Rome 4: The Art of War (37 page)

‘Is it?’

‘Your brother will honour all of it. On my life, I swear that.’ Pantera gave a brief, bleak smile. ‘My lord, there is some need for haste. My men have a litter waiting. Will it please you to go promptly? And my lord Domitian, too, if he so wishes. It will be instructive for him to be present. A future emperor must know how he reached his position.’

‘Are you going with them?’ I asked.

He favoured me with a dry smile. ‘I thought perhaps I could stay here. If it please you? If you don’t consider me too much of a danger.’

I nodded. I could not have turned away a request like that. He sat on a couch nearby, a weathered man in peasant’s garb, and together we watched Sabinus and Domitian leave.

Jocasta, too, remained, staring down at him thoughtfully. ‘Have you had food? No? Would you like some? Perhaps Matthias can arrange it? And then while we wait for it, Pantera can tell us what it is that is going to make Vitellius abdicate.’

Rome, 16 December
AD
69

JUVENS CAME TO
us in the mid-morning of the sixteenth of December.

I had made a habit of meeting with Vitellius twice a day to ‘confirm his orders for the defence of the city’, under which fiction I told him what I had done, and why, and the emperor duly issued retrospective orders that gave me the cover of authority.

That morning, a letter had arrived from Trabo telling us of the latest calamities in the north. Yes, I know now that it wasn’t from Trabo, it was some agent of Pantera’s leading us a dance, but then we believed it was him and took everything he wrote at face value.

My consolation is that he was telling us the truth. They had no need to tell us anything false; the gods were against us anyway.

I read the letter aloud to Vitellius, and also to his mother, Augusta Sextilia, who had taken on the role of backbone for Vitellius. From
the moment Lucius left, she had been in the audience room, reclining on a couch, listening, asking questions, making sharp, acerbic observations that left Vitellius wilting.

I hated her as much as I did Lucius. She was slight and thin, with her hair pulled tight and high on the top of her head, so that it stretched the skin of her face around her skull and gave her the air of one long dead, who walked under the light of a bloody moon.

Her unpainted eyes were Lucius’ eyes and her mind was Lucius’ mind. I never met her husband, but a son doesn’t grow to be a vicious bastard or a kindly, self-indulgent bumbler without moulding himself on someone and the obvious conclusion is that Lucius took after their mother while Vitellius took after the father. It was hard to know whom to pity the more and safest to show it to neither.

At my most formal, I read aloud from Trabo’s letter.

‘The advanced detachment of Antonius Primus’ force is camped at Carsulae, ten miles north of Juvens’ entrenchments. Already there have been some victories. The general Petilius Cerialis arrived recently and wished to show his devotion. He was tasked with clearing the town of Interamna, five miles to our west, and closer, therefore, to Juvens. He took a company of horse and routed the men loyal to your majesty.

‘I
regret to inform you that most of the men capitulated when he offered them terms, and that of those who did not, some were soundly beaten while a small number were allowed to escape and sent in panicked flight to Narnia, where their tales of massed assault reduced morale further amongst their brethren. Interamna is now held in Vespasian’s name
.

‘
Following this success, Antonius’ forces caught the scent of victory, and, knowing how close their enemy lay, they demanded the right to assault them forthwith; after all, they were the best,
the fittest, the hardest, and what worked in Cremona must work for them again now. On my oath, I believe they would have marched out under their centurions, so fixed were they on victory, so fired by the promise of unrestricted looting, of hostages taken and fat ransoms paid
.

‘
Only Antonius Primus himself had the authority to stop them. He gave the speech of his life, saying that no sane man could ever impugn their courage or capability, but they were the future Praetorian Guard, and it fell on them to protect Rome now, as much as they would do later
.

‘
The men argued, saying that the enemy had not shown any sign of surrender, but he answered that Juvens’ men were holding out only in the belief that Valens had escaped and was, even now, bringing up legions loyal to Vitellius from Gaul and Britain
.

‘
Some of the men asked if this was true: had Valens truly escaped? Antonius Primus said it was not, and that he would prove it, on which Valens himself was brought before them in full command dress, and made to speak aloud his name, and to answer whatever questions they might have, to prove that he was who they claimed
.

‘
Thus did Antonius Primus disperse his men and avert calamity. They settled, and waited for the main body of the legions to catch up with them. How he plans similarly to convince Juvens’ men that Valens is in custody without giving them the opportunity to free him and use him as a figurehead for counter-rebellion is not yet clear. But the men are alert, ready for war, and are contemplating the coming Saturnalia with great inventiveness. I am, as ever, the emperor’s servant in all things. Trabo
.

‘That’s all.’ I re-rolled the paper. ‘Juvens’ men will hold out. They don’t need Valens to know their duty.’

‘Of course.’

Rising, the emperor reached for the letter and paced the room, reading
it inwardly. He was a good reader; his mouth barely moved as he spoke the words to himself. Here, in his chosen audience room, he looked grander than anywhere else.

He was dressed in white, with the imperial purple over his shoulder. The circle of baldness on the crown of his head had expanded from three to four fingers across and the hair at the edges was spread through with white, like a roan horse, with the result that, in certain light, it seemed as if his head was glowing.

By chance, he was standing in this light now, a picture of regal solemnity, haloed in sunlight, when, unheralded, the vast German masseur appeared in the doorway.

Since Lucius’ departure, Drusus had become Vitellius’ de facto steward and personal guard. I suspected he was also Lucius’ personal spy, but dared not say so.

‘Lord?’ He looked agitated. He carried another man’s sword. In his hand, it looked like a toy.

Vitellius regarded him fondly. Who would not feel safer with someone of Drusus’ proportions at his shoulder? ‘Yes?’

‘Lord.’ Drusus bowed. His voice was a deep, chest-churning growl. ‘General Juvens wishes to be admitted with all haste.’

‘
Juvens?
Here? Why?’ Even Vitellius, with his infantile understanding of strategy, knew that Juvens would not have been there if his men had won; not, at least, without sending word back to Rome first. ‘What’s happened?’

Behind us, I felt the lady empress Sextilia rise from her couch. It seemed likely she was about to speak. Swiftly, I said, ‘Perhaps we may have Juvens admitted, and ask him ourselves?’

Vitellius flashed me a look of undiluted gratitude. ‘Of course. Send him in.’

Drusus bowed himself out.

And so we saw him, in all his misery. My friend, the bright, cheerful,
playboy Juvens, was gone. In his place was this grey-faced officer, who fell to his knees at the emperor’s feet.

‘Juvens, rise, man. You don’t need to kneel here.’

The emperor was a kind man; nobody has ever said otherwise. With his own hand, he raised Juvens up, which was when we all noticed the bag, more of a sack, really, he was holding. A faint sweet-vomit stench of decay hung about it that made my skin crawl.

I said, ‘Tell us quickly. It won’t get better by stepping around it.’

‘Have you a plate? A bowl?’

With no forethought, I swept the olives from a silver dish on the nearby table and thrust it at him.

‘Here.’

A month ago, Juvens would have raised his brow just barely and we’d have shared a private joke about the emperor’s silver olive bowls. The Juvens of now took it without looking, knelt once more, and solemnly opened the neck of his sack.

‘Antonius Primus ordered him killed,’ he said, ‘to prove to my men that he was dead, that he wasn’t coming with legions from Gaul to save them. That was when we lost.’

‘Killed whom?’

For a dizzying moment, I thought Lucius was dead, but Lucius wasn’t in Gaul and nobody had ever thought he might be. Valens, though … Valens, whom Antonius Primus had paraded before his own troops, but couldn’t parade before the enemy, in case they mounted an attack and freed him …

Juvens nodded, as if I had said the name aloud. ‘They sent us his head while it was still warm. His eyes were still open. We thought he might speak to us.’

His voice was breaking. He rolled the contents of his sack on to the platter, where, by obliging chance, the neck sat in the depths of the bowl and the face stared up at us: Valens. Dead these three days, by the look of him.

Vitellius
was sick.

Drusus, the giant German, whipped a vessel of sorts – a vase? I don’t know – in front of his emperor just as Vitellius heaved out a great, rancid arc of vomit. Drusus caught it deftly, and handed his lord a dampened, rose-scented towel with which to wipe his lips, his sweating brow, his hands.

Valens stared up at us, gape-mouthed, his eyelids sewn shut by an unsteady hand with black silk: a row of unstable exclamations that signalled the end of his life.

It signalled more than that for the emperor: last January, Valens was the man who had persuaded him that he could be more than simply a legionary legate in Germany.

‘This is barbaric!’ Vitellius was still faintly green around the mouth. The rest of him was grey. ‘We are Roman! We don’t butcher our officers.’

‘We do if it prevents further bloodshed,’ Juvens said. ‘The men had convinced themselves that Valens had escaped capture and was bringing up the legions from Gaul, to assault the Vitellian forces from behind. Antonius Primus swore it wasn’t true. He had the living Valens paraded in front of us but he could not bring him close enough for the men to see him clearly in case they tried to free him. And so our men shouted that he was an impostor and they would kill him, too, when they advanced. When he had no other way to convince them, Antonius Primus had his head struck from his shoulders and carried to us on a pole. Then the men believed him.’

‘Did they surrender?’

‘They were permitted to exit the town with their weapons, and not forced under the yoke. They have been sent north, to the German border. Technically, they are not defeated, they merely changed allegiance. But yes, they surrendered.’

‘
You swore you would die with them.
’

The empress Sextilia Augusta’s voice would have skewered a lesser man, but Juvens was bred for this kind of encounter.

He dipped
his most formal bow. ‘My lady Augusta, Antonius Primus gave me that option. He said my head could join Valens’ in the sack, or I could bring it to you, with his message. I thought of someone else bringing both heads into your royal presence and it seemed … more honourable to come myself. If you wish me to die now, I will do so, with great pleasure. I will find it hard to live longer with the disgrace of this.’

With no great drama, Juvens stepped apart from us and addressed Drusus. ‘I would fall on my sword, but you have taken it from me. If I may have it back?’

‘No!’

Vitellius’ balled fist slammed on the wall. Now, too late, he was finding his strength as a man.

‘Drusus, I forbid it. No man will die needlessly on my behalf. Too many have done so already. Otho understood, didn’t he, when he killed himself, that too many good men die, and it is not possible to go on in the pretence of ruling?’

A taken breath behind me was silenced by a peremptory sweep of the imperial hand. ‘No, Mother, you will not speak. I am your emperor and I command it. And don’t wail at me, either. If you wish to leave the room, you may do so.’

She went! By Jupiter, Minerva and Juno, the empress snapped a finger to summon her ladies to follow, and was gone.

With a short, sharp, satisfied smile, gone before it was truly there, Vitellius turned back to Juvens. ‘Antonius Primus sent you with a message. Give it to me now, and then you may go with Geminus and plan for the defence of the city.’

Juvens paled, but he was a man of astonishing courage. With his gaze focused on the far wall, he said, clearly, ‘Antonius Primus, commander of the forces loyal to Vespasian, offers his respectful request that you enter into immediate negotiations with Titus Flavius Sabinus, brother to the future emperor, with respect to the details of your abdication.’

‘
What details? What abdication?’

‘Perhaps the one I am empowered to discuss?’ said Titus Flavius Sabinus, prefect of the city, quietly from the doorway. ‘If I may be permitted to enter?’

Rome, 17 December
AD
69

A DAY WAS
lost in the discussions between Vitellius and Sabinus without their reaching any satisfactory conclusion.

On the morning of the seventeenth, Sabinus went to meet the emperor once again. On this occasion, the designated place was the temple of Apollo next to the palace and the whole of Rome knew they were there to discuss Vitellius’ abdication. Present were two men of good character to ensure that the agreements reached were fair and reasonable.

Jocasta and I remained in my house together. We talked of small things; of good wine, of the ways to make a pastry with spiced raisins at its heart; of our plans for Saturnalia, nearly upon us, when masters traded places with their slaves, and mistresses served the servants.

Matthias would not hear of such a thing. Jocasta had an old serving woman who felt the same. For both of them, the holiday was no different from any other day. We talked of how
things had been in our childhoods. We talked of nothing at all.