The Sword and the Throne

by Henry Venmore-Rowland

  ‘Because I’ve sworn an oath of loyalty,’ I began.

  ‘And being a patrician your word is worth far more than mine, of course. Yet you’ve broken it twice in one year. At least my ambition is predictable. You I’m not so sure about.’

  I was silent for a time. Silent because he was right. I had been so preoccupied with despising Valens for his ambitions that I hadn’t considered how other people would interpret my actions. Galba’s decision to recall me to Rome on a charge of embezzlement, a crime that had been overlooked with a wink and a nod ever since Rome’s reach had gone beyond the shores of Italia, was little more than a pretext. He was trying to get rid of those who had put him on the throne so that he would be beholden to no one. Well, I wasn’t going to submit tamely to his will, Galba had brought this mutiny upon himself.

  Salonina, Quintus, Totavalas and Lugubrix all knew that my ambition had been forced upon me. But what about the Senate, would they understand? What about my friend Julius Agricola? He would understand, I was sure, but how was he to know that it was Galba who had forced my hand by betraying me? I wish you knew, reader, how tempted I am to gloss over this conversation I had with Valens. You must believe me when I say that I write this only to record the truth, not to exonerate myself. My name has already been blackened, and these memoirs I am sure will make it no less black. But I want you to understand why I did what I did. No excuses, no apology. I will just tell you my story and hope that you understand.

  IV

  I was in a filthy mood when I made it back to Vitellius’s palace later that afternoon. Valens and I had discussed many things on the way back to the city, talking through details of the coming campaign, then a lunch with the auxiliary officers to sound them out about the months ahead, and another few hours of bureaucracy, but it was Valens’s questioning of my motives that I turned over and over in my mind. Totavalas was there to greet me at the palace gates.

  ‘You look as sour as a Hibernian cheese, General. Anything I can do to help?’

  I smiled ruefully. ‘How are you at salving consciences?’

  ‘Ah, now with my people that’s a thing we tend to leave to the holy men.’

  ‘I thought your priests made human sacrifices? Surely their consciences are guiltier than anyone’s?’

  ‘I find there’s little that will stop a priest from preaching. Try being raised with the druids at Mona – I had enough religion for a lifetime.’

  ‘And how did your druids help you when you had problems?’ I asked.

  ‘Well, druids are also interpreters of the law; as long as you haven’t done anything illegal, General, your conscience should be as clear as any man’s. And speaking of consciences, sir, I’d advise you to talk to your wife pretty sharpish. She’s been sweetness and light since lunchtime. Seize the day, as you Romans say.’

  ‘After this morning’s pleasant chat?’ I snorted. ‘Vitellius’s cook must have magic powers! Where’s Aulus?’

  ‘The little master is having a philosophy lesson, I think.’

  ‘Poor boy, let’s see how he’s doing.’

  We walked through Vitellius’s marble halls, statues ‘requisitioned’ from the province’s richest families adorning our route. I cast a glance along the wing where the palace kitchens were. It looked busier than the fortress. And why not? Yet another army of guests were expected to invade the banqueting hall that evening.

  ‘I suppose even barbarian princes are taught some philosophy?’ I mused.

  ‘Taught would be the wrong word, I think,’ Totavalas answered. ‘Certainly not how Master Aulus is being taught. With my people, the sons are taken to watch their fathers, whatever their profession; blacksmiths, bards and farmers just as much as kings. I saw my first battle when I was five years old. Now that does make you think.’

  I put my fingers to my lips as we approached our quarters. I could just hear muffled voices. The door was slightly ajar. I stepped nearer, close enough to hear the lesson.

  ‘Now, Master Aulus, what was Aristotle trying to say when—’

  ‘Please, sir, I really don’t like philosophy. It’s too hard!’

  ‘I agree, that’s enough sophistry for now,’ I interrupted. ‘Come here, my little warrior.’

  Aulus ran into my arms. ‘Father, can I have the rest of the day off, please? Philosophy is so boring!’

  ‘Of course you can.’

  The tutor protested. ‘But master, we have another two hours of Aristotle to cover, and then he has a test in mathematics.’

  ‘You’re going to have plenty of time to teach him in the weeks to come, Eumenes,’ I reassured him. ‘We’re going south in a matter of days.’

  ‘To Rome?’ Aulus asked.

  ‘You, me, your mother, Totavalas, everyone. We’re all going to Rome.’

  ‘Can I go and tell Mother?’

  ‘Of course you can, go and tell her.’ Aulus sped off to give Salonina the news, boyish excitement personified.

  ‘Master…’ the Greek tried again.

  ‘You and he will be spending many weeks together on the march to Italia, and he won’t be able to run off. You can teach him then. Right now I say give the boy a break.’

  Aulus came in with Salonina in tow. I say in tow, for he was almost dragging her by the arm in his haste. ‘Tell her, Father!’

  ‘Tell me what?’ she asked.

  ‘We’re going to Rome,’ I said. It seemed to take a moment for the news to sink in, but then her deep blue eyes widened in surprise.

  ‘We?’

  ‘You didn’t think I was going to let you rot in Germania?’

  ‘Surely it’ll be dangerous?’

  I chuckled. ‘Salonina, I’ll be leading over twenty thousand men. I can’t think of many safer places for the two of you to be.’

  ‘Won’t Galba send his own army?’

  ‘If he can gather his troops in time, maybe. That’s why we’re leaving Germania as soon as possible.’

  ‘What about Totavalas?’ Aulus asked. ‘Is he coming too?’

  ‘Only if he wants to come,’ I said, looking straight at the Hibernian.

  ‘I’m surprised you have to ask, General.’

  ‘Rome is a long way from here, Totavalas. I thought you wanted to go back to your own people?’

  ‘That I do, but I can hardly go back home empty-handed. I’ll need more than my good looks and charm if I’m to avenge my father.’

  ‘That’s settled then. The family is going to Rome.’

  * * *

  Winter had set in hard in Germania. My fingers were numb with cold, but I did not dare to crack my knuckles and coax some life back into my hands for fear of yet another icy glare from Salonina. Far below us, partly cloaked in mist, the Rhine flowed sluggishly, great chucks of ice and wintry debris bobbing gently in the water. The horses whinnied their displeasure, snorting tendrils of cloudy breath into the air.

  ‘I’ve never known cold like this,’ Salonina said.

  I gave a gentle tug on the reins so that Achilles fell into step alongside my wife’s horse.

  ‘There’s a spare pair of trousers in the wagon,’ I suggested.

  She nudged me hard in the ribs. ‘Unlike you, I do have some standards. Do the German women wear these trousers?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Then why should I wear them?’

  ‘I was only joking.’

  ‘So was I.’

  We passed through a village on those heights above the river. The horses frightened a gaggle of geese and they scattered, honking. A girl was drawing some water from the well. She looked up to see what had caused the noise. She had beautiful, golden hair that danced in the wind. I smiled at her, and I swear she blushed before looking away.

  ‘Eyes front, Caecina,’ Salonina said. She was only half joking.

  ‘Am I not allowed to admire the landscape?’

  ‘Not when the landscape has pretty blondes in it. Not that it matters. Without your splendid horse and polished armour, I doubt she’d g
ive you a second glance.’

  ‘Jealousy is such an unattractive trait,’ I teased.

  Salonina sat arrow-straight in the saddle, every inch the Roman noblewoman even if her father had been a tradesman. Her hands were ash-white as she gripped the reins, and I saw that she was shivering.

  ‘Why don’t you get into the wagon with Aulus? There are plenty of furs in there to keep you warm.’

  ‘He’s having a lesson with Eumenes. Besides, someone has to keep an eye on you.’

  ‘You can rely on me to do that, my lady, if you want to have a warmer journey,’ Totavalas interrupted.

  ‘What exceptional hearing you have, Totavalas.’ Salonina’s tone indicated more displeasure at being overheard than praise for the Hibernian’s faculties. Totavalas took little notice, but urged his horse on so that the three of us rode abreast.

  ‘It’s not right for a Roman lady to be travelling with us smelly men and sweaty horses.’

  ‘They are my horses,’ I said, ‘sweaty or otherwise, and they need the exercise. How’s your nag doing?’

  ‘He’s doing grand, General. But without wishing to belittle your generosity, I’d give a month’s wages to be sitting on a fine stallion from my own country.’

  ‘Wages?’ I scoffed. ‘You’re lucky I feed you, clothe you and lend you an expensive horse or you’d be walking bollock-naked to Mogontiacum.’

  ‘If you two boys are going to talk about horses and your manly parts, I’ll join Aulus in the warmth.’ Salonina tugged hard at the reins, forcing her mare to hold up, then she turned towards the rear of our column.

  ‘Have I done something wrong?’ I murmured. Salonina was already out of earshot.

  ‘Perhaps mentioning the word “bollock” affected her sensibilities, General?’

  ‘Did nobody tell you, in what passed for your education, what a rhetorical question is?’

  Totavalas grinned, and said in an exaggerated Hibernian brogue, ‘Now why would anyone waste such a difficult term on a simple bog-trotter like me?’

  He was too far away to cuff, so I sighed and shook my head. ‘Why do I tolerate you, Totavalas?’

  ‘Is that another rhetorical question?’

  ‘You can answer it if you like.’

  ‘Because I’m witty, charming, loyal, intelligent, almost your whole household likes me, and handsome and…’

  ‘You forgot modest,’ I pointed out.

  ‘No I didn’t. I just don’t like to boast.’

  I held up my hand for silence. ‘Halt the column!’ I shouted.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Totavalas asked. I didn’t answer, waiting instead for the horses to quieten. Afterwards there was nothing, nothing but the biting wind whistling through the pines. I cocked an ear eastwards. I thought I had heard…

  ‘Voices,’ Totavalas whispered. ‘German voices.’

  A raiding party must have crossed the Rhine. But in the depths of winter? Cursing, I wished I hadn’t sent Publilius and his squadron of cavalry on ahead to warn the camp at Mogontiacum that we were close at hand. We were only a dozen men, a tutor, a woman and a boy. My hand reached for my sword, the Hibernian had already drawn his dagger. Down the foggy hillside I saw a glint of polished silver among the grey and brown.

  ‘Totavalas, to the wagon, now! The rest of you,’ I called to the bodyguards, ‘form up on me.’

  My heart was racing. The first figures were emerging from the mist. With my family in the wagon there was no way we could outrun the enemy. I had no idea how many there were, but maybe a sudden charge would send the raiding party packing. By now the guards had formed a line, with me in the centre. There was the rasp of swords being unsheathed. As one, we dug in our heels and made off at a canter. Down below there were cries of alarm. As we entered the forest the horses had to jink and swerve to avoid the trees, slowing us down. The cries of alarm were replaced with orders barked out.

  Then someone shouted in Latin: ‘Stop! Friends! We’re friends!’

  It was only then that I noticed the mail shirts, the long oval shields and familiar spears and guessed that these were German auxiliaries. Too late, one of my men had careered into the German line. The horse flailed among the men who could not get out of the way fast enough and suddenly stumbled. The rider was catapulted out of the saddle.

  ‘Halt!’ I cried. The other guards had noticed too, their horses rearing at the sudden stop and the prospect of a thicket of spears.

  ‘Who are you?’ I called out.

  ‘The Ubian Cohort,’ one of them called out. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘Step forward so I can see you.’ A man broke ranks, the red plume on his helmet marking him out as the prefect in command of the cohort. Gentle blue eyes and the beginnings of a wispy beard, he was probably only a few years younger than me.

  ‘I am General Severus, chosen by the emperor to command all units within this province. What in Hades do you think you’re playing at, prefect?’

  ‘Well, sir, we were marching along the river road to Mogontiacum, and my scouts reported a column moving along the heights heading south. I thought you might want our protection.’

  ‘And how were we meant to know that you were auxilia rather than a German raiding party?’ The officer had no answer, so I answered for him. ‘Instead of joining us further up the road, or sending those same scouts to warn us, you marched up the hill, chatting in German, and all we could see were warriors emerging from the fog.’

  I guided my mount to where my guard had fallen from his horse. The auxiliaries quickly moved out of Achilles’s way.

  ‘Fulvio, where are you?’

  ‘Here, sir.’ The man was struggling to rise. His right arm dangled limp at his side, so he rolled on to his left flank and pushed hard against the earth to lever himself up.

  ‘You still alive, Fulvio?’

  He smiled grimly. ‘Pretty sure the arm’s broken, but the rest of me’s all right. Can’t say the same for that poor sod,’ he said, gesturing at the body below him.

  The German’s skull had caved in one on side, his face a grisly mask of blood. Fulvio’s horse must have caught him full on the head when it went down, thrashing. But Fulvio was already attending to the frightened beast, calming it down.

  ‘You’re a lucky man, prefect,’ I said.

  ‘General?’

  ‘If one of my men had died, you would have joined him. But your cohort is now a man short. You can take his place. Who’s the senior centurion here?’

  A voice called out from the ranks, ‘Centurion Pullo, sir.’

  ‘Congratulations, Prefect Pullo. Detail a team to bury your man, the rest of you can follow us to Mogontiacum.’

  * * *

  They say all roads lead to Rome. In the case of Upper Germania, all roads, tracks and muddy pathways lead to the provincial capital. The Ubian Cohort wasn’t the only force that we joined on the road south. The messengers we had sent from Colonia had ridden fast and hard. We were lucky that the Germans on the far side of the Rhine had been quiet for so many years, or we wouldn’t have dared to take the auxiliaries with us. Some were seconded to the provincial tax collectors, men who might need some muscle in the face of unwilling debtors. Others were in small garrisons dotted along the river, and some of them even beyond the river in strategic locations, acting not only as antennae for the mood and movement of the tribes, but as our first line of defence, holding crucial mountain passes or river crossings. Things would have been very different if the auxiliaries were conscripts, but you have to remember that they were tribesmen. They loved to fight. Joining the Roman army meant a steady salary, an alien concept to them, enemies to kill and the glittering prize of Roman citizenship at the end of their twenty-year service; added to that, Vitellius’s taking the name of Germanicus had pleased the troops no end.

  Mogontiacum had taken on a whole new character in the days that I had been away. It reminded me of my first day in Vienne all those months ago, the whole place seething with a sense of purpose and pride. However, there was on
e crucial difference. While the whole Vindex affair had reeked of amateurism and playing at soldiers, these men were the cream of the Roman army. Nothing in the world could match them. The praetorians were too few, and the legions in Dacia and Syria were too far away to play a part in the coming campaign. But even the eastern legions recognized that the men on the Rhine were the toughest in the empire. And they were mine to command.

  The cohorts that had joined us peeled off to the makeshift camp where the auxiliaries were gathering. Our small convoy skirted the western side of the town, heading directly to the fort where the two legions had so nearly run riot barely a fortnight before. Totavalas had been willing to risk his life to defend my family if the troops had decided to ransack my villa, less than a mile from the main gate. The two guards on the villa door stood to attention as they recognized me.

  ‘As you were, men. The nearest thing to an attack you’ll face is a telling-off from my wife for making eyes at the slave girls.’ The two of them smiled. They liked a general who commanded respect but could joke and muck in with them from time to time.

  The villa was the same as when we had left it. Not that there should have been anything different, we had been gone little more than a week. Nevertheless, once she was out of the wagon Salonina was mistress of the house again, and set everyone to rights. Within ten minutes she had upbraided half the household for letting dust into the villa, the cook for not having mulled wine waiting for us by the fire, and others for the gods know what. I suspected that she was finding fault for fault’s sake, just to remind them that she would not tolerate any sloppiness now that she had returned. There was much bowing and scraping, and while Salonina was in her element I had other matters to attend to.

  Quintus was waiting for me in the atrium. ‘General,’ he began.

  ‘Come, Quintus, I’m the same man you knew in Gaul. There’s no need to call me general.’ In a couple of steps I had him in a great bear hug, hitting him on the back for good measure.