Sword of Rome

by Douglas Jackson

  Valerius opened his mouth to reply, but the Emperor noticed the slim figure hovering by the doorway and for a moment the old predatory Otho reappeared. ‘You have not introduced me to your companion.’

  ‘May I present the lady Domitia Longina Corbulo.’

  The Emperor’s eyes widened at the name. ‘You are most welcome, lady, but I fear your father would have been more welcome still. A great man and a fine soldier.’ Domitia acknowledged the compliment with a slight nod.

  ‘The lady Domitia wishes to return to Rome and hoped you would be able to spare an escort.’

  ‘Of course.’ Otho smiled. ‘And she will also have my carriage. I find it much more agreeable to march with my soldiers than to ride past them like some preening golden peacock.’ He lowered his voice so that what he said would be inaudible to the other men in the pavilion. ‘It will also give me an opportunity to rid myself of an irritant. He came north insisting he would fight alongside his cousin, who commands my Praetorians, and I could not send him away for fear of insulting his father.’ He called to an aide. ‘Send me young Domitianus.’

  It took Valerius a moment to recognize the tall young man who appeared in the doorway. Titus Flavius Domitianus was dressed in a tribune’s armour instead of the tunic he’d worn in the garden outside Domitia’s house, but the look of loathing that contorted the pale features left Valerius in no doubt that he hadn’t been forgotten – or forgiven. The look lasted less than a second before it transformed into a puzzled, moonstruck half-smile as Domitianus sensed the identity of the feminine presence half hidden by the two men. Domitia’s mouth fell open and she darted a glance of dismay at Valerius. Fortunately, she recovered before the Emperor noticed.

  ‘But Caesar, I must not deny you the services of such a brave warrior,’ she said earnestly. ‘Surely you have a slave woman who could accompany me?’

  Domitianus was caught between preening at the compliment and alarm that his opportunity to spend an extended period with the woman whose beauty made the blood pound in his ears was threatened. Otho sensed some undercurrent and his face creased in a puzzled smile. He vaguely remembered the letter from Flavius Sabinus and the hint of some conflict between Valerius and this boy. For a moment he was tempted to accede to Domitia’s suggestion, but the chance to rid himself of the Flavian irritant was too good to miss.

  ‘No, I insist. This young nobleman will protect you and entertain you on your journey, although I agree that you must have a woman to attend you. We will find a slave of suitable age and ability to accompany you in the carriage. You will leave after dawn.’

  The final words allowed no further argument. Otho gestured at Valerius to accompany him and with a last look of fury Domitia reluctantly followed the tall young man from the tent, taking all Valerius’s hopes with her.

  ‘You already know Suetonius Paulinus, of course.’ All thought of Domitia was swept from Valerius’s mind as Otho introduced the three men who stood around the table at the far end of the room. ‘Marius Celsus, who also advises me on military matters, and Orfidius Benignus, commanding First Adiutrix. I want you to act as Benignus’s second in command. You have heard of our gladiators?’ Celsus gave a derisive snort and shot a sneering glance at Paulinus, who ignored him. Valerius nodded.

  Otho continued, echoing the words of Marcus the lanista. ‘Brave men and hardy fighters: a potentially telling weapon, but one that must be wielded by a skilled hand. We lost many of them in a misguided attempt to split Caecina from Valens, but they can still be of use. You will form them into a single cohort and integrate them with First Adiutrix. It will help compensate for the loss of the cohort to Placentia.’ Valerius mentioned that Spurinna was sending five centuries of the marine legionaries back to join their legion. ‘Better still. Let us hope they will be in time.’ Valerius noticed the look of surprise Paulinus shot the Emperor, but Otho continued unperturbed. ‘Benignus, you are happy with this?’

  Benignus was the scion of a rich patrician family and their wealth had helped furnish the tent with ornate wall hangings and statuary by famous sculptors, including a very recent bust of Marcus Salvius Otho Augustus. It was an unusual display of affluence in a military camp, but he had a reputation as a fair man and a good soldier. He was clearly anything but happy, but he looked to Valerius. ‘As long as they will fight.’

  Valerius met his gaze. ‘They will fight.’

  ‘You said you hope they will be here in time, Imperator?’

  Otho looked down at the table before he answered Paulinus. Its top was covered in sand and formed a detailed map of the terrain between Bedriacum and Cremona. His gaze ranged over the bumps and hollows, taking in every detail. Finally, he made his decision. ‘I am convinced we must bring the enemy to battle.’ The two men stared at each other and Valerius had the feeling this was an argument that had begun before Paulinus entered the tent.

  ‘And I must advise against it.’ The tone was polite, but the voice of Boudicca’s conqueror held a core of iron. ‘We have an excellent defensive position here. I believe we are still outnumbered by the enemy, but our strength increases with every passing day. We have supplies in plenty, while the enemy goes hungry. If we have patience, the enemy will be forced to attack us on this ground; the ground of our choosing.’ He stabbed a finger at the table. ‘If we attack him, he will have the advantage of choosing where we meet. In another two days Fourteenth Gemina will be here. In another week we will have two more legions and victory is certain.’

  Valerius watched Otho’s reaction and was reminded of another conference in another tent, when Corbulo had outlined the detailed plan for the battle of the Cepha gap. His army had been outnumbered almost three to one and his commanders had opposed his plan, but Corbulo had never allowed his council of war to turn into a debate. The Emperor drew himself up to his full height and Valerius knew before he spoke that he would dismiss Suetonius Paulinus’s perfectly logical military reasons for not meeting the enemy.

  Otho nodded slowly, still staring at the contours on the table. ‘I respect the venerable general’s regard for caution. He was cautious at Ad Castorum and no doubt we still have our army as a result of it.’ Paulinus visibly flinched at the words and Valerius remembered Marcus’s comments about betrayal and cowardice. Was Otho accusing the great general of running away? ‘But I do not have the time for caution,’ the Emperor went on. ‘The longer I wait, the weaker becomes my position in Rome. If I do not act, it appears I am inviting Vitellius to take my throne. Valens and Caecina have combined, but I believe we are more than strong enough to defeat them. Have patience, you say, and they will attack us? But what if they divide their army again?’ He met Paulinus’s unflinching glare. ‘What if Caecina pins us here and Valens moves to attack Rome? Must I stand idly by while they ravage my people?’ The Emperor’s voice shook with suppressed emotion. ‘No, the time is now. One decisive battle, and the usurpers will run like beaten dogs. Their soldiers are dupes who fight not for Rome but for plunder and for Rome’s enemy. When they see the true might of Rome, their hearts will fail them.’

  Valerius studied the sand table. The raised causeway of the Via Postumia ran arrow-straight from Bedriacum to Cremona, with the Padus river five miles to the south-west. On the river flank of the road the ground was relatively clear, but to the north-east small notes on the map identified fields clogged with bushes and vines, and beyond them terrain that was mostly bog and scrub. He decided it was a good road for marching down, but ground more suited to ambush than battle.

  Otho was still speaking. ‘My brother Titianus will join us later today or tomorrow to take overall command.’ Paulinus met the news of his demotion with a deeper scowl, but he made no protest and the Emperor continued: ‘In two days we will march down this road and force them to meet us or flee. Now, to the dispositions.’

  Boudicca’s conqueror continued to argue for delay, but his voice was that of a man who knew he was already defeated. Benignus, an aristocrat whose bloodline went back to Romulus, tapped his mani
cured fingers on the table as he studied the road. Valerius had the feeling he agreed with Paulinus, but having been only recently appointed was unwilling to speak out. Celsus, who Valerius was certain had been about to vote against the plan, threw his wholehearted support behind Otho now the decision was made. Belatedly, Vedius Aquila, legate of the Thirteenth legion, made an appearance, apologizing for his absence, but bringing news that the advance guard of the Fourteenth Gemina were only a few miles to the east.

  Otho was elated. ‘You see, Suetonius,’ he said fiercely. ‘You will have your Britannia heroes with you after all.’ Even Paulinus’s thin lips twitched in a smile. The Fourteenth had been the core of his army in the final battle to defeat Boudicca and he had a huge affection for the legion. ‘The order of march will be this,’ the Emperor continued. He addressed Aquila first. ‘Thirteenth and elements of the Fourteenth in the van will form the right of the line when battle is joined. Orfidius? Your Adiutrix will follow and hold the left, and your gladiator villains with them, Valerius. The ground is more open there, so you will also have the bulk of the cavalry. The Praetorian Guard will follow and take the fight to the enemy in the centre.’ He smiled. ‘We have seen that they don’t have the legs of a veteran legion, but they are eager enough. Are there any questions?’

  Hearing the plan for the first time, Aquila studied the sand table with the deep frown of a worried man. ‘We will be advancing on a narrow front. I take it that our action, if we meet an enemy force of similar strength, will be to assume defensive positions and draw them on to us?’

  ‘No.’ The Thirteenth’s legate flinched at the force in Otho’s voice. ‘If we meet the enemy we will take the initiative and attack. This will be a decisive battle. The traitors must be given no opportunity to run away.’

  Valerius exchanged a glance with Paulinus. The general’s face was grim, but he kept his thoughts to himself.

  Aquila had another question. ‘Will the Thirteenth have the honour of your presence on the right?’

  Otho’s face froze and the atmosphere in the room changed as if a cloud had just covered the sun. It was Celsus who answered. ‘Tradition dictates that the Emperor has no place on the field of battle.’

  ‘But …’

  ‘No Emperor since Augustus has fought on the front line,’ the adviser continued. ‘It has already been decided. The life of Marcus Salvius Otho Augustus is too valuable to be risked on the battlefield. He will take up a position in Brixellum with our strategic reserve and await your call, or the outcome, of which he is not in doubt.’ More than one pair of eyes widened at the words ‘strategic reserve’. If they met the enemy in any strength, the fighting power of every auxiliary and legionary in Otho’s army would be needed. Brixellum was twenty miles and more from the potential site of the battle. It would take Otho’s ‘strategic reserve’ a day’s hard marching even to reach it. Celsus sounded as if he were trying to convince himself. ‘Vitellius the usurper is not with his army, so …’

  Otho laid a hand on his arm and his eyes sought out each man in the room in turn. ‘Please do not question my courage …’ Valerius joined the chorus of denial. ‘I am more than willing to lay down my life for this cause. But I am an old-fashioned man who believes it is the job of his generals to fight battles. And now, if there is nothing else, I must rest.’

  The five officers saluted and as the Emperor talked quietly with Celsus the others left the tent to brief their junior commanders. Aquila and Benignus whispered together and Suetonius Paulinus hung back deliberately to walk beside Valerius through the long lines of eight-man legionary tents towards the gates. They were not friends. Paulinus might have created him Hero of Rome, but Valerius had good reason to believe the consul would have been happy to see him dead two years earlier when Nero’s torturers were ‘cleaning up’ after the Piso conspiracy. Now, however, it seemed he was seen as a potential ally.

  ‘Have you ever heard such rubbish?’ Paulinus squinted into the afternoon sun. ‘Titianus in overall command? The man has never fought a skirmish, never mind a battle. Our Emperor is an old-fashioned man who leaves his generals to fight battles? Yet the first thing he does is tie one hand behind their backs.’ He stopped suddenly and the grey eyes pierced Valerius like a pair of javelins. ‘Mark my words, young man, we will be in the fight of our lives.’ The gravelly voice softened and his gaze dropped to the stump of Valerius’s right arm. ‘I am glad you will be with Adiutrix. They are a young legion, none younger, and they need to be directed by experienced hands. Benignus is a good man, but I have no doubt he will appreciate a steadying influence.’ He turned to retrace his steps to his own tent, then hesitated. ‘I do not doubt his valour, but he is wrong, you know. I was with the Eighth during the invasion of Britannia and I saw Divine Claudius charge a barbarian line on a ceremonial elephant. He was worth two legions to us that day.’

  In the morning, Valerius broke his fast with Serpentius among the gladiators who were his new command, and waited until the Emperor’s convoy began to line up for the journey back to Brixellum. The carriage carrying Domitia had a place in the centre of the column, as part of the Emperor’s baggage train and close to the civil servants who travelled everywhere with him. He’d hoped at least to see her and try to convey some message, but the vehicle’s heavy curtain remained closed.

  ‘I would have thought you would have better things to do with your time.’ The familiar sneering voice came from behind and he turned to find Titus Flavius Domitianus looking down at him from the saddle of a fine black stallion. Just for a second it seemed a good idea to tip him off into the churned-up dirt, but Valerius resisted the impulse and the younger man continued. ‘You may find it difficult to believe, but I hope you survive the battle. My servant died and my uncle Sabinus is preparing murder charges against you. It will be my pleasure to see you in the carcer as you await your fate. As for the lady,’ he sniffed condescendingly, ‘she is my responsibility now.’

  There was something about the way he said responsibility that conveyed much more. Valerius smiled and moved closer to the fidgeting horse. Domitianus froze when he felt the point tickling his thigh.

  ‘I hope you understand your obligations, little man. Because if any harm comes to the lady, I will cut off your balls and feed them to you one at a time. Nod if you understand.’ Domitianus’s head twitched. ‘Good, we understand each other. Now go away. I’m sure you have something better to do.’

  Domitianus reluctantly complied with his dismissal, but with a murderous look that told Valerius he had made an enemy for life. And a dangerous enemy at that. With a last glance at the coach, he walked away towards the gladiator lines. To a new command, a new battle, and, if the gods willed it, a new victory.

  He was a heartbeat too late to see the curtain flick back and catch the desperate eyes and the lips that moved in a silent message.

  ‘Come for me.’

  XLV

  Marcus Salvius Otho Augustus delayed his departure long enough to make a rousing speech which extolled honour, duty and courage and his right to rule as directed by the Senate and people of Rome. It was a fine speech, with Otho at his charming, persuasive best, and its message was that they could not lose. The legions cheered him to the heavens.

  But later, as they watched the Emperor ride away with an escort of six cohorts of elite Praetorian Guards, Valerius felt the mood change. There were no cries or protests, but he could see the looks of puzzlement and disappointment in the faces of Juva and the First Adiutrix, and Marcus and his gladiators. For the first time he realized the true magnitude of Otho’s misjudgement.

  ‘They think he’s deserting them,’ Serpentius voiced the unspoken thought.

  Celsus had claimed no Emperor since Augustus had fought beside his legions. But those legions had not been fighting a civil war, they had been fighting for the expansion of the Empire against barbarians. In the coming days, Otho’s legions would meet fellow Roman citizens in battle, and would be fighting not for the Empire, but for a man. Now that ma
n was riding to safety, leaving them to serve under leaders in whom they had little or no trust, and, worse, he was taking with him three thousand men who should have been fighting at their side.

  Valerius was reminded of that moment during a conference of senior officers two days later beside the Via Postumia. They had covered barely twelve miles on the first day, delayed by confusion in the baggage train. Today they had marched until the sixth hour across the flat, featureless landscape on a raised causeway barely wide enough to take eight men, bounded by ditches that would hamper the legions’ ability to deploy into battle order. Paulinus wanted to leave the road and make camp for the night, arguing there was no point in going any further before nightfall. ‘We can set up a defensive position here and be on the outskirts of Cremona tomorrow with a full twelve hours of daylight ahead. There is ample water and the ground is soft enough to dig.’

  ‘We should continue.’ Licinius Proculus, the Praetorian prefect, had accompanied Otho’s brother Titianus from Rome and shared his authority. ‘We can march another four or five miles before we have to make camp. Perhaps age wearies you, consul?’ The words were accompanied by a smile but his voice was heavy with sarcasm. ‘I’m sure we can find you a carriage.’

  Paulinus had commanded great armies and fought more battles than he could count. The insult made no more than a scuff on his armour. ‘You are right, Proculus, I am getting old, but I am perfectly capable of riding another five miles. And age means I need not defer to a man whose closest acquaintance with the blood and guts of battle has been breaking plebeian heads in the Forum during a bread riot.’ The barb was accompanied by a vicious, shark-toothed smile. ‘If we meet the enemy on the march, he will have travelled four miles and be as fresh as the moment he broke fast. We will have marched thirty in two days and even you must have noted the shambles behind us.’ He gestured back along the road, where auxiliaries mixed haphazardly with legionaries, and pack mules and baggage carts had forced great gaps between cohorts and centuries. ‘Only a fool would put himself in a position where his foes could bring him to battle with two hours to darkness. You have fought a night action, perhaps, Proculus, in your bed at the Castra Praetoria?’