Enemy of Rome (3 page)

A bustle of activity from the doorway made Titus look up, and Valerius turned as a heavy-set, older man in a legate’s sculpted breastplate and red sash entered the tent. Titus smiled a welcome. ‘Marcus Antonius Primus, commander of the Danuvius legions.’

The big man nodded, but a frown shadowed his face as he noticed Valerius for the first time.

‘Don’t I know you?’

‘I do not believe I have been able to convince him.’ Titus outlined his problem the next day as his entourage prepared to leave for the East. He kept his voice so low Valerius had to strain to catch the words. ‘My father did not wish to give a direct order to a commander in the field, because he is aware how quickly conditions can change and opportunities arise. In an experienced and thoughtful general that would be well enough, but Primus is a gambler by nature. My greatest fear is that his impetuosity could place this army in danger. We can win, Valerius. We will win. But to do that we must husband our resources, and the battle-tested troops of the Danuvius frontier are our greatest asset.’ He looked Valerius in the eye and his next words contained a challenge. ‘I rely on you to be my agent in this.’

Valerius almost laughed. ‘What makes you think Marcus Antonius Primus will listen to me? The man blames me for destroying his career. Even with Serpentius watching my back I’ll be lucky to last a week without having my throat slit or hemlock slipped into my wine. What was it he said when he recognized me?’ He shook his head at the memory of Primus’s violent reaction; the bulging eyes, the purple distended features, the hands that had twitched for his throat. ‘“If I had known you were in Aquila’s custody I would have had you strung up by your own intestines and personally lit the fire beneath your feet.” Those aren’t the words of someone who’ll thank me for giving him military advice.’

Titus smiled. ‘It’s true his initial reaction wasn’t encouraging, but I’ve spoken to him. He’s not a fool, Valerius. He knows this campaign is his opportunity to return to high office, but the only way he’ll ever wear a consul’s toga and march behind twelve lictors is if he wins victories. I’ve told him my father values your services, and that he should keep you close for your knowledge of Vitellius and his generals. He understands the importance of your experiences at Placentia and Bedriacum. Your rank of
tribunus laticlavius
is restored and the Spaniard appointed your servant and personal bodyguard. Primus will never like you, Valerius, but he will be happy to use you. As long as you are of use to him, he’ll keep you alive.’

‘It’ll be like being chained to a tiger with toothache.’ Valerius knew he protested in vain. ‘And the outcome is likely to be just as painful.’

The other man laughed. ‘Yes, that would sum it up rather well. But Gaius Valerius Verrens has experience of riding tigers. You survived Nero’s enmity while men like Corbulo and Seneca were swept away. You alone paved the way for Galba’s march on Rome. Who else but Gaius Valerius Verrens would have dared to demand that Aulus Vitellius give up the purple?’ Valerius stifled a denial. They both knew Titus was exaggerating. He had survived Nero by fleeing with Vespasian’s help. Other men had guided Galba to the throne. Honour and duty had dictated he must approach Vitellius, but he had not been alone. None of that mattered. He was here and he was available. Titus placed a hand on his right arm. ‘I would not ask this of anyone else, Valerius.’

A young aide announced that the preparations were complete and Valerius accompanied Vespasian’s son to his horse.

‘I haven’t made my oath to your father,’ he reminded him.

‘And he would not demand it.’ Titus smiled. ‘He knows he is not the Emperor until he has convinced the Senate and the people to affirm it. We will make that pledge together on the day he dons the purple and Valerius Verrens receives the honours he deserves.’ As the escort moved off he leaned down from the saddle and whispered, ‘Tame the tiger for me, Valerius.’

‘Let me be very clear.’ Marcus Antonius Primus sniffed his contempt. ‘I would rather feed you to my dogs than have you on my staff.’

Valerius held the other man’s poisonous stare during the long pause that followed. The last time he’d looked into those eyes had been during his brief return to the law after returning from Britannia. He’d been selected to prosecute three senators on a charge of falsifying a will and forcing it on an elderly man. The evidence against Primus, and his fellow defendants Valerius Fabianus and Vincius Rufus, had been overwhelming, and though they tried every trick, legal and otherwise, to have the case dismissed, they were found guilty. All three were already rich and the only motive for the crime was naked greed. They’d been dismissed from the Senate under Lex Cornelia Testamentaria and banished from Rome. Nero’s death and the short-lived rule of Galba had seen Primus reinstated and given a legionary command. Aulus Vitellius had been one of the senators who had banished him, which forced him to throw in his lot with first Otho, and now Vespasian. The headquarters tent seemed to strain with the power of his anger, and for a moment Valerius thought the general would break the metal stylus in his hand.

Eventually Primus managed to regain control. ‘However, I am a servant of Rome, and if I am to ensure Vespasian takes his rightful place as Emperor I must use every weapon at my disposal, no matter how distasteful. Your rank and privileges as senior military tribune are confirmed.’ Valerius bowed his thanks for this grudging concession as Primus continued: ‘You know the false Emperor Vitellius personally?’

‘I served with him in Africa,’ Valerius admitted.

‘And your assessment of his military capabilities?’

Valerius almost smiled. His old friend Vitellius’s greatest military capability was to eat a full century’s rations at a single sitting and still be demanding more. ‘He is no soldier,’ he said, ‘but no fool either. He will leave the fighting to his generals.’

The legate nodded slowly. ‘And who commands, Valens or Caecina?’

‘I believe neither will willingly yield to the other. Both have an equal influence on the Emp— on Vitellius and he chooses not to choose between them for fear of alienating the one or the other. Caecina Alienus is a charming rogue who milked his province of Baetica dry and would have been prosecuted’ – he saw Primus wince at the hated word – ‘but for Galba’s death. I have never met Fabius Valens, but I know him by reputation. A hard man and a good soldier who personally cut the head from the former governor of Germania Inferior. The only thing that unites them is their ambition.’

Primus chewed his lip thoughtfully. ‘And which is the greater threat?’ Valerius remembered a short-lived negotiation before the walls of Placentia; Caecina, flamboyant in his colourful barbarian costume, a wild excitement in his eyes, his beautiful wife at his side. ‘Valens,’ he said emphatically. ‘At Placentia, Caecina should have waited until he deployed his artillery. Instead, he threw his best men at strong stone walls without support and lost thousands. I doubt he has the patience or the wisdom to be a great commander.’ He hesitated, waiting for a reaction to what could have been a criticism of the man before him, but Primus didn’t respond and he continued: ‘Bedriacum was Valens’ victory. He fought a clever battle over difficult terrain and used his reserves skilfully. With enough men, Caecina could hurt you, but Valens could destroy you.’

Primus looked up sharply, wondering whether to be insulted by the suggestion that either man could defeat him. Gradually he relaxed and his face twisted into what was almost a smile. ‘Yes, I see why Titus suggested I could use you. Honest to the point of foolishness. Brave enough not – quite – to be despised. A man never likely to play the spy.’

This time it was Valerius’s turn to flinch, but he was careful not to show it. Primus believed himself a fine judge of character, but he was wrong. Valerius had played the spy for Nero, for Galba and for Otho, and played it well. He had no doubt Titus wanted to be kept informed of Primus’s moves, but he thought it unlikely the legate would give him the opportunity. ‘I am happy to serve the general in whatever role he feels me best suited,’ he said carefully.

‘A lawyer’s answer.’ Primus’s mood changed in an instant. ‘Venus’s tits, I hate lawyers. Your
role
will be to be at my orders day and night, and if I tell you to jump off a bridge you will ask me which side is my pleasure. You will be part of my council, because that is what your
friend
, Titus,’ the word ‘friend’ was given an emphasis that made Valerius want to take the other man by the throat, ‘has
suggested
and for the moment Titus has his father’s authority, but you will keep your ugly face and that crippled arm out of my line of sight until you are called. I have been advised to stay on the defensive, but that will depend on the reports I receive over the next few days. If the conditions are right, we will march on Rome. We will fight this war, you and I, and we will defeat the enemy, but by the end you will wish you had died under the executioner’s sword. Do not be deceived by my gentle manner today, Gaius Valerius Verrens. When this is over there
will
be a reckoning. Now get out.’

Valerius bit his lip to stifle words that would put him under another death sentence. He slammed the wooden fist against his chest in salute and marched from the tent. Outside, he found Serpentius waiting on the other side of the Via Principalis. ‘By the look on your face I’d say that went well,’ the Spaniard said.

A bitter laugh escaped Valerius and he looked out over the familiar lines of tents to the grey hills beyond. ‘Remember that time we crossed the Danuvius and were ambushed by the Dacians? I think we were safer among the savages and their skinning knives than we are here.’

Serpentius shrugged. ‘In that case we should get out the first chance we have. You don’t owe these people anything.’

Valerius shook his head. Titus had saved his life; and there was another, more important reason. ‘Primus may be a complete bastard who would like nothing better than to see me hanging from a cross, but he’s more of a soldier than I gave him credit for. Vespasian has advised him to stay here and wait for our old friend Mucianus.’ He grinned, and his voice took on new energy. ‘But I think he’s already made up his mind to fight his way to Rome, and Rome is where I want to be.’

Serpentius shot him a worried glance at the sudden change of mood, but Valerius was too lost in thought to notice. He was already thinking on the battles ahead, and the enemies in front and behind. Titus had asked him to tame the tiger – the problem was to avoid being eaten first.

If Valerius was right, the tiger was about to march on Rome.

And in Rome, Domitia would be waiting.

The great house on the lip of the Esquiline slope in Rome reminded Domitia Longina Corbulo of her father’s palace in Antioch: designed to be full of magical light and wonder, the rooms adorned with works of art and treasures from Asia, Africa and the East. The only difference was that she had felt safe in Antioch.

Walking along the pillared corridor in the villa gardens, she fought boredom as the toga-clad patrician beside her insisted for the fourth or fifth time that she could rely on his family’s protection. The years had made Titus Flavius Sabinus pompous and exaggerated the vanity for which he was famed. He must once have been considered handsome, she thought, but the strong features had blurred with age and his broad forehead now stretched all the way back across his scalp. Sabinus had a thick neck, wide shoulders and a conspicuous paunch that he carried in front of him like a basket of loaves. If he lacked the calm assurance of his younger brother Vespasian, and the signs of nervous stress were unmistakable, it was hardly surprising given his position.

‘As urban prefect I must be seen to be above politics,’ he explained, the thick lips pursing in a worried frown. ‘I am responsible for Rome and I take that responsibility seriously. I hope that whatever issues exist between my brother and the Emperor can be resolved without further bloodshed, but if not I will do my utmost to safeguard this city and its people.’

Domitia nodded gracefully as if she accepted the explanation without question, but she wasn’t sure she believed him. Sabinus’s main aim was to secure his family’s power base in Rome whatever the outcome of the Imperial struggle. He also had the predatory eye for an opportunity that was characteristic of all the Flavians. Vespasian’s decision to remain in Alexandria might be designed to keep the two branches of the family from meeting in combat, but if Vitellius showed any sign of weakness she suspected Sabinus would try to take advantage. Sabinus continued speaking, filling the unacceptable silence with words as was his habit. Domitia glanced over her bare shoulder.

He was still there, of course, three or four paces away, watching. Sabinus’s nephew Domitianus had appointed himself her protector on the long sea voyage back to Rome after her father’s death. No, call it what it was, despite the fact that Gnaeus Domitius Corbulo had taken his life with his own hand. It had been murder. Nero had murdered her father and left her an orphan. At first Domitianus had been like an adoring puppy, happy to be blessed with a nod or a smile, but all that changed when they reached Rome. Even when she’d married the elderly aristocrat Lucius Aelius Lamia, he’d continued to haunt her footsteps. After the wedding, Lamia had made it clear that the marriage was purely one of convenience. He’d cheerfully set off to take up his praetorship in Sicilia and left her to Domitianus’s mercy with instructions not to shame the family name.

Tall, pale and slim, with sandy, tight-curled hair, a weak chin and narrow eyes that never left her body, Domitianus caught her eye. His lips twitched. She flinched away and tried to turn her attention to what Sabinus was saying.

‘The Emperor,’ he grimaced as if the word was a betrayal of his brother, ‘has assured me that he understands and sympathizes with my situation. He is grateful for my support and the work I have done in past years.’ He turned to her with a resigned smile that made her like him more than she had. ‘As a former consul Vitellius knows the pressures of my position; the minutiae, the delicacy required when dealing with so many different personalities and classes. The provision of grain and the policing of the streets take up much of my energies, but in a time of civil …’ he hesitated, apparently not able to bring himself to say the obvious word, ‘strife, my responsibilities are multiplied. In many ways it was much simpler to command the Fourteenth when Claudius invaded Britannia. A man knew his place then.’