The Sword and the Throne

by Henry Venmore-Rowland

  I held up my hand for silence. There was a deep rumbling from up above.

  ‘Thunder?’ Aulus asked.

  ‘With blue skies above us?’ I said. The rumble soon became a roar as small rocks and stones began to skitter down the hillside, pelting the road.

  ‘Gods, it’s an avalanche!’ The legionaries began to shout in terror, dropping their shovels and sprinting back down the road.

  ‘What’s an avalanche?’ the Hibernian asked.

  ‘Shut up and ride,’ I shouted. There was no way we could go back, the road was clogged with fleeing men. The horses were whinnying in fear, but Aulus’s mare was the first to recover. The animal’s instinct to survive took over, and soon the three of us were flying down the road, searching for shelter. To our left the mountain rose ever upwards, and the first drifts of snow were falling towards us.

  ‘Ride, ride, ride,’ I screamed. There had to be some shelter somewhere. The road swung savagely round a corner; Achilles almost lost his footing on the slippery surface and for one horrible moment I thought we were going to career into the valley below. We galloped past another bend in the road, and there was a vertical cutting into the mountain where engineers must have hacked into the cliff face to create the road. They had cut deeper at the base so there was a slight overhang about ten feet up. We didn’t need words. All three of us knew we would find no better shelter in time. The first great chunks of snow and ice were already smashing into the ground all around us. I flung myself out of the saddle, and Aulus and Totavalas copied me for fear of being knocked over by the falling debris.

  The noise was deafening by now. It felt as though the whole mountainside was tumbling down upon us. Achilles was yanking at the bit in fear as the snow kept on coming. I could see Aulus’s knuckles were white, holding on to his reins. The snow was above our knees now. It was crashing down off the overhang and piling up around us, and fast. The youngest mare, born almost within sight of Africa, began to stamp and rear. Nothing could have prepared her for what we were going through, and as the least sheltered she was being forced ever backwards.

  ‘Father, help!’

  My heart clenched with fear. Aulus had wrapped his arm among the reins for a tighter grip, and was being dragged into the icy storm. The horse was screaming now, her mouth sopping with blood and foam as she fought against the bit. Totavalas was scrabbling with his free hands at the leather coiled around my son’s arm.

  ‘Forget the reins, hold the boy,’ I shouted, reaching for my sword. Totavalas grabbed Aulus around the waist, using all his strength to hold him still. The horse was almost at the edge of the pass now. Desperately I slid my sword with my weaker left hand along Aulus’s arm. The blade caught once, twice on the arm leaving angry red gashes, but I had to get the blade under all the coils. The point of the sword bit into the back of his hand and Aulus howled in pain. A hard yank and the leather coils were severed; with the weight gone, my son and Totavalas crashed back into the wall. The mare teetered for a moment before the snow sent her over the edge.

  The snow was over Aulus’s waist now, and up to my thighs, but the noise was slackening off. The avalanche was coming to an end. Aulus clutched his arm, blood from the gashes spattering the snow with tiny red blotches. Still keeping a firm hold on Achilles’s reins with one hand, I held Aulus in a tight embrace.

  ‘It’s over now,’ was all I could think to say. Aulus buried his head in the folds of my cloak, crying.

  Totavalas gave the snow beyond the overhang a hefty kick or two, forcing his way out on to the unsheltered road. He peered round the corner.

  ‘The snow’s piled up at least nine, maybe ten feet high.’

  ‘Then we’ll have to wait until they dig us out,’ I observed. There was nothing else for us to do. I turned my back to Totavalas so he could cut some strips from my military cloak to use as makeshift bandages for Aulus. The blood barely showed through the deep red of the material, but the boy was careful not to spill too much blood on the fur cloak that I’d bought him for the journey. We had no way of knowing how long we stood there, two men, a boy and two horses on the lonely mountainside, but eventually we heard men’s voices, cursing and shouting as they dug their way through. Achilles whinnied loudly.

  ‘Did you hear that?’ a man asked. ‘Sounded like a horse, didn’t it? You don’t think—’

  ‘If the two of you have finished chatting, we would like to be dug out. And bring the surgeon,’ I shouted.

  ‘We’re nearly there,’ the first voice called back. We could hear the shovels pitching into the snow now, and the grunts of the men who wielded them. The three of us watched the wall of snow. The force of the digging caused our side of the wall to shimmer in places, small tranches of snow falling away with every impact. At long last the barrier came crashing down. A small group of men emerged from the debris, clutching their shovels, their faces obscured by great clouds of condensation.

  ‘Is that you, General?’

  ‘No, I’m the ghost of Hannibal. Of course it’s me. Where’s the surgeon, damn it?’

  * * *

  For the rest of the journey Aulus travelled in the cart with Salonina. It wasn’t that another horse couldn’t be found for him, but if he was scared of me beforehand he was terrified of me now. We had lost around two dozen men in the avalanche. I had to send a troop of cavalry back down the pass into the valley beneath to look for the bodies amid the snow. By the time they returned the head of the column had marched into the clouds that clung closely to the mountains. Have you ever camped in the clouds? In winter? You do all you can to shut out the cold, but the moisture from your breath and the dampness of the clouds will freeze during the night. You wake up with icicles on your bedding, and the fabric of the tent is sodden. But despite all the hardships, the pain, the misery and the biting cold, one moment made up for it all.

  Before we could descend into Italia, the road took us to the highest point in the pass. We had passed the treeline some hours ago and the clouds were beginning to burn off in the morning sun. Quintus and Totavalas were with me, as were Pansa and Publilius Sabinus. We all wanted to be there for that first sight of our homeland. The road arced around the mountain, heading steeply upwards. We had to shade our eyes; high above us the sun was turning the snow a dazzling white. The horses trod tentatively, even Achilles somewhat cowed by the ordeal of the march. We rode in single file and I was leading the way. No more than a hundred paces ahead the road seemed to vanish into the sky. The summit was that close.

  ‘How about a race to the top?’ Quintus joked.

  ‘On a road as wide as a knitting needle? No thank you,’ Publilius said. At least some of my officers were getting along. Pansa resented my preference for Quintus, being almost two decades older and senior in rank. But Quintus had led an army, and was like a brother to me. Pansa was just going to have prove he was worthy of his command.

  Up ahead I could make out the small pile of stones that marked the summit. I touched my heels to Achilles’s side and he responded, speeding up to a rising trot. The view was breathtaking. Down below us was the icy grey lake and a way station that marked the beginning of the descent. Less snow, better roads and the start of civilization in general. Far in the distance, the white of the alpine passes began to give way to green.

  ‘Italia,’ Pansa said longingly.

  ‘I haven’t been in Italia for nearly three years now,’ Publilius said.

  ‘A day’s march and we’ll be in Augusta Praetoria,’ I said. ‘Baths, beds, good wine…’

  ‘…and no more salted beef!’ Quintus finished.

  The Hibernian just sat there, gaping. I laughed. ‘I’ve never seen you short of words, Totavalas. Haven’t you got anything to compare with this in your land?’

  ‘Nothing like this,’ was all he could say.

  By now the first of the infantry were arriving. They were aching, tired and cold, some of them with their hands bound to fight off the frostbite.

  ‘Cheer up, men,’ I called to them. ‘
Italia is waiting for you.’ I gestured to the hazy, green horizon. The men thrust their spears into the air, cheering themselves hoarse.

  We made our eager way down the mountain path, not daring to break into anything faster than a trot on the treacherous slopes. The lake grew larger and larger; we could make out a few sheep that were walking tentatively on its frozen surface. A man came out of a building by the lake’s edge, took one look at the column of foot soldiers and the horsemen heading towards him and dashed back inside. In a moment he reappeared, now wearing a helmet. He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted something, but we were too far away to make out what he was saying. When we came closer he tried again: ‘Is General Severus with you?’

  ‘I’m Severus,’ I yelled back. Others were coming out of the house and the stables now, eager to see what the commotion was. The speaker was a young man in uniform and, stranger yet, he had the dusky colouring of a Numidian. I guessed he was a cavalryman from the long sword at his side. When the five of us reached the station the man saluted.

  ‘Decurion Arco of the Silian cavalry, General. The prefect sent me to tell you that we have pledged to serve Vitellius Germanicus against the Emperor Otho.’

  ‘The Emperor Otho?’ Quintus asked.

  ‘You’ve not heard, sir? Otho had Galba murdered over a month ago. He’s the emperor now.’

  VIII

  The army was still filing past as the messenger gave us the rest of his news in the warmth of the way station. We would march to the comforts of Augusta Praetoria come what may. I was not going to send my cold and hungry men back the way they came the day we arrived in Italia.

  ‘It was about ten days after the new year. Word had reached Galba that Vitellius—’ he began.

  ‘You mean the emperor, soldier,’ I reminded him tersely.

  ‘Sorry, sir. That the emperor had raised his standard in Colonia. But Galba had only heard that the two legions in Mogontiacum had mutinied, not the whole army beyond the Alps. Still, it was enough for him to announce his successor. Most people thought he would choose Otho, including Otho himself. After all, he had joined Galba at the very beginning in Hispania.’

  ‘As did I,’ I remarked bitterly.

  The Numidian raised his eyebrows in surprise, but continued his story. ‘But Otho had also promised to marry the daughter of Galba’s adviser, Titus Vinius, and had borrowed a fortune to sweeten the Praetorian Guards. And the next day Galba named his heir, a man called Calpurnius Piso. Apparently he is descended from two of the triumvirs, Crassus and Pompey. Anyway, Galba didn’t make the usual promise of gold to the praetorians on announcing the news, and he didn’t pay them when he first arrived in Rome either. But Otho’s been winning them over since he’s been in Rome; not the officers, mind, but the men from the ranks.’

  ‘And I’m guessing the praetorians didn’t like the prospect of serving under Piso any more than Galba,’ Pansa said.

  ‘Why?’ asked Quintus.

  ‘Because he’s as dour, dull and miserly as Galba was, only from a much nobler family,’ Pansa answered.

  ‘You’re right, sir,’ the cavalryman said. ‘After all, these men were used to Nero, who always paid his guards well. Everyone knows that Nero and Otho had been as thick as thieves. Within a week, the praetorians had smuggled Otho into their camp, declared him emperor, and then they took it upon themselves to ride into the forum and murder Galba.’

  ‘What about your man Piso?’ Totavalas asked, standing by the doorway. Pansa hadn’t wanted to sit at the same table as a mere freedman. ‘I take it he felt he had more right to the throne than this Otho?’

  ‘Well, when the guards came back to Otho carrying Galba’s head, the story goes that Otho said it wasn’t Galba’s head that he wanted, but Piso’s. So the troops went back into the city, found Piso, Titus Vinius and more of Galba’s henchmen, and butchered them in the streets. After that, the Senate and the people didn’t have much choice; they voted to confirm Otho as the new emperor.’

  The five of us were stunned into silence. With Galba dead, what would we do now? Then Publilius spoke: ‘So with Otho in complete control of Rome, why has your ala of cavalry decided to back our emperor?’

  ‘It’s simple enough, sir. The Emperor Vitellius recruited our unit when he was governing Africa eight years ago. We served him loyally then and we’re ready to serve him now.’

  ‘What land do you control?’ I asked.

  ‘The western half of all the land north of the Po, General. We cover four towns: Eporedia, Vercellae, Novaria and Mediolanum.’

  ‘And have they chosen a side yet?’ Pansa asked.

  ‘I don’t think they want to choose a side, Legate. They have no connection with the emperor or with Otho; they just want to be left in peace.’

  ‘Thank you, Decurion,’ I said. ‘If you go to the stables and make ready for your journey I’ll have a message for your commander when you get back.’

  The man nodded dutifully, his chair scraping along the flagstones as he got up. Totavalas stepped aside to let him through the door, before catching the eye of the official who ran one of the loneliest stations in the empire.

  ‘The general would like some privacy,’ he said. The man was disappointed, I doubt he would have had as much excitement in his entire career and he would have wanted to hear the latest news straight from the horse’s mouth. But we could not risk what was said between us being passed along the gossip chain as far south as Rome, losing us the element of surprise. When we were sure we were alone Publilius exhaled sharply.

  ‘Well, a fine mess we’re in!’

  ‘How do you mean?’ Pansa asked.

  ‘Wasn’t the whole point of this campaign to challenge Galba because he was unfit to be emperor? With Galba gone and a new man in his place, I don’t see how we can justify taking another step southwards,’ Quintus said.

  ‘That’s a bit rich coming from the son of the same Vindex who was the first to rebel against Nero, and the first to shed Roman blood,’ Pansa sneered.

  ‘Pansa, you’re talking out of your arse. Quintus is not his father’s son,’ I said forcefully. The legate’s eyes bored into mine, trying to stare me down. ‘All I want from you is your professional opinion on whether the army should march south.’

  ‘Very well. As I see it, nothing has changed. The men will fight for Vitellius whoever sits on the throne in Rome, there’s no one else who can claim their loyalty. And I’ll be damned if I’m marching my legion back over the Alps.’

  ‘Publilius, what about the auxiliaries?’

  ‘They’ll fight for their Germanicus, General. He’s the one with their interests at heart, not Otho. Besides, if we do retreat, you can be sure that Otho won’t forgive them for mutinying. These men are fighting for their citizenship, remember, not just for plunder. What chance will they have of becoming citizens if they rebel against their emperor? I think that we’ve all crossed our own Rubicon when we left our own provinces. I say we head south.’

  ‘Quintus?’

  ‘You know what I think. But what do you think, General? I’m here for my friend, not for Vitellius. Can you give me a reason why you should fight to depose Otho rather than Galba?’ Trust Quintus to question my conscience, I thought. I took my time before answering him.

  ‘We all know that Galba was miserly and ruthless, but he didn’t deserve death, and especially not to be murdered by a pack of his own bodyguards in the forum. I know Otho from my time in Hispania, and I know this: if he’s on the throne it will be as though Nero was never gone. He will whore himself senseless and drive Rome into the ground. I think Rome deserves better.’

  ‘Is that what you really believe, Caecina?’ my friend asked.

  ‘Yes it is, Quintus. And you can bet your life that if it were Valens here, not me, he wouldn’t bat an eyelid but would march twice as hard to catch Otho before he has time to muster an army.’

  ‘Hear, hear.’ Pansa thumped his fist on the table, oblivious to the fact that I wasn’t complimenting
Valens.

  ‘We march south then. I’ll leave it to you to tell your own men the news.’

  ‘What about the men from Vocula’s legion? Their tribune isn’t here,’ Quintus said.

  ‘You’ll have to tell them, Quintus.’

  There was a knock at the door. Totavalas opened it a fraction: ‘It’s the decurion.’

  ‘Let him in,’ I said.

  ‘Decurion, you can tell your commander that we will join him in a week’s time. Publilius, I want you to take a few of the auxiliary cohorts and go ahead of us. Your men are lighter armed than the legions and can march faster. We’ll need more than five hundred cavalrymen to hold the Transpadana.’

  ‘Yes, General.’

  ‘The rest of you, return to your men and give them the news.’

  They all left, one by one, Quintus shaking his head as he went out. Only the Hibernian remained.

  ‘Still here, Totavalas?’

  ‘I don’t have any men under my command, General.’

  ‘Totavalas, you know I trust your opinion…’ I began.

  ‘You want to know whether I think you’re doing the right thing?’

  ‘I know what Pansa and Valens would do. They’re career soldiers.’

  ‘But you’re wondering if Quintus is right?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I think he has the luxury of not being in command. It’s all very well to take the moral high ground when advising your superiors, but you’ve got twenty thousand men under your command who are prepared to risk their lives to make Vitellius their emperor. I like Quintus, I really do, but he’s an aristocrat, he can’t be expected to know how the rank and file think.’

  ‘I’m an aristocrat, and your father was a king,’ I countered.

  ‘But I’ve also been a slave. That teaches you a thing or two about survival. You’ve got to think about survival of a different kind.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘A slave can be killed in the blink of an eye. You’re a general of Rome, no one’s going to kill you. But if you had decided to march back over the Alps, I reckon the men would have mutinied, put Pansa in charge and kept going south.’