Rome’s Fallen Eagle

by Robert Fabbri

  ‘They’re different?’

  ‘Yes. When my people came to this island – the bards deem it to be about twenty-five generations ago – the people we supplanted worshipped different gods; they had built great henges in their honour, ancient beyond reckoning. The druids dedicated these places to our gods but still the presence and power of some of the island’s gods persisted and they demanded worship.’ Verica’s face darkened and his voice fell low. ‘The druids took on that responsibility and uncovered their dark secrets and rituals; they keep the knowledge to themselves and they’re welcome to it; but what I know of it fills me with dread.’

  Vespasian felt chilled by the old King’s evident fear. ‘What is it that disturbs you?’

  Verica looked into Vespasian’s eyes; his gaze intense. ‘Some of these gods have a real power; a cold power that cannot be used for good.’

  Vespasian grimaced. ‘In the hands of priests?’

  ‘In the hands of fanatical priests.’

  ‘My experience of priests hasn’t been good.’

  ‘No one’s experience of priests is ever good, unless you happen to be one. My advice to you is to kill them all otherwise Rome will never hold this land. The druids will always be able to rouse the people by putting the fear of the gods into them; they know that there is no place for them under Rome so they will have nothing to lose by being your most implacable enemy.’

  Vespasian looked over to Cogidubnus leaning on the rail, watching the approach of the newly built wooden jetty. ‘Would your nephew agree with you?’

  ‘Ask him yourself, but yes, he would. He understands, as I do, that if we are going to bring our people into the modern world and share in all the prosperity that that entails then we have to look forward; the druids only ever look back.’

  Vespasian contemplated this as the ship slowed, nearing the jetty. His experience of Rhoteces, the duplicitous Thracian priest, and Ahmose, the lying priest of Amun, as well as the selfserving Jew, Paulus, who had usurped the Jewish sect he had once persecuted and had begun moulding it into an unnatural religion based upon redemption in some theoretical afterlife, had left him fully aware of the power religion had to stir men into fighting, and how susceptible that power was to abuse. ‘We shall have a hard journey west, then.’

  ‘With the druids opposing you, yes, you will. But you will also find men like me out there who have no love for them and would rather be subject to Rome than to priests.’

  ‘I’d hope that given the choice all men would choose Rome over priests.’

  Verica smiled. ‘Knowing their love of power, I think that the day the priests realise that will be the day that they start plotting to take over Rome.’

  Vespasian shuddered at the thought as the trireme gently docked to an accompaniment of nautical orders and hurling ropes.

  ‘You’d better hurry, sir,’ Magnus’ voice shouted over the noise.

  Vespasian looked up to see his friend climbing up the gangplank.

  ‘Why? What is it?’

  ‘It would seem that the Emperor is anxious to get his victory. Sabinus sent a message saying that Claudius’ reinforcements have just arrived at the Tamesis bridge in preparation for his arrival. He’s inspecting Gesoriacum and then he’s going on to Rutupiae and after that he’s sailing up the Tamesis; he’ll be at the bridge in two days.’

  Vespasian and Sabinus snapped to attention as a fanfare rose from the imperial quinquereme upon whose deck stood over a hundred senators, resplendent in their purple-bordered togas. Festooned in purple and complete with an imperial tent at the stern, the vessel was docked at a jetty on the southern side of the newly constructed wooden bridge across the Tamesis. Aulus Plautius marched to the foot of the gangway and saluted as it was lowered. The fanfare broke off and, apart from cawing seagulls flitting on the light breeze, an expectant silence fell over the two Praetorian cohorts and the four from the VIII Legion and their auxiliaries formed up along the riverbank with Decimus Valerius Asiaticus at their head.

  After a pause of imperial proportions the tent flaps were drawn back and a silhouetted figure stood in the entrance.

  ‘Imperator!’ cried a single voice from within the Praetorian ranks.

  The cry was taken up by all present, soaring to the sky, scaring off the gulls, as the acclamation of ‘imperator’ was heard for the first time on the island of Britannia.

  ‘He hasn’t even seen a Briton and he’s already being lauded as a victor,’ Sabinus shouted in Vespasian’s ear.

  ‘And the men lauding him haven’t even done any of the fighting,’ Vespasian observed before joining his brother in the accolade.

  As the chant grew, Claudius, complete with laurel victor’s crown and wearing full, imperial military uniform – purple cloak, goldinlaid bronze cuirass and greaves, a purple sash around his waist and with a purple-plumed, ornate helmet under his left arm – shambled forward, head twitching with excitement and right arm jerking as he acknowledged the crowd: a comic parody of an emperor.

  Vespasian was relieved that he could shout, otherwise he feared that he would burst into unrestrained laughter at the sight of such an unmartial man in such military attire. A sideways glance at Sabinus, who caught his eye for an instant, confirmed that his brother was having the same thoughts. For once in perfect accord, the siblings feted their Emperor.

  Narcissus and Pallas then appeared from the tent and walked hurriedly to catch Claudius up before he attempted to descend the gangway unaided. They each took an imperial elbow and guided their master down onto the jetty. Aulus Plautius brought his arm down from across his chest and, standing to attention, head and shoulders back, bellowed with the rest. Claudius approached him and, with much ceremony and saliva, embraced and kissed him.

  The chant turned into cheers as the Emperor held the general in his arms for a few moments before turning to face the troops. Claudius gestured for silence as Plautius stared straight ahead, trying to ignore the drool on his cheeks.

  ‘S-s-soldiers of Rome,’ Claudius declaimed, once the cheering had died away, ‘my g-g-gallant general has asked for his E-E-Emperor’s assistance and advice in defeating the Britons.’ He paused and gestured to the senators. ‘The Senate of Rome begged me to heed his call, saying that General Plautius has g-g-g-got so far but has r-run into fierce opposition of the kind that only I, your Emperor, can overcome.’

  The senators all nodded sagely, twisting their faces into expressions of theatrical relief. Vespasian cast his eyes along their number as Claudius stumbled on and was pleased to see the corpulent form of his uncle; Gaius shrugged as he caught his eye and carried on listening with exaggerated concentration to the Emperor.

  ‘So follow me, soldiers of Rome, f-f-follow me and I will lead you to a glorious victory, a victory that will be remembered for generations as the triumph of your Emperor Claudius over the barbarian hordes. I have come, I now see, I will c-c-conquer!’

  Claudius turned to Narcissus, Pallas and the senators, who all laughed obligingly at this pathetic paraphrase; Vespasian noted that his uncle seemed to find it the pithiest line ever uttered. The legionaries once again cheered their Emperor, pleased, no doubt, to have an excuse not to have to make an overt display of enjoying Claudius’ feeble wit.

  Vespasian and Sabinus joined in the cheering; only Plautius did not. He stood rigid, his neck bulging in anger, staring at the quinquereme.

  Vespasian followed his gaze: at the entrance of the tent stood the copious figure of Sentius Saturninus, which did not surprise him; what did surprise him was the man standing behind him: Geta. Vespasian nudged Sabinus and indicated to the tent. ‘How in Mars’ name did he get here?’

  ‘Ah! So that’s where the little shit has got to,’ Sabinus muttered. ‘I should have guessed. Soon after you went south, Plautius sent for him; he never came, disappeared in fact. He must have heard about Plautius detaining Corvinus and his guilty conscience told him that he was liable to share the same fate.’

  ‘So he ran to the Emperor to pu
t his side of the story first.’

  ‘And a very heroic side it will be, I’m sure.’

  ‘The bastard!’

  ‘Maybe, but he’s a sensible bastard.’

  Narcissus pointed at the horn-blowers and another fanfare blew, silencing the cheering.

  Claudius walked along the jetty towards the two brothers with Narcissus and Pallas following. ‘Ah! My loyal F-F-Flavians, the returners of the Nineteenth’s Capricorn.’

  The brothers bowed their heads. ‘Princeps.’

  ‘You have been outshone by P-P-Publius Gabinius who recently returned the Eagle of the Seventeenth to me. But no matter, your feat was useful; let your Emperor embrace you.’

  Vespasian tried not to wince as he was clasped to the imperial bosom and received an overly moist kiss on both cheeks.

  ‘Will you follow me as I drive the enemy from their strongholds?’ Claudius asked, having subjected Sabinus to the same treatment.

  ‘Yes, Princeps.’

  ‘We shall have a f-f-fine time of it.’ Claudius twitched and stepped back; he looked the brothers up and down appreciatively and then frowned. ‘What’s that?’

  Vespasian followed his gaze and put his hand on his sword hilt. ‘That’s my sword, Princeps.’

  ‘I know that weapon.’

  ‘Yes, Princeps, it was your grandfather Marcus Antonius’ sword.’

  Claudius’ eyes probed Vespasian’s. ‘And then it was my father’s and after him it went to my brother, Germanicus.’

  ‘That’s correct, Princeps.’

  ‘I know it’s c-c-correct! I know my own family’s history. I also know that when Germanicus died Agrippina wanted to give it to her eldest son but my mother, Antonia, refused her, saying that she would decide; but she never did. After she died I looked for it but it was nowhere to be found. I asked P-P-Pallas but he denied all knowledge of it.’

  Vespasian glanced over Claudius’ shoulder to Pallas; the Greek freedman’s normally neutral faced betrayed a vague flicker of anxiety.

  ‘So how did you come to own it?’

  Pallas caught Vespasian’s eye and shook his head a fraction.

  Vespasian swallowed. ‘Caligula gave it to me, Princeps.’

  ‘D-d-did he now? And how did he come to have it?’

  ‘I don’t know, Princeps. Antonia must have given it to him.’

  ‘I doubt it. It w-w-was common knowledge in my family that Antonia was going to give it to the person she thought would make the best Emperor; she didn’t by any chance give it to you, did she, Vespasian?’

  ‘No, Princeps; as I said, Caligula gave it to me.’

  Claudius studied him for a short while, twitching frantically and dribbling from the corner of his mouth. ‘Well, he had no right to.’ He held out a shaking hand. ‘Seeing as I’ve come to wage war it is only right for me to do so with my family sword; give it to me.’

  Without hesitation, Vespasian unclipped the scabbard from his baldric and passed it to Claudius.

  ‘Thank you, legate. I wouldn’t like to think that my mother gave it to you; you haven’t got the b-b-blood of the Caesars in you.’

  ‘Indeed not, Princeps.’

  ‘G-g-good. We’ll say no more ab-about it.’ Claudius drew the sword and examined the blade, tracing the engraved name of his grandfather. ‘A noble blade now back where it belongs.’ He lifted it above his head with ridiculous theatricality and addressed the troops. ‘With the sword of my sires I lead you to war.’

  To cries of ‘Hail Caesar!’ he lurched off towards a quadriga, harnessed to four white horses, waiting for him on the bridge.

  ‘Did our master catch you fibbing, colleague?’ Narcissus enquired of Pallas.

  ‘Never, my dear Narcissus, it must have been exactly as Vespasian said; wasn’t it, Vespasian?’

  ‘Exactly, Pallas.’

  Narcissus raised an eyebrow at Pallas. ‘I do hope so; you know how nervous he is about plots against him. We wouldn’t want Claudius thinking that your protégé harbours any unrealistic ambitions.’ With a courteous inclination of the head to the two brothers he followed his master.

  ‘Never let the truth be known, Vespasian,’ Pallas warned as he passed. ‘Messalina has Claudius seeing threats everywhere to distract from herself. He’s becoming irrational; executions have already started.’

  ‘What was that all about?’ Sabinus asked as Pallas walked away.

  ‘That, brother, was about people reading too much into a simple gift.’

  ‘So Antonia did give it to you, despite her saying that she would only give it to the person she thought would make the best Emperor?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well then, what if she was right?’

  ‘How could she be? We don’t have the blood of the Caesars.’

  ‘The blood of the Caesars? How long is that going to last?’

  As Claudius began to lead his army across the bridge Vespasian watched the heir to Gaius Julius Caesar follow in the great man’s footsteps to the northern bank of the Tamesis and was struck by just how much the bloodline had deteriorated. How long could it last? And when it finally failed whose would replace it?

  Again, the ludicrous thought that he had tried to suppress came to his mind. ‘Why not?’ he muttered to himself. ‘Why not indeed?’

  ‘Dear boys,’ Gaius Vespasius Pollo boomed as the senators filed off the ship, ‘I’m relieved to see you with all your limbs in place.’ He slapped an arm around each of their shoulders, led them away from the crowd and lowered his voice. ‘Thank the gods this ghastly affair is almost over; it’s been almost insupportable listening to that drooling fool going on about how grave the situation must be if Plautius felt it necessary to call for him.’

  Vespasian frowned, curling his lip in disbelief. ‘You mean he actually believes this farce, Uncle?’

  ‘Believes it? He’s convinced that only he can save the whole endeavour from becoming an even worse defeat than Teutoburg. He’s been going on about how fortunate Rome is to have an emperor who has read every military history and manual written and has a complete understanding of the strategy and tactics of warfare.’

  ‘Is that why he’s brought half the Senate with him, so that he can show off his martial prowess to a flock of sycophants?’

  ‘Don’t be such a hypocrite, dear boy; I’ve seen you practise the life-lengthening art of sycophancy with tremendous skill. But to answer your question: no; at least that’s not the main reason. We’re here to ensure our good behaviour; Claudius’ insecurity means that he wants to keep the people that he distrusts the most, closest.’

  ‘So why are you here? You’ve never done anything but enthusiastically support whoever’s in power.’

  Gaius laughed without humour. ‘I know, but you’re both commanding legions; I’m here to remind you of the fact that your families are at Claudius’ mercy back in Rome, should you think of misusing your legionaries.’

  ‘But Narcissus—’

  ‘Dear boy, this has nothing to do with Narcissus; this is purely Claudius, he’s got a taste for power and blood and he enjoys savouring them both to feed his paranoia. He’s executed more senators and equites in his first two years than Caligula did.’

  ‘If he’s so worried about his position why did he leave Rome?’

  ‘It’s a gamble, I agree; but every senator who has been left behind has a kinsman here under Claudius’ eye. And he’s left Lucius Vitellius, who was his colleague in the consulship for the first part of this year, nominally in control of Rome – although in practice Callistus will make the decisions as he’s the only one left in the city who understands how the enormous bureaucracy that he and his fellow freedmen have created works. Claudius feels that he can trust Vitellius because he’s a favourite of Messalina; so the Venus only knows what that little whore will get up to whilst her husband’s away and Vitellius turns a blind eye.’

  ‘Is she as bad as that?’ Sabinus asked, evidently interested. ‘Narcissus mentioned that she was rather willing,
to say the least.’

  ‘Rather willing? She’s a female Caligula; anyone who spurns her advances finds themselves accused of treason. She’s got her husband so obsessed about the Senate plotting against him that they’re almost invariably convicted.’ He waved a hand at the passing senators. ‘She’s sucked the cock of every one of these men under the age of fifty and Claudius won’t see it. I can only thank the gods that I am past my prime otherwise I would be subject to the intolerable ministrations of that harpy. You watch yourselves when you come back to Rome or she’ll have you in her web; but if you’re sensible you’ll both stay away for as long as possible.’

  Vespasian cast a questioning look at his brother, who, understanding, nodded his agreement. ‘I think that Narcissus has plans for her—’

  Gaius’ hand moved from Vespasian’s shoulder to his mouth, clamping it shut, with surprising swiftness. ‘I don’t want to know! I want to live out the few years remaining to me in blissful ignorance of imperial politics as I intend to die in my bed and not in my bath with my blood swirling around me. The only reason that I attend the Senate any more is because of the intolerable situation at home.’

  ‘Flavia?’

  ‘Yes, she and your mother do not see eye to eye and both look to me to adjudicate their petty female squabbles; unfortunately I don’t have enough correspondence to keep me in my study all evening so I’m forced to face them for an hour or two each day.’

  Sabinus laughed as they watched the last of the troops cross the bridge. ‘It looks like you’re going to have to take on the expense of a house, brother, for the sake of our uncle’s sanity.’