The Peacekeeper

by Jess Steven Hughes

  The emperor stiffened, but then nodded his head as if in approval.

  After finishing the reading of the will, Vespasian addressed the Senate. “This costly and tragic war has decimated the ranks of the army, Praetorian and City Guards alike, and much of Italy, including Rome. Many months, perhaps years, lay ahead in the recovery and rebuilding of our forces and our cities if the empire is to survive. We need good men at all levels.” He paused and fixed his eyes on mine.

  “Marcellus Tiberius Reburrus, we bestow upon you our gratitude for your devotion to Rome, and our brother, the late Titus Flavius Sabinus. We have further need of your services and talents as chief peacekeeper of the city. No one qualifies better than you, Commander, for the post of city prefect and chief magistrate of Rome.”

  A murmur of approval swept the Curia. The emperor nodded to the Senate, and silence descended upon the hall.

  “One must hold the rank of Senator in order to take command as city prefect,” he continued. “Therefore, after long debate, the noble fathers of this august body, with our approval, unanimously voted you to the exalted position of senator. In addition, they have bestowed upon you the title, Clarissimus, Most Illustrious Citizen.”

  I couldn’t believe my ears. Usually, the title was reserved for the most distinguished senators and the emperor. As one body, the Senate stood applauding. At that key moment, I didn’t think of glory, power, riches, and honor—but of my sons. I recalled the humble origins and royal blood flowing in their veins from our Spanish ancestors from the Turdetanian Tribe, who centuries ago fought, but were never conquered by the Romans. We became allies and now filled the ranks of her legions. I recalled my father, the first to earn Roman citizenship in our family. And Eleyne, my beloved wife, mother of our sons, still a princess, and true Queen of the Regni. And a Roman—although she’d never admit it.

  All my warrior ancestors played their parts in guiding my destiny to this offer. But unlike those before me, I could guide my sons away or towards Rome—forever.

  I thought about the pain and needless death suffered at Rome’s hands. Yet if only the right man could rise to power, he could make a better world. No Spaniard had risen so high, but a simple yes, and the path for my sons to inherit their seat in the world’s most powerful forum would be assured and in such a place where anything was possible.

  “Your offer is most generous, Caesar,” I answered, “And I’m honored you place such confidence in me.”

  “Then it’s settled,” Vespasian said, again leading the Senate in boisterous applause.

  I swallowed hard, took a deep breath, and carefully chose my words when the applause died down. “Great Caesar, I’m honored and deeply grateful that you have chosen me for the position of city prefect, and for admission to the Senate. They are offices to which I have never aspired. But please forgive me, Lord, I must respectfully decline the position of city prefect. As Caesar can see, I’m a virtual cripple and cannot adequately perform the duties required of such a high office. Therefore, with Caesar’s permission, I’m retiring from Imperial service.”

  Vespasian studied me. His weathered, round peasant face of sixty years gave no indication of what lay behind those calculating eyes. A smirk gradually creased his face. “Naturally, you have our permission. Of course, we understand and are disappointed, but your health comes first. We are sorry because your services will be missed. Nevertheless, you shall be elevated to the rank of Senator, whether you stay in Rome or go elsewhere.”

  “I’m deeply honored, Caesar,” I answered, bowing my head.

  “What are your plans for the future?” the emperor inquired in a less-formal manner.

  “I’m returning to Hispania, Lord Caesar.”

  “Of course, we should have guessed,” he answered with a wry smile and a sigh of relief.

  I wasn’t surprised by Vespasian’s reaction. I was sure he was happy that I would return to my homeland. He had offered the position of city prefect knowing I was too crippled to accept.

  “Before I’m dismissed, may I ask a favor?” I said.

  “If it’s within my powers, I shall grant it.”

  “I request the surviving guardsmen who fought to defend Caesar’s brother, Prefect Sabinus, be rewarded. And I ask that the remaining families of those fallen receive a pension. I need not remind the emperor many loyal men fought to save your brother, and your son, Domitian.”

  “They have earned the state’s gratitude,” Vespasian answered tersely, “and a benevolent compensation is forthcoming.”

  After Sabinus had warned me of Vespasian’s avariciousness, I feared the pensions would be a long time in arriving—and paltry at best. Sabinus was right, Vespasian had betrayed him. His troops could have marched into Rome in time to save Sabinus. I received word General Antonius deliberately held back his final assault until he received confirmation of Sabinus’s death. Although Sabinus had a son, Vespasian would be one of his brother’s beneficiaries receiving a substantial amount of gold and land. Only after Antonius was informed of Sabinus’s murder did he enter the city and defeat the Praetorians in a pitched battle costing thousands of lives.

  Above all, Rome’s mob had earned my disgust. Their murder of Sabinus I could never forgive, and their fickleness appalled me. When the advance units of Vespasian’s army entered the city and captured Vitellius, the city hordes meted out to him the same fate suffered by Sabinus, ripping his body apart. So long as they gorged themselves on free bread and amused themselves with the bloodthirsty games, it mattered little to them who was emperor. I attempted in my own way, as a peacekeeper, to bring law and order to the city and protect the people. But were the mindless hordes worthy of protection? My years of service and struggles to protect them had been wasted. I had nothing for them now except contempt and disgust.

  “Are there any other favors we can grant you, Senator Reburrus?” Vespasian inquired.

  “No, Caesar, you have been most generous,” I lied.

  “Then good luck, and may Fortuna and the rest of the gods smile upon you.”

  *

  It was almost noon when we left the curia and headed for home. The rain had stopped, but a chilly wind whisked down through the streets and alleys, between the buildings perched on the surrounding hills, as we crossed the near-empty Forum in our litters. Although I was bundled in woolen blankets, the chilly air crawled around my body like a series of icy fingers, sending quill bumps up my back and down my arms. I tightened the covers.

  We crossed the white-capped Tiber, and about half-way up Vatican Hill, I ordered the litter bearers to halt. The wind whistled through the bending poplar trees lining the avenue. The cold was so intense my face and ears felt as if being attacked by dozens of needles.

  Eleyne was in the litter behind me. Wearing a heavy stola and mantle, she got out and ran to my side. “What is it? Is there something wrong?”

  “No,” I said. Although I was sitting upright, I attempted to turn my body, barely moving my legs. “Turn me toward the city.”

  “But you’re freezing, your face is red.”

  “I don’t care, do as I ask.”

  “All right, I’ll help you.” Eleyne motioned to one of the big litter bearers and then reached inside. With his help, Eleyne pulled me about, and I faced in the direction of Rome.

  Shivering, I looked across the river, but for no more than the length of a couple heartbeats. I turned away.

  “Let’s go,” I said.

  “That was quick. What were you looking at, Marcellus?” Eleyne asked.

  “A city now dead to me. I will never cross the Tiber again. Once the weather improves we will return to Hispania.”

  Eleyne took my hand. “Rome has never deserved your loyalty let alone your love. You cared for her, but she was an ingrate, undeserving. Now you are in my care, the only true care you have ever had, forever.”

  I glanced beyond Eleyne in the direction of Hispania, seeing the broad latifundia in my mind’s eye. I watched cattle peacefully grazing on
the open range. Behind me, beyond the villa, steep cliffs overlooked the deep-blue Mediterranean, the surf pounding the pebbled beach at its base. Taking a deep breath, I knew this was where I belonged. My father had always wanted me to supervise our lands, and I will do so living in quiet retirement. I leave Rome to my sons, Young Marcellus and Sabinus, officers in the army. Perhaps, she will be kinder to them.

  Epilogue: 79 AD

  My husband, Marcellus, is dead of heart failure. In the ten years following his retirement, his bitterness mellowed. But he regretted being so naive about how poorly the state treated loyal servants like Flavius Sabinus. Yet, when speaking of Rome, he spoke with affection.

  He found it a puzzling irony that a Roman arrow, rather than a barbarian’s, ended his career. Marcellus believed he had accomplished many things but regretted he had not done more for the people of Rome. Perhaps our sons’ accomplishments will be greater than his. They are cohort commanders in the army he so loved and senatorial candidates. Neither the people nor the army deserved his love or care.

  In his last hours, he was in little pain and at peace with himself. During the last year, his health deteriorated at an alarming pace, and he desperately wanted to finish his memoirs. I don’t know if they are of any value, except in confirming the truth he witnessed in Rome.

  Marcellus said he received word that Emperor Titus’s court historians were revising the history of Rome, especially, the year of the four emperors. They placed the father of Emperor Titus, the late Emperor Vespasian, who died three months ago, in a light far more favorable than he truly deserved. They even erased all records of the attempted rescue by Marcellus and his cohort, who had attempted to rescue Sabinus from the Temple of Jupiter on Capitoline Hill. Why, my husband could not understand. I believe this particular piece of news was the final blow to his health.

  Marcellus knew his time was short. He never came to terms with himself for killing Senator Gallus. Although Gallus was on Vespasian’s proscription list, meaning anyone could kill him, my husband had an uneasy feeling that must have ached within his soul. I’m certain he believed God would forgive him. But he never expressed those thoughts to me.

  Now he is at rest, buried on a hill overlooking the Mediterranean he so loved to admire from his study. At this moment, he would be pleased to know the seasonal rains are mild, the seas are calm, and Rome . . . his beloved Rome . . . is at peace.

  Author Notes

  Author Notes

  Keep in mind this is a work of fiction, not history.

  We don’t know a lot about Titus Flavius Sabinus, older brother of Emperor Vespasian. We know he was city prefect of Rome and the historian, Tacitus, says he was, “quite windy.” He did die at the hands of the mob after being captured by the Praetorian guard.

  However, there was no rescue attempt by elements of the City Guard, assigned to Ostia, or any other military unit. Only Sabinus and a few followers put up a futile attempt on Capitoline Hill, which failed. I took historical license by having Marcellus leading a rescue attempt. You could say that if history did not play out this way, it should have.

  The temple of Jupiter Greatest and Best on the Capitoline actually burned as described in the novel. Most other events surrounding the battle for Rome are true. Vitellius was also murdered by the mob.

  Vespasian did not arrive in Rome until September or October, 70 AD. For the purpose of the story, I moved this to May.

  Marcellus Reburrus is a fictitious character. I wanted to use a Roman citizen for my narrator, but one who was an outsider with a different perspective. I settled on a Spaniard from the southern province of Baetica, one of the most Romanized provinces in the empire. Interestingly enough, by late first century AD and early second century, two of Rome’s greatest emperors, Trajan (98 - 117 AD) and Hadrian (117 - 137 AD), both Spaniards, would rule the Roman Empire.

  About the Author

  About the Author

  JESS STEVEN HUGHES is a retired police detective sergeant with twenty-five years experience in criminal investigation and a former US Marine. He holds a master’s degree in public administration and a minor in ancient Mediterranean civilizations from the University of Southern California. He has traveled and studied extensively in the areas forming the background of this novel, which brings vivid authenticity to the unique settings for his historical novels, The Sign of the Eagle, The Wolf of Britannia, Part I, The Wolf of Britannia, Part II, The Broken Lance, and The Peacekeeper. He currently lives with his wife, Liz, and their three horses in Eastern Washington. He is currently working on another historical novel from the first century AD, The Emperor’s Hand.

  Also from Jess Steven Hughes

  Also From

  Jess Steven Hughes

  ——

  The Sign of the Eagle

  The Wolf of Britannia, Part I

  The Wolf of Britannia, Part II

  The Broken Lance