‘Sabinus is the Flavian insurance policy,’ he snorted. ‘They hope he will bear fruit if Vespasian fails. If the brother had ambitions for the purple I would squash him like a fly in a wine press. Sabinus is an aristocrat, with respect and support in the Senate. In some ways he is more dangerous than the man who tries to replace me. What is Vespasian but a one-time dealer in mules, who once commanded a legion and believes it makes him the greatest soldier in Rome’s history? Yet even now he cowers in Judaea and sends others against me. Should I fear him?’
‘You should be wary of him. The legions of Pannonia and Moesia …’
‘Are closer.’ He nodded, sending the great jowls quivering. ‘I understand that and have made my plans to oppose them. What are they, four legions, perhaps five? While the army of Vitellius will command the equivalent of eight full legions, twelve squadrons of cavalry and thirty auxiliary cohorts. Vespasian’s commander is outnumbered two to one; he would be mad to take on such odds. His only hope is to maintain his position until reinforcements arrive from the East. If he does, he will give me the opportunity to hunt him down and destroy his army.’
It was sensible military thinking, confirmed by all his advisers. Victory was certain. But it had one flaw, understood by both.
‘Yet you will not command them?’
Vitellius stiffened at the implied rebuke. ‘You know I cannot leave Rome now. I have too much work to do here.’ She bowed her head, but he sensed her mood. ‘You were right,’ he sighed. ‘I should never have let Caecina go north without Valens. Together their ambitions cancel each other out. Apart … In any case he is young and impetuous and not half the soldier Valens is.’
‘Not to be trusted, either.’
‘What can I do?’ He cursed the weakness in his voice.
‘You are the Emperor. For now, you must rule. Perhaps later a decision will be required. We will know when the time comes.’
She reached up with her right hand to touch his face, but before he could say anything a bustling presence entered the room. As if by an unspoken agreement Aulus Vitellius Germanicus Augustus and his Empress turned together and met their son with a smile. Ten years old, slim and dark-eyed, with a restless spirit and boundless energy, the boy, called Lucius for his grandfather, opened his mouth to speak before remembering his manners. He bowed deeply at the waist. ‘Stefanus says I have the finest philosophical mind since Seneca,’ he grinned. ‘We debated Aristotle’s theory that the soul is independent of the body. I argued that the soul is part of the heart and ruled by it. At least mine is.’
‘So you’re in love again.’ His mother shook her head in mock despair.
‘And how many times did he have to beat you before he came to this conclusion?’ his father asked.
‘I just thought you should know, and now I must go.’ The boy turned and ran from the room with a last shout across his shoulder. ‘I have a wrestling lesson with Livius and I’m late.’
When he’d gone his parents turned to each other and Vitellius flinched as he recognized the terrible sadness in his wife’s eyes.
‘Whatever happens,’ he promised, ‘I will protect you and the children.’
X
‘The situation has changed. I have a new mission for you.’
The solemnly spoken words of Marcus Antonius Primus came back to Valerius as he sat, death weary, studying the flat, marshy ground ahead. This was enemy territory. Every clump of trees or rustic farmstead could hold a threat. Yet the musical song of a soaring lark and the scent of fresh-mown grass made it seem as innocent as a stroll across the family estate. On the far horizon he could just make out the smoky haze that marked Aulus Caecina Alienus’s camp at Hostilia.
He’d spent a long night in the saddle by the light of a liquid moon. An escort of mounted spearmen had accompanied him part of the way from the general’s new base at Verona, but he’d been alone for the past five hours. Now an enormous mid-morning sky weighed on his shoulders as heavily as the burden of expectation Primus had placed there when he’d handed over the leather message pouch. An assignment so sensitive that even Serpentius couldn’t be allowed to know of it. ‘It must be delivered into his hands and his alone,’ the general had emphasized. ‘To do otherwise will lead only to death and disaster for yourself and this army.’
Valerius allowed the mare to drink her fill from a stream before using his heels to kick her forward, splashing through the clear water and climbing the steep bank. Of course, there was more. ‘Succeed in this mission and you can win it for us at a single stroke.’ Valerius had met the unlikely claim with the incredulity it deserved, but the army commander was insistent. ‘One man can change the fate of thousands, perhaps tens of thousands, and that man will be Gaius Valerius Verrens.’ For a few moments Valerius wondered if he was in a dream. It was as if he was living his life over. Tell him I will pay off his soldiers and his generals. I will do anything to save the Empire from the terror and the bloodshed that rides hand in hand with civil war. The words Otho had used before sending him north to Vitellius echoed in his brain. Fear had stalked him all the way through the mountains and the trip down the Rhenus. Not fear of the hazards and perils of the journey, which were real enough. Fear – the raw, terrible fear – of failure. In the end he had failed and the fruits of that failure lay, grinning empty skulls and grass-tangled ribcages, on the plain outside Bedriacum. It was through no fault of Valerius’s, but that did not help now. Yet he knew that on this occasion his fears were irrational, because it should be so simple.
Aulus Caecina Alienus wanted to change sides.
But why?
‘Why is of no import,’ Primus had insisted, his broad face red with concentration. ‘All that matters is that we take advantage. You will carry letters from me accepting his terms and arrange the formalities of the surrender.’
But here, as he rode with the rhythmic thump of the mare’s hooves in his ears and the heavy, bittersweet alluvial scent of the Padus marshes in his nostrils, Why seemed to matter quite a lot. Why would Caecina, victor of Bedriacum and newly appointed consul of Rome, abandon everything he had won and throw himself on the mercy of his enemies? Caecina had twice as many men as Primus’s tired legions. Could it be a trap? He thought back to his first encounter with the enemy commander in the shadow of Placentia’s walls. Caecina had been dressed in all the finery of a Celtic nobleman, with only the scarlet sash and sculpted breastplate to identify him as a Roman officer. Valerius’s first impression had been of a brightly crested barnyard cockerel, ready to crow at every opportunity and bursting with self-belief and ambition. But not a cockerel looking for a fight. Only the stubborn refusal of Placentia’s irascible commander, Gaius Spurinna, to negotiate had forced the commander of the Fourth Macedonica to make his impulsive attack on the city. Otherwise, Valerius was certain, the younger man would have been happy to talk all day if it had meant a bloodless surrender. Caecina was not a natural warrior, but he was the commander of at least four legions all led by men who had pledged their oath to Vitellius. How likely was it that he could carry them with him? How wide was the conspiracy? One thing was certain: if Gaius Fabius Valens, who had led the second part of Vitellius’s army from Germania, was with the army, Caecina would never have dared. Yet another aspect of Caecina’s character must be considered. He smiled as he remembered Spurinna’s opinion of the young general. Aulus Caecina Alienus could sell a wooden leg to a four-legged dog, but at heart he’s a backstabber. Time would tell whether Caecina was stabbing his Emperor in the back, or playing some trick that would send a knife to the very heart of Primus’s army. There was only one way to find out. Valerius must put his head in the noose once more.
His first problem was how to deliver the message directly into Caecina’s hands. Primus had supplied Valerius with the yellow cloak of an Imperial courier, and a forged message purporting to come from the Palatium reinforced his credentials. His main issue was that the bronze plaque confirming the messenger’s identity carried Galba’s name. It wouldn�
��t stand close scrutiny. Still, the courier guise seemed as likely as any to get him inside; once there he’d just have to bluff his way past Caecina’s bodyguard. Imperial couriers tended to be arrogant young men, proud of their horsemanship and driven to reach their next destination as swiftly as their horses would allow. A little rudeness wouldn’t be out of character. Naturally, he’d have to keep hidden the missing hand that identified him as clearly as a cohort standard, but he’d done it often enough before.
He gave his mount another dig in the ribs so they approached the massive camp at an appropriately urgent pace. Extensive marshes protected the flanks and the river provided a barrier to the rear. A single pontoon bridge allowed communication with more troops on the opposite side of the Padus. The sheer scale of the fort – it looked to Valerius about a hundred acres – was evidence of the presence of at least two legions, probably more. Deep triple ditches, filled with pointed stakes, and a substantial palisade surrounded the perimeter. He made for the gate that would lead to the Via Principalis and the heart of the camp.
‘Message for General Alienus from the Emperor.’ Valerius repeated the shouted refrain until he reached the gate, trying to look even more exhausted than he felt. Careful to keep the wooden fist beneath his distinctive yellow cloak, he used his left hand to wave the bronze plaque that confirmed him as a messenger even if the cloak was questioned. The sentries barely glanced at the token before opening the gate. ‘The general’s quarters?’
‘With the Fourth, in the far compound.’ The guard commander nodded him through and the relief was so intense he had to fight the urge to slump in the saddle. He’d crossed the first hurdle, but more dangers lay ahead.
The fort complex had been split into two major sections, each large enough to house a full legion. He took his time now, observing the familiar surroundings of the camp: the neat rows of tents, the granaries, horse lines, hospital and workshops, and the commanders’ pavilions. If he had to get out fast he would use the rear gate and take his chances with the bridge guards. Of course, he knew that if he needed to get out fast it was probably all over in any case. Things had gone well so far, but experience told him that might change soon. As he suspected, the inner compound’s sentries were much more alert and demanded to inspect the identification plaque. He saw them stiffen when they saw the Emperor’s name.
Valerius produced a tired grin. ‘What do you expect, the way they’ve been changing lately? There are thousands of us couriers.’ He shrugged. ‘I just got back from Thrace and they turned me round without replacing my plaque. They didn’t worry about it in Ravenna; why should it be a problem here?’
If they’d been suspicious before, the innocent mention of Ravenna had them reaching for their swords. ‘Sir!’ The guard commander ran across from his tent at the man’s shout. The sentry whispered something Valerius didn’t catch and showed him the plaque.
‘Get off the horse.’
Valerius shrugged and did as he was ordered.
‘You have a message for the general?’
‘That’s right.’
‘And you’ve come from Ravenna.’
Valerius nodded and the man smiled grimly.
‘Then you can give it to me.’
Valerius shook his head. ‘I have orders to place the message into the hands of General Aulus Caecina Alienus and no other.’
The sharp hiss of a gladius being drawn made Valerius tense. He made sure he kept his hand away from his own sword. Only a cool head was going to help him now. ‘If you don’t give it to me, I can always take it,’ the decurion assured him.
‘What’s going on, soldier?’ A young tribune marched from the direction of the command tents, drawn by the unmistakable colour of Valerius’s cloak.
‘This man claims to have a message for the general, but he doesn’t have a current identity plaque, sir. And he’s just come from Ravenna.’
The tribune looked Valerius up and down, taking in the tired eyes, the drawn features and the thin scar running down his cheek. ‘A little old for courier work, aren’t you?’
Valerius raised his chin and looked the man in the eyes. ‘It’s my life, sir. Born in the saddle.’
‘Your message?’ The tribune held out his hand.
‘Into the hand of Aulus Caecina Alienus and no other, sir. I’m sorry.’
The tribune grimaced and the sentries tensed. The moment could have gone either way, but Valerius held the young man’s gaze and eventually the officer grunted in frustration. He didn’t have time for this. ‘I’ll take responsibility for this man, decurion. Give me one of your sentries and tell him if the insolent bastard tries anything to take his head off. The general is expecting a message from Rome and he doesn’t like being kept waiting.’
Valerius followed the younger man through the tent lines towards the principia. He could feel the looming presence of the guard behind him and had no doubt that the soldier would follow his officer’s order to the letter. The big headquarters tent was guarded, as always, by the legate’s personal bodyguard and they eyed Valerius suspiciously. ‘Return to your post,’ the tribune told the sentry. He nodded to one of the guards. ‘You come with me.’
Inside, Valerius was led to a small waiting area where he removed his helmet and placed it on a bench. ‘Your weapons, too,’ the tribune ordered. ‘Slowly.’ Valerius carefully used his left hand to draw his sword and place it on the floor of the tent, followed by the knife that hung at his belt. He saw the tribune’s puzzlement at his reluctance to use his right hand. ‘Take the cloak off.’ Valerius complied and heard the intake of breath as the guard noticed the crudely carved oak fist.
The tribune frowned at the unexpected sight. He was a conscientious young man and he was tempted to tell this ‘courier’ to remove his strange ornament in case it could be used as a weapon. He was also wondering if he should take the now visible dispatch pouch by force. But something about the man’s face made him hesitate; a challenge that let him know if he wanted the message he’d have to fight for it. His legate was waiting and Aulus Caecina Alienus had been oddly tense today. ‘Watch him,’ he ordered the guard tersely.
Valerius heard a soft muttering beyond the heavy canvas divisions of the tent.
‘Bring him in.’
XI
The first thing Valerius noticed was that Aulus Caecina Alienus had dispensed with the exotic Batavian war gear that so endeared him to the German legions the previous spring. The young general wore a simple belted tunic and appeared to be reading a document on the campaign table in front of him, but Valerius sensed he was concentrating less on the words than on preparing himself for the meeting ahead. Cohort standards from the three legions Caecina and Valens defeated at Bedriacum lined the walls, and Valerius recognized the face of Aulus Vitellius on several of the pieces of statuary. On the far side of the tent hung a curtain that must conceal the entrance to the general’s living quarters. The only other furniture was a pair of couches arranged by a low table.
Caecina looked up and Valerius instantly recognized the handsome, fine-boned features he’d last seen at Placentia. The only change was in the eyes. Six months ago they had been over-bright, like a man constantly on the brink of ecstasy; now they appeared hooded and wary. A year younger than the messenger standing before him, Caecina Alienus had been, in quick succession, a favourite of Emperor Galba, one of Rome’s youngest legionary commanders, a disgraced embezzler of public funds, one of the two men who persuaded Vitellius to fight for the purple, and a victorious general and consul of Rome. Was he about to add ‘betrayer’ to the list for the second time?
‘You have a message for me from Rome?’
Valerius reached for the pouch at his waist. He felt the guard behind him tense and his hand slowed as he unhooked the flap and retrieved the leather case with the message from Primus. A seal of red wax, so blurred as to be unidentifiable, proved it was unopened. He stepped forward and placed it on the table in front of Caecina. The general looked at it for a long moment. Valeriu
s sensed that this was the moment of no return for the man behind the desk. Pick up the message and he was committed to whatever intrigue he had contrived with Primus. Of course, there was another option. Valerius went cold as he found himself the focus of the dark eyes. How much simpler, and perhaps safer, to leave things as they stood and rid himself of the evidence. Valerius saw the tip of the legate’s tongue flick out to moisten his lips before he reached for the tube of dark leather. His decision made, Caecina confidently sliced through the soft wax with a knife and pulled back the leather fold. Valerius slowly released the breath he’d held since the other man’s first words.
Caecina took his time over the document. It was in code, but it was his code, and long use brought familiarity. Of course, it couldn’t be used again, because he’d revealed the fundamentals to Primus during the negotiations of the past few weeks. As he read, he felt his legs weaken and was glad he was sitting at his desk. He had it all. Do what he had committed to in the earlier letters and he would be treated with honour by his former enemies. And there would be greater rewards to come, he was certain. Could he do it? He’d done it before when he’d persuaded the legions of Germania Superior to revolt against Galba in those terrible days after word arrived that Caecina was to be stripped of his command. Yes, he could do it. His mother once told him he could charm the birds from the trees and the clouds from the sky. He would charm these rough plebeian soldiers. The key was the centurions and junior commanders in direct contact with their men. Most of them would do anything as long as it could be portrayed, however implausibly, as patriotism. Convince them that their … that Rome’s best interests lay in ousting the fat man in the Golden House, promise them a suitable donative and they would follow him into Vespasian’s arms. The senior officers would be more difficult to persuade, of course – they held their own loyalties – but presented with a situation beyond reversal they would have no option but to comply. Or die. The two legions at Cremona, Twenty-first and Fifth Alaudae, were another matter, but he must harden his heart. They would join him or be crushed.
[Gaius Valerius Verrens 05] - Enemy of Rome Page 8