The Iron Hand of Mars mdf-4 Page 9

  'And what do you do, Falco?' asked the mouth. It squeezed out his words like stuffing from a badly sewn mattress case.

  'I deliver awkward packages.'

  'Hah!' commented the primipilus.

  'So what's in the picnic basket?' jeered his more talkative pal.

  'Five bread rolls, a sheep's-gut sausage – and a new standard to mark the Emperor's personal favour to the Fourteenth. Want to take a look?'

  The primipilus was the man of action around here, so while the cornicularius attended to a snag in his manicure with the stump-end of a stylus, he forced himself to approach as I unbuckled the basket straps. The Iron Hand weighed as much as a chunk of aqueduct supply pipe, but he lifted it by its thumb as lightly as an amulet.

  'Oh very nice!' No one could fault the words. Only the tone was treasonous.

  I kept my own voice level. 'I am to deliver Vespasian's gift to your legate in person. I also have a sealed despatch for him, which I believe contains the programme for a suitable investiture ceremony. Any chance of a word with Florius Gracilis at once?'

  'No,' said the cornicularius.

  'I can wait.'

  'You can measure yourself for a funeral urn and pour yourself into it.'

  I remarked to Xanthus pleasantly, 'This is the Fourteenth legion's famous helpfulness and charm.'

  'Who's the flower with the disgusting reek?' demanded the primipilus suddenly.

  I gave both sections of the military a narrow look. 'Special envoy from Titus Caesar.' I drew one finger across my neck in the time-honoured gesture. 'I haven't worked out yet whether he's a well-disguised assassin looking for someone to dispose of, or just an auditor with a fancy dress sense. Now we've got here we should soon know. Either there'll be a body count, or you'll find him peering at your daily accounts…'

  Xanthus was so startled that for once he kept his trap shut.

  The two wits consulted each other wearily. 'As we thought!' sighed the cornicularius. 'Things must be rough in Rome. Now they're sending us rejects from musical parties and bogus scum like this – '

  'Steady on!' I grinned, attempting to go along with them.

  'Whatever I am, it's genuine! Let's get back to the point. If Gracilis is too busy now, make me an appointment when his schedule has more space.'

  Sometimes ingratiation works. Not here. 'Genuine scum!' commented the primipilus to his crony. 'Disappear up your own arse, curly!'

  'Leave my orifices out of the orders of the day! Listen, centurion. I've just lugged an Iron Hand halfway across Europe and I'm intending to deliver it. I know the Fourteenth are a blasphemous, uncultured mob, but if your legate wants his consulship he's not going to let a drill- swank and an ink-swab reject an award from the Emperor – '

  'Don't get clever,' the cornicularius warned. 'You can leave the trophy, and you can leave the sealed despatch. Maybe,' he speculated with his most cheerful expression yet, 'the despatch says "Execute the messenger"…'

  I ignored that. 'I'll happily ground the ironwork, but I'm going to hand the confidential orders to Gracilis himself. Do I get quarters at the fort? Your accommodation must be flush now you're light of the loyal Batavians!'

  'If that's a jibe at the Fourteenth's expense,' the primipilus snorted, 'make the most of it; you won't manage another!'

  I said I wouldn't dream of insulting the victors of Bedriacum, and that I'd find my own roost.

  Lindsey Davis

  The Iron Hand of Mars

  As I shoved him down the corridor outside, Xanthus whined, 'What's Bedriacum?'

  'A battle where the Fourteenth escaped being called losers by the simple trick of claiming they had never arrived for the fight.'

  'I thought it would be something like that. You've upset them, Falco!'

  'Suits me.'

  'And they know you are working for the Emperor – ' 'No, Xanthus; they think you are!'

  'What's the point of that?'

  'They appreciate they have a tricky record. They know the Emperor will send someone to look them over, but they reckon I'm the dregs. So long as I behave stupidly, they'll never believe I'm the spy.'

  Fortunately, Xanthus didn't ask why I was so anxious to identify someone else as the Emperor's agent.

  Or what I thought the Fourteenth Gemina might try and do to whoever they thought it was.

  As we reached the exit, two tribunes came from another office, arguing in a gentlemanly way.

  'Macrinus, I don't want to be a nuisance, but – '

  'He's incommunicado; planning one of his forays against imagined troublemakers. Remind me tomorrow and I'll get you in to see him when he has some breathing-space.'

  At first I listened because I guessed they were referring to the legate Gracilis. The young man speaking was the assured and stocky type that had never impressed me, with an athletic build, square head and a burnished tint to his tight curls. The one who seemed to be protesting struck me as familiar.

  He must have been twenty, but looked younger. An ordinary, boyish face. A tall, slim frame. A quiet manner but a ready smile from a wide mouth.

  'Camillus Justinus!' At my cry of recognition for his companion, the fast tribune reacted deftly. Coming from a senatorial family, he had had a good education: he knew Latin, Greek, mathematics and geography, how much to tip a prostitute, where the best oysters come from – and the old forum art of escaping from someone he wanted to avoid. 'Sorry, Justinus. Were you in conference?'

  Helena's brother growled after the gleamingly armoured and fast-retreating back. 'Never mind. He wasn't going to oblige me. It's Falco, isn't it?'

  'Yes. Marcus Didius. I heard you were posted – not to the Fourteenth I hope?'

  'Oh, I don't meet their high standards! No, I was persuaded to "volunteer" for an extra tour with the First Adiutrix – they're a new outfit.'

  'Glad to hear it. The Fourteenth are an impolite mob. I just brought them a trophy and they refused me a billet,' I hinted without shame.

  Justinus laughed. 'Then you'd better stay at my house! Come on. After trying to wrestle sense out of this crew I need to go home and lie down in the dark.' We started to walk. 'What are you doing here, Marcus Didius?'

  'Oh, nothing very exciting. Business for Vespasian. Mostly routine. One or two extra tasks to toy with in my free time – coercing rebels, that sort of stuff,' I joked. 'There's a missing legate to find, for instance.'

  Justinus stopped in his tracks. He seemed amazed. I pulled up too. 'What's up, tribune?'

  'Does the Emperor have access to new kinds of Etruscan augury?'

  'Something not right?'

  'You flabbergast me, Falco! That was what I was trying to get straight with my oppo just now. I don't see,' he grumbled, 'how Vespasian could have known there was something fishy out in Germany in time for you to turn up here before my commander has even made up his mind that he needs to signal Rome!'

  As he ran out of breath, I simply said, 'Explain?'

  Camillus Justinus glanced over his shoulder then lowered his voice, even though we were crossing the empty parade- ground. 'Florius Gracilis has not been seen for several days. The Fourteenth won't admit it even to my own chief, but we in the First reckon that their legate has disappeared!'

  XVIII

  I set a warning hand on the tribune's arm. Then I told Xanthus to walk ahead and wait for us at the main gate opposite. He sulked, but had no choice. We watched him set off, scuffing his feet in the dust at first as a gesture, but soon preferring to save the turquoise leather of his nattily bethonged shoes.

  'Who exactly is that?' queried Justinus in a wary tone.

  'Not sure.' I gave him a stiff look, in case he thought it was a companion of my choice. 'If you want a boring couple of hours, get him to tell you why Spanish razors are the best, and the secrets of German goosefat pomade. He's a barber by trade – that's genuine. He forced himself on me as a tourist. I suspect there's a more sinister reason behind his trip.'

  'He may simply have a yearning for travel.' I rememb
ered that Helena's youngest brother had a touching faith in humanity.

  'Or he may not! Anyway, I'm passing him off as Vespasian's nark.' Justinus, who must have known about my own undercover duties, or my past history anyway, smiled faintly.

  As we waited for Xanthus to trot out of earshot, a slight breeze lifted our cloaks. It carried the characteristic aromas of cavalry stables, oiled leather and mass-produced stewed pork. Dust bowled across the parade-ground, stinging our bare shins. The hum of the fort reached us, like the low undernotes of a water-organ as it grinds into life: metallic hammering; rumbling carts; the clack of wooden staves as troops practised sparring against an upright stump; and the sharp cry of a centurion giving orders, raven-harsh.

  'We won't find anywhere more private than here. Now Justinus, what's all this about? Tell me about Gracilis.'

  'Not much to tell. He hasn't been seen.'

  'Is he ill, or taking leave?'

  'If so, it's highly impolite of him not to inform his senior colleague in the same fort.'

  Tad manners would be nothing new!'

  'Agreed. What alerted the First to something peculiar was that even his wife, who is with him here, seems unsure where he is. She asked my legate's wife if there was a secret exercise going on.'

  'Is there?'

  'Joke, Falco! We have quite enough operational tasks without playing board-games or throwing up practice camps.'

  I paused for a moment, considering him. He had spoken with a flash of authority. Last time we met he had been holding down a junior tribune's place, but now he was wearing the broad purple stripes of a senior – his legate's right-hand man. Those posts were mainly earmarked for senators designate; promotion to them while in service was highly unusual. Justinus qualified socially – he was a senator's son – but his elder brother was using up all the embalming oil. The family had long ago decided this one was destined merely for middle-rank bureaucracy. Still, he would not be the first young man to discover that the army lacks preconceptions, or to find that once away from home he could surprise himself.

  'So how are the Fourteenth reacting? What do the men say?'

  'Well, Gracilis is a new appointment.'

  'So I heard. Is he unpopular?'

  'The Fourteenth have been having a few problems…Justinus was a tactful lad. The Fourteenth were a problem, but he glossed over that. 'Gracilis has a rather abrasive attitude. It goes down badly when a legion are in a touchy state.'

  'Gracilis was the Senate's choice,' I confided, based on what Vespasian had told me. 'You know, "Step up, most excellent Florius. Your grandpa was a friend of ours; it's your turn next…" What's he like?'

  'All virile sports, and shouts a lot.' We both winced.

  'So let's be clear what you are suggesting, tribune. I already know the Emperor has doubts about this character, and now you say he's vanished. Has the First Adiutrix convinced itself that he has been bumped off – and by his own men?'

  'Olympus!' Justinus flushed. 'That's an alarming suggestion!'

  'Sounds like one you have grounds for.'

  'The First is in a tricky position, Falco. We have no remit to interfere. You know how it is – the governor is away reviewing deployments at Vindonissa, so if Gracilis is playing truant, "honour among commanders" comes into play. Besides, my legate is reluctant to march in directly and demand to see his opposite, in case we're wrong.'

  'He would certainly look foolish if Gracilis strolled out to greet him, wiping his breakfast porridge off his chin!' I agreed. Then, influenced by too long in a barber's company, I suggested, 'Gracilis may have had a haircut he's ashamed of and is hiding until it grows out!'

  'Or he's developed an extremely embarrassing rash…' He sounded like Helena and their father, his serious air covered a highly attractive humorous streak. 'It's no joke though.'

  'No.' I quashed the pang of misery his familiar laugh had roused. 'Gracilis had better be exposed, whatever crab he's caught.' I hoped it was nothing worse. Mutiny in the legions just when things were looking settled would be disastrous for Vespasian. And there were grim political implications if yet another Roman legate should disappear in Germany. 'I can see good reasons for keeping this news stitched up. Vespasian will want to plan how it is to be presented publicly… Camillus Justinus, you don't think the Fourteenth have reported the facts, and are waiting for special orders back from Rome?'

  'My legate would have been informed.'

  'Oh, that's what he thinks! Bureaucracy thrives on secrecy.'

  'No, Falco. Despatch-riders are still bringing "Your eyes only" messages for Gracilis. I know because my own man keeps getting asked to sign for them. Neither Vespasian nor the governor would send confidential flags unless they believed Gracilis was available.'

  My sour welcome from the primipilus and cornicularius was beginning to make sense. If they had simply lost their man, things looked bad for them; if he had been throttled in a hastily hushed-up mutiny, that was desperate. 'Their senior Crib brushed you off pretty shamelessly; my reception was much the same. Is that what always happens?'

  'Yes. All the officers seem to be covering up.' This couldn't happen on the march, where Gracilis would have to be seen in the column, but here in the fort they could run things themselves. It reminded me of Balbillus's story of the legionary commanders coolly running Britain after having driven out their governor. But the era of anarchy was supposed to be over.

  'Until the next festival occasion, there's no need to produce anyone in a commander's cloak,' I grinned. 'But if there is a conspiracy, I've just upset the tray of drinks! I brought an Iron Hand, plus orders for its investiture with a full colour ceremony. They'll need to parade their legate then.'

  'Ha! The governor will make a point of being back for that!' Camillus Justinus had a streak of tenacity I liked. He showed real pleasure that. the Fourteenth's attempts to thwart him were about to be wrecked. 'When must they hold the ceremony?'

  'The Emperor's birthday.' He looked uncertain. Vespasian was too new in power to be thoroughly enshrined in the calendar. I knew (a scribe who thought informers were ignorant had noted it in my orders). 'Fourteen days before December.' We were still in October. 'Which gives you and me the rest of this month plus the first sixteen days of November to sort out the puzzle discreetly and make names for ourselves.'

  We grinned. Then we set off towards the main gate. Justinus had enough character to see the possibilities. It would do him good if he could untangle this conundrum before Rome had to be involved.

  I felt obligations looming. I was his sister's lover – almost one of the family. It was my duty to assist him to good fortune. Even though Justinus probably hated the thought of what his sister and I had been up to. And even though I would be landing myself with most of the work.

  As we walked, falling into companionable silence, I was thinking hard. This had the smell of serious trouble. I had been chasing enough of that already. I had only been at Moguntiacum a bare hour and now there was a second senior officer missing – just one more complication to add to the official missing legate, the mutinous troops, the maniacal rebel chieftain and the loopy prophetess.

  XIX

  We picked up Xanthus and braced ourselves for the hike to the First's sector of the fort. To cover the journey with neutral conversation, I asked Justinus about his unusual promotion.

  'I remembered your last command was at Argentoratum – in fact I went looking for you there. You weren't a senior then?'

  'No, and I never expected to be. That was the lure that made me accept an extension to my tour. Obviously, in the long-term it's good to be able to say I held a broad-stripe position..

  'I hope your ambitions run to more than that on your tombstone! You must have impressed someone?'

  'Well…' He still seemed a boy in a man's world. Big words like ambition startled him. 'My father is a friend of Vespasian; perhaps that was it.'

  I thought the lad was doing himself down. People must have thought he had something to offer. Germ
any was not a province where they could carry dead wood. 'What's your new unit like? I don't know the First.'

  'It's a legion Nero formed – with men drawn from the Misenum fleet, actually. Both the First and Second Adiutrix were put together using marines. That explains some of the tension here.' Justinus smiled. 'I'm afraid the illustrious Fourteenth Gemina Martia Victrix regard our outfit as a useless gang of wharfingers and matelots.'

  Regular troops have always regarded marines as web- footed hangers-on – a view I rather shared. Shoving an untried unit out on this volatile frontier seemed like madness, too. 'So you're here to stiffen them up with your experience?' He shrugged in his self-deprecating way. 'Don't be so shy,' I said. 'It will all look good on your manifesto when you stand as a town councillor.'

  Ten or twelve years ago, Titus Caesar had led the replacements that filled the gaps in the British legions after the Boudiccan Revolt. And now every town in the misty bogs was erecting his statue and remarking how thoroughly well liked he had been in his days as a young tribune.

  It made me wonder uncomfortably if Justinus, like Titus, would one day find himself related to a reigning emperor – by marriage, for instance…

  I wanted to ask if he had any news of his sister. Luckily we had reached his house, so I could spare myself the embarrassment.

  XX

  The senior tribune's house lacked its own bathhouse, but for one lad barely into his twenties who only needed space for his parade armour and the stuffed heads of any wild animals he speared in his spare time, it was an extravagant hutch. Tribunes are not famous for taking home bulky documents from the commissariat to work on, and their schedule of domestic entertainment tends to be thin. They are invariably bachelors, and not many invite their loving relatives to stay. Still, providing single officers with mansions that would house three generations is the kind of extravagance the army loves.

  Justinus had enlivened the place with a pet dog. It was a scruff, not much more than a pup, which he had rescued from some soldiers who had been having fun torturing it. The dog now lorded it here, rampaging through the long corridors and sleeping on as many couches as possible. Justinus had no control over the creature, but one yap from it could make him sit up and beg.