Smiling, Hormus almost met Magnus’ eye. ‘I think so, Magnus.’ He put the pot down on the table. ‘Half a handful for every four handfuls of chickpeas and pork.’
Magnus sniffed the contents of the pot then looked approvingly at Vespasian’s slave. ‘That’s smelling quite good, well done, son.’
Hormus’ smile became even broader. ‘Thank you, Magnus,’ he said, going back to attend to the rest of the dinner on the cooking fire outside.
Vespasian was surprised. ‘Since when has he started calling you by your name?’
‘Since I told him to. He’s a good lad. It turned out that the boy he’s bedding is a little too inquisitive and has evidently been sent to penetrate our little circle, if you take my meanings?’
Vespasian chose to take only one of them. ‘By Paelignus I would assume, seeing as he appeared when we left Melitene.’
‘Yes, apparently he’s boasted to Hormus of friends in high places in Cappadocia.’
‘How did you find all that out?’
‘By questioning Hormus about their pillow talk as we were waiting to cross the bridge this morning.’
‘And?’
‘And Hormus admitted that the boy was very keen on asking if he’d overheard any interesting conversations and he’d always ask with his mouth full, if you further take my meaning?’
‘You should never speak with your mouth full.’
‘That’s what I said to Hormus and I think he was quite upset when he realised that his lover had such bad manners; so to get back at him he’s agreed to slip him whatever lies we like.’
‘That could be a great help.’ Vespasian looked thoughtful as Hormus re-entered with a smaller pot and some flat bread.
The slave placed the rest of the dinner next to the pork and chickpea stew and then laid out plates, knives and spoons; in the absence of couches Vespasian and Magnus sat up to eat.
‘What’s your boy’s name, Hormus?’ Vespasian asked as he spooned food onto his plate.
‘Mindos, master.’
‘Mindos?’ Vespasian broke a flat loaf in half and scooped a mouthful of the stew onto it. ‘Well, tell Mindos that you overheard a conversation between me and the prefects of the five auxiliary cohorts this evening. Say you couldn’t hear very well but it seemed that I was telling them that I would lead their men home to Cappadocia in the morning and leave Paelignus with Radamistus. Tell Mindos that you think that they all agreed to come.’
‘Yes, master.’
Vespasian took a bite and chewed thoughtfully before swallowing. ‘That really is very good, Hormus.’
‘I told you I’d get him cooking to a decent standard, didn’t I?’ Magnus said through a mouthful. ‘That was just the right amount of lovage.’
‘I thought you said that you considered it ill-mannered to talk with your mouth full.’
‘It depends on the meat that you’re chewing on.’ Magnus grinned and masticated noisily.
Vespasian nodded to the open tent flaps. ‘You get off, Hormus, and give Mindos his supper; hopefully he’ll be as ill-mannered as Magnus.’
Hormus looked confused as he left.
‘Do you think he’ll do it?’ Vespasian asked.
‘Of course.’
‘I think you’re right. He seems to have got a lot more confidence since we came out East. He could, eventually, even become useful.’
‘I’d say he already is. What do you expect will happen when Paelignus hears your little lie?’
‘I expect it to suddenly become the truth.’
Vespasian was woken by bucinae, not sounding the reveille but, rather, the alarm.
Jumping from his low camp bed in his tunic as Hormus came rushing into the sleeping quarters, he began buckling on his back- and breastplates as his slave dealt with his belt and sandals; with his sash of rank secured around his midriff and his sword belt slung over his shoulder he crashed through the tent, tying the chinstrap of his helmet in a secure knot, to find Magnus waiting for him eating a bowl of cold pork and chickpea stew for breakfast, seemingly unconcerned.
‘What’s happening?’ Vespasian asked, not pausing on his way out into the night.
‘Fuck knows; jumpy sentries?’
The Roman camp to the untrained eye would have looked like chaos, but as Vespasian glanced around the torch-washed lines of tents he saw only the orderly assembling of the almost four thousand soldiers of the five auxiliary cohorts as each man made his way to his muster station, having dressed in double-quick time. Bucinae carried on unnecessarily blaring out the alarm as centurions and optiones bellowed at their men to form up on their standard-bearers; slaves scuttled about lighting more torches so that soon the square half-mile encompassed by a wooden palisade was ablaze with flickering light. By the time that Vespasian and Magnus arrived at the praetorium, the command post at the centre of the camp, they could see that most centuries in the two cohorts forming up along the Via Praetoria were at full strength with only the final few laggards being beaten into place by the vine sticks of their centurions. Whether the Armenian and Iberian troops in their camp just to the east of the Romans’ were in the same state of readiness he did not know, although he hoped that, for their own sake, they were, as Radamistus had eschewed building a stockaded camp on the basis that the King of Armenia hides from no man.
And then, just as he was about to enter the praetorium, above the roars of the officers and the shrill notes of the horns came an even shriller sound; a sound that Vespasian recognised immediately and he knew with certainty that Hormus’ loyalty was absolute.
‘Don’t you try and deny it, you traitors! You renegades! Deserters! Cowards! You’re relieved of your commands. Guards, seize them and then bring Titus Flavius Vespasianus before me in chains!’ Paelignus panted, his protruding eyes bulging more than usual; he stared at each of his auxiliary prefects in turn as Vespasian walked into the tent leaving Magnus to wait outside. The soldiers on guard had made no move to obey Paelignus’ screeched order.
‘I heard that you were asking to see me, procurator,’ Vespasian said, as if Paelignus’ demand had been the most polite and well mannered of invitations.
Paelignus glared at Vespasian, his eyes bulging even more, his chest heaving and his tongue hanging out like a dog’s, as he drew a series of quick, ragged breaths. ‘Seize him!’ he eventually managed to ejaculate, his throat evidently constricted with rage. A trembling, hooked finger was levelled at Vespasian to help the guards identify the miscreant deserving of arrest. Once again they did nothing. ‘Seize him! I order you!’
‘Whatever is the matter, procurator?’ Vespasian asked in the tone of one trying to ascertain the cause of a recalcitrant child’s unruly behaviour.
‘You’ve been plotting behind my back, all of you; now that I’ve relieved you of your commands I shall have you all executed.’
‘Will you? Perhaps you would like to tell us why you feel such an extreme move to be necessary?’
‘You’re going to take my soldiers away.’
‘Who told you that?’
‘I know; you had a meeting in your tent earlier this evening, Vespasian. The prefects agreed to follow you back to Cappadocia and desert me, your rightful commander.’
Vespasian looked at the prefects, who all seemed equally as puzzled by the ravings of their slavering procurator as he was. ‘Do any of you recall such a meeting, gentlemen?’
Fregallanus looked at Paelignus in disgust. ‘I don’t recall such a meeting, Paelignus, because there wasn’t one. We are men of honour and would consider conspiring against our commander, whatever we may think of him, as a conspiracy against the Emperor himself.’
Mannius spat on the ground. ‘If there had been such a meeting I would not have agreed to disobey your orders and take my cohort back to Cappadocia, despite my personal feelings about your military ability and even though you were planning to risk all our lives in the morning in an ill-advised attack. But now? I resent being called a coward by a man who I didn’t see once on the wall whilst we were under attack yesterday. I have never served under a man who is so unfit to command; a man who, given a choice, will invariably make the wrong decision. You have relieved us all of our commands, runt; now we reinstate ourselves. Guards, seize him!’