by James Mace
“You were with the Second Legion,” Vespasian acknowledged with a nod. “Have we met before?”
“Not directly, sir,” the centurion replied. “I did, however, serve under your command in Britannia. My centurion’s name was Metellus Artorius Posthumous.”
“I remember him well,” Vespasian nodded. “His adoptive father, Artorius, was primus pilus of the Twentieth Legion.”
“He was an outstanding officer,” the praetorian stated. “I still remember when we smashed the barbarians between the Twin Rivers. And I was there when you fought on the battle line with the Twentieth Legion’s First Cohort, during the assault on Mai Dun.”
“Wait a moment,” Gaius interrupted, stepping in front of the praetorian. “You said your centurion’s name was Metellus Artorius Posthumous?” When the praetorian nodded, the optio could not help but burst into an absurd fit of laughter.
“You know him?” asked the centurion.
“I bloody well should,” Gaius replied. “He’s my father. By Bellona’s tit, what are the chances? One of my father’s own soldiers, a damned would-be assassin.”
The praetorian officer gave a sad nod of understanding, for he knew he was condemned. “When you see your father again, tell him I am sorry.”
“Put away your weapons,” Vespasian ordered his legionaries. “Leave us.”
Though Gaius was still completely shocked by what he had just witnessed, he and his men saluted and left the room. The commander-in-chief then stepped around the table and picked up the praetorian’s gladius, which he handed back to him. Confused, Octavianus accepted the weapon and placed it back in its scabbard.
“Stand at ease,” Vespasian said. “No harm will come to you. It is unlikely that Galba knew he was sending one of my own to slay me.”
Octavianus gave a mirthless laugh. “I was six months away from retirement when our new emperor gave me this despicable tasking.”
“Not like you had much of a choice,” the commander-in-chief observed.
“No, sir. But it was not just you he was after.”
“Oh?”
“He sent another praetorian to North Africa to deal with the governor, Clodius Macer. You and he are viewed as ‘unacceptable threats’ to the new regime.”
“I see,” Vespasian replied. He folded his arms across his chest. “What stayed your hand, then? Why did you not follow through with your emperor’s orders? If they came from him, then surely no repercussions would have followed. My guess is you would be handsomely rewarded.”
“By Galba?” the centurion scoffed. “Any other emperor or general would reward his charges for taking on such a hateful mission, but not him. To Galba, it is nothing more than us doing our damned job. And unless it’s some bloody African or Germanic slave fucking him in the ass, he never sees fit to reward anyone for their service.”
“Before you continue,” Vespasian said, raising a hand, “you look thirsty.”
“That I am, sir.”
Vespasian nodded and went to the door. He opened it slightly and ordered Gaius to have servants sent with wine and some food. The optio was baffled but simply nodded and sent a legionary to the kitchens. The commander-in-chief then closed the door and told Octavianus to take a seat.
While slaves brought them wine, water, and some cheeses and dates, the praetorian officer went on to explain what had transpired with the Adiutrix Legion, as well as all of Galba’s brutal tactics and purging that took place during his journey to Rome.
“I always knew Galba was stern, but this is madness,” Vespasian remarked. “It would seem he was fit to become emperor, up until the moment he was proclaimed ‘Caesar’.”
“I understand ‘stern’,” the praetorian stated. “I’ve spent enough years in the ranks to become quite familiar with brutal discipline. Galba, however, has quickly shown himself to be nothing more than a bloody tyrant. The senate tolerates him because Nero only terrorized the patrician class. Galba is brutal to noble and pleb in equal measure.”
“Please, know that I was not aware of any of this,” Vespasian said. “Being so far from Rome, how could I be? He denies men what they are due, then kills them in cold blood using an archaic and outdated form of punishment. And afterwards, he expects the survivors to fight loyally for him?”
“Precisely, sir,” Octavianus said. “How could he expect me to strike down the very man who led us to victory in Britannia, when I was but a young legionary? We may never have met, but you did endorse Centurion Metellus’ recommendation that I be reassigned to the Praetorian Guard. You were one of my heroes, sir. Jupiter himself could not have made me kill you.”
“I’m no hero,” the commander-in-chief asserted. “I am simply a soldier, like you, trying to do his duty to the empire.”
“And what would you have of me?” Octavianus asked, standing and coming to attention. “What duty would you ask of me? I cannot return to Rome, not now. As soon as Galba hears that you’re still alive, I’ll be cut down as a traitor.”
“Are you married?” Vespasian asked.
“I am, sir,” the praetorian replied. “I also have a son and daughter. Both are coming of age soon.”
“You will write to your wife at once,” Vespasian ordered. “My brother has his own personal couriers within the imperial post. One of them is scheduled to depart for Rome in two days. The letter to your wife will be included in my own dispatch to my brother. He will see to it that she receives it.”
“Yes, sir.”
“She is to take your children and acquire transport to Ephesus. From there she is to meet with the wife of General Marcus Antonius Primus. I will personally write the letter of introduction, stating that your family is to be kept at their estate as my personal guests.”
“Thank you, sir,” the centurion replied. “I don’t know what else to say.”
“All of us are sworn to serve the emperor, senate, and people of Rome,” Vespasian replied. “If Galba wished to dispose of me, he could have easily recalled me to Rome and faced me like a man. But then he would have had to fabricate some kind of charge against me, should he wish to send me to the gods. Any such actions, no matter how well corroborated, would have been made public. Instead, he has chosen the coward’s way out. He sees threats where there are none, and he is no better than the man whose death brought him to the throne. If he’s not careful, he will not sit upon it for long.”
Vespasian soon dismissed the praetorian and gave Optio Gaius Artorius orders to find suitable quarters for him. The commander-in-chief decided to keep him as a member of his personal guard, though his pay would be substantially less than what he’d earned as a praetorian centurion. There wasn’t much he could do about the man’s pension, which would surely be forfeit; however, it was still preferable to the alternative.
Later that evening, Vespasian held a private dinner with his son. The actions of their new emperor were alarming, to say the least. There was nothing to stop him from recalling the Flavian general to Rome, something which could lead to war should Vespasian refuse.
“I never thought Galba to be so damned paranoid,” Titus said, as he read the short scroll Octavianus had given his father. “This states you are deemed an enemy of the emperor, but not of the empire.”
“A technical oversight, perhaps,” Vespasian noted. “Then again, it would seem Galba’s arrogance is only overshadowed by his cruelty. And it is likely poor Macer was not fortunate enough that his would-be killer was also one of his former soldiers.”
“According to Uncle Sabinus, Galba’s march to Rome was a bloody path paved with skulls,” Titus added with poetic emphasis. “Rome deposed one tyrant, only to suffer another.”
Vespasian was never one for paranoia though, in light of recent events, he was glad of the political and military alliances his campaigns in Judea had allowed him to forge. Whatever Galba’s halfhearted attempts at having him assassinated, Vespasian’s brother was still a member in good standing within the senate, despite being removed as Urban Prefect of Rome. Sabinus had told
him the emperor was still honoring all previous suffect consul appointments, including his own. Whatever his fearful vendetta against Vespasian, at least it did not extend to other members of the Flavian family.
Over the next couple weeks, Galba’s attempts at recouping the wasteful spending of his predecessor were proving to be mostly futile. Only fifty of the six hundred million had been recovered, with the courts now crammed by lawsuits of those who accused the government of wrongly coming after their assets. There were also several letters of outrage coming from Greece, after Galba’s collectors had taken back a gift of ten thousand denarii Nero had made to the priestesses of Apollo on Delphi. But it was the response to the emperor’s attempt to recover the millions of denarii Nero had gifted to the judges of the last Olympic Games that caused the most disruption.
“They simply refused, sire,” the embarrassed tribune said, his head bowed in shame.
“How, exactly, did they refuse?” Galba asked. He could tell by the man’s expression there was more to what had transpired.
When the tribune could not speak, the emperor held out his hand. The young man had no choice but to hand over the scroll he had been given. Galba then handed to Vinius, whose eyes grew wide as he read,
“To the committee that seeks to impose nothing more than tyrannical thievery upon us, we state unequivocally that, should Emperor Galba seek to take back from us those gifts granted to us by Emperor Nero, then he is no more than a brigand and a despot. If the money granted to the Olympic Games committee is so important to him, then he can come claim it from us himself.”
“Bloody insolence, that is,” Otho said. With Vinius’ help, he had been appointed as part of the oversight on the recovery of the lost funds.
“Is that all you can say, that it is insolence?” Galba asked quietly. He waved for the tribune to leave.
The young man was only too glad to exit the chamber.
“To be fair, Caesar,” Vinius spoke up, “we all knew that recovering these funds was going to prove very difficult, if not impossible. The gold and silver we took back from Delphi no doubt enraged the rest of the Greeks.”
“The return of ten thousand denarii has likely cost us millions,” Otho added candidly.
Both men held their breath, waiting for Galba to erupt into a tirade of abuse. Instead, he was surprisingly calm and reserved. He stood and simply paced, maintaining a hand on the table for support.
“And what would Otho have us do?” he finally asked.
“To be honest, Caesar,” Otho replied, surprised to have his opinion requested, “I think we should let matters lie. Believe me, I like the squandering of imperial treasure even less than you. I may have been the previous emperor’s friend, as everyone is keen to remind me; however, my record of fiscal responsibility within Lusitania speaks for itself. What we cannot do is continue to waste even more resources, if it means recouping even less than we now expend. The courts are already chockfull with legal cases disputing our claims, and it will take a year or better to sort those out. We should take back whatever we can manage from those cases, and then leave things be. It will suffice to make the point known, that the empire will no longer waste its resources.”
“It is not always easy, listening to advice that I do not wish to hear,” Galba said, with an affirmative nod. “But, in this case, it would seem your words hold great merit. Very well, we will press for resolution of the legal matters in the courts, and then look to the future rather than our shameful past.”
As the emperor left the two men alone, both Otho and Vinius were wide-eyed in surprise.
“I thought for a moment he might send me to the Gemonian Stairs,” Otho said dryly, in reference to the place of execution within the city.
“This could mean a couple of things,” Vinius replied thoughtfully. “The emperor could, of course, be tired and overwhelmed by the volume of work, which for him is never-ending. Or, he could be taking your advice more to heart, and thereby respecting you more as an advisor and asset.”
“I do hope that one coincides with the other,” Otho remarked. “If I cannot at least give him good council, where he’ll appreciate my merits, then our plans will come to nothing.”
“This was, I think, your first real step towards the imperial throne,” Vinius stated. “And don’t forget who has the emperor’s co-consul for next year, who has his ear better than any.”
While Vespasian’s foremost priority of the past two years had been the suppression of the Jewish Revolt, he was uncertain if there would even be a campaign season against the rebels this next year. The zealot factions were now all confined to Jerusalem and the southern regions, near the fortress of Masada, with no attempts being made to cause disruptions within those regions re-conquered by Rome. From what Vespasian’s loyal Jewish spies had told him, the imperial army was all but ignored by the warring factions, as they engaged in a bitter and bloody struggle for dominance of the Jewish State. Since the death of the moderate Judean leader, Hanan ben Hanan, there was no order to be had within Jerusalem or the southern districts. The extremely violent Sicarii faction, who now controlled Masada, refused to acknowledge any governing body in Jerusalem, be they Jewish or Roman. Their feud with John of Giscala, who had slain Hanan and taken control of the Jewish holy city, had turned into an all-out bloody civil war.
As far as Vespasian was concerned, the rebels were free to kill each other off without any need for intervention from Rome. Jerusalem was a fearsome fortress, with three lines of sixty-foot walls, and a populace that was armed to the teeth. The more the zealots killed each other, the more Roman lives it would save in the long term. In a previous conversation with the former enemy general-turned Roman accomplice, Josephus, his former adversary had gone so far as to tell him it was the God of the Jews who delivered his own people into the hands of the empire. Josephus had further stated that one of the reasons for his defection was that Rome ruled the world by the grace of God, and to defy Rome was to disobey the will of God. Whether these feelings were genuine, or simply flattery meant to keep the Romans placated mattered little.
But with the war in Judea now in a state of perpetual pause, Vespasian decided it was time to take stock of his closest allies. After all, Galba had already made one attempt on his life, while also proving to be so unpopular that it would be a wonder if he survived a year as Caesar. Vespasian decided to sit in his private study, making a few notations about his generals and political allies.
Over the last two years, Marcus Ulpius Trajan had proven himself to be one of the most skillful generals Vespasian had ever known. Pragmatic and methodical, in contrast to Vespasian’s son, Titus’ more aggressive and unorthodox style, the two had actually worked very well together. The previous year, each had taken detachments from their respective legions to assault the double-walled rebel stronghold of Jaffa. The siege lasted just two days, before Titus and Trajan’s legionaries took the ramparts and razed the entire city to the ground.
But more than just a brilliant general, Trajan was also a powerful political connection. Having spent much of his career in the provinces, rather than in the Roman senate, he wielded a great deal of influence throughout the empire. He was beloved in his native Hispania, as well as North Africa, and his exemplary performance during the wars in Armenia had gained him much renown. That he was of the newer patrician class, born outside of Italia, had made him a nonentity to Nero. Were he to possess imperial ambitions, he could pose a far more legitimate and immediate threat to Galba than Vespasian. The Flavian general wondered if perhaps Galba had hoped that, by quietly disposing of him, one benefit would be reining in the venerable Trajan. It was all absurd, though, as both Vespasian and Trajan were loyal soldiers of the empire, and of no threat to any man who the senate had confirmed as their rightful emperor.
Perhaps the most unexpected of Vespasian’s political allies was the Syrian governor, Gaius Licinius Mucianus. Mucianus was a political and diplomatic genius, though his influence was tempered by the fact that he had
almost no military experience. What made his alliance with Vespasian so unusual was that the two men practically despised each other. Vespasian viewed Mucianus as effeminate and unmanly, more for his appearance and the way he conducted himself rather than his well-known homosexuality.
When the previous Governor of Syria, Cestius Gallus, had abysmally failed to put down the Jewish rebellion, losing over six thousand soldiers during a hellish ambush during his ignominious retreat from Jerusalem, Mucianus had been sent to replace him as governor. Grudgingly accepting the fact that he was no military leader, Mucianus had been somewhat grateful when Vespasian was named commander-in-chief of all imperial forces in the east. Still, the two men did not get on well in the beginning, and Vespasian had sent Titus to Antioch whenever he needed to deal directly with the Syrian governor. Under most circumstances two extremely powerful men, collocated in the same region, would be rife with conflict. And yet, each was able to acknowledge, while they were most certainly not friends, they could work amicably together for the good of the empire. And while he could not exactly explain why, Vespasian actually trusted Mucianus even more than most of his generals.
The commander-in-chief’s own son, Titus, had been a rock of support, both militarily and politically. Though very young for his rank—having been given command of Legio XV, Apollinaris, at the age of twenty-six—over the next two years, his aggression, tactical and strategic savvy, as well as his willingness to learn from his experienced centurions, had made him one of the most popular and successful legates in the east. There was also little, if any, talk of nepotism, for he had received his appointment from Emperor Nero well before his father was recalled to active service.
Of equal or even greater importance were Titus’ political skills. While Vespasian was loved by the plebs, particularly the rank-and-file soldiery, his blunt and often crass demeanor, coupled with a soldier’s twisted sense of humor, did not translate well when dealing with other members of the imperial patrician class. Titus, conversely, was a very smooth and accomplished orator. And though he could be direct and forceful, like his father, his skills of persuasion often made this unnecessary.