‘Not much better, but it’ll have to do.’
‘Yes, master. Is there anything you want before you go?’ Totavalas asked.
‘Bring a few pitchers of water here and fill a bath. Then you can get yourself some scraps from the kitchens, but be back in time to attend to me.’
‘Of course, master.’
XVII
Rufus and his two legions arrived the next day. I say his legions; in theory, as an appointed proconsul he was more a lieutenant of Nero’s, since we were one of the imperial provinces. But Nero never stirred himself beyond Italy except for a change of scene, wanting to try debauchery in foreign styles perhaps. The proconsul, as Galba had done in Tarraco, ran the province and generally left military matters to the normal chain of command. Except when there was a crisis. And a Gallic rebellion counts as a crisis.
Though he rode in at the head of the column, Rufus actually lived in Mogontiacum itself. I suppose it would have looked a bit odd if the triumphant general, in sight of the barracks, had reined in, said ‘See you later’, swung off the road and gone home. Instead he looked resplendent in his burnished armour, leading the column up the hill towards the fort. I was near the gates when the column was sighted. As the troops came nearer, I thought that it would be best to wait in the principia for Rufus. Better that than awkwardly hovering round the parade ground like a customer by a table where the occupant is deciding whether to call for the bill!
First, I went back to my temporary quarters, where Totavalas was busy polishing my new armour.
‘Have you seen a large seal, with a fox’s mask on the stamp?’ I asked.
‘Yes, master.’ He put a pile of clothes down, and opened one of the drawers in the small writing table.
‘Hold on, why have you been through my private papers?’ Not that I had many private papers at that time, but a man’s desk is still a man’s desk.
‘I haven’t, master.’
‘Then how else would you know where I put the seal?’ I said, as though interrogating a small child.
‘You asked me last night to remind you that you’d put it there for safe-keeping, master.’
Faintly embarrassing, so I just smiled and said, ‘You’ve got an answer for everything, haven’t you?’
‘Not quite everything…’ There was that cheek again. I would have to be extra firm during this break-in period, I thought. But I wasn’t in the mood to discipline him just then, so I told him to hold his tongue and get on with his work. He bowed his head dutifully and stepped outside.
* * *
I sat in the hallway of the principia, turning the seal over and over in my hands, fidgety at waiting for Rufus. Shortly the outside door creaked open, and the man himself came in. From the stiff way that he walked he clearly wasn’t the most comfortable man in the saddle. He had only ridden at the pace of a marching army from Vesontio, while I had ridden full pelt the length of Hispania and hadn’t suffered too badly. Come to think of it, Tacitus was about thirty years older than I, and he had coped just as well. But then in minor provinces like Baetica the Senate makes the appointment and has little to fear from picking men fit for the job. Rufus was Nero’s choice, and in normal circumstances the general would never have been a threat. But these were far from normal circumstances: now Rufus held the fate of the empire in his hands.
‘Ah, Severus! All settled in, are you?’ Rufus gave a weary smile when he saw me.
‘Temporary quarters, sir. The lady Cotta wished to speak with you before she returned to Rome,’ I answered, rising to shake Rufus’s hand.
‘Good, good. Where shall we talk, you and I?’
‘My office, sir?’ I suggested.
‘Yours? Oh I see, Cotta’s old one, you mean?’
I nodded patiently.
‘Well then, lead the way.’
‘First of all, sir, I ought to return this.’ I proffered Rufus’s seal.
‘Ah yes. Any trouble when you arrived?’
I smiled, thinking of Tuscus asleep in his chair. ‘No trouble, sir. Shall we?’
As we came to the office, I went in first, then stepped aside to hold the door open for Rufus. He gave a polite nod of thanks, and promptly sat in the chair behind my desk. All right and proper, of course, with him being a proconsul, but it rankled slightly. I mean, strictly speaking it was my chair!
Rufus spoke first. ‘I take it you’ve heard the news then?’
‘More than Nero being deposed, you mean?’
The old man eyed me wearily. ‘The emperor has committed suicide.’
Nero was dead. Everything had fallen into place, exactly as Galba had planned. But how, exactly? I had to enquire carefully, not wanting Rufus to know that when I had agreed to join Galba, we knew that Nymphidius Sabinus was not above murdering the emperor.
‘Suicide? I didn’t think Nero had the courage.’
‘Nor did any of us. The rumour is he had a slave kill himself first, to show how easy it was. Even then the emperor still needed one of his secretaries to do the deed. But he’s gone, that’s the main thing.’
‘Surely the praetorian prefect would have convinced Nero to stay alive? I mean, he’s going to be out of a job now Nero is dead,’ I said, pretending innocence.
Rufus looked at me incredulously. ‘You mean you don’t know?’
‘Know what?’ I asked, as innocently as I could.
‘Nymphidius Sabinus publicly denounced the emperor days ago. He has placed himself at the disposal of the Senate until a successor is appointed.’
Now we came to the crux.
‘You mean Galba?’ I asked.
‘The Senate is considering whether to send a deputation to Hispania and ask Galba if he would succeed Nero, yes.’
‘And are the Praetorians happy to serve Galba?’
‘It seems so.’
Rufus shifted in his seat uncomfortably. The silence in the room was broken only by the sound of the men outside chatting as they were dismissed from parade.
‘Governor, you’re not having second thoughts, are you?’
His gaze flicked upwards. ‘Wouldn’t you?’
I was taken aback. This situation could go very wrong, very quickly.
‘Consider the facts,’ Rufus continued. ‘My men have never served under Galba, he’s old, and he’s miles away in Hispania. Vesontio has whetted their appetites, and Galba is unlikely to sate them.’
‘The legions will do as they are ordered. Don’t tell me you are having second thoughts only because of what the common soldiers are thinking!’
‘But what would I be without them?’
‘I’ll tell you what you’ll be with them: a tyrant and a traitor. If you let these soldiers acclaim you as emperor, not only will you be defying the sanction of the Senate, but you will start a bloody civil war. Is that what you want?’
Slowly, Rufus rose from his seat. He looked down at me, that once genial face now matching the crimson of his cloak. He spoke very quietly: ‘You forget yourself, Severus.’
He made to leave, but before he reached the door he evidently decided to carry on the argument.
‘I know you’re Galba’s man, and you are being very loyal. But Galba does not yet have the full backing of the Senate, or the loyalty of my legions. Until he does, I will take whatever steps I feel are necessary for the good of the empire.’
‘The good of the empire is not achieved by pitting legions against each other, Governor.’
All Rufus could say was ‘We shall see!’ Muttering darkly, he left my office.
* * *
It was a long time before I stirred from my seat. This changed things utterly. When I had first met Verginius Rufus all those weeks ago, he had been adamant that everything should be done by the book. He was not like Valens, who clearly revelled in all this subterfuge. The old Rufus was a kindly man with a strong sense of honour and decency, difficult to win over out of his loyalty to the Caesars. But now he was clearly feeling the pressure, and his high morals were beginning to buckle.
I didn’t believe for one minute that he seriously contemplated challenging Galba and marching south with his army. Instead I reasoned that he was a simple man with a degree of ambition, but hopefully he would have the sense to realize that the imperial purple was beyond his reach.
After all, who was Verginius Rufus? A nonentity, a first-generation senator who had made it to consul simply because he was widely regarded as a harmless, genial old buffer. Nevertheless, he still commanded 20,000 men, men who would much rather support their governor than an old man in Hispania. The legions further down the Rhine would surely support Rufus too. Fonteius Capito, their governor, was a wasteful degenerate who clung to an amphora of wine harder than a limpet to its rock. No man in his right mind would follow Capito over Rufus. In backing Rufus over their own governor the other legions could hope for great rewards.
That night, as I lay in bed, I wondered what on earth I could do to save the situation. It was clear that the harder I urged Rufus to be reasonable, the less reasonable he became. All I could do was hope the governor would realize his own shortcomings and concede in favour of Galba, and that Valens would realize that it was in his interests to convince the other legions to give Galba their loyalty. Effectively my hopes rested on the humility of an ex-consul, and on the loyalty of an ambitious legate. Hardly comforting thoughts before my first official day of command!
* * *
Totavalas woke me at dawn, and I painfully resumed the daily exercises that I had neglected since taking that cushy job in Hispania. I had put on a little weight over the last few months, though the gods know how I had managed to do that, after training an army, enduring torture and fighting in battle. Vindex’s wine may have had something to do with it, I suppose. Anyway, I had to get back into shape now that I was with the legions again.
After breakfast old Tuscus the camp prefect was waiting outside to give me a tour of the camp. Normally this wouldn’t be necessary, as no self-respecting legate would be unfamiliar with camp life. Mogontiacum was an exception. I have said before that it housed two legions within the same walls, and so its layout was somewhat different from the usual. I won’t bore you with all the details; if you’re after an in-depth guide to the peculiarities of a two-legion camp then look elsewhere! The most important event of my first day was to meet my command. By this time the men were heading back to their quarters after breakfast to smarten themselves up for the morning parade.
Tuscus was kind enough to stay with me on the parade square while we waited for the cornicia’s call. My insides were squirming, but whether that was down to an attack of nerves before addressing my legion for the first time, or my first army breakfast for several years, I don’t know. The camp augur was also on hand, looking bleary-eyed and obviously missing his bed.
‘Is there anything I ought to know about the legion?’ I asked Tuscus.
‘It’s probably the legion most devoted to the Caesars in the whole empire. Julius recruited it and beat Pompey with it in Macedonia. Hence the name. In the civil wars it was always for Augustus too, never Antony. Then a brief posting in Hispania, and here in Mogontiacum for the last thirty years.’
‘And how did they feel about my predecessor, Cotta?’
‘How honest would you like me to be, sir?’
‘Brutal.’
‘Well, sir, General Cotta was never entirely happy here. He fancied himself a bit of an expert on Parthia, and never really got over the fact that he was posted here instead. “Guard duty over a few savages in mud huts” was how he described our job.’
‘Not popular, then?’
‘Oh, likeable enough in the officers’ mess, sir, but he never took much of an interest in the men. Thought it beneath him.’
Fatal error, I thought. That is if you actually care about the success of your command.
* * *
The call for parade was blasted shrilly throughout the camp. The men came in groups of eight towards the square, each man with the seven comrades who shared his quarters. Still chatting, they formed up into centuries and cohorts, marshalled by the centurions. Eventually silence fell, only for it to be broken by the barks of the centurions as each century completed the roll call. All were present and correct.
The first-spear centurion, a stout man in his early fifties, approached to accompany me in my first inspection of my legion. I couldn’t find anything to fault in the first cohort; every piece of armour was burnished brightly, even the metal hidden beneath the overlapping scales was polished. Here and there the first-spear centurion would offer some commentary. ‘Lanius, sir. Good man,’ or ‘Varro, sir. Good scout,’ or whatever skill he had. He made a point of only using the word ‘good’ for praise; never excellent, or great, just good. But I suppose if you merited praise from the most senior centurion in the legion, there was no higher reward.
By the time we reached the seventh and eighth cohorts, the occasional scabbard strap was broken, or a small scuff was showing on the armour, but all in all it was a very good turnout. Not that I’d expect anything less of a veteran legion. The inspection over, it was time to introduce myself properly to them. I headed back to where Tuscus was standing at the top of the square, then turned to face my command. Over their heads, I could see my new quarters behind the square, and Totavalas at an open window watching the proceedings.
‘Men of the Fourth, my name is Aulus Caecina Severus. I served as a tribune with the Twentieth in Britannia under Suetonius Paulinus. So I think it is fair to say I have just as much experience in putting down rebellions as you!’ A chuckle went round. Most of them appreciated that Vesontio had been nothing compared to what we went through in defeating Boadicea. I fancy a few of them had recognized my name too. The word would soon spread.
‘I am sorry that you have lost the Legate Cotta. He was a man of great talent and wisdom, a man who died in defence of Rome and her values, leading you to your triumph over Vindex and his rabble of ungrateful Gauls. I hear that you were the first on to the battlefield when the news came that the rebels were approaching Vesontio, and that it was your courage and cunning that lured them from skulking in the woods to be slaughtered in the open. You richly deserve your reputation as the finest legion on the Rhine.
‘This legion has a proud and noble history. Under the Divine Julius you triumphed over Pompey and his rebel scum in Macedonia. You served under Augustus loyally, even before he was made emperor, and with him you conquered the furthest reaches of Hispania. Truly, there is no legion as loyal to the house of Caesar.’ The men raised their spears and cheered. The legion basked in its glorious reputation, and the men lapped up my praise. I raised my arms to silence them. Now came the difficult part.
‘But as you know, the house of Caesar is now at an end. Nero, a man who by his vanity, paranoia and wickedness brought shame to the great dynasty, has taken his life. He has purged himself from our world, with no Caesar to follow him. Let me assure you there is no question of letting the Senate rule. The days of a decaying Republic, run by a coterie of corrupt, decadent old men, are over. Instead, Rome needs an emperor who is beyond reproach, a man who will govern with wisdom and generosity, on behalf of the Senate and People of Rome. That is why I ask you today to swear an oath of allegiance to that same Senate and People of Rome, to serve the next emperor with the same loyalty that you gave to the Caesars. Before you decide, I promise you this: whoever becomes our new emperor, I guarantee that he will be a man of irreproachable character, with a name that goes back to the foundation of the Republic. For it would be disrespectful to replace the great Caesar dynasty with some unknown provincial. Second, he will have a long record of military service, so that he can appreciate the vital role that you play in the defence of the empire, and will reward you suitably for your loyalty. I will urge the Senate to heed these demands, and I know that Governor Rufus will do the same.’
With that I gave a curt nod to the augur I’d summoned to administer the oath. The ceremony was short and straightforward. I should perhaps explain that this was n
ot normally the case; usually they are grand affairs, full of pomp and ritual. But brevity and simplicity was the order of the day. I did not want the men to have too long to think over the matter, and an oath of allegiance to the Senate requires less sycophancy and flummery than an oath to an emperor. I could see there was some uncertainty among the men, but there was no trouble when it came to the swearing of the oath. Thinking that anything I said now would be superfluous, I gave the order to dismiss the parade. A frenzy of murmur and chattering broke out as the legionaries discussed the sudden turn of events, and in turn each cohort dispersed as the men scattered to their morning’s duties.
Tuscus was stunned. ‘I’ve never seen anything like it.’
‘I don’t suppose you have,’ I said offhandedly.
‘How in Hades did you convince the men to swear allegiance to the Senate when they know that they could get huge rewards from Governor Rufus?’
I gave a modest smile. ‘When you study under Domitius Afer, and sit in the Senate with Seneca, you learn a thing or two.’
‘Who’s Domitius Afer?’
‘Only one of the greatest orators of our age, Tuscus.’
The prefect looked sheepish. ‘Ah… well, not my field, I suppose!’
‘I suppose not. Now, Tuscus, would you do me one last thing? I’d like to go beneath the principia.’
Tuscus frowned. ‘To the treasury, sir?’
‘No, not the treasury. The shrine.’
Now the prefect understood. ‘Of course, sir.’
* * *
Tuscus quickly dismissed the augur and gestured for me to lead the way. It was no more than two minutes’ walk from the parade ground, but by the time we had reached the door I felt sweat begin to trickle down my arms and legs. It must have been all that heavy armour I was wearing beneath the summer sun. The guards on the door were unblinking, even when they sprang to attention as Tuscus and I drew near. Now it was my turn to follow. Tuscus strode past the various chambers, briefly visited his own office and came out with a bundle of some kind that clattered and jangled as he moved. I was going to ask about the bundle’s contents, but the prefect just winked and said, ‘You’ll see.’
The Last Caesar Page 20
