The Peacekeeper

by Jess Steven Hughes

  The Watch, still charged with night peacekeeping duties and fire prevention, patrolled uneasily, and stood aside as the cohort passed through the winding, narrow streets. We hadn’t spotted one Praetorian detail. Near the entry to the Forum, the main approach to the Capitoline, the cohort encountered a squad of Watchmen barricading the Sacred Way.

  By the fluttering light of smoky torches, a haggard, rain-drenched optio raised his sword in challenge. “Halt!” he ordered. “Stand where you are!”

  Heading a detachment of only ten men, strung out between the imposing Basilica of Julia and the Basin of Curtius, the squad leader remained undaunted by the size of our force. “I command you—go no further!”

  Tension mounted. “We could easily wipe them out,” I said to Casperius. “But let’s try to avoid bloodshed.”

  “Aye, Commander,” Casperius said, “I’ll see if I can put some sense into his thick head.”

  Casperius approached the bearded optio and received his salute. “Optio, the Watch is under the jurisdiction of Prefect Sabinus and the City Guard. As tribune of the City Guard, and your superior officer, I order you to stand aside.”

  “I’m sorry, sir,” he declared, “but I have orders to let no one through.” He stood firmly as rain rolled off the cloak snugly wrapped about his large shoulders.

  The cohort’s senior centurion barked orders for his men to prepare to throw javelins and clear the way.

  “Don’t you recognize who this is?” Casperius said, gesturing in my direction.

  The optio squinted in the hissing light of a torch moved near my face. “Commander Reburrus, sir, but he’s navy,” he answered uneasily.

  I stepped forward next to Casperius. “I was navy, but I am again your supreme commander, and hold authority over the Watch.”

  Casperius nodded.

  “But sir—”

  I cut off the optio. “And as such I can relieve you as I choose. Use common sense, man. You’ll accomplish nothing by getting yourselves slaughtered.”

  The optio’s scarred eyebrows puckered, and his round face contorted. He looked to his men and then ours—four hundred raised javelins. He hesitated for the space of five or six heartbeats, no doubt realizing his refusal would change nothing, and pinched his lips together. He saluted. Exhaling heavily, he stood aside and returned to the barricade as ordered.

  The cohort marched forward as the rain gradually receded to little more than a crisp, gray mist.

  Rounding the west end of the Basilica of Julia, we saw the Capitoline tower into view, crowned by the Temple of Jupiter Greatest and Best and the Temple of Juno. The cohort trekked passed the basilica to the Temple of Saturn where I ordered a halt. In the rain, the Capitoline appeared nearly unguarded. Only a thin picket of scarlet cloaked Praetorians, hunching against the cold and dampness, patrolled at the foot of the south end of the hill. Despite our size and noise, the Praetorians seemed oblivious to our appearance. I gave the order to move at a dead run. The men slammed through their midst, like a sword through a melon, racing up the fabled steps of Clivus Capitolinus to the Citadel.

  Sabinus’s defenders lining the wall of the rocky Capitoline covered our charge, hurling bricks and tiles on the Praetorians below as we surged up the narrow steps. Not until the cohort was safely inside the main gate, and all men accounted for, did we relax.

  Greeted by a cheering crowd of soldiers and civilians, handshaking and backslapping occurred all around. In the billowing torchlight, I recognized Cornelius Martialis and received a crisp salute and hearty welcome. Now senior centurion of the City Guard, his once-youthful features had hardened into a grizzled face. But the glitter in his eyes still remained.

  Cornelius grinned broadly. “Commander Marcellus Reburrus, I didn’t think I’d see you again. Figured you were too smart to join us.”

  “Where is Prefect Sabinus?” I inquired.

  “In the temple, sir. You’re the last person he expects to see.”

  “No doubt, but I’m not going to allow him to stay trapped like a wild animal—that goes for the rest of you. Why is he still here?”

  “He won’t leave. We had the chance earlier, when the rain was heavier, but he refused—he even sent for his son, the young Sabinus!”

  “That’s madness.”

  “Aye, and a number of men have deserted. More would’ve if you hadn’t arrived.”

  I nodded. “I’ll find Sabinus. In the meantime, I need a place for my men to dry off and get a few hours rest—and food if there’s any.”

  “Yes, sir. They can use the chapel of Minerva. We’ve stripped it of some of its old timbers for firewood.”

  I encountered Sabinus in his magistrate’s toga as he slowly walked out of the torch-lit temple. Completely bald at seventy, bearing a face crisscrossed with lines and wrinkles, he had become an old man.

  “Marcellus,” he said in a surprised tone, as we shook hands, “this indeed is a pleasant surprise.” Weakly, he clasped my shoulders. “I am pleased to see the troops, but why didn’t you stay away?”

  “And leave you at the mercy of the Vitellians? I could no more do that than cut off my right arm.”

  “I did not send for you because my brother betrayed me.”

  “Vespasian betrayed you? Why?”

  “He has never forgiven me for holding the mortgages to his lands. I loaned him the money many years ago.”

  “Why is he holding it against you now?”

  “He has planted rumors that I want the Imperial purple.”

  “You? I don’t believe it.”

  “Pure nonsense. The purple is his for the taking. What few of my comrades left with influence will scurry to the mantle threads of my brother’s emerging powers. I didn’t ask for your aid because Vespasian may use your presence to validate the rumors. I don’t want you suffering my fate.”

  “It’s too late for that, now that I’m here. You don’t have to die—why not leave? With our forces together, we can hack through the Praetorians and escape. Now! Tonight!”

  “And abandon Rome? Never!” He paused for a moment, lowering his eyes and studying the temple steps. He seemed lost in thought, perhaps in conflict with his conscience.

  He looked up at me again. “I am as much a prisoner as Vitellius. That is what the Praetorians have made of him. The power has passed to my hands. Until Vespasian arrives, I must remain as a symbol of his authority, no matter how dangerous the threat may be.”

  I wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shake some sense into him, but didn’t. “You realize it could mean your death.”

  He shrugged. “Regardless of my fate, my brother is the best man to become emperor. If anyone can restore order to the empire, it’s him. This may sound trite, but I am the bridge between the old regime and the new. No matter how precariously it may hang between the two sides of a bottomless pit, it must not fall.”

  “For once you must think of yourself,” I insisted. “Rome will survive, whether you preserve the power or not. Don’t be a martyr for a city and an empire that doesn’t give a damn whether you live or die.”

  Sabinus placed a hand on my shoulder and looked me straight in the eye. “Marcellus, I am very old and have seen many things in my time. I know what Rome has done for me and to me and what she thinks of me. But there are many faithful servants within the government. Why do you think the empire continues to flourish despite the likes of Nero and how it stood in this last year of turmoil?”

  “Only the gods know, it’s a miracle the bureaucracy still works.”

  “It survives because loyal civil servants, freedman, and slaves keep the government functioning.”

  “All the more reason to leave, Lord Sabinus—the empire can get along without you.”

  “No, Marcellus, I won’t,” he said quietly. “What I have done is not because of the emperor, but for the majority of good citizens and free people throughout the empire—they are the ones who matter. It is they I serve. Would you want me to be any different? Would you rather see Gall
us the Younger or his kind in my position?”

  “Of course not.”

  “I am too old to change the habits of a lifetime, foolish as it may be. No, I will stay and die if necessary. My beloved wife died five years ago. Perhaps, it is time I join her.”

  Sabinus had sent me a letter in which he said Aurelia had suffered severe headaches, ultimately leading to her death. Her physician suspected she died from a brain tumor.

  Slowly a broad grin crossed his somber face and seemed to transform Sabinus into a lighter mood. “Who is to say I won’t survive? After all, the Capitoline represents Rome’s strength in times of crisis. It has endured far greater calamities than this. Don’t despair, Marcellus, there is still hope.”

  Arguing with Sabinus was pointless. In an earlier period, the Capitoline had held out against attack, but the construction of new tenements on one side of the towering hill since the Great Fire five years before placed the citadel in danger. Literally, the hill could be bridged from apartment roofs.

  A short time later, Praetorian reinforcements arrived, blocking any further escape. But like the earlier sentinels, soon they, too, became lax. The resuming downpour and an icy, sharp wind sucked away their vigilance.

  Certain there was no present danger from attack, Sabinus and I entered the Temple of Jupiter to dry off. As we stood around the smoky brazier beneath the marble pedestal that held the bronze giant of Rome’s supreme god, he related how the present situation evolved.

  “Since the first of December,” Sabinus recounted, “Vitellius knew his cause was lost. He came and asked that I intercede of his behalf with General Vespasian, hoping my brother would spare the lives of him and his family. He appealed to the memory of my close friendship with his late father, Lucius the Elder.”

  Sabinus agreed to help, believing enough blood had been shed, and negotiated an agreement with Vitellius. He would abdicate, and in return his life would be spared. The former ruler would receive a payment of one million pieces of gold and be allowed to retire at his retreat on the coast of Campania. Witnessed by members of the nobility, the treaty was concluded in the Temple of Apollo, as Vitellius requested. It was a sad day for both Sabinus and Vitellius. The former emperor, because he was humiliated, and Sabinus, because he pitied the son of his old friend.

  “Early this morning,” Sabinus said, “I called together at my home delegates from the Senate, senior civil servants, and men from the City Guard and Watch and administered the oath of allegiance to Vespasian and myself. No sooner had I finished when a messenger arrived with astounding news—the Praetorians and mob refused to let Vitellius abdicate! The Praetorians feared losing their paymaster and being replaced by Vespasian’s troops.”

  Dressed in gray mourning clothes, Vitellius appeared in the Forum with his family, and made a short speech from the Rostra announcing his resignation. The former emperor proclaimed he was depositing all aspects of Imperial Insignia at the Temple of Concord and then retiring as a private citizen to the house of his brother, Lucius the Younger.

  Except for the Sacred Way, both troops and populace blocked all avenues of departure. Fearing the mob and troops more than abdication, Vitellius reluctantly accepted the fact that he could not leave and returned to the palace.

  The news turned the gathering at Sabinus’s home into chaos. “I found it embarrassing,” Sabinus said as he continued his narrative. “Half the Senate and part of the City Guard were present. Now, in effect, we were opposing the will of the Praetorian Guard and the people of Rome. But I could not turn back.”

  The assembled nobility and tribunes from the City Guard urged Sabinus to action. He had been reluctant to take up arms and cause another bloodbath, but ironically, he did so to prevent one.

  “I concluded,” he went on, “it was too dangerous to disperse and go our separate ways. As individuals, we would be at the mercy of the Praetorians and the mob. Worse yet, there was no guarantee Vespasian’s troops would arrive in time for our rescue.”

  Sabinus assembled a force of less than three hundred troops, noblemen, and retainers, and boldly marched to the Forum. They never reached the plaza. At first, jovial mobs were happy to let them pass. But at the small Fundane Lake reservoir on the Quirinal, they encountered a desperate band of Vitellian troops. In a brief but violent skirmish, the Vitellians got the upper hand.

  Alarmed by the clash, Sabinus’s party turned westward to the Capitoline, with a raging pack of swordsmen nipping at their heels. “We retreated up the Gemonian Steps,” Sabinus continued, “through the Grove of Refuge to the Citadel, on the southern height of the twin-peaked hill. I managed to form the senators, knights, and guardsmen still with me into a defensive perimeter around the crest of the hill.”

  Many so-called Flavians, sympathizers with Vespasian’s cause, melted into side streets and alleys on the way. While a handful of women with children stayed near their husbands, cowardly men fled. Even camp followers remained, including the buxom Verulana Gratilla, who was attracted by the excitement. A prostitute, well known to the troops for years, she nonetheless proved to be a good fighter and an extremely brave woman.

  “The Capitoline was quickly besieged,” Sabinus related, “but not before I smuggled a message to Vespasian’s advanced forces. General Antonius is at their head, thirty-five miles to the north.” He grimaced with macabre humor. “I resorted to secreting the letter in the coffin of a dead man ready to be carried out of the city for burial.”

  By that evening, a stinging rain sapped the will of the Praetorians to maintain a close vigilance on the Capitoline. Without leadership, they soon grew careless. In his dispatch, Sabinus summed up the perilous situation at hand—they were without food and other provisions. There was no hope for victory unless relieved by Vespasian’s troops. His message implored General Antonius to march on Rome as quickly as possible.

  *

  The torrential rains had not relented since the arrival of the Ostian Cohort, and the number of Vitellians reinforcing the original pickets melted away. But we numbered too few to defeat them, and our only hope was delay until Antonius’s troops arrived. At best, his legions were not expected for another two days. At worst, they would never arrive.

  I used this time to send a message to Eleyne by a man chosen by Casperius.

  “I don’t trust any of them,” Casperius said, “but if any man can get through, he will. Just don’t expect him to return to this trap.”

  “I don’t care if he doesn’t, so long as he tells Eleyne that I’m here in Rome.”

  We waited for the dawn to tell our fate.

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 28

  Exhaustion seeped through every pore of my body, but I couldn’t sleep. As the rains waxed, I huddled at the brazier attempting to dry my uniform. About midnight, a slave delivered a message from Gallus, asking to see me at his home without delay. How did he know that I was with Sabinus? He must have received word from spies or his Vitellian cronies that I was with the force that smashed through the Praetorian blockade. And why did he want to see me? Had he decided to call in my debt to him? I couldn’t forget he had obtained Eleyne’s freedom from prison nearly five years earlier.

  I handed the wax table encased in citrus wood to Sabinus. Carefully, he examined the letter.

  “What do you think Gallus is scheming, Lord?” I asked. “Personally, I smell treachery.”

  He squinted his eyes and nodded. “No doubt he is planning something putrid. However, it might be worth learning what is on his mind. You could use the information against him later.”

  “A pleasure I’d relish.”

  “If you decide to see him, we will create a diversion. The women and children can escape with you. Thank Jove, most of the husbands persuaded them to leave.”

  “It’s worth seeing Gallus if we smuggle out the families. I never understood why they joined their husbands and fathers in the first place.”

  In recent months, I had learned from my spies that Gallus’s world was falling apa
rt. Three times during the last year, he had backed the wrong men for Imperial leadership. Certain that Nero’s days were numbered after the failure of the Pisonian Conspiracy, Gallus quietly loosened his ties with Tigellinus and his emperor. Gallus clearly feared their close association would jeopardize his life when the next emperor assumed power.

  It was common knowledge that upon Nero’s death, Gallus pledged his allegiance to the aged legionary commander and new emperor, Galba. But Galba’s impecunious nature thwarted Gallus’s attempt to gain influence with the old man.

  Otho was another matter. The foppish, young aristocrat borrowed heavily from Gallus and anyone else foolish enough to loan him money. When Otho became emperor, a delighted Gallus believed not only would he be repaid but would regain his influence at court. His disassociation from Prefect Tigellinus had been a wise move. Otho executed the dying, cancer-ridden ex-Praetorian prefect upon taking the Imperial Office.

  But within days of assuming the Imperial purple, the Army of Upper Rhenus declared Vitellius emperor. Discreetly, Gallus distanced himself from Otho until a victor emerged from the latest power struggle.

  When Vitellius arrived in Rome, Gallus again pledged his allegiance. But Gallus had lost millions of sesterces in his loan to the ill-fated Otho. Because three emperors had been elevated in less than one year, he cautiously decided to wait and see what befell the empire before further investing in its future.

  In the meantime, Vitellius proceeded to bankrupt the treasury, and a grateful Gallus offered sacrifices to the gods for not having offered his services and loans.

  Rumors said that Gallus had little time to savor his wise move. News of Vespasian’s declaration for the Imperial purple alarmed him. Should Sabinus’s brother emerge victorious, he would lose his head in the Proscriptions. Gallus had to act quickly if he were to survive.