The Sword and the Throne

by Henry Venmore-Rowland

  The remaining gladiator was wary of coming too close to Clothar. He had seen what had happened to the club-man. He waited at the edge of the arena, Galba’s proxy in his shadow. But Clothar was too professional an entertainer to use the same trick twice. Guile had won his first victories, and we waited with baited breath to see how he would dispose of the third.

  He advanced slowly, menacingly. Despite his trickery the German was a huge man who could rely on raw power alone to see him through most encounters, and as he came closer to the pair we saw how much the odds were stacked in his favour. The retiarius’s head probably came up to Clothar’s neck, if that. But his trident was long and we had seen how his net had almost done for the bigger man. Our eyes focused on that net as the slave spun it, waiting to see which way his enemy would attack. The tip of one sword flickered. The retiarius held his ground. Then he tried something very brave, or suicidal. He flung his net high into the air, and the German’s head flicked up to see where it would fall. The retiarius used this distraction, for distraction it was, to hurl his trident like a javelin straight for the German’s chest. But the throw was weak and ill-aimed, giving Clothar enough time to parry the makeshift javelin, but it still nicked his shoulder, causing the giant to flinch in pain. The net fell to the ground at the retiarius’s feet, and he hastily retrieved it. Clothar closed in for the kill, holding his swords aloft to deflect a throw of the net, knowing that he was safe. All the retiarius could do was use his net as a shield, delaying the inevitable. Clothar swung with his right; the sword bit into his enemy’s arm. The crowd roared as a spurt of blood caught the giant full in the face. The smaller man’s lifeless arm dropped the net but he used the momentary distraction to scamper out of range of the colossal man’s gladius. ‘Galba’ limped out of the way as fast as he could, but Clothar knew he had all the time in the world to deal with his ultimate victim. Dropping the net, the gladiator hurled himself at the trident that lay in the sand and grabbed it with his good arm.

  Clothar’s face was spattered with blood, and he wiped it with his forearm as he prepared to deliver the final blow. He marched up to the weakened gladiator and knocked the trident from his trembling grasp, then swiped with both of his swords to lop off the man’s head. A gush of arterial blood pumped from the poor man’s neck. Little Aulus covered his eyes with the folds of his mother’s dress.

  The giant stood still, staring out the pathetic slave who clutched his shield close to his chest, his dagger looking like a toy next to those fearsome gladii. Clothar raised his arms to the crowd, asking for their judgement: kill or spare. But this crowd was never going to spare the wretched slave. The coward flung his weapons to the ground and fell to his knees. I could see his chest heaving, not from exhaustion but because he was sobbing, pleading for mercy. There were cries of ‘Kill him!’ and ‘Down with Galba!’ A forest of arms rose into the air, with their thumbs all pointing down. But the choice was not up to them.

  Vitellius rose awkwardly from his chair, and stood with his arm outstretched and his fist clenched. Now the chant changed to a cheer. ‘Vitellius!’ they cried in adulation. Our emperor was clearly enjoying his moment of pure adoration. This was the son of Lucius Vitellius, three times consul and beloved of the people at a time when the ruling emperor, Claudius, was a crippled cuckold. The people and the legions of the north were behind him. Slowly, inexorably, the thumb turned towards the ground. Clothar acknowledged Vitellius’s judgement with a courteous bow, then turned to face the crippled pretender.

  The whole arena fell silent as we watched and waited. A few words were exchanged from one gladiator to another, and the supplicant slave gestured to his throat. The tall man nodded, and sheathed one of his swords. He held his remaining one steady. The slave’s breaths were shorter, faster, waiting for the end. A quick slash, a spurt of blood, and the dying slave slumped on to the sand.

  The crowd spilled out of the stadium, eager to enjoy what remained of the public holiday. The soldiers would no doubt head straight for the taverns, and the wiser civilians would avoid those same taverns, or else risk getting caught in the inevitable brawls that night. Hot-headed fighters who have been gambling, with cheap wine coursing through their veins, do not make the safest company, I find.

  ‘Congratulations, Caesar, they will be talking about this fight for decades. The people have taken your name into their hearts,’ Valens said, more to congratulate himself than his master.

  ‘Thank you, Valens, it was a magnificent display. Wouldn’t you agree, Severus?’

  ‘I could not have wished for a grander present, sir.’

  ‘Come now, Severus, you don’t have to “sir” me. We’re all friends here.’

  Good enough friends that Vitellius didn’t flinch when called Caesar just now, I thought. I suppose he just didn’t feel like an emperor yet, but Valens had been brilliant thus far. No one would have thought that a few months ago this man would have trembled at the very thought of challenging Galba for the throne. Now he was sitting in an imperial box and basking in the warmth of the people’s affection. The free bread that we had given the crowd wouldn’t hurt either.

  The five of us, Vitellius, Valens, my family and I walked the streets back to the self-styled imperial palace. Really it was Vitellius’s own villa as governor of Lower Germania, but it made political sense to refer to it as ‘the palace’. This was my new home for the time being. Quintus Vindex, my second in command and the man who had saved me from the stupidity of his father in the middle of his ill-fated Gallic rebellion, was literally holding the fort for me back in Mogontiacum, along with the vastly experienced camp prefect, Tuscus. As Vitellius’s lieutenant, theoretically I commanded both the legions encamped there: my own legion, the Fourth Macedonica, and the Twenty-Second Primigenia, not to mention the thousands of German auxiliaries. But I was needed in Colonia to plan for the coming campaign, and to keep an eye on Valens. I didn’t trust him further than my son could throw him. Trust Valens to turn my birthday into his own personal triumph.

  Totavalas was overseeing the filling of my bath as we entered the chambers Vitellius had set aside for my family. Technically it was a job for one of the slaves, but up in Germania we were rather short-staffed. Before I’d given him his freedom, the barbarian had been a passable body slave. Perhaps the word ‘barbarian’ is a little unfair. He speaks, reads and writes Latin better than most Romans, even if he does do it in a maddening, Hibernian sing-song sort of way.

  ‘Your bath will be ready in just a moment, General.’

  ‘Thank you, Totavalas. Have you got more water on the boil for Salonina’s bath?’

  ‘Indeed I have, sir.’

  At first glance Totavalas seemed the most easy-going, carefree individual you could wish to meet. The young man was so chirpy, and so damn efficient, and when you consider he was born to the most powerful chieftain on his island I couldn’t help but feel a little guilty about once owning him. But there was steel in his soul: he was fiercely proud of his lineage and had the makings of a fine warrior. He had proved his courage and loyalty on a day when my legions had threatened to run riot, and had been ready to die in defence of my family. For that I had given him his freedom.

  As with many freedmen, he had decided to stay with my family, at least until he had saved enough money to pay for his passage back to his wild island in the north. So I paid him a wage to act as my chief steward and he had taken to it like a duck to water. Not that there was much for him to do in Colonia with only a couple of slaves to manage, but I didn’t begrudge him the wage. At least saying thank you to him was entirely normal since he had won his freedom.

  ‘Don’t be too long, Caecina,’ my wife said. ‘I’ll need plenty of time to get ready for the banquet tonight.’

  ‘I’ll be as long as it takes. Have fun teaching that Gallic slave girl how to use those new curling tongs!’

  She playfully stuck out her tongue.

  ‘Come on, Aulus, we don’t want to distract your father from his important duties. Yo
u can help me get ready.’

  Totavalas led me through to the next room where the deep copper bath waited for me, swirls of steam still streaming upwards. I began to strip as Totavalas dipped a finger in, and tut-tutted that the new body slave had forgotten to cool down the hot water to just the right temperature. He apologized and grabbed the empty pitcher, heading for the kitchens.

  After a while I got bored of waiting. Thinking that the water must have cooled a bit by now, I dipped my foot into the bath. It damn near scalded me, and in the rush to get my foot out I lost my balance and landed on my back. I heard a light chuckle.

  ‘Now that’s a novel way to take a bath!’ Totavalas had returned with the cold water and a towel.

  ‘Stop your giggling and help me up.’

  ‘As you command, General. Or should I say Admiral?’ With his free hand the Hibernian hoisted me up. Once I was standing, Totavalas’s eyes flicked downwards. ‘And I thought it was cold water that made a man look quite so… small.’

  I grabbed the towel from him and wrapped it round my waist. ‘Very funny. And I suppose you’re hung like an elephant?’

  ‘I wouldn’t say that, but certain ladies of my acquaintance are kind enough to say that they’ve never known anything like it.’

  ‘I hope they charge extra for the flattery.’

  * * *

  A little while later I lay contentedly in my bath. Totavalas was massaging oil into my back, ready to scrape away the grime of the day. I could feel my muscles beginning to relax as he worked away at the knots, draining the stress and tension from my body. Tonight was the third banquet this week; Vitellius could never resist a chance to celebrate. First it was his acclamation as Germanicus by the army, then the news that the legions in Britannia had mostly sided with him, and now it was my birthday.

  ‘On the understanding that this goes no further…’ I began.

  ‘Of course, General.’

  I paused a moment, gently reminding him I don’t care for interruptions. ‘What do you think of our host?’

  The Hibernian thought about his answer for all of two seconds.

  ‘He’s got a powerful big appetite, sir.’

  ‘Totavalas, I like you because you’ve got the mind of a fox; a useless, prattling fox, but a fox nonetheless. Use it!’

  ‘Maybe if you made the question a little more specific?’ he suggested.

  ‘As a potential emperor then.’

  ‘Potential, sir? I thought you yourself said he was the right choice for the good of the empire?’

  How did he know I said those very words to Valens on the night we toasted Vitellius as emperor? I asked him, and all he did was look enigmatic and say:

  ‘Ah well, we Celts have ways of knowing things you Romans will never understand.’ I would have cuffed him, or splashed him at the least, but he had a strigil and was scraping my back, not a job you can do by yourself.

  ‘Are you having second thoughts perhaps?’

  ‘How can I have second thoughts? I’m committed now. Galba put me in this situation. He broke his word, now I’ll do what I can to overthrow him.’

  ‘So it’s revenge you’re after, not the golden glittering consulship the emperor has offered you?’

  ‘I’d rather call it self-preservation. My legion wants Vitellius, Valens wants Vitellius, my wife wants Vitellius…’

  ‘Surely not, sir!’

  At long last, one of his jibes made me laugh. The thought of that whale and my wife together was ludicrous. Salonina was ambitious, yes, but not that ambitious!

  I sighed. ‘It’s Valens I worry about. There’s no limit to that man’s greed.’

  ‘He may worry about you, General.’

  I took little comfort from that thought. He needed the support of my legions certainly, and my legions followed me. But I knew that he would do his best to discredit me in Vitellius’s eyes and at the same time make himself indispensable. Totavalas finished scraping away at the oil, leaving me feeling cleansed.

  ‘Not the most comforting of thoughts, but it will have to do. Have that slave bring me my clothes, then tell Salonina when her bath is ready, and tell her to be quick. Can’t be late for my own birthday banquet, can I?’

  II

  The banquet was sumptuous, just as the last two had been. From a hedonist’s perspective, Rome’s empire was great not because of its might or its glory, but because it could cater to every possible culinary taste. And Vitellius was an expert in culinary taste. There were jellyfish from the Northern Ocean, joints of fallow deer from the German forests garnished with African dates, raisins and honey. Stuffed dormice, boiled ham drenched with fishy garum, figs, honeyed pastries from the East – there was anything and everything a man could desire, and all at the province’s expense.

  Now don’t get me wrong, I love good food, and the banquet was exquisite. But after the previous two the monotony of these affairs was beginning to bore me. I found myself sitting next to the same sweaty local dignitaries, making the same dull small talk, watching Vitellius wolfing down yet another course, and nearly marinating himself with fine wines. Salonina, on the couch next to me, sensed my boredom.

  ‘Smile, Caecina, it’s your birthday!’

  ‘Really? I’d forgotten,’ I said sarcastically.

  She gave me a playful shove. ‘Come on, have an otter’s nose.’

  I didn’t even deign to reply. Instead I looked idly around. On the other side of the room Valens was enjoying the attentions of one of the slave girls who served us. I put it delicately. He was slobbering, his hands were roaming, she was dutifully responding. Revolted, my eyes turned to the next couch, where Vitellius lay. Our eyes met, and he raised his goblet. A splash of wine sloshed over the rim, but then he held it steady.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, a toast to General Severus! Without whom none of this would be possible,’ he slurred.

  ‘To General Severus,’ the chorus echoed. I smiled politely. Hangers-on and arse-lickers every one of them, but an emperor needed his court, and in this wild corner of the empire this was the best that could be had. There were of course some officers from the province’s legions, the Fifth, the Fifteenth, the Sixteenth and Valens’s own, the First Germanica. One day I would have to get to know them, but I was putting off that pleasure for as long as I could. My little fame in the army was restricted to Britannia, and little further. And it would not do me much good to say that I had effectively led the Vindex rebellion that they had crushed only a few months ago. That battle had brought them together for the first time in decades, and it had given them an inkling of what they could achieve if the Rhine legions united.

  Achieve is probably the wrong word. The common soldier is not concerned with affairs of state and high politics. All he wants is to fight occasionally, survive, drink, fornicate and plunder enough to ensure a comfortable retirement. And this was best attained by helping his governor become master of Rome. Not forgetting the two legions in my province of course, or the one in the Alps and all the German auxiliaries.

  I heard shouts from the corridor outside. They became steadily louder, and many necks craned to hear what was causing the commotion. Then I caught a few Gallic swear words, words that would have offended the delicate sensibilities of our guests if they had understood them.

  The heavy double doors crashed open, and in strode a daunting figure, flanked by two protesting slaves. That bright shock of red hair marked him out in an instant.

  ‘Legate Severus, would you tell these insufferable slaves to leave me alone? I forgot to bring my invitation.’

  I grinned from ear to ear. Lugubrix was hardly the sort of dinner guest this crowd were used to, and he certainly didn’t have an invitation. I beckoned to the doormen to let him in. He marched to the couch next to mine and stood glowering at its occupant. Unsurprisingly, the man, a local magistrate, I think, got off with barely a moment’s hesitation. The Gaul clambered on to it, and demanded someone fetch him a drink.

  Salonina maintained a serene smile.
‘Caecina, won’t you introduce me to your friend?’

  ‘Quite right,’ Lugubrix commented. ‘Where are your manners, old friend?’

  ‘Lugubrix, this is my wife, the lady Salonina. Salonina, an old friend, Lugubrix.’

  The trader put on his most courteous smile and said, ‘Lady, I would kiss your hand. But I won’t, for fear of sullying it with my filthy Gallic skin.’

  ‘Sir, you are the most charming Gaul I have ever met.’

  ‘And the first, I’ll bet!’ Lugubrix countered.

  ‘Lugubrix, charming my wife is my job, and no one else’s.’

  ‘Job?’ he said. ‘I’d consider it a pleasure. Is someone going to bring me that damn drink?’

  By the smell of him he had already started, but it didn’t bother me in the slightest. If the guests didn’t take to him, what did I care? He was the only one in the room, my wife apart, who was actually there to celebrate my birthday.

  ‘So how is the youngest legate in the empire?’

  ‘It’s “general” now, Lugubrix.’

  ‘Forgive me, General!’ he bowed mockingly. I had missed the rascal, and hopefully the feeling was mutual. He was sporting a leather cuff of sorts that covered up the stump where his right hand should have been.

  ‘What’s with the leather contraption?’ I asked, gesturing at it.

  ‘It’s not a contraption, it’s a fashion accessory. I put it on when I’m going to be near squeamish folk. Not everyone wants to see a war wound at dinner.’

  ‘And you think we’re squeamish?’

  ‘I’ll prove it to you,’ he said, slipping off the cuff.

  Lugubrix turned to the man on the next couch along. ‘Could you pass me that platter please?’

  The man reached over, picked up the platter and held it at arm’s length.

  ‘Thank you so much.’ He leaned over as if to take the platter, but instead dropped his stump right in the middle of the food! The poor man dropped the platter in revulsion, shuddered, then vomited all over the floor. Lugubrix burst out laughing.