by James Mace
Otho, Licinianus, and a score of prominent senators stood off to the right, behind the emperor. Praetorian guardsmen were seen everywhere. Otho made brief eye contact with Guardsman Statius, who stood with his squad not far from the emperor.
“Noble senators and citizens of Rome,” Galba proclaimed, his hands held high.
All were surprised at how well his voice carried. And though it was cracking slightly, he managed to keep from breaking into a coughing fit.
“Since becoming your emperor, the unavoidable question of succession has been asked repeatedly,” he continued. “Today, we bring an end to any further speculation. I have named as my heir, a man of impeccable moral virtues, of great temperance and fortitude, who has already served Rome with much renown. You all have grown to love him. And now, I implore you to embrace him as heir to my name, estates, and the imperial throne. I give you my son, your future emperor, Lucius Calpurnius Licinianus!”
“What?” Otho roared, though this was drowned out by the cacophony of cheers and shouted praises to Galba, as well as his designated heir.
Licinianus’ eyes were wide in disbelief, his mouth open slightly. He quickly looked over to the incensed Otho and quickly said, “I am so sorry. I swear I did not know...”
He was interrupted by the host of senators practically dragging him to where the emperor stood. Galba embraced the man, who then awkwardly turned and raised his hand in salute to the host of citizens below the steps. Every inch within sight was crammed with cheering onlookers. It seemed the entire city had turned out for the event. Their ovations were so loud when Galba leaned over to say something into his ear, Licinianus could not hear a word said. Only Otho and Vinius were not cheering. The consul was in a state of horrified shock.
After a few minutes, while a number of congratulating senators led the new imperial prince away, the emperor surprisingly made his way over to Otho. “I suppose I owe you an explanation.”
The presumptive heir’s face was a deep shade of red, contorted in anger. “I would say so,” Otho growled, his eyes filled with rage. “Have I not served you well? Haven’t I done all that you asked, and then some? Do I not offer you a noble name, as well as a dynasty that can follow you? And did not your most trusted advisor, your co-consul, Titus Vinius, give you his strongest recommendations of my worthiness as your successor?”
“All of that is true,” Galba conceded. “And for once, I went against the man whose council I follow almost without question. It is for the good of Rome I chose Licinianus as my heir. You are a man of great energy and talent, yet you lack moral fiber. Hosting banquets within the embarrassment that is the Domus Aurea is but one of many acts that I find unbecoming. To speak plainly, I fear that if you became Rome’s next emperor, you would be no better than my predecessor. The empire needs to move on from the time of the Julio-Claudians, not have another Nero upon the throne.”
He gave Otho a reassuring pat on the shoulder. This felt awkward to Galba and only further incensed the man who had assumed, up until now, that he was the heir apparent.
“There is much you can do, if you wish to continue to serve Rome,” Galba said. “But, you will not be emperor. Now, let us speak no more of this.”
As he turned to walk away, Otho grabbed him gruffly by the toga. Laco, who’d been watching the entire interaction, immediately lunged between the two, forcibly shoving Otho away.
“Unhand the emperor!” he snapped, his hand now on the pommel of his gladius.
The senator completely ignored him. “Rome is mine!” he snarled, pointing an accusing finger at Galba.
Galba turned to face him, giving a rare half grin. “Only if you cut it away from me.” He then spoke to his guardsmen, who had formed a line between the two. “Senator Otho is tired from strain and clearly not himself today. Escort him to his house and see to it he’s well protected.” The words were, of course, a polite way of telling the praetorians to place Otho under house arrest, until such time as his temper dissipated.
“I’ll escort him, Caesar,” Guardsman Statius said, grabbing the senator by the elbow.
“Unhand me, damn you!” Otho shouted.
Statius roughly pulled him aside, his grip on the senator’s arm ironclad. “Shut...up,” he whispered harshly. “You will be emperor, very soon, but not if you keep making a scene. Another outburst like that and you risk Galba or Laco ordering me to cut your throat, which would not fit with either of our plans.”
Otho took a deep breath and gave a short nod of understanding, before allowing himself to be guided away. Once away from the palace, he quickly climbed into his litter with the guardsman next to him. The rain had started coming down, and there was a clap of thunder. Statius pulled the silk curtains closed, though they were continuously whipped about by the winds.
“There is a reason I volunteered to escort you home,” the guardsman explained, removing his helmet.
People were rushing about, trying to find shelter from the downpour, with some decrying the emperor’s announcement as offending the gods. As if to emphasize this, there was another flash of lightening and a loud clap of thunder.
“Jupiter himself is clearly not pleased,” Statius added with a mocking chuckle.
“I thought you said I have the support of the praetorians?” Otho asked indignantly.
“Laco is one of Galba’s pedagogues, he does not speak for us.”
“And you do?” Otho asked incredulously. “You are a guardsman of no rank.”
“Rank does not necessarily equal influence,” Statius countered. “And if I do exert an undue amount of influence, it is because, unlike many of the senior officers, I listen to my fellow guardsmen. I know what most of them think and where their loyalties, or potential loyalties, lay.” He placed a reassuring hand on Otho’s shoulder. “Give me four days, that’s all I ask. Galba has chosen poorly, and by doing so has brought about his own downfall. In four days, you will be Emperor of Rome.”
“See to it,” Otho said, “and I will see you handsomely rewarded.”
For Consul Vinius, he now had an even greater crisis to face than his attempts at securing the succession for his proposed son-in-law. While Otho sulked in private, and Galba enjoyed the celebrations surrounding his announced adoption of Licinius, an emergency session of the senate was called. The rain was still pouring down in sheets, and every member of the senate was completely drenched as they uncomfortably assumed their places.
“Could this not have waited until the rains ceased?” Italicus asked. “I swear, half of us will catch our deaths from this.”
“Noble fathers of Rome,” Vinius said, ignoring the grumblings of Italicus and other disgruntled senators. He was now holding a large scroll up high. “I have just received the most grievous of news from the Rhine frontier. The armies of both Germanic provinces have refused to swear their oaths of allegiance to Emperor Galba.”
“Madness!” a senator protested. “The legions cannot simply refuse to swear fealty to their rightful emperor.”
“They can, and they have,” Vinius said, trying to keep his voice calm and measured. “The armies of the Rhine have declared Galba an illegitimate usurper, and have named the governor of Lower Germania, Aulus Vitellius, as rightful Emperor of Rome.”
This led to a series of nervous laughs from various senators, though all were soon silent as they realized the gravity of the situation. Vitellius may have been a fat nonentity to them, but if he had the entire Rhine army with its seven legions supporting him, Rome was facing a serious crisis.
“Have we received any word from Vitellius himself?” Suetonius Paulinus asked, rising to his feet.
The consul shook his head. “None,” he answered. “Thus far, Vitellius has not consented to send any sort of formal message to the senate and is likely consolidating his power in Germania, while seeking allies in the neighboring provinces. And, unless a diplomatic solution can be found in the immediate future, I am afraid Rome is on the path to civil war.”
“The scour
ge of which we have not suffered since the conflict between Octavian and Antony,” Italicus replied glumly, his rain-soaked discomfort forgotten.
There was little else to discuss for the moment, at least not until after the emperor was informed. Vinius dismissed the senators to return to their homes. Many had planned to attend the afternoon celebrations at the imperial palace, though the news from the Rhine, coupled with the incessant rains, darkened their moods considerably.
As consul, it was Vinius’ responsibility to inform the emperor, who was lounging within the vast dining hall while guests drank toasts and congratulated their new prince. Galba was rather irritated when Vinius insisted they speak in private, though they were quickly joined by Cornelius Laco. And when his co-consul showed him the dispatch, Galba was rather dismissive of it. He was more annoyed than anything, for he did not wish to have any interruptions to the celebrations regarding his new heir and successor. Having an adopted son, who would in due time succeed him as Emperor of Rome, had given him his only cause for joy in many years.
“If the Rhine army wanted me dead, they would never have allowed me to march on Rome,” he reasoned.
“Vitellius was not in command then,” Vinius observed. “Verginius has been in self-imposed retirement since you assumed the throne, and his former legions have refused to swear the oath of allegiance to you. Their respect for him was all that stayed their blades at the time.”
“You worry too much,” Laco said, with a casual shrug. “No doubt they are sore over not receiving their assumed donative...beg your pardon, Caesar, for it was a prudent fiscal decision.”
“As I have said before,” Galba said, his voice full of irritation. “I do not buy my soldiers. They are loyal to me or they will be decimated, as I did to the Adiutrix Legion.”
“If seven legions march on Rome, who do you propose will exact this decimation?” Vinius asked, his eyes narrowing slightly.
Galba stood and glared at Vinius. “Leave us, consul. If I have need of your advice again, I will summon you.”
Titus Vinius was filled with a flood of ill feelings as he left the imperial palace. Foremost of these was the realization that he was slowly losing control over the emperor. Of the three Pedagogues, Laco maintained his influence via the Praetorian Guard, and Icelus had been elevated by Galba into the equites. The promotion of a former slave into Rome’s lesser nobility was unlawful and had caused quite a scandal, yet Icelus wore the toga with narrow purple stripe, as well as several rings given to members of the equites. And yet, for Vinius, despite being Galba’s colleague as consul for the year, his influence had waned considerably. He had been so certain Otho would be named his successor. When Galba went against his advice on this matter, it seemed Vinius had in that moment lost his grip completely on the emperor. And his attempt at informing Galba of a serious crisis in Germania, had been met with a disbelieving rebuke.
He began to wonder if Licinianus had seduced Galba, using his charm and whatever favors necessary, to secure his place as the imperial heir. It was boorish for him to think such things. Licinianus was a noble young man who had no enemies, and served his posts in the cursus honorum with great dignity. Still, Vinius knew he had to speak to Otho at once to decide how they were going to proceed.
He went to see his despondent friend later that evening. Though Otho had given his servants strict instructions to not allow anyone into his house, they could not very well deny entry to the Consul of Rome. There was a praetorian guardsman with him. Evidently he was there to make certain Otho did not leave his house for the time being.
“Our attempts to secure the throne through adoption and the rightful succession have failed,” Otho said. He was surprisingly calm, given his earlier outburst.
“Yes,” Vinius acknowledged, as Otho handed him a cup of wine. The three of them were the only ones in the room. Not even a single slave stood in a corner. He then said, “I fear I am losing control over the emperor.”
“Oh, you think so, do you?” Otho’s tone was bitterly sarcastic. “And what clued you in to that?”
“Look, I am sorry things have not gone according to plan,” Vinius retorted. He pointed to the praetorian and asked, “Who is this?”
“One of us,” Otho assured him. “That is, if you still wish to be a part of the new order.”
Vinius took a long drink off his wine and gave a nervous chuckle. “Three of us are all that makes up the new order?”
“I asked Senator Otho to give me four days,” the praetorian replied. “After which, we will strike.”
Chapter XIX: Heirs of Betrayal
The House of Otho, Rome
14 January 69 A.D.
Marcus Salvius Otho
Whether Galba wished to acknowledge it or not, Rome was facing a serious calamity following the inexplicable mutinies of both Upper and Lower Germania. Most of the senate was desperate to avoid civil war and hoped to find a diplomatic solution to the pending crisis. Even Marcus Salvius Otho, the man still determined to become emperor by any means necessary was, for the moment, dismissive of the situation in Germania.
“One crisis at a time,” he said to his supporters, who secretly met at his house on the fourth night after Galba’s announcement on the succession. “Let me deal with Galba first, and then we can turn our attention to Vitellius.”
There were a number of praetorians present, as well as a handful of soldiers from Legio I, Adiutrix. The legion was garrisoned just outside the city, north of Milvian Bridge, but they would be ready to move into action at a moment’s notice.
“I hope to cut his fucking balls off,” a legionary snarled. Their hatred for Galba had only intensified following their punishment by decimation.
“So how do we do it, then?” Guardsman Statius asked. “We cannot simply storm the palace. The last thing the praetorians want is a nasty brawl with each other.”
“The people are ready for a change,” Otho reassured them. “And all of you know this is not what I wanted. It was always my belief that Galba would do what was right, and we could simply wait for him to pass on from old age. But his cruelty and unwillingness to address the needs of the people has alienated much of the populace. The people grow hungry, and yet still he denies them the grain ration. That he has ignored his own consul’s advice, while dismissing the treachery on the frontier, shows recklessness that puts Rome herself at risk. We have no choice now but to rip him from the throne via the sword. Understand, I do this not for me, but for the good of the empire.” His words sounded a bit self-serving, but they had the intended effect.
“I have personally spoken with Tribune Vergilio,” Tesserarius Proculus of the Praetorian Guard told the group. “He is in command of Galba’s personal guard this week, and he has assured me the cohort on duty is among the most tepid in their support for the emperor. And I should know, seeing as it is my cohort, as well as Statius’.”
“Will any of them stand with Galba?” Otho asked. “While I want to avoid bloodshed, it may not be entirely feasible.”
“There are a few among the officers, including my own centurion,” the praetorian replied with frustration. “Densus is a good man and a strong leader. He is just so damned headstrong when it comes to sentimental loyalties. I can only hope he will see reason and realize that protecting Galba does poor service to Rome.”
“If nothing else our numbers should compel them,” Otho reasoned. “The key is getting Galba out of the imperial palace. He is a pompous and self-righteous old fool. And since he thinks he can simply stare down seven legions from the Rhine, he’ll surely believe he can merely wave his hand and bring the Guard and local legionaries into obedient supplication.”
“Well, we should probably escort you to the praetorian barracks,” a praetorian optio, named Veturius, reasoned. “There you will be safe, until we’ve sorted this little matter out.”
“No, I will not hide like a coward,” Otho said, shaking his head. He beamed as a thought came to him. “Tomorrow, Galba will go to the temple wher
e he will observe the morning sacrifice and auspices. I will attend to him under the notion of paying my respects. Let him believe I have been cowed into being the dutiful little servant he thinks I am.”
There were a few other details to sort out. In particular, Otho stated that Titus Vinius was not to be harmed in any way. While the praetorians were familiar enough with the consul, many of the legionaries, as well as the cavalry troopers garrisoned within the city, had no idea what he looked like. Otho could only hope that his friend, and presumptive father-in-law, did not play careless with his own life on the morrow.
The morning of the Fifteenth of January dawned grim and cloudy. Galba, along with his usual entourage, made their way to the Temple of Apollo attached to the imperial palace. Conducting the auspices was a renowned priest named Umbricius. Otho soon joined the small throng. When Galba turned his gaze towards him, the younger man bowed his head, as if to acknowledge that he accepted the emperor’s decision and was here to pay his respects. Galba returned the nod before turning his attention to the priest.
Otho stood close to Umbricius, whose face bore a look of grave concern as he observed a flight of crows.
He stood there for some time, far longer than a normal auger reading, before turning to Galba, shaking his head. “The auspices are grave, Caesar. The music of the birds tells us the gods are angry. And as you can see, black clouds in the west harken a return of Jupiter’s thunder. The omens tell me there is an enemy within your midst.”
While Otho had to stifle a gasp, Galba appeared to be unaffected and, in fact, looked as if he were bored by the proceedings. The truth was the emperor cared little for omens and portents. But, as he was Pontifex Maximus, the chief priest of the Roman state religion, he had to at least feign interest.