by Gwyn Morgan
Vespasian, of course, was always too crafty to put all his eggs in one basket. Hence it seems reasonable to assume that even as he sent Titus off to Rome, he was also setting up a coalition that could help guard him against the failure of his son’s mission. But though we know that Vespasian had made his peace with Mucianus by now, and to this can add the distinct possibility that he had already won over Tiberius Alexander as well, there is little point in speculating. Any such plans were overtaken by events. Titus had reached only Corinth in Greece when he received the news that Galba had been assassinated, and that Otho and Vitellius were fighting for the throne. He is said to have summoned a few friends and debated the options open to him. This led him to the conclusion that it was more prudent to turn back than to become a hostage of one or the other rival, and “that any offence given by his own non-appearance in Rome would be overlooked when Vespasian declared for the victor.”6
With this out of the way, Tacitus turns to the effects of Titus’ return on those in the eastern provinces. As he made his way back, Titus decided to visit the temple of Paphian Venus on Cyprus, and Tacitus includes a lengthy disquisition on the temple and the goddess to lend weight to the glad tidings of great joy that Titus received there. Supposedly, the priest in charge, one Sostratus, declared publicly that every single omen favored great undertakings, and then took Titus aside for a private consultation. What else Sostratus imparted we are not told, nor does Tacitus pretend to know. As he recognized, what needed to be said was, first, that Titus was greatly encouraged by the priest’s words, and second, that when he rejoined his father at Caesarea Maritima, the administrative capital on the coast of Palestine, “he allayed the great anxiety of the provinces and their armies by bringing them enormous confidence of success.”
The fact of the matter, nonetheless, was that Vespasian and Mucianus had agreed on a plan of action already. When they received the news of Otho’s accession, during Titus’ absence, they decided to acknowledge him as their emperor, and administered the oath of allegiance to their troops forthwith. Neither of them was particularly enthused about Otho’s cause. Rather, they were playing a waiting game, planning—according to Tacitus—to sit on the sidelines while Otho and Vitellius slugged it out. In their view, it did not matter which contender won the war, because both were so horribly flawed that the one would be brought down by the war, the other by his victory. This is a classic example of a motif as popular with Greco-Roman historians as are conspiratorial theories of history today, that of the tertius gaudens, the third party who waits till a struggle between two other rivals has been fought, and the victor has been so weakened by his success that he can be defeated. Yet there is no reason to doubt its veracity in this instance. This was the plan Vespasian had adopted in the winter of 67/68, when he had rejected his officers’ advice to attack Jerusalem while the rival factions within the city were so busily killing each other off.
There can be little doubt that Vespasian forced the adoption of this plan. Supposedly, his officers were already pushing for more vigorous action. Few were motivated by love of country, Tacitus tells us, most by thoughts of gain; some were deeply in debt, and others found the prospect of loot too attractive to resist. It is an interesting assertion, given that one of those officers was Marcus Ulpius Traianus, the legionary legate of X Fretensis and father of the emperor in whose reign Tacitus wrote and published the Histories. Perhaps he was supposed to be one of the handful motivated by love of country. As for Mucianus, he too was more enthusiastic than Vespasian. Since he lacked military experience, he was already hankering after a command in which he could win some glory. And he seems to have been keeping his troops in shape by constant drilling, while the men themselves were fired up by their envy of the successes Vespasian’s legions had gained in Judaea.
Vespasian’s three legions had been hardened by campaigning against the Jewish rebels, and they had been impressed too by their commander’s old-style generalship: he led from the front, never shirked battle, ate the same food as the men, and could scarcely be distinguished from them in dress and bearing. Yet, says Tacitus, either Vespasian recognized that it might be too much to ask them to embark on a civil war, or else he projected onto them his own doubts about the wisdom of bidding for the throne. To an extent, this presentation of the situation may owe something to Flavian propaganda. The more reluctant to undertake a civil war Vespasian’s troops were made to appear, after all, the easier it became to maintain that they were forced into it by the need to save the state from the excesses of an Otho or a Vitellius. On the other hand, none of the Flavian legionaries—as yet—felt grievances like those that had animated Otho’s praetorians or Vitellius’ legions in Germany. Nor had troops in the eastern provinces been involved in a civil war since Augustus’ victory at Actium a century earlier. So it was only as Otho and Vitellius fought out their civil war that the troops grew more and more restive about the idea of submitting to the victor in that war.
Even so, it is not surprising that when it came time to act (this opens the third segment Tacitus devotes to the uprising), Vespasian, Mucianus, and Tiberius Alexander all began by administering to their troops the oath of allegiance to Vitellius—and the moment Vitellius heard this news, supposedly, he concluded that the fighting was over, and so he and his followers became ever more grasping and cruel. In recognizing Vitellius, of course, the three men were again playing for time. For one thing, they were almost certainly caught off guard both by the speed with which Vitellius disposed of Otho, and by Otho’s refusal to continue the war after Bedriacum. Then there was the fact that since Otho had not asked expressly for their help, the three governors had had to sit on the sidelines literally as well as figuratively. They could no more have afforded to make overt preparations for a war than they could have to be caught by their emperor corresponding or meeting with one another. The winner of the struggle could declare all such conduct treasonous. So until the war between Otho and Vitellius was over and a victor had emerged, they could formulate plans to their hearts’ content, but they could not afford to come out into the open and begin the down-to-earth preparations for a campaign to overthrow the winner. And there was a third point. Now that the moment of decision was upon him, Vespasian hesitated.
This temporizing—another example, perhaps, of the “luck of the Flavians” at work—lent credibility to a flattering portrayal of Vespasian’s motives for going ahead with his revolt. So Josephus depicts the uprising as in every respect a last-minute, spontaneous affair. There was no prior discussion or planning, only disgust with Vitellius’ excesses as the news of them arrived. Yet Vespasian, for all his deep concern about the state’s best interests, was reluctant to put himself forward, and offered “many reasons” for not acting. Hence his officers had to draw their swords and threaten him before he accepted the title of emperor. Once this step was taken, he entrusted to Mucianus what he is said explicitly to have considered the most important task, leading an expeditionary force to Italy. As Tacitus recognized, there are three difficulties in this version of events. First, Vespasian was hailed emperor on 1 July, when Vitellius had probably not even reached Rome. So there were few excesses to report, let alone to arouse disgust. Second, Vespasian’s hesitation sprang neither from love of the state nor from a feeling that he was unfit to be emperor. And third, when Vespasian believed so firmly in leading from the front, it made little sense for him to give the most important military task to another, least of all to Mucianus, whom Tacitus aptly describes as a man who loved ostentation, was a great talker, and a past master of civil administration.
To resolve these difficulties, Tacitus constructed a much more elaborate account of the situation. In this Vespasian’s doubts ran so wide and deep that he had to seek reassurances of every kind, in reflections on his overall situation, in a rousing speech by Mucianus, and in pondering on omens he had received in the past. Much of this material has been declared pure fiction, and so it could be. That does not make it an implausible reconstruction.
If Vespasian was truly determined to take on the winner in a war between Otho and Vitellius, after all, he should not have hesitated, when such a plan demanded that the offensive be launched immediately, before the victor could recover from his losses in the struggle. And since Tacitus found it hard to credit Vespasian with any marked love of country, it was logical to conclude that the Flavian suffered a sudden, if momentary, attack of cold feet. Vespasian was notoriously cautious and canny.
When the first overt meeting between Vespasian, Mucianus, and their followers was held on Mount Carmel in May or June 69, therefore, Vespasian is said to have reflected on the advantages and disadvantages of rebellion. There is not one word about the excesses of Vitellius. Instead, Vespasian concludes that the advantages are few. He can count—up to a point—on the spirit of his own men; on the support of Mucianus and Tiberius Alexander; on legion III Gallica in Moesia, because it had been based in Syria until nearly the end of Nero’s reign; and on its being able perhaps to win over other legions in the Balkans, because the arrogance of Vitellius’ emissaries was alienating every unit to which they were sent. But against this he had to balance, first, the fact that failure would destroy him and his two sons, both old enough to be considered threats in their own right. Then too, he refused to underrate the strength of Vitellius’ legions. The surviving Othonian troops would be no use to him, since in defeat they were more inclined to air complaints than to show courage. And his own legions, finally, were untested in civil war. He could rely on most of his men, legionaries and auxiliaries alike, but there was always the risk that one or two might sell him out to the enemy, for cash or to secure a promotion. This being how Camillus Scribonianus had been brought down in 42, it was clearly going to be difficult to avoid an individual assassin.
In the face of this hesitation Vespasian’s friends and commanders did all they could to reassure him. The lead was taken by Mucianus, to whom Tacitus gives a lengthy speech. In this Mucianus cannot respond directly to the fears dogging Vespasian, since they have been expressed in an “interior monologue.” But as Tacitus constructs his account, the main problem is solved by Mucianus’ own eagerness to gratify his ambitions. Consumed by his yearnings for military glory, Mucianus volunteers to lead the expeditionary force that must march to Italy, and once he has made this offer, it cannot be rejected without damaging the friendship between the two men. The offer itself makes excellent sense in a context where Vespasian is suffering from a momentary failure of nerve. And, more importantly, Vespasian’s accepting the offer frees him from his fears of assassination by one of his own men. For now neither he nor (for the most part) his men will have to contend with the stresses and strains of making war on their fellow citizens. All in all, it is a very artful piece of work.
If this explains—in an appropriately unflattering manner—how Mucianus came to be given the command of the expeditionary force, it fails to address the other major problem Vespasian had noted in his musings, the strength of the German legions. But Mucianus resolved this too in his speech. In fact he must have presented arguments not too unlike those Tacitus puts in his mouth, be it in a speech or in a more informal conversation. In essence, the Tacitean Mucianus makes two points, that the overthrow of Vitellius is both possible and necessary, and that the speaker is trustworthy and ready to undergo the dangers that adopting this course of action will bring down on the person he is advising. Overthrowing Vitellius, he observes, is necessary because Vespasian has already won too much renown to avoid the risk of being removed as a potential rival by a worthless ruler: distinction leads only to extinction. And it is possible, because Vitellius’ elevation proves that an emperor can be made by an army, and the army that has put him on the throne because it hated Galba is now being ruined in victory by Vitellius’ own laxness.
To establish the purity of his own motives, Mucianus accepts unreservedly not only Vespasian’s fitness to found a new dynasty but also his right to reward his coadjutors as he sees fit. In fact, to demonstrate his loyalty to Vespasian come what may (and to gratify his own ambitions, of course), Mucianus will undertake the more perilous task of leading the expeditionary force to Italy. Recognizing that neither he nor his legions are the obvious candidates for this task, he skirts this difficulty by claiming that all Vespasian’s forces are in great shape. Then he minimizes the dangers they will face, by claiming that the Vitellians are wrapped in lethargy as a result of their victory, riddled with indiscipline, and too arrogant to imagine that they will be called upon to beat back a fresh challenge. Even the defeated Othonian legions in the Balkans, he asserts, are in better shape. Their discipline is still intact and their desire for revenge strong. In short, a campaign will bring into the open the weaknesses with which Vitellius and his troops are beset, but—Mucianus concludes—the campaign must begin at once, since “those who contemplate rebellion have already rebelled.”
It would be foolish to imagine either that Vespasian failed to see the self-serving motives behind Mucianus’ protestations of loyalty, or that he was convinced by Mucianus’ thesis that Vitellius’ troops were in such bad shape. So this is where Tacitus sets the story of Basilides’ prophecy, and this serves two purposes. First, pondering anew on its significance at last reassures Vespasian. Since he is clearly fated to become emperor, he—and presumably his allies—are not likely to encounter disaster along the way. And second, the gossip among the others present, the gossip that prompts this pondering, is what leads these people (according to Tacitus) to work out what Vespasian had grasped long since, that Basilides had promised him the throne. And since Tacitus chooses to regard the two governors’ followers as more orientalized than perhaps they were, the impact of a prediction from an ancient and important shrine in the East works its magic on them too. It should have been more than enough to overcome any lingering scruples about breaking the oath they had sworn to Vitellius.
Yet the first proclamation was made in Egypt. Tiberius Alexander jumped the gun, administering the oath of allegiance to Vespasian to his two legions on 1 July. Perhaps he was trying to create the impression that Vespasian was answering a draft, another staple in the role-playing of usurpers. Or perhaps this was his way of precluding more foot-dragging—as there might otherwise have been. As Tacitus tells the story, the troops in Judaea followed suit on 3 July in an entirely impromptu manner. Supposedly, they were casting about for a way to hail Vespasian emperor, when their commander emerged from his quarters that morning, and a handful of men outside simply greeted him as emperor. This broke the ice, and everybody else rushed up to join in a chorus that heaped one imperial title after another upon him. For his part, Vespasian now abandoned his fears and thought only of his new position. But “in his behavior there was no vanity, no arrogance, no change despite his changed circumstances. Once he had dispelled the giddiness that his elevation had spread over his eyes, he addressed those who had gathered in simple, soldierly terms, and responded in the same way to the congratulations flooding in from every side.”
As for Syria, a much larger area to cover, Mucianus administered the oath to all the legions and all the civilians there before 15 July, and while he was at it, he found a way to galvanize his own men still more. He went to the theater in Antioch, since it was the Greek habit to hold public meetings in their theaters. (It was a habit of which Romans thoroughly disapproved, convinced as they were that politics and entertainment were poles apart.) There he gave a speech in fluent Greek, for “thanks to his feeling for style he set off to best advantage everything he said and did.” And in this speech, fully aware that the allegation would spread like wildfire through the province, he insisted repeatedly that Vitellius had decided to reward the legions from the German frontier with a transfer to Syria, a cushy and peaceful billet, while the three legions currently stationed there were to be reassigned to the German frontier, where nothing awaited them but discipline and work as harsh as the climate. It was an outright lie, but it was well calculated to upset the civilian population as much as it did the
soldiery. Not only did the civilians take pleasure in the company of the soldiery billeted on them (with many they had ties of friendship or kinship). The legionaries themselves had served in the area so long that they regarded their quarters as their homes. In fact, VI Ferrata and XII Fulminata had been stationed in Syria since at least Tiberius’ reign, while IV Scythica had been there since 58, a full decade earlier.
How to proceed was the subject of a council of war held in July in Beirut, mid-way between Antioch and Caesarea. To this Mucianus and Vespasian brought the pick of their men, while the three most important client kings in the area turned up too, with all the appropriate pomp and circumstance. This created “the appearance of an imperial court,” and Vespasian gave it substance by putting in hand measures taken normally by the emperor alone. The first order of business was to determine what else was needed in the way of resources. So Vespasian set in motion a program to raise fresh troops and recall veterans to the standards, to designate cities to manufacture arms, and to arrange for gold and silver to be coined in Antioch. Suitable subordinates would be put in charge of each operation, to ensure that they were carried out efficiently and speedily. But Vespasian’s readiness to take in money was not matched by a willingness to disburse it. To encourage his officers, Vespasian gave many prefectships and procuratorships (that is, he raised them to or confirmed them in equestrian rank), and on some he conferred senatorial status. These were outstanding men, says Tacitus, who later reached the highest posts, even if “there were a few cases where wealth substituted for qualities.” As for the troops, they had only been promised a tiny donative by Mucianus, and that is all they received. Vespasian set his face against handing out large sums, and, says Tacitus in his one favorable comment on the emperor’s tight-fistedness, “his army was all the better for it.”
