Soldier of Rome- Reign of the Tyrants

by James Mace

  “Yes, I was hailed as ‘Nero Otho’ the other day in the Forum,” Otho replied, his brow furrowed in thought. “I think it was meant as a compliment, or at least I took it as such.”

  “That is all well and good, when a cobbler or baker hails you in such a manner. However, I have received complaints from numerous senators regarding your attempts to return to a Nero-style reign. I now realize it was in poor taste for me to recommend you taking his name, and I have been told as much by many of my peers. That you have allocated twelve million denarii for the completing of the Domus Aurea has the senate worried about the empire’s finances. And since we have yet to restore the free grain ration, this continued grandiose building may be unsettling to the masses.”

  Otho contemplated the senator’s remarks for a few moments. He then gave a solemn nod in agreement. “I’ll not use the name of Nero,” he said. “His statues, however, will remain. And while I do wish to complete the Golden House, we will not risk a financial crisis to do so. We will only continue its construction as funds become available. I do wish to restore the grain ration, but it will take far more than the twelve million denarii I had allocated for the Domus Aurea.”

  “Very good, Caesar.”

  “There is one last matter regarding statues,” Otho said, somewhat awkwardly. “And I don’t mean any of my own, though it has been splendid to see several of these already completed. What I’m referring to are the statues of Empress Poppaea. Seeing as how the people of Rome have taken it upon themselves to restore Nero’s statues, shouldn’t we return hers as well?”

  “As she was your former wife, I can see why this would be a little problematic,” Nerva replied. “I’ll not mince words, Caesar. It was common knowledge that you introduced Poppaea to Nero, and even encouraged their affair. If you are asking whether it would be viewed as improper for you to order the restoration of the statues of your former wife, who became empress under Nero, then the answer is yes. What I can do is speak with your brother, and through him we will put the motion forward in the senate. There is far less chance of unsavory gossips somehow implicating you in the unfortunate Poppaea affair, if we simply take you out of the process.”

  “Thank you, Nerva,” Otho replied. “I admit, there have been many days when I missed my dear Poppaea. By essentially giving her to Nero, I may have earned my place within his circle, yet I lament that I may have brought about her death. Some days I fear the gods will damn me for my culpability.”

  “No one knows for certain if the hideous rumors about Nero kicking her to death are true, or if she bled to death during a miscarriage. The only actual witness is now in hiding, and may have already acted on your orders that he take his own life.”

  The disgraced former praetorian prefect, Tigellinus, had, in fact, been the only one present when Poppaea died aside from Nero. He had stalwartly refused to answer any questions regarding whether she had been killed or died of an unfortunate miscarriage. Otho was not about to offer to spare his life, just to hear an answer that may or may not have been true. Whatever regrets he may have regarding his ex-wife, it was in the past and could not be undone.

  “Tell me, Nerva,” he asked the senator, who was making ready to leave. “Whatever became of that boy, Sporus, who Nero had made into a woman?”

  “Galba was disgusted by the poor retch and had him cast out of the palace,” the senator replied. “He could be begging in the gutter for all I know.”

  “Have him found and returned to the palace. And have him dressed as Poppaea once more.”

  It was a rather perverse directive, but Nerva simply nodded in reply. He would pass the word on to the guardsmen or other household staff. That the poor lad had been ill-fated enough to remind both Nero, and now Otho, of their dearly departed Poppaea was an unfortunate curse.

  It was General Celsus who Otho dispatched to deal with the disgraced former prefect, Tigellinus. He, along with a section of both praetorians and legionaries, arrived at the spa that the former prefect now called his home. They found him splayed out on a couch, half naked, eyes glazed and his face unshaven. His once muscular and fit physique had morphed into flaccid and rotund mass. There was a wafting of smoke coming from the room, with a pungent stench that caused both Celsus and his men to break into a coughing fit. He then noticed nearly a dozen young women, all in various states of nakedness strewn throughout the room. Their eyes were also distant, and they appeared to not even notice the group of armed men.

  “Ofonius Tigellinus,” Celsus said. The man groaned and sat upright, his eyes squinting.

  “By Hades’ cock,” he mumbled. “Is that my old friend, Senator Celsus?”

  The general was unmoved by this. “I have a warrant signed by the emperor, demanding you either take your own life, or face trial and execution for the terrible atrocities committed against citizens of Rome.”

  “Piss off,” Tigellinus said, rolling over onto his side. “I am under the personal protection of Titus Vinius, Consul of Rome.”

  “Vinius is dead,” Celsus replied. “As is Emperor Galba. The orders for your disposal come from the Senate of Rome, by authority of Emperor Marcus Salvius Otho.”

  “Otho?” Tigellinus asked, snapping upright once more. “That little shit is now emperor? Give me the fucking knife and I’ll make this quick.”

  Celsus drew the prescribed dagger and tossed it over to the wretched man. It landed in the former prefect’s lap, but then clattered to the floor. Tigellinus tried reaching for it, but fell from his couch and lay crumpled on the floor.

  “Shouldn’t we help him, sir?” a soldier asked. “This shit in the air is making my eyes burn.”

  “I rather like it,” one of his mates said with a mischievous grin.

  “You can come back and get your mind altered and your cock sucked on your own time,” the general said to the man curtly.

  He then knelt beside the disgraced man, who all in the senate had once feared even more than Nero. He was muttering incoherently, his fingers flicking the handle of the dagger. Celsus shook his head in disgust, took the knife and plunged it into the side of Tigellinus’ neck. The stricken man made scarcely a sound, but simply twitched as a low gurgling sound came from his throat. Celsus wrapped the dying man’s fingers around the handle of the dagger and then signaled for his men to leave. The bevy of courtesans in the room did not even seem to notice the growing pool of blood beneath the corpse.

  As he stepped out into the cloudy day, the general closed his eyes and took a deep breath of fresh air. Nothing more was said by him or his entourage of soldiers. They would be halfway out of the city before the first screams from Tigellinus’ female companions were heard. It was a vile, yet fitting end for a man who had created so much misery and suffering for the people of Rome.

  Chapter XXVI: Defending the Empire

  Rome

  28 February 69 A.D.

  ***

  The imperial messenger from Rome had reached Vitellius in due time, with Otho’s letter offering an immediate cessation of any pending hostilities. The emperor offered Vitellius a position at the imperial court, a magnificent estate in the country, and the absolving of his debts. When the courier returned to Rome with Vitellius’ reply, he told Otho about the large number of troops massing near Vindonissa, though this was interpreted as them consolidating and making camp for the winter. No one foresaw that those same forces had, in fact, been advancing over the Alpes since early February. What troubled Otho was the contents of the letter of response from his rival to the throne.

  He had convened the senate in order to make preparations for what was now the inevitable. In addition to a series of rather curt responses from Vitellius, Fabius Valens had sent his own ultimatums to the praetorian prefects, as well as the urban prefect, Flavius Sabinus. It was also the last day of Otho and his brother’s suffect consulships, with Verginius Rufus and Lucius Pompeius slated to take control of the senate the following day. Titianus, therefore, took the opportunity to address the senate on his last day
as consul.

  “The pretender, Aulus Vitellius, has thoroughly rebuked our entreaties of peace,” he stated. “He has dared to insinuate that, as the Rhine declared for him on New Year’s Day, his claim to the throne somehow takes precedence. He ignores the reality that Emperor Otho was substantiated in his position by the Senate of Rome, whereas Vitellius threatens to become nothing more than a military dictator.”

  He then produced the scrolls, given to him by both Firmus and Sabinus. “The pretender’s chief general, Fabius Valens, has gone a step further in his treachery. Even as we speak he rampages through Gaul, terrorizing the populace, while demanding both levies and tribute. These letters were sent from him to our own praetorian and urban prefects, threatening them with destruction at the hands of the Rhine army, and at the same time attempting to placate them with promise of riches and political power should they break their oaths to the emperor.”

  This latest revelation caused the expected shouts and grumbles of outrage towards the treacherous turncoats. Such measures were little more than political grandstanding, though. These same men would likely prostrate themselves at the feet of Vitellius, should he succeed in usurping the throne from Otho.

  “We are with you, Caesar!” Senator Italicus shouted, as he stood and raised his fist.

  Otho had sat quietly in the other consul’s chair but now stood to address Rome’s ruling body. “The situation may seem dire, given the mutiny of both Germanic provinces, as well as the rumors of a number of Gallic forces joining them. Whereas we have only the inexperienced Adiutrix Legion, along with twelve praetorian and five urban cohorts with which to face this threat. But all is not lost. I have received word from Marcus Aponius Saturnius, the governor of Moesia. He states that the Balkan provinces have remained loyal, and four legions from Pannonia and Dalmatia are ready to fight in the defense of the empire.” He then addressed the three generals who would command the loyalist divisions. “While my noble brother, Titianus, will act as commander-in-chief of our armed forces, I call upon three of Rome’s strongest generals to lead our divisions; Suetonius Paulinus, Marius Celsus, and Appius Gallus. We will take our forces from Rome and march north in two weeks’ time. We will then link up with the Balkan legions, head west into Gaul, and smash the impertinent Valens into oblivion.”

  This was met with a chorus of cheers from the assembly and many shouts of ‘Hail, Caesar!’ This recent news, that the Balkan legions had remained loyal, was a much-needed morale boost for Otho, as well as the senate. Valens’ total strength was unknown, though it was assumed his army consisted of the majority of Vitellius’ forces. They were completely blind to the very existence of the second division under Caecina.

  Along the Danube, Marcus Antonius Primus had just received a shipment of armor and weapons from Vespasian when the courier arrived from Governor Aponius. Primus was still feeling the grave insult brought on by the recent defection of his chief tribune; a young patrician who happened to be a distant cousin of the traitor, Fabius Valens.

  “Good riddance to him, sir,” Master Centurion Vitruvius stated. “Better we have no laticlavian tribune than one whose oath is meaningless to him.”

  “Yes, well, he was an acne-faced little shit anyway,” Primus chortled. “Now, what of these shipments from our good friend Vespasian?”

  “Quartermasters are inventorying the lot now,” Vitruvius stated. “We also received word that one of the three ships carrying the supplies got smashed up in a storm. The other captains do not know if they made it to port. Even if they did, it will be months before we see its cargo, if ever.”

  “We’ll just have to accept that as a loss,” the legate conjectured. “But what of the arms we did receive?”

  “I had a look at them. The armor sets are mostly hamata chain mail, though I did see a few sets of segmented plate. A lot of it is spotted with rust. This is likely due to being subjected to sea spray over a period of weeks.”

  “Hopefully nothing some polish and cleaning won’t fix,” Primus noted. “And any that are unserviceable, the armorers can break down into repair parts and scrap. Was there anything else?”

  “Yes, sir. The good general has sent a large number of gladii. I didn’t see any helmets, but there were several crates of brass bosses, rivets, and metal strips with which to make shields.”

  “We have sufficient helmets,” Primus observed, “even if half of them are outdated coolus and Montefortino designs. They’ll still protect the head from a solid blow. Alright, any soldiers who have yet to be issued armor will be given priority. If there is anything left, then we can look into repairing and replacing those that are in poor condition.”

  “Yes, sir. We were hoping to receive some drafts of new recruits; however, with war against the Vitellians imminent, it seems we will have to make do with what we have.”

  “Three thousand five hundred and eighty-seven, including the officers,” Primus noted, as he glanced over a summary of the legion’s strength. He shook his head in frustration. “No recruits to be had, yet it is in times of war that our need for new soldiers is at its highest!”

  “Beg your pardon, sir,” a legionary sentry said, as he opened the door to the general’s office. “There’s a courier to see you from Governor Aponius.”

  Primus waved in the man, who saluted and handed him his message. The dispatch from Aponius ordered Primus to have the Seventh Gemina ready to march in three weeks. They would then be sent with the Eleventh Claudia and Fourteenth Gemina Martia Victrix from Dalmatia to support Emperor Otho against the pretender Vitellius.

  “Well, bugger,” the legate grumbled. He looked to Vitruvius. “It would seem we have even less time than we thought to get the legion ready for battle.”

  As the military forces in Rome made ready for their journey north, Emperor Otho personally devised another phase of his operational defense of Rome and Italia.

  “General Gallus will advance north towards the River Padus,” the emperor declared, to his council of war. “His division will consist of Legio I, Adiutrix, five praetorian cohorts, four regiments of cavalry, and two thousand volunteer gladiators.” He placed his finger on a large map, pointing to the western province of Gallia Narbonensis. “If the intelligence we have received is correct, Fabius Valens not only has the most viable route into Italia, but also the vast majority of the Vitellian armies. There have been rumors of a possible second division. However, if it exists, they are still trapped at Vindonissa and won’t be able to travel over the Alpes until spring. We must harry Valens’ forces, while undermining any newfound loyalties the people may have towards the usurper.”

  “Thankfully, the Vitellians have no ships,” General Paulinus observed, “so getting our forces into Narbonensis will go unopposed, at least until they land. But who will you send? Most of our legions are in the Balkans.”

  “This will be a small expeditionary force,” Otho replied. “We need the majority of our forces in northern Italia, especially if we anticipate a possible second division coming over the Alpes sometime in the late spring or early summer. We will send, by sea, one urban cohort from Rome, while picking up additional troops from coastal cities along the way. I also want a draft of three centuries from each of the praetorian cohorts remaining in Rome.”

  “Caesar,” Paulinus replied, his face showing concern. “Even if you can get a sizeable draft of urban soldiers from Ostia and the other coastal cities, this is still a force of only two thousand infantrymen, at most. And no cavalry.”

  “Precisely,” Otho said. “It is little more than a diversion, though if successful, they can shore up our western flank while compelling the Gallic provincials from making war in favor of our enemies.”

  “And who will command this expedition?” the general persisted, his feelings of unease over this mission growing.

  “Aemilius Pacensis commanded one of Sabinus’ urban cohorts, before he was cashiered by Galba for petty reasons,” Otho replied.

  “Pacensis is a bully and a drunk,” Sabinus
spoke up. “Caesar, I must advise you against appointing him to command any expedition. He’s likely to seize the chance to plunder, which will only alienate our own people.”

  “And I advise against this expedition altogether,” Paulinus added. “I would have no issue with launching a maritime assault on Valens’ flank, and perhaps drawing him into a decisive battle, if we had the forces to do so. Unfortunately, with the bulwark of our legionaries up north, we simply do not have the numbers with which to launch a viable maritime assault...”

  “Thank you, General Paulinus,” Titianus interrupted. He was clearly put out, as was his brother.

  Otho was flustered that his plan, which he considered a brilliant piece of strategic maneuver, was being opposed by his senior officers.

  “I appreciate your advice,” he said, then nodding to his urban prefect. “And yours, Sabinus. But this decision is mine alone, and I accept full responsibility for its outcome. Tribune Pacensis will command the expedition, with the praetorian centurions Antonius Novellus and Titus Suedius acting as his seconds.”

  Preparations for the maritime expedition proceeded very rapidly. Despite the reservations of Sabinus and Paulinus, Emperor Otho was determined to go ahead with the mission. The emperor made certain they had sufficient ships, and after that, left all preparation to the expedition’s leaders. Within three days the centuries from the praetorian cohorts and the full complement from one of the urban cohorts were ready to depart. It was unknown what logistical preparations, if any, Tribune Pacensis made.

  On the night before their departure, Guardsman Tiberius Statius visited a small flat located just behind the Temple of the Divine Claudius. The particular domicile he sought was on the third floor of the insula. During the day, the entire complex would be alive with playing children, while their mothers washed clothes, cooked food, and otherwise took care of their humble homes. But Statius deliberately came at night, just like every other time he visited.