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Roscius did not have to travel all the way to Rome as he had planned to do. Just over the mountains and through Mediolanium, he met Caesar’s son Titus and a cohort of the Praetorian Guards coming north.
Titus was hard to miss. The Praetorians were in gleaming armor which reflected sunshine all about them, and their purple crests could not be mistaken. The man in their lead, still swarthy from his time in Judea, was a slim and younger version of the Imperator himself, whose countenance appeared on many of the coins the scout had acquired in his swift ride. There was no mistaking the Son of Caesar.
Nor was there any stopping him. The arcanus was still dressed in his field clothes- that is, German breeks and cape, and had yet to shave. To the Praetorians, he was just another German roaming the land, and there was no way they were going to let someone like that near their darling prefect. So Roscius waited until they passed, then turned to follow them at a respectful distance.
The cohort’s commander sequestered his prefect in a villa outside of town for the night. Roscius found the soldiers to be very pretty, but not very good at security. He slipped through their outer patrols and close-in perimeter, was inside the villa without their knowledge. The first they knew of his presence was when he suddenly appeared in the hallway which led to the Imperator’s firstborn.
“Halt!” the guardsmen yelled, lowering pila.
Roscius halted. “I bear news that Titus Flavius might find useful,” he said. When the guards laughed uncomfortably, he added, ”His father wants the news pretty badly, or he would not have sent me across the river six months ago to get it.”
That did not impress the praetorians. One kept him covered with a pilum while the other moved forward to take the sword from his hip. Roscius let him do so. He also let him take the heavy bag from his left hand. He did not let him take his purse, however.
“The bag is for your lord. The one you are reaching for is mine, praetorian,” he warned. “No harm in there for anyone but the man stealing from me.”
The praetorian, sword in hand and with a comrade covering the intruder with a pilum, laughed and reached for the purse. Roscius turned sharply, connecting his elbow to the gap between the praetorian’s helmet and shoulder, dropping him to the floor with a loud thud. Then he spun the other way, dodging the thrust of the spear and slapping it away to make sure. His other hand was scooping up the dropped bag. He whirled the bag heavily and let it collide with the face of the surprised praetorian. The head inside wore no helmet, but the dead feel no pain. The living man wearing the helmet could, and reflexively tried to block the missile. Roscius stepped quickly forward and lashed out with his foot. He caught the praetorian on the knee, bending his leg back at an impossible angle as the kneecap shattered. Then he picked up his sword and bag and knocked politely on the door.
The door burst open, and two more praetorians came out to investigate the clatter. Roscius greeted them with hands raised, his sword dangling innocently from his right hand and his left containing the bag. Titus remained in the room, watching curiously from behind his desk, as the praetorians relieved the intruder of his weapon.
“Gaius Roscius, arcanus, requests permission to report concerning Germania Magna, lord,” he said as one of the inner guards examined the outer guards. Roscius cast a quick glance over his shoulder. “They’ll live, though this one may not walk again and that one will have a really bad headache. Their own fault- they wanted to split my meager purse.”
Titus waved the praetorians back. “See to the wounded,” he commanded. “And have someone take their places here.” Then he looked at Roscius. “You were on the road this afternoon. A German, I thought.”
Roscius nodded. “Many have thought that, lord, but I was born to proper Roman parents on the Clivus Suburanus in the Eternal City itself. May I lower my arms now, lord? This bag is frikking heavy.”
Titus laughed and granted the man entrance.
“You cease your journey to tail me, to report to me, whereas before you were killing horses to get to my father,” Titus recounted. “Why?”
“You are the Prefect of the Praetorians, Lord Titus,” he replied. “As such, you are the commander of the imperial intelligence services, under which fall we arcani. You are the lord to whom we report. I was heading south to find you. I did.”
Roscius went forward to the desk. “Lord, you and your father ordered several of us into Chatti lands just after the Saturnalia. We were to watch the barbarians and give word if they gathered for war. They have. Most of my comrades are dead. My partner Sollus died a week ago, lord. Killed by a spear from this guy.” With that, he emptied the bag onto the desk. The head rolled out, its tongue lolling about, and its eyes open glazed and pale. Titus picked it up and examined it.
“A Suevi, lord, from the southern reaches. He was in the vanguard of a large warhost of Suevi, moving through Chatti lands- unopposed! The Chatti themselves were already gathered for war-which initiated our journey here- but they did not head south to fight these intruders onto their tribal lands. No lord, they moved north. They are heading to Germania Inferior.”
“That’s quite far from their lands,” Titus noticed. He looked up from the head he was examining. It was indeed recently dead and unmistakably German . “Are you sure?”
“Very,” Roscius said with a nod. “There came envoys in the winter, asking for aid. Horobard, the big poo-bah of the Chatti, promised it, despite the pleas of a witch to refuse that help. Messengers came recently, and Horobard called up his boys and headed north. They passed by my stead- I counted over ten thousand in that column. Sollus, further away, saw a like number moving north as well. Then we headed for the river and ran into a warband of Suevi.” He pointed to the head. “That topknot marks him a warrior of the Suevi. I killed him north of Mogontiacum, but not by far- way out of their area. I took the head as proof, in case I needed it.”
Titus sat back. “Impressive,” he said to the arcanus. “A witch, you say? Asking them to refuse to help the northern tribes?”
“I didn’t catch her name,” Roscius admitted. “But even I have heard tales of her reputation. She’s the real deal, lord. She said something to the effect that if Horobard goes north, it would set the tribes back three hundred years.”
Titus would have laughed, but instead sat forward. Roscius wondered why, but Titus gave no hint. “Did Horobard believe her?”
“I don’t think so,” the arcanus reported. “Otherwise he would not have gone north.”
Titus relaxed visibly. “Bad news for our northern army, but excellent news for the Empire as a whole. The Witch was probably right, by the way.”
Roscius looked puzzled. “You want the boys in Germania Inferior to die?”
“Heavens no,” Titus replied. “That is why their orders were to go across the river and make a big fuss. Rutilius Gallicus was told explicitly to recover the Eagles of the lost legions- one of which he already recovered- and then punish the Bructeri for their breach of honor in massacring our soldiers whom they had promised safe passage. We received a confirmed report that the Bructeri were very weak, and the second Eagle was located. Gallicus should be able to cross, punish, and recover and be back across the Rhenus before that Chatti warhost comes anywhere near him. But we do want that Chatti and as many Suevi as possible to go to Bructeri aid.”
Roscius thought that over, and added in what he saw along the road to Mediolanium. The XIV
Gemina in Mogontiacum, the VIII Augusta in Argentorate, the XI Claudia south of them, and the bow-wielding veterans of the I Adiutrix in Vindonissa. Plus reports of the VII Gemina moving towards Vindonissa...
“Clemens is to invade the Hyrcanian Forest!” he exclaimed.
“All the way to the Danubian defenses,” Titus confirmed. “Eliminating that spearhead poised to strike our West at its weakest point- the end of the Via Mala, gatehouse to both Italia and Gaul.”
“The Witch was definitely correct then- him staying about would have allowed him to help out the Suevi when Rome claim their lands. With him going north- he is out of position.”
“And the Germani threat to Italia and Gaul is crushed once and for all. Clever, eh?” Titus asked.
“A masterpiece of subterfuge, lord, but risky. Very risky,” the arcanus added. “Forty to fifty thousand Germani are descending on Rutilius Gallicus.”
“If he remains there, which he should not,” Titus reminded him. “I’ll send an order telling him to return to base to make sure- his mission is already accomplished. He drew the Chatti away from our real target. I’ll post it with my orders to Clemens to begin his operation. I was heading there to take command, but if it is as far along as you report, arcanus, then he must begin at once, while I am tied down here for a few days.”
“You might want to reconsider that,” the arcanus said bluntly. “I have talked with many auxilia and veterans on the way here. I have a reasonably good picture of the situation up north, and it is not pretty. Gallicus, or Cordinus as they call him, is neither familiar with Germania nor popular with his troops. Nor is he particularly bright.”
“Explain.”
“Cordinus is across the river with all four of his legions, lord, and moving like molasses,” Roscius said. He cut no corners and spared no emotions. “He has a pretty bright quaestor guarding the border- a quaestor commanding about a dozen auxilia cohorts all told. Every other swinging pecker in the province is over there, lord- facing forty to fifty thousand Germanics they neither know about nor expect. The border is for all intents and purposes wide open. If Cordinus and his legions go down, there is not squat between there and Massilia or Hispana that can stop the German flood.”
“Jupiter’s Balls!” Titus roared. “He cannot be that stupid! All four legions?”
“And most of the auxilia.”
Titus cursed. “I must hurry then.” He pulled a scroll from a bucket nearby and handed it to the arcanus. “New mission, Roscius. Find the man who wrote this.”
Roscius opened the scroll- noting the intact wax hanging from a flap, and began reading. He read the detailed plans of the attack into Bructeri territory, and whistled.
“Clever plan,” he admitted.
“Yes, but you’ll notice he had three legions involved,” Titus countered. “I have heard rumors from the area saying he took four legions- which I discounted before you just confirmed them- and is operating on a different plan.”
“He operates away from an order approved by the Imperator. That’s dangerous.” Roscius said. “And cagey.”
“With reason,” Titus said emphatically. “That scroll you just read was intercepted between Vindonissa and Mogontiacum, on its way to the Germani. A copy with a false plan was sent instead, and from the deployment of the Germans, they received it. The information in it came from Rome, thus this scroll traveled from Rome to Vindonissa enroute to Mogontiacum. Someone else is working that end, while I trace the route and find out from them the extent of this spy network.”
Roscius backed away. “I’d knife him for you lord, but I am an arcanus- a scout. You need a spy for city work- I work in the field.”
“I need a man who knows how to dig up information- which you do well- and can think on his feet, as you have proven,” the prefect replied. “One who can take out two praetorians with bare hands, and move around without arising the suspicion and terror the praetorians instill. In short, someone unseen who will not cause people to clam up immediately. You are the only one in my service here who can do that.”
Roscius thought it over. Titus spoke true- the praetorians intimidate by their very presence. Nobody would speak to them casually, negating their effectiveness in investigation. He, on the other hand, is hardly seen- an arcanus’s invisibility and ability to blend in are his strongest traits.
“Aye, Lord,” he said. He lifted the scroll. “I will find this traitor for you.”
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It took Gaius Roscius less than fifteen minutes to confront the man who sent the plans. He merely walked to the town center, turned right, and knocked on the third door, under the Bull sign.
A servant girl opened the door, invited him in, and sat him down in the atrium. A few minutes later he was greeted by a merchant in a short Greek-style tunic more suited to the weather than the longer Roman version.
“Gaius Roscius!” the man said warmly upon recognizing the visitor. “Calypso, bring my guest some wine. Come Gaius, into my chamber. My gods, it has been years since I have last seen you!”
“You are looking well, Septimus Tullius,” Roscius replied as he followed the trader into an office chamber. He accepted a goblet from the servant girl with a silent thanks and sipped carefully. It was watered like he liked it, so he took another sip. “Business seems to agree with you.”
“Calypso,” the trader said, pointing to his guest, “meet Gaius Roscius, one of the more faithful guards any merchant could hire. I haven’t seen him since Verginius crushed Vindex back when Galba was still in Spain.”
“It has been a while,” Roscius admitted.
“Business here is good, I can tell you,” the trader replied. “Our smiths have received many orders for armor and the leatherworkers just as much for sandals. I tell you, Gaius Helvidius was a genius to invest in that foundry.”
“About why I -” Roscius began, but was cut off by the eager merchant.
“Our vineyards in Gaul are coming along nicely as well,” the merchant continued. “Do you know we recently invested in looms there? The Gauls are producing wonderful tapestries now- very popular in Rome. And affordable, too. And I am working on a Spanish connection for olives and peppers. I hear the palate of Rome is changing, and I want to get in on it before that rascal Crassus corners the market.”
Roscius sipped his wine and let the flood of information sink in. Same old Tullius. How in the world did he make money when he blabbed his secrets about to almost anyone? Eventually he slowed.
“So what have you been doing, Gaius? You must have lots to tell- it has been years. Years!”
“Our operation in Germania fell apart, as you know,” he began, only to be immediately interrupted.
“I figured as much!” the trader interjected. “For several years nothing, then Laurentius started up again. Are you here to re-establish formal contacts?”
“Shut up and listen,” Roscius replied hotly. “Laurentius is not starting up again. He’s dead. He caught a stray arrow during one of the German sieges of Mogontiacum. Killed him instantly. Most of the others are dead too- Sollus a week ago. Only I am left of our once merry band of merchants.”
“Caius Laurentius? Dead?” Tullius wondered, in shock. Then he shook his head. “No, no, you must be mistaken.”
“I was right next to him carrying pila to the wall when he died,” Roscius admitted. “Arrow to the neck. He’s dead. I buried him myself. And Sollus just a week ago.”
“Mercury and Hades!” Tullius exclaimed. “That cannot be true! I still get packages for him.”
“That’s what I need to talk to you about,” Roscius continued. “After the revolt, I needed a job, so I rode post for a while. Six grueling months over the Via Mala between here and Vindonissa. I hated the cold winds and poor pay, so I sought a job in imperial service. I was made a scout, Septimus. My time in Germania made me perfect for it.”
“Imperial agent Gaius Roscius?” laughed the trader. “Now I have heard everything!”
Roscius fished the damning scroll from his pouch. “Your seal, Septimus. Inside was another scroll- sealed as well. Both were bound for Mogontiacum.”
Tullius examined the seal, then the second seal. He sat back and crossed his arms smugly. “Yes. See? There is the proof you were wrong. That was sent for Caius Laurentius Catullus, and I forwarded it.”
“And because there were no more merchants or wagons between you and Laurentius, you bribed an imperial rider to deliver it for you, yes?”
“Of course,” Tullius said, astonished that a man like Roscius even needed to ask. “It is far cheaper than hiring a courier myself, and the post rider is going that way anyway.”
“You bloody fool,” Roscius said lowly. “The rider slipped it into the imperial post bound for the same posting, where another was paid to fish it out. And of course you did not open the second seal, right?”
Tullius was horrified at the accusation. “Open personal post?!? Why Gaius, you and I both know we never do that! Its dishonest!”
Roscius nodded, and unrolled the second scroll. He handed the battle plans to Tullius. “This is what you forwarded, Septimus. Battle plans! And they were intended for the Germans. That is treason. Maiestas!”
Tullius’s jaw dropped several inches. He was stricken speechless. “I had no idea!”
“You were used,” Roscius stated. “I would like to know by who.”
“I thought the scroll was purchase instructions for amber and furs, like usual,” Tullius wailed. “Burrius always sends his purchase orders sealed.”
“Titus Burrius?” Roscius asked. “The merchant-prince of Rome?”
“Aye,” Tullius replied hoarsely, knowing he may have just sentenced his friend and associate to the same death he himself expected. Treason!
Roscius put an arm around his quaking friend. “Majestas requires voluntas,” he reminded the merchant. “You did not voluntarily provide information to the enemy. You were used. I have some influence; I will use it to help you. But I need something. Are you sure this came from Burrius?”
Tullius stood and rummaged through his table. There were sheaves of notes and papyrus everywhere. Finally he picked up one and gave it to the scout.
“This was inside that scroll,” he said, handing it over with a quivering hand.
Roscius took the small papyrus note, and pitied his friend. He walked into the room a happy man; now he was told a close friend was dead and he himself had committed treason of the worst sort. He read the note. It was indeed from Burrius, though smudged with sweat and wine, and simply said to forward the scroll to Q. Laurentius Catullus in Mogontiacum.
Roscius rose. “I am going to take this, if you do not mind. It may save your neck from the blade.”
Tullius thanked him profusely. Roscius nodded curtly, then departed swiftly. He did not want to tell his friend that his influence was as limited as a scout’s to the Imperial Heir, but he would find out soon enough.
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