Emperor's Knife Read online

  ‘One of your finest men, and yet he allowed himself to be captured like a common criminal?’ asked Geta.

  ‘He surrendered peacefully to the Praetorians in order to avoid shedding the blood of fellow Roman soldiers. But despite this, they took him for execution without trial. I was only just in time to prevent their deaths.’

  ‘What was his crime?’ asked Caracalla.

  ‘He and his companion returned from a secret mission in Caledonia, and there appears to have been some misunderstanding as to the authority under which they acted.’

  Realisation slowly dawned on Caracalla.

  ‘Oclatinius,’ he said. ‘Who are these men?’

  ‘Their names are Lucius Atius and Gaius Sergius Silus.’

  Caracalla sighed. Always these two. But why was Oclatinius being so circumspect, when it was Caracalla himself who had ordered the men on their mission? He answered his own question. Because Septimius Severus had not authorised it, and with the old man struggling desperately with his health, Caracalla could ill afford to alienate him at a time when the succession was being decided. Caracalla told himself to remember to thank Oclatinius privately. For now, he would keep some distance from the situation.

  ‘What was their mission, spymaster?’

  ‘The barbarian chieftain who caused us so much trouble was still at large after the battle at Cilurnum. I felt it imprudent to allow that situation to continue. I sent Silus and Atius to track him down and kill him.’

  There was an audible intake of breath from around the room. Even Domna, who usually paid little attention to military matters, narrowed her eyes.

  ‘I see,’ said Caracalla. ‘And were they successful?’

  ‘They were,’ said Oclatinius.

  Caracalla smiled inwardly. That damned barbarian would no longer be a thorn in his sole. The war in the north was all but settled, bar some sweeping up of pockets of resistance.

  ‘And who authorised you to give them their orders?’ asked Geta, voice cold.

  Caracalla held his breath.

  ‘I gave the orders on my own authority, Augustus. When I was appointed to my role, I was given considerable latitude in how I went about my duties. If you feel that I have acted inappropriately, I am happy to stand aside for another to take my place.’

  ‘That won’t be necessary,’ said Domna, a bit too hastily. Oclatinius had a network of spies so complex and vast that no one but he fully understood it. Despite that, and the vast power it brought, he had stayed staunchly loyal to the three Augusti. Although he favoured Caracalla privately, he was careful not to flaunt this. Putting another into his position could easily upset the delicate balance of power between the two brothers and their father, or worse, embolden someone from outside the Imperial family to make a bid for the purple. On top of this, no one was sure what secrets Oclatinius held close to his chest. Caracalla had no idea whether the old man knew about Domna and himself, but he had to assume that he did.

  ‘So why are they imprisoned?’ asked Caracalla, trying to keep an air of nonchalance in his voice.

  ‘They are accused of being deserters. Or of carrying out an unauthorised mission. The exact charge is unclear. Either way they have been threatened with being stoned to death.’

  ‘And who gave the order for their arrest?’

  ‘It was the Emperor Geta, Augusti.’

  Caracalla turned to look at his co-Emperor.

  ‘That seems odd thanks for their service, brother.’

  Geta reddened. ‘It was brought to me that two deserters had returned and I was asked to authorise their arrest and punishment. I had no further details than that and no interest in the fates of two men such as these, so I simply gave my assent and moved on to the next problem.’

  It didn’t ring true. Why would the officers bother Geta with it at all? He was right that it was beneath him to bother with a couple of deserters. And why was it Praetorians who arrested them, not officers from the legions? Then Caracalla understood. Geta must have suspected it was Caracalla behind the mission. Either to spite him, or to stop him getting any reflected glory from the successful mission, it was Geta who had demanded the two spies were arrested and executed.

  ‘Thank you for bringing this to our attention, Oclatinius. Clearly there has been some confusion. Release the men, and let it be known they are pardoned of any possible crime of desertion or disobeying orders.’

  ‘Yes, Augustus,’ said Oclatinius, bowing and turning to leave.

  ‘Wait!’ said Geta.

  Oclatinius turned back, one questioning eyebrow raised. ‘Augustus?’ His tone bordered on insolent.

  ‘I gave the order to have these men arrested. My brother does not have the authority to rescind that order.’

  Caracalla gritted his teeth, about to retort, but Oclatinius spoke first.

  ‘But Augustus, now you know it was a mistake, surely you would wish to reverse your decision?’

  ‘Don’t presume to tell me what to do, spymaster,’ said Geta, his voice rising. ‘Technically these men are still deserters if they were not acting under lawful orders from their superior officers. And pardoning them after I ordered their execution will make me look weak.’

  ‘You are weak,’ muttered Caracalla, before he could stop the words from coming out.

  Geta rose to his feet and pointed at his brother, finger trembling, face white with unconcealed rage.

  ‘Just because you are older, because you have fought in battle, does not make you my senior, brother,’ he spat. ‘I am Augustus, Emperor, the same rank as you, and no one has the authority to countermand my orders!’

  ‘No one?’ The voice that came from the doorway was quiet but penetrating. All eyes swivelled from the outraged Geta to the source of the new voice. Leaning on the arm of a strong male slave, the Emperor Lucius Septimius Severus, victor of the year of the Five Emperors, conqueror of the Parthians and the Africans, stood on shaky legs. ‘Did I hear rightly, my son, that no one has the authority to countermand your orders?’

  ‘Father,’ said Geta. ‘You made me your co-Emperor. You never said that I was still your subordinate.’

  ‘You’re not a fool, boy, stop behaving like one. Papinianus, make sure Oclatinius’ men are freed and pardoned as Antoninus has decreed. Oclatinius, Domna, attend me. I wish to be apprised of current affairs.’

  Domna hastened to her elderly husband’s side, and Oclatinius, still strong despite his own advancing age, replaced the slave in supporting the Emperor from the other side. They left the audience chamber to a silence only filled by the old man’s laboured, dyspnoeic breathing.

  When he had gone, Geta whirled on Caracalla.

  ‘This is your doing!’ he shouted, voice squeaky in high-pitched indignation. ‘You set this whole thing up to humiliate me.’

  Caracalla shook his head sadly. ‘You have done a good job of humiliating yourself, brother. Ulpianus. The petitions are ended for today. Dismiss those waiting and tell them to come back tomorrow.’ He stood up and strode from the room, leaving a speechless and apoplectic Geta in the company of the embarrassed courtiers.

  * * *

  A Praetorian released them from their cell, looking shamefaced. Pontius Calvinus was nowhere to be seen. Silus helped Atius to the medicus, who gently removed Atius’ tunic and put a tight bandage around his chest to much complaining from Atius.

  ‘Christos’ wounds, that hurts,’ he hissed through gritted teeth.

  ‘Stop whining like a baby,’ said Silus, rubbing his shoulder.

  ‘Fuck you,’ said Atius, but then kept quiet until the medicus came to the end of the bandage and pinned the end down.

  ‘Do you want me to look at you, too?’ the medicus said to Silus.

  ‘I’ve healed from a lot worse,’ said Silus.

  ‘Fine. Stop clogging up my valetudinarium then. Six weeks rest and pray twice daily to Aceso.’

  ‘I pray only to Christos,’ said Atius.

  ‘What’s he like at healing?’ asked the medicus.r />
  ‘He had his moments,’ said Atius.

  ‘Come on, let’s report to Oclatinius,’ said Silus, and offered Atius a hand. Atius moved more freely now he was strapped up, and he managed the walk to Oclatinius’ headquarters without Silus’ help. Oclatinius received them without making them wait outside, but then made a show of ignoring them while he attended to some administrative work before looking up. The two spies stood at attention, Atius grimacing at the pain from his ribs.

  Oclatinius looked up, frowned, then gestured to them to sit. Atius slumped down onto the bench with a relieved exhalation.

  ‘More trouble,’ Oclatinius sighed.

  ‘Hardly of our own making,’ said Atius resentfully. Then added a grudging, ‘Sir.’

  ‘We were arrested for obeying your orders, sir,’ added Silus.

  ‘I’m aware of that,’ said Oclatinius. ‘But it was always a risk. Your mission wasn’t strictly official.’

  ‘And we nearly paid with our lives. What the fuck was all that about? Sir.’

  ‘It’s above your salary to know the details. Just understand that you were caught up in some politics among the big people.’

  ‘Little people die when big people argue. Was this all because of a dispute between Geta and Caracalla?’

  ‘Listen, you’re fine, you got a pardon and you’re free. Stop whining like a baby.’

  Atius sniggered as Silus’ own insult was thrown back at him.

  ‘What’s funny, soldier?’

  ‘Nothing, sir. Sir, what will happen when Severus dies? Will there be civil war?’

  ‘Firstly, to talk about the death of the Emperor could be construed as treason. Secondly, what will be will be. And thirdly, keep your nose out of stuff that doesn’t concern you. Now, to business. Despite your reception, your work has been noticed and appreciated by at least one of the Augusti. And by me. Silus, you have proven yourself a worthy Arcanus. I am promoting you to centurion. I am attaching you nominally to the Sixth Legion, officially as a speculator. In reality you will report directly to me.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’ Silus thought about how proud Velua would have been of him. The promotion and, of course, the extra pay. The recognition was bittersweet, and tears stung the corners of his eyes. If Oclatinius noticed, he didn’t acknowledge the fact.

  ‘And Atius, you are worthy too to be inducted into the society of the Arcani. What do you say?’

  ‘It would be an honour, of course.’

  ‘On your knees,’ commanded Oclatinius.

  Atius got off the bench and knelt, jaw clenched in pain as he got into position. Oclatinius took a knife from his desk and pricked his thumb, then rubbed the blood into Atius’ forehead, the way he so recently had for Silus. He placed his hands on Atius’ head and gave the words of induction.

  ‘Diana, triple goddess of the hunt, accept this man Lucius Atius into the secret order of the Arcani. Let him never breach our trust or confidence, on pain of death and eternal damnation.’

  Then he said, ‘Lucius Atius, swear your allegiance to the Emperor and to the order of the Arcani.’

  ‘I swear my allegiance to the Emperor and the order of the Arcani.’

  Oclatinius wiped his thumb on a cloth and sat back down. He looked up to see Atius still kneeling.

  ‘Get up, man.’

  Atius got slowly to his feet. ‘Is that it?’

  ‘That’s it,’ confirmed Silus.

  ‘I don’t feel any different.’

  Oclatinius let out a barking laugh. ‘We haven’t gone through a magic ritual. You’ve just been given a new job. But have no doubt, it’s a job where total obedience is expected, on pain of a horrible death.’

  Atius bowed his head.

  ‘What’s our next mission, sir?’

  ‘Your mission, soldiers, is to go into Eboracum, find some quarters, get drunk, get laid, and heal up.’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘Winter is coming. There will be no more campaigning this year. The Emperor is ill but still in control, so his sons are not in open conflict. For now, there is nothing for you to do. Get fit, keep your skills honed, stay out of trouble. I’ll call you if I need you. Now get out.’

  Silus and Atius saluted and left the spymaster’s office. They stood in the street, watching soldiers march past, market traders hauling wares, slaves hurrying on errands, Imperial messengers carrying satchels and scrolls.

  ‘What now?’ asked Atius.

  Silus scratched a flea bite on the top of his head. ‘Beer?’

  Chapter Two

  For someone used to the thrill of battle, the excitement of a scouting mission, and of course his more recent dramas, a winter in Eboracum bored Silus to tears. He sat now, with a particularly bitter-tasting beer and a particularly chewy meat pie and waited for Atius to join him. Not that his friend would alleviate the boredom. The conversation would turn to Menenia, how beautiful she was, and if Silus was really unlucky, how good she was in bed. He sighed, took a bite of pie, then fished a piece of gristle out of his mouth and tossed it to Issa. His elderly little dog, whom he reclaimed from Menenia once he had settled into some quarters in Eboracum, wolfed it down without chewing. She had lost many teeth over the years and those that remained were wobbly and covered with calculus, so Silus always made sure she had bite-sized chunks of meat when he fed her.

  The door to the tavern opened, and a chill air blew in with some spots of rain. Atius entered, slowly closing the door behind him. A few of the patrons in the tavern glanced up, then resumed their conversations and games. Atius walked slowly over to Silus’ table, pulled out a chair and sat with a long sigh.

  Silus ordered a beer from a waiting slave, and passed it to Atius. Atius tipped the beer into his mouth, swallowing in long gulps, the excess dribbling down his cheeks, until the jar was empty. He wiped his face on his sleeve and ordered another. Silus waited patiently while he downed that one too.

  ‘Is two enough for you to tell me what’s wrong?’ asked Silus.

  ‘She ended it with me,’ said Atius, his tone flat.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘She said she didn’t like me fucking other women.’

  ‘Ah. Women can be like that.’

  ‘She says she has met someone else,’ said Atius.

  ‘Oh, shit. Atius, I’m so sorry.’

  Atius nodded.

  ‘Do you know who it is?’

  ‘No, she wouldn’t say.’

  ‘Probably sensible, if she wanted him to keep his bollocks. Which presumably she does.’

  Atius looked at him sharply.

  ‘Sorry, sorry. No time for jokes.’

  ‘What am I going to do, Silus? I love her so much.’

  ‘I don’t know, friend. All I can tell you is that you can survive loss.’

  Atius reached out and grasped his friend’s hand. ‘I don’t want to.’

  ‘These things aren’t always in our power.’

  Atius looked at his empty jar. ‘I want to get drunk.’

  Silus thought about talking his friend out of it. What good would it do? But he couldn’t think of a better solution right now. He clicked his fingers at the waiting slave.

  ‘Two beers,’ he said.

  ‘And two for me,’ said Atius.

  * * *

  The night was black as charcoal, overcast, with a freezing wind and icy needles of rain stinging their faces as they staggered home, rolling drunk. The beer warmed them from the inside, and they sang a bawdy marching song about a whore from Deva, arms around each other. The streets were quiet, windows shuttered so no light from within illuminated the way. Eboracum was not a big city compared to Rome, but it was bigger than the two drunk friends were used to, and the alcohol and lack of light didn’t help. They were soon thoroughly lost, and they stopped at a street corner, leaning against a wall for support.

  ‘We could just sleep here,’ said Atius.

  Silus wasn’t quite as drunk as his friend. ‘I think we might freeze to death.’

  ‘I feel
fine,’ said Atius. ‘But I could do with a lie-down.’

  ‘We should really get back to quarters. We will thank ourselves tomorrow, I think.’

  ‘Which way, then?’

  ‘No idea. Let’s ask those men over there.’

  Sheltering in an open-sided, roofed temple, crowded round a smoking brazier, was a group of five men. Silus and Atius approached them, and as they got close, they saw they looked like veterans. One had a hand missing, one used a crutch for support, and all bore scars. Although they had served their twenty-five years, none had run to fat, yet neither did they seem malnourished. They turned to look at Silus and Atius with unfriendly faces, and an alarm bell began to ring at the back of Silus’ mind. Atius showed no sign that he was wary of danger, though, and strode forward unsteadily, hand raised in greeting.

  ‘Good evening, friends.’

  ‘What’s good about it?’ said one. ‘Pissing down and freezing.’

  ‘Beer in your belly helps,’ said Atius.

  ‘Not much money for beer on the pension the army gave us. Not much work either for injured veterans.’

  ‘Maybe we could give you a coin for a beer,’ said Silus. ‘We are just trying to find our way home.’

  ‘One coin won’t keep us in beer for long, will it now?’

  ‘Are you from the legions?’ asked another of the men. ‘Auxiliaries?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Atius. ‘Both. I think.’

  ‘Then maybe you could be a bit more generous to your comrades in arms.’

  ‘We need to get back to the Legio VI barracks. Can you point us in the right direction?’

  The first man held out his only hand and waited. Silus sighed and retrieved his purse from under his tunic. He opened the drawstring and pulled out two copper coins. The man took them, then looked pointedly at the purse.