by James Mace
“The empire,” he said, “must have an emperor. If you will not swear your oaths to Vitellius, then who will you follow?”
“Vespasian!” Faustus quickly shouted. “We will follow Vespasian!”
The effect was instantaneous, with legionaries chanting Vespasian’s name over and over again. Unbeknownst to the near ten thousand soldiers assembled, it was all elaborate political theater. While there was the definite possibility that the legions would have declared for the Flavian general regardless, the Egyptian prefect was glad he’d left no room for doubt. Alexander was confident the few hundred denarii he’d spent securing the vocal ovations of a handful of legionaries, which spread like wildfire throughout the entire army, was well spent. He held up his hands, silencing the soldiers once again.
“It is not for the armies of Rome to appoint or depose emperors,” he emphasized, fully aware of the dangerous precedent Vespasian had warned of. “However, it is the duty of every last one of us to defend Rome from tyrants and usurpers. A fat, despotic pretender now sits upon the imperial throne, which he stole from our rightful ruler. More Roman blood will have to be spilled in order to remove him, but it is that sacrifice alone that will save our great empire. Your legates will oversee your swearing of the sacred oath. Say it with every bit of pride and personal devotion you gave to the Julio-Claudians. And let history record that on the first of July, in the eight hundred and twenty-second year after the Founding of the Eternal City, that Titus Flavius Vespasian was lawfully declared Emperor of Rome!”
Chants of Vespasian’s name echoed over and over again as Alexander and the legates stepped back into the foyer.
“And like Julius Caesar, we have committed the act of ‘Crossing the Rubicon’,” the legate of the Third Legion said, referring to the historic moment when the divine Julius and his legions crossed the River Rubicon, igniting the civil war against Pompey Magnus and the senate.
“Yes,” General Thrasea concurred. “Except this time, our Caesar does not even know he’s crossed the proverbial Rubicon.”
This drew an appreciative chuckle from his fellows. They then became somber once more.
“I have already sent dispatches to every officer of senatorial rank within the eastern empire,” Alexander said. “The first went to General Placidus, who commands Vespasian’s auxilia corps, a few days ago. He is a brash and somewhat bull-headed officer. However, he is able to rally the men in the ranks like few can, and he is fiercely loyal to Vespasian.”
Thrasea then added, “Whatever his previous hesitations, with the legions in Egypt proclaiming him emperor others will soon follow, including that massive army he has posted throughout Judea and Syria. He’ll have little choice but to accept his destiny.”
It was late afternoon of the same day when General Placidus received the dispatch from Alexander. His auxilia troops were far more mobile than the heavy infantry of the legions, so his various regiments patrolled much of the pacified and recently re-conquered regions in both Galilee and Judea. The zealot survivors from Vespasian’s furious rampage through the region had mostly fled to Jerusalem, where they now fought against each other.
Placidus was encamped with the small residual garrison at the coastal city of Ascalon, where the Imperial Army had won a decisive victory over the Judean rebels two years before. His intent was to conduct an inspection of the garrison, before leading a mounted reconnaissance in the direction of Jerusalem, fifty miles to the northeast, the following day. Ever the aggressive attacker, he hoped to goad some stray band of rebels into a scrap.
On this particular afternoon, he and the city’s governor were walking along the ramparts of Ascalon, checking the guard posts manned by both local militia, as well as a company of Syrian auxiliary archers.
“Sir, there’s a rider approaching from the south!” an archer atop one of the towers shouted down.
Placidus and the governor scanned the wide open plane, where the path leading from the city intersected the main north-south road approximately two miles from the gates.
“Looks like an imperial courier,” the governor said, noting the red tunic and cloak. As the rider turned onto the path leading into the city, he and Placidus both descended the steps nearest the gate, as lookouts called down to the man.
“Hold! Who approaches the city of Ascalon?”
“A message for General Placidus from Governor Tiberius Julius Alexander,” was the reply.
“I’m surprised the good governor knew where to find me,” the general said.
As the rider dismounted and reached into his satchel, he replied, “He didn’t, sir. He sent me a week ago, with the intent of delivering this to you somewhere between Alexandria and Caesarea. If I could not find you, I was to deliver the message to Emperor Vespasian.”
“ Emperor? ” the governor asked, suddenly perplexed.
Placidus simply grinned as he read the message. “Excellent! This is what we’ve been waiting for. It would seem our commander-in-chief has been proclaimed Emperor of Rome without even knowing it.” He then addressed the governor. “It will take me at least two days to reach Caesarea by horse. Do you have any ships you can spare?”
“There is a vessel with olive oil departing for Antioch this evening,” the governor replied.
“Then I must make ready to leave at once,” Placidus remarked. “I will temporarily commandeer the vessel and compel their captain to drop me off at Caesarea.”
“You should reach the city in about three hours by ship,” the governor noted. He then smiled. “Give the emperor our best regards. Ascalon stands with him.”
Vespasian! Vespasian! Vespasian!
The echoing shouts of his name startled the commander-in-chief from what had been an unusually deep slumber. He quickly donned his tunic and stumbled from his quarters. Others were emerging from their rooms and out onto the palace veranda, where they saw a large gathering of soldiers marching and chanting their commanding general’s name. He was surprised to see it was General Placidus who was leading the men in their continuous ovation. There were perhaps fifty soldiers gathered around with more coming from the barracks on the palace grounds. All were chanting the commander-in-chief’s name, while thrusting their weapons into the air. Even the soldiers guarding the palace entrance were taking part in the spectacle.
Vespasian! Vespasian! Vespasian!
“Damn it, Placidus, what the hell is the meaning of this?” the commander-in-chief snapped, as he stepped down onto the parade field.
“The lads have had enough, sir!” the general responded with a force of energy that Vespasian only saw from him when he was readying to go into battle. He then produced the scroll from Alexander. “The legions of Egypt have proclaimed you emperor. Once word broke, it spread like wildfire throughout our own men.”
“Damn the usurper, Vitellius!” a legionary shouted, raising his gladius high.
“No,” Vespasian said, quickly shaking his head. “I am not emperor!”
“If not you, then who?” a centurion asked. “We won’t follow the fat pretender, fuck him!”
“Corpulent twat stole the throne and murdered our rightful Caesar!” another officer spat. “I’d rather have barbarians pissing on my mutilated corpse than call him ‘emperor’!”
“If Alexander has sent word to us, you can bet he has also sent dispatches to the rest of the eastern regions,” Placidus quickly added. “The army may be spread all over Judea, but I suspect they’ll all know within a few days.” His hand rested on the hilt of his sword. “Face up to it, sir, you may not have a choice.”
“Put that away, Placidus,” Vespasian said, his expression calm. He fought to suppress the broad grin that wished to spread across his face. “Send word to Mucianus, as well as all legion commanders. We will meet in Beirut in two weeks’ time.”
“Yes, sir,” Placidus said. He turned to the still-growing host of imperial soldiers and raised his fist in the air. “Hail, Caesar! Hail, Vespasian!”
This was immediately echoed b
y the legionaries and their officers.
Aula Vale was among those who witnessed the spectacle. Her hair was unkempt from having just rolled out of bed, and she had scarcely thrown a tunic on before coming out to see what the commotion was about. She was now giving the newly-proclaimed emperor a cocked grin as he turned to face her.
“Lady Vale,” Vespasian said, matching her smile, “Are you ready to return to Rome?”
Both Lucius Artorius and his wife, Laura, had been enjoying the hospitality of the governor of Arretium, while all waited for Vitellius’ arrival. Around the end of the first week of July, the emperor and his colossal entourage finally arrived. This was to be his final lengthy stopover before he made the push into Rome. Banquets and spectacles had become the norm. Vitellius’ entire journey represented more of a roving carnival than the royal procession of an emperor. It was the morning after the imperial court’s first night in Arretium that Lucius was granted an audience.
“The noble Governor for the City of Ariminum, Lucius Artorius Magnus,” the porter announced.
Both Lucius and Laura entered the governor’s public audience chamber, which was serving as a temporary throne room, and bowed before Vitellius. Laura was a little put off by his corpulent and slovenly appearance. Lucius appeared not to notice.
“Hail, Caesar!” he said, raising his hand in salute.
“Please, not Caesar,” Vitellius gently corrected. He was beginning to think that he’d have no choice but to accept the name. Emperors of Rome had been addressed by this title for the past hundred years, and it was simply a force of habit for most citizens.
“Forgive me, sire,” Lucius replied. “I come on behalf of the City of Ariminum and regret we were not able to host you personally.”
“And for that, you have your emperor’s gratitude,” Vitellius said. “Is there any favor you may need, for either your city or for yourself?”
“For my city, no,” Lucius replied, shaking his head. “We prosper. As for myself…” He paused and glanced sideways at his wife. Her face was hard, and she appeared to be gritting her teeth. She knew what it was he would ask.
“Come on, out with it,” Vitellius persisted. “Do not let a personal audience with your emperor be wasted.”
Lucius took a deep breath, knowing if he did not make his request now he would forever live with regret.
“I wish to serve Rome as more than just a civilian magistrate. As a member of the equites, I have completed my compulsory tour with the legions. And while I am honored to be mayor and governor of one of the empire’s greatest cities, I wish to return to active service.”
There was a moment of silence while Vitellius pondered the request.
Finally, it was Caecina who spoke up. “Sire, there is a cavalry regiment in Northern Italia that still has neither a commanding tribune nor even a deputy. They were the first to pledge their loyalty to us when my army came over the Alpes.”
“It’s settled, then,” Vitellius said, with a wave of his hand. “Caecina will fill you in on the details, but yes, you will return to military service for a full three-year term as commander of an auxilia regiment of cavalry.”
“You honor me, sire,” Lucius said with a deep bow.
“And now I have other matters to attend to,” Vitellius replied. “But please, do be sure to join us for this evening’s feast. I will see to it there are places for you at the head table. And just wait till you see my commemorative serving platter!”
Lucius and Laura bowed once more and took their leave of the emperor.
“I hope I have not upset you, my dear,” Lucius said, once he and Laura were alone in the foyer waiting to meet with Caecina.
“This is what you have wanted,” Laura replied, taking him by the hands. “I am just grateful you did not make this request during the war between Otho and Vitellius.”
“Porcius will be thrilled,” Lucius chuckled. “He will at last be governor of the city. I imagine a few of my father’s political friends will be a little upset, but a little military service has never harmed one’s career possibilities. And it’s not as if I will be very far, a week’s journey by horse at most. Depending on what sort of accommodations I have, I hope you will soon be able to join me.”
“Perhaps,” Laura said, with a hopeful smile. Like Lucius’ mother, she was not very keen on the idea of him returning to active service. However, now that the war was over, she had less reason to worry. She was also astute enough to realize that command of a cavalry regiment would help bolster her husband’s career immensely. Still, she wished to start having children soon, and they had already decided to delay this during his six months with the legions. Perhaps she could give him a son before his three years with the cavalry was complete.
Tiberius Alexander had been thorough, having dispatched every last courier under his charge throughout Egypt, Syria, Judea, as far west as Cyrene, and north into Asia Minor. General Trajan, who had returned to the Tenth Legion’s headquarters at Scythopolis, received Alexander’s message around the same time as the confirmation from Vespasian himself. And like his commanding general turned emperor, Trajan was filled with a long dormant sense of purpose once again.
“Summon all staff officers and cohort commanders,” he ordered one of his clerks. He handed the message to his chief tribune.
“The entire legion will be in a frenzy over this,” the young officer replied. Already word had spread throughout the camp. Legionaries were shouting ovations and chanting Vespasian’s name.
“Which is why we must address this at the highest level, immediately,” Trajan remarked with a cocked grin.
Given the extended lull in the fighting in Judea, rampant boredom had become the common soldiers’ greatest enemy. Having to swear their oaths of allegiance to a new Caesar every few months, brought on by repeated overthrows of said emperors, was an added cause for consternation amongst the ranks. Legionaries took their oaths very seriously, and it was with much chagrin they greeted the news of Otho’s overthrow coupled with Vitellius’ demands for their fealty. That the legions in Egypt had refused this directive, and instead declared for their commander-in-chief emperor, had convinced the legions in Judea to do the same.
Following the arrival of the dispatch from Vespasian and the meeting with General Trajan, Centurion Pilus Prior Galeo briefed his subordinates on the situation. He kept the meeting short. He knew his centurions needed to address their soldiers immediately. Centurion Nicanor hurriedly returned to find his senior officers and decani waiting for him. Optio Gaius Artorius had finally returned to the legion, and not a moment too soon it seemed.
“As we can all see, everyone has obviously heard about what’s happening in Egypt,” Nicanor said, nodding towards a large group of legionaries, who had produced a cask of wine and were boisterously drinking to the health of Emperor Vespasian.
“It’s all the lads are talking about,” Tesserarius Julius spoke up. “I swear, every last one of them would pack up and march on Rome tomorrow.”
“Which is exactly what we won’t be doing,” Nicanor emphasized. “This war in Judea may be in an extended state of pause, while we wait for the rebel factions to kill each other off; however, you all know it is far from over. And even if it does come to war between Vespasian and Vitellius, there is no way in hell he is going to simply abandon this campaign and all we have fought for.”
“Sir, if I may,” Gaius said. “I understand the need to deal with only the facts as we know them, but let us not pretend there are doubts as to what Vespasian will decide. Today is the day we were supposed to swear the oath to Vitellius, yet the only emperor being proclaimed around here is Vespasian. Agreed, he won’t abandon the war in Judea, but I do think a substantial portion of this army will be sent in an awfully long march towards Rome.”
The decani and principal officers all muttered their agreements of the optio’s assessment. And while Nicanor did not wish for his legionaries to become obsessed by rumors and hearsay, he knew Gaius was right.
“Then what we need to do is focus on the loyalty of our men,” he stated. “It appears the soldiers of the Tenth Legion have already declared Vespasian emperor. I want every last one of our legionaries to swear their oaths with a clear conscience. This will likely not be an issue. Vespasian is loved by the men, while Vitellius is a complete nonentity to them.”
“Not only that,” Julius said, “but Vespasian personally swore fealty to Otho. Vitellius has now violently deposed him. I don’t think we’ll have much of an issue compelling our soldiers to fight for Vespasian.”
As if to emphasize his point, the sounds of soldiers marching past, chanting Vespasian’s name, while singing a rather randy song about the decadent Vitellius, caused them to laugh amongst themselves.
“The first thing we must do is curtail the mob mentality of our legionaries,” Nicanor asserted. “We’ll encourage their fealty to the newly-proclaimed emperor, but I want their enthusiasm tempered with the understanding that this will likely mean another civil war for Rome.”
His officers all agreed, and the centurion dismissed them.
“ Emperor Vespasian,” Gaius said, as he and Nicanor walked through the camp later that evening. “I rather like the sound of that.”
“I admit I do, too,” his friend and centurion replied. “I also agree with what you and Julius said earlier. I don’t think Vespasian will be able to stop what has already transpired even if he wanted to. He also knows Vitellius will not take kindly to the legions in the east naming him emperor, so for our commander-in-chief there is no going back. This wave of populous support will not be confined to just the army. The common citizens are no doubt tired of war and usurpers, and every last rumor coming from Italia, regarding Vitellius, is pretty damning.”