The Sword and the Throne

by Henry Venmore-Rowland

  ‘But… I was told it was a simple shoulder wound,’ I said, not understanding. The wound was near enough to the shoulder, though any further down and I would have called it a chest wound.

  ‘The doctors said the sword had gone deep and punctured the lung. There wasn’t anything they could do,’ Totavalas said.

  A fly landed on Quintus’s face and began to crawl across his cheek. The open eyes remained motionless. Even when the fly reached his lip he didn’t stir.

  ‘He was meant to be going home,’ I began. I reached out and took Quintus by the hand. His touch was cold. Suddenly, all around me everything seemed frozen. The cries of the wounded, the sobs of the dying, the legion of buzzing flies. Totavalas’s lips were moving but I could hear nothing. There was nothing else in the world but the hurt, reproachful look on Quintus’s boyish face. It was almost a year to the day that his father and I had stirred up his life, and he had striven every day not to let either of us down. He had saved my life at least twice, and I had taken his unswerving loyalty for granted. But do you know what the most hurtful thing was? I couldn’t cry. I couldn’t even summon up one single tear. Why was that?

  ‘We did what we could for him, I promise,’ a voice said. ‘But when we saw the perforated lung and the boy struggling to breathe, all we could do was reduce his pain and ease his passing.’

  The doctor began to look at my arm. In an instant I had knocked him back and had my sword at his throat. ‘You should have tried harder!’ I roared. The doctor was confused and terrified.

  ‘General,’ Totavalas said soothingly, ‘this man has other soldiers to look after. If you kill him, others will die that could still be saved.’

  I was breathing hard, rage coursing through me. I struggled to control myself.

  ‘I want another doctor. Not you. No, not you. And get me away from here.’ My sword tumbled to the ground. ‘Totavalas, get me out of here, please.’

  XVII

  The new doctor was jittery with nerves, but he set about immobilizing my arm as best he could. The fighting was all over now; for my shoulder to recover it had to be strapped into place to let it grow strong again. Then I would have to build up the muscle strength until it was back to normal. Totavalas never left my side, making sure I did nothing rash. My mind was still fixed on the pale corpse not twenty paces from me. It was Quintus who was the hero of the day, not I, and certainly not Valens. He could have easily ridden home that day, leaving us all to our fates. But instead he had taken it upon himself to warn me of Valens’s treachery and to take leaderless men into battle, for a cause in which he didn’t believe. It wasn’t even the first time he had put another man’s cause before his own. He had refused his father’s orders to poison me, drugging me instead and even leaving me a horse so that I could reach Vesontio in time for the battle.

  The only thought I could console myself with was that we had won. The battle was won, the war was over. Rome and a consulship beckoned, but Rome without Quintus, fearless in his honesty and unswerving in his loyalty; it just wouldn’t be the same. Who could I rely on to tell me when I took a step too far, when in pursuit of my goals I forgot about the needs of those who depended on me? Totavalas? No, he and I were too alike. The Hibernian was an ambitious man – who would not be, with a kingdom over the seas waiting for his triumphant return? But Totavalas kept his desires deep beneath the surface; I didn’t have his subtlety. Quintus was the first to admit that he was not a soldier at heart, but now that the battle was over and Otho had crossed the river in honour, it was Quintus on whom I had counted to help me save Vitellius from Valens’s influence. That was a battle I would have to fight on my own now.

  Valens was smugness personified by the time the surgeon had finished with me and I made my way to his temporary headquarters. He had had his palatial tent brought from Cremona, and he was surrounded by his officers. The mood was self-congratulatory. Pansa, Publilius and Cerberus were all there too, but they stood off to one side, not permitted to join Valens’s circle. Someone had broken out the wine already. Totavalas went off to fetch me a cup.

  ‘Still with us, Severus?’ Valens joked.

  ‘Haven’t you learned that you can’t get rid of me that easily, Valens?’

  ‘Now why on earth would I want to get rid of my plucky little sidekick?’

  ‘Sidekick?’

  ‘Come now, you’re old enough to know what a sidekick is surely? Junior partner, apprentice, errand boy; which do you like best?’

  My men growled, but I stood my ground. ‘Call me what you like, Valens, so long as it’s to my face. I have a pretty tale about your last governor that I could whisper in Vitellius’s ear if I wanted to. Then we’d see how much our new emperor really trusts you. And when I send my report of the battle, then Vitellius will know who deserves the credit for today.’

  ‘Oh I shouldn’t count on that,’ Valens said. His officers sniggered.

  ‘And why not?’

  ‘While you were convalescing at the hospital, I had a rider dispatched to find the emperor and give him my account of the battle. Send your own if you like, but it’s mine that Vitellius will read first, and it’s mine that’ll be believed. If your letter contradicts mine, Vitellius will see it for what it is: a petulant upstart trying to steal credit from his elders and betters.’

  ‘Why you…’ I was so angry I couldn’t spit the words out. I marched up to him, only to be blocked by his man Priscus. The centurion didn’t dare lay his finger on me, a general, but he could stop me from getting within striking distance of his commander.

  ‘Sorry, sir, but I really can’t be having you attacking my general.’

  ‘Get out of my way,’ I said, limbs trembling with rage. I felt a hand on my arm and I raised it to strike. It was Totavalas, his eyebrows arched with concern, his expression open, as if to say, ‘What are you doing?’

  I closed my eyes and took a deep breath to calm myself. A thought occurred to me as to how I might persuade Vitellius that it was Valens who nearly threw away victory, but it would have to wait until we were all in Rome. I would bide my time.

  Putting on my most serene smile, I faced Valens. ‘Forgive me. The pain of my shoulder, Quintus’s death; I am not myself.’

  I enjoyed the moment. My rival was completely taken aback by my apology. Humility always gives you the element of surprise among ego-driven military types, I find.

  ‘Apology accepted.’

  ‘Excellent. Do we know what the emperor’s movements will be when he receives your message? You know him better than I.’ Valens considered the question. ‘Most likely he’ll throw a banquet in celebration on the spot, even if he’s halfway up a mountain. Then he’ll make his stately progress into Italia.’

  ‘Then perhaps, as commander in the field, you should write to the Senate. You can inform them of our victory and request that they recognize Vitellius as their emperor.’

  Valens looked at me long and hard, unable to understand why I was being so magnanimous.

  ‘You’re happy for me to write to the Senate?’ he asked suspiciously.

  ‘You command the larger army, it is your privilege. Of course if you don’t want the honour…’

  ‘No, no,’ he said hastily. ‘I will fulfil the duty of informing the Senate.’

  I bowed my head in acknowledgement before going to join my friends. None of them could understand it.

  ‘General, are you sure you don’t want to go back to Cremona and rest? It’s been a hard day,’ Publilius said.

  ‘No harder than it was for any of you,’ I replied. ‘Even Totavalas here has had to put up with a surly, grieving master.’

  ‘We all fought hard today,’ Pansa cut in. ‘We soldiers at any rate. Why do you bow and scrape to Valens then?’

  ‘I let him think I bowed and scraped, Pansa, which is another thing entirely. I know that the three of you fought nobly today. Even Valens’s own men told me how well your men did today, Cerberus.’ A corner of the African’s mouth twitched upwards, as much
emotion as he usually showed.

  ‘But what good does your flattery do?’ Pansa asked.

  ‘I’m choosing my battles, Pansa. Valens doesn’t know it yet, but in writing to the Senate he’s about to make a big mistake. Here in the field, he may have the upper hand. Let’s just see how sure his footing is on the marble floors of Rome. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a letter to write. Totavalas?’

  ‘Yes, General.’ The Hibernian followed me out of the tent so I could dictate in privacy. He said nothing as he took down my letter; he didn’t know who the recipient was. But it was a day of triumph tempered with tragedy, and I had a very old score to settle. Using a lump of mud from the battlefield as makeshift wax I pressed my seal down hard, then handed the letter to a nearby aide.

  ‘Take this to the nearest way station and have them deliver it to Corduba in Hispania Baetica, understand?’

  ‘Yes, General. At once.’ The aide looked disappointed to miss the chance of celebrating with wine in the company of his superiors, but an order is an order, and he galloped down the road to Cremona as fast as his horse would carry him. No doubt he hoped to make it back in time to help finish the last of the Falernian wine.

  * * *

  I had a skinful that night, but it brought me little comfort. A hangover is what it brought me. The Greeks tell a story of how their god Zeus, our Jupiter, also woke one morning with a splitting headache. The incessant banging and clanging drove him nearly mad, until at last he had the blacksmith god Hephaestus open up his skull a fraction to see what the matter was. The god did as he was told, and out jumped a fully grown Athena, clothed with a helmet and a shield too. Hubris or not, I would gladly have swapped places with Zeus that morning.

  It was a miserable day. The spring rains had poured throughout the night, and many of our men had to build a new camp in the fields by the battlefield. We had perhaps 2,000 of Otho’s men under armed guard and they had needed shelter too. Those of the enemy who had fallen in battle wouldn’t even have the shelter of a grave. If you’re unlucky enough to be on the losing side in a civil war your corpse is condemned to rot where it lies, with no coins to pay the ferryman. Your spirit is forced to roam the world without rest, while your body lies in a field or clogs up a ditch. The one good thing to come of the battle was that next year the wheat would be twice as high. Gaia, or Mother Earth, clearly thrives on the flesh and bones of the dead.

  Even with Otho gone, we couldn’t trust our prisoners not to do something rash. They had surrendered to us, this is true, but that did not guarantee them their lives, much less an amnesty. For the unity and security of the empire, however, an amnesty was in everyone’s best interests. Three emperors had come and gone within a year, and Vitellius was effectively the last man standing. The legions and auxiliaries who had fought against us at Bedriacum would be made to swear an oath of allegiance to Vitellius. They could hardly refuse. The praetorians, though, were a different matter. Many of them had been bribed by Otho to murder Galba, and those not involved were still tainted by the actions of their comrades.

  Valens and I held negotiations with Suetonius Paulinus for the best part of three days. It was agreed that the old general would march his remaining men to Cremona so that we could administer the oath. There was no question of us going to Otho’s camp and risking a confrontation. I also requested that Verginius Rufus be sent to prepare Rome for her new emperor. At least that was the official reason; I daren’t risk the genial man meeting my own troops and his being acclaimed emperor once more. No, he had to leave for Rome as soon as possible.

  It was early afternoon by the time Paulinus and his men arrived at Cremona. It would hardly have been fitting to administer the oath at the battlefield with all those fallen friends lying unburied, and starting to rot. Paulinus seemed to have aged another five years over the last few days. His eyes looked sunken, his face gaunt and sombre.

  ‘Well, here we are at last,’ he said, a tired general at the head of a dejected and nervous body of men. All of the enemy’s army was assembled: the remnants of the legion of marines, the reinforcements from Pannonia, the auxiliaries and the praetorians, surrounded by our victorious forces.

  ‘There’ll be no trouble from your men?’ Valens said to Paulinus. It was more a statement than a question.

  ‘Kindly address me as “General”, Legate Valens. After all, that is your official rank. I have not conquered new lands for this empire to countenance disrespect from the likes of you.’

  I smiled; the old warhorse had some fight left in him.

  Valens muttered something that sounded like an apology.

  ‘Let’s get this over with, shall we?’ I said, beckoning the priest we’d found in the town to conduct the ceremony. The old man fumbled with his accoutrements. I never could understand the intricacies of religion, too many bells, smells and interminable exhortations to the gods. The soldiers were assembled in their various units, then split up into cohorts, each cohort having to take its own oath. To let the army swear as one would give the ceremony little meaning. We had to be sure that when the oath of loyalty was made, it was meaningful for each and every man. The priest approached each cohort in turn, intoning the words of the oath one sentence at a time so that the soldiers could repeat his words. The gods were called upon to observe the oath, and then the old man would proceed to the next cohort. The whole thing would take an hour at least.

  I was lost in thought, about Quintus and Otho, when Paulinus spoke.

  ‘I hope for Rome’s sake this sorry business is all over,’ he said.

  ‘It is,’ Valens said flatly.

  ‘Will you stay and dine with us, sir? Rufus and Agricola too of course,’ I offered courteously, but inwardly cursing that I had called the general ‘sir’. Old habits and all that.

  ‘Thank you, Severus, but no. We’ll head south once this is over and join the rest of the Senate.’

  ‘Then you wouldn’t mind delivering this, General?’ Valens said, proffering his letter.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘A letter to be read out to the Senate.’

  ‘From Vitellius, already?’

  ‘No, I wrote this letter.’ Paulinus looked surprised, but took the letter nonetheless. He looked at me, questioningly. I had the smallest of smiles on my face. The Senate would see it as an insult that Valens had taken it upon himself to write to them. That was a job for Vitellius, to ask them to ratify him as emperor, not some provincial legate without any social connections. Thankfully, my name did not appear in that letter. One day soon enough Valens would learn the cost of ignoring the etiquette of the nobility.

  As the old general rode off southwards, it was Valens’s turn to look confused.

  ‘Why did the old fool think it strange that I asked him to deliver my letter?’

  ‘I haven’t the faintest idea.’

  Later that day we received a reply from our lord and master. It seemed he had heard the good news one morning in Lugdunum and, as Valens had predicted, threw a celebratory brunch within the hour. But where Valens was wrong was in assuming that our new emperor would drink and feast through the rest of Gaul while we marked time in the north of Italia, waiting for him. Instead, Vitellius wanted to start his grand tour in Italia itself, and had left his gaudy carriage for a very unfortunate horse, riding over the Alps and heading eventually for Mediolanum. We were instructed to have the mother of all banquets prepared for his arrival in three days’ time. Only the senior officers were invited, of course, but Valens and I both wanted to leave a man of ours on the spot to take care of the men. The day-to-day routine would be overseen by the centurions and junior tribunes. Pansa volunteered to stay behind.

  ‘Fancy dinners and high society isn’t exactly my scene,’ he explained. ‘Besides, someone has to look after the men while you young bucks enjoy yourselves.’

  Pansa was right; we were young bucks. Publilius, Cerberus, Totavalas and I rode north together, and at four months the wrong side of thirty I was the eldest among us. Valens an
d his party rode at a steady pace, but I had my own reasons for wanting to reach Mediolanum as soon as possible.

  We wound our way through the streets to the large town-house where we had made our billet when we first entered the city. It was a substantial building, painted an elegant cream colour that shone like a beacon among its rather drab neighbours. Publilius and Cerberus made their way back to their own billets, leaving Totavalas and me in the street with our horses.

  A knock at the door and a short wait brought Duro, my body slave, to the door.

  ‘Welcome back, master.’

  ‘Duro, take the horses round to the stables and make sure they’re properly fed and watered. Is your mistress at home?’

  ‘Who is it, Duro?’ a voice called from beyond the door.

  ‘The mistress is learning to play the lyre, master, and she doesn’t like me to disturb her while she’s practising.’

  ‘Let’s see if she minds this disturbance,’ Totavalas joked.

  ‘Tell her it’s nothing, Duro. I want to surprise her.’

  The slave called back, ‘Just a couple of beggars, mistress.’

  ‘Then find them a denarius and close the door,’ Salonina said irritably.

  Duro led the two horses round the back of the house. Totavalas closed the door behind us as we went in. I could see through the coloured gauze hangings that Salonina was at the other end of the atrium, gently plucking the strings of the lyre that rested against her pregnant frame.

  ‘Flank attack,’ I whispered, gesturing that Totavalas should distract my wife’s attention while I snuck round behind her.

  There was only so far down the colonnade that Totavalas could walk without Salonina spotting him. I had already veered off to the left and was watching my wife at her lyre when the Hibernian announced himself.

  ‘Mistress Salonina?’

  ‘Oh, Totavalas, you startled me. How long have you been standing there?’