by James Mace
This surprised Otho, though he kept it to himself.
“He invited me to breakfast with him, and I broached this very subject. I thought he would take offense, thinking no sooner has he become emperor, and everyone is already looking to be rid of him.”
Privately, that was exactly how Otho felt, though it was for more than just his selfish ambitions. Galba’s bloody path to becoming Caesar had left him with many enemies and only half-hearted friends. The sooner the cantankerous old bastard died, the sooner Otho could begin the long process of reconciliation within the empire.
Despite his feelings of revulsion towards the man whom he hoped to replace, his response to Licinianus was far more measured.
“And, did Galba make any definitive statements regarding the succession?”
“He did not mention any names,” Licinianus answered. “However, he assured me an announcement would be made soon after the New Year.”
“Well, then it could be anyone,” Otho said, trying to hide his disappointment.
“Perhaps, though I know Galba despises false modesty. And every single senator and patrician who might be a possible candidate has fawned over him, with talks about ‘may you reign forever’, or ‘I am but your humble servant’, and other such undignified speak. No one is coming out in favor of any particular candidate, with the exception of Vinius. He has rather pointedly told the emperor that he views you as the most viable potential successor. And, as we both know, Vinius has far greater influence on Galba than any other man alive. Even Laco and his dear Icelus do not hold as much sway as his soon-to-be consular colleague. Which is why many within the senate believe it will be you. I, too, am fairly certain he will name you as his heir.”
While he had hoped for a more definitive word from Galba, Otho was confidently reassured knowing Vinius was doing his part to ensure their succession plans came to fruition.
“I hope this does not place you in an awkward position,” he said. “But I have to know, once the time comes, can I count on you to be one of my inner circle of friends and advisors? For that is why I have asked you here. I do not know you well, but I know that Galba would have only appointed one as young as you to the imperial council with good reason.”
“You have come to me in the spirit of friendship and service to Rome,” Licinianus noted. “And for that, you can count on me to serve you well once you have become Caesar.”
The two then drank a series of toasts, while swearing oaths that they would work closely together for the greater good of the people of Rome. By the end of the night, Otho was teeming with confidence, as he felt his influence within the imperial court growing substantially. Licinianus was a few years younger than he, and Otho knew he needed old senators, such as Vinius; revered generals, such as Paulinus; and the younger generation of patricians supporting him. He almost felt that it was coming together all-too-easily. But then, he reasoned that if it was the will of the gods, then everything coming to pass was part of their divine intentions for the empire.
The grain ration, known as the frumentationes, dated back to the early empire when Emperor Augustus had delegated a set amount of free grain to all citizens in Rome. Considered to be a personal gift from the emperor, for it was by his authority alone the ration was issued, the frumentationes had been a useful means of maintaining the loyalty of the plebian masses. Nero had suspended the ration following the Great Fire, as the funds that paid for the grain were needed to rebuild the city. Soon after his arrival, the Tribunes of the Plebs petitioned Galba to reinstate the ration, only to be rebuffed. The emperor claimed the grain ration was an expense the empire simply could not afford. Whether truth or simply another example of his miserly nature, it only alienated Galba even further from the people.
In the theaters, he was mocked by the revival of an ancient Atellan farce derived from Greek playwrights. During one of the musical scores the entire audience began singing along about a stingy old man named Onesimus, who all now compared to Galba. Wise emperors had used the theater to gauge the demeanor of the masses. With the exception of the reigns of Caligula and Nero, thespians mocking the emperors were commonplace. While Tiberius had been indifferent to the farces, both Augustus and Claudius took much amusement at their own expense. Augustus even went so far as to send written critiques to various actors as to how well they mimicked his speech and behavior. However, it was not the actions of the actors, but the reactions of the audiences that told an emperor whether he was loved or loathed. That the Atellan farce, which was more cruel than humorous, had been revived, was telling. Even more so was the enthusiasm with which the crowds sang along to the rather biting lyrics. Galba ignored the warnings that played out almost nightly on the various stages of the imperial capital.
And though the emperor loathed festivals, feeling they were an extravagant waste of resources, even he was looking forward to the weeklong Saturnalia later that month. The people were growing angry, and they needed something to distract them. He had, very briefly, considered withdrawing all public funds for the celebrations. Vinius and Icelus rather bluntly told him if he did, the people would burn down the imperial palace with all of them inside.
It was two weeks prior to Saturnalia when yet another financial matter was brought to Galba’s attention. This time it involved not Rome but Germania, and one of the very men he had assigned to the frontier.
“These are the taxation and expenditure reports for Upper Germania during the last six months,” Icelus explained, as he stood to the side of the emperor’s private desk.
“Most of these numbers do not add up at all,” Galba grumbled. “A few thousand denarii from the road building funds, some more from the taxes taken from wheat farmers...did Governor Flaccus offer no explanation?”
“If I may speak plainly, Caesar,” the freedman replied. “Flaccus is a half-witted bumbling old man who can barely see and who, some days, forgets where he is. If you will look at these reports, you will see that one of his legates has been performing most of the financial transactions, even though he appears to be spending little, if any, time in the province.”
“Caecina.” Galba was now seething with disgust. The same man, who just a few months ago he’d sent to replace Verginius as commanding legate of Legio IV, was now embezzling imperial funds.
“I want him sacked immediately and brought to Rome to face charges of theft and corruption!”
The Year of the Four Emperors
Chapter XVIII: Oath Breakers
The Rhine Frontier
1 January 69 A.D.
Aquilifer and legionaries
New Year’s Day dawned grey and cold along the Rhine frontier. It had rained the night before, with a few wisps of snow falling during the early morning hours of darkness. And while there was a semblance of normalcy within the massive fortresses that housed the imperial legions of Germania, both officer and legionary alike felt the nervous tension and apprehension of what was to come.
That everything had been orchestrated by a pair of legates never crossed the minds of individual legionaries. What they did know was that, unable to willingly declare their allegiance for Emperor Galba, all were risking being condemned as traitors. To a legionary, his oath was sacred, and none felt they could swear before the gods that they would live and die in the service of a man they so utterly despised. It was not just the hatred for Galba that stemmed initially from the older centurions, but also the fact that Emperor Nero, though loathed and feared by the senate, had been loved by the army. After all, he had been the grandson of the great Germanicus Caesar, who led the Rhine army to some of its greatest victories against the barbarian alliance formed by the traitor, Arminius, all those years ago. And, Nero was the last of the Julio-Claudians, whose very name imperial soldiers had been taught to revere. To now swear their oaths to the man who had usurped their beloved Nero was unthinkable. So consumed with hatred for Galba were the Rhine legions, Caecina and Valens would later realize their goading and treasonous talk had been completely unnecessary.
General Fabius Valens stood atop the dais, on the edge of the amphitheater just outside the fortress. The entire Legio I, Germanica, was arrayed in a massive parade formation before him. Each centurion pilus prior standing at the head of his cohort, along with their standard bearer. His chief tribune stood behind him just off to his right, the centurion primus pilus on his left. The staff tribunes were arrayed in a line behind them.
“First Germanica Legion!” Valens shouted. “The New Year is upon us; a time when all soldiers of the empire renew their oaths of allegiance to the emperor, senate, and people of Rome. The senate has seen fit to recognize Servius Sulpicius Galba as Emperor of Rome. Will you, this day, swear the oath of allegiance to him?”
There was an awkward silence. No one within the ranks dared speak up in either confirmation or defiance. Centurions and options kept quiet, as they did not wish to give the appearance of unduly influencing their legionaries to commit treason. After a minute of complete silence, it became clear that not one of the five thousand soldiers assembled was willing to swear fealty to Emperor Galba.
“I ask you again,” Valens persisted. “Will the First Germanica give its unquestioned loyalty and obedience to Emperor Galba?” The wording was deliberate, and it cut into the heart of every soldier and officer present. Finally, it became too much. And, as one brave legionary defiantly shouted, ‘No!’ the entire legion erupted, like a pot boiling over.
“Piss on Galba, the usurper from hell!”
“Crucify the traitor!”
“Shove a gladius up his ass and toss his corpse into the Tiber!”
There were other, equally obscene, insults hurled by numerous soldiers in the ranks. Valens raised both his hands, which silenced the shouts and profanities being spewed with venom from his soldiers.
“First Germanica, I cannot in good conscience fault you for refusing to give your allegiance to Galba. However, we are legionaries not barbarians, and we will not allow anarchy to threaten our beloved empire. We serve Rome above all else, and Rome must have an emperor. There is one among us who has shown his love for both Rome, and especially for the legions along the Rhine which keep all our people safe. He is of noble birth, a former consul, and carries on the strong legacy of leadership and service inherited from his father. I speak of your governor-general, Aulus Vitellius who, though his time with us has been short, he has proven himself a friend to all Romans. If you will not give your allegiance to Galba, will you swear it to Vitellius?”
This caught many of the soldiers completely unawares. Their focus had been on antipathy towards Galba, rather than naming their own candidate to become Caesar. They knew what Valens said was true, and all had at least amicable feelings towards their governor-general. Exaggerated feelings of profound loyalty, as if Vitellius were a renowned general such as Julius Caesar, swept over the assembled legion.
“Yes!” a soldier shouted, after a very brief hesitation.
“Let Vitellius be our new Caesar and down with the tyrant!” another voice echoed.
“So be it,” Valens said, with a solemn nod. He hoped none of the soldiers in the front ranks could see he was practically beaming. “Let it be known that the First Germanica Legion will not follow the vile usurper, and instead nominates Aulus Vitellius to be Emperor of Rome. I ask for your patience, and to give me a few days to learn the disposition of our brother legions. May Jupiter, Victoria, and Bellona smile upon our endeavor, that we may bring justice and peace to the empire!”
This was met with a series of shouts, accolades, and chants of Vitellius’ name. Valens then ordered the cohort commanders to dismiss their men and await further orders. And so, the soldiers of Legio I, Germanica, left the field without having sworn allegiance to anyone. However, Valens, Caecina, and their fellow conspirators amongst the other legates and senior officers had already agreed that once the entire army refused to renew the oath to Galba, then all would simultaneously declare Vitellius emperor. By the time the soldiers in the ranks realized the gravity of what they had done, it would be too late to turn back. Rome had suffered one usurper, whom they would now attempt to replace with another.
While the proverbial banner of treason was being unfurled a thousand miles away, Marcus Salvius Otho was basking in the growing assertion that in the coming days he would be named Galba’s heir. Vinia had arrived during the week of Saturnalia, and she and her newly-betrothed were already discussing when they should be wed. Her father had all but assured Otho the throne was his for the taking, and the heir-apparent promised Vinia that as soon as Galba named him his successor, they would be married. The Pedagogues supported him, with Laco and Icelus both giving at least nominal consent to Vinius’ recommendation, in a show of solidarity. Much of the Praetorian Guard also agreed, at least according to Guardsman Tiberius Statius, whom Otho had taken into his confidence in recent months. Otho had even gone so far as to court the former Prefect of Rome, Flavius Sabinus. Though no longer holding any official capacity within the city, Sabinus was highly respected and a useful ally. On the day after New Year’s, Otho paid him a visit and directly asked the senator for his thoughts on the succession.
“I confess, I see few other options than you at the moment,” Sabinus said, as he and Otho took a private stroll through his gardens.
“So you will support my claim to be Galba’s successor?” Otho asked bluntly.
“To be honest, I see no reason not to,” Sabinus replied. “Yes, you are highly ambitious, though that is scarcely a flaw in a potential emperor.”
“There are some who state that I was one of Nero’s favorites, though this is a bit exaggerated,” Otho remarked. “I do hope my friendship with our departed emperor is not something the Flavians would judge me unkindly for. You should know, I opposed your brother’s exile and strongly supported his appointment to command the eastern armies, when Paulinus brought his name before Nero. I never knew Vespasian as well as I would have liked; however, I have long admired the pair of you, and I guess in my own way I always liked to think of him as a friend.”
Sabinus could not tell if Otho spoke the truth regarding his support for Vespasian with Nero, or if it was simply fabricated to help guarantee the support of the Flavians. Either way, Sabinus felt Otho’s ambition to become emperor was so great, that he would not be denied. One way or the other, he would become Caesar. And since Sabinus respected the younger man’s achievements as Governor of Lusitania, while finding his flaws to be nothing too significant or out of the ordinary, he thought it prudent to offer his tentative support.
“I think,” he said, “you are right to count the Flavians among your friends. I believe I can also speak for my brother in this matter which, in turn, means I am able to vouch for the armies in the east.”
“Would you be willing to swear that friendship to me?” Otho asked.
Sabinus found it mildly amusing that Otho seemed so anxious to court the favor of the Flavians. No previous emperor or heir apparent had so much as paid any attention to their family at all over the years. He also saw no harm in reassuring the younger man, provided he specifically referenced when Otho became emperor.
“Once you are Caesar, you will find no stronger friends and allies than the house of the Flavians.”
Though he was supremely confident in his assured elevation to imperial prince, Otho was not a man to take chances. After he took his leave of Sabinus, he decided to pay a visit to Guardsman Statius, on duty at the palace. The senator took him off to the side, well away from any of his companions. Statius was often pulled away by some senator or magistrate and came as little surprise to his fellow guardsmen.
“Something I can do for you, senator?” he asked.
“You assured me, once I am emperor, that I can depend upon the full and unconditional support of the Praetorian Guard,” Otho said. “What I need to know is, where does the loyalty of the Guard lie at this very moment?”
“Not with Galba,” Statius declared rather bluntly. “At least not the lads in the ranks.
There are a few among the officers who are a bit sentimental and are absolutely loyal to the emperor, no matter who it is. Unfortunately, my own centurion is among these. I suppose it is our duty, and all of us should feel this way. However, Galba is a mean-spirited despot who lost whatever loyalty most of us had for him, when he refused to give us the donative that is traditionally handed down when a new emperor assumes the throne. Tiberius was notoriously stingy with imperial coin, yet even he never denied his guardsmen or legionaries their just due.”
Otho appreciated this humble praetorian’s candor. He knew well the animosity that stemmed from the emperor’s refusal to pay the stipend Nymphidius had promised. He may have been correct, in that the loyalty of his soldiers should not have to be purchased. However, to break with a hundred years of tradition, while denying his personal guard even a fraction of what was promised, had alienated Galba from his praetorians.
“You may have to wait a little longer to receive your donative,” he remarked. “But I promise you, if Galba chooses his heir wisely, the Praetorian Guard can expect to receive what is rightly theirs.”
“And if Galba does not choose wisely?” Statius asked.
Otho shrugged nonchalantly. “We will deal with that issue should it arise.”
“And I shall be at your service,” the guardsman asserted.
Though each passing day without a formal declaration from the emperor was maddening for Otho, the proclamation was finally made for all senators, magistrates, and other dignitaries to gather outside the imperial palace. It was now the Tenth of January, the day when Galba would officially name his successor. That morning a cool breeze blew in from the Tiber, and Otho was full of gleeful anticipation.
Galba stood atop the steps along with his co-consul, Titus Vinius. Icelus and Laco stood behind them, with Laco in full armor as Praetorian Prefect. Guardsmen lined the steps with two ranks blockading the steps from the street, which was crammed with thousands of spectators. Many had climbed atop the Circus Maximus, which was just across the street from the palace, in order to catch a glimpse of the emperor on this auspicious day.