Avenger of Rome (Gaius Valerius Verrens 3)

by Douglas Jackson

  ‘A single word from you and there would be a new Emperor,’ Valerius continued. ‘Mucianus poses no threat as long as we act together. We know Vespasian’s views. You have already blunted the Parthian threat. A single legion each to contain Judaea and maintain order in Syria and you could march east with an army. You already have Asia. The Danuvius legions would not stand in your way. Those on the Rhenus are in disarray, already on the brink of mutiny. Galba in Spain is too timid and the British legions too far away to react. The door is open to Rome. Nero has betrayed his people. He no longer deserves to be Emperor, perhaps he never did. Act now and the Empire will have the Emperor it has always deserved.’

  ‘It is true, Father.’ Domitia buried her head in Corbulo’s chest. ‘You must, or …’

  Corbulo laid his hand upon her head and ran his fingers through her dark hair. For the first time Valerius saw him as a father; loving, compassionate and caring. When he looked around at the men in the room his eyes were filled with an infinite sadness and Valerius knew immediately that they were defeated before they had even begun. ‘Have you forgotten, daughter, what I always taught you? That a Corbulo does not have the luxury of choice … only duty.’

  Accompanied by the sound of Domitia’s sobbing, he addressed Valerius directly.

  ‘I need give you no reason for keeping faith with my Emperor, but your loyalty to me as a commander and a soldier deserves that I should. On the day of the tribune Tiberius Crescens’s execution,’ the grey eyes met Valerius’s and he would always believe he saw regret there, ‘I swore on my life in front of my soldiers that I would serve the Emperor, but even if it were not so I would never use what power I have to start a civil war that would ravage this Empire and bring its people nothing but sorrow. No man will ever be able to say that Gnaeus Domitius Corbulo was responsible for pitching Roman against Roman. All it would take is for a single commander to stand against me and the flames of war would be lit. Nero is no fool. If we reached the gates of Rome without conflict, he would bar them against us. He still has the support of the Guard and the mob. Perhaps they would throw down their swords and their cudgels and shout “Corbulo for the purple”, but even if I knew it to be so I would not march.’ He pressed his lips against Domitia’s dark tresses. ‘Because a Corbulo does not have the luxury of choice … only duty.’ He turned to his generals. ‘Return to your legions and continue as normal. This conversation is forgotten. I pray you give General Mucianus the same loyalty you have always given me. Leave us now.’

  Traianus would have argued, but Collega took him by the arm. Fulvus walked out with his head bowed. Valerius rose to follow them.

  ‘Stay, Valerius. Spaniard? Arrange fresh clothes, food and a bath for your master on my authority, while I still have it. Take my daughter with you.’ Domitia reluctantly prised herself from her father and with a tear-stained glance at Valerius obediently left the room.

  Corbulo sighed and slumped into his chair. ‘I have failed her. If only she had been a son …’ He gestured. ‘Pour us some wine.’

  Valerius went to the table and poured from a jug into two cups. He handed one to the general, but before the other man could drink he took a sip from his own. Corbulo laughed. ‘Still loyal after all you have suffered, Valerius? Perhaps it would be better for us both if it was poisoned.’

  Caesar’s Tower stood on the table beside the jug and he picked up the small blue token, rubbing it thoughtfully between his fingers. As he did so, he studied the younger man; despite the filthy, stained tunic, matted beard and hair that looked as if it had been cut with a blunt sword, he still somehow managed to retain his nobility and his authority. The carved wooden hand which defined him an enhancement rather than a diminution.

  ‘He has me between two stones.’ He set the blue token between a pair of the larger whites. ‘On the one hand he knows, despite everything, that he has my loyalty. He fears me, yet he still trusts me to do his bidding. On the other, he holds my family, my estates and the future of the name Corbulo in his grasp. He understands that I will not jeopardize them. He calls me to Athens because he cannot afford to have me in Rome, for fear of a popular uprising which neither he nor I would have the power to stop.’ He shook his head and his voice filled with exasperation and anger. ‘Can he not understand that by ridding himself of me he risks starting the very thing he is trying to avoid? As long as he had my loyalty and my legions no man dared act against him, because they knew that, wherever they struck from, Corbulo would act, and act decisively. They knew that the very name Corbulo would dismay their soldiers and that one legion of Corbulo’s was a match for any two others. He may rejoice when he hears of my passing, though I doubt it, for I feel Tigellinus’s hand in this, but he will be wrong. For with my downfall the sands of time begin to run out for Nero Augustus Germanicus Caesar. What general is safe if Corbulo is not? What advantage in staying loyal when the next courier may carry your death warrant? Already there are stirrings in Gaul. The Rhenus legions will stay loyal to whoever pays them, but what will they do when they discover a denarius is barely worth three sestertii because of his excesses? Even a doddering fool like Galba in Hispana thinks it is safe to talk of the “need for change”, while the degenerate Otho whispers encouragement in his ear. While I live Vespasian will heed my advice; when I am gone his ambitions may overcome his judgement. The fleet he prepares for the subjugation of Judaea could as well land on the beaches at Ostia. Nero is no soldier. He is barely a man; poorly advised and easily led. I pity him when he looks from his window and sees Rome burning and cries, “Where is my Corbulo?”’

  ‘Then act,’ Valerius pleaded. ‘It is still not too late. Recall Traianus and gather the legions.’

  Corbulo smiled sadly. ‘Would you have me break my promise to the soldiers who put their faith in me? Would you have me betray the memory of young Crescens over whose dying body I made it? What kind of man would that make me? Not the man I wish to be remembered as.’ He held Valerius’s gaze. ‘There is another message in the letter. A suggestion that if I take a certain course of action I need not fear for my family or my reputation.’

  The room seemed steeped in shadow with the two men at its centre and the darkness closing in. Valerius said nothing. They both knew what the suggestion was. His mind filled with an image of Seneca. He’d heard that the old man had slowly bled to death in his bath still dictating modifications to his books.

  ‘You should know that is the course I intend to take.’ Valerius opened his mouth to protest, but Corbulo raised a hand. ‘I will not go to Greece to grovel before that man. And that is why I need your aid, Valerius. Nero gives assurances that no harm will come to Domitia. I believe he is in earnest, for with all his faults he is not cruel, but I do not trust Mucianus. I fear that in his zeal the commander of the Sixth might wish to rid his province of a potential irritant, a focus for discontent. You must carry Domitia to safety. Before you decide, you should know that the dispatch from Rome contained a second command. One which fatally affects the future of Gaius Valerius Verrens. I have served Rome all my life and have never deviated from a direct order, but I choose not to see this one. It …’

  ‘… does not matter what it says. I will escort the lady Domitia wherever you wish and keep her safe if it costs me my life.’

  The general nodded. ‘I am glad I have not mistaken you. Mucianus would have had you dead on that first day, for reasons which are clear now. But a man does not become a Hero of Rome by playing the spy, and there was another reason why you were spared. I recognized the regard in which my daughter held you.’ His words were followed by a momentary silence while Valerius weighed their true implications. ‘You pledged yourself to me then. Now I must ask another promise. Domitia is betrothed to a young man of good prospects and good character. Promise me you will do nothing to jeopardize that betrothal.’ So he had known. Of course he had known. ‘This is not a general’s orders, but a father’s entreaty. I must know that not only her life but her future is safe.’

  ‘I pr
omise it.’ Did the words really emerge as a choked snarl?

  Corbulo lowered his head, so Valerius couldn’t read his eyes. ‘You may leave me now. I have work to complete, but return in one hour. The guards have orders to allow you entry. I have arranged passage under false names on a galley for Alexandria and drafted a letter to General Vespasian outlining the situation. He will know what to do. Now, send Domitia to me.’

  Valerius spent the next hour with Serpentius explaining the general’s arrangements while he bathed, dressed in a fresh tunic and shaved. He and Domitia would travel as man and wife, with Serpentius as their servant. ‘We’ll be merchants, reasonably well off, but not rich enough to attract attention, and we travel light. The lady may be accompanied by her slave girl, but she can take enough baggage only for a single pack horse; tell her I suggest money and jewels, anything that is small, portable and valuable. She can replace her wardrobe in Alexandria.’

  The Spaniard winced. ‘Tell her?’

  ‘All right, I’ll tell her myself. Mucianus will track us down and it’s possible that even Vespasian won’t be able to protect us. We have to be prepared for that. We may have to run again.’ He sent Serpentius into the city to buy appropriate clothes and food for the sea voyage. Then he went back to Corbulo.

  Domitia was leaving the general’s room when he reached it. She was clutching a piece of parchment, but as he held out a hand to her she looked at him with a mixture of anguish and disbelief and he was forced to watch her retreating back as she fled to her quarters.

  He found Corbulo at his desk, dressed in a senator’s toga with its broad purple stripe. The general’s eyes were fixed on the gladius that lay on the worn desktop as if the gleaming iron had hypnotized him. At first Valerius thought it was a simple soldier’s sword, with a leather-wrapped wooden grip and an iron blade the length of a man’s forearm. Then he noticed the familiar silver pommel with the Medusa head. The triangular point was bright from recent sharpening. Still, for all its pedigree it was the weapon that had won Rome control of the world. A killing weapon.

  Corbulo saw his look. ‘Yes. A sword that has never been dishonoured. Is it not fitting?’ He closed his eyes. ‘I can remember the first man I killed. A tribesman on the Rhenus who objected to my cohort burning his village. It seems a long time ago. A lifetime.’ His voice was flat and arid, like the desert wind hissing across a billion grains of sand. ‘You understand why I have brought you here?’

  The atmosphere in the room was suffocating, the last moments before a thunderstorm; the very air crackled with energy. Valerius found he had lost the capacity for speech, but the choked sound that emerged from his throat was confirmation enough.

  ‘I will not die like some geriatric in a warm bath. But I do not wish to die alone.’ Corbulo looked up sharply. ‘It is not fear. I have come to value your … companionship. A soldier’s companionship.’

  He moved to pick up the sword, but it was as if it had just emerged from a furnace and his hands recoiled from the heat. Valerius noticed them shaking and looked away, but a whispered word brought him back to the man at the desk.

  ‘Failure.’ Rome’s greatest general raised his eyes to meet his gaze and the bleakness there tore Valerius’s heart. ‘I have been a failure. A dozen battles, a thousand skirmishes, ten thousand dead, and for what? A general has his day in the sun. An Emperor bathes in his glory. Nothing. The same terms we had been offered by the Armenians and the Parthians ten years ago. The only true victory was the last battle against Vologases and Nero intends to wipe … it … from … history. No honours for the brave, living or dead, just a sandy grave and a secret order that no man who fought at Cepha should ever be allowed to return to Rome.’ His features contorted as if he could already feel the iron in his heart. ‘A failure and a coward. I was too afraid to lose my honour to do what was right. A Corbulo does not have the luxury of choice? A Corbulo is only a man and every man has a choice.’

  ‘It is not too late.’ Valerius was never sure whether he spoke the words, but, in any case, Corbulo ignored them.

  ‘They would have followed me, but I failed them. I should have stood before my legions and accepted their acclamation and marched on Rome. You were right. Vespasian would have covered my rear, the eagles would have flocked to my standard and I would have been Emperor before Nero ended his final performance in Greece.’

  ‘It is not too late.’

  Corbulo looked up and said, ‘It is time.’ Now the hand that picked up the gladius was steady. He moved to a padded couch by the window, where he lay back, his eyes fixed on the ornate ceiling. Valerius could hear birds singing. He wanted to scream at them to stop.

  ‘Strange how the world has never seemed so bright.’ The general laid the sword aside and pulled back the folds of the toga to reveal a pale expanse of skin. ‘Here?’

  ‘No,’ Valerius said gently, pulling the folds lower. ‘Here.’

  Corbulo picked up the sword again and placed the point against his stomach, just below the breastbone, and angled it up towards his heart. Valerius turned his head, not wanting to see. He waited, but nothing happened for a few moments until the silence was broken by a whisper.

  ‘I am not sure whether I have the strength.’

  Valerius took a deep breath and turned to find Corbulo’s eyes on him. He shook his head. Do not ask it.

  ‘Would you deny me the mercy you showed my assassin?’

  He didn’t answer because there was no answer.

  ‘Place your hand over mine.’ In a dream he sat on the edge of the couch and wrapped his fingers around the shaking hands that held the sword hilt. They were bony and cold, an old man’s hands. Instinctively, Valerius adjusted the angle of the sword a little and Corbulo muttered a quiet ‘thank you’. ‘On the count of three.’

  Valerius looked into his general’s face and saw a mixture of gratitude and apprehension. Sweat dimpled his brow, but there was no fear. He had followed this man to the very heart of war and he would have followed him to the grave if he had only asked.

  ‘One.’

  He closed his eyes and took a breath.

  ‘Two.’

  The hands beneath his fingers tightened their grip.

  ‘THREE.’

  With all their combined strength they forced the sword into Corbulo’s resisting body. Valerius felt the moment the point sliced through the outer layers of flesh and into the sucking grip of the muscles just below the surface, then the moment of freedom before it found the beating heart. Corbulo gasped and let out a long agonized groan as the iron entered the very centre of his being. His whole body shuddered, but still the hands beneath Valerius’s fingers forced the sword ever deeper into the pulsing muscle that held his soul. The shuddering intensified, and then, with a final sigh, he was free. It happened so quickly, that irreversible journey from life to death, that Valerius barely registered it. A towering beacon extinguished for ever in a single moment. Rome’s greatest general, her greatest hope, was gone, sacrificed on the altar of her Emperor’s paranoia.

  He tried to stand, but his shaking legs wouldn’t hold him, so he sat, motionless, filled with a terrible emptiness. His mind screamed at him that time was running out; he must get to the galley with Domitia before Mucianus or one of his agents learned of Corbulo’s death. Still his body would not obey. He was conscious of the still figure at his side, but he couldn’t accept it for what it was. The mighty intellect. The indomitable character. Gnaeus Domitius Corbulo had seemed indestructible. It didn’t seem possible that he was dead. In that moment he made a promise to himself that was more binding than any oath. If he had to travel to the ends of the earth or walk through fire, if it made him a traitor to Rome or an outcast of the Empire, he would avenge this man. Somehow, Nero would die. When the room eventually stilled and he was able to rise, he discovered that his fingers were still locked around the dead hands on the sword hilt. He used the wooden fist of his right to prise them free and walked towards the door knowing what it was to be old.


  As he reached it, a thought occurred to him and he turned to the cabinet holding Caesar’s Tower. He studied the pieces for a few moments, his mind automatically memorizing their positions. When he was satisfied, he picked up the small blue token Corbulo had favoured and tucked it into the pouch at his belt.

  Historical Note

  If Gnaeus Domitius Corbulo did fight a last battle, it has indeed been erased from history. Yet, as AD 66 drew to a close, all the elements were in place for it to happen. With his brother Tiridates in Rome embracing Nero’s dubious friendship, King Vologases of Parthia had one final opportunity to gain what he had struggled for more than a decade to achieve. The bulk of Roman forces in the east were entangled in a savage and bloody rebellion in Judaea that had forced Corbulo to strip the Syrian frontier of the legions which defended it. The road to Tigranocerta and Artaxata was open.

  The question I set out to answer in this book was why Nero, at a time when he was beset by conspiracies and with Judaea in flames, should have ordered his most loyal and respected general to commit suicide. There are suggestions in the histories that Corbulo had been implicated by his son-in-law in one of the plots against the Emperor, but this seems to be backed up by little in the way of evidence and certainly not enough to condemn him. Nevertheless, Nero gave the order, even though he must have known that by doing so he not only weakened his armies in Syria, Cappadocia and Judaea, but also risked turning the legions against him. If Corbulo wasn’t safe, who among his commanders was? Corbulo was, above all, a fighting general; his campaigns in Armenia are textbook examples of a soldier at the peak of his powers. Unfortunately those campaigns took place over several years and before Valerius would have been available to witness them. I needed a battle which encapsulated Corbulo the man and the soldier, and, let’s be honest, an opportunity for Valerius to do what he does best. Fight.