Soldier of Rome- Reign of the Tyrants

by James Mace

  It was all a political ploy, one which the Julio-Claudian emperors had long used. Tiberius had overplayed this tactic, attempting to outright refuse the imperial mantle following the death of Augustus, which alienated him from much of the senate. Claudius, following Gaius Caligula’s murder, had been more prudent, accepting the powers of emperor, while making genuine attempts to act as their colleague, rather than their overlord. It was this more reasonable course which Otho hoped to follow.

  His latest pause had been a subtle attempt to engage the senate in a meaningful dialog, rather than simply dictating to them. After a few moments, it was Suetonius Paulinus who finally took the initiative.

  “Senator Otho,” he said, refusing to try and flatter Otho by calling him ‘Caesar’, before the senate approved his assumption of the throne. “While I doubt that a single person within this chamber truly laments the death of Galba, we cannot condone the use of violence to overthrow an Emperor of Rome simply because he is unpopular. With that being said, our options are severely limited, not least because we have a potential usurper in the north, who at this very moment is rallying the armies of the Rhine to march upon Rome.”

  “I am well aware of the pretender, Vitellius,” Otho replied. “And that is why I am asking for unity within the senate, whether it be in support of me or a stronger potential candidate. We must let Vitellius know the wicked oppressor is dead and his reasons for rebellion no longer exist. Should he persist, he will have declared himself an enemy of the state who seeks the throne for himself, rather than the liberator of the Roman people that he professes to be. Vitellius must be compelled to step down. Whether this is done through diplomacy or force, the senate and people must be united. General Paulinus, you have won some of Rome’s greatest victories, and you are one who is respected from every corner of the empire. Will you stand with me this day?”

  Otho would have said the same words to whomever had taken the initiative to address him during his speech; however, he was glad that it had been a renowned general like Paulinus, rather than one of the slimy political sycophants who infested the Roman senate.

  “As I have said,” Paulinus replied, measuring his words carefully, “we must show unanimity in the face of the growing crisis to the north. I also stand firm in my belief that we cannot outright condone the manner in which Galba was unseated, lest it set a dangerous precedent for others to think they can simply wrest power from the senate by force. Know then, that we appreciate your show of humility and your willingness to forgo the honor of becoming Caesar, if the senate felt it was in the best interests of the Roman people. It is for that very reason, I will support you in your claim to the imperial throne. And if my peers will join me in this, then I will offer you my sword, that I may lead the armies of Rome against our enemies.”

  “I second the motion,” Senator Nerva said, rising to his feet. “For the good of Rome, we must stand together as one. Senator Otho, I will speak candidly and state that you hold a distinct advantage, in that your appearance and demeanor remind the people very much of the late Emperor Nero. Whatever the ill feelings of this body towards the last of the Julio-Claudians, we must swallow our pride and allow ourselves to accept that Nero was much loved by the plebs, as well as the army. It is a love which they will readily pass on to you. That is why I further propose that, once sanctioned as Emperor of Rome, you be given the name ‘Nero’ to append to your own, so the people may be reminded of their affections and view you as a stronger and even greater Nero.”

  While most of the senators felt a strong sense of revulsion at the idea, which Otho noted in their pained expressions, all understood it was a politically expedient way to ensure the fealty of the masses. Such personally reviling measures were often taken within the political realm, and allowing the people to think of Otho as a ‘Nero reborn’ was a small price to pay for stability and peace.

  Senator Paulinus then called for an immediate vote, with every senator present granting his consent that Otho be recognized as Rome’s rightful emperor. The ‘aye’ votes were universal, with even the northern usurper’s brother, Lucius Vitellius, voting in Otho’s favor. It was all a formality, as well as a foregone conclusion. Since the rise of the emperors more than a century before, no designee had been denied his inherent right by so much as a single vote. There were those who had voraciously protested Claudius’ ascension, given he was viewed as an incompetent by many and was only put in place by the praetorians after the murder of Caligula. Yet, when it came time to confirm or deny his position, all had voted to proclaim Claudius emperor. Now, twenty-nine years later, almost to the exact day, the senate had done the same to confirm another unlikely Caesar, whose rise came via bloody revolt.

  After the votes were cast, it was Paulinus who took the floor once more.

  “By authority of the Senate and People of Rome, we hereby confer upon you the name of Marcus Salvius Otho Caesar Augustus, and name you Emperor of Rome.”

  Otho gave a bow of respect and replied, “In the name of the Senate and People of Rome, I accept this esteemed honor and all the responsibilities therein. I pledge myself, from this moment until my final day, to be the unwavering servant of the people of our great empire.”

  “It is only fitting, then,” Senator Italicus said, “that as you are Galba’s...successor, you should assume his consulship. I further propose that your brother, the noble Salvius Otho Titianus, be named your colleague.”

  This was met with murmurs of approval from the assembly.

  “Senators, you honor me once more,” Otho said. “I am happy to accept the position as head of this august chamber. But know that my brother and I will only accept a suffect consulship, from this day until the end of February. At which time, I nominate the noble Lucius Verginius Rufus to assume my position, with his colleague to be selected by you. Furthermore, in the spirit of reconciliation, let it be known that no freeborn supporters of Galba will be put to death. The only exception to this is Lucius Calpurnius Licinianus, whose warrant has been dispatched. It is time for us to come together, not as Galbians or Othonians, but as Romans.”

  After a few more motions were made, with various titles and honors bestowed upon the new emperor, Otho excused himself. He informed the senate he would meet with them in the morning, to begin the daily business of ruling over the empire. He knew if he were to have any sort of success as ruler of the known world, his life would, from this day forth, be dedicated to toil and service to his people.

  As he started to make his way from the chamber, he singled out a lone senator who now sat by himself. “Senator Lucius Vitellius,” Otho said, waving the man over to him.

  “Caesar,” the senator replied with a bow.

  “I am in need of talented men to join my circle of advisors, and I would be honored to have you as a member of the imperial council.”

  “I am flattered,” Lucius replied. “Though if I may be candid, sire, would I be right to assume this appointment is partially motivated by who my brother is?”

  “That would be an accurate assessment,” Otho confessed. “But know that I will never fault a man for the treason of another, not even when it involves one’s own brother.” Otho gave the senator a reassuring pat on the shoulder which may have seemed strange, even condescending, given that Lucius Vitellius was substantially older. The emperor then sought out Suetonius Paulinus, who was standing off to the side talking with Senator Italicus.

  “Caesar,” Paulinus said, coming to attention rather than bowing.

  “Always the old soldier,” Otho noted, with a smile.

  “Force of habit, sir,” the former general said.

  “I will be needing my old soldiers very soon,” the emperor stated. “While I hope to placate Vitellius with mediation, I fear the road to war is almost a certainty.”

  “Caesar, I would be honored to command your legions,” Paulinus asserted proudly.

  “And so you shall,” the emperor replied. “Of course, there will be much work to do, but I can confidently g
ive you command of a division of at least two legions. My brother, Titianus, will be commander-in-chief of the task force, and I think you will be a good choice for second-in-command.”

  Paulinus winced at Otho’s response. As arguably the most experienced military leader in the entire Roman senate, it only seemed logical that he, not the emperor’s daft brother, would be given the post of commander-in-chief. Being named Titianus’ second was almost an insult to the proud general. Still, he kept his feelings to himself and simply responded with, “Honored, Caesar.”

  Paulinus abruptly left the senate chambers with Italicus close behind him. A large crowd of brave souls had gathered to hear the news, and while one of the city criers announced the senate’s ratification and full endorsement of Marcus Salvius Otho as Emperor of Rome, the former consul was clearly vexed.

  “It could have been worse, I suppose,” Italicus said.

  “How do you mean?”

  “While I certainly don’t condone Otho’s methods, I could give a damn about Galba or his precious heir,” Italicus stressed. “Though Otho hopes to reconcile the rival factions, and will no doubt extend the overtures of peace to Vitellius, this game has become far more dangerous.”

  “And how many times was it played by our ancestors?” Paulinus remarked curtly, still smarting from the perceived demotion he had just been given. “Caesar against Pompey, Octavian against Antony, and now Otho against Vitellius.”

  “And do you really think Otho or Vitellius are worthy of comparison to Antony, Octavian, Pompey, or Caesar?” Italicus said incredulously. “Or do you think someone else will rise up from the ashes of the empire’s burning?”

  “What do you mean?” Paulinus replied.

  “Three men have already claimed the imperial throne within the last couple months,” he remarked. “Galba was a weak and callous old man. Otho has some potential, but he is untested. And let’s face it, neither you nor I know whether or not he will survive once he and Vitellius bring this game on the battlefield.” He then held up a hand, as Paulinus made ready to deliver a blistering rebuke. “I do not mean to insult you, my friend. Otho has given you a division. He’d be a fool not to. But he is a fool, in that he has not given you, or at least someone with comparable experience, the commander-in-chief’s role. And if Vitellius wields the power of the entire Rhine army, you are going to need every fighting man within a thousand miles of Rome.”

  “I intend to do my duty like every other soldier,” Paulinus stressed. His mindset had already reverted back to that of a professional soldier and, as such, he would not question the emperor’s decisions publicly.

  “Every soldier on both sides will be doing his duty,” Italicus observed, dismissing Paulinus’ assertions. “What I am getting at is, there are other powerful men within this great empire, men who are in command of vast armies.”

  “You speak of Vespasian,” Paulinus said.

  Italicus nodded.

  The general gave his own nod of acknowledgment. “Few have even a shred of his charisma amongst the lower ranks, and aside from Vitellius, no one else has such a mighty host under his direct command.”

  “I shall speak with Otho about this,” the former consul said. “Vespasian may be three thousand miles from here, but if he can bring even a third of his army back to Italia, he can help us overwhelm the pretender. Mars and Victoria help us if he does not.”

  Chapter XXII: Only One Caesar

  The Imperial Palace, Rome

  15 January 69 A.D.

  The Roman Forum

  While Otho awaited word about the fate of Licinianus, he had a number of other matters to attend to. He had hoped to spend the rest of the day recuperating. The events of this day seemed surreal to him; to say nothing of the fact that just that morning, it had been Galba who ruled Rome. However, as Onomastus was quick to remind him, an emperor’s work began the very moment he was proclaimed Caesar. He, therefore, allowed himself only a quick meal and a short nap before readying himself to conduct the evening’s business at the palace.

  Three men received an imperial summons that evening. The first was Plotius Firmus, the tribune who had declared for Otho at the praetorian barracks. The second was Licinius Proculus, a close confidant of the emperor who served as his quaestor in Lusitania. And the third was Flavius Sabinus.

  “My friends,” Otho said. “This has been a harrowing and tumultuous day. Blood still runs through the Forum, and we must secure the peace and stability of the city. Foremost, we must show the people of Rome that her government still functions. Plotius Firmus, You demonstrated extreme loyalty and valor in the face of great adversity this day. I said that you would be one of my praetorian prefects, and I am now honoring that promise.”

  He rose and presented the tribune with the prefect’s baton and signet ring. The emperor then looked to Proculus.

  “Licinius Proculus, you have long been both a friend and worthy advisor to me. As a reward for your service, I name you as the remaining Prefect of the Praetorian Guard.”

  Proculus accepted his signet ring and baton. Both men saluted the emperor before taking their places behind him, on either side of the imperial throne. That only left Sabinus.

  “Flavius Sabinus,” Otho said, addressing the old senator. “You have long been one of Rome’s foremost generals and statesmen. You served as Prefect of the City of Rome for a number of years. You were unjustly relieved of command of the urban cohorts by the tyrant, Galba; an injustice I now intend to rectify. I, hereby, restore you to full command of the urban cohorts and invite you to serve a fourth term as urban prefect.”

  “An honor I readily accept, Caesar,” Sabinus said, with a bow.

  Otho dismissed the men and set about reading through a pile of Galba’s private correspondence brought by Onomastus. The sun had set, yet he knew his day was not yet finished.

  “Grim reports, Caesar?” his freedman asked.

  “If the senate hopes my quick ratification as emperor will bring about peace and quell the unrest in the north, they are mistaken. Clearly, Galba never shared the private reports he received from spies in the north. It would seem Vitellius, rather than simply seeking the overthrow of the cruel despot, is standing firm in his resolve that he be named Caesar. The thing is, I do not think it is entirely his doing, but rather he is being manipulated by his generals and advisors.”

  “A terrible thing that we must now endure more suffering and bloodshed,” a woman’s voice said, momentarily startling the emperor.

  “Lady Vinia,” he said, with a sad smile. He ordered Onomastus to leave them, before addressing his betrothed. “My dear, I am truly sorry for the death of your father. He was a loyal friend and did not deserve to meet his end the way he did. Know that I mourn with you.”

  “I came to pay my respects to you, Caesar,” Vinia said. “And to let you know...I understand our marriage cannot be allowed to go forward.”

  Otho grimaced, though he was grateful that she understood their now untenable betrothal. “I do not view your father as a traitor. But many within the senate, as well as the equites, do. I am sorry there isn’t more I can do for you, but there is a limit to even an emperor’s powers.”

  “There is only one thing that I would ask of you,” Vinia stated. “Call off your soldiers and let me retrieve his body from the Forum, that he may be given a decent burial.”

  “Of course,” he replied gently.

  He had not seen Vinia in over a week, when he had shared his bed with her. They still thought, then, that Galba would name him his successor, and that by marrying Vinius’ daughter, they would found a new dynasty. But now that Galba had been violently deposed, and her father’s memory was tainted by his close association with the hated despot. Though he still had affections for the young woman, Otho would have to find another consort with which to found his new dynasty.

  Licinianus was still in a state of shock after the harrowing ordeal he had narrowly survived that day. The portents had been there since the rise of the sun, as the
morning’s auspices had been poor. The high priest even warned Galba that there was a traitor within the walls of the imperial palace.

  “Oh, father,” the young man sighed, “why didn’t you listen?”

  The Vestals had been kind, albeit distant, towards him. They were unsure what they were supposed to do with the ousted imperial prince. One of the elder priestesses had promised that no harm would come to him within the temple’s walls. However, the harsh reality was, unlike the Greeks, Roman law had no concept of ‘sanctuary’. If Otho ordered Licinianus’ death, then there was no power on earth that could stop it.

  The booming of a fist beating on the main doors echoed throughout the temple. As a slave went to open the doors, both the Vestals and Licinianus felt the ominous doom which approached. The former prince heard the sound of arguing voices, and he shut his eyes as fear overcame him. The door to the small room he occupied was suddenly kicked open. A praetorian and auxiliary trooper stood in the doorway.

  “Lucius Calpurnius Licinianus,” the guardsman said, holding up a small scroll. “I have a warrant for your execution signed by the emperor.”

  “Signed by a vile traitor, more like!” Licinianus spat.

  “Come along,” the praetorian said calmly. “Be a good fellow and make a decent end of it. Don’t make a scene in front of the vestals. The gods would not like that.”

  The prince stood, slowly making his way out of the room. Once past the doorway, he threw his right elbow back catching the praetorian in the jaw and knocking him to the floor. Licinianus spun around and swung his clenched fist at the auxiliary trooper, who ducked his head slightly. The punch caught the man in the center of his forehead, and while it caused him to stumble backwards, the prince felt as if he’d just broken every bone in his hand. He yelped in pain as he turned and sprinted towards the doors.