[Gaius Valerius Verrens 05] - Enemy of Rome

by Douglas Jackson

  ‘He won’t have gone to his uncle’s house.’ Valerius didn’t take his eyes off the soldiers until they’d rounded the corner. ‘That’s the first place the Praetorians would look for him. You said the last sighting of him was on the Street of the Ringmakers?’

  ‘So they say,’ the Spaniard shrugged, meaning believe it if you will. ‘An informer told the Praetorians that Domitianus hid in a temple of Isis and in the morning the priests gave him robes and let him take part in their procession. My Praetorian mate, the one from Twenty-first Rapax, reckoned that was where he ducked out of the parade.’

  Valerius chewed his lip. The Street of the Ringmakers was in Subura, and that was where they were heading. Vitellius had provided them with a pass that nominally gave them access to any part of a city scattered with informal militia checkpoints. Whether it would continue to do so depended on how much authority the Emperor still retained. Subura would give Domitianus the option of the Viminal or Esquiline gates, but Valerius doubted Vespasian’s younger son would risk trying to leave Rome now. What was the point when his father’s forces were coming to him? He would have friends in the city, but the Emperor’s spies would have a list of them and no doubt their homes had already been searched. But Subura opened up another possibility.

  ‘Not all of Sabinus’s urban cohorts were on the Capitoline.’

  ‘That’s true.’ Serpentius studied him with new interest. ‘But most of the rest were rounded up and sent back to the Castra Urbana.’

  ‘Remember that warehouse I told you about?’ They had reached the junction of the Vicus Patricius and the Via Tiburtina and Valerius took the right fork up the hill towards the Porticus Liviae. ‘The one where Sabinus kept them hidden?’

  ‘Won’t the Guard have searched it?’

  ‘If they have it’s just an empty building, but Domitianus will know about it.’

  ‘So you think that little dog’s turd could be skulking there?’

  Valerius increased his pace. ‘There’s only one way to find out.’

  When Valerius had last come this way the Vicus Corvius had been filled with bustling activity, but now it was deserted. The only sign of life was at the head of the side street that led down to the horreum, where two tough-looking men watched them suspiciously as they walked past. Valerius risked a glance and saw more men standing outside the warehouse doors.

  ‘Soldiers trying to look like labourers,’ Serpentius confirmed his assessment. ‘It looks as if not all the urban cohorts have been rounded up. You were right, but I’m not sure how much good it does us. Even if Domitianus is here we won’t be able to get near him without a fight.’

  ‘Maybe there’s another entrance,’ Valerius suggested.

  They continued along the street and down another that ran parallel to the one with the watchers. The storehouse must have stretched the entire block, because much of the street was a blank wall, with a single opening at the height of the second storey. From the opening protruded a beam hung with a pulley and ropes.

  They stopped and Serpentius considered the opening. ‘If we could somehow reach that beam …’

  But any thought of breaking into the warehouse was banished by the frantic blare of trumpets in the distance. ‘Cornicens,’ Serpentius said.

  ‘And not too far away,’ Valerius agreed.

  They ran back to the Esquiline Gate where a sentry stepped into the street to bar their way. Valerius showed him the Emperor’s pass and the man reluctantly allowed them access to the nearest gate tower. From the highest battlements they had a view across the sea of ochretiled roofs to the Campus Martius and beyond. His heart pounding, Valerius followed the line of the Via Flaminia past the distinctive conical roof of Augustus’s mausoleum and out towards the Milvian Bridge. On the far side of the Tiber a dark amorphous mass seemed to shimmer and twitch and he knew he was looking at an army on the march. As the seconds passed it became clear it was actually a meeting of two forces. A battle. He watched a section of the mass detach itself and flow haphazardly back towards the bridge. Marcus Antonius Primus had been slow in coming, but now he was here and in numbers, and the Praetorian and militia defenders who’d hoped to stop him were fleeing back to the city.

  ‘Look.’ Serpentius pointed north along the line of the walls, where the tombs flanking the Via Salaria had been swallowed by the ever-spreading suburbs. The great red-brick fortress of the Castra Praetoria stood to their right and from its gates century after century of Praetorians marched out to meet a second Flavian column approaching down the old salt road. The Spaniard let out a bark of laughter.

  ‘I don’t see anything funny,’ Valerius said.

  ‘I was just wondering who in the name of Mars’ hairy sac we were fighting for this time.’

  Valerius blinked. It had never occurred to him not to defend his city, but the Spaniard was right. They couldn’t fight Primus, because that meant fighting the Seventh Galbiana, the legion that had been his, if only for a moment.

  ‘This time we fight for ourselves.’ The words were uttered so softly that Serpentius almost didn’t catch them, but the determination on Valerius’s face carried its own message. And for Domitia Longina Corbulo.

  Serpentius hesitated as they emerged from the tower on to the street. ‘Domitianus?’

  Valerius had already made his decision. ‘We don’t have time. A few cohorts of Praetorians and Vitellius’s armed civilians aren’t going to hold Primus and his legions for long.’

  They hurried down the cobbled street in the shadow of the Old Anio aqueduct towards Subura and the Forum. When they reached the Porticus Liviae, Serpentius said he knew a quicker route. Despite Valerius’s reservations they dashed through alleyways and between crowded insulae until they reached the Scalae Caniniae, a narrow, fetid stairway that wound between the poorer houses clinging to the lower slopes of the Mons Opius. As they reached the bottom of the first set of stairs they met a file of soldiers and armed civilians. Valerius stepped back to allow them to pass and momentarily became separated from Serpentius. The men had their heads bowed, and some of the older ones struggled for breath after their climb. They were urged on with curses and threats by the veteran in charge, a sallow-featured legionary in a ragged red tunic and armour that had seen better days. When they came abreast of Valerius he ordered a halt and the grateful men stood panting as he approached the Roman.

  ‘I have orders to collect every able-bodied man for the defence of the city,’ he said sourly. ‘Join the rear of the file and we’ll get you a sword when we reach our post.’

  His tone allowed no argument, and he turned away expecting Valerius to follow. Instead Valerius pulled Vitellius’s warrant from the pouch at his waist. The soldier accepted the wooden plaque with a suspicious grunt and inspected it as if it was a tin denarius. Eventually, he shook his head. ‘The situation was different when this was issued. I need every man I can get to keep these bastard rebels out of the city.’

  Valerius let his face relax into a deferential smile. ‘But you said every able-bodied man.’ He flicked back his cloak to reveal the stump of his right arm.

  The moment the soldier’s pale eyes widened at the sight of the mutilated limb he knew it was a mistake. Valerius saw the elements come together as if the man had discovered the answer to some long-lost mystery. With a bitter laugh of disbelief his hand swooped for his sword. Beneath the cloak Valerius groped for his own blade. Too late. Two men grabbed him by the arms.

  ‘I know you.’ The words burst from the legionary in a rasping snarl and the sword point came up to touch Valerius’s throat. ‘Old Lucca never forgets a face, not a face like yours in any case, or that wooden fist you wore then. You were outside the gates at Cremona before that bastard Primus burned it. Only you were in uniform. A tribune, wasn’t it, but with a legate’s sash. You’re a fucking spy.’

  ‘No,’ Valerius insisted. Against such certainty, he knew there was little point denying his identity, but he had the Emperor’s seal. ‘Not a spy. An envoy to the Emperor. H
ow do you think I got this pass? Yes, I was at Cremona, but there are negotiations taking place that you should not interfere with.’

  ‘Negotiations,’ Lucca snorted. ‘The only negotiation those Flavians will get is a spear in the throat.’ The men closest to Valerius growled their agreement. ‘Right, lads, we’re taking this spy to the carcer where they know how to deal with traitors like him.’

  Valerius opened his mouth to protest, but a civilian with the pinched, feral features of a weasel prodded him with the point of his spear as a second man disarmed him. ‘Why not just stick him now? We’re needed on the walls.’

  Valerius could see the calculations running through Lucca’s mind. ‘Take me to the Emperor,’ he said desperately. ‘Any one of his people will vouch for me.’

  Lucca laughed. ‘We’re at war, in case you hadn’t noticed. The Emperor has enough on his mind without wasting his time with a spy. No, you filthy bastard, it’s the carcer and the strangling rope for you.’

  Valerius looked round, hoping to see Serpentius. The Spaniard was nowhere in sight, but he would not be far away. ‘Get to Aprilis,’ the Roman called out. ‘Aprilis will know what to do. And when you’ve found Aprilis go to Domitia.’

  ‘Less of your lip.’ Valerius grunted in agony as Lucca rammed the butt of a spear into his stomach and shoved him roughly down the stairs. ‘First section with me, the rest of you get on up to those walls and make sure you don’t let old Lucca down.’

  Valerius had been in the carcer before, and the stinking, airless atmosphere, thick with the scents of urine, vomit, excrement and terror, was even less welcoming now. Rome’s high-ranking prisoners were held here before execution. He doubted anyone would dare kill him without some sort of trial, but the inescapable fact was that he was trapped. The same pair of brutes who had tormented Lucina Graecina to her lonely, insane death stripped him of his sword belt and threw him in a barred cell at the rear of the prison. His only luxury was a pile of mouldy straw to sleep on, but he knew he’d been fortunate not to be flung into the bottle-shaped dungeon whose entrance was in one of the side wings. The jailers were unlikely to be shifted by threats or bribes, but he tried in any case, driven half mad by his inability to protect Domitia. ‘Don’t you know there’s an army on your doorstep?’ he raged.

  ‘We have served five Emperors, and if another happens along we will serve him just as loyally,’ the taller of the pair smirked. ‘Never let it be said the keepers of the carcer are afraid of change. Now stay quiet. It wouldn’t do to beat a gent like you, but we will if we have to. Your fate is sealed the moment you enter that door. The only question is whether you leave it alive or dead, and you have no say in that. Time means nothing here.’

  Time means nothing here. Valerius paced the narrow confines of his cell cursing his impotence and the arrogance that had made him show the one attribute that identified him as clearly as a brothel sign. Five steps one way, three the other, then another five. Did an hour pass, or two? His imagination tortured him. What was happening outside these walls? For all Lucca’s boasts, experience told him three cohorts of Praetorian Guards and a few thousand lightly armed civilians couldn’t hold out for long against Primus. Vitellius must negotiate, or the city would burn. But Vitellius was hamstrung by fear and a prisoner of those same Praetorians who believed they had nothing to look forward to but an early death. A vision of Cremona haunted him, the bloody streets and stacked bodies, the flames and the terror, the raped women and speared babies. It could already be happening just a few hundred paces away. The treasures of the Golden House would be their first objective. Domitia would be at the palace when they came and the fear of it made him rage and rattle the bars of his cage, to the amusement of his jailers. Wasted energy. He must conserve his strength and prepare for whatever the day would bring. Soldiers can sleep anywhere, and though it was only a fitful doze tormented by memories and foreboding, Valerius eventually slept.

  He was woken by hammering on the carcer door accompanied by the muffled sound of voices arguing. A few moments later the tall jailer walked in with a sour look on his face and the key to the cell in his hand. Behind him, grey with exhaustion, came Aprilis, his sword drawn and the blade still bloody.

  ‘You were fortunate your Spaniard found me,’ the Praetorian said, acknowledging Valerius’s thanks. ‘My comrades are killing all their prisoners as they retreat and they would have got round to you soon enough.’

  ‘What’s happening?’ Valerius asked as the jailer freed him, muttering apologies about his treatment – ‘a mistake has been made … unaware of your eminence, your eminence’. Valerius ignored him and Aprilis explained the happenings of the previous few hours.

  ‘We tried to hold them at the Milvian Bridge, but they pushed us back up the Via Flaminia into the Campus Martius. It was carnage. The civilian militia threw their weapons away and ran. One minute they were fighting beside us, the next the scum were cheering the enemy and helping cut the throats of our wounded. A flanking column attacked up the Appian Way, forcing the Campus to be abandoned. Not long ago I had word that the Seventh Claudia had taken the Aurelian Gate. It meant we’d been outflanked and I was ordered to withdraw a second time. The only good news is that we still hold the Castra Praetoria and that’s where we’re going.’

  As they emerged into the daylight one of Aprilis’s soldiers stepped forward and handed Valerius a sword. He nodded his thanks as he draped the strap over his shoulder. ‘I have business at the Golden House, but I will join you at the Castra Praetoria if I can.’

  Aprilis shook his head, weariness making him impatient. ‘You’ll never make it. The palace is surrounded and might already be taken. The only reason the Seventh isn’t here already is that our rearguard is holding them on the Velabrum. It won’t be for long.’ As if to confirm his words a roar swept like a wave between the Capitoline and the Palatine mounts, followed in moments by a stampede of retreating Praetorians along the Vicus Tuscus a few dozen paces away. Aprilis grabbed Valerius by the arm. ‘You’ll be no good to your lady friend with a sword in your guts,’ he said. ‘The chances are they’ll treat her well enough if she’s with the Emperor and his family. Stay here and you’re dead.’

  Still Valerius hesitated. These were his friends the Praetorian was telling him to run from. The two men were standing at the junction of the Sacred Way and the Clivus Capitolinus. At the far end of the Way he could see the walls of the Golden House where Domitia waited. But Aprilis was right. As well as the Praetorians streaming across their front, hundreds more were being forced back through the Forum. The centurion pulled him away in the direction of the Argiletum.

  Before they had gone a few hundred paces they saw signs that the Flavians had been ahead of them. Clusters of dead and wounded legionaries and Praetorians lay scattered across the cobbles. Blood oozed into the central gutter.

  ‘Third Gallica,’ Aprilis muttered when he saw the insignia on the legionary shields. ‘Where the fuck did they come from?’

  They cleared the Subura and started up the slope of the Vicus Patricius. Behind them, Valerius could clearly hear the sound of fighting as the Praetorian rearguard tried to hold back the attacking Flavians. He considered cutting across the Esquiline to try to reach the Domus Aurea from the north, but every way was blocked. Instead, they were swept along like leaves in a swollen torrent as more troops filtered on to the street from right and left to swell the seething throng, a certain indication that Primus’s legions were already in possession of most of the city.

  ‘Vultures,’ Aprilis spat as they ran past looters ransacking a jeweller’s shop.

  ‘What happens if the enemy already hold the Castra Praetoria?’ Valerius gasped.

  Aprilis turned to stare at him. ‘Then we die where we stand.’

  XLIX

  The Castra had not been taken. They cleared the Porta Viminalis, lungs burning and legs shaking with the long run uphill, and there it stood: huge and impregnable, a massive red-brick square with walls three times the height of a m
an studded with towers at regular intervals. It had been the Praetorian barracks since the time of Augustus, but it was a fortress too, with the largest armoury in the city. Now the survivors of Vitellius’s Praetorian Guard streamed from the Viminal gate or down the Via Salaria to make their last stand here. No surrender for these men. They were the veterans of the German legions who proclaimed Aulus Vitellius Emperor and they had no illusions about their fate if they were captured. Aprilis summed it up for all of them. ‘If the bastards want to kill us it’s going to cost them dear.’

  Valerius knew that if he refused to draw his sword against the Flavians he’d be condemned as a spy or a coward, and the outcome would be the same in either case. He had already seen one man, a civilian accused of signalling to the attackers, being executed, his head rolling in the dust of the parade ground.

  He tried to put Domitia out of his mind, but her face kept forcing its way into his head. His inability to protect her tore him like an almost physical pain. If he climbed one of the towers he would be able to see the roof of the Golden House, but he might as well have been in Parthia for all the good he could do.

  Aprilis found him a silver breastplate, and offered a scutum with the silver lightning bolts of the Guard on the face. Valerius shrugged back his sleeve to show the mottled stump of his arm. ‘All I need is a sword.’

  Valerius had plenty of experience of sieges. Preparations for this one were more hurried and less ordered than they’d been at Placentia, where Valerius and Serpentius helped see off Caecina’s legions. There was no shortage of pila, which lay stacked in bundles at intervals along the wall. What was in short supply were archers and artillery. The first could be relied on to make life difficult for anyone attacking the walls or climbing the big siege ladders, the second for breaking up the attacks with boulders the size of a man’s head or the devastating five-foot ‘shield-splitters’. But the most pressing lack was in manpower.