The Sword and the Throne

by Henry Venmore-Rowland

  ‘Not long, I didn’t want to disturb you. I’ve come from the battlefield near Cremona.’

  Salonina put her hand to her mouth. ‘The battlefield?’ she gasped.

  I gently crept up behind her.

  ‘And I have some good news about your husband,’ Totavalas continued, looking past Salonina and into my eyes.

  ‘He’s right behind you,’ I said.

  She screamed, dropping the lyre on the stone floor, a couple of strings breaking with a harsh twang. Salonina threw her arms around me. ‘Don’t you dare do that to me again!’

  * * *

  My wife was in her element organizing the banquet to welcome the arrival of Vitellius. It was an immense honour to be the hostess for the inaugural banquet on Italian soil for the new emperor of Rome, and she set about it with almost military precision. Valens was a widower, so naturally Salonina was the most senior lady in all of Mediolanum’s society – ‘If there is such a thing,’ Salonina said when I gave her the news.

  Nevertheless, she soon selected the finest delicacies and most distinguished entertainment that could be found at such short notice. I often came upon her fretting that there weren’t enough fresh lobsters to go round, or that a dancing girl had sprained an ankle in rehearsal. All I could think to say was that after Vitellius had been starved of refinement and culture beyond the Alps, the feast that Salonina was bringing together would be fantastic in comparison. Not the highest praise, in hindsight. Give me a general or even an emperor to placate and I can do it with the best of them; a woman complaining about the mediocre menu for a banquet and I’m as useful as a priest in a brothel.

  As hard as Salonina tried to keep Time from her inexorable march, the night of the banquet came at last. We had commandeered the finest house in Mediolanum for Vitellius, and even had a hot bath ready for him when he arrived at the end of his week-long ride from Gaul. Valens and I stood either side of the main doors to the street, waiting for his arrival. Each of us had had his armour and uniform made spotless for the occasion, even if my appearance was somewhat spoiled by a sling which Salonina had fashioned out of some crimson cloth to match my military cloak.

  Our ears were greeted with the sound of marching men, but something wasn’t quite right. The gaps between each step were too long. Then we saw why. Around the corner strode our glorious emperor, wheezing slightly and trying to march at a decent pace despite his slight limp. Behind him a dozen lictors, their bundles of birch rods topped with an axe-head at rest on their shoulders, walked rather than marched in step for fear of outpacing their charge. If ever an emperor of Rome has looked so unlike an emperor, despite his best efforts, I have never heard of it. An enormous length of material was needed to cover Vitellius’s frame, a toga of the deepest purple looking like a glorified towel, such was its size. It was hard to ignore the patches of sweat at the armpits, staining the imperial colour. Even his gold-painted laurel wreath, which he was not yet entitled to wear, was slightly askew on his head after the exertions of his walk. He had come all of 300 paces from his quarters and up a gentle slope to the basilica where we were holding the banquet.

  ‘My mighty generals,’ Vitellius managed in one breath. Valens and I saluted, but he insisted on embracing each of us in turn. He had been bathing not half an hour ago, but gods how he stank! The rank odour from his pits combined with the sickly smell of perfume on his neck was almost enough to make me gag.

  ‘I cannot thank either of you enough for what you’ve done,’ he continued.

  ‘We did it for Rome, Caesar,’ Valens said.

  There was the old wince. ‘Even now, Valens, I am not a Caesar. Nor will I ever let anyone call me that.’

  ‘May we address you as “sire” then, sir?’ I ventured.

  Vitellius thought it over for a moment. ‘Sire, eh? I like it. Why not?’

  ‘Then, sire, we would like to welcome you to your first dinner on Italian soil as the undisputed emperor of Rome,’ Valens grovelled. The two of us bowed and, as we had prepared, the great doors opened right on cue. A delicious array of smells wafted into the street and Vitellius was drawn to them like a drunkard to his drink. We followed him in, and there was Salonina, resplendent in a gown of gossamer teamed with damask, swirling patterns of flowers woven along the seams, delicately cut to help mask the bulge of her stomach. She stood, hands resting on the back of the tallest chair at the top table, waiting for the guest of honour.

  ‘My dear,’ Vitellius began, ‘you are the very picture of loveliness.’

  Salonina artfully blushed at the compliment. ‘Your majesty is too kind.’ She pulled out the chair for the big man to sit down, and all the other guests took this as their cue to sit.

  Valens cleared his throat, for the two of us were still standing. The guests hastily got back to their feet. They watched and waited as the two generals took their places, I on Vitellius’s left, and Valens the seat to Salonina’s right. As the hostess she had the honour of sitting at the emperor’s right hand. And of course husband and wife do not sit next to each other at a banquet, so Valens had no choice but to sit a place away from his master. Salonina had managed it perfectly. My wife took her seat, Valens and I followed her lead. Then and only then were the guests permitted to sit. I smiled. This was going to be fun.

  XVIII

  The cart lurched as it hit an uneven cobble on the road. It was the cart I had given Salonina as a gift when we were crossing the Alps, and had packed full of creature comforts. She was hardly in a position to travel on horseback to Rome. I had decided to spend the morning keeping her company instead of Aulus. He was getting some practice riding with Totavalas.

  ‘Two months more, that’s all there is left to wait,’ she told me.

  ‘Two months? You’re going to get even bigger?’

  ‘How very tactful of you, husband dear!’

  ‘I’m sorry, this is all so new to me. Can I feel the baby kick again?’ I asked.

  ‘You felt it ten minutes ago.’

  ‘I know, but I want to do it again.’ No matter how many times I did it, the excitement never wore off. Salonina pulled her dress taut over her stomach and I laid my hand on top of it, waiting. Sure enough, a tiny foot made its presence felt, kicking harder this time.

  ‘I’m sure it’s another boy,’ I said.

  ‘What makes you so sure?’

  ‘Well, a girl’s not going to kick as hard as that.’

  ‘How do you know? Just because the kicks are strong it doesn’t mean it has to be a boy,’ she argued. ‘Who’s to say I want a boy anyway? I might want a girl.’

  This time the cart lurched to a halt. There was a knock on its side.

  ‘Who is it?’

  ‘It’s Totavalas, General. We’ve arrived.’

  ‘Just coming.’ I gave Salonina a peck on the cheek, then drew back the curtains that gave us some privacy. I had a big grin on my face.

  ‘Someone’s happy,’ Totavalas observed.

  ‘It’s the baby,’ I said. ‘He’s kicking like a donkey.’

  ‘Well, at least you’re in a good mood. I doubt that lot are,’ he said, pointing towards the town of Placentia. Parts of the city were on fire.

  I heard later that the men had taken it upon themselves to march from Cremona to Placentia, though leaving a sizeable force to watch over the Othonians we still held prisoner, then they had set about looting the place. Their reasoning was that the town had given my column such a thrashing that the punishment was deserved, but the truth of the matter was that the men had fought hard for Vitellius but had yet to receive any reward. The belligerence of Placentia was little more than a pretext for the soldiers to rape and pillage. And to be honest, since the rigours of the battle and Quintus’s death I was past caring.

  Pansa didn’t even have the grace to look apologetic when he recounted the events to Valens and me.

  ‘It was your man Priscus that started it,’ he told Valens. ‘He was all for leaving the prisoners unguarded, but I had the men from Cerberus and Pu
blilius’s squadrons stay behind while the legions entered Placentia.’ The legate braced himself for a dressing-down, but it never came.

  ‘Very well, Pansa. The men have fought hard for little reward,’ I said. ‘They are overdue their spoils.’

  Even Valens was surprised at my tolerance. ‘You don’t object?’

  ‘Not in the slightest. If anything I’m grateful it happened while the two of us were in Mediolanum. We can discipline a few of the ringleaders, keep our own reputations intact; meanwhile the rest of the men have their fun with a city that should have welcomed us in the first place. More fool them.’

  ‘All right,’ Valens said, eager to keep the discussion going while the two of us were thinking along the same lines. ‘Now we have to decide what to do with the prisoners. I think the regular legions are safe to use, providing we split them up and send them to different parts of the empire.’

  ‘Agreed. I think we should recognize that legion of sailors, the First Adiutrix.’

  Pansa was about to object, but I headed him off. ‘I know they took your eagle, Pansa, but they’ve given it back now, and they did bloody well to take it in the first place. I’d say we should send them to Hispania to cool off. Galba stripped the place of soldiers when he marched on Rome, they’ll be welcomed there.’

  ‘Fine, but what about the praetorians?’ Valens asked. ‘They’ve sworn the oath of allegiance to Vitellius, but there’s no way I want them as his guards in Rome.’

  I had given this some thought on the journey south. ‘We can’t just ignore all those good men. Why don’t we use them to fill the places of the dead in the legions that Otho used, the ones from Pannonia, and then disband the rest?’

  ‘Disband them?’ Valens queried.

  ‘It’ll be cheaper than keeping them on the strength,’ I said, knowing Valens was a right skinflint at heart. The less the treasury had to pay out, the more he could skim off for himself. That was the kind of man Valens was.

  ‘That sounds fine to me,’ he hastily agreed.

  ‘And if they don’t want to be disbanded?’ Pansa wondered.

  ‘Then we can remind them that they let an emperor die on their watch,’ I said. ‘What is the punishment among the praetorians for failing to protect the emperor?’ I asked Valens, with a shrewd idea of what the answer might be.

  ‘I’m not sure there’s a precedent. Claudius pardoned most of the guard when a bunch of them murdered Caligula. Thrown off the Tarpeian rock perhaps?’

  ‘But certainly death?’ I said.

  ‘Oh yes, definitely,’ Valens agreed.

  ‘Well then, disbandment or death, it’s their choice.’

  The praetorians didn’t like their choice, but there wasn’t much they could do about it. There was no way we could trust them to guard Vitellius, and if they hadn’t bothered to save from their exorbitant wages and bribes over the years, then it was their fault if they faced penury. They could always apply to join other legions.

  We stripped them of their armour, weapons and all other military items and added them to our baggage train. They would be needed by the men we recruited to take their place in Rome. One thing I will say for Valens, he was efficient. Everything that needed to be done was done within a matter of hours and we were soon ready to continue our march south. The sailors began their march to Hispania, the detachment from the Fourteenth Legion would wait for their comrades before replacing the troops Vitellius had summoned from Britannia, but we were heading home.

  I won’t bore you with tedious descriptions of that journey. Needless to say Vitellius took every opportunity to gorge himself almost to the point of vomiting whenever we reached a major town, where the people were anxious to pay homage to the new emperor. At Fanum Fortunae, the city where the south-eastern Aemilian Way met our final stretch of road, leading south along the Flaminian Way, the people laid on an entire herd of wild boar for us officers and the town’s dignitaries, mounted on a bed of crab meat and adorned with peacock feathers.

  It took us far longer than it should have done to reach Rome. Perhaps twelve days’ hard march would have brought the army to the city gates, but we were weighed down with a baggage train, soldiers who were already beginning to lose their discipline and an emperor who put pleasure before practicality. Thus it was a whole month before we finally crossed the Apennines and caught our first sight of the seven hills and the city that sprawled over them.

  The Tiber coursed its way between the Vatican fields and the Field of Mars, where crowds had already gathered to cheer the arrival of their new emperor. We halted at the Milvian Bridge, ready to begin the procession. Cerberus and Vitellius were merrily reminiscing about the times they had spent together in Africa, when I noticed something amiss. Vitellius had chosen to wear full military uniform, one that strained to contain his mighty frame but did give him an air of authority and steel that he usually lacked.

  ‘Sire, might it be wiser to wear your imperial toga today?’ I suggested.

  ‘Why should I change my uniform? I think it suits me.’

  ‘It certainly does, sire. But I was only thinking it might not go down too well with the people. Wearing that armour makes you look like a mighty conqueror, not the father of the nation, yet that is how the Senate will shortly acclaim you.’

  Vitellius looked as though he would sulk, but he saw my reasoning. ‘Very well, Severus. Make sure the army is ready to move off as soon as I’ve changed.’

  ‘Your will, sire.’

  The army would be led by the low-ranking officers, the centurions and the junior tribunes. All of them had to be provided with dazzling white togas that denoted their membership of the equestrian class, even if they were about to enter the city on foot. Who wants to march in a triumph, only to be dodging piles of horse droppings as you walk? Next came the thousands of auxiliaries, grouped together according to the province they came from. Germans, Gauls, Britons, Lusitanians, Africans, it seemed the entire western half of the empire was represented. Then there were the legions themselves, carrying their eagles and standards with pride. We had even stopped for a whole day before reaching Rome to give the men ample time to smarten themselves up and attend to their full ceremonial dress. Even the legions that hadn’t fought at Bedriacum were represented; the detachments from the legions stationed in Britannia had sent their standards ahead while they marched along the route that Valens had taken through Gaul.

  Finally, the senior tribunes and legates would march ahead of Vitellius himself, protected from any would-be assassins by his band of lictors. Valens and I would walk at his side. Salonina protested that she wasn’t allowed to join me in the triumph, but it was impossible. She would have to enter with the rest of the camp-followers or sit in her carriage and sulk. At last Vitellius returned, casting his eyes enviously at me, Valens and the rest looking resplendent in our ceremonial armour, but determined that having to wear civilian clothing would not spoil his day.

  ‘Permission to start the parade, sire?’ Valens asked. The tribunes and the centurions, who normally looked so grim but in their clean white togas appeared serene and noble, were poised to march. Vitellius nodded.

  ‘Parade, forward march!’

  The men gave a rousing cheer and began to pace forward, to a man their chests swelling with pride. Vitellius waved at his soldiers, as though he had been the one who had led them through all the hardships: the snows and the precipices, the sieges, the assaults, the feints and the ambushes, and the final battle. Where had he been when my men were dying? Filling his face in Germania and Gaul – but that had always been the plan. Now Vitellius was the master of Rome, and Valens and I were masters of Vitellius.

  It took almost an hour for the entire army to march by. The auxiliaries and most of the legions had passed through the city gates before it was finally time to bring up the rear of the column. Vitellius took his place in the middle of the road. The lictors formed up in a line either side of him, senior officers in front, Valens and I a pace behind and a pace to the side of
our emperor.

  ‘Are you ready, you two?’ he asked as the rear ranks of the final legion began at last to move off.

  ‘We’ll follow your lead, sire,’ I said.

  Vitellius took a deep breath, rolling his neck and shoulders to cover his nerves. He exhaled noisily, then cleared his throat. ‘To Rome, then.’

  From the Field of Mars right up to the Senate steps, the people never stopped cheering. Garlands of flowers were strewn across the road; the plebs were out in their tens of thousands to greet their new emperor. Half of Italia must have had its flowers uprooted for the occasion. Out of the corner of my eye I spotted dozens of loaves being tossed into a sea of grasping hands. I couldn’t help but wonder how much quieter the people would have been had we not taken the precaution of buying up almost the entire supply of bread baked that summer morning. They had precious little else to shout about.

  Vitellius though was milking every moment of the triumph. I could hear the air whistling through his nostrils as he fought to breathe evenly. I struggled to stop my grin from turning into a side-splitting laugh. Valens too had heard the odd noise, his lips quivering as he struggled to control his laughter.

  By the time we reached the Great Forum there was barely any space left. The whole army had congregated there to wait for their emperor, and the urban cohorts had trouble holding back the crowd. The only space in the entire market place was a path between the men, barely big enough to let the three of us through, let alone the lictors who covered our flanks. The senior man looked at the small gap nervously.

  ‘I hardly think there’s an assassin’s knife waiting for me,’ Vitellius reassured the burly man. ‘These soldiers fought their own countrymen to make this all possible,’ he continued, gesturing at the magnificent spectacle the city had put on for us.

  ‘What are you waiting for?’ Valens asked. ‘Just have half your men walk ahead and the other half behind us. There’s no safer place in the world for the emperor than among his men.’