by James Mace
“It took us so long just to conquer northern Galilee,” Gaius replied. “It’s surprising just how quickly most of the cities in lower Judea have fallen.”
“We now have thousands of troops within less than twenty miles of their holiest city, yet those factions now battling each other seem oblivious to our presence.”
“A renegade named John of Giscala controls Jerusalem,” Gaius recalled. “From what our spies in the south have told us, his main nemesis is a man named Simon bar Giora.”
“Who I believe was aligned with those despicable bastards the Sicarii,” Nicanor remarked. “However, the Sicarii are nihilistic savages loyal to no one, be they Roman or Jew. The entire region south of Jerusalem is a lawless wasteland. I honestly don’t think that any of the factions have real control over it.”
“Still, you know it could be a year or more before a victor emerges, or they decide to cease in their struggle and turn their attention towards us once more.”
“True,” Nicanor conceded.
“If that’s the case,” his optio said, “then I think now would be the time for me to renew my leave request.”
“You’ve been wanting to take leave for some time,” Nicanor replied, knowingly.
The entire army had been so consumed by the horrors and savagery of the war in Judea that most, in particular those in leadership positions, had been forced to put their personal issues aside. But now it seemed like the perfect time for the optio to resolve a rather distressing matter that had troubled him for some time.
“I’ll likely be gone a month,” Gaius noted. “Even by horse, it will take me three or four days to reach Caesarea. And then it will be a matter of finding transport to Cyprus.”
“There’s plenty of merchant vessels sailing between Cyprus and Caesarea,” Nicanor stated. “However, since you will not be on any official orders, it will likely cost a small fortune for both you and your horse.”
“I don’t care,” Gaius replied, his voice determined.
“I know,” the centurion acknowledged. “Still, you do understand this is likely to be a fool’s errand.”
“That doesn’t matter. The longer I delay, the greater the chances that I will never see him again.”
“And even if you do find your son, what then?” Nicanor asked.
Gaius turned to face him, his expression hard.
His friend and commanding officer shook his head. “Look, you must know that I do sympathize with you. But let us not kid ourselves. How many years has it been?”
“Four,” Gaius replied.
“Four years since the woman you considered to be the love of your life, ran off with your newborn son to Salamis on the isle of Cyprus. Or at least that’s what her father told you. And you remember just how ecstatic he was to hear that his daughter, who he hoped to marry off to one of his friends, was pregnant with the child of a Roman soldier. Face up to it, Gaius; she could be anywhere within the empire by now.”
“Are you denying my request?”
“No. Damn it, man, you know me better than that! I’m just making certain you know exactly what you’re in for. You know, given the length of absence, Galeo is going to make me get permission from General Trajan. And both of them are going to want to know why my optio needs a month’s leave to go running off to Cyprus. Not only that, but this whole endeavor is likely going to end up costing you a year’s wages. You know how those damn merchantmen are when it comes to ferrying passengers around the seas. They see a Roman soldier and immediately think Fortuna, herself, is smiling on them.”
“I understand,” Gaius said. “It’s a good thing, then, that we’ve all acquired much in the way of plunder and profits from the slavers since this war began. And let me ask you this; were it your son, what would you do?”
Nicanor took a deep breath and sighed. “Exactly what you are doing, and that is why I know Centurion Galeo and General Trajan will understand as well.”
A flood of memories came over Gaius that evening. Unable to sleep, he relieved a legionary of his post and took over his two-hour guard shift along the perimeter. He had thought often about his son, though he never spoke of him. As far as he knew, Nicanor was the only one of his friends and fellow soldiers that even knew of his existence.
In the aftermath of the war in Armenia, five years prior, his cohort had been detached as a vexilation to garrison the port city of Laodicea, in Syria. He was a newly-promoted decanus then, having earned his rank during the Siege of Tigranocerta. Garrison duty was tedious, and the centurions instituted a rigorous training regime, lest their legionaries’ boredom led to outbreaks of violence against the populace. It was after a morning of individual weapons drill on the training stakes that Gaius first saw her.
Verinia, he soon discovered her name, was the daughter of a local spice merchant. She was also not a provincial, but a Roman citizen of the affluent merchant class, whose family had come from Ariminum two generations before. Gaius often saw her as she helped her mother when they went to market. He made it a point of making certain his squad was always on patrol in that area during these times, and eventually he worked up the nerve to talk with the young woman.
Over time, the two had grown rather fond of each other, with Gaius spending most of his off-duty time with Verinia. She was her parents’ only child, and because daughters were often used as pawns to be married off in order to strengthen bonds and alliances, her father had worked diligently to find her a suitable match. It was only when her father decided to marry her to a longtime friend and business partner, that her affair with the young soldier was discovered. Her family was filled with both anger and shame, for she was also found to be with child. Verinia was kept locked away in her parents’ manor house for the entire nine months of her pregnancy. It was only when the child was born, that she compelled one of her maidservants to seek out the babe’s father.
Gaius had only a very brief glimpse of his son, whom he had no chance to name, before Verinia’s father chased him from their house, screaming a plethora of curses towards him and the entire Roman army. That he was below the rank of centurion made marrying Verinia an impossibility, nor could he stake any sort of claim to the child. And though her father was enraged, there was little recourse he could take against an imperial soldier. It was only weeks later, through a mutual acquaintance, that Gaius heard the family had relocated to Cyprus, where Verinia’s father had another estate. There had been no opportunities for him to take leave during the few months the Fifth Cohort had remaining on their posting, before they were rotated back to the legion. The war in Judea had wrecked any chance of him finding his son up until this moment.
“What have I gotten myself into?” he asked aloud.
His thoughts turned to home and his family, whom he had not seen in nine years. Britannia was a world away from Judea, both in terms of climate and culture. He had been raised in the rapidly growing town of Aqua Sulis, renowned for its natural hot springs. The indigenous tribes in that region had been among Rome’s most valuable allies during the initial conquest and were handsomely rewarded as a result.
A close friend of his family had been the mayor of Aqua Sulis, a rather famous cavalry officer and former Tribune of the Plebs, named Aulus Nautius Cursor. Cursor led the flanking cavalry charge that saved an entire legion at the Battle of Braduhenna in Frisia, forty years ago. Gaius’ father and grandfather had both taken part in that battle, and both were wounded. Though they came from different social classes, Cursor had always thought of Gaius’ grandfather, Artorius, as a friend. Gaius was scarcely two years old when his mother took him and his older brother on the long journey from Ostia, to join their father in Britannia. It was of little surprise that Metellus Artorius settled in Britannia after his retirement from the legions.
After Gaius departed for the legions, his parents relocated to the veteran colony of Camulodunum. Thankfully, they escaped before it was sacked by the Iceni rebels. The last he knew his parents had resettled in Londinium, which was still being reb
uilt after it was destroyed by Boudicca. Of course they could very well have returned to Aqua Sulis. Gaius seemed to recall Cursor promising Metellus a posting within the city council, should he ever return.
Gaius then remembered something his brother had often spoken of, regarding a family’s legacy. Every Roman was prideful of his family’s name and the accomplishments of their ancestors. It was the duty of each generation, Lucius had emphasized, to add to that legacy.
“Will my own legacy be the bastard son who never knew me?” Gaius asked aloud.
Chapter VIII: Undeclared Loyalties
Near Lugdunum, Gaul
May 68 A.D.
***
The aftermath of Julius Vindex’s death, and the sacking of Vesontio, had left the province of Gallia Lugdunensis in a state of numbing shock. Though the majority of the Gallic citizens remained loyal to Rome, many were now questioning their loyalty, in no small part due to the excessive loss of life and the destruction of an entire city. The rationale behind Vindex’s revolt had an even greater impact on the psyche of the people. To many it seemed like little more than a rebellion of disgruntled subjects, much like Sacrovir’s revolt two generations past. Now that it was over, many people from the peasants to the noble magistrates began to wonder if, perhaps, Vindex’s cause wasn’t just after all. And these feelings of doubt were not just confined to the indigenous populace. Within the very imperial army that destroyed the rebellion in the first place, there was now an air of doubt and consternation.
Verginius had called a meeting of every senior officer within his army. Several of the legates who sent detachments from Lower Germania were also present. That no one was calling for an immediate pursuit of Galba was telling. After all, he had committed treason by supporting Vindex and was rumored to be the rebels’ ultimate choice to replace Nero as emperor. He also had few soldiers of his own. A single regiment of cavalry could have ridden to Hispania and delivered his head to the emperor within a month. Instead, there was awkward uncertainty as to whether the empire might be better off under Nero or Galba. And while none of the legates expressed any sort of personal loyalty towards Emperor Nero, each understood the potential chaos that could engulf Rome should he be forcibly deposed.
“We now tread in dangerous waters,” General Claudius stated. “Galba is a risky choice. Some of the senior centurions in the Rhine army were young legionaries when he was governor there. His severity and abject meanness made him hated by the legions. It is unlikely they have forgiven or forgotten this.”
“And no doubt this will influence the younger men in the ranks,” the commander of Legio XVI added. “My own primus pilus was a ranker back then, and I honestly cannot say whether or not he would be willing to swear allegiance to Galba. If he refuses, you can bet my legionaries will, as well.”
“We are not declaring for either side at this time,” Verginius asserted. He decided the time had come to lay out his intentions in full to his peers. “This is not merely a civil war between loyalists and revolutionaries. There are other players in this dangerous game, and their playing field is Rome herself. If Nero were declared unfit to rule, by the senate, then a suitable heir would have to be found.”
“There is no one else,” General Fabius Valens of Legio I, Germanica, said. “If he is killed, the line of the Julio-Claudians will become extinct.”
Valens had only recently arrived in Lugdunum, ostensibly on behalf of Governor Capito, though Verginius privately wondered if he had simply come of his own volition.
“No one is saying we should kill the emperor,” Verginius stated forcefully. “It is the senate and people of Rome who will decide who holds legitimate claim to the throne, not the legions. That is, unless you want to risk the empire falling under military dictatorship.”
There was a long pause while the assembled legates and magistrates pondered the governor’s words.
After a few moments, Valens spoke up. “Though we have not heard from Governor Capito, I can speak for the armies in Lower Germania.”
“And what do the lower Rhine legions say?” Verginius asked.
Valens cracked a smile. “They say we are loyal to the senate and people of Rome. They will watch and wait. In the end, they will honor whatever decision the senate and people come to. That there have been no orders from the senate for us to attack Galba means their resolve is weak. We need men of decisive action ruling in Rome. Yet, sadly, we seem to be getting little in the way of conclusive leadership from either the emperor or the senate.”
Something about Valens unnerved Verginius. While the Rhine armies had shifted their loyalties from being firmly in the camp of Nero, to evasively declaring for ‘The People of Rome’, the governor of Upper Germania suspected Valens had ambitions beyond that of legion commander. Verginius further doubted whether his loyalties lay with either Nero or Galba.
“The Rhine armies will remain in Gaul for the time being,” Verginius stated. “General Valens, I will need you to ensure that proper supply channels are maintained with Upper Germania, to provide rations for your men. I will see to the food supplies for those troops from Lower Germania.”
“It will be done,” the legate agreed.
“It’s strange,” Claudius said, after Verginius had dismissed the other officers. “We smash one rebellion, yet in the aftermath we have suddenly become neutral.”
“I had no intention of attacking Vindex,” Verginius confessed. “Unfortunately, I did not make my return to our army quickly enough.”
“You should have told me,” Claudius replied. “Had I known what your intentions were, I never would have ordered the legions into battle.” It was a partial rebuke of his commanding general, for not including him in his strategic planning.
“At the time, I wasn’t certain exactly where your loyalties lay,” Verginius countered. “But then, I wasn’t exactly sure where mine were either.”
Galba was in a state of despair. His usually stoic demeanor was now one of dejected defeat. Though he had anticipated he might have to sacrifice Vindex for the greater good, he did not anticipate such a decisive defeat. What remained of his militias were now scattered to the winds. Galba had since fled to the town of Clunia, in Hispania, where he was only stayed from ending his life by the pleadings of friends and colleagues.
Among these was a fifty-six year old former legate and governor of Gallia Narbonensis named Titus Vinius. A senator of extensive experience, his past was also checkered by a series of scandals. As a laticlavian tribune, he had been stripped of his rank and briefly imprisoned by Emperor Caligula for having carried on a rather torrid affair with his commanding legate’s wife. A few years later, during the reign of Claudius, he had been accused of stealing a gold chalice during a dinner party at which he had been a guest of the emperor’s. He further had a reputation for being willing to do anything to anyone, if the price was right. Granted, it was no secret that almost everyone within the senate could readily be bought; however, Vinius practically advertised it. Despite this unsavory reputation, he had actually managed to govern the province of Gallia Narbonensis with great efficiency and fiscal temperance. It was these traits that endeared him to Galba, who had requested Vinius as a military advisor a few years back.
“Verginius has not advanced any further west than Lugdunum,” Vinius noted. “If he were a threat to us, he would either have sent soldiers for your head or a threatening response demanding you take your own life.”
“I am the last of my line,” Galba contemplated aloud. “The gods took my sons from me and denied me grandchildren, so it will be by my actions alone that posterity remembers my family name.”
“And what does our friend, Otho, have to say?” Vinius asked, looking over at the governor of Lusitania. Otho had left the province in the hands of his deputy, soon after he received word of Vindex’s revolt. But instead of returning to Rome, he attached himself to Galba’s entourage.
“Emperor Nero is my friend,” he replied. “I’ve never made that a secret. And as my f
riend, I do love him dearly. Whatever hurts him, wounds me as well. However, my allegiance lies with Rome rather than any one man, no matter how close to my heart he may be. And let us not forget, the Rhine army tried to name Verginius emperor. That the soldiery would crush one rebellion only to launch another, speaks volumes. If Nero is losing the love of the legions, then he is losing the love of Rome. But we must be patient and see what Verginius says.”
“I sent him an urgent message as soon as we heard about Vesontio,” Galba remarked. “I pledged to work with him to preserve the liberty and welfare of the people and the empire.”
“Beg your pardon, sir,” a minor nobleman named Cornelius Laco said, as he joined them. “A courier just delivered this to me.”
It was with great bemusement Galba saw the dispatch was from none other than the victorious Verginius himself.
“Here,” he said, handing the scroll to Vinius. “My old eyes can scarcely read a damn thing anymore. Does the triumphant general write to gloat about the destruction of our allies?”
Vinius paused, quickly skimming the message before shaking his head.
“No,” he replied. “His response if very odd, to say the least.”
“Well, read it to us,” Otho said impatiently. The Governor of Lusitania had been secretly looking for a way in which he could covertly sneak back to his province, ever since they heard about Vindex’s defeat and subsequent suicide. Otho was the ultimate political survivalist, and he was determined to not be undone by the rash misjudgment of one careless rebel general. As Vinius read the message, he was suddenly glad he had not abandoned Galba’s cause just yet.
To Servius Sulpicius Galba, I bid you greetings.
I feel it is impertinent that I tell you personally how I am filled with much regret regarding the death of the noble Gaius Julius Vindex, along with so many of our Gallic peoples. I did not wish for either, nor for my soldiers to sack the city of Vesontio. Such has been an unfortunate turn of events.