The Sword and the Throne

by Henry Venmore-Rowland

  ‘When did Totavalas give you this?’ I asked the secretary.

  ‘It was given to me by a street boy, Consul.’

  ‘Then how can you be sure it comes from Totavalas?’

  ‘He’s used the boy before.’ That was good to hear. It meant that the Hibernian was making good use of the gold I had given him. It was less than an hour to sunset, so I hurried off to my empty home, donned the appropriate gear and then dismissed my lictors until morning. True, I would need protection if I was to go skulking around the Aventine, but then even disguised and without their fasces the guards would have stuck out sorer than a Vestal Virgin.

  The sun had disappeared behind the Janiculum Hill by the time I had reached the docks. The last workers were unloading the barges that had come up the river from Ostia. Cargoes of marble ordered in Otho’s time were still arriving from Egypt; clearly he had planned to carry on the building programme that his erstwhile friend Nero had started. This part of Rome had been one of the hardest hit by the Great Fire, which had torn huge chunks out of the city, and work was still being done to replace the lost houses; though with the treasury pouring its money into delicacies for Vitellius rather than bricks and mortar, if we weren’t careful we’d soon have a housing crisis on our hands.

  I was running my fingers through the grain in one of the many sacks by the wharf when someone tapped me on the shoulder. Instinctively I reached for my small dagger, only to realize it was Totavalas. He looked me up and down.

  ‘And there was I thinking I’d seen the last of those trousers,’ he said.

  ‘No one’s going to mistake me for a nobleman in these things.’

  ‘Better hope that an auxiliary doesn’t speak to you in German, or we really will be in trouble.’

  ‘Jupiter! I didn’t think of that.’

  ‘That’s what comes of living in palaces and marble halls all your life.’

  ‘And what about the years I spent in Britannia and my spell as Vindex’s nephew in Gaul?’ I retorted.

  ‘Granted, there are precious few palaces beyond the Alps, but I doubt you stopped acting like a nobleman for one minute.’

  ‘Just you watch me then,’ I said, clearing my throat noisily before spitting between his feet.

  ‘Well done, very common. But let’s get moving, eh? Two men standing by the docks, one of them a handsome man if I do say so myself, people will think I’m a rent boy.’

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘You’ll see.’

  We headed deeper into the Aventine, past the huge grain silos which stored the winter reserves. During the season ships would come from all over the empire, filled to the brim with grain. Some would come from Hispania and Africa, but the bulk of our grain supply came from Egypt, which is why the Divine Augustus had turned it into a personal fiefdom of the emperor, governed by a hand-picked procurator and with the Syrian legions close at hand to secure the region if it looked like there was going to be trouble.

  Totavalas led me to a tavern another couple of streets away, a regular haunt of veterans or current soldiers on leave. Not because of the bracing sea breeze, Totavalas joked darkly, but because of the entertainment the establishment offered and the 10 per cent discount for anyone with the mark of the legions on them. Inside the place stank of rotting fish, sweat and cheap wine. In classier establishments, so they tell me, they sprinkle oriental perfumes or burn scented sticks to at least try to cover up the smell. But this place had no such pretensions. It was a place for whores, gambling, drinking and catching up on army gossip.

  I was chary about lowering my hood in case someone recognized me, but Totavalas assured me my legionaries were all posted on the other side of the city. Besides, it would have looked strange, a hooded man in a warm, sweaty tavern on a summer’s night; out in the streets with the dusty winds from Africa, understandable, but not inside. Cautiously I lowered the hood as Totavalas ordered us some wine.

  ‘How much do I owe you?’ I asked, reaching for some coins in my trouser pocket. Totavalas kicked me under the table.

  ‘Gods, but would you keep still? Do you want every cut-throat in this place to see where you keep your gold? I’ll pay, they know me here.’

  A shapely woman sauntered slowly over, bringing the wine. Standing at my side, she made a great show of putting down the two cups and leaning over the table to pour the powerfully scented wine. I say she was shapely; her breasts were so large she almost blotted out Totavalas from view.

  ‘If you ever want anything special, love, just tip me the wink, all right?’

  I was in the middle of giving a polite ‘thanks, but no thanks’ when she interrupted me. ‘Who says I was talking to you?’

  ‘You’ll have to forgive my friend, he has an ego the size of an elephant.’

  ‘That’s all right, dear. Just so long as you know I don’t shack up with any old bloke that comes through the door.’

  ‘You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?’ I said accusingly, once the whore had gone.

  ‘If possible, I do like to try and mix in a little pleasure with business. Drink up, we’ve got a while yet before your man’ll be ready.’

  ‘What man?’

  ‘The man we’re here to talk to. But first I ought to show you something.’ He fished around inside the satchel I’d given him for his papers, then brought out a wax tablet. I reached out and turned it the right way up. It was a bill of sale, a receipt for an entire shipload of grain bought by a private citizen.

  ‘You’re sure this is genuine?’

  ‘Well, it’s a genuine copy. I had the merchant transcribe this from the original.’

  ‘Who’d want to buy an entire ship’s worth of grain? The only buyers that rich are the guild of bakers or the treasury.’

  ‘Take a look at the name of the buyer,’ the Hibernian said before taking a sip of wine.

  ‘Titus Flavius Sabinus,’ I read. ‘I know him.’

  ‘Of course you know him! He’s prefect of the urban cohorts. Technically, he was the most powerful man in Rome when Otho left the city and we arrived. All the praetorians had marched north, and his were the only troops left. To be fair, it is his job to organize the buying of grain for the dole, but you see he’s bought it himself, not through the usual state channels.’

  ‘So what’s he doing buying up massive grain supplies?’

  Totavalas’s eyes flickered behind me. ‘Here’s a man who might be able to tell you.’

  ‘Gaius, you little rogue,’ a rough voice called out. ‘Where’s that drink you promised me?’

  ‘Gaius?’ I mouthed. Totavalas winked.

  ‘We’ve had to start without you, friend. But let me get you a cup.’

  A burly-looking man plonked himself down on the bench next to me. He stank fit to make even Hades retch. ‘Budge up a bit, can’t you?’

  Sullenly I shifted along a space, then looked at our guest a little closer. Despite his size I reckoned he was barely into his twenties, and clearly he was enjoying the delights that Rome had to offer a young man. Even sitting down his frame swayed slightly, like a young oak in a storm. The wine stains on his toga were so severe that they even showed against the deep red military dye.

  ‘On leave?’ I guessed.

  ‘Something like that,’ the man said. His sluggish hand grasped the cup that Totavalas put before him. ‘And taking advantage of the kindness of strangers, to boot!’

  ‘I’m not strange!’ Totavalas said.

  ‘Ha! You’re all right, Gaius, a bit small and skinny for a Roman, but you’re all right.’

  ‘I told you yesterday, I’m a Hibernian.’

  ‘Hibernia? Where’s that then?’

  ‘It’s an island… oh, what’s the point? You’ll only forget again by the time we meet tomorrow.’

  ‘Likely as not,’ the sturdy soldier agreed, downing his cup in one go, then smacking his lips appreciatively. ‘Who’s your silent friend?’ he asked, flicking his head towards me.

  ‘Oh him? This is my German fri
end, we call him Herman.’

  ‘Herman the German?’ the soldier laughed at his own wit. The two of us played along.

  ‘I should’ve guessed. You look like a German, come to think of it,’ he continued. I sat bolt upright. No I did not! Totavalas saw my reaction and kicked me again.

  ‘Tell Herman what you were telling me last night,’ Totavalas said, pouring our new friend another cup of wine. I had a sip of my own, almost spitting it back into the cup, the taste was so vinegary.

  ‘What about?’

  ‘Your legion, of course.’

  ‘He doesn’t know?’

  ‘You haven’t told him yet. Come on, start at the beginning.’

  ‘When you bring over another pitcher of wine, sure.’

  Another pitcher duly arrived. Then and only then would the soldier begin his tale.

  ‘I’m a Hispanian, I am. From Tarraco, or at least I was. A year ago I signed up to join a new legion, named after our governor. The Seventh Galbiana, the best legion in the whole damn world, that’s us. Anyway, our Governor Galba only goes and becomes emperor.’

  ‘Tell us something we don’t know!’ I exclaimed.

  The young man looked at me curiously. ‘You don’t sound very German to me.’

  ‘He’s only half-German,’ Totavalas explained. ‘He’s more of a Roman than I am! Go on, what’s happening with your legion now.’

  ‘All right. Well, the legion was given a new legate when the old one was put in charge of the praetorians. Antonius Primus, that’s his name. Then we were shipped off to Pannonia. Horrible place, nothing but smelly tribesmen and hills you can barely scratch a living out of. When we heard the news that Vitellius was coming south, we all hoped to be involved, one way or another. But Otho didn’t summon us. Maybe he thought that as Galba had recruited us we would have joined Vitellius. But it would have been nice to be asked.’

  ‘And now someone is asking,’ Totavalas said, more to me than to his drinking companion.

  ‘Right. I was just saying to the lads before I got my… leave, we were saying how it was only the western legions who’d had any say in deciding who should be emperor. Now the eastern legions want their turn. After all, we can easily beat Vitellius’s German lot, can’t we, Gaius? Oh, no offence, Herman.’

  ‘None taken,’ I assured him.

  ‘Good man. Now where was I?’ The words were beginning to slur now. Totavalas was keen to get the rest of the story out before the man lost the thread completely.

  ‘News from the east,’ he said.

  ‘Oh yes. Anyhow, one day we get word from the centurion that Legate Primus wants to sound out the legion about joining forces with the eastern legions. Turns out while the west has been squabbling among themselves, Nero, Galba, Otho and now Vitellius, the east looks as though it’s uniting behind one man: Vespasian.’

  ‘Vespasian? You’re sure?’ I asked.

  ‘Course I’m sure. He’s a good man, given the Jews a good seeing-to. He’s not a murderer, he’s not a miser or a glutton, and he’s not a lofty nobleman like all the bastards who rule Rome. He’s a man of the people, and it’s about time we had one of them as emperor.’

  ‘I’ll drink to that,’ Totavalas said. Once we’d all had another cupful, the Hibernian made our excuses. ‘You’re more than welcome to finish what’s left. See you around, friend.’

  ‘You too, Gaius.’

  I couldn’t wait to get out of that place and into the cool night air. We found a quiet spot where we wouldn’t be overheard.

  ‘Frankly, I think Vitellius owes me a bonus,’ Totavalas said.

  ‘Don’t worry. What do you know about this man Vespasian?’

  ‘Not much more than what the soldier told us. Nero sent him east a few years ago to deal with the Jewish rebellion, he controls Judaea and Egypt, and has been using the legions in Syria to help him. Done a thorough job so far, from what I’ve heard.’

  ‘Egypt, that’s the key.’

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘It’s the bread basket of the empire,’ I told him. ‘Vespasian can hold back the grain ships any time he chooses. And now we hear Sabinus is buying up the grain we have already.’

  ‘You think Sabinus and Vespasian are linked? I know it’s a bit odd Sabinus buying grain privately, but it could be a coincidence.’

  ‘Totavalas,’ I said wearily, ‘Sabinus is Vespasian’s older brother.’

  ‘Ah.’ There was nothing more to say.

  ‘You’ve done bloody well to find this man though,’ I told Totavalas. ‘Now that summer’s here, the trade winds will be blowing east for a couple of months at least. News can travel from here to the east, but not back again, not unless it comes overland through Pannonia, where it seems Primus and his friends aren’t interested in peace. They just want another fucking war so Vespasian can give them huge bribes.’

  ‘We don’t know for certain that Vespasian’s going to do anything. You know how these rumours spread. If he’d been acclaimed as emperor by his own men we’d have heard about it by now. The question is, what do we tell Vitellius?’

  ‘Who says we tell him anything?’ I asked.

  ‘Surely we’ve got to tell the emperor that one of his generals might be plotting against him? It’ll be good for both of us if we’re the ones to give him the news.’

  ‘I don’t want Vitellius knowing yet. Or Valens. The lord of the dinner table is much more manageable when he’s happy, and I’d feel safer if Valens thought everything was going swimmingly too. Meanwhile, we two keep our ears to the ground. Knowledge is power at times like these, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to share my secrets with those two!’

  ‘All right. Shall I have someone keep an eye on the soldier?’

  ‘You know he’s not really on leave, don’t you?’

  ‘He said he was,’ Totavalas replied.

  ‘The army doesn’t grant leave to legionaries, especially not so soon after a war, and not to a man who only left home a year ago.’

  ‘So he’s a deserter?’

  ‘A stupid, drink-sodden one. You’re seeing him again tomorrow?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well then, have some men catch him on his way to the tavern. Then I want him sent to Pannonia, where he’ll be crucified. That should make his comrades think when they’re asked if they fancy the idea of deserting their emperor.’

  ‘I rather think it would. If you don’t mind, I’ll find a few men I know and give them their orders.’

  ‘Good man. See you at the palace tomorrow then?’

  We clasped arms in friendship before each heading our separate ways, Totavalas to find his hired hands, and me to my bed. I kept my hood up even once I’d reached the wealthier, safer neighbourhood where my villa was. I was hardly likely to be attacked on my own doorstep. Near the forum I was passing through the few revellers and night-walkers when I noticed a litter carried by four muscular, black slaves. It was very plain and understated, the sort of litter you’d choose for a secret tryst. If we nobles weren’t naturally ostentatious I grant you it would be more discreet to travel alone, hooded and cloaked as I was. However, the leopard cannot change his spots, and a noble lady likes to travel in style and comfort, even if she doesn’t wish to be seen.

  The moon was high in the velvet-black sky by the time I reached my street. Ahead of me the road was empty but for my janitor, who unusually was standing outside my door.

  ‘Anything wrong?’ I called out to him.

  ‘No, master,’ the slave said. ‘I was told to wait out here and deliver this message to you as soon as you returned home.’

  ‘Another message?’

  He handed me a slip of vellum. As I brought it up to my eyes to read it by torchlight, my nose caught the delicate scent of perfume. ‘Meet me by the Temple of Vesta. Come alone.’

  ‘Was it a woman who delivered this?’ I asked the slave.

  ‘It was a woman’s hand that came out of the litter, master.’

  ‘Litter?’

 
; ‘A plain litter, master, carried by four Nubian slaves. They left not ten minutes ago.’

  ‘Send word to my lictors, have them get to the forum in plain clothes. I don’t want to be alone if there’s trouble.’

  ‘At once, master.’

  With a tired sigh, I set off into the night once more.

  XXII

  The forum had emptied even more by now, making the supposedly unobtrusive litter stand out even more. I growled at the street urchins to get out of my way as they packed round the temple, waiting in vain for a glimpse of a Vestal Virgin. Every military instinct told me to turn round and go back home, but what was waiting for me at home? An empty bed, slaves for company and the prospect of another dreary day of administration, and now there was a mysterious summons in the night from a noblewoman, or if not that then a well-heeled merchant’s wife, since litters cost a fortune. The litter-makers know that their wares are a social necessity, and can pretty much charge what they like, even for a small and restrained affair like the one that stood before me.

  I came as close as I dared to the litter, my eyes darting left and right, searching the shadows for an ambush.

  ‘Who is your mistress?’ I called out to the slaves. They didn’t move a muscle, but a voice answered from behind the curtains.

  ‘If they answered you that would rather defeat the point of me hiding in here, wouldn’t it?’

  I relaxed, recognizing the voice. A dainty hand appeared through the gap in the material and waved me in. Sensing no danger, I dutifully accepted the invitation.

  What must I have looked like? A hooded man in a pair of barbarian trousers clambering into a lady’s litter; the gossips would’ve wagged their tongues for a fortnight if they’d only known who we were. And there she was, in all her loveliness. Domitia lay languidly in a stunning blue dress that complimented her pale blonde hair.

  ‘Caecina, you look a sight!’

  ‘I could say the same to you,’ I riposted.

  ‘You could. What sort of sight am I? And don’t say for sore eyes, I want something original.’