by James Mace
“As for helmets, that will be easier to resolve,” Primus said. “Granted, it will mean our legionaries will be walking around with a dozen different styles upon their heads; however, even an old republic-era coolus helmet will provide adequate protection. Gladii were surprisingly easy to procure. I want what armorers we do have focused on constructing shields and javelins. Also, give me some ideas as to what design should be painted on our shields. Something distinctive but nothing too extravagant. This legion needs to forge its own history and win a few battles before she earns a more distinguishing shield design. For now, we just need something that differentiates our soldiers from all the other legions on the Danube.”
“Between wearing hamata scraps for armor and rusted republican helmets, I think they’ll stand out,” a pilus prior remarked, drawing a chorus of chuckles from his peers.
Primus gave a few additional words of instruction before leaving Vitruvius and the cohort commanders to their business. Daily operations, training, fortress construction and maintenance, rewards and punishment, as well as promotions all fell within the responsibilities of the primus pilus and his subordinate centurions. As legate, Antonius Primus was responsible for the actions of his soldiers, as well as maintaining a strategic and political rapport with the other legions and the governor-general of the province. Logistics was also a key concern of his, as he needed to make certain the legion had numerous sources for rations, especially if the region they were posted to should undergo a poor harvest season.
He met later with his chief tribune, an agreeable enough young man named Cassius Florus Sellic. Like most laticlavian tribunes, Sellic was in his early twenties, the son of a prominent senator, and hopeful to become a legate someday. Something else the legion was lacking was staff tribunes. Nor did they have an aquilifer, who not only carried the sacred eagle into battle but was also the chief treasurer for the legion. Knowing his own ineptitude with finances, the last thing Primus wanted was to have to oversee the legion’s coffers. He, therefore, tasked Sellic with finding an aquilifer, offering the promotion to whichever candidate had the most experience with both coin and mathematics.
“I want you to look outside the legion,” Primus told him. “None of our rankers have any experience, and the rank of aquilifer is subordinate only to the centurion primus pilus.”
“I understand, sir,” Sellic replied. “I will also find out why our military tribunes have not yet arrived. Before we left Rome, I was assured they would join us soon enough.”
“Well, I didn’t pass any on the way here,” the legate remarked. “Do what you can. I’m going to see about finding some more armor for our lads. Bellona help us if we should get into a scrap before we can properly equip and train them.”
It had taken little for Caecina and Valens to spread the seeds of rebellion amongst the Rhine army. After all, they had been encouraging discord within the ranks ever since the fall of Nero. Both men hated Galba, and all they needed was someone to lead them; a leader who they alone could control. They also knew it would be relatively easy to stir up long buried feelings of disgust towards the former governor of Lower Germania who now sat upon the imperial throne, even though a large number of the soldiers in the Rhine army had not even been born when Galba governed their province.
As for those men who had been in the legions during Galba’s tenure as governor and were now the senior-ranking centurions of the army, the legates assured them that expressions of discontent towards the new emperor would not be construed as subversive or treasonous.
“...provided you are able to compel your legionaries to accept a more suitable candidate as Emperor of Rome,” Caecina said, during a meeting with the tribunes and the centurions primus ordo of the First Cohort. These four men, along with the primus pilus, were the chief strategic and tactical advisors to the commanding legate.
“While I most certainly harbor no love for Galba,” a centurion spoke up, “if we intervene by force and place our own emperor upon the throne, what is to stop other provinces from attempting to do the same?”
“You know I have more reason to despise Galba than any man here,” Master Centurion Bulla added. “I am certainly not opposed to deposing this wicked tyrant for the good of Rome.”
“Please understand that no one is compelling you to do anything,” Caecina reassured them. “If the men wish to renew their oaths of allegiance, then by all means let them. However, if there is discontent, or subversive mutterings within the ranks, then we need a strong leader, one who the legions will willingly swear fealty to. But we must be unified in our resolve. The Rhine army must be of one mind and purpose.”
Though the men hated Galba, the legate knew it was dangerous asking his men to betray the man who the senate had ratified as emperor. That there were no rebukes from the assembled officers, or calls to throw their legate in chains as a traitor, only made Caecina bolder in his ambition to rid the empire of Galba. He decided to let the subversive feelings fester for a while longer. By the Festival of Saturnalia, the legions of Germania would be ready to save Rome from tyranny. Naturally, the other issue was getting Vitruvius to believe that he would be a suitable Caesar.
It was two weeks later when Vespasian received the message from Primus, imploring him to send whatever armor he could spare. The new legate of Legio VII, Gemina, stated that all other entreaties had either been ignored or met with indifference.
“I want a count of all spare sets of segmentata and hamata we have within the entire army,” the commander-in-chief ordered. “I also want half of all stocks of spare plates, buckles, rivets, and repair parts brought to Caesarea at once.”
“It will be slow going,” Trajan observed. “The fall and winter rains have already badly muddied the roads.”
“I understand,” the commander-in-chief replied. “But I also know that a Roman legion has been posted to the heart of the Danube frontier, with little means of protecting themselves against the ever volatile Dacians across the border. And just because the emperor who raised them lacks the foresight to see to their needs, does not mean we should abandon our brother legionaries.”
“It doesn’t hurt that this will also serve as a measure of good faith to our friend, Primus,” Titus added with a grin. “And are we perhaps thinking ahead some?”
Vespasian understood his son’s subtle hint. “It is always good to think a few steps ahead,” he conceded. “Besides, Antonius Primus is a loyal friend. And whatever his personal flaws, on the battlefield he is an ally not to be despised.”
Chapter XVII: Duplicity on the Frontier
Bonna, Lower Germania
December 68 A.D.
Aulus Vitellius
The nine hundred mile journey from Rome to Bonna, in Lower Germania, had taken Vitellius over a month to complete. Though the caps of the Alpes Mountains were white with snow, the passes themselves had yet to be blockaded by the coming winter storms. His arrival at the fortress of Vindonissa, on the north side of the Alpes, surprised the legionaries posted there. Vitellius remained for a night, dining with the commanding legate of Legio XXI, Rapax. His host speculated that if the governor had waited a couple more weeks, he never would have made it over the mountains.
With much effort, Vitellius made the remainder of his journey in good order. Upon his arrival at Bonna, he was greeted by two of his legates, Valens and Aquinus, as well as Caecina from neighboring Upper Germania, who welcomed Vitellius on behalf of Governor Flaccus. In the weeks since his arrival, Vitellius adapted remarkably well into his new command. Both legionaries and auxilia troopers treated him cordially and with great respect. Little did he know, Valens and Caecina had spent the past weeks spreading glowing stories about the new governor. They had even gone so far as to emphasize that the soldiery should not judge Vitellius on his appearance, any more so than they would have the semi-crippled Emperor Claudius. Granted, most of the legionaries had been young boys when Claudius occupied the imperial throne, yet all knew the tales of how his physical afflictions had m
asked a brilliant leader and statesman.
Vitellius had taken on his duties with a surprising amount of vigor and, predictably, formed a close bond with both Valens and Caecina, something which he smugly reckoned would grate on his mother. The two men became his favorite legates, and he often entertained the pair at the governor’s palace. That Caecina was spending so much time away from his own legion in the neighboring province was of little regard, as he did so under the guise of being Governor Flaccus’ liaison to Vitellius. On a cold, early December evening, Vitellius hosted the pair to a private dinner, where he wished to discuss the upcoming Saturnalia celebrations in both Bonna and Mogontiacum. And yet, there was a pall of gloom over the two legates, their faces betraying their deeply troubled thoughts.
“Tell me, my friends,” Vitellius said, his face flushed and sweaty as he messily dug into a course of roast peacock. “Why the long faces? The most wonderful celebrations of the year are almost upon us, and I hope to put on such a spectacle they’ll be speaking of it in Rome herself!”
“And after the celebrations, we are likely to find our province in turmoil,” Caecina said. He looked over at Valens, who gave him a subtle wink of reassurance.
“What do you mean?” Vitellius asked, before quaffing another cup of wine.
“It’s the legions, sir,” Valens answered.
“What about the legions? From what I have seen, they are as drilled and disciplined as any in the empire. I have seen nothing that would displease me.”
“Nor will you,” Valens replied. “For the lads are already taken by you. It is the emperor who draws their ire.”
Vitellius raised an eyebrow, for he knew only a few scattered rumors regarding Galba’s mistreatment of the Rhine army during his tenure. He found it difficult to fathom that there could still be such enmity towards him, after more than twenty years.
“If I may speak plainly, sir,” Caecina said. “The men hate Galba.”
“Yes, well, he has made few friends since being named Caesar,” Vitellius conceded. “And I know he has a less than favorable reputation amongst the older soldiers on the Rhine.”
“And therein lies the problem,” Caecina remarked, capitalizing on Vitellius’ observation. “How can we be certain legionaries will show obedience to an emperor their own officers despise? And as you know, with every New Year every soldier in the service of Rome is required to renew his oath of allegiance to the emperor. What happens then? When the most powerful force within the imperial army refuses to do so?”
“Do you really think the legions will refuse to extend their oaths to Galba?” Vitellius asked, suddenly alarmed.
“When my own master centurion has the audacity to say, ‘piss on that sodded old twat’, I do not foresee much love for the emperor coming from his soldiers,” Caecina stated.
“But if the legions refuse to swear their oaths, it will be chaos. There will be anarchy on the Rhine!” Vitellius was now seated upright and was clearly vexed, as he shoved away a servant who offered him a plate of pickled fish.
“Our legionaries are not wild barbarians, regardless of what people in Rome say about their living amongst the savages for so long,” Valens said. “But they need someone they can follow, an emperor who inspires them. A cantankerous old man who once treated their centurions cruelly, and whose path to the throne was saturated with the blood of murdered soldiers, is not a man that any self-respecting imperial legionary would swear allegiance to.”
“Still,” Vitellius replied, his brow furrowed in contemplation, “what you are eluding to amounts to treason.”
“Yes,” Caecina stated. “Treason against a man who became emperor through treachery.
“Treason against a feeble tyrant who killed without mercy any who offended him,” Valens added
“But who?” Vitellius persisted. “If the legions will not obey Galba, then who can inspire them?” As both of his legates stared at him, a knowing smirk, albeit one of disbelief, crossed his face. “No...you cannot mean it. Surely you do not intend to suggest that I become emperor?”
“Who else?” Valens asked. “You may think of yourself as an improbable candidate, but you also had doubts as to your ability to lead the armies of the Rhine.”
Vitellius was now helping himself to a plate of nuts and dates, all the while staring down at the floor while contemplating what his generals were suggesting. Certainly, the entire concept of ‘treason’ was made a mockery of by Galba’s rise to power. And how dare the emperor demand loyalty from the provinces, when he had spurned that expected of him by Nero?
“I need to know the entire Rhine army is behind me,” Vitellius said at last. “Every last legionary and auxiliary trooper must be unanimous in their support for Galba’s overthrow. If that happens we will march on Rome, not as conquerors but as liberators, to save the people from a wretched tyrant.”
Caecina and Valens were nothing short of amazed at how easy it had been. After all, Vitellius had only arrived in the province a few weeks prior, and now he was collaborating open rebellion with his legates. Given the vast size and experience of the Rhine army, it was easy to see why a potential usurper would be brimming with confidence. A year ago, this would have been unthinkable, yet Galba’s usurpation of the throne made it clear that an emperor could be made from outside of the old imperial family, and even from outside of Rome herself. The two legates now relished the coming of the New Year, which would usher in a new age for Rome.
A month had passed since Otho’s last meeting with Vinius. And while the former proconsul’s wife and daughter had yet to arrive from Hispania, he had made good on his attempts to sway Galba’s thinking regarding the imperial succession. Otho’s presence was required by the emperor more frequently, in particular regarding fiscal and taxation matters. Many members of the senate openly speculated that Galba had, perhaps, found his heir.
Among the emperor’s growing entourage was Lucius Calpurnius Licinianus. The fourth son of a former consul named Marcus Licinius Crassus, two of his older brothers had met violent ends. The eldest had been murdered, while the second was executed by Nero. His remaining brother, Crassus, currently commanded a legion on the Danube, while his younger sister was married to a prominent senator. Otho knew him as a passing acquaintance, though he was aware Licinianus was also becoming a closer part of Galba’s inner circle. The two shared a similar temperament, with a penchant for stoicism and strict financial accountability. It was sometimes said, in jest, that one would think Licinianus was Galba’s son or grandson. And while Otho had finally be admitted into the imperial council, so was Licinianus, who was the only member younger than he. While Otho did not find any of this remotely amusing, he decided he should become friends with the young man.
Licinianus was surprised when Otho invited him to dine at the Domus Aurea, even though it was slowly falling into disuse. To hold banquets or other events within its walls was perceived as being in poor taste, given Nero’s love for the extravagant building. However, for Otho, who had never denied his friendship to the deceased emperor, it was the perfect place for him to entertain friends and potential political allies.
“I must say, I am honored you invited me to the Domus Aurea,” Licinianus said, as he took his place on one of the formal couches.
“It is my friends, and potential friends, who I invite here,” Otho said, holding up his wine chalice in salute. “Many may think it in poor taste for me to use this palace. I believe we should not let such magnificence go to waste.”
“Agreed,” Licinianus said, returning the salute. He then made a bold prediction, one that had been echoing among the senate and equites. “As you are one who will most likely succeed our current emperor, I find myself fortunate that you should consider me among your friends.”
Otho feigned surprise at this last remark, though he had been less than subtle about his ultimate ambitions than perhaps he should have.
“I am merely a loyal servant of Rome,” he asserted. “We can only trust Galba to choose a su
ccessor that will best serve the people of the empire, after he is gone. At his age, I confess, I do worry often about his health. The last of the Julio-Claudians has only been dead since June, with Galba only recently arriving in the capital. And should he depart this life too soon, it could mean instability and tumult.”
“Yes,” Licinianus concurred. “Tragic, then, that his sons were taken from him so many years ago. It is strange how the fates work. Not one of our emperors has ever been succeeded by his own natural son. Tiberius was the stepson of Augustus; Caligula the great-nephew of Tiberius; Claudius the uncle of Caligula; and Nero the stepson of Claudius. I suppose, with no close living relatives, fate is allowing the emperor to choose a worthy successor based on merit rather than bloodline.”
“I suppose it is exceedingly arrogant of me to think that I am such a worthy successor,” Otho remarked. “But, I am no more vain than Augustus was, when he allowed the senate to grant him the numerous powers and honors that made him a king in all but name. He always preferred the term ‘princeps’ or ‘first citizen’, rather than ‘emperor’, but that is what he was.”
“Augustus lived in a different time,” his guest observed. “He had the sensibilities of the senate and people to consider. Rome had abolished kings nearly five hundred years before, yet he was made more powerful than any of our ancient monarchs. He told the people he had restored the republic, yet it was all a façade. Strange, the republic died with him and nobody noticed. But now, no one would dare think of bringing back those dark days before the empire, when violence became the rule of law.”
“Indeed. With an emperor, Rome’s rival factions are kept in check. Or at least they are prevented from making war upon each other. And if we are to prevent a return to the darkness, there must be stability within the imperial succession.”
“I spoke with Galba in private the other morning,” Licinianus said.