Soldier of Rome- Reign of the Tyrants

by James Mace

  As he stepped onto the gently rolling dock, Laco reckoned there were worse fates that could have befallen him. That he could have faced execution should have never crossed his mind, given the nature of his crimes and his status as a patrician. However, it seemed no one in the new regime cared about following law, or any sense of decorum, when it came to the unfortunate Icelus. Despite being born a slave, and his elevation into the equites had come from the overthrown Galba, he still should have been spared from that terrible death by crucifixion. Bearing this in mind, Laco was quite relieved when Otho told him his punishment was exile.

  As he walked down the long dock that led to the small fishing village, Laco noticed a man in a red tunic who appeared to be waiting for him. As he got closer, he noticed the gladius strapped to the man’s hip. Upon closer examination, he also wore the signet ring of the praetorians. Since Laco did not recognize him, he figured his new escort was likely not an officer.

  “Cornelius Laco,” the man said with a nod of respect.

  “Yes, and you are?”

  “Guardsman Tiberius Statius,” the praetorian replied. “I was but one of many nameless faces under your command, so I do not take offense if you do not recognize me. The emperor sent me ahead to see about your accommodations, and to welcome you to your new home.”

  “That’s very generous of him,” Laco replied, his voice laced with sarcasm. “Seeing as how I could likely walk the circumference of this island in less than a day, I fail to see why I need an escort.”

  “I don’t question the emperor’s motives, I just follow my orders,” Statius replied. He tipped his head towards a small hilltop just beyond the village. “Come. I’ll escort you to your villa.”

  “A villa, is it?” Laco asked in disbelief. “I cannot believe our illustrious emperor would be so generous as to grant me a villa.”

  “I admit, it is likely not to the standards of comfort you are used to,” Statius replied. “But, at least it’s a roof over your head with a bed to sleep on each night. And, of course, there are a few servants to look after your needs.”

  The last thing Laco wanted was for anyone, let alone one of his praetorians who now served the pretender, to escort him anywhere. Yet, if Statius’ orders came directly from Otho, then Laco was pretty much choice-less. After all, the guardsman was the only one present with a weapon.

  It was a short, steep trek up the dirt path which wound around the hill leading to the house overlooking the town and the harbor. A stucco structure with a battered tile roof, it was certainly far more austere than Laco was used to. The entire building consisted of only three rooms; a bedroom, a living / dining area, and a small servants’ quarters.

  “Far better than any of the poor sods living in the village,” Statius mused. Laco scowled at the remark, but knew there was nothing he could say. It vexed him greatly that this lowly guardsman, who had once been little more than one of his nameless underlings, was now able to openly mock him.

  “I don’t suppose there’s a bath in this place?” he asked.

  “Of course there is!” Statius replied with a grin. “It’s out back. And though it’s rather small, I think you will enjoy bathing under the stars at night.” He clapped his hands, and a pair of young women came in from the servants’ quarters. Both were rather fetching, which caused Laco to smile broadly for the first time in over a month.

  “These are my servants?” he asked.

  “They are indeed,” Statius replied. “Compliments of Emperor Marcus Salvius Otho. May the gods grant him long life and reign over the empire!”

  “There are worse fates, I suppose,” Laco said, his gaze fixed on the two women.

  “We are here to meet your every need, master,” one of them asserted.

  “I think what your master needs right now is a hearty meal,” Statius remarked.

  It was late in the day, and Laco realized he was very hungry, especially after the long climb up the hill. He had not eaten since boarding the ship, two days prior. The long walk had helped settle his seasickness and helped restore his appetite.

  “You don’t mind if I join you for supper, I hope,” Statius said. “All I’ve had at the local inn, these past few days, is undercooked fish and boiled cabbage.”

  While Laco wished to rid himself of this insufferable praetorian, his good humor had been restored, mostly by the presence of his two servants. Having no one to converse with since his farce of an audience with Otho, Laco privately confessed he was glad for some company. Perhaps this guardsman had not been mocking him, and maybe he was an affable fellow, after all.

  “By all means,” he said, pointing with his open palm towards the table. “As you are the only one here armed, I don’t suppose I am in any position to deny you.”

  “Bah!” Statius said, with a dismissive wave. “I only use my weapon when I’m ordered to do so. Otherwise, it’s quite harmless.”

  His expression was one of almost sinister glee. It unnerved Laco slightly. However, he reassured himself that if Otho wanted him dead, he would have had him killed on the boat and his body tossed into the sea. With his wife and children precluded from traveling with him into exile, who would ever know?

  It was now dark, and one of the servants lit a pair of oil lamps. They soon brought out various fruits, nuts, and other appetizers, as the two men lounged on their dining couches. The windows were open, and a warm Mediterranean breeze wafted through the house.

  “I need drink!” Laco said emphatically, holding up his empty cup.

  One of the women returned carrying a small pitcher, she gave a subtle nod towards Statius who quickly lurched to his feet.

  “Not that one!” he said, grabbing the woman by the arm.

  She gave him a look of incredulous puzzlement.

  “This is piss water. Bring your master a pitcher of the good vintage from the cask out back.”

  The woman was still in disbelief, but she simply nodded and left the room.

  “Something wrong with the wine?” Laco asked.

  “There’s one batch that has gone off and tastes like vinegar,” Statius explained. “I know the cask out back has the good wine. I tried some of it myself earlier this day. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Of course not. You are my keeper, after all.”

  “Hardly,” the guardsman replied. “I’m just your escort for the next day or so. After which, I will return to Rome, leaving you to the care of your pretty little charges here.”

  When the woman returned, still looking puzzled and a little irritated, she filled both men’s cups.

  Statius held his up in salute. “To the emperor, senate, and the people of Rome!” While the emperor was the last person who Laco wished to raise his cup to, his sense of relief briefly overwhelmed his indelible hatred for Otho. It had been a pleasant evening thus far, and he found himself almost enjoying the guardsman’s company. Statius may have been in the service of the usurper, but so were all of Laco’s praetorians.

  “To the emperor, senate, and people of Rome,” he said, saluting with his cup.

  The two continued to eat and drink well into the night. After several courses, and more than a few cups of wine, Laco’s eyes were starting to glaze over slightly.

  “I think,” Statius said, grabbing one of the servants by her stola, “it is time for you to take your master to bed.”

  “Yes,” Laco acknowledged as he sat upright. He then held up his hand. “Wait! I must bathe first!”

  The servants looked at Statius with expressions of impatience that would have alerted Laco, had he been looking their way.

  The praetorian simply shrugged. “You heard your master,” he said. “Fill his bath at once!” It took some time for the fires to be lit and the bath water heated sufficiently. During which time, Laco sobered up some, although he was still relaxed and in an almost tranquil state.

  “I think...I shall rather enjoy this little ‘punishment’ Otho has sentenced me to.”

  “Your bath is ready, master,” one of
the women said.

  They helped Laco up from his couch and guided him outside.

  It was a rather pleasant night and as he continued to sip on his wine, Statius could hear his former commander laughing and shouting orders to the two women. An hour passed before the three were seen entering from the rear of the house.

  “Much smaller than what I’m used to,” Laco replied. “Still, the night air did me much good, and my lovely servants were quite thorough in making certain I am cleansed and ready for bed. Exile may be a dishonorable fate for a Roman patrician, but with the help of these beauties I think I will manage.”

  He was dripping wet, with a loose-fitting robe draped over his shoulders. His engorged manhood protruded between the folds. He was clearly ready for more than just retiring to bed. He then gave each woman a playful slap on her bottom.

  Statius stood from his couch and gave a respectful nod. “I will take my leave,” he said, with a short bow. “My task here is almost finished, and I must return to Rome soon.”

  “I thank you, noble praetorian,” Laco replied earnestly. “You have made my first day of exile far more bearable than one would anticipate. You have my utmost gratitude.”

  Statius smirked at this last remark. He gave an almost imperceptible nod towards the bedroom, which the two servants reluctantly guided their new master into. One of them looked back over her shoulder, glowering at him. He simply grinned and winked at her, before Laco called to her and she disappeared into the bedroom. The praetorian paced around the main room a few times, and even stepped outside to gaze up at the stars and take in the night air. After five minutes or so, he walked back into the house, calmly drew his gladius, and opened the door to the bedroom.

  Laco was lying flat on his back, completely naked, as were the two women. Each of them lay on one of his arms, and they were gently caressing his torso. While the exiled nobleman found it extremely erotic, they were simply stalling for time. Laco’s eyes grew wide as he caught a glimmer off the praetorian’s blade. He opened his mouth to speak, but Statius held up his hand, silencing him.

  “One last thing,” he said, quickly strolling over to the bed. “The emperor sends his regards.”

  With rapid precision, he slashed the blade of his weapon across Laco’s throat which erupted into a flowing stream of dark crimson. He tried to gasp, his severed windpipe spraying blood everywhere. The two servants yelped in surprise and quickly jumped away from the stricken man, who spastically beat his fists on the bed. Laco convulsed violently, holding a wadded up ball of blanket to his neck in a vain attempt to stem the blood flow. In a few short moments, it was over. His eyes glazed over as his body gave one last spasm.

  Statius had left the room as soon as he slashed Laco’s throat. He was now standing over the dining table, running a rag over his gladius and admiring the gleam of the blade in the soft lamplight.

  “You fucking twat!” one of the woman said, as she stormed out of the room and smacked him hard on the shoulder. “We were supposed to poison him over dinner, not spend half the night letting him empty our larder and wine cask!”

  “My bed is ruined!” the other woman snapped, storming out of the bedroom.

  “Oh, come now, ladies,” he replied calmly. “I employed your services to help me rid our dear emperor of a rather embarrassing nuisance. You have done a great service to the empire.”

  “Piss on service,” the first woman retorted. “Where’s our bloody money?”

  “You are as classy as you are beautiful,” Statius with sarcasm. He pulled a pair of gold coins out of his pouch, each worth twenty-five denarii. “There you are, as agreed. Two gold aurei; the price for pretending to be slaves for one evening.”

  “What about me bed, and all the food and wine?” the second woman asked.

  Statius let out a bored sigh before digging into his money pouch once more. “Here,” he said, placing a handful of silver coins on the table. “Ten denarii. I suspect your blankets can be washed. If they cannot, this will more than compensate you for your loss.”

  This put the women into a much better humor, and they were now beaming as they sorted the coins. Silver denarii were rare, as the bronze sestertius was the most common coin used within the empire. Neither woman had even seen a gold aureus before.

  “So,” the first woman said coyly, “is there any other...service we could perform, in the emperor’s name?”

  “Perhaps,” the praetorian said, matching her expression. Statius was a well-muscled and ruggedly handsome man, which was a rare commodity on the small island. He took a step towards the bedroom and then stopped himself.

  “However, I do not think any of us would have an enjoyable night, what with the bloodied corpse in the next room,” he surmised. “Why don’t you come with me to the inn down by the water? I’ve got the best room they have, with a bed large enough for all three of us. And don’t worry about the corpse. I’ve already arranged for his disposal, first thing in the morning.”

  “I don’t see why not,” the second woman replied. Each woman took Statius by the arm, the first one retrieving an oil lamp for them to see by.

  “Tell us,” the first woman said, “Was all of that really necessary? I mean, did the emperor order you to simply kill Laco, or did he actually tell you to host him over supper, ply him with wine, and then cut his throat?”

  Statius gave a short, dark chuckle. His gaze full of malice, he simply shrugged. “Does it matter?”

  Chapter XXV: A Question of Loyalties

  Caesarea, Judea

  Late February 69 A.D.

  Titus

  It was towards the end of February when Otho’s assumption of power and Vitellius’ rebellion in Germania finally reached the armies in Judea. Flavius Sabinus had sent his own messenger, Aula Cursia Vale, who arrived on the same ship as the official courier from the senate. The young man who brought the senate’s dispatch was more than a little puzzled to see another imperial courier, and a woman at that. He was promptly dismissed as soon as he delivered his message, yet Aula was told to stay.

  “The senate’s damned message is practically useless,” Vespasian grumbled, tossing the short scroll aside. “A few flowering words from the new consul, Titianus, about his brother’s supposed legitimate rise to power and how he overthrew Galba.”

  “Well, it’s not as if Galba was exactly a friend of yours,” Trajan noted, with a trace of sarcastic candor.

  “I don’t think Galba had any friends,” the commander-in-chief replied. “Hell, the only people he even thought kindly of were well-oiled, muscular slaves, who would fuck him in the ass every morning before breakfast. Quite the wakeup call, I’m certain. He and Mucianus would have gotten on famously.” Vespasian’s coarse language and crude humor were more in line with that of his rather gruff, and scarcely civilized, legionaries. Titus glanced over at Aula, who was struggling to stifle a laugh.

  “That will be all, Lady Vale,” the legate said. “One of the clerks will find you a suitable billet for the night.”

  “Thank you,” the young woman replied.

  “You will be my guest for the time being,” Vespasian spoke up. “You can return to Rome once I have a response for my brother. Since you probably did not bring any suitable clothing, I’m certain the governor’s wife will have something you can borrow for dinner this evening. I’ll want to hear more about how my brother and son are faring, as well as dear Antonia.”

  “I am honored,” Aula said, with a short bow.

  “Strange thing, that,” Titus said, once she left. “Uncle Sabinus hiring a noblewoman to act as a common courier.”

  “It was bloody brilliant.” Vespasian replied. “We both served with her father in Britannia, and though I have not seen him in nearly twenty years, I still consider him an honorable and noble friend. And it was Sabinus who compelled Emperor Claudius to elevate their family into the senatorial class. A lot can be said for having a messenger who is not just a nameless face, but a loyal friend. Control of and access to informa
tion will be crucial in the coming months.”

  Titus gave a thoughtful nod, then turned back to re-reading the rather lengthy dispatch from Sabinus. “You know, Otho may have horrified the people by the manner with which he had Galba killed, but at least he did so under the pretense of saving the state for a tyrannical oppressor. From what I can tell, Vitellius has done no such thing; no messages to the senate, no public declarations as to why he is the rightful ruler of Rome, nothing. He is simply marching with most of the Rhine army to claim the imperial throne for himself.”

  “Agreed,” Vespasian concurred. “Provided my brother’s information is accurate, which I have no reason to doubt, Vitellius has simply dispensed with any modicum of protocol.”

  “I don’t like it, sir,” General Placidus spoke up. The commander of Vespasian’s auxilia corps, he was a brash and extremely aggressive officer. “Galba was a shit who tried to have you killed. Fair enough, we can throw our support behind Otho. But what if Otho loses? The Rhine army is a fearsome force and should Vitellius gain any sort of support from Gaul, he will be virtually unstoppable.”

  “Otho has given a division to Suetonius Paulinus,” Trajan remarked. “And Paulinus is one of the greatest generals in all of Rome.”

  “A division, yes, but not command of the army,” Placidus countered, taking the letter from Sabinus and re-reading this detail. “Otho seems to think that should go to his damned brother, Titianus, who has only served one time in uniform, and that was as a laticlavian tribune fifteen years ago.”

  “To be perfectly honest,” Titus replied, “do we even care who wins?”

  “Well, of course, we bloody well care who wins!” Placidus snapped. “How many damned usurpers are we meant to suffer before the people finally say they’ve had enough? If this is allowed to continue, any legate or general with a shred of ambition will see himself as a potential Caesar. Loyalty and honor will mean nothing.”