by Allan Massie
She was an inventive and delightful lover, all the more delightful because she despised and forbade any expression of emotion. I did with her all that I had longed to do to Domatilla. Sometimes, as I lay panting in her arms, damp skin against hot damp skin, her thick black hair over my face, I would see through the tresses the moon face of Hippolyta watching us. She never said anything, just looked, then turned away.
How strange that those two weeks of intense political excitement when the fate of Rome hung in the balance, my life perhaps with it, and the smell of blood hovered in the air, should have been for me days, too, of an equally intense eroticism. The other day, passing a stall where a merchant was selling spices, I found myself trembling. All at once I was a young man again, and did not know why, till, breathing in, I smelled Sybilla's body, which she never washed but sponged with an infusion of spices. That was real, as my other memories of her are not. What do they amount to? I can't even picture her face: only a little mole to the side of her mouth, just above a rather thick upper lip. And what else? The feel of her strong thick thighs as she wrapped her legs round me. I see Hippolyta's moon face more clearly than I see Sybilla's, though my lips and tongue ran over every inch of it.
Balthus lies among the hounds again. These memories of Sybilla revive my desire for him. It is as if by forcing myself on the boy
I could regain what I found in congress with her - an absurd fancy.
1 shall write nothing of Sybilla to Tacitus, but she dominated my life in the days that followed.
One day I said to myself: does it matter who is Emperor so long as I have this?
Another day, Domatilla, in my mother's house, said to me, 'Is something wrong? You don't look at me as you used to.'
XXXV
Some would have us believe that in happier times men contended over principles, now for office and power alone. Not having lived in these golden days, I cannot tell whether our times are degenerate, or whether politics has ever been a business condemned to nastiness and brutality. You, Tacitus, as a learned historian, will be able to settle this unanswerable question.
I was a partisan of the Flavians, on account initially of my love for Titus and friendship with Domitian. Then I was inspired by the idealism of Titus' talk of the meaning of Empire. But can I acquit myself of selfish motive? Can I pretend that I was activated by love of my country or a desire for peace? And if I cannot, then can I suppose that those who deserted Vitellius for Vespasian - Caecina and Bassus first of all - had any such honourable motives? Is it not more probable that fear lest others should outstrip them in the fickle regard of Vitellius, and hope that their treachery would be well-rewarded, drove them to betray the man to whom they had sworn faith, when they suspected that his cause was on the way to being lost?
In the city we awaited news from the north, not knowing even whether battle was joined, or whether neither side dared to be the first to attack. Rumours abounded, were discounted, though men know in their hearts that rumour is not always wild; it is sometimes correct.
So, when it was reported that Antonius Primus, having defeated Vitellius' army before Cremona, had, being angered by the support that city had given to the enemy, permitted his soldiers to abandon themselves to the extremes of lust and cruelty, sacking the city, murdering the citizens, raping the women and boys, and finally setting fire to the buildings after four days of slaughter, some said the report was too horrible to be true, others that its horror could not have been invented. And, indeed, those who believed the worst were proved right, as is commonly the case.
The news was brought to Vitellius, who had retired for a few days to a villa in the woods of Aricia between that town and Lake Albano. There, it was said, he rested himself in the shade of his gardens. Like those beasts which relapse into torpor when sufficiently well-fed, he chose to forget past, present, and the fearful future. It required the news of the disaster at Cremona to rouse him from sloth.
But his first act on returning to the city was to deny the report which had brought him back.
Flavius Sabinus told me that the so-called Emperor's judgement was no better than his nerve.
'In concealing the gravity of his position,' he said, 'he is making it impossible to redeem the situation. He refuses to listen to any talk of the war. If anyone returns from the front with bad news, he either has him clapped into prison or put to death. He behaves as if nothing can be true unless he chooses that it should be.'
But, if Vitellius himself refused to look reality in the face, his partisans were alarmed by the rumours which his denial could not still. Thinking only of revenge, they sought out those who were believed to be traitors - though in the state of Rome then there could, honour being dead, be neither treachery nor true loyalty. Many innocent men, guilty of nothing but hope for a better future, were seized and put to death, or cut down casually in the streets. Flavius Sabinus himself dared not go abroad without an escort from the City Guard, and had doubts concerning their loyalty, though their mouths were stuffed with gold and their spirits raised with lavish promises of future bounty.
He frequently expressed anxiety concerning Domitian's safety, and could not trust my assurance that I had taken care of that. Yet he had no choice but to rely on my measures. He did not dare to keep the boy with him, for he knew that his own life was in danger every day, every hour, and that if he was arrested or cut down, then Domitian would be too. I assured him that the student friend with whom he was lodged kept the house himself and would not permit Domitian to venture forth. He scratched his head, and muttered that he hoped it was for the best, and confessed that he could think of no better plan.
'I dare not send him out of the city,' he said, 'for the Guards have set up road blocks and are interrogating every traveller. And I could not trust Domitian not to give himself away. If he survives, my brother will be eternally grateful to you. I'll see to it that he knows it is your work, for I am persuaded Domitian will never admit so much himself.'
I might, I suppose, have taken offence at his care for Domitian's safety and lack of concern for mine. But his indifference was venial: I was not his brother's son; I could take my chance.
Vitellius roused himself, or was roused by others. He entrusted the command of the Praetorians to his brother Lucius, no better in morals, but more energetic in manner. In what may have been intended as a gesture expressive of confidence, he even anticipated the elections, and nominated Consuls and other officers for several years in advance. He granted treaties, which he had no means of enforcing, to allies, and the rights of citizenship to provincials who could not enjoy them. He remitted tribute and even taxes. So, careless of the future, he scattered the resources of the Empire - all to win the plaudits of the mob, always impressed by the appearance of generosity. Some fools even purchased honours and offices, as if the prodigality of his gesture offered assurance of the permanence of his rule.
Then yielding to the demands of the soldiers, he even ventured into the camp. There, some (as I have heard) were dismayed by evil omens: a bull, for example, escaped from the place of sacrifice. Others, more perceptive or with a truer sense of reality, were still more dismayed by the conduct of their Emperor. For everything he said displayed his complete ignorance of warfare; he even had to enquire about how reconnaissance was carried out. Some said he didn't know the meaning of the word. Nor was his habitual drunkenness or the alarm he showed at every fresh piece of bad news likely to raise the morale of his troops. At last, having learned that the fleet stationed at Misenum had defected to the enemy, he abandoned the camp and returned to Rome. His brief impersonation of a commander had done him more damage even than his habitual indolence.
Meanwhile, in the north, the fortunes of war tilted still more heavily against him. You will, Tacitus, from your other researches, and by means of further enquiries of any officers who took part in the campaign and who still survive, learn its details more accurately than you could from me. Afterwards I heard many tales of individual courage and prowess, and d
iscounted most of them. I do not envy you your task of separating the grain of truth from the chaff of lies. To which sentiment I would merely add that my own experience of war, which, as you know, is considerable, has disposed me to believe that centurions and legionaries know only what happens within a few yards of their own position, and generals know less.
XXXVI
I hasten, Tacitus, mindful of your importunity, to bring my narrative to a conclusion; and I shall be happy to be rid of it.
Flavius Sabinus sent messengers to find me at the address I had left with him, and asked me to fetch Domitian. No doubt I looked surprised. But he smiled and said, 'It's all right. It's all over, or on the point of being all over. For some days Vitellius has, I'm told, been so deep sunk in lethargy, and so near despair, that he would have forgotten he is Emperor if those around him had not reminded him. To his considerable dismay, I might add. Now he has called me to a conference, and wishes to make terms. I think it will be valuable if I am able to have Domitian by my side. And you, too, of course.'
I have often wondered why he desired our presence. My conclusion is that he wanted us there as witnesses, to be able to inform Vespasian and Titus that he had behaved honourably, and had engaged in no sort of deception, or promotion of his own interests rather than theirs. Such was the trust between members of that family!
There were, indeed, those who were urging Flavius Sabinus to act on his own account. 'The merit of having finished the war,' they said, 'will belong to whichever man is in possession of Rome itself. Why should you not be Emperor rather than your brother, or why should you not share the Empire with him? At any rate, the glory of final victory will be yours, and that is something worth seeking.'
Flavius Sabinus proved that he was indeed worthy of Empire by rejecting the temptation dangled before him. He had given his word to his brother, and would keep it. Some of his friends found this incredible. They had forgotten the meaning of a man's word.
So I fetched Domitian, who was suspicious of the invitation, and of my intentions. He would indeed have declined to accompany me, if Aulus Pettius had not broken out in tones of contempt, and told him roundly that he could either go with me, or be thrown into the street and left to shift for himself.
'As for me,' he said, 'I have had my bellyful of your moaning, your self-pity and suspicions. I took you in only because our friend here begged me to do so, and not for any love of you. I'll thank you only to be gone. I'd rather see your back departing than your face for another hour.'
It was December. The year which had seen more Emperors than the previous fifty was drawing to a close. The day was dark and gloomy, bitter cold, with the north wind blowing hard from the mountains, blowing, as someone remarked, Vespasian's troops towards the capital and Vitellius to oblivion. The meeting was held in the Temple of Apollo. Flavius Sabinus was already there. He showed neither impatience nor any excitement, though the game that he had played with such courage in the midst of danger was drawing to a triumphant close. He embraced Domitian who winced.
'It's all over,' his uncle said, 'bar the shouting.'
Vitellius arrived late with his brother, a small staff of officers, and an escort from the Guard. All but three were commanded to wait without. His eyes were bloodshot and his speech thick, but he was only a little drunk, though his breath suggested he had followed last night's potations with what the Germans call 'the hair of the dog'.
Flavius Sabinus, ever the gentleman, began by commiserating with Vitellius on the death, a few days previously, of his aged mother. He mumbled a few incomprehensible words in reply. His hand shook, and he asked for wine. I believe Flavius Sabinus had determined to offer none, judging that Vitellius would be brought more quickly to an agreement if he was deprived of a drink: indeed I think that he would then have agreed to anything and everything merely to be free of the meeting and able to indulge himself. But, seeing his pitiable condition, Flavius Sabinus clapped his hands and commanded a slave to fetch wine. There was silence till Vitellius had a cup in his hand.
He made a wretched impression. The flesh had fallen away from him, except for his huge paunch which now dangled obscenely. A nerve jumped in his cheek and his gaze was wild.
Flavius Sabinus said: Your presence here is, I take it, an acknowledgement that you have lost the game.'
Vitellius made as if to speak, fluttered a vague hand, and sighed deeply.
'It becomes a Roman to be generous in victory,' Flavius Sabinus said. 'My brother, the acclaimed Emperor, had determined to follow the policy of the Great Caesar. His watchword is clemency. Therefore no evil will befall you or your family. You have my word for that. All you have to do is abdicate your claims to the title of Emperor, which we recognise was forced on you by foolish men . . .'
'Yes, indeed, indeed, yes.' Vitellius, now he had found his voice, babbled, words tumbling over each other. 'Indeed, yes, nothing was ever further from my thoughts than to be Emperor. Why should I wish it? I'm a good fellow, but I've seen too much of courts to think of myself as . . . no, indeed, indeed, no. But what could I do? What would any man have done in my place? Valens and Caecina, they're the ones to blame, they forced it on me, and then the soldiers crowded round acclaiming me. What could I have done? I was afraid they would turn on me if I declined. But every fibre of my being cried out no.'
He began to weep.
'This is horrible,' Domitian muttered to me. And so indeed it was.
Flavius Sabinus waited till the poor creature had regained some semblance of self-control. His own face was impassive.
Looking at Vitellius, I thought, and brave men have died for this.
Then Flavius Sabinus said, 'I have a document of abdication drawn up. It's somewhat irregular in a sense, since your title to the Empire is not conceded by my brother . . .'
Vitellius lifted his head. In his first flash of spirit, he said, 'But he did. After I conquered Otho, Vespasian administered the oath of allegiance to me, and prayed for all future prosperity to me. He wrote and told me so himself. I have his letter still. How can he deny that I am Emperor?'
Very well, then,' Flavius Sabinus said. 'That makes the document of abdication perfectly legal. So all you have to do is sign it.'
'But what is to become of me? Of my poor children for whom I hoped to provide?'
That matter is dealt with in this second document. I told you my brother was ready to practise clemency. He is also munificent. This assures you a fee of a million gold pieces, and an estate in Campania, to be inherited by your children.'
'And is that what Empire is worth? Is that the price of Empire?'
He rose, with a certain new dignity - the result of the removal of fear perhaps. He took a turn around the room. Usually, since he had assumed the purple, he went to great lengths to disguise his limp. But now he limped heavily, as if, with the weight of Empire lifted, he was free to resume his old habits, be himself again.
Very well,' he said. 'Give me the pen.'
Then, when he had affixed his signature, and was no longer Emperor, he said: 'I yield for the sake of peace and for the love of country, and for my innocent children. Now give me more wine.'
When this parody of an Emperor at last departed, after embracing Flavius Sabinus and weeping over him, and thanking him for his great kindness and draining another cup of wine, Flavius Sabinus relaxed. 'I wasn't sure I could bring him to it,' he kept saying. 'All reason pointed to it, but yet I wasn't sure.'
Domitian said to me, 'My uncle has been too soft. He could have cut down Vitellius here, and the affair would really have been over. But what has he got? Only a scrap of parchment. And he has let Vitellius go, to announce his abdication to the troops that are still loyal to him. What are they promised? Nothing. And do you suppose that a man like Vitellius can be kept to an agreement such as this? The first person who rebukes him for his timidity will overturn his feeble mind. We have not finished with him yet.'
Though I could not agree that Flavius Sabinus should have put Vitellius to
death, Domitian's argument made sense. That was the first time I thought of him as a formidable politician. It was not, as you know, to be the last.
Flavius Sabinus himself had some doubt. He had achieved his first aim by obtaining Vitellius' signature to the document of abdication. But he knew his man. He knew his weakness of character. And now he proved this, when Domitian reproached him, as he did when he saw me assent to his reasoning, by clapping his nephew on the shoulder, and saying, 'Dear boy, you are wise beyond your years. But don't suppose that my old eyes can't see as clearly as your young ones. Your analysis is just. But there is one thing in our favour that you leave out of account: Vitellius' greed and his terror. He knows - he must know - that if he breaks this agreement, then his life will be forfeit. While if he keeps it he may live out his days in comfort and prosperity. Moreover if, as you suggest, I had kept him captive, or put him to death, consider the anger of those troops still, as you say, loyal to him. As it is, I have given peace a chance; and that was my first purpose. There has been too much blood spilled in Rome this year.'
Nevertheless, knowing how precarious peace was, Flavius Sabinus collected those soldiers who were loyal to him, and who now took the oath to Vespasian, after he had read them the document of abdication.
Meanwhile word had spread, and Sabinus was now visited by Senators and equestrians, all of whom had hitherto feared to declare themselves enemies of Vitellius, all of whom now assured him of their undying loyalty to Vespasian, whose cause they had always supported.
But even while they were doing so, news came which altered the situation.
I believe that Vitellius had intended to abide by his word; for I have no doubt that, in his heart, he was relieved to be free of the burden of Empire.