by James Mace
“Therein lies the difference between this revolt and that of Vitellius,” Gaius conjectured. “Vespasian is a man of the people, far more so than Vitellius. Like our soldiers, I cannot help but wonder what role we will play in this little game. Will we be pieces on the board or simply spectators?”
“Who knows?” Nicanor shrugged. “We could be left sitting on our asses here, waiting to finish off the Judean rebels. After all, someone has to. Or, we could very well end up taking a very long walk to the imperial capital.”
Gaius whistled in appreciation, as he tried to comprehend just how far it was by land from Judea to Rome. From what he could recall, anyone marching to Rome would have to go up through Syria, across Asia Minor, through Greece, over the mountainous Balkans, and into Italia from the north. It was a journey of between three and four thousand miles, with weather and terrain dictating the pace of the march. Travel by sea would be impossible for the entire army. There simply were not enough ships available, plus they had no idea where the Imperial Navy stood on the issue between Vitellius and Vespasian.
“Even if we conduct a number of forced marches along the way,” Gaius said, “we’re still looking at a trek that will take anywhere from four to six months.”
Nicanor added with a laugh, “Well, then, you can bet we’ll all have stretched legs and sore feet by the end of it!”
Chapter VI: Defenders of the Crown
Beirut
17 July 69 A.D.
Tiberius Julius Alexander
Beirut was conveniently located halfway between Caesarea and Antioch, and so served as the perfect location for the Flavians to make their preparations for the now inevitable campaign. Vespasian had at last dropped all pretenses about becoming Caesar. What’s more, while it had been legates and other senior officers who had compelled Vitellius to claim the throne, Vespasian’s rise had been predicated by the common soldiers in the ranks. This had been greatly humbling for the Flavian Emperor, and his humility only further endeared his soldiers to him.
Mucianus had arrived a day earlier, along with his legates from Legio VI, Ferrata , Legio IV, Scythia , and the reconstituted Legio XII, Fulminata . Vespasian brought with him his three legion commanders, along with their chief tribunes and master centurions. Each legion also dispatched a cohort to act as an honor guard to what was now being referred to as the imperial court. There was much pomp and ceremony, with Vespasian donning the laurel crown and a hastily made gold-embroidered purple cloak over his shoulder, as he rode at the head of a massive procession through the city. The people flocked by the thousands to see him. All shouted praises, with many chants of ‘Caesar’ echoing above the fray. It was all very surreal to the Flavian general, who had at one time sold mules in order to pay his debts, later was cast out of Nero’s court in disgrace, and was now being proclaimed emperor. And while he was a man of simple tastes, he was also deeply pragmatic. He knew if he was to become Caesar, then he needed to look and act the part.
Mucianus and his delegation were waiting for Vespasian on the steps of the governor’s palace. All wore their best formal togas, while the soldiers who provided their honor guard had polished their armor and helmets which shone brightly in the midday sun.
“Hail, Caesar!” Mucianus proclaimed, holding up his hand in a salute.
Vespasian returned the formal courtesy before dismounting and handing the reins to a waiting servant. He climbed to the top of the steps and turned to face the gigantic crowd. His soldiers were doing their best to keep them from swarming the palace. His rarely seen smile beamed as he held up his hand held up his hand in salute, eliciting even more voracious and deafening cheers.
“Caesar! Caesar! Caesar!” they chanted.
“They love you, Father,” Titus said.
“Let us hope the rest of the empire does as well,” Vespasian replied, still genial and waving to the crowd.
He then followed Mucianus and his entourage into the palace. Once inside, he quickly removed the laurel crown and tossed the purple cloak to a nearby slave.
“Damn thing makes my head itch,” he said with a laugh, as he furiously scratched his balding head.
He then noticed Tiberius Julius Alexander, who had been waiting for him inside. His narrow purple stripe, denoting his status as a member of the equites, stood out from the rest of the assembled host. And yet, as Prefect of Egypt, he was not only one of the most important men in the whole of the empire, he was also the same person who set in motion the events that led to Vespasian being proclaimed emperor.
“Hail, Caesar,” he said, with a formal bow.
“I hear you’ve been playing the game of kings and emperors,” Vespasian remarked.
The prefect chuckled in response, then stated, “The imperial armies in Egypt stand ready to defend the empire in your name.”
“And for that, I thank you,” Vespasian replied. He leaned in close and whispered into Alexander’s ear, “How does it feel to be writing the pages of history?”
“A bit surreal, sir,” the prefect quietly answered, candidly. “I only hope our venture does not falter.”
“So do I,” Vespasian replied, with a sigh of acknowledgment. He then addressed the assembled officers and magistrates. “It is time, my friends, to reclaim the empire from the pretender and bring about an end to the reign of the tyrants. Come, let us begin our preparations.”
A large map was fastened to the wall of the meeting hall. Wasting no time, Vespasian briskly walked over and placed his finger on the spot where Rome was marked.
“Alright,” he said, “If we’re going to do this, then we must be quick as well as cautious.” He nodded to his auxilia corps commander. “Placidus, if it were up to you, you’d launch a direct assault on Rome, cutting the whole thing off at the head.”
“You’re damn right I would,” the general said emphatically. “Lop off Vitellius’ head and make certain no other legions dare try and make one of their own Caesar.”
“And for once, I agree with you,” Vespasian replied, drawing a few laughs from the assembled officers. “Our primary focus will be taking the capital itself. No doubt that will draw quite the forceful response from Vitellius, so I do not expect this to be a bloodless campaign. However, I do wish to spare lives whenever possible. Always remember, these are our fellow countrymen we will be facing.”
“While I agree with your concept,” Trajan supposed, “we cannot simply uproot all of our legions and have the lot of them march on Rome. With Armenia and the Parthian Empire on our doorstep, it would not do to leave our borders unprotected, like Vitellius did in Germania.”
“General Corbulo may have defeated King Vologaeses of Parthia, during the Armenian War,” Mucianus observed, “but has he really learned his lesson or might he be smarting for a taste of revenge?”
“And while King Tiridates of Armenia is technically a client king of Rome, he is also Vologaeses’ brother,” Trajan added. “And, of course, we have the war in Judea that is still unresolved.”
“We need not uproot all of our forces from here,” Vespasian remarked. “Between my army in Judea, Mucianus’ forces in Syria, as well as those in Egypt, we have eight legions who have already sworn loyalty to us.”
“That alone gives us a full third of all legionary forces in the empire,” Placidus added. “And I have no doubt that more will follow. That ought to make our enemies shit themselves a bit.”
“Antonius Primus has been stalling for time, so he can have Seventh Gemina swear allegiance to you,” Titus noted. “The Eleventh and Thirteenth Legions have no love for Vitellius either, so I think it’s safe to say we can count on their support.”
“Eleven loyalist legions, plus an equal or greater number of auxilia troopers,” Vespasian responded approvingly. “Still, Vitellius knows we cannot send all of our forces against him. But, neither can he against us. The British, Germanic, and Gallic legions have the very same issues to contend with as we do.”
“So how many troops do we send?” Mucianus asked.
“We must leave sufficient forces in Judea to keep the rebels contained,” Vespasian answered. “Since the zealots are embroiled in their own petty civil war, and are essentially confined to Jerusalem in the southern regions, four cohorts from each legion should suffice. The remaining six will be detached along with the entire Legio VI, Ferrata. They will act as the spear point of the Flavian Army.”
“Very good, sir,” Mucianus said, with an approving nod. He then asked, “Since we will have such a large division, the question now becomes, who will lead them?”
This last remark caused the legates to look at him with confused gazes.
“The emperor himself should lead us,” Trajan asserted. “In all his campaigns, he has never been one to sit idle while others do the fighting for him.”
“That may be,” Mucianus replied. “But we have a volatile situation here in the east. Not only is Jerusalem still in the hands of the zealots, but someone will have to deal with the political situation along our borders. It would also be unwise to risk the emperor becoming trapped in Rome before stability is brought to the empire. And forgive me, Caesar, but what if you are killed? You have accepted many risks during your years in the legions; the most recent being your leading a cohort during the assault on Gamala. Whatever your previous thoughts on the value of your own life when compared to your men, the new reality is we can no longer afford to lose you.”
While they were words he most certainly did not wish to hear, Vespasian knew they were valid. While serving as a legate, and even lately as commander-in-chief of the armies in the east, he had often drawn his blade and inspired his soldiers by his own example. That was not a luxury he could afford anymore. In his mind, a legate was just as expendable as a legionary; however, the same could not be said of an emperor. Soldiers fought and died for their emperor. If he should fall, the entire Flavian cause would be lost and all their blood spilled in vain.
“Something that will be very difficult for me to accept,” Vespasian began slowly, “is no longer being able to lead my soldiers into battle. But if I am to become emperor, then I need to put my trust in my legion commanders. I will remain in the east, shoring up our borders, as well as dealing with any issues that may arise in the eastern provinces.”
“And, as both the Ferrata and Fulminata Legions are under my command,” Mucianus added, “it only stands to reason that I lead the expedition.”
“Seeking a little personal glory, are you?” Titus asked, a touch of derision in his voice.
This retort surprised many, for Titus and Mucianus shared a far more amicable relationship than the Syrian governor did with any of the other legates, and least of all with Vespasian himself. It was perhaps because of this the commander of the Fifteenth Legion felt he could be so outspoken. At least that is how Mucianus took it.
“If you wish to lead the expedition, by all means feel free,” he said reprovingly. “You are, after all, the emperor’s son and presumed heir. And if you should fail, or worse, be captured or killed, all we are fighting for will be undone. The prince imperial may be more expendable than the emperor, but only slightly. Your brother is already at risk of becoming a political prisoner in Rome, are you suggesting the emperor chance losing both his sons? If not, then I recommend we send a commanding general who is of no use to the enemy as a hostage should disaster befall us.”
“Enough,” Vespasian interrupted. “Mucianus will command the eastern division. He has the most troops involved, and command should rightly fall to him. We will send a dispatch to Antonius Primus, as well. Though I have little doubt as to where he stands, I need personal reassurance of his fealty. He is also in the best position to parlay with the survivors of the Othonian Legions, who I doubt are in any hurry to swear allegiance to Vitellius. That will give us a second division, with Primus the commander-in-chief. He will rally what troops can be spared from the Danube, along with any Othonian legions and auxilia regiments who declare their loyalty to us.”
This last directive caused Mucianus’ face to twitch. While in his own way he viewed Primus as a friend, he knew the general was as aggressive during war as he was unscrupulous during peace. It was no secret that Mucianus pined for the chance at martial glory, which he had been deprived of during most of his senatorial career. Still, he reasoned if Primus managed to field a large enough army, they could readily hold the Vitellians at bay, or at least bloody them enough that Mucianus’ army could readily finish them at their leisure. What he did not want, however, was for Primus to launch an attack on Rome and possibly end the war, before his own forces could even engage the enemy.
“Forgive me, Caesar, but I must speak plainly,” he said. “While I understand you wishing for both of your divisions to operate independently, I do fear that our friend Primus’ aggressive nature may get the best of him. Should he decide to invade Italia without waiting for reinforcements, he could end up losing a large number of our soldiers in the process.”
“That will be his risk to accept,” Vespasian replied. He knew of the rivalry between his two commanding generals and understood it was unavoidable. While he would counsel Primus to exercise both aggression, as well as prudence, he was reluctant to place either in a senior-ranking capacity over the other. He was putting a lot of trust in their judgment, and only time would tell if it was well-placed or not.
“Now,” Vespasian continued, “we need to get word to Primus but also to Rome. I want a small flotilla of three of our fastest ships to head towards Dacia, keeping along the coasts, and avoiding any contact with other vessels. Two weeks ago, I dispatched a single vessel with a message for the senate, formally announcing our intentions. I’ll not play the underhanded usurper, like Vitellius, who refused to even acknowledge the senate or the rule of law. I have made my declarations to the noble fathers of Rome and will let them decide where their consciences and loyalties lay.”
“It will be a bit hard for them to openly support us, what with Vitellius’ army hanging about Rome,” Titus observed.
“And that is why I have eyes and ears within the city,” Vespasian replied with a knowing wink.
Like Galba the year before, Vitellius was now poised to make his triumphant return to the city of Rome via the Milvian Bridge. And while many within the imperial capital were anxiously awaiting the arrival of their newest emperor, Vitellius’ advance guard had caused quite a disturbance within the city. As most of these soldiers came from places such as Gaul, Germania, and Belgica, they had never even seen Rome, let alone tried to navigate its maze of narrow streets, residential districts, and crowded marketplaces. The auxiliaries were particularly frightful to the local citizens, as many brandished large spears and wore animal hides over their armor. Their task was to find billets for their units, with many in the ranks now grumbling and asking why the army hadn’t sent men into Rome who knew their way around. The now-vacant praetorian barracks was the only military camp within the city and would prove insufficient for such a vast force. Even if cohorts erected their tents on the parade fields and took up every vacant space within the praetorian billets, it would still only house about half the army. The rest would need to find accommodations with the city’s populace.
“Even the tribunes and centurions seem to have gotten lost,” Caecina reported to the emperor, who sat on his camp chair in the large pavilion tent he was using for meeting with dignitaries. “And they’ve caused numerous brawls within the city.”
“That’s what happens when the entire army comes from places outside of Rome,” Valens said, with a shrug. “It can’t be helped. We have a rather large and unwieldy mass of men and camp followers with us, all converging on a city of over a million persons.”
“Well, let’s hope they don’t destroy too much of the capital,” Vitellius remarked. “It would not do to have my triumph marred by such unseemly conduct. But for now, we must prepare for my entry into the city. About how far away from the Milvian Bridge are we?”
“Seven miles, sire,” Caecina answered. “The crow
ds of onlookers are already swarming around the camp. I heard that earlier this afternoon, a group of men thought they’d play a joke on some of our soldiers by stealing their sword belts and then asking them if they had all their equipment.”
“I can’t imagine that went over well,” Vitellius said, his brow furrowed as he tried to envision the scene.
“It didn’t,” Valens spoke up. “Our lads became incensed and attacked them. They slew around twenty men, but at least they got their sword belts back.” He gave a rather morbid laugh at this, which Vitellius echoed. Only Caecina did not find it amusing. While he certainly had no qualms with his men giving a severe beating to any civilian who tried to play such a foolish trick on them, the fact that twenty men were now dead was rather disturbing. Their families would cry out for retribution, and they would find none. It was not the best way for the emperor to make his return to Rome.
“I have no armor,” Vitellius said, interrupting the legate’s thoughts. “But I do think I should wear my purple imperial robes with a magnificent spatha strapped to my hip. And I’ll ride my best horse, driving the people before me.”
“While that would make for a magnificent display, I think it would be unwise,” Caecina replied. “Remember, this was not a victory over a foreign kingdom or barbarian tribes, but over our own countrymen. To ride into Rome like a conquering general will be seen as grossly disrespectful, even by our staunchest allies.”
“I would have to agree,” Valens said, in an increasingly rare concurrence with his peer. “Ride your horse as far as the bridge, sire. Then make your way into the city on foot, at the head of your armies. If you do this while wearing your patrician’s toga, your victory will be magnified by your humility before the people.”
“Oh, very well,” Vitellius remarked with a bored sigh. “I suppose it would do me some good to stretch my legs a bit.”