Master and God (28 page)

At the same time, and presumably in cahoots with Saturninus, the Free German Chatti assembled on the far bank of the frozen Rhine, apparently preparing to invade over the ice. Other tribes, a branch of Sarmatians called the Iazyges, plus the Suebian Marcomanni and Quadi, who had previously recognised Rome, menaced the province of Pannonia. With these frontier systems enflamed, Roman activity in Dacia was seriously compromised.

Warnings of what Saturninus might be planning had reached Domitian from his own supporters, who did exist, back in December.

Always alert for threats against him, whether real or imaginary, his response to this true emergency was electric. He left Rome heading for Germany on the twelfth of January. It was unclear how many legions there would remain loyal, if any. Domitian took only the Praetorian Guard; Ulpius Trajanus, himself a future emperor, joined him, bringing the trusted VII Gemina from Spain. Before their arrival, the fighting was over. The Chatti had been unable to cross the ice-bound Rhine, due to an unseasonable thaw. The governor of Lower Germany, an old Vespasian loyalist called Lappius Maximus, had thrown in his hand with Domitian. With his own legions, he had crisply defeated Saturninus and the rebellious troops – the maverick XIV Gemina and uppity XXI Rapax from the double fort at Moguntiacum. Saturninus died in battle.

The aftermath was difficult. Lappius caused controversy by burning Saturninus’ correspondence. This may have been to cover his own dubious involvement, or in the light of Domitian’s known tendencies, it may have been a wise move to destroy evidence if there really had been a secret conspiracy; violent reprisals against members of the Senate would ultimately have weakened Rome. Merely to have been invited to take part in the treason would have been damning in the eyes of an emperor who was already hostile to the senatorial class.

The rank and file in the legions that had rebelled were treated leniently, though their officers were hunted down, tortured and killed. Their severed heads, along with that of Saturninus, were despatched to the Senate in Rome: a strong visual message. Domitian swiftly introduced measures to prevent future reoccurrence: soldiers could no longer keep more than a thousand sesterces in their legionary savings bank, thus limiting the funds available to any potential usurper. There would never again be two legions concentrated in one fort; the XXI Rapax was transferred immediately to serve in Pannonia.

Three or four months later, with mopping-up operations well in hand, Domitian’s personal presence on the Rhine ceased to be essential. He returned his attention to the Danube provinces, this time in beleaguered Pannonia. There was no detour to Rome; he crossed directly overland. Fighting ensued; the Romans suffered a reverse. When the Marcomanni sued for peace, however, Domitian first stalled, and then executed their legation. Having made this declaration of purpose, he finally agreed to make peace with Decebalus and the Dacians.

There was an extremely attractive offer of Rome paying huge financial subsidies, starting now, then on a regular basis in future years. The terms agreed also provided for Roman engineers and other experts to be sent to help fortify Dacia against threats from other tribes. Dacia would give reciprocal assistance to Rome.

Too wily to expose himself, Decebalus sent his brother Diegis to sign the treaty. Diegis would receive a golden diadem from Domitian’s own hands, symbolising that Dacia was now Rome’s client kingdom with the Emperor able to validate its rulers. To smooth negotiations, Diegis brought with him and handed over a demoralised bunch of Roman prisoners, men his brother had been holding since the first Battle of Tapae.

For repatriation, they were marched to Carnuntum, in Noricum. In their weakened condition, the effort was exhausting. Only hope stopped it killing them. There, in ancient wine country, the main arm of the Amber Highroad crossed the Danube. There, Vinius and his companions finally crossed back into the Roman Empire.

After four years in another world, they were disorientated to see the familiar lines of a Roman legionary fort, an amphitheatre outside it, nestling in the traditional mess of a small civilian settlement. There was more noise than normal, and many more sentries, because the Emperor was in residence.

Their reception from those at the fort was businesslike, not too much staring. They lined up as smartly as they could, Vinius in the officer’s position with a makeshift swagger-stick. A senior clerk collected details: names, previous legions; a short list of those who had died in captivity. Officers began a debrief. The new Praetorian Prefect was notified that a Guard had been recovered; he bustled up to investigate. He found Vinius urgently passing on his suspicion that Decebalus was holding other Romans somewhere. ‘I beg you, don’t abandon them –’

One of the lads piped up, ‘Sir, sir! It was Vinius who got us through –’

Suddenly a new voice exclaimed: ‘
I know that man!
’

Amid murmurs, the crowd parted. Arms chinked as men sprang to attention. Some tall dignitary, approximately forty, paunchy, familiar turned-up lip, pushed through. A scarlet swirl of overloaded cloak. A moulded gold breastplate showing Minerva. Heavily fringed epaulettes.
Nice sword!

They all gasped: Domitian. Their commander-in-chief. Their Emperor.

To Vinius he looked gaunt. He learned later just how badly Domitian had been shaken by the revolt of Saturninus, a man he had appointed, a man he trusted. He was hurt to the core that legions had revolted against him, after his care in boosting the pay and status of the army and his sincere attempts to win his soldiers’ loyalty. Worse, he had heard the news that back in Rome, his niece Julia, a young woman he undoubtedly loved in his fashion, had died.

Despite his own mental turmoil, it was Domitian who pulled up short. The prisoners had lived day by day with their slow deterioration, not noticing it. They reached Carnuntum underweight and in poor health. Since he remembered the one-eyed Vinius from years before, as fit and muscular, Domitian saw the change. The soldier’s grey, dull-eyed appearance shocked him.

The Emperor came right up close. Under the single gimlet eye of their acting centurion, the men strained to attention until their spines cracked. First Domitian clasped Gaius Vinius by the hand. He seemed almost on the verge of embracing him, though that was never his style. Then Domitian passed along the lines; he took his time and shook hands with every man. They all mentioned afterwards how he held on, with a crushing grip. His gaze was compassionate and fatherly. They could see the Emperor was moved by the misery they had endured.

So far, the returned soldiers had stayed in control of their emotions. They were numb and withdrawn, none yet really daring to believe their ordeal was ended. Vinius had warned them they might be received as an embarrassment, or tainted goods, even as deserters.

‘Give these men everything they need!’

It was Domitian’s genuine kindness that made them finally break down.

F
aces. So many faces . . . So much armoured battledress. So many fit men, all reeking of cleansing oils, with wonderful teeth. Such bustle and purpose.

The prisoners shied from their colleagues. Aware of their shabbiness, lost molars, fungal skin and mental rot, the unshaven lank-haired men who had been brought out of Dacia by Diegis shrank into a tight knot, as nervous as colts.

Rehabilitation would be a brisk process. They were given the option of returning to their former units, serving in other legions in quiet provinces with only goldmines to guard, or taking their discharge. Almost all opted to continue in service, some deliberately staying on the frontier in the hope of taking some revenge. They had all sworn to be blood brothers, though undeniably they would lose touch.

Vinius requested discharge. He knew when he had reached his limit.

Domitian generally had two Praetorian Prefects, one military, one with an admin background. Replacing the slain Fuscus, here on the Danube was Casperius Aelianus. He seemed well briefed and perhaps knew of Domitian’s previous role as Vinius’ sponsor. Whether that, or simply reluctant to lose a man with good years left in him, Casperius Aelianus nagged Vinius to stay on.

‘How old are you?’

‘Thirty-two.’

‘That’s nothing. You can’t retire; you’ll need employment.’

Capitulating, Vinius demanded the vigiles. Instead, Aelianus offered a headquarters post; he would remain a Guard, with the salary and security. There was an unstated agreement that he could stay in Rome as a non-combatant.

He was to work under the cornicularius, dealing with records; that suited him. A desk job. Some soldiers or paramilitaries, who are prevented by wounds or mental troubles from carrying out the full range of duties, fret against it. Not him. He would suit this posting just as he had enjoyed the vigiles, though without having to put up with a stream of thieves and arsonists.

Before reassignment, the prisoners rallied slowly. They were all fragile, becoming worse before they improved. Most refused to talk about the past four years. The first time they went to the fort’s bath house no one could get them out of there; the bath keeper complained they left him an infestation and stole all the rope-soled footwear. The barracks barber had to work overtime tidying them up. Some rushed to the local good-time girls, though they came back subdued, shocked by their inability to function.

The Emperor gave them what were called generous gifts of money and arms; that meant he confirmed their four years’ back pay and rearmed them without the usual deduction from salary. Better, his personal medic attended them. They needed his help. Drink, after four years of abstinence, had disastrous results. Even food caused upsets; they fell on their first Roman meal, only to vomit or to find it dashed straight through them. Vinius fainted; the doctor said it was because he was tall. The imperial quack imposed a strict planned diet to wean them back to proper nourishment. They joked nervously that they hoped he was not the man who had tended Titus in his death throes, which was how they felt. For a time they were all quavering invalids.

Eventually Vinius was despatched to Rome. He wanted to march home, head high, but he was stretched ignominiously in a wagon for most of the trip. It took weeks. From Carnuntum, you had to avoid the Alps. He had a lot of time to think. Mostly he just cleared his mind and waited.

At the Porta Flaminia, he clambered off his transport to stagger into the city on his own feet. As he took the long, straight ceremonial road that ran from the triumphal gate to the Forum, his first reaction was indignant. He had seen Domitian’s new buildings going up; yet during his captivity, the Rome in his mind had been the old city, the city he grew up with as a boy, before the fire. This glittering vista horrified him. Rebuilt and improved buildings in the Campus Martius – the Pantheon and Saepta Julia, the Temple of Isis – looked larger,
were
larger, now so fabulously ornate and garish that to him they seemed tasteless. The new Temple of Jupiter, an outsize golden blur atop the distant Capitol, was as unfamiliar as an architectural fantasy on a wall fresco. Instead of feeling he had woken from a nightmare, Gaius was living in one, shaky and disorientated.

He could not imagine the best way to announce to his family that he was home from the dead. Until now he had done nothing about them. He had enough imagination to become worried what reaction his sudden appearance might cause.

Reluctant to walk in and give his brothers heart attacks, he went for a decent Roman shave and haircut. He sat in the chair with his chin in a warm napkin, as uncertain as a teenage boy on his first visit.

What lotion, soldier? Iris? Cretan lily? I can do you a lovely sandalwood . . .

Hades. Scrap that muck. Camomile I like. Just camomile.

He decided to go to the Praetorian Camp. This meant he had to cross Rome over the northern heights, a slow, gentle, healing stroll through the Gardens of Sallust; it was a good idea and gave him time to adjust. Then a Guard he knew from the old days took time to visit his family for him, to break the news gently.

Felix rushed to fetch him. Shamefaced, he showed his brother their father’s memorial, now with its respectful mention of his own heroic death. ‘Shit, Felix –’ His brother was in pieces; Gaius also choked. ‘Not many people get to inspect their own tombstone. Thanks!’

He ought to be dead. So many colleagues had failed to make it back – why him? Hideous guilt clamped down on him. Although his brother, who had been a soldier, looked as if he sympathised, Vinius was already trapped in bearing all this alone. Seeing the memorial had increased his unspoken shame that he, fortune’s random choice, had survived the catastrophe.

That evening screams, tears, embraces, slaps on the back, far too much food and far, far too much wine were lavished on him. Aunts who had brought him up – their number now reduced – tottered in to squeeze him, pinch him, slobber tears into coloured handkerchieves, grow horribly tipsy on many cups of sweetened wine. ‘
Just a finger; you know I never drink . . .
’ His brothers and their wives alternately sobbed or grinned disbelievingly. The two young girls, Marcia and Julia, who could barely remember their uncle, peered around Paulina shyly, then crept up and put garlands on his neck, while their little brother hid under a table and peered out, having no recollection at all of this scary soldier. Even though they were not his children, Gaius was deeply shaken by how much the trio had altered in the years he had been away. The girls were little ladies; the toddler now a boy.

Nobody mentioned the children’s aunt; nor did Gaius Vinius.

Plum Street next morning looked safely unchanged.

The knife shop was still there. He could have done with his folding multi-blade in Dacia. The tassel shop, latterly a sponge emporium, was now occupied by two beauticians. One young woman was giving a manicure to someone seated on a stool on the street; some sixth sense brought the other dainty practitioner from her customer indoors, to stare at Vinius. He gave them a nod. Both girls looked hostile. He needed to work on his act.