The Last Caesar

by The Last Caesar (retail) (epub)

  ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Fero, master.’

  ‘You keep your filthy hands to yourself, you hear?’

  ‘Master?’ the slave asked nervously.

  ‘How else is a bath slave going to buy his freedom except by going through the pockets of his betters? If I come back and find something missing, I’ll know that Fero is responsible.’

  ‘You can trust me, master.’

  Otho snorted. ‘Come on, Severus, I need a bath.’

  By the time I had finished undressing and similarly keeping an eye on which slave took my belongings, walked through the cold room with its plunge pool and entered the next room, Otho had been rubbed down with oil and lay face down on a slab, a slave scraping the dirt from his back. I snapped my fingers at an idle slave and he hastened over, a jug of oil in his hand. I clambered up on to my own slab, wincing as my more tender parts came into contact with the cold stone.

  Otho propped himself up on his elbows so that he could look down that long nose of his, his eyes boring into mine.

  ‘Galba trusts you a lot, doesn’t he?’

  There wasn’t much that I could say to this, so I shrugged and said, ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘How old are you again?’

  ‘I’ve just turned twenty-nine.’ I winced as the slave found a knotted muscle.

  ‘Really?’ Otho looked genuinely surprised. ‘I’m sorry for what I said back at the council. You look a lot younger.’

  ‘Is that good or bad?’

  ‘I don’t know. Depends on how you want to take it. It makes me think though; I was about your age when Nero sent me out to the shithole that is Lusitania.’ His tone was understandably bitter.

  ‘You’ve been here that long?’ I said, trying to sound sympathetic but at the same time wondering where this conversation was going. The slave began to scrape the dirty oil off my back.

  ‘Nearly ten years.’

  ‘If you don’t mind my asking, what had you done?’

  Otho looked pretty incensed at that. ‘Done! When has “done” got anything to do with Nero?’

  ‘There must have been some reason.’

  ‘Oh, there was a reason all right. The emperor wanted my wife. We’d been good friends for a while, Nero and I. Turns out he was just being friendly with me so that he could get close to Poppaea. One day I’m summoned before Nero, and he has the balls to demand that I divorce her.’

  ‘Why didn’t you?’ I asked.

  ‘Because, you heartless little sod, I loved her. But the ambitious bitch divorced me instead and married Nero. Just to show how magnanimous he was, he announced that he would spare me, “because of our past friendship”, so instead he exiled me to Lusitania, never to return. That’s enough.’ The last remark was to the slave. He slowly raised his torso from the slab and I distinctly heard two cracks from his spine.

  ‘Take my advice, Severus: don’t get any older, it aches. Now, how about a good sweat?’ He took off his wig and handed it to the slave. ‘Gentle with it, it probably costs more than you do.’

  We made our way, the balding Otho and I, to the steam room. The beautiful mosaic showed a scene of the gods that stretched all across the room, centred around the piping hot bath that stood directly above the building’s furnace. I took care not to step on any images of the gods in case I angered them, like the crippled Vulcan at his anvil, or Venus with a lover. The floor was slippery, what with all the steam and the thousands of feet that had worn the mosaic smooth over the years. There was silence between us for a few minutes as we slowly cooked.

  ‘Yes, Galba’s a clever one for letting me in on his little plan. I’m the last man in the world to betray him to Nero. Why does he want you so much, I wonder?’

  I was beginning to understand at last. Playing the innocent, I replied: ‘I can only suppose it’s because I know Agricola and General Paulinus well.’

  ‘So an old man, a widower without any children, plucks a young man from provincial obscurity to enlist his help in winning the empire for himself,’ he said, spelling it out. ‘You can’t be such a fool that you can’t guess his next move?’

  As a matter of fact I had, but I didn’t want to let Otho know that I had any brains. No sense in letting a potential rival know what you’re thinking.

  ‘No, sir.’

  He obviously didn’t believe me.

  ‘No one’s that thick. He’s thinking of the succession, and I want to make it perfectly clear that that successor is going to be me, and not a quaestor who had a lucky break years ago in a province that no one gives a damn about. Understand?’

  I nodded, and all of a sudden he became a lot more amiable. We chatted of this and that, simple things like the weather, the condition of the roads in Hispania, so mundane that it struck me Otho had deigned to speak to me to make his ambitions plain and to put a halt to mine, not because he had wanted to strike up a friendship. It was when I noticed beads of sweat trickling past Otho’s ever-receding hairline that I said I needed a cold bath to finish with.

  Otho followed me back to the first bathroom, the frigidarium. I stood at the edge of the pool, ready to jump in, but Otho put an arm on my shoulder.

  ‘I’m going back to Galba’s villa. We understand each other, don’t we, Severus?’

  ‘I understand you completely, sir.’

  ‘I knew you would,’ he said, then left me to reclaim his wig and his clothes.

  * * *

  I dived into the plunge pool. The cold water enveloped me in an icy embrace, and I kicked hard to get to the surface. When I’m with the army I try to do an hour of exercises at dawn to keep in shape. When I was a civilian a few lengths in the frigidarium were enough to keep me fresh for the rest of the day, but not so much that I tired myself out.

  Half an hour later I was walking through the town, more conscious of the stench of the street after leaving the perfumed oils and cleansing steam of the baths. I was mulling over what Otho had rather bluntly said in the bathhouse, quietly excited that a man as senior as he was thought ‘a lowly quaestor’ a potential rival as Galba’s successor! Things were definitely on the up. So it was in a joyful mood that I made my meandering way back up to Galba’s villa, hoping that his cooks would be on form as I turned my thoughts to lunch.

  Unfortunately, no sooner had the whiff of the kitchens stopped me in my tracks than an arm shot out from nowhere and tugged at my sleeve. I whipped round to see who had so unceremoniously got my attention, and was about to ask him what he meant by it when I recognized the man as Galba’s freedman, Martianus. Before I had the chance to demand why he had snuck up on me like that, he explained that Galba wished to see me at once.

  ‘It is most urgent, sir, and it is the governor’s express wish that you come now, and alone.’

  With his piece said, he beckoned me to follow him inside. By now I was getting somewhat tetchy, not having had a chance to relax all day. And if you think I was overly complaining, since I’d just had a spell at the baths, let me tell you that I don’t regard being grilled by Otho as an entirely relaxing experience. Nevertheless I followed Martianus through the little passageways until we came to what I supposed was Galba’s study. Martianus opened the door and stepped aside so that I might go in, then closed the door behind me.

  Galba was sitting at a rather shabby-looking desk. His head was bent low over the vellum he was writing on, but he did not look up from his work and said nothing. There was an awkward silence. I coughed a bit to let Galba know that I had arrived. Since he was over seventy I supposed his hearing was a bit off. Still looking down at his work, he quietly said, ‘Imagine, Severus, that for some reason I had held a highly secret meeting concerning the emperor this morning. Now suppose I was told that the contents of the meeting were openly discussed not two hours after this hypothetical meeting. What should my reaction be?’

  The offhand manner in which he said this unnerved me far more than the fact that he had informants in the town who had reported my conversation with Otho befo
re I had even returned to the villa. Knowing that Galba would be livid come what may, I decided to be as honest and contrite as possible.

  ‘You should be furious, sir.’

  ‘AND SO I AM!’ I was so amazed that the old man had such lungpower that I took a step back. He lowered his voice to a conversational level, obviously not wanting to be heard outside the room. Now he looked up at me, his face purple with rage. ‘You have the temerity to discuss my plans for all the world to hear, and in the bathhouse of all places! Have you gone completely mad, or have you less brains than a prattling whore?’

  I stood my ground, very thankful that I could honestly say, ‘If you would consult your informant again, sir, you would know that I never made any reference to what was discussed this morning.’

  It was Galba’s turn to be taken aback. ‘You mean to say that it was Otho who blabbed, and not you?’

  Allowing myself a small smile, I replied, ‘I shouldn’t like to accuse my superior of any such thing, sir.’

  ‘By Jupiter! A soldier and a politician?’

  ‘I’ve always enjoyed being both, sir.’

  ‘All in good time, Severus, all in good time. But first I need to reach Rome before I can become your patron. I had meant to send you back with Tacitus, but you’ve convinced me. As you suggest, I will talk to my man again.’

  He looked me up and down with his tired eyes. ‘Your father would be proud of the man you’ve become.’

  I readied myself for the familiar speech.

  ‘He was a good man, your father. One of the best I’ve ever known. He saved my life out in Africa, and when he lay dying in that desolate, miserable place, I promised him that I would look after you and your mother.’

  ‘And I will never forget your generosity, sir. Without you the debtors would have taken our lands, our slaves, everything we had.’

  Galba modestly shrugged. ‘You know full well I have more money than most men in the empire. I know people call me a miserly old man behind my back, but I like to know that from time to time my wealth can do something useful; and keeping a comrade’s family, one of the oldest in Rome, from begging in the streets is useful. It wasn’t just to repay a debt to your father, I was also investing in you. This is your chance to prove that your father’s sacrifice and my money were not wasted.’

  ‘I should thank you as well, sir, for not telling the council about your kindness towards my family. I wouldn’t want anyone to think I owed my position to nepotism.’

  ‘You mean Otho in particular, eh? He’s a surly brute, but I wasn’t telling any lies when I said that you are the best man for the task. I know how close you and young Agricola are, and while your bravery may have gone unnoticed in Lusitania, it was noticed where it mattered. Anyway, I didn’t call you in here to discuss the past. It is the future that matters now. You need your orders for the coming months.’

  At this the old man fumbled around inside the drawers of his desk, and drew out a slightly faded map of Gaul. ‘Right; you will take ship for Massilia tomorrow morning, and all being well you should be with your friend Agricola in a matter of days. Once you have sounded him out about our plans, not too thoroughly mind you, you will need to head to Lugdunum as fast as possible to be at Vindex’s side.’

  ‘I trust that I shall have some funds to speed my way, for post-horses and the like, sir?’

  ‘Of course. I’ll give you some money before you leave tomorrow, and considering the cause, I won’t ask for the money back.’

  This was some trust indeed from Galba, the biggest cheapskate in the empire.

  ‘Vindex,’ he resumed, ‘will require some careful handling. His family is from one of the most powerful tribes in Gaul, one that has only recently embraced Roman ways, so you may find him somewhat rough around the edges. But after your service in Britannia I’m sure you’ll survive.’

  At this point he paused, seemingly a little uncomfortable about the conversation. ‘As I said this morning, whether Vindex succeeds is not of great importance to me. What is important is to see what the reaction is to my proclamation as an alternative to Nero.’

  ‘May I be blunt, sir?’

  ‘Go on.’ He looked at me enquiringly.

  ‘Would you rather Vindex failed or succeeded?’

  ‘Ah. Good question.’ Galba leaned back in his chair, his square chin resting on his chest. There was quite a lengthy silence, as the would-be emperor considered his words carefully.

  ‘Should Vindex’s rebellion go as planned, I am fairly confident that he will keep his promise to me, and I shall have the support of Hispania and Gaul. But I do not want him antagonizing the legions on the Rhine. If they decide to nominate their own candidate, we could be thrown back into the days of bloody civil war. I hope that my achievements and old age will be enough to convince the more ambitious men to back down. However, should Vindex be beaten, I will need you to plead my case with the commanders in Germania. I don’t even need their outright support, just their tacit agreement. You can even make some small hints concerning my gratitude to make your task a little easier, but no promises that I will be unlikely to keep. Understand?’

  I nodded my agreement. ‘May I ask what Governor Vindex expects my role to be?’

  ‘I have told him that you will be my liaison man, and that your military judgement is to be trusted in all matters. I should hope that my recommendation will ensure your place on his staff. If all goes well, then you shouldn’t have to be with him all that long, as I will be able to start my march on Rome once he has been successful. Then you can join us en route. I shall also give you a letter of introduction, just so that you can prove your identity to him. I think that’s all. Any questions?’

  ‘Just one request, sir. I have some belongings back in Corduba which I should like to be sent on to Rome, if I’m not to return to Hispania. Might I also ask that my warhorse be brought here to Tarraco, so that I can ride him at your side as we make for Rome?’

  He chuckled at that. ‘You seem to think of everything, Severus. I hope Vindex recognizes your talents. Of course, I shall have your horse brought to my stables, ready for the march. And if that is all, I would recommend that you enjoy the luxuries of Tarraco while you can. Life on a campaign doesn’t offer many comforts. I shall see you off tomorrow morning.’

  With an effort, Galba raised himself from his chair and took my hand in his. ‘Good luck, Severus. With a man like Vindex, you will have to be at your charming best, but serve me well and you might be at the start of a golden career. Now go and have some lunch!’

  I smiled, and saluted the kindly old man. ‘Hail Caesar!’

  Galba smiled back. ‘With any luck.’

  I was almost out of the door when Galba called after me: ‘Oh, Severus! What’s the name of this horse you want me to send for?’

  Turning back to face my future emperor, I replied, ‘Achilles, sir.’

  He raised his eyebrows at that, then buried his face in the palm of his good hand, muttering, ‘Gods, the arrogance of youth…’

  * * *

  It was the next day that taught me to hate travelling by sea. I had travelled from Ostia all the way to Hispania by boat, but the waters had been as calm as you like, and it had been all plain sailing, if you’ll forgive the expression. By comparison my journey to Massilia was much shorter, but infinitely more unpleasant. I often found myself clinging to the side of the ship, my prayers to Neptune stopped only by my occasional offering of vomit over the side.

  Anyhow, my prayers must have been heard as by some miracle we made it to Massilia unscathed. I had a notion where my good friend Julius Agricola lived, as I had visited his estate once or twice since our days in Britannia, but I had only ever approached it from my own estate in Italy, to the east, and not from the southern coast. It’s damnably tricky country to travel in, as Hannibal would no doubt have told you. The place is a veritable maze of rocky gorges and mountain passes, but as Agricola was a rich noble his estate was in the more profitable and flatter land, nearer t
o the coast. And as he was one of the most notable inhabitants of the region, it didn’t take me too long to find someone who knew the way and could point me in the right direction.

  * * *

  Perhaps at this juncture I ought to tell you a bit more about my friend Gnaeus Julius Agricola. You could say we were boyhood companions, for our parents had been close, but since he took charge of his estate in Gaul and I had mine on the other side of the Alps, it wasn’t all that often that we’d see each other. Nonetheless, we were the same age, and climbed the first rung on the military ladder together. I should explain that for those nobles with a political or military career in mind, a spell as a tribune was the obligatory first step once you’d reached manhood. That is unless you were the puny sort who couldn’t face it, like mighty Cicero, who had to make his way into the Senate through his not inconsiderable prowess as a lawyer. But I digress. Using family connections we managed to get postings to the same province, Britannia. I was assigned to the Twentieth Legion, the Valeria Victrix, who were billeted at Glevum or Isca Dumnoniorum, depending on the circumstances, while Julius drew the Ninth Hispana. I have enjoyed teasing Julius about this over the years, as it was the Ninth that had been almost annihilated by Boadicea in an ambush. Not that that was Julius’s fault, since he’d been snapped up by General Paulinus to be on his staff, but because of the legate’s blunder, that idiot Cerialis.

  Unfortunately I didn’t have such exalted connections as my friend Julius; I had to learn the art of soldiery on the battlefield and not in the governor’s mess tent. I was lucky to learn quickly, otherwise I would no doubt have been skewered by a British spear years ago. I say this not out of bravado but to make sure that, after reading my account of my accidental heroism at the Battle of Watling Street, you don’t take me for a poor soldier, or worse, a coward. You must understand that when you see over a hundred thousand barbarians painted blue from head to toe, desperate to use your various limbs as ornaments for their pestilent little huts, and your own troops are on the point of buckling and being massacred, I challenge any man with common sense not to have done the dishonourable thing and run. But, to cut a long story short, we both survived our time in Britannia and returned home, Julius with the reputation of a competent staff officer with a head for logistics, and me with that of a homicidally brave man with a talent for leading men in war.