‘The trouble is, I’m not exactly a local. My tribe is the Aquitani, over in the south-west. I hadn’t realized how pro-Nero the city was. It seems that when there was that great fire in Rome, the city levied over two million sesterces as a gift to help repair the damage. The very next year, a fire broke out in Lugdunum and Nero repaid every coin he had received from them, returning the debt when it was most needed. The emperor could do no wrong in their eyes, despite all the rumours we’ve heard.
‘So the crowd didn’t react as I had hoped. They were sullen and silent. I encouraged them to join me, and to march out to join their brothers outside the city. My sons and I led the way through the streets, and most of the crowd were following. When I ordered the city guard to open the gates, about thirty of us led the way on to the bridge, over to the water meadows where the army was gathering. Suddenly I heard the creaking of the city gates closing behind us, and a huge cheer went up from the crowd. Some of the men with us ran back to the gates, hammering on them and begging to be let back in. My sons and I left them and joined the army outside.’
I shook my head in disbelief. Galba had trusted this man to head a rebellion? It was incredible, and reminded me how little there was to separate farce from tragedy. ‘How many men do you have altogether?’
‘I don’t know. We tried to besiege Lugdunum with the men we had, but we didn’t have any siege equipment. As I’d told all the riders to send everyone to Lugdunum, I decided to blockade the town and send all newcomers here to Vienne. Remember, it’s a long walk here from some parts of the country.’
‘What about an armoury?’ I asked.
‘There are sets of armour and weapons for about two hundred men in the town’s armoury, and we’ve got the blacksmiths in town working all hours to make as many swords and spears as they humanly can. Most of our recruits have only got farming tools really. Some have their ancestors’ swords and shields from the days of the Roman conquest, but they’re hardly in good condition.’
It was my turn to drop dejectedly into a chair. ‘Let me make sure I’ve got the facts right. You started a rebellion without knowing if your own provincial capital supported it, you’ve blockaded that town, split your forces, you don’t know how many men you have, they’re poorly equipped, in need of food probably, and under the impression that they have come to liberate Gaul not from Nero but from “Roman tyranny”. Well, that’s just perfect.’
‘How was I to get an army without making promises?’ he retorted.
My blood was beginning to boil now. I fair screamed at him, ‘You didn’t need an army! What did you think this was, a chance to conquer Gaul for yourself? This is a sideshow, you fool. All Galba needs is for Nero to believe that he is threatened and that nobody supports him. We are doing this for Rome, not against Rome. Somehow I’ve got to convince your so-called army that this is not some heroic uprising to throw us out of Gaul, but a distraction to help another man overthrow Nero.’
Vindex mumbled something about what I thought he should do.
‘I would suggest that you take no more decisions without consulting me first. But it’s no good bickering over what’s been done; how to fix the mess should be our chief concern. What we need most of all is a good intelligence officer. Someone who can keep an ear out among your “army” and find out what the general mood is around the country, and, most importantly, ascertain how the legions on the Rhine will react. Traders are generally the best, they have good reason to travel about.’
‘I know one who might do. Lugubrix, he’s a grain merchant, one of the chief suppliers for the legions in Upper Germania. He’s also the man I’m trusting to supply our troops,’ Vindex suggested.
‘Once we know how many there are!’ I found it amusing to see how quickly the arrival of someone with authority had cowed Vindex’s rather overbearing manner. Having heard Galba’s opinion, I had feared that this man was going to see me as an overgrown errand boy. Now it seemed he recognized that my advice would be useful to him. ‘Can you take me to this man Lugubrix?’
‘Of course. I asked him to meet me in the basilica, which I’ve requisitioned as my new headquarters. We only came up to the fort to see what there was. This tent was the best thing we found, plus some more supplies. I’ve had the quartermaster draw up an inventory, which he’ll bring once it’s finished.’
He got up, giving his poor seat a respite. ‘Shall I take you to Lugubrix now?’
* * *
It was only on our way down to the town that I got a chance to observe my new commander properly. We picked our way through the various campsites, I on foot for once, and leading my horse with the reins in my right hand, while Vindex walked silently on my left. Despite his imposing figure and somewhat accented Latin, there were still telltale signs of a barbarian trying to be more Roman than the Romans. While his hair was an unruly mass of thick, brown curls – as though a bird had almost finished making an enormous nest, decided it wasn’t quite right and mangled it in disgust – he was beardless, and wore a toga. Lacking an aquiline nose, he seemed content to carry his own protuberance as high as possible, to give himself that lordly look. Though I remembered Galba telling me that Vindex was an aristocrat, after the Gallic fashion, the man seemed horribly uncomfortable in his own skin. You must bear in mind, reader, that while Roman citizenship and ethnicity have no explicit link, in social terms it is nigh impossible for a ‘barbarian’ (and I use the word in its technical sense) to be accepted into high society. Thus even the noblest and most gifted of men were held back, only able to look upon the heights from the foothills they occupied.
Because of this, many foreign nobles would pay through the nose to give their sons a proper Roman education. And when I say Roman, of course I mean Greek. Naturally, since the days of Augustus, emphasis has veered back to this side of the Adriatic, but one can’t ignore the Greek masters completely. Even I was forced to learn endless chunks of Homeric prose, the oratory of Demosthenes and the drama of Sophocles. Thankfully my mother spared me the perils of philosophy, otherwise my education would have been cut short by a slitting of my own wrists within a week. I suspect that Vindex may not have been so forgiving towards his own sons, hoping that with each generation they would move away from their tribal roots and closer to Rome.
Anyway, I digress. Vindex must certainly have had some sort of grievance against Nero that convinced him to risk his neck and make a stir in Gaul for Galba, in full knowledge that his Gallic origins would ensure that he could not make massive gains, even with an emperor’s patronage. What it was I couldn’t guess, and didn’t particularly need to. I had a task in hand, and would fulfil it to the best of my ability.
When we crossed the bridge over the Rhone and headed into Vienne proper, once again my eyes were met with scenes of hurried activity, in stark contrast to the atmosphere on the looming hill where the fort stood. Vindex even received a few bows from those we passed in the street, his chest swelling with pride on each occasion. What I did notice was that Vindex as yet had not smiled once in the hour or so that I had known him. Despite the obvious respect he commanded in the town, he seemed at pains never to show any outward signs of satisfaction, a trait I thought rather odd. Dismissing this, I continued my little survey of the town. There was a rank smell of urine wafting its way towards us, and I surmised that the tanners were working non-stop to kit out Vindex’s valiant freedom fighters with leather jerkins and the like. The area seemed readily defensible, what with the fort and the general lie of the land, which was a series of interlocking spurs jutting out towards the river. However, I did not expect an attack to be made on Vienne any time soon. Nero’s nearest legion was the First Italica, stationed near Mediolanum, hundreds of miles away.
We turned a corner, and were confronted with the looming presence of the basilica. Probably the most impressive building in the town, it was also the legal and administrative centre, so a normally busy place was now heaving with people. Tradesmen looking after their shops, small boys running errands for their
masters, lawyers discoursing with one another, but precious few men who looked like soldiers. Vindex led the way inside, once I had given my horse to a runner, and we headed for the apse. Like half a dome jutting out at the end of the building, this was the area normally reserved for the senior magistrates, and I suppose that Vindex, as praetor for this region, had more right than any man to make use of it. A small wooden dais filled the space where the magistrates would sit and give judgement, but now it had no chairs on it, just an empty table.
‘This way,’ Vindex grunted. Heading for the colonnade in the northern end of the building, we left most of the hustle and bustle behind us. I know that it sounds such a ridiculous stereotype, that we went into the shadows to find the spy, but here the cliché ends. You know how one expects spies to be small, ferrety creatures with shifty eyes set too close together, and possibly some crooked teeth thrown in? Well, Lugubrix was as different from that description as you could possibly imagine. The man waiting for us looked a few years the right side of fifty but had a few inches on me, and a similar sort of build: lean and sinewy. However, he also suffered from two afflictions that would hamper even the consummate spy’s desire for anonymity: he was missing his left hand, and had the most violent shock of ginger hair that I had ever seen. I shall let you decide which was the greater affliction.
‘Senator, this is my trusted friend Lugubrix. Lugubrix, this is the man sent from Hispania to help out with the campaign. I’ll leave you to it then. Oh, Senator, I will arrange for you to be billeted in the house next to mine, and your horse can be stabled there.’ Patting his friend’s shoulder, Vindex then made his way back outside.
I watched him leave.
‘There goes our glorious leader,’ Lugubrix commented.
I was surprised. His Latin was almost perfect, and I told him so. He smiled at that. ‘My mother was one of the Roman colonists who came to Lugdunum, but she married a Gaul and was thrown out by her family. We lived with my father’s people this side of the Rhine, but I was taught both languages. Useful for trade… and other things.’
‘And what do you make of the governor?’ I asked.
‘Honestly?’
‘As honest as a man of your trade can be!’
He gave a little chuckle. ‘Well, he tries to be Roman, I’ll give him that. That’s one of the reasons he left so abruptly, I should think. Normally we chat in our native language, but as I assume you only speak Latin he didn’t want to be shown up. I mean, you can understand why. He’s even trying to learn Greek! And he reads as much of their work, translated into Latin of course, as he can lay his hands on. I think he forgets that the people he’s trying to impress are in Rome, and not here.
‘I was in Lugdunum when he tried to win over possibly the most pro-Nero town in all Gaul! He has these grand ideas of a pan-Gallic movement, and imagines that Galba might make him a client ruler of the whole of Gaul, not just this province. You should have heard his speech!’
‘Good stuff?’ I asked.
‘See what you think, I remembered some of the best of it. He gassed for about ten minutes on the evils of Nero, all those old stories about killing his mother Agrippina and acting in the theatre for the plebs. Then: “Does anyone think it fitting that such a person is both a Caesar and our emperor? These are sacred titles that must not be abused. They were held by Augustus and by Claudius, whereas this fellow might most properly be termed Thyestes, Oedipus, Alcmaeon or Orestes; for these are the characters that he represents on the stage and it is these titles that he has assumed in place of the others. Therefore rise now against him; succour yourselves and succour the Romans; liberate the entire world!”’
‘Gods, has the man no common sense at all?’
‘That’s my job.’ The reply came as quick as one of Jupiter’s bolts. I was beginning to warm to this man far more than his master. Well, I say master. Employer would be nearer the mark.
‘I notice that he didn’t stay to talk about your job,’ I said, ‘so I’m guessing that makes me his chief of intelligence, on top of everything else. So, to be blunt, why should I use you and why should I trust you?’
‘In essence, because my contacts are wide-ranging and reliable. I run a family business, chiefly in grain, that stretches all over Gaul. My brother-in-law is based at Narbo, so he keeps me informed of what is happening in Hispania and overseas. We have farms about a day south of here, not far from the passes into Cisalpine Gaul, that way we keep in touch with the news from Italia. Finally, I manage the grain run up the Rhine, from Rhaetia all the way to the Ocean.’
‘Sounds like a thriving business. Why give it up to help us?’ I asked, a little puzzled.
‘You remember I mentioned my father, the Gaul?’ I nodded. ‘He was a great friend of Vindex’s father, and when my father died, the family was good to my mother and me. They even gave me a bit of an education, and enough capital to start my own business. I’m just glad that I now have a chance to repay the debt.’
The man didn’t come across as a liar, but as an honest man wanting to do his bit. In fact I sympathized with him. At least my benefactor was a man worthy of service and respect. This man owed his allegiance to a fool. I held out my hand and he took it, smiling.
‘I shall need payment, of course,’ Lugubrix said.
‘Of course, but I’d take that up with Vindex. I only arrived today, and I reckon he wouldn’t take it well if I was already handing out vast sums of money in his name.’
We headed outside, keeping our voices down for obvious reasons. The spring sun was straining to reach the part of town where the basilica stood, as one of the great spurs kept this quarter of Vienne in the shade.
‘I need you to get to work right away. I don’t particularly mind how you do it, just get me regular and detailed reports. First, I want to know what the general reaction to this rebellion has been around Gaul. You can leave out the far north-west, but everywhere else I need to gauge how popular this uprising is. Second, get your contacts to fill you in on all the news from Hispania. I know that Galba is going to recruit a new legion, but I need to know when, and anything else you can discover. Similarly, there’s a legion in northern Italia that could be sent, so let me know if they so much as move a mile. Most importantly, I need to know everything I can about the Rhine legions. Numbers, morale, condition, officers, the lot. It is of the utmost importance that they don’t become involved in Gaul, but we need to be prepared. Is that clear, Lugubrix?’
‘Perfectly. One question though.’
‘Which is…?’ I paused.
‘May I ask your name? Vindex mentioned that you were a senator, and that you were previously in Hispania, and I can’t imagine there are many senators there who aren’t office-holders.’
Lugubrix was very shrewd, I thought to myself. I didn’t want to disclose my name to him, since the fewer men who knew I was helping in a plot to overthrow Nero, the better. However, though I had only just met him, I felt instinctively that I could trust this man. After all, if you can’t trust your own spies, who can you trust?
‘All right,’ I conceded. ‘But only on the understanding that you never tell another soul. My name is Caecina Severus. We might as well choose a password while we’re about it. How about Vicetia?’
‘Vicetia?’ Lugubrix did not recognize the name.
‘My home town.’
He nodded assent.
‘Can I ask you something?’ I said.
‘If it’s about my hand, I had an argument with a man about a deal, a few years back. I lost my hand, he lost more.’ Drawing his finger across his neck, he gave a grim smile. Turning, he called over his shoulder: ‘I’ll report back when I can.’
VI
I spent a week in that town, a week sorting out the Vindex rebellion, as it came to be known. It seems that in his correspondence with Galba, Vindex had somewhat overestimated his abilities. He was a dreamer not a planner, merely babbling on about the marvellous ideas he had. For instance, at one time he wanted to go on a grand tour
of all Gaul, so that he could directly engage with the people and stir them all into open revolt. The next day he suggested minting new coins with Galba’s head on them, and after that, the most incredible notion of the lot, to march at head of his so-called army to the Rhine, and ask the legions one by one to join in the rebellion.
It took careful handling and endless patience to manage Vindex. It would be fair to say that his enthusiasm rivalled his lack of organizational prowess. It fell to me to run pretty much the entire campaign for him, a considerable step up from my previous military role. Julius Agricola would have loved this sort of work. As a member of General Paulinus’s staff, the to-ing and fro-ing would have been second nature to him, liaising with various sections of the command, logistics, intelligence and of course the legions themselves. Though my time as a tribune had been similar, it was on a much smaller scale, within the confines of one legion, where I had a more military function. But then again, Julius would probably not have enjoyed this campaign. He liked the chain of command and smooth workings of the Roman war machine.
This was not the Roman war machine.
For a start, Vindex had been so eager to get started that he didn’t think before sending out rallying cries of Gallic rebellion, so it would not go down all that well with the recruits to have them square-bashing and kitted out in the armour of the legions. Even the slightest whiff of Roman involvement would cause severe ructions; many would go home before a sword had been lifted, tarnishing the credibility of the movement beyond repair. I took great pains to ensure that my identity did not leak out.
‘But I want people to know I have a Roman senator with military experience at my side!’ Vindex complained when I raised the issue.
‘And how well do you think that will look with these men of yours who want to “throw off the chains of Roman tyranny”, as you delicately put it? If they thought for a moment that a Roman officer was helping to run the campaign, you would have a mutiny on your hands. Secondly, do you really think that I want my name shouted around Gaul and then the entire empire as a traitor, who had turned on Nero a few months into his first magistracy? I rather like my head where it is, so I’ll trouble you not to breathe a word of my existence to anyone.’ Then an idea struck me: ‘If you must address me in front of other people, you had better use a false name. Perhaps I could be a nephew of yours? I’m certainly tall enough to be mistaken for a Gaul.’
The Last Caesar Page 7