Soldier of Rome- Reign of the Tyrants

by James Mace

  “The rebellion now has a leader,” Senator Nerva said, rising from his seat. “Servius Sulpicius Galba has apparently accepted Vindex’s offer to stand as their leader. They intend to depose you and name him emperor.”

  “And for that they all must die,” Nero hissed through his teeth. “I must beg your pardon and recuse myself from the senate for the day. I trust our good consuls, Italicus and Galerius, will join me later at the palace. But for now, I must rest.”

  The members of the senate all stood as Nero quickly left the chamber, Tigellinus following close behind. The emperor was truly embarrassed by his outburst, as well as the harsh realization that he was starting to lose control of his empire.

  It was not just Nero who noted this loss of control. Empress Statilia was once more concerned about her own safety and well-being. If the rebellion in Gaul was indeed spreading to other provinces, who knew what drastic measures Nero might take? As he was becoming less and less predictable, Statilia knew she had to deflect any and all attention away from herself. She remembered an old ring collecting dust within her wardrobe. After digging around for a few minutes, she found what she was looking for, and with a broad smile of triumph, she sought out young Sporus.

  The unfortunate lad was lying on a lounge chair in one of the studies, reading some of Nero’s poetry. It had been recommended he garner additional favor with the emperor by reciting some of his own verses back to him. A pair of maidservants sat on the floor nearby, listening to the young man read. All the while, he worked on maintaining what could pass for an effeminate voice.

  “That sounds just wonderful,” Statilia said, as she walked into the room. The maidservants immediately leapt to their feet, heads bowed. Young Sporus did the same.

  “Your highness,” he said meekly.

  “Please,” the empress said with a friendly smile, taking both of his hands. “There is no need for such formalities between us.” Her smile faded for a moment as she curtly ordered the maidservants, “Leave us.”

  As soon as the door closed, Statilia sat beside Sporus.

  “You are doing well in your readings,” the empress said approvingly.

  “Thank you, my lady,” Sporus replied. “It was very kind of you to advise me. I think it will please the emperor greatly.”

  “Yes, I am certain it will. You know he has been under great stress lately, what with that beastly rebellion in Gaul. I think the dear man has forgotten about the Calends of April.”

  “Calends of April?” Sporus asked.

  “Yes, we celebrate it every year,” Statilia replied. “It has always been our way of welcoming the spring, although I think he should celebrate with you this year.”

  “But you are his wife.” Sporus tried to protest.

  “Only in name, my dear,” the empress said. “It is you who he truly loves, and only a gift from you would have any meaning for him.”

  “My poetry readings, you mean?”

  “Yes,” Statilia nodded. “But I was also thinking of something else. Something that he can cast his eyes upon each day, and it will remind him of your love.”

  “But my lady, I have nothing to give him,” the young man remarked with more than a little embarrassment. His eyes widened when Statilia handed him the ring. “My lady, it’s beautiful!”

  “Do you recognize the design carved on the stone?”

  “I do indeed! Thank you...” Sporus’ voice then trailed off for a moment. His next words betrayed his doubts. “Are you sure I should give this to him?”

  “Absolutely,” the empress replied. “But under no circumstances are you to tell him where you got it. If my name is mentioned in any way it will lose all meaning, which will hurt both of us. It will also greatly hinder any chances I may have of helping you in the future.” There was a cold emphasis on the last sentence.

  He had no way of knowing the empress’ motives behind her kindness towards him, but since his terrible mutilation, Statilia Messalina had been the only true friend poor Sporus had.

  “Of course, my lady,” he said with a slow nod. “Let this be a symbol of my love for the emperor.”

  Nero promptly returned to the palace, after which he drank a full pitcher of wine, while inhaling an unknown substance that caused him to gasp and the veins on his neck to pop out. He then collapsed on his bed, where he soundly slept for half an hour. But as quickly as he collapsed, he was awake and alert once more. His calm and contented demeanor had returned, and it seemed as if the entire embarrassing episode at the senate had never taken place.

  The sun shone brightly in the western windows, and the emperor knew it had to be late afternoon. He remembered he had invited Consuls Italicus and Galerius to dine with him, which meant they would arrive at the palace shortly.

  “Servants!” Nero shouted. “Ready my bath!”

  After a full hour of being renewed by the rigors of the Roman bath, the emperor spent another hour being made ready by a score of slaves. His hair had to look perfect, makeup covering any sign of blemish upon his face. And at least twenty different formal togas were brought to him before he found one he liked. As it was a warm spring day, he decided to take a stroll near the Temple of Apollo on the palace grounds.

  It was there Sporus found him. “My love,” the young man said, walking quickly to him. He had taken great pains to make his voice sound believable, as a woman. In fact, with his effeminate appearance and dress, an outsider would never guess he had been born a man.

  “What is it, my sweet?” Nero asked, placing a hand on his cheek, then kissing him gently on the lips.

  “It is the Calends of April, and I wanted to present you with this gift.” He held up an ornate ring of gold set with a carved gemstone.

  “My dearest, it is wonderful!” the emperor said with enthusiasm, as Sporus placed it upon his finger. “I cannot quite make out the image engraved on the stone. What is it?”

  “It is the god Hades, during the kidnapping of Proserpina,” Sporus replied. “Do you like it?”

  Nero jolted. While he kept his smile, his face tensed and his eyes showed abject fear.

  Sporus smiled innocently at him, kissed him on the cheek, and promptly left.

  As soon as his ‘Poppaea’ was gone, Nero let out a gasp of horror. “It cannot be,” he whispered. “This can only portend disaster!”

  His entourage of servants backed away, fearing another outburst.

  Tigellinus, who had just been inspecting the praetorians on duty at the palace, saw his demeanor and quickly rushed over. “All you alright, sire?”

  “Look at this,” Nero said, his hand trembling. “It’s Hades kidnapping Proserpina. My dear, sweet Poppaea gave this to me, innocent love that she is. Poor thing, little does she know that this foretells of my downfall.”

  The praetorian prefect raised an eyebrow in disbelief.

  “Forgive me, Caesar,” Tigellinus said. “But do you mean to tell me, after showing such resolve in the face of growing rebellion in the west to say nothing of the betrayal by Senator Galba, a simple ring unnerves you so?”

  “It is symbolic,” Nero said, holding out his hand, as if it were on fire. “A sign of the gods. I have failed them...somehow I lost their love and blessings. They intend to abandon me!”

  “But I thought you were a god?” the prefect responded smoothly.

  This caught Nero’s attention, and he quickly turned to face Tigellinus, a broad grin creasing his face.

  “Of course,” the emperor replied, suddenly calm and showing great relief. “How could I be so stupid? Why, the greatest statue in all of Rome is not of Jupiter, Saturn, Juno, Diana, or Mars, but of me! I am the only god the people of Rome need.”

  “And the armies of the divine Nero will soon put an end to this so-called revolution,” Tigellinus replied. “Even as we speak, General Verginius is on the march with a force of twenty thousand legionaries, and a similar number of auxiliaries. After you left the senate, a dispatch arrived from the Rhine. This little crisis will be over soon enoug
h.”

  “And as one legionary is worth any ten barbarians, the fact that Vindex has a hundred thousand traitors in his ranks is of little concern,” Italicus added, as he and Galerius joined them.

  “Consuls, I welcome you,” Nero said, with a bow. He quickly slipped the ring on one of his fingers and pretended as if nothing had happened.

  “Once a few of their comrades take gladii to the guts, the rest will disperse,” Galerius remarked. “By the Calends of June, we will no doubt be celebrating yet another great victory, Caesar.”

  Having been reassured by both Tigellinus and the consuls, Nero was brimming with confidence once more. Their dinner turned into a five-hour banquet, with the emperor finally falling into a drunken slumber around midnight. Nearly eight hundred miles to the north, the imperial army made ready to march on the rebels.

  The rallying of Verginius’ army had transpired surprisingly quickly. It took nearly two weeks for all of the vexilations from the legions of Lower Germania to rally with the two legions from Mogontiacum. As he predicted, Fonteius Capito was enraged by his fellow governor’s demand that half his legionaries be detached from the Rhine and placed under Verginius’ command. Though, as expected, Capito knew he had little choice and he begrudgingly consented.

  Marching at a rather rapid pace on the paved roads that ran north to south along the River Rhine, Verginius’ sizeable force of twenty thousand legionaries, with an added fifteen to twenty thousand auxiliaries, advanced into Gaul. When they were about fifty miles northeast of Vindonissa they turned southwest to the road that ran through the Belfort Gap, which would lead them to Vesontio, the first major city in Roman Gaul. It was now late April, and while the spring rains left a chill in the air during the early mornings, the afternoons were mildly warm and pleasant.

  “Vindex has laid siege to Lugdunum,” a scout reported, as the vast column continued its long trek. “They appear to have plenty of ladders, but we could not see any siege engines. Nor were any towers being built.”

  Verginius, along with Claudius and their senior staff officers, rode at the head of their massive army, just behind the vanguard of a single cohort of legionaries. The still afternoon air was accented by the chirping of birds and the rhythmic cadence of thousands of hobnailed sandals marching on the stone road.

  “His ‘army’ is nothing but a barbaric mob,” General Claudius mocked. “I highly doubt they intend to launch a direct assault upon the city.”

  “I agree,” Verginius nodded. “The ladders are likely there only to be used as a last resort. He has few, if any, professional soldiers in his ranks. And I doubt they have the necessary engineers to build siege towers or catapults in the first place. Clearly, Galba’s support for this rebellion is only nominal, as he has committed no troops of his own.”

  “Yes,” Claudius agreed. “He appears to be little more than a figurehead to rally behind. So what say you, sir? Shall we advance on Lugdunum and scatter this mob?”

  “We’ll reach Vesontio long before Lugdunum,” Verginius mused. “It is the ancestral capital of the Sequani, who have declared for Vindex.”

  “Over a hundred years ago, they were Julius Caesar’s allies,” Claudius added. “But then they betrayed him and sided with that rogue, Vercingetorix.”

  “And we all know how that worked out for them!” one of the staff tribunes laughed.

  “I think we shall counter Vindex’s siege with one of our own,” Verginius remarked, “and, thereby, make him come to us.”

  Though he maintained a confident and self-assured demeanor, Verginius was beginning to have doubts about their pending conflict against Julius Vindex. It all began when the rumors regarding Galba’s support for the rebels was confirmed. Galba’s noble lineage stretched back further than most of the senate, and far surpassed that of Nero. If a man of such deep-seeded nobility was supporting a revolt against the emperor, perhaps blind allegiance to Nero was not necessarily allegiance to Rome.

  Verginius kept such thoughts private for the time being. However, he decided he would do everything possible to try and come to a diplomatic agreement with Vindex, thereby avoiding any unnecessary bloodshed. Only after meeting Vindex could he determine which faction was truly on the side of Rome.

  As the city of Lugdunum came into view, Julius Vindex let out a sigh of frustration. It was, after all, the capital of his own province, and the governor’s palace was his home. The city gates were now shut, and he could only imagine what may have become of his household staff and servants. He had wisely taken his wife and children to Vienne, so at least if the nobles of Lugdunum turned against him, his family could not be used as hostages.

  The force personally led by Vindex had left Vienne just a day prior. There were two roads that led to Lugdunum, one to the east of the River Rhodanus, the other to the west. Vindex had elected to take the eastern road, as the surrounding region was flatter and easier to traverse. Just two miles south of the city, the Rhodanus wound its way gradually to the northeast. Here it forked into another river, the Arar, which continued northward. To the east, near a pair of crossroads, was a large open plain.

  “We’ll make camp here,” he ordered Bradan. “Once the rest of the army arrives, they can occupy the west and the north. Let us hope the citizens of Lugdunum recognize their folly and open the doors of the city to their governor.”

  Chapter VI: First Blood

  Vesontio, Gaul

  April 68 A.D.

  Legionaries unleashing a javelin volley

  (Photo © Cezary Wyszynski)

  Vesontio was a Gallic city of approximately twenty thousand inhabitants. Julius Caesar had noted its strategic positioning, as it was surrounded on three sides by the Dubis River. The remaining landlocked approach was a narrow isthmus, consisting of a large hill with lengthy ridges branching out along the river. The entire region was a patchwork of farm fields, broken up by large stands of forest. The Alpes Mountains were to the immediate south. Their steep faces creating yet another natural barrier.

  It was also in an extremely wet portion of Gaul, with rains expected every third day throughout most of the year. A near-continuous, light shower sprinkled off the helmets and packs of the vast column of marching legionaries. The large groves of trees lining the main road to the city offered some additional protection from the elements; though for the most part, soldiers kept their cloaks wrapped tight around them as they tried in vain to keep dry.

  Because the main road was on the north side of the river, and the only landlocked approach was to the south, Verginius’ army had to march around the northern districts of the city, in full view of citizens and defenders manning the wall just across the river. About half a mile west were the main crossroads and the bridge that allowed access south of the river. Verginius sent the indigenous cavalry from Legio IV and Legio XXII ahead to scout the city and terrain. Engineers and surveyors followed immediately behind them to lay out the proposed camps for the army. The general himself soon followed with his entourage, knowing it would take the better part of a day for all to cross along the narrow bridge.

  “The gates are closed, sir,” a scout reported, as Verginius rode the ridge, eyes scanning the city below. “The walls are also manned with archers.”

  “They are fools if they think they can hold against us,” Claudius scoffed. “We’ll send a battering ram against the gates, assail the walls with siege ladders, and overwhelm them in a matter of hours. The walls aren’t even that high, twenty feet at most.”

  “We will avoid a direct assault,” Verginius corrected.

  His officers stared at him in disbelief.

  “This place is nearly impossible to lay an effective siege to,” Claudius protested. “We don’t have the resources to blockade the river, so it won’t be possible to starve them out.”

  “There is only one feasible way into Vesontio,” Verginius replied. “Their garrison may be small and only modestly equipped, but they can mass every fighting man they have against the ramparts. Any assault will p
rove costly, which will make our soldiers that much harder to control. It will prove difficult to tell the legions not to burn the city to the ground, while raping and murdering everyone within. If they have to watch their friends be killed or maimed, that is exactly what they will do.”

  It was a difficult thing for the governor-general to admit that he feared losing control of his own army. Legionaries were without a doubt the best drilled and disciplined soldiers in the entire world; however, even the greatest of generals had trouble containing their wrath once it was fully unleashed.

  “Piss on them,” his chief tribune retorted. “Let the army burn this damned place. It will strike the appropriate chord of fear with anyone else who wishes to rebel.”

  “Were we battling a barbarian mob, I would agree,” Verginius said. “But regardless of their less-than-civilized ancestry, these people have been Roman citizens for a hundred years. The instigators will be executed, fear not, but we will not slaughter the entire populace unless we have to.”

  “If I didn’t know better, I would surmise that you are trying to win this war bloodlessly,” Claudius stated.

  “I would rather we cowed our enemies back into submission,” Verginius confessed. “Let us not forget, Vindex is who we are after. Laying siege to Vesontio is nothing more than a means of drawing him out. That we cannot seal off the entire city will work to our advantage. In fact, I would say that the citizens of Vesontio declaring for the rebellion is actually a stroke of luck.”

  “How so?” his chief tribune asked.

  “Vindex is currently laying siege to his own capital of Lugdunum,” the commanding legate explained. “Once he knows we are here, he will have no choice but to send the majority of his army to face us. I don’t doubt he’ll leave a residual force to continue the blockade of Lugdunum, but it won’t matter.”

  “What makes you think he’ll come to us?” Claudius asked.

  “Because Vesontio is the capital of his Sequani allies,” Verginius explained. “If he does not send them aid, they will likely abandon his cause. We will also make certain their lookouts know our strength. Vindex knows the imperial army and what it is capable of. He understands that the defensive ramparts of Vesontio won’t last a day, should we elect to mount an assault. He has no choice but to face us in open battle which, honestly, I think is what he wants.” He then asked one of his staff officers, “How far is Lugdunum from here?”