by James Mace
Even more unfortunate, and truly disgraceful if I am being candid, was the attempt by the armies of the Rhine to declare me emperor. Such conduct is unbecoming of imperial soldiers, and I have put an immediate end to such talk. Only the senate and people of Rome can decide who is right to be emperor. I’ll not pass judgment, one way or the other, upon your claim to the imperial throne. Should the senate decide Nero is no longer fit to rule as emperor, it is they who, constitutionally, can ratify a potential successor. And any such successor must come from the old families of the patrician class, not a first generation senator such as I. Yours is among the oldest of Rome’s ruling families. You have the noble pedigree, along with a lifelong record of service to the empire.
My army remains in Gaul, awaiting the will of the senate. Should they continue in their declaration that you are an enemy of the state, it is with great regret that I will be compelled to do their bidding. It would also be with equal remorse, should I be obliged to break my oath of allegiance to Emperor Nero, who I have served diligently these thirteen years of his reign. Know that I personally mean you no harm, and am but a servant of the people of Rome.
Yours respectfully,
Lucius Verginius Rufus
Galba sat with his chin resting in his hand, deep in contemplation.
“Think it’s a trap?” Laco asked.
“If it were, he would not be so indecisive in his language,” Otho spoke up, when Galba remained silent.
“That Verginius does not simply march on us reaffirms our suspicions that Nero’s support grows thin,” Galba said. He turned to Vinius. “Thank you, my friend, for staying my hand. It is plain that the fates do not intend for Nero to sit on the throne for much longer, and had I taken my own life, his successor would have been most unworthy indeed.”
While this last remark was certainly quite arrogant, it was hardly surprising. After all, one had to possess a rather substantial ego in order to believe that he, alone, was most fit to rule over an empire of seventy million persons. What Galba did not know, was he was not the only man present who possessed such an ego.
For Marcus Salvius Otho, the rebellion was simply a step along the way to his much grander ambitions. As a former courtier of Nero, as well as one who the emperor viewed as a personal friend, Otho was perhaps the most confident of all who now courted the potential usurper, Galba. Should the rebellion fail, Otho had already formulated a plan with which to inform Nero that he had deliberately misled Galba, while pretending to side with him. If need be, he would kill the old bastard himself, which would doubtless earn him Nero’s eternal gratitude. If, on the other hand, the rebellion succeeded and Nero was overthrown, then he was already in an enviable position, having established himself as one of Galba’s chief advisors.
He was also an outsider to Galba, even though his father had been the old man’s colleague during their consulship, thirty-four years prior. Otho was still an infant then, and Galba was not a man to view one favorably simply because of who his father was. So while he welcomed the governor of Lusitania’s assistance, it would take more than the fond memories of his father for Otho to truly ingratiate himself within Galba’s inner circle. For this, he would need to align himself with one closest to the usurper.
The first of these was his freedman, Icelus, who was unfortunate enough to have been in Rome when the rebellion first broke out, and now a prisoner of Nero. The second was the old soldier named Cornelius Laco, who Galba had promised command of the Praetorian Guard. His demeanor towards Otho had been aloof thus far, and so the governor did not feel comfortable attempting to align with him. The third, and easily most suitable of Galba’s closest advisors, was Titus Vinius. The Three Pedagogues is what many quietly called them. And of these three, it was Vinius who Otho chose to approach later that evening.
An informal gathering of the regional magistrates had taken place at the governor’s palace, with many voicing their implicit support should Galba decide to continue in his pursuit of the imperial throne. The old man himself had long since retired for the evening, and it was alone on a balcony where Otho found Vinius.
“General,” he said, deferring with respect to Vinius’ status as an old soldier.
“Governor Otho,” Vinius replied, a knowing grin creasing his face. “I thought you might seek me out eventually.”
“Indeed?”
“You’re an ambitious man,” Vinius stated bluntly. “Why else would you be here? True, your province of Lusitania neighbors ours; however, you would have little stake in the outcome of this uprising, unless you willingly decided to crawl your way into Galba’s confidence. And, of course, as long as you play it cautious your friendship with Nero will protect you, should things take a turn for the worse.”
Otho could only grin at this. A normal man would have balked at the assessment, yet it only confirmed his intuition regarding Vinius.
“And that is why I have come to you,” he said. “You and I are of a like mind and both willing to bend our scruples in order to achieve our ambitions.”
“In a manner of speaking,” Vinius remarked. “In my younger years, I slept with my commanding general’s wife; whereas you were willing to whore out your own wife, in order to win favor from the emperor.”
“Poppaea fell for Nero on her own,” Otho replied, though both men knew he had deliberately arranged for his wife to have her affair with the emperor. “Granted, I did manage to profit from their marriage. Still, what of it? I think you and I are like-minded enough that we could become good friends.”
“Given that you consider Nero a friend, I would be leery of any such relationship.”
Surprisingly, Otho actually smirked at Vinius’ rebuking words. “How about, allies of necessity, then?”
“That is more to my liking. And what do you propose should be our first arrangement, to forge this alliance?”
“Firstly,” Otho said, pulling out a small pouch of coins. “Our alliance must be kept a secret.”
“Of course,” Vinius acknowledged. “Except, we have never been friends, and we scarcely know each other. In fact, I think we have met maybe twice during your tenure in Lusitania, when you paid a visit to Galba in Hispania over certain holidays. And a man of your influence is certainly not lacking in friends. However, I also know that what you are in need of, is one who is close to the man who would be emperor.”
“A judicious observation,” Otho said. Both men proceeded to take a drink off their wine, while servants brought them trays of dormice and dates. “I’ll speak plainly. I do need a friend who is close to the presumptive emperor, and you are one of the three men who hold absolute control over him.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t go that far,” Vinius laughed.
“I would,” Otho replied quickly. “And so would the rest of the senate, as well as all of the equites within this province. Even the common plebs on the street believe that you, Laco, and Icelus are the ones who truly rule Hispania.”
“I scarcely believe that cobblers, artisans, and carpenters say such things,” Vinius countered. “The common peasant cares only when his next meal is, if he is going to be paid for his labors, and whether his wife is fucking the neighbor.”
“This is normally true. However, those within the capital see the intrigues of the patrician class as a source of both entertainment, and distraction from the tedium that is their daily lives.” Otho took another sip of wine before adding, “I have eyes everywhere, not just amongst the nobility. Julius Caesar understood that it was popularity among the masses where one could gain true power.”
“And do you hold such sway over the plebs?” Vinius’ question sounded almost condescending, though this was not his intent.
“No,” Otho replied, his expression showing he was not insulted by his guest’s inquiry. “I am simply observant, is all. And what I have observed is that Galba has already mentioned his intention, should his little venture to the imperial throne prove successful, to name you his colleague as consul for the next year, rather than l
eaving it up senatorial election. That tells me, along with the rest of the populace, that you are the most influential of his handlers.”
“You flatter me,” Vinius nodded, though he did not deny the observation.
Otho tossed him the pouch.
His eyes widened slightly, once he saw the contents. “This is five hundred denarii. What are you intending to purchase with this?”
“Influence,” Otho replied. “You have Galba’s ear, and he needs to be reassured that I am not only a viable ally, but one whom he can trust completely. And as you so aptly said, we have never been friends, we scarcely know each other. So it is natural that I would have to earn your trust. And since time is not a commodity I have at the moment, a few gold coins should persuade you.”
“I think,” Vinius said slowly, his devious smile growing, “we shall both profit immensely from our little arrangement.”
“You have a daughter,” Otho observed.
“Yes,” Vinius replied, his smile fading slightly. “She is here with me. And as you probably already know, she is of age and unmarried.”
“With your permission, I would like the honor of making her acquaintance.”
Otho left Vinius, feeling rather pleased with himself. There was now one more person he had to see this evening, and it was she who made the old general an even more important ally. For while Cornelius Laco had a pair of sons, Vinius was the only one among the Pedagogues who had a daughter.
Otho found Vinia later that evening, well after most of the guests were inebriated or had dispersed back to their homes. She was relatively short with a nice, curvaceous figure. Her hair, which was flowing past her shoulders, was sandy-blonde. Otho surmised it was likely dyed, as was often the fashion among noblewomen. He did not know her exact age, though he guessed she was in her early twenties. That she was neither married nor betrothed, told him her father was still waiting to forge the right political match for his family.
“My lady,” he said, taking her hand and kissing the back of it gently. “May I escort you on a walk in the garden?”
“Why, Governor Otho, I would be delighted,” she said, with an innocent smile.
Otho took Vinia by the arm and escorted her into the gardens lit by flickering torchlight. Though they talked for some time, it was difficult for Otho to learn much about the young woman. He then realized both of his previous wives had been the same age as he, whereas she was at least twelve to fifteen years younger. Her lack of years also meant a lack of worldly experience. To her credit, Vinia appeared to be anything but shrewish, and she did take quite an interest in chariot racing.
“I’ve always been a supporter of the Blues myself,” Otho remarked.
“As have I,” the young woman replied, with a warm smile. “Terrible thing about that last race I saw in Rome, during the Tiberinus Pater festival. The Blues’ champion charioteer had a terrible crash.”
“Ah, yes, I did hear about that,” Otho replied. “Of course, I’ve been in Lusitania for a few years now and have missed the best races in the world. Do you like gladiator matches?”
Vinia scowled slightly at this. “To be honest, I find them rather boorish.”
“They’re not for everyone, I admit,” Otho said, taking a seat on a stone bench beneath a fig tree.
Vinia sat next to him, her arm intertwined with his. “Will you be coming to Rome with us?”
“That is my intent,” Otho answered. “Of course, a lot can happen over the next few months. Should Verginius have a sudden change of heart, we could all be facing the strangler’s noose, as traitors.” He thought this last remark might unnerve the young woman.
Vinia did not so much as flinch. “I overheard you speaking about how Nero is your friend, whom you love dearly. But I admire your sense of duty to the empire, that you would put the good of the people of Rome ahead of any personal friendship.”
“Everything I do, from now until the end of my days, will be for the good of Rome,” Otho asserted. It may have sounded a bit cliché; however, Vinia now clutched his hand in response. He then took his leave, kissing the young woman gently on the cheek.
Of all those who were in the entourage of Servius Sulpicius Galba, Otho was perhaps the only one devoid of fear. He alone had a means of escape should Galba’s efforts come to naught. But should Galba succeed in deposing Nero, Otho had taken the first crucial steps into making himself an indispensable member of the new imperial court. And that would take him closer to his ultimate goal of becoming the emperor’s rightful heir and successor.
Chapter IX: Turning of the Guard
The Praetorian Barracks, Rome
20 May 68 A.D.
Praetorian Guardsmen
An opportunity soon arose for a new voice of power in the chaotic struggle that was being waged in both Rome, as well as on the battlefields in Gaul. While the senate fretted about what they should do, given the elusive and cryptic messages coming from the Rhine army occupying Gaul, the Praetorian Guard once more became influential players in Rome’s imperial dynasty. Ever since the betrayal of Sejanus during the reign of Tiberius, when the prefecture was divided among two men instead of one, this had tempered the Guard’s influence substantially. But now, a power struggle was being waged subtly within the Praetorian Guard itself.
Ofonius Tigellinus, who had served as prefect for the last six years, was extremely loyal to Nero both personally and professionally. At fifty-eight years of age, he was seasoned, highly experienced, and utterly ruthless. Furthermore, he was one of the few men who the emperor regarded as a close friend, with Tigellinus demonstrating his loyalty and friendship in the most brutal fashion in recent months. The people hated him, both plebian and noble alike, for his behavior was often brutish, and he wielded his guardsmen like an iron fist. Yet, stronger than their hatred of Tigellinus was their fear of him.
His colleague, Nymphidius Sabinus, had served as his co-commander for the past three years, ever since the execution of the traitor, Faenius Rufus. At just thirty-three years of age, he was substantially younger than Tigellinus, yet he was equally ruthless and, perhaps, even more politically savvy. His only previous command had been over a regiment of auxilia infantry, and he was quite possibly the youngest man to rise up to become praetorian prefect. While he may not have had Nero’s ear the way Tigellinus did, Nymphidius already had far more substantial control over the Guard itself. That he was so much younger than his peer, and at least appeared to take a far greater interest in the welfare of individual guardsmen, made him a favorite among the men in the ranks. Even the centurions and tribunes were greatly influenced by his charisma and charm.
Nymphidius had been watching the events in the senate closely and had his own informants keeping him abreast of what was transpiring in Gaul. He could see clearly that the fates were beginning to abandon Nero and the house of the Julio-Claudians. As such, he was resolute to assert himself, not only into a greater position of power, but as one who would determine who would become the next emperor of Rome.
There was a knock at the door to his office, and a centurion was ushered in.
“Ah, Centurion Densus,” the prefect said, waving the man to a chair.
“You sent for me sir?” the officer asked. Densus was a fit and well-muscled soldier who had spent fifteen years in the ranks of the legions, before being given a meritorious promotion into the Praetorian Guard. He bore a pair of nasty visible scars, one on his right cheek, and the other across the left side of his neck. This second hideous mark was jagged and deep, and anyone observing it wondered how it was he had not been killed by such a grievous wound.
“I did, I did,” Nymphidius said, as he sat across from the centurion. He then apprised the officer before explaining the reason for their meeting. “You have the ear of the men in the ranks.”
“I like to think so, sir,” the centurion replied. “I have only been with the praetorians for a couple of years, but I can say that my men are well-drilled and know how to follow orders.”
“Th
at is good,” the prefect said with a nod, though his mind was clearly on a different matter. “It pains me to have to ask this of a subordinate, especially since it involves my fellow prefect. But do tell me, have you seen a change in Commander Tigellinus of late?”
“To be honest I have, sir,” Densus replied. “He seems almost listless, and his face looks like it never sees the sun anymore. Is he not well?”
“The rebellion has caused him great strain, I’m afraid,” Nymphidius said, feigning concern. What he did not mention was that, due to his abject fear regarding Nero’s possible overthrow, Tigellinus had taken to drinking excessively. He was rarely ever sober and, besides wine, he was now experimenting with various mind altering substances that had come from eastern merchants.
“The rebellion is a great strain on us all,” the centurion observed. “Is there anything the lads or I can do?”
“This isn’t easy,” the prefect remarked. “But I think I will have to assume most of my dear colleague’s duties from now on. I will be speaking with all of the tribunes in due time. But for now, I think it best the centurions and other officers come to me, directly, for their orders. Since Tigellinus is most comfortable when guarding the emperor personally, I am going to see to it that he remains with the duty cohort at the palace. We can only hope that once this crisis passes, his health will improve and he can assume his duties once more.”
“I understand, sir,” Densus replied.
The prefect then dismissed the centurion, before drafting a set of orders to the duty cohort at the palace. He also had a private letter ready to be sent to Galba. With Tigellinus essentially out of the picture, and with Nero’s downfall imminent, Nymphidius reckoned he could compel Galba to name him sole prefect of the Praetorian Guard.
“And if that old bastard even survives the journey to Rome, I will be in control of the city and the empire.” He then gave a wicked chuckle. “Sejanus, you were such an amateur.”