So how should he conduct this campaign now that it was about to commence? He cursed, inwardly, the cowardly, unmartial nature of the Emperor who craved military success but, fearing to attain it himself, punished those who procured it for him. He was the first Emperor never to have led an army in battle; granted, his great-uncle and adoptive father, Claudius, had only nominally led an army during his lightning visit to Britannia in the first months of the invasion, but this had been enough to secure him a Triumph with a certain degree of legitimacy. His Uncle Gaius Caligula’s minor excursion into Germania Magna was still far more than Nero had achieved militarily and Caligula’s mighty defeat of the god Neptune on the shores of the northern sea had earned him, too, a Triumph – although this had been more a private joke on Caligula’s part as he had forced his legions to attack the sea after they had refused to embark on ships for the invasion of Britannia; he had much enjoyed the looks on the faces of the Senate as he had paraded scores of wagons full of seashells through Rome. Nero’s own Triumph had been when he returned from Greece with his one thousand eight hundred victor’s crowns; he would not want anyone to overshadow that. And yet if Vespasian were to crush the revolt with anything like the alacrity that was required then he would put himself in serious danger from the man who considered himself to be the only person of consequence in the entire world.
It seemed, therefore, to Vespasian that he had three viable choices and none of them were a guarantee of safety. He could do his duty to Rome and risk the wrath of the Emperor. He could deliberately fail and let the province erupt into violence and then slip from Rome’s grasp and trust that his punishment would not be too severe. Or he could … but, no, he did not want to dwell on that; he did not want to contemplate just what else he could do with the army that the Emperor had let fall into his hands.
And now here he was at the point of decision. He drew a breath and looked at Titus. ‘To fail on purpose would get the family nowhere. Therefore, we must succeed and pray to our guardian god, Mars, that the situation in Rome will change and success is no longer rewarded by death.’
Titus frowned. ‘What are you talking about, Father?’
‘I’m saying that I’ve made a decision: we’re going to prosecute this war ruthlessly and crush the rebellion as quickly as possible and then figure out how to proceed once we’re victorious because I’ll not be so compliant as Corbulo.’
‘You mean you would defy the Emperor.’
‘Someone at some stage has to. I’d prefer it not to be me but if it comes to the choice of certain death by suicide as the reward for good service or … well, let’s put it this way: whatever happens I shall not be choosing the first alternative.’ He turned to the party of staff officers awaiting orders a short distance behind him. ‘Gentlemen, the auxiliaries will handle this. Prefects Virdius and Gellianus, your two cohorts should be sufficient to take the walls supported by Petro’s archers. I want no mercy shown; utter destruction. Kill everyone in the town over the age of five, with the exception of their leader, Yohanan – I want him alive; the rest can be sold as slaves as they’ll be too young to remember and desire vengeance. See to it.’
‘Always one with the eye to a profit,’ his companion, who had been sitting in silence next to him, muttered. ‘It would have been a terrible shame not to have got anything from the town. Not that babes fetch much, as the purchaser is obliged to invest quite a bit feeding them up so as they can stand on their own two feet, if you take my meaning?’
‘And there was me thinking you had dozed off, Magnus; having your old man’s morning nap. I’d been very much looking forward to the thud you would have made as you slipped from the saddle.’
Magnus scratched at the grey stubble swathing the lower half of his battered, ex-boxer’s face and regarded Vespasian with his one good eye from beneath the wide brim of his leather sun hat – the glass replica in his left socket worked to its own agenda. ‘No, I was very much awake, sir; I was just enjoying watching you come to a decision. It was like watching a Vestal take it up the arse for the first time whilst trying not to scream: all grimacing and grinding of teeth. I was almost surprised that your eyes didn’t start watering with all that straining that seemed to be going on. I hope you haven’t done any permanent damage.’
‘Everything is just fine, thank you, Magnus; that truss you gave me last Saturnalia is holding up a treat.’
Cornua, the large G-shaped horns used for signalling on the battlefield, began their low rumblings as three cohort standards dipped, centurions bellowed and the auxiliaries began to move forward to provide a spectacle for the rest of the army and to raze a town to the ground.
‘By the way,’ Magnus said as the archers of the fourth Syrian auxiliary cohort commenced clearing the walls of defenders so that their comrades could more safely attempt an escalade, ‘it’s the right decision. Who knows what will happen in Rome whilst you try to sort this mess out.’
Vespasian nodded with approval as he watched the first Augustan cohort approach the town in centuries formed into testudo with the ladder-men in their midst; arrows hissed over their heads and the walls remained clear of defenders. ‘Yes, well, I’m sure that my brother will keep us well informed; in the meantime, all I know is that I’m going to show these Jews just what it means to rebel against Rome. They’re going to find out exactly what war is.’
Pity was not an emotion in which Vespasian could afford to indulge. As he, Titus and Magnus surveyed the smouldering ruins of Gabara and the hundreds of dead within, some no more than charred husks of humanity, he suppressed all feelings of compassion for the women and children who had been massacred alongside their menfolk. ‘None of them were innocent,’ he said, looking down at the tangle of corpses of both sexes and all ages, each with their throats cut, having been methodically executed. He nudged the head of a young girl with his toe, turning her face towards him to stare up with sightless, pale blue eyes. ‘Had Yohanan ben Levi seen sense and opened the gates to us I would have been lenient with them and this child would still be alive. But this is the message that we have to send to every town that contemplates defying us.’
‘And if every town does?’ Magnus asked, kicking a bloodied slingshot lying next to a dead auxiliary with a vicious dent in his shattered forehead.
‘Then there will be very few people left to govern in Judaea,’ Titus said, ‘but it won’t come to that. Sepphoris, twelve miles south of here on the other side of Jotapata, has already sent a delegation pledging their loyalty and we’ve sent a garrison there to help them remember their promise.’
‘Ah, well, that’s all right then; at least the procurator will have a few people left to tax extortionately.’ Magnus retrieved a discarded leather sling and examined it. ‘I think that was how this all started in the first place, wasn’t it? Or was it just us being too nice to them for a change?’
Vespasian frowned at his friend in confusion. ‘What are you suddenly taking their side for? I’ve never thought of you as the champion of the Jews, or any other race for that matter.’
‘I ain’t; it’s number one who I look out for as you know and I’ve no wish to be the victim of a nasty piece of leather like this,’ Magnus said, throwing the sling over his shoulder. ‘My point is that because the last couple of procurators, no doubt both about as pompous as an arsehole can get, pushed these people into revolt, it resulted in six thousand of our lads getting theirs at Beth Horon because the pompous arsehole in command forgot to send out scouts to spring any ambushes. All I’m saying is that whilst people of your class come to shitholes like this to grub out every last sesterce from the local population that they can, it’s the lads from my class who have to pay with their blood to sort it out.’ He pointed to the dead auxiliary. ‘Matey-boy here being a case in point, even though he weren’t a citizen. Now, I understand that when you join the army you’ve got a good chance of ending up dead but that minor detail don’t stop people from signing up. But there’s ending up dead and then there’s ending up dead unne
cessarily, and I would say that ending up dead because some procurator wanted to have a few more golden goblets than his neighbour on his dining table is unnecessary. That’s all; I’m just saying.’
‘Yes, well, stop just saying,’ Vespasian snapped. ‘I don’t like it any more than you do, but that’s the way it is and there’s nothing that you or I can do about it.’ He turned to his son. ‘Titus, have the dead counted; I want their exact number publicised. We’ll make camp here today, fully fortified. Our next move is to see how the people of Jotapata intend to welcome us.’
‘With open arms, hopefully, once word gets to them about what happened here.’
‘Not if Yosef has his way with them. Send out a cavalry ala to ride to within view of the town to take a look and bring in any prisoners they can find. How many agents do you have in there?’
‘Three reliable ones and two others that I know for sure are double agents. We may be able to put them to some use.’
‘I’m sure we will. Have all the legionary legates and auxiliary prefects assembled in my tent an hour before sundown.’
‘Here are the rest of the reports to have come in, sir,’ Lutatius, one of the young, thin-stripe military tribunes attached to Vespasian’s staff, said, depositing a dozen or so wax tablets on Vespasian’s desk in the praetorium, the command post, for perusal. ‘The only one outstanding is the Second Cappadocian Cavalry ala which was sent out scouting towards Jotapata.’
Vespasian rubbed his temples as he contemplated the pile before him. ‘Is there any word from the prefect of the camp on how the fortifications are doing?’
‘Prefect Fonteius sent a report saying that five miles of ditch have been completed and he is just waiting for the Fifth Macedonica to complete their last mile stretch.’
‘The Fifth again, eh? They were last to finish yesterday; they seem to be making a bad habit of it. Thank you, Lutatius, you can go, but bring me the prefect of the Second Cappadocia as soon as he’s back.’
With a smart salute, the young lad turned and marched from the room, if, that was, it could be called a room, being a curtained-off area within the huge tent that served as the headquarters of the army. Vespasian picked up the first of the tablets and studied its contents: a dry list of the battle-effectiveness of the X Fretensis, broken down cohort by cohort: number of sick or wounded, number on secondment, number on leave, number on garrison duty and other dull details. Methodically he made his way through the pile.
‘Why do you bother with such trivialities, my love?’ Caenis said, standing in the doorway as he put down the final tablet.
Vespasian glanced up; by her stillness and the way she was cradling a crystal glass of fruit juice in both hands, he guessed that she had been standing there watching him for some time. ‘It helps me sleep.’
She returned his smile; her eyes, sapphire blue, glinted in the lamplight, as vivacious and beautiful as the day he had first looked into them just outside Rome forty-one years ago. Then she had been the slave and secretary to the Lady Antonia, who was sister-in-law to Tiberius, the mother of Claudius, the grandmother of Caligula and the great-grandmother of the present Emperor; now Caenis was a freedwoman and rich in her own right having spent her life navigating the politics of the Palatine. She moved across the room towards him. ‘Sometimes I think you try to be too diligent a general.’
‘Maybe so; but I believe that it’s better to have too many facts than too few. Something I’m sure you can appreciate.’
‘When it comes to your opponents in politics, yes; but when it comes to how many men in the ninth century of the fourth cohort have diarrhoea, then I beg to differ.’
Vespasian picked up the first report he had read and scanned it. ‘Four, actually; at least there are four off sick but whether they’re lucky enough to have just a bout of diarrhoea or something really disgusting that seems to be all the rage here, I don’t know. But what I do know from this whole list is that the Tenth Fretensis have an effective number of three thousand six hundred and ninety-eight, almost a quarter under strength, and, as we progress through the campaign, that will only get worse, not better. Now, I’d say that was a piece of information that a good general should take care to know.’
Caenis stood over him and stroked his cheek. ‘Point taken.’ She bent down to kiss him on the forehead. ‘Now I have an interesting piece of information for you that will take your mind off the diarrhoea sufferers of the fourth cohort’s ninth century.’
Vespasian was immediately interested; he knew from having shared his adult life with Caenis, even when his wife, Flavia, had been alive, just how good she was at procuring information. Caenis had not survived for so long in the mire of imperial politics without the ability to winkle out interesting facts, through her Empire-wide network of informants and correspondents, and then be able to store them in her vast memory until they became pertinent. He placed the X Fretensis report back down on the desk. ‘Go on.’
‘Gaius Julius Vindex.’
Vespasian was at a loss. ‘What of him?’
‘He’s of Gallic descent from Aquitania and is currently Governor of Gallia Lugdunensis.’
‘Good for him.’
‘Yes; very fortunate. It’s a rich province and also has the imperial mint in Lugdunum. I’m sure he’s doing very well for himself there, which makes it rather strange that one of my people should have intercepted and copied this letter.’ She put down her glass and pulled a scroll from within her palla. ‘It’s written to Servius Sulpicius Galba.’
‘The Governor of Hispania Tarraconensis.’
‘Quite so. In it, in a rather roundabout way, Vindex is asking if Galba is happy with the way things are and implies that he is not.’
Vespasian shrugged. ‘I’m sure if you ask most governors or senators if they are happy with the way Nero behaves the answer would be that they are not.’
‘Yes, but would they go so far as to suggest an alternative from outside the imperial family?’
‘Outside the Julio-Claudians?’
‘Yes; Vindex hints to Galba that if he were to have any aspirations in that direction he could expect his support; although he didn’t put it as bluntly as that. But what you have to remember is that when Claudius died there were more than a few whispers that it would be better to have a man of experience wearing the Purple rather than an effete youth of seventeen and I heard Galba’s name muttered a number of times. I also heard that he did discuss the matter with his close associates and decided that it would not be the honourable thing to do; and honour is, as you know, everything for a man such as Galba who prides himself in his lineage.’
‘Well, the Sulpicii are one of Rome’s oldest families.’
‘And, therefore, steeped in the traditions of the old ways; which is why, what with Nero behaving with such little regard for Galba’s cherished old ways, I think Vindex might have found a sympathetic ear. I think that this may be the start and I couldn’t think of a better place for it to begin, from our point of view, than almost as far away from us as it is possible to get.’
‘What do you mean “from our point of view”?’
Caenis gave an exaggerated version of the look of a teacher who cannot believe the obtuseness of her charge. ‘Do you think that everyone will think that Galba is a better choice than themselves?’
‘Of course not; it’ll spark the most violent jealousies.’
‘But what will most people with a degree of intelligence realise?’
Vespasian was baffled and did not attempt to conceal it.
Caenis’ teacher’s look deepened. ‘How old is Galba?’
Now Vespasian understood. ‘Ahh! Well into his seventies, and, I think I’m right in saying, childless.’
‘Well done, my love; I can see that the diarrhoea sufferers of the ninth century haven’t completely monopolised your mind – quite yet. So aspirants to the Purple will have to judge whether to fight Galba or court him in the hope that he will adopt them and make them his heir.’
V
espasian tapped his fingers on the desk as he absorbed and played through this scenario. ‘Whatever happens, there’ll be war; it’s unavoidable, isn’t it?’
‘That’s my assessment too. Galba may take the Purple, but he won’t last long; civil war will be inevitable either to get rid of him or between his nominated heir and someone who thought that it should have been them. But civil wars can’t be fought without the legions; and you, my love …’ She left the sentence dangling.
‘Have legions; in fact I have my own army. It makes you think, doesn’t it?’
Caenis placed her hand on Vespasian’s neck as she sat on his lap. ‘It certainly does.’
‘And you’re right: the West is the best place for civil war as far as we’re concerned. Let them slug it out for a while. Galba has his single Hispanic legion and will therefore have to get the support of the Rhenus legions or the Danuvius ones to make his bid for empire.’
Caenis pointed to the copied letter. ‘Vindex hints that he is already in contact with the incoming Governor of Germania Inferior, but doesn’t mention a name.’
Vespasian looked at her expectantly.
‘Of course I know. Nero appointed Gaius Fonteius Capito; he should have already arrived in the province.’
‘And Germania Superior?’
‘That’s different; Lucius Verginius Rufus would be unlikely to countenance a rebellion.’
‘But would he counter one?’
‘That remains to be seen.’
‘Then there’s a possibility of civil war already. And that’s before we even think about the Danuvian legions in Noricum, Pannonia and Moesia.’
‘I’m sure they’ll all want to have their say and promote their own champion. You do well here and, who knows, but the diarrhoea sufferers of the ninth century and all their friends might think that they should also have a say in the matter.’
Vespasian cupped his mistress’s face in his hands and kissed her full on the mouth, feeling a stirring in his loins as he did so. ‘You, my love, talk a very dangerous game; treasonous, even.’
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