your request and I will grant it. As soon as the siege of the castle at Sagadava has been brought to a successful conclusion I will send the third and eighth cohorts to relieve the Thracian garrison.’
Vespasian and Caelus snapped a salute in grateful acknowledgement of their commanding officer’s decision. They were closeted in Pomponius’ study in the newly constructed fortress of Durostorum on the banks of the Danuvius, which had only recently been occupied by a small detachment of the IIII Scythia. The main building work having been finished towards the end of the previous year, the room still smelt of newly waxed wooden floorboards and freshly whitewashed walls. The sounds of hundreds of slaves working on the final stages of the construction and the shouts of their overseers floated through the unshuttered window.
‘I can only assume,’ Pomponius went on, resting his pudgy arms on the desk and leaning towards them, ‘that the marked difference in your accounts of your journey here is down to a personal animosity that in my opinion did not unnecessarily put the men’s lives in danger and therefore, in view of Tribune Vespasian’s imminent recall to Rome, I am willing to overlook it.’
Vespasian breathed a sigh of relief; during the twenty days that it had taken them to find Pomponius, having been told by the garrison commander at Oescus that the IIII Scythia was campaigning against a Getic raiding party of at least three thousand men that had been ravaging the east of Moesia, he had fully expected to be seriously reprimanded for his impetuousness in taking the column through the Succi Pass in a blizzard. In an effort to protect himself, when he made his verbal report to Pomponius, which, owing to his rank, he had been able to do before Caelus, he had taken care not to mention Caelus’ insistence that they should turn back, stressing instead the supposed urgency of placing the garrison’s request before Pomponius. He had also augmented that urgency with an exaggerated assessment of the men’s dissatisfaction, which he knew would reflect badly on Caelus, as their senior centurion and therefore responsible for their discipline, for allowing things to get that far, and well on Paetus and himself for quelling a potential mutiny.
‘Permission to speak, legate,’ Caelus barked.
‘You will remain silent, centurion,’ Pomponius snapped, causing his jowls to quiver. ‘You had your say when you made your report to me upon your arrival this morning. The matter is closed. On your way back to Thracia you will take the three legionaries that Paetus has sent for transfer to the siege lines at Sagadava where you will hand them over to Primus Pilus Faustus; they wanted to avenge their comrades, well, they’ll have plenty of opportunities to do so in the first century of the first cohort when they storm the castle. My secretary has their transfer orders as well as some despatches for Paetus; pick them up on your way out. You’re to leave immediately; understood, centurion?’
‘Yes, sir!’
‘Good. Take the Illyrian auxiliaries with you and get them back to Thracia as soon as possible. Dismissed.’
Caelus saluted, turned smartly on his heel and marched out of the room, burning with ill-concealed rage.
As the door closed behind him Pomponius smiled grimly. ‘He was always Poppaeus’ sneak and he’ll have a lot to say to him when he gets to Sagadava.’
‘Poppaeus is at Sagadava?’ Vespasian blurted out, forgetting that he was still at attention and therefore should not speak unless he was addressed directly.
Pomponius overlooked the offence. ‘At ease, tribune, sit down. Yes, he arrived four days ago, the slippery little bastard. I spent the last two months chasing the Getae around eastern Moesia and I finally managed to corner them at Sagadava, whilst they were waiting for their transports to ship them back across the river. Then, three days ago, as soon as the siege lines were completed and it was
Vespasian and Caelus snapped a salute in grateful acknowledgement of their commanding officer’s decision. They were closeted in Pomponius’ study in the newly constructed fortress of Durostorum on the banks of the Danuvius, which had only recently been occupied by a small detachment of the IIII Scythia. The main building work having been finished towards the end of the previous year, the room still smelt of newly waxed wooden floorboards and freshly whitewashed walls. The sounds of hundreds of slaves working on the final stages of the construction and the shouts of their overseers floated through the unshuttered window.
‘I can only assume,’ Pomponius went on, resting his pudgy arms on the desk and leaning towards them, ‘that the marked difference in your accounts of your journey here is down to a personal animosity that in my opinion did not unnecessarily put the men’s lives in danger and therefore, in view of Tribune Vespasian’s imminent recall to Rome, I am willing to overlook it.’
Vespasian breathed a sigh of relief; during the twenty days that it had taken them to find Pomponius, having been told by the garrison commander at Oescus that the IIII Scythia was campaigning against a Getic raiding party of at least three thousand men that had been ravaging the east of Moesia, he had fully expected to be seriously reprimanded for his impetuousness in taking the column through the Succi Pass in a blizzard. In an effort to protect himself, when he made his verbal report to Pomponius, which, owing to his rank, he had been able to do before Caelus, he had taken care not to mention Caelus’ insistence that they should turn back, stressing instead the supposed urgency of placing the garrison’s request before Pomponius. He had also augmented that urgency with an exaggerated assessment of the men’s dissatisfaction, which he knew would reflect badly on Caelus, as their senior centurion and therefore responsible for their discipline, for allowing things to get that far, and well on Paetus and himself for quelling a potential mutiny.
‘Permission to speak, legate,’ Caelus barked.
‘You will remain silent, centurion,’ Pomponius snapped, causing his jowls to quiver. ‘You had your say when you made your report to me upon your arrival this morning. The matter is closed. On your way back to Thracia you will take the three legionaries that Paetus has sent for transfer to the siege lines at Sagadava where you will hand them over to Primus Pilus Faustus; they wanted to avenge their comrades, well, they’ll have plenty of opportunities to do so in the first century of the first cohort when they storm the castle. My secretary has their transfer orders as well as some despatches for Paetus; pick them up on your way out. You’re to leave immediately; understood, centurion?’
‘Yes, sir!’
‘Good. Take the Illyrian auxiliaries with you and get them back to Thracia as soon as possible. Dismissed.’
Caelus saluted, turned smartly on his heel and marched out of the room, burning with ill-concealed rage.
As the door closed behind him Pomponius smiled grimly. ‘He was always Poppaeus’ sneak and he’ll have a lot to say to him when he gets to Sagadava.’
‘Poppaeus is at Sagadava?’ Vespasian blurted out, forgetting that he was still at attention and therefore should not speak unless he was addressed directly.
Pomponius overlooked the offence. ‘At ease, tribune, sit down. Yes, he arrived four days ago, the slippery little bastard. I spent the last two months chasing the Getae around eastern Moesia and I finally managed to corner them at Sagadava, whilst they were waiting for their transports to ship them back across the river. Then, three days ago, as soon as the siege lines were completed and it was
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