The Belgae Page 4
“Looks like Paetus has been playing a few games. His family are clients of Caesar, but it appears he also belongs to Publius Clodius Pulcher, and that man’s already a serious thorn in Caesar’s side.”
Crispus turned to the older legate.
“But we cannot arrest a member of the patrician class just because he might be playing dubious political games with multiple patrons. We’d need senatorial approval.”
Fronto sighed.
“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 complicit
y 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.
“I have no particular desire to see you suffer, prefect, so there are different ways we can proceed here. It’s all up to you.”
The two soldiers, having finished lighting the lamps, returned to the doorway at Balventius’ shoulders where they lurked, menacingly. Paetus clamped his mouth shut and Balventius had to grudgingly admire the steadfast look that appeared on the prefect’s face.
“Go on, before I speak.”
Balventius nodded respectfully.
“Very well. Firstly, you can tell me everything you know that’s relevant and resign your commission and step down. That offer is mine alone and I will answer myself to Labienus and Caesar if you accept it… and you should. I will take your oath on the eagle that you have told me everything and allow you to officially tender you resignation of the position to Labienus and return to Rome. I’m not even sure why you’re still here. I know you planned to step down last year. That was why they approached me.”
Paetus nodded soberly.
“And?”
“Option two is less pleasant. Let’s just leave it at that. Take my offer.”
Paetus sighed.
“I’m going to make a huge leap in logic and assume that Caesar has taken exception to something I’ve done, since I’m damn certain I’ve never been involved in treachery or causing unrest and have always given my complete loyalty to the Julii. Care to give me a clue, Balventius?”
Balventius folded his arms.
“The general is aware of your other patron. You remember Clodius, I presume, since you’re on his client list?”
Paetus nodded, frowning.
“And?”
Balventius grumbled.
“They say no man can serve two masters. It’s certainly true in this case. Clodius and Caesar are not the closest of friends.”
Paetus shrugged.
“I’m aware that Clodius has some unsavoury practices, but surely…”
Balventius cut him off mid-flow.
“Publius Clodius Pulcher has been undermining Caesar in the senate, along with other high profile Patricians. He is the patron of Salonius, who you will remember tried to turn the army against the general last year. Anyone who is on that list is no friend of Caesar. You know that!”
Paetus wandered across to the desk and took a seat.
“Do you really need your escort?” Paetus enquired, gesturing at the legionaries behind the centurion.
Balventius stood silent for a moment, and then gave a curt nod before turning to the two men by the door.
“Go back to the gate and take the others with you.”
One of the legionaries stepped forward slightly.
“Sir?” he said, gesturing at the camp prefect.
Balventius turned his baleful glare on the man.
“Go!”
Hurriedly, the two men left the room, shutting the door behind them. Balventius waited a moment, listening to the brief flutter of conversation and then the soldiers leaving, and then allowed his shoulders to sag slightly.
“Alright, we’re alone now. Go on…”
Paetus placed the flats of his palms on the table and fixed Balventius with a steady gaze.
“I’m Caesar’s man, not Clodius’. I’m no traitor and, truth be told, I would rather stay a thousand miles from Clodius, given the choice.”
The scarred centurion frowned.
“Then why are you on that list?”
Paetus sighed.
“My father in law owed him a lot of money; and I mean a lot of money. He was an idiot and ran up a gambling debt like the loot of the Cilician pirates. He couldn’t pay anything back and when Clodius’ thugs started threatening my wife as well, I stepped in. Problem is: things just sort of spiralled out of control. Clodius is a monster and he’s not above casual violence. One of his other clients went broke and flatly refused to pay him. They burned his house down with his children inside.”
Balventius shrugged.
“Not that I don’t sympathise, Paetus, but that’s not really our concern. You deal with your personal issues and you keep them away from the rest of us. You need to sever your ties with Clodius or with Caesar. If you denounce Clodius, I’ll support you, and I’m pretty sure most of the staff will too. If not, I’ll have to carry out Caesar’s wishes, and I suspect it’ll go badly for you.”
Paetus sighed.
“As I said, Clodius is a monster. I am under no illusion that Caesar is anything other than a political opportunist, but Clodius is in a different class. I would happily walk away from the man, but I can’t tell Caesar anything useful to him, because I simply don’t know anything.”
Balventius frowned and the prefect continued.
“And Clodius isn’t interested in me paying him back now. He wants to have his hooks into people. I tried to pay off my father-in-law’s debts a few months ago but he wouldn’t have it. I suspect I’m too useful to him as I am. And if I renounce him as a patron, Calida and her family will turn up skewered in a ditch and I’ve no intention of allowing that to happen.”
He shrugged.
“You see my problem, centurion?”
Balventius nodded. It was a problem, for certain. Paetus was in trouble whichever way he turned. Unless…
A slow smile began to crawl across his face.
“You find this funny, Balventius?”
“No,” the scarred centurion replied, fixing him with that one good eye. “But I have an idea. There’s a way we could turn this to our advantage, Paetus.”
“Whose advantage?” the man asked suspiciously.
“Largely Caesar’s... and yours.”
He leaned on the table and faced the prefect.
“I need to speak to the staff and then to Caesar when he arrives. In the meantime, I trust you’re happy glossing over this as though it never happened?”
Paetus nodded.
“Then you get back to your work and I’ll get back to mine.”
Turning, he pulled the door open and strode, blinking, out into the sunlight, leaving a dazed prefect sitting in the dark and pondering an uncertain future.
* * * * *
Labienus leaned forward across the desk, his eyes blazing.
“You did what?”
“I let him go” repeated Balventius.
Balbus wandered across and stood next to his primus pilus.
“He’s got good instincts, Labienus. I might have done the same.”
“Oh, very noble” Labienus spat. “All well and good, but Caesar might not see it that way. He gave us specific instructions!”
“If I might interject?” Crispus spoke up from his seat.
“What?”
“The actual instructions Caesar sent were to detain him, which is exactly how the centurion proceeded; to extract a confession, which Balventius did; and to do whatever was necessary to get information. Although it might take a moment for the general to calm down and accept it, we have, in fact, followed his instructions precisely.”
Labienus glared at the young legate.
“Great. Just wonderful. Alright, Balventius. What are you proposing?”
The primus pilus shrugged.
“This could be turned to the general’s advantage, but someone will need to persuade him of that. This Clodius, from what I understand, is trying to undermine Caesar with the senate?”
“Yes.”
“And he believes he has Paetus by the balls.”
“Yes” replied Labienus again, impatiently.
“Then he has no reason to doubt anything Paetus tells him.”
Fronto, freshly bathed and shaved, gave a brief, thoughtful chuckle.
“That could work out very nicely for Caesar. He could send all sorts of misinformation to the man; make him look like an idiot. The general should see the appeal of that.”
He turned to Balventius.
“Has Paetus agreed to this, then? It could put his family in a lot of danger.”
Balventius nodded.
“He hasn’t agreed yet, ‘cause I haven’t asked him yet, sir. But what choice has he got? He’s pretty much got to agree. We ought to work out something to make sure his family are safe first, though, if what I hear about this Clodius is true.”
The room fell into a thoughtful silence.
After a long pause, Crispus sat up with a deep frown.
“I…”
He was interrupted by a hammering at the door.
Labienus turned, irritably.
“Enter!”
The door swung open to reveal a legionary standing in the doorway at an approximation of attention, his face a plum colour and sweat pouring down from his hairline. The man had clearly run fast and hard.
“What is it?” Labienus asked the exhausted soldier.
“Sir…” the man managed, his breathing laboured. “The general is at the gate…” wheeze… “with his praetorians.” Another ragged breath. “He’s on his way now, sir.”
Labienus nodded.
“Thank you, soldier.”
As the legionary closed the door and disappeared, the interim commander pushed his seat back and stood with a sigh.
“Well, gentlemen. It appears things are about to start moving.”
The officers in the room shuffled as they stood, brushing the creases out of their tunics and cloaks and straightening their belts.
Out in the corridor, they heard heavy booted footsteps and soldiers crashing to attention. They stood smartly and waited. Moments later the door opened and the young moon-face of Aulus Ingenuus, commander of the general’s guards, appeared with a broad smile. Fronto stared. Ingenuus was still little more than two years under the eagles, yet he had, though bravery and a little luck, secured one of the most prestigious positions in the army. The change in him over a single winter was noticeable, though. While he still had his air of youthful innocence, his face had taken on a hard edge, defined slightly by an unfashionable but neatly-trimmed beard. Moreover, he had acquired a fine scar that ran down his cheek to his jaw; the reason, Fronto suspected, for his new beard.