Sword of Rome (30 page)

Valerius nodded thoughtfully. ‘That might be useful to know …’

A servant’s face appeared in the doorway. ‘Gaius Valerius Varens, the Emperor wishes you to join him to break your fast.’

Vitellius was in the room they had occupied the previous night, already feasting on an array of fruits and meats and spooning honeyed porridge
from a wide bowl. His eyes were puffy, but whether that was from the wine he’d consumed or lack of sleep wasn’t apparent. He looked up when Valerius entered.

‘Forgive me, Valerius, but I find that thinking gives a man an appetite.’ He waved ringed fingers in an invitation to begin and returned to his plate. Valerius picked at the food, knowing he should eat more – who knew how this day would end? – but his stomach was churning as in the moments before an attack. When Vitellius was done, the household slaves cleared the bowls from the table.

In the long silence that followed, the German Emperor played with a great jewelled ring on the middle finger of his right hand while he contemplated Valerius with baleful grey eyes that contained no hint of his thoughts. Eventually, he sighed and shook his head.

‘You have caused me a deal of trouble, Gaius Valerius Verrens.’

‘Only because I wished to save you from more, and worse.’

Vitellius nodded slowly, the great jowls wobbling in rhythm with his movements. ‘I apologize for my harsh words of yesterday. It says much for our friendship that you and your Spanish wolf were prepared to come here, even if your mission was a misdirected one.’ Valerius started to protest, but the other man raised a hand. ‘Hear me out, before you say what you must. Last night I mentioned that other lives were at stake, and that is true. I have set events in motion … no, let us be entirely truthful … the gods have set events in motion, of which they have placed me at the heart, and over which I have no power and little control. You were right to bring me word of what has taken place in my name. It is an unworthy Emperor who begins his reign with massacre and rapine, and I will do what I can to make amends for what has happened and to ensure such things do not occur again.’ Vitellius paused and Valerius saw what might have been a hint of regret in the deep-set eyes. He remembered a time in Africa when this man had wept over the bodies of starving children and wondered how it had come to this. Vitellius nodded as if he too was remembering those times, but both men knew there was no going back now.

‘Marcus Salvius Otho’s terms are generous, and you may thank him for me. I have a message for him in return, but first I must explain to an
old friend why I cannot accept them. Yesterday we spoke of honesty and loyalty. Most men look at Aulus Vitellius and see a fat man whose only ambition is to get fatter. When they look at Aulus Vitellius Germanicus Imperator, Emperor of Rome, they will see a fat man whose only ambition is to get rich. But you know better, Valerius. When I said our ambitions for Rome were the same, I spoke the truth. A strong Rome, a prosperous Rome, a Rome untainted by the stain of corruption.’ A shadow crossed his eyes and Valerius knew he was thinking of his two lieutenants, but it quickly passed. ‘I hope and pray that you see your own honour and loyalty mirrored in the fat man who stands before you.’ His lips twitched in a sad half-smile. ‘You see, I become poetic in my emotion. Seneca would never have approved. Still,’ he levered his enormous frame to its feet, ‘I will stand. I owe my loyalty to the men who hailed me Imperator on the field outside Moguntiacum. The men who now march on Rome in my name. In all honour, I could never desert them. There was never any possibility that I would turn back, even if I could. I hope you see that now.’

Valerius nodded, unable to speak for the duck egg that seemed to have lodged in his throat. Vitellius waddled to a cabinet set by the wall and stooped awkwardly to open it, and Valerius’s heart sank at the sight of the polished rosewood box. Vitellius smiled when he saw his guest’s reaction. ‘Yes, Divine Caesar’s sword. A sword unsullied and untarnished. A symbol, if you like, of the Rome we both wish to see. In a month five cohorts of the Twentieth Valeria Victrix will arrive from Britannia to join me. One of Rome’s most feared legions, I hope you will agree?’ Of course Valerius agreed; how could he not? He had served in the Twentieth as a beardless tribune. It had been the men of the Twentieth who formed the fearsome wedges which smashed into the great mass of Boudicca’s army, and the men of the Twentieth who led the slaughter that followed. Their reputation was well earned, and Valerius had watched them earn it from Suetonius Paulinus’s side. He didn’t realize that Vitellius was still speaking until he heard his own name mentioned. He looked up to find the other man’s eyes on him and his hand on the hilt of Julius Caesar’s sword.

‘I said that, unfortunately, the Twentieth’s commander’s loyalties
are less certain than his men’s. He has decided to stay in Deva to await events. Since those events are likely to be fatal to his career, the Twentieth will soon be in need of a new legate. I can think of no better man to lead them than Gaius Valerius Verrens, Hero of Rome.’ For a moment Valerius’s head seemed to be filled with thunder. He saw an eagle glittering proudly above an avenue of polished helmets. His eagle. Glory and fame awaited the man who led the Twentieth. It was already a formidable instrument of war; how much greater an instrument could it be in his hands. A
gladius
at the heart of Rome’s enemies. Her shield against those who would harm her. The spear point of her military power.

‘I cannot.’ The words almost stuck in his throat, but they had to be said.

Vitellius continued as if they hadn’t been spoken. ‘All you need to do to make it so is to place your hand over mine and make the oath to Aulus Vitellius Germanicus Imperator.’

Valerius looked down at the plump fingers on the jewelled hilt and remembered another man’s hand on another sword. That man had died because he refused to visit all this on Rome, and had he still lived Aulus Vitellius would never have dared lift a sword against his Emperor.
A Corbulo does not have the luxury of choice … only duty
.

‘I cannot,’ he repeated. It was said with regret, even sorrow, but there was also a savage conviction in the younger man’s voice that made Vitellius blink. ‘I have already given my oath to one Emperor. As long as he lives, I will abide by it.’

Vitellius’s eyes half closed and in that second Valerius thought he detected a hint of unsheathed iron in the hidden depths, but it was gone before he could be certain. An expression of pained regret twisted the German Emperor’s features and he withdrew his hand from Caesar’s sword.

‘A pity.’ He sighed. ‘With you at my side it would all have been different.’

The hurt was painful to witness and for the first time Valerius realized how much Vitellius had invested in his offer. With a true soldier like Valerius at his side, he could have cast off the chains forged by Valens
and Caecina. With an ally he could trust and a legion in capable hands, he would have had the power to rule Rome as it should be ruled. Valerius felt like a man tied between two horses being whipped in opposite directions. Had he placed pride and honour above his duty to Rome? He had given his oath to a man who had taken Rome by force; a man so degraded he had allowed his wife to be used by Nero to ensure his political advancement. Did that man deserve to be Emperor? He felt Vitellius’s eyes on him. All he had to do was place his hand on the sword and repeat the words and he would have his legion. Their time in Africa had proved that Vitellius was a good administrator and a good man. Given the right support, he could be a good Emperor. His hand edged towards the spun gold of the sword hilt. But he could not free himself of Corbulo’s reproving stare and now it was Otho’s words that rang in his head.
An honest man, who is sometimes too honest for his own good. A man whose loyalty to his Emperor is not in question
.

No.

He stood up. ‘I am sorry.’

Vitellius cast off his disappointment with a shrug and replaced it with a mask of geniality. ‘Very well.’ He nodded. ‘It is your right. I will provide you and your servant with horses and a pass that will allow you transit through my armies without hindrance. I said I had a message for Otho, and you can do me a service by delivering it. Tell him I must regretfully decline his offer, but I will make him one of my own. There is only one rightful Emperor of Rome. If he relinquishes his claim to the purple, gives up command of the Praetorian Guard and hands over the keys of state to the representatives of Aulus Vitellius Germanicus Imperator, he may retire to Sardinia and live the rest of his life without fear.’ He reached across the table and in a show of genuine affection took Valerius’s left hand in both of his. ‘I must ask you to leave without delay, Valerius, for once it becomes known that you have been here it could place us both in danger. We must say goodbye now, but know this. Whatever has happened, and whatever will happen, does not affect our relationship. You will always be able to call Aulus Vitellius friend.’

The words, so unexpected and so welcome, made something grow in Valerius’s chest. He drew himself up to his full height and rapped his
walnut fist to his left breast in a salute fit for an Emperor of Rome. As he walked from the room he felt a wellspring of pity for his old friend and wondered if he would ever see him alive again.

If he had stayed, he would have seen Vitellius ring a small bell to summon Asiaticus. While he waited, he picked up the ornate
gladius
. Divine Caesar had never shirked difficult decisions. A shuffle of feet announced the former slave’s arrival, but Vitellius didn’t turn to acknowledge him.

‘Send me Claudius Victor.’

Marcus Salvius Otho paced the long balcony of the great Golden House Nero had created to ensure his name would for ever be linked with the greatest of his divine forefathers. Unlike the late Emperor Galba, Otho had no reservations about living amid the luxurious trappings that the man who sent him into exile had gathered from the four corners of the Empire. The balcony overlooked a beautiful park where deer and antelope roamed by a shimmering lake and he watched the animals for a while, until he could delay the decision no longer. Returning to his desk, he picked up the letter and read it for the fourth time. Otho knew he had no choice. The clamour for the man’s death had grown irresistible, and even though Gaius Valerius Verrens had advised clemency he was not yet in a position to defy the mob. He nodded and his secretary dripped hot wax on a corner of the parchment. Reluctantly, he marked it with his seal and handed it to the man.

‘See that it is delivered immediately. Warn the messenger that he will attempt bribery, offer flattery and any other means he can think of to delay the inevitable, but he is to be informed that there is no escape from his duty.’ So ends Offonius Tigellinus, and a decade of fear becomes a mere story to scare children to their beds, he thought.

In truth, Tigellinus was a distraction. But then there were so many distractions to divert him from his task that they caused a flutter of panic every time he sat down to consider them. Despite a lifetime following the
cursus honorum
, the ordered progression that steered a young Roman through the foothills of bureaucracy and discipline and prepared him for rule, he found himself ill prepared for the mountain of detail that seemed designed to crush an Emperor. First there had been the problem of the Praetorians, who had carried him to office on a tidal wave of enthusiasm and – there was no denying it – blood. He had made the normal donative of an incoming Emperor, enough to satisfy them, and make them forget the absurd bribe Nymphidius had promised on Galba’s behalf. Then there had been the appointment of the new prefects to replace those who had died with Galba. He had promised that they could vote in their own candidates, but by subtle diplomacy and some questionable manoeuvring by Onomastus he had succeeded in having his clients Firmus and Proculus nominated. And yet there had still been some misunderstanding that had brought them rampaging to the Senate threatening to slaughter the entire house after some rumour spread that he was being held there against his will. It had eventually been resolved, but it had taken time he could ill afford and shaken the senators’ faith in his ability to control the Guard. The finger of blame pointed unerringly at the Prefect of Rome. If Otho had been stronger he might have acted, but, like Galba, he could not afford to alienate Vespasian in Judaea, so the general’s brother Flavius Sabinus would continue in the role he had held under Nero.

The thought of Sabinus made him frown and he called for a document that had arrived the previous day. The prefect was demanding the arrest of Gaius Valerius Verrens on a charge of murder. Some story of a young relative, that useless scrub of a boy Domitianus, attacked, and one of his bodyguards killed. With Valerius out of the city Otho could afford to put the matter aside, but it would have to be dealt with in time. The dark eyes and scarred features swam into his vision. A capable man in any situation that required violence or guile, but with a fierce intelligence that made him doubly useful. Valerius’s inflated sense of personal honour made him predictable, but somehow he
always managed to overcome this handicap and get the job done. Well, useful or not, there might come a time when Gaius Valerius Verrens would have to be sacrificed on the altar of political gain.

He picked up another report and an involuntary groan escaped his lips. Flood water from the Tiber had inundated thousands of riverside properties, drowning dozens and making many hundreds homeless. Worse, it had demolished granaries and warehouses packed to bursting with grain to see Rome through the winter and supplies for the troops who would inevitably take the field in the spring. Most had been lost, and a bread shortage would bring the mob on to the streets, which he couldn’t afford. There was no question of replacing the supplies in the short term, but should he increase subsidies to appease the poor, or use the money to ensure a supply for his army? The thought of the great shadow spilling from the north answered his question. He closed his eyes. He must have more troops.