69 AD: The Year of Four Emperors

by Gwyn Morgan

  If these were Antonius’ arguments, it is easy to see why Tacitus typed him as a demagogue. They were more frightening than convincing. The idea that the Vitellians could conduct combined operations in the Adriatic is especially far-fetched. Otho’s maritime expedition may have shown that such operations were feasible, but its failure hardly suggested that the Flavians faced serious danger. Yet these arguments were less specious than those he made for immediate action. They must take advantage of the fact that the Pannonian legions were thirsting for revenge, since they had been deceived rather than defeated at Bedriacum. The infantry from Moesia had taken no part in the battle and so had suffered no losses. And if one counted men rather than companies, the Flavian forces were superior, while the shame of defeat had strengthened their discipline and their resolve. Besides, the Flavian cavalry had not been defeated at all. Though the battle had gone against the Othonians, a mere two squadrons—one each from Pannonia and Moesia—had broken through the enemy line. Now they had 16 squadrons and with these they could overwhelm the enemy. Conceding—or, more accurately, exploiting the fact—that his plan involved high risk, Antonius announced that he was ready to take personal command of the force and put his scheme into effect at once. Those unwilling to join him could stay with the legions. They would hear soon enough that the power of Vitellius had been shaken to its foundations, and then “follow in the footsteps of his victory.”

  This speech was so effective that Antonius won over at least some of the doubters, while the bulk of his audience hailed him as “the only man and only general” among their leaders. The caution of the rest they dismissed as inertia, and this confirmed his standing with the troops. But he was aided and abetted by Cornelius Fuscus, who stood second only to him in the troops’ regard. This was because Fuscus had criticized Vitellius so often and so harshly that, if things went wrong, there was no way out for him.2 But now Fuscus gave them a name to hide behind. The governor of Pannonia, nominally Antonius’ as well as Fuscus’ superior, was Tampius Flavianus, a procrastinator by nature and by age. His initial inactivity had aroused the troops’ suspicions that he was foot-dragging on Vitellius’ behalf, since he was related to the emperor. He had also decamped to Italy when the first overt stirrings of revolt occurred, and then had returned, less of his own accord than because he yielded to Fuscus’ powers of persuasion. This encouraged the troops to overlook his earlier conduct and to believe that he was as eager now to take part in a civil war as they were. But Fuscus had not worked so hard because he wanted a display of energy from Flavianus, only a consular figurehead, to lend an air of respectability to the proceedings.

  Immediately after the meeting, therefore, a message was sent to Aponius Saturninus, telling him to bring up all the Moesian troops as fast as possible. In the meantime, to avoid leaving the Danube frontier uncovered while the tribes were still restless (it was less than a year since the Rhoxolani had been defeated), arrangements were made with two of the stronger tribes on the far side of the river, the Sarmatian Iazyges to the east of Pannonia, and the Suebi along its northern frontier. This left only one obvious threat, the procurator of Raetia, Porcius Septiminus, who was unshakably loyal to Vitellius. To hold him in check, the governor of Noricum, Publius Sextilius Felix, was given a cavalry squadron (the ala Auriana), eight cohorts of auxiliary infantry, and the militia of his province, with orders to take up position on the banks of the Inn, the river that separated Raetia from Noricum. There may have been some fighting, since the archaeological record is said to show traces of devastation in this general period, but there were no battles. Like Otho’s maritime expedition in the spring, this campaign faded out in a stalemate.3

  Although this secured Antonius’ right flank, he rushed forward only some of the troops available to him, detachments from the cohorts and “part” of the cavalry. Command of the cavalry was entrusted to Arrius Varus (Cornelius Fuscus was required for another, more important task). Varus had made his name in Corbulo’s campaigns in Armenia, but though always ready to fight, he also had a reputation for being devious, allegedly having traduced Corbulo behind his back, in order to win his own promotion to higher rank. Their first step was to seize Aquileia, the gateway to northern Italy, and from there they pressed on, unopposed, westward along the Adriatic coast to the two villages of Opitergium (Oderzo) and Altinum (Altino). At Altinum they left a garrison, of unspecified size, in case the marines of the Ravenna fleet tried to make a raid from the sea. They had not yet heard, says Tacitus, that the fleet was intent on defecting thanks to the ministrations of Lucilius Bassus. From here they struck inland and took two much more important towns, Patavium (Padua, birthplace of the historian Livy) and Ateste (Este). And at Ateste they learnt that they must fight.

  Apparently on Caecina’s orders a Vitellian force of three cohorts and one cavalry squadron (the ala Sebosiana) had taken up position near Forum Alieni, a town usually identified with Legnano or Ferrara on the south bank of the Adige. They had built a pontoon bridge across the river and encamped on the northern bank. But as they were not expecting the enemy to advance so fast, they failed to keep watch. So the Flavians mounted a surprise attack at dawn, under the no less mistaken impression that if they killed a few defenders, the rest would change sides. Some surrendered, but the majority put up a stalwart resistance, managed to retreat across their bridge and, by breaking it down behind them, to prevent pursuit. A modern writer would probably draw attention to the determination shown by the Vitellians in this encounter, and to the Flavians’ underestimation of their opponents’ caliber. Tacitus is more result oriented. He stresses the Flavians’ winning the fight, because this gave them a programmatic victory, and the news spread fast, through Italy and through the Balkan provinces as well.

  This may have been the stimulus for two of the Balkan legions to join the advance guard now and take up position at Patavium (VII Galbiana and XIII Gemina, both under the command of the latter’s legate Vedius Aquila). Although Vedius’ troops had nearly killed him at Bedriacum for alleged treachery, he had since been restored to their good graces. Then, says Tacitus, came “an act long desired, because of the construction put on it and the boasting with which it was done.” Antonius ordered that the statues of Galba overthrown after his murder be set up again. Presumably this gratified the men of VII Galbiana, but who else it was supposed to please it is hard to say. Perhaps Antonius imagined that, as appalling an emperor as Galba had been, it would not hurt to claim to be avenging his murder when Vespasian was almost certainly unknown to the inhabitants of northern Italy. It is odd, nonetheless, that Antonius seems not to have worried about the reaction of those of Otho’s praetorians who were scattered about the area. Perhaps he expected them to let their hatred of Vitellius overshadow this slur on Otho’s name.

  What did cause discussion among the Flavians at this stage was picking a headquarters for their campaign. Their choice fell on Verona, an important town not only because it was rich in resources, but also because it was set at the head of the Postumian Way. This made it both a good roadblock against any Vitellian offensive out of the north, and a first-rate base from which to march down the road that would become the main axis of the army’s advance. Still, says Tacitus, all this was either unknown to Vespasian or had actually been forbidden by him. Urging that the force hold its position at Aquileia, he made his instructions more palatable by setting out his reasoning, according to Tacitus, the unrealistic claim that, as the situation now stood, the Vitellians could be forced by lack of resources and food to surrender without a fight. Mucianus said the same in frequent letters, but for different motives. He wanted to fight a regular battle that would win the glory of victory for him. But because both men were so far away, their recommendations arrived too late.

  As a result, Antonius decided to press on, and a small, indecisive skirmish followed, apparently with the outposts of Caecina’s force. For shortly after this Caecina himself took up position in the area between Hostilia and the river Tartarus, fortifying a camp w
here his rear was covered by the river, his flanks by marshes. “Had he still been loyal to Vitellius,” says Tacitus, “it would have been possible for him either to overwhelm with all his troops the two Flavian legions that made up the core of the enemy force or to drive them out of Italy in panic flight.” And so perhaps he could have done, but he temporized—and this may be why Josephus and Dio assert that the sight of the Flavians was enough to persuade him that the Vitellian cause was lost, and that he must come to terms with the enemy. But whatever we make of the allegations that Caecina had been contemplating treachery for some time, Tacitus provides the details to show that the situation was not so straightforward.

  As he tells the story, Antonius and his forces must have been at Verona, a town they had not yet fortified. Caecina refused nonetheless to move out of the strong position he occupied, and spent his time writing letters to the enemy in which he upbraided them for turning on their legal emperor, and at the same time dickered over the terms on which he was to change sides. This handed the initiative to the enemy, and gave Aponius Saturninus time to bring up another legion, VII Claudia. Though three legions were still no match in numbers for the Vitellian force, Caecina sent them another batch of letters in which he upbraided them as beaten men, dwelt on their folly in taking up arms again, and extolled the prowess of the German legions. Yet he made only casual references to Vitellius and no insulting remarks about Vespasian. The overall effect, says Tacitus, “was nothing to undermine the enemy’s confidence or to frighten them into surrender.” The Flavian generals did not even defend their actions: “they spoke grandly of Vespasian, confidently of their cause, showed no anxiety about their own troops, and showered Vitellius with personal insults. Also, they held out to the Vitellian tribunes and centurions the prospect of retaining the posts their emperor had given them, and openly urged Caecina to change sides. Finally, they read the correspondence to their own troops, and that did wonders for the men’s morale, because it looked as if Caecina had written submissively, fearing to offend Vespasian, whereas their generals had written back contemptuously to insult Vitellius.”

  The oddity in all this lies in the fact that if Caecina dickered over the terms of his betrayal in his first letters, as Tacitus states explicitly, why was this information withheld from the Flavian troops? They knew only that Caecina spoke “submissively.” The likeliest answer is surely that Caecina’s plan involved carrying his army with him. For that to work, he needed both secrecy and time, secrecy to ensure that no information leaked to his own men before he made his move, and time to set up the blow to their morale that would induce them to follow his lead, namely, the news that his collaborator, Lucilius Bassus, had taken the Ravenna fleet over to the enemy. And Caecina achieved two more aims by remaining at Hostilia. He occupied a strong position where, if his plan failed, he could fight on ground of his own choosing, and compel the Flavians to make a costly frontal attack on him. And refusing to advance on Verona reduced the chances that his men would discover how much weaker the enemy forces were.

  While this was going on, the Flavians were reinforced by the two remaining legions from Moesia, III Gallica and VIII Augusta. The former was led by Gaius Dillius Aponianus, somehow a relative of the governor Aponius Saturninus; the latter’s commander was Numisius Lupus, the man in charge when the Rhoxolani had raided Moesia the previous winter. Their arrival touched off a series of incidents that led to major changes in the leadership. It began with a decision “to surround Verona with a military rampart.” This seems to mean only that the Flavians had to expand their camp to accommodate the new arrivals, but there was a sudden panic. Working on a part of the rampart that faced the enemy, the men of VII Galbiana mistook as an enemy force a body of their own cavalrymen returning from patrol. Snatching up their weapons from fear that they had been betrayed, they turned their anger on the hapless Tampius Flavianus. Calling loudly for his execution, they asserted that he was a kinsman of Vitellius, that he had betrayed Otho, and that he had pocketed a (probably imaginary) donative due to them. Scared out of his wits, Tampius broke down in tears and threw himself on their mercy. In the troops’ eyes this only confirmed his guilt.

  Saturninus tried to talk the men around, presumably in his capacity as the most senior officer present. But the troops would not even listen to Antonius, though his skills—says Tacitus—included an ability to calm troops down as well as to stir them up. They were set on killing their victim out of hand. So Antonius resorted to trickery, and ordered Tampius thrown in chains. Then, as the troops realized that he was trying to fool them and became more unruly still, he fell back on the last resort of desperate generals, bared his chest, and swore that he would die either by their hands or by his own before he would allow them to commit murder. Let them turn their madness on the enemy, not on one another. Whether this worked or not, the demonstrators finally ran out of steam toward the end of the day, and Antonius sent Tampius off to Vespasian that same night.

  Yet there was another flareup around noon the next day, the victim this time being Aponius Saturninus, the aggressors his own troops in the Moesian legions. As they had neither forgotten nor forgiven his equivocal conduct at the start of the revolt, somebody circulated what was allegedly another letter from Saturninus to Vitellius. “As if they had caught the disease from the Pannonian troops,” the Moesian legions demanded his execution, and the Pannonian troops backed them up, “delighted to repeat their wrong-doing, as if their previous conduct was excused by the mutiny of others.” Although Antonius, Dillius Aponianus, and Vipstanus Messalla tried desperately to calm the men, it was “the obscurity of his hiding-place” that saved Saturninus’ life. He had taken up residence in a luxurious villa on Verona’s outskirts, and since the baths attached to it were not in use, he concealed himself in the hypocaust beneath. Unable to lay hands on their victim, the mutineers finally calmed down, and Saturninus too was rushed unobtrusively from the camp. He was relegated to Patavium and there, so far as we can tell, he played no further part in the campaign.

  Tacitus rounds out his account of the two mutinies with a comment that has sparked much discussion about pro- and anti-Antonian strands in his narrative. “With the departure of the two consulars, power and influence over both the Pannonian and Moesian legions fell to Antonius Primus alone. His colleagues [i.e., Vedius Aquila, Dillius Aponianus, Numisius Lupus, and Vipstanus Messalla] yielded place to him and the troops had no time for their other officers. And there were some (soldiers) who believed that both mutinies had been set up by Antonius’ trickery, in order to leave him in sole command of the campaign.” In fact, there is no reason to credit Antonius with such motives, or to think that Tacitus did. For one thing, Tacitus has said already that there were two key figures in the revolt, Antonius and Cornelius Fuscus, and there had to be one more development before Fuscus quit the scene. For another, Tacitus is using one of his favorite literary devices, linking events by contrast. Here the contrast is between the alleged trickery of Antonius and—in the next segment of his narrative—the real treachery of Lucilius Bassus and Caecina.

  Bassus must have rated his chances of success fairly high, aware as he was that many of the marines under his command had been recruited from Dalmatia and Pannonia, provinces whose governors had declared for Vespasian. Yet he acted in an oddly craven manner. He called a meeting to which he invited only the ships’ captains he had taken into his plot, and then failed to show up himself. Those at the gathering agreed to transfer their allegiance to Vespasian, but they were unimpressed when Bassus reappeared and claimed credit for the plot. In fact, they promptly made contact with Antonius, and he sent Cornelius Fuscus to take over the command. This he did without resistance from members of the fleet, and Bassus’ only reward—for now—was to be shipped off to Vespasian.

  Caecina showed more daring once it came to the point, but he achieved no success. Still, his actions attracted the attentions of Josephus and Dio as well as of Tacitus, and all three dramatize the episode, even if Tacitus gives
us the fullest and most coherent account. According to him, Caecina no sooner heard that the Ravenna fleet had deserted Vitellius than he summoned the leading centurions in his force as well as some of the soldiers to a meeting in his HQ, choosing a time of day when the rest of the men had left the camp to take care of their duties. He heaped praise on Vespasian and the strength of his forces and emphasized their own isolation: “the Ravenna fleet had deserted; their own supplies were running low; Gaul and Spain were hostile; and no help could be expected from Rome. On top of this, everything he said about Vitellius was derogatory.” There can be no doubt that Caecina overstated his case to make his point. Neither Gaul nor Spain was hostile yet, and he himself may have been the only person unable to count on help from Rome, thanks to his feud with Valens. But the supply situation may have looked tight, especially if the Ravenna fleet had been used to bring up food, and Caecina could reasonably suggest that the marines might be called upon to mount an attack on their rear overland.

  His listeners were persuaded, took the oath of allegiance to Vespasian, tore down all the Vitellian emblems, and sent men off to tell Antonius what they had done. But when the rest of the troops returned late in the day, the news of the betrayal spread through the camp like wildfire.