finished someone will escort you out. May the gods go with you, Vespasian.’

‘And also with you, domina.’

She left the room, leaving Vespasian alone with his letter, the first that he had ever received. His heart pounded as he broke the seal; he looked quickly for the signature: Caenis.

Vespasian left the palace a short while later feeling as though he hadn’t a care in the world. Caenis’ letter had been all that he had hoped for, and more, as he had composed her replies to his imaginary letters in his head on the long, unpleasant journey in the mule cart at the hands of the Caenii.

On his return his companions mistook the look on his face.

‘It would seem that your friend enjoyed the meeting with Queen Tryphaena,’ Paetus laughed. ‘By the looks of him I’d say that Venus was there too.’

Vespasian shrugged, said nothing and mounted his horse.

As they passed through the town gates Magnus drew level with Vespasian.

‘Well?’ he asked.

‘Hasdro passed through here three days ago, with three Praetorians.’

‘So that’s why you’ve got that love-struck look on your face. One squeeze of his balls and you’re his for ever.’

‘Very funny.’

‘I thought so. So the Queen was quite a looker, then?’

‘She was, and she also had a letter for me from Caenis.’

‘Ah, that would do it.’ Magnus grinned at his friend.

Vespasian was in no mood for conversation. He kicked his horse and accelerated away.

The morning was clear and cold; a strong breeze blew down from the snow-capped Haemus Mountains to the north, forcing them to keep their cloaks wrapped tightly around their shoulders. The condensation of their horses’ breath billowed from their nostrils as they made their way across the steadily rising ground, sometimes trotting, sometimes cantering to their destination. Ahead was the northern end of the Rhodope range where Poppaeus had the rebels holed up.

‘Will there be another battle, Paetus?’ Vespasian asked.

The cavalry prefect smiled, his bright eyes shining in the strengthening sun. ‘Poppaeus has been trying to draw them out for a month now, but they won’t budge. Our spies tell us that they’re divided into three factions. There are those that want to throw themselves on our mercy, which may or may not be forthcoming; then there’re those who want to charge out of their stronghold, after killing their women and children, and die fighting, taking as many of us with them as possible; and finally there’s a completely fanatical faction that wants to kill their women and children and then commit mass suicide.’ He laughed; the others joined in. ‘But seriously, Poppaeus is trying to avert the last option; it’s not good to create too many fanatical martyrs. He’s in secret negotiations with a chap called Dinas, who is the leader of the first faction, trying to get him to talk some sense into the others. The trouble is that he can’t offer complete clemency, that would send a bad message; some have got to be nailed up on crosses or lose hands or eyes, otherwise anyone with a petty grievance will rebel, thinking that if they lose they’ll be free to go back to their villages, with their wife’s virtue intact and all their limbs in place, to carry on as before until their next opportunity comes along.’

‘Quite so,’ Corbulo agreed. ‘It’s a tricky situation. How is he putting pressure on them? Has he dug siege lines around them?’

‘He’s done his best. We’ve constructed over four miles of trenches and ramparts around them, but their stronghold’s too high, you could never completely encircle it. So we send out patrols and try and stop any supplies getting in, but they slip through at night. Water is the one thing that they’re short of: they’ve only got one spring up there. But even so they could stay put for months, and the longer they’re there the more chance there is of other tribes joining them, then we could find ourselves surrounded.’

‘What about storming it?’ Vespasian asked.

Paetus burst out laughing; Vespasian reddened.

‘My dear chap, forgive me.’ Paetus managed to get his mirth under control and reached out to touch Vespasian’s arm in a conciliatory gesture. ‘That’s exactly what the bastards want. They’ve spent the winter fortifying the walls and digging ditches and traps, nasty things with sharpened stakes in. Nearly fell into one myself last time I was up there scouting. No, it’s damned near impregnable, you’d lose four cohorts just to get to the gate, then two more to get through them. And behind it are sheer cliffs. Even if you could get down those, it would be with so few men that you’d be massacred once you’d got to the bottom.