There were frenzied cheers, and men punched the air in appreciation and agreement.
‘Who will forget how the Fourth Legion led the charge into the woods at the first sign of the Gauls’ flight? Or how the Twenty-Second stood firm against the enemy’s entire cavalry force, and put them to flight? I certainly won’t, and I suspect the Gauls won’t either!’
The men guffawed at that. It was sycophantic stuff really, but it takes a good leader to judge his troops’ mood and speak accordingly, and Rufus was playing them like a harp. Or at least the men directly under his command, for he had failed to mention Valens’s legion from the next-door province, or the auxiliaries.
‘Once again you have proved that a Roman army with its discipline, courage and skill can triumph over anything that stands in its way. I cannot begin to describe how proud I am to lead you into battle, knowing full well that you will never let me down. Sometimes I think that Rome does not deserve men like you, and those who live safe because of your commitment and duty, far away from our wild borders, will never appreciate you as I do.’
Then he let out a deep, deep sigh, as though deflated by the thought.
‘There is a sickness in Rome, my friends, a sickness at its very core. You are in some ways privileged to be here, on this barbarian frontier, because you are spared the knowledge of what Rome has become. Rome is far more than just a city, it is an ideal, something to yearn for and aspire to. Our German friends here, in the auxiliaries, you joined the legions in the hope that one day you might be rewarded with the ultimate prize, that of Roman citizenship, a prize that will be handed down to your descendants until the end of time.
‘But now Rome is in grave peril, not from some external threat, for we all know that you would triumph over such an enemy. But this enemy is within Rome. I do not speak of this matter lightly, nor should I, for this sickness has corrupted something that we hold very dear in our hearts. My friends, our emperor, Nero, is destroying Rome.’
There, it had been said. It was plain that most were aghast to hear such things from their general, and muttered furiously to one another, but they were not so aghast that they ignored Rufus as he explained himself. They drank in his every word.
‘We have all sworn an oath of loyalty to the emperor; indeed, he personally appointed me to this command after my consulship. But under his guidance, Rome has become a cesspit of moral decay. He flaunts his body in public declamations, chariot races in the Circus, and has even taken part in the Olympic Games, where the proud Greeks are forced to award him first prize in every event in which he competes.’
This was not particularly strong ground. What do the legions care if the emperor has some strange habits, so long as they are paid well and on time?
‘And when did he last see you, the most resolute of his armies? Has he ever stirred beyond Rome except for his own amusement? He kills the generals that lead you to victory and to glory, and ignores the troops who keep him safe in his luxurious lifestyle. Meanwhile the Praetorian Guard grow fat, lazy, debauched and rich in Rome, while you endure harsh winters and ferocious enemies, and for what?
‘I suggest that it is time for a new emperor, one who respects and values the army. He must have held the highest offices of state, for it would be folly to replace Nero with a man who could not ably serve the empire. The man I have in mind has even held command in this very province, if I remember rightly; a man of dignity, prudence and competence, all the virtues that Nero lacks.’
It was at this point that a voice from the Twenty-Second shouted out: ‘We will follow you, General! Rufus for Caesar!’ The cry of ‘Caesar!’ was taken up by those around him, and the refrain spread throughout the whole legion, and into the Fourth, and soon the other units were joining in, even the Germans, who probably did not understand what was going on. I was appalled; this was not meant to be happening! Whether intentionally or not, the requirements that the general had stated applied to both Galba and himself. Both men were ex-consuls, both had held command on the Rhine, though admittedly it had been perhaps twenty years since Galba had served here under Caligula. I looked up to see how Rufus was reacting to this turn of events. Thankfully, he looked just as shocked as I did. He opened and closed his mouth, like a dim-witted fish coming up for crumbs, but then he came to his senses and tried to silence the men.
Shaking his head slowly, he took his time, spelling out his point. ‘Men, you honour me, but it is an honour I could never accept. I am a simple soldier, nothing more. Indeed, I am the first of my family to have reached the heights of the Senate; I do not have the gravitas or authority to even contemplate taking the imperial throne. It is not for any of us here to decide, but for the Senate and People of Rome. If a worthy man does step forward we can lend him our support, but we cannot and must not take it upon ourselves to impose the first man we think of on the rest of the empire. However, if you do want a man to follow, I can make a suggestion.’
‘Who?’ a handful here and there among the army asked.
‘A man who has devoted his whole life to public service, a man of noble bearing whose family can trace its roots back to the very beginnings of the Republic: Servius Sulpicius Galba.’
Their reaction, when compared with previous ones, was underwhelming. Yes, some nodded in appreciation, but for the most part the men looked bemused. Why would their general refuse their offer of imperial power and instead praise a man who in comparison meant nothing to them? Yes, Galba was one of the grand old men of the Senate, but had it not been for his convincing discussion in that modest house in Tarraco I’m not sure I wouldn’t have agreed with them. But then again, other than their general, who was Rufus? A new man, of ordinary equestrian rank, notable only because he had been elevated to the Senate, and chosen for the command because of this very anonymity.
Rufus was unsure how best to proceed. I think he had been counting on a more tangible reaction. ‘But as I say,’ he continued, ‘such a decision has to be made by the Senate and ratified by the people. We must put aside our own interests, and ably serve whoever sits on the imperial throne. Once again, you have fought like lions, as befits the legions of Rome, and reaped your rewards from the enemy, whom you have littered upon the hillside. Rome is fortunate to have men like you to call upon, so enjoy yourselves tonight; I shall have an extra ration of wine given to every man. You have earned it.’
This brought the loudest cheer of the lot. After all the praise he had given them already, and an acclamation to stand for emperor, the promise of an extra ration of booze is enough to cheer the most sullen soldier. I sometimes wonder if Rome would have the same reputation that she does today without a judicious portion of alcohol.
As the men were dismissed, and wandered off to find the legion quartermasters for their liquid reward, I made to collar the general as he descended from the podium. Halfway down the steps he spotted me, and visibly reddened. He gave a nervous laugh, and commented, ‘Not the sort of speech you give every day, is it?’
‘I agree. You don’t often hear a general denouncing his emperor, in fine Ciceronian style, only to come to a shuddering halt.’
‘Well, what else was I to do? How could I know that they would call on me to be emperor?’
I must have looked incredulous. ‘You mean it didn’t occur to you that the legions would want their own general on the throne, a man who would reward their loyalty generously?’
‘Me? Gods, no. As I said, I’m only a new man, I couldn’t possibly be emperor. You heard me recommend Galba.’ He looked flustered, flapping his hands about in his anxiety to defend himself.
In truth, Rufus did seem the honourable type, and his line of defence was credible. After all, he had turned down his own troops’ offer of the throne, I thought, firmly ruling himself out of the running.
‘Very well. I shall have to write to Galba and let him know the latest. Might I borrow one of your tribunes to deliver the message?’
‘Hmm? Oh yes, by all means. I’ll send Saturninus.’
&nb
sp; ‘And might I use your seal on the letter, so that he can use the post-horses to get to Hispania?’
‘Certainly. I suppose you’ll be needing a tent then, if you’re staying with us. I’ll have someone sort it all out. Now if you don’t mind, I need to get some sleep.’ With that the general wandered off towards his quarters, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
XV
To S. Sulpicius Galba, Legate of the Senate and People of Rome, greetings.
I am sorry to have to inform you of a double loss, both of the army of Gaul and its leader, Julius Vindex. After I had contacted Verginius Rufus and negotiated successfully the Rhine legions’ outward neutrality and tacit support, Vindex took it upon himself to engage the legions in battle. I was not in a position to stop him, having been drugged the previous night, but upon my arrival I relieved him of command and led the army into battle. Unfortunately the Romans’ superior discipline carried the day, putting our army to flight. Vindex committed suicide shortly afterwards. His son Quintus has returned to the province in order to continue the administration from Vienne for the time being.
I have attached myself to General Rufus, who assures me that he continues to support you. In an address to the troops this evening, he called for a new emperor, only to have his legions declare their support for him. Professing inexperience and his humble background, he refused, and next proposed your name. This did not gain favour with the men, who seemed bemused that he had turned them down.
It would seem then that the loyalty of the Rhine legions to Nero is not strong, but neither could they be said to be greatly enamoured of you. On the face of it, I would judge Rufus’s actions as naive but honest, but I cannot be certain. Fabius Valens, the senior officer of the detachments from Lower Germania, suggests that those legions could be swayed, if he and his fellow officers were suitably encouraged and rewarded. I would recommend that you begin your march on Rome as soon as possible, so that these legions and indeed the world are made aware that you are a serious and credible replacement for Nero, forcing all the legions to make their choice. Nero may be popular with the plebs, but the army has been neglected. I believe that this action will push them to side with you.
At the moment my immediate plans are to stay near General Rufus and make sure that his professed loyalty to you is genuine, and await your instructions.
Au. Caecina Severus
Short, and to the point. No unnecessary flattery, just an appraisal of the events, some gentle advice and that was it. As I sat in the privacy and relative comfort of my own tent, I wondered about all the things that I had omitted. An insecure man would have spent valuable parchment detailing the difficulty of getting the Gauls fit for military service, the horrifying ordeal of torture, the stubbornness of Vindex. But the man was dead, and what was done was done. Besides, a gentleman like Galba was sure to write to Quintus on hearing of the death of his father, partly to offer his condolences and also to discuss the management of his province, and Quintus would be honest about my conduct over the past months.
As I had said in the letter, all I could do now was to wait for further instructions, and to keep an eye on General Rufus. I eased back in my chair and reflected on the situation. It was quiet now in the camp, but the atmosphere was volatile. It occurred to me that if Rufus had truly ruled himself out of the running for emperor, then the legions might turn to the other governor on the Rhine, Fonteius Capito. I had heard from Valens that he was drunken, sordid and petty, but that would not make him the worst emperor we’d ever had. Who could say whether or not he would refuse the offer, should the army of the Rhine call upon him?
The only reason I could not foresee this happening quite yet was the fact that almost half his forces did not know about the situation. Only the troops here, under the command of Valens and others, were aware that there was in effect a potential imperial vacancy. But once those troops returned to their bases further down the Rhine, word would spread, and maybe Galba would have a rival. That was why I had urged Galba to come out of the shadows, march on Rome and ratchet up the pressure on Nero.
Rolling up the letter, I reached for the candle on the far side of the table, and held it at an angle over the dispatch. As the wax splashed on to the vellum, I gave a big yawn and managed to spill some on to my hand. It wasn’t painfully hot, but the surprise was enough to make me swear. Young Saturninus, who had been standing silently to attention, let out a snigger. I looked darkly at the youth, and fumbled around for Rufus’s seal. The large golden stamp had the imprint of a fox’s mask, the Rufus family crest I presumed, and after a few seconds’ pressure the waxen duplicate stared up at me. I handed the letter over to the tribune, who saluted and went to find his unlucky mount for the first leg of his journey.
* * *
In those next few days, waiting for Galba’s reply, I was in an unpleasant state of limbo. Though kitted out as the senior tribune, with a broad purple sash running down from my shoulder to my waist and around it, I did not feel as though I belonged. There was little for the army to do. We had not yet heard whether Quintus had succeeded in calling off the siege of Lugdunum, though the First Legion were on course to arrive there within the next fortnight, and so General Rufus had decided to stay at Vesontio rather than head northwards to the Rhine. I couldn’t very well attend Rufus’s meeting with his staff, partly because I was unknown to his officers and my presence would be questioned, and also because there were very few such meetings. The general largely kept to his tent, sending occasionally for individuals as and when he had an idea that merited discussion, while the men enjoyed the inactivity, whiling away their time with drink, gambling and tall tales of past battles.
So it was a welcome distraction when Fabius Valens poked his head round my tent flap on the third day after I had written to Galba.
‘Would you care for a talk?’
I said that I would be glad of one, and followed him outside. It was a clear, warm evening in June. The men had finished messing, and in ones and twos were kicking out the camp fires and heading in to sleep. The chorus of crickets had already begun, a ceaseless chirping that bugged me, no pun intended, all through the night. One thing I’ll say for Britannia, it’s spared that racket.
I decided to forgo the pleasantries. ‘Is this a social event, or is there something particular you want to talk about?’
‘Politics.’
I said nothing more, wanting to hear what Valens had on his mind. My position was clear.
‘What did you discover during the assembly the other day?’ he asked.
I shrugged. ‘That Rufus is well liked by his legions, that he is a middling orator, and either a brilliant politician or a terrible one.’
‘What about the men?’
‘Well, what about them?’
‘Don’t you think their reaction was telling?’
‘What does that matter? The legions are led by the legates and generals, not by mob rule.’
‘True, if the general in question has any backbone, but nowadays backbone is a bit of a rarity among senior officers. You’ll see, the ordinary legionaries will be just as important as the generals in deciding who becomes emperor. If not more so.’
I scoffed at that. ‘Rubbish! What self-respecting general would allow himself to be dictated to by his own men?’
‘Oh, I think given the right circumstances people can do very surprising things. Humour me a while, and have a wander among the tents. I always do that when I want to know what the men are thinking.’
With that he gestured towards the area where the Twenty-Second Legion were billeted. Most of the men had gone to bed now, eight men to a tent, and as we picked a path through the guy ropes and general clutter, we overheard snatches of conversation.
‘Why d’you reckon old Rufus backed out then?’
‘Perhaps he honestly doesn’t want the job.’
‘Come off it, Titus, who wouldn’t want to be emperor?’
‘You heard what he said, he’s barely been a senator. You can
’t get rid of the Caesars and just replace them with a new man.’
‘How about Galba, then?’
‘Can’t see how having him in Rome is going to make my life any better. Better to have someone who’ll be good to us, even if he isn’t as old and grand as Galba.’
As we went along the rows, the words were different but the sentiment was broadly the same.
‘Convinced yet?’ Valens asked me.
‘They’re not opposed to Galba outright, they’re just thinking about themselves. Not that that is entirely unexpected.’
‘It hasn’t occurred to you that with a bit of encouragement, these men could be persuaded to support whoever we tell them to, so long as we look after their interests?’
Staring contemptuously at him, I replied with disdain. ‘It has occurred to me, but I have not considered it. Understand?’
‘So you’ll cling to Galba, come what may?’ he asked.
‘Because he is the best man for the job, and that is the most important consideration of all. Don’t you agree?’
Without waiting for his reply, I turned my back on the odious man and returned to my tent. I had now recognized Valens for what he was. I had suspected it, of course. Why else had he accompanied Rufus to those negotiations with Vindex and me that stormy night? Once he had uttered that word, ‘circumstances’, I marked him down as an opportunist, a man who will ditch his principles when they threaten to harm his career prospects. As I had said, I was Galba’s man, through and through. I had pledged my allegiance in the belief that he would make a far better emperor than Nero, and everything I had done since that meeting in Tarraco had been to that end, and not for myself. And if Galba chose to reward me for services rendered, well, that was his affair.
* * *
The Last Caesar Page 17