The Last Caesar

by The Last Caesar (retail) (epub)

  I could offer Rufus little comfort. The message was ambiguous, cold and curt. If I hadn’t heard the news about the poor souls who had decided to oppose Vindex back in the spring, or not declare their loyalty to Galba instantly, then I might have believed my own white lie that Rufus was being called to join Galba’s council. But then I remembered something.

  ‘The emperor must have received my letter by now, and I informed him of your unswerving loyalty, Governor. Galba knows he has nothing to fear from you, and he does not strike me as such a petty man as to have you executed for commanding ambitious men.’

  ‘Thank you, Severus. You’ve been very diplomatic, but you and I both know that I am right. The emperor wants stability and, flattering and untrue though it may be, he clearly thinks he cannot have it if I am alive.’ Rufus stood up slowly, and put his hand on my shoulder.

  ‘I pray you will have a long and glittering career, young Severus. I fear mine is coming to an end. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like some time alone.’

  ‘Of course, Governor,’ I said.

  ‘Not governor.’ He smiled grimly. ‘Not any more. That title belongs to Hordeonius Flaccus now.’

  Rufus turned to walk back to the house, like a condemned man walking to the scaffold, making every step count.

  ‘Senator,’ I called. ‘You’re not going to do anything rash, are you?’

  ‘Don’t worry, Severus, I am not ready to see the Elysian Fields quite yet. I will ride to the emperor, and hope your letter was persuasive. I pray we meet again, in this life of course.’

  ‘I am sure we will, Senator.’

  ‘Then that makes one of us.’

  * * *

  The message from Icelus Martianus was short: ‘Rufus’s replacement is Hordeonius Flaccus, who was among the Senate’s embassy to the emperor. My master hopes that you will find this man more malleable, and that you will continue to look after his best interests in Germania. We will send a replacement for Fonteius Capito shortly.’

  There was no hint at Rufus’s fate, and I attempted to put that thought from my mind. Instead I tried to remember what I could about this man Flaccus. He was old, I remembered that much from seeing him in the Senate house, when his illnesses permitted. A frail, sickly man, the type who looked as though he could be carried off by a gentle gust of wind. Somehow the word malleable seemed inadequate for Flaccus.

  His predecessor left the next day, the day that Vocula and I planned to set out for our route march. Rufus was well within his rights to make a farewell speech to the legions, and offer them his thanks as well as an explanation for his recall. But he chose not to. Whether he could not face the ordeal, or he was trying to make my life easier by not agitating my somewhat restless troops, I don’t know. I like to think the latter. He left quietly, and began the lonely journey to meet his emperor.

  The new governor, Flaccus, was due to arrive that day, and I held off the route march as long as I could. Both legions were on parade in full battle gear, awaiting his arrival and inspection. The afternoon passed, and still the governor did not appear. By early evening, I decided we could not wait any longer, and ordered the general advance. We had only been marching an hour southwards when we came upon a small party of travellers. There were half a dozen men on horseback arranged in a square around a shining white litter, carried by four brawny slaves. As they got nearer I could make out patches of dirt on the litter, dust from the road kicked up over hours of sweaty marching, no doubt. The legions came to a halt, then Vocula and I trotted up to see who was blocking the road.

  Seeing two officers approaching, the litter-bearers halted, and gratefully lowered their burden on to the road.

  ‘Why are we stopping?’ a voice called out from behind the closed curtains.

  ‘Because you are blocking the path of two imperial legions,’ said my colleague.

  ‘Legions? Which legions?’ the voice asked.

  ‘The Fourth and the Twenty-Second,’ I said.

  There was a chuckle, which quickly turned into a racking cough. Once the spate of coughing had subsided, the voice called out, ‘Then let’s have a look at them.’

  A pale hand drew aside the curtains to reveal a frail, elderly man, clasping a scroll bound by the imperial seal. ‘My name is Hordeonius Flaccus, and I am the new governor of this province. Now give me a hand up, will you?’

  * * *

  Galba had exchanged like for like, I thought to myself, as Vocula and I heaved the old man out of his litter. One of the bearers reached inside and brought out a crutch, which Flaccus used to prop up his ailing frame.

  ‘Gout,’ Flaccus said. ‘Gets worse every year. Now, time to see my legions!’

  Nero’s custom of appointing mediocrities and weaklings had not died with him, it seemed. But while Rufus’s fault of indecision was beneath the surface, Flaccus’s weakness was there for all to see. The man was verging on decrepit, and Galba had chosen him to command legions. As I watched him hobble his way towards the column, I thought the situation would have been comical if it had not been for the mood of the men. To them, Rufus had been a good governor, if an unremarkable one, and in their eyes he had been a good candidate to succeed Nero. The news that he had been replaced had spread swiftly through the camp, and though initially disappointed, the men had been curious to see who took over, and eager to offer their support to the new governor. They were sorely disappointed.

  I could see on their faces that some of the men knew what was coming. As Vocula, Flaccus and I drew level with the front ranks, already I could hear some frantic muttering. Eventually, the old man paused to rest on his crutch, sweat matting his thin white hair from the exertion of limping a hundred yards.

  ‘Legionaries, my name is Hordeonius Flaccus, and the emperor has appointed me as the new governor of this province,’ he began. A low moan escaped some of the least tactful men, and it seemed even Flaccus’s old ears picked it up. ‘I realize that my soldiering days are long behind me, but I can promise you that I shall govern with fairness and benevolence. I am honoured that the emperor has chosen me for this vital military post, and it will be an honour to command the flower of the Roman army.’

  Flaccus glanced at me. ‘Where are you off to?’

  ‘A route march beyond the Rhine, sir.’

  The old man looked disappointed, and turned to face the legions once more. ‘Your legate tells me you are off on a route march. I am sorry that I won’t be able to join you. I had hoped to get to know you better over the next few days, but alas,’ he gestured with his crutch, ‘it is not to be. I will be waiting for you in Mogontiacum.’

  Silence. No roaring cheer for their new governor, no general salute, just stunned silence. Flaccus tried to mask his disappointment, and smiled ruefully at Vocula and me.

  ‘All yours, gentlemen. I’ll be out of your way in just a moment,’ and he began the arduous walk back to his litter. When the slaves had moved it off the road, the army advanced, and Flaccus watched them march by from behind his silken curtains.

  Vocula shook his head. ‘The men aren’t happy. They want a commander they can respect. How can they respect a feeble old man like Flaccus?’

  ‘They won’t. We have to make them respect us instead, or else there will be trouble.’

  ‘You’re very sure of yourself. How do you know that the men will take to you? You’re as much an instant replacement as Flaccus is, and while he’s too old for the job you have to admit you’re rather young.’

  ‘You think I don’t know that?’ I said. ‘Simply put, it’s sink or swim. And I mean to swim.’

  XX

  We forded the Rhine, and marched into Germania. I should make it clear that the Roman frontier is often perceived as a permanent boundary, and the army keeps to its borders. It is starting to look that way these days, but not at the time of my story. In those days the legions had spheres of influence, and frontiers were not set in stone, or water for that matter. There was little unusual about the legions crossing the Rhine on an expedit
ion. It reminded the tribes of our presence, familiarized us with the land beyond the river if ever we needed to cross for war, and broke the monotony of camp life.

  The forests thickened the further we marched into Germania, and the roads worsened. I did not dare to march more than five days eastward, for fear of provoking the tribes into attacking us. But the men’s sullen mood began to diminish the longer we spent away from the fort, where the walls seemed to hem them in; a body of fighting men is not a docile thing. Cage an angry beast for too long, and if one day you open the door the animal will rage unchecked. But let it out from time to time, on a tight leash, and it becomes more manageable.

  Our marching songs echoed around those dense forests and chilly plains, and I have to say it felt good to be in the wild once again. Cold and inhospitable they may be, but those barbarian lands offered a sense of adventure and independence. I love to lose myself in new places, and here I was in Germania with a legion under my command. Our scouts were beginning to pick up news that the villages ahead were stirring, arming themselves and hoarding supplies. The next day we spotted German scouts on a far hilltop, clearly trying to guess our purpose in marching through their lands. The men had whetted their appetites for plunder at Vesontio, and were spoiling for another battle. However, picking a fight with the Germans would have been irresponsible of me, and after almost a week on the march it was high time to head back to Mogontiacum.

  Turning back did not stop the Germans’ interest in us. The tribe in this region were the Chatti, among the fiercest of the land, and they followed us westward as we made our way back to the Rhine. We built a new camp every day, even before we heard that the Germans were on the move. Not only is it good practice, but consider that if a column of 10,000 men marches at least twenty miles a day, only so many can set off at any one time, so inevitably the vanguard will reach the campsite some hours before the rear. These men had to be occupied somehow, and felling trees, digging ditches and building walls, towers and ramparts, all under the watchful eyes of the engineers, was the ideal way to do it.

  The Germans left us alone when we came within two days’ march of the Rhine. The following night we set up camp about ten miles away from Mogontiacum, on the last day of our expedition. Vocula and I were standing alone on the western ramparts, away from prying eyes and ears.

  ‘This peace and quiet won’t last forever, you know,’ Vocula began.

  ‘I know. As soon as we are back in Mogontiacum, the men will get surly again. They were shocked enough when they heard that Rufus had been recalled, but the more ambitious of them hoped that the next governor might be someone they could follow. Flaccus couldn’t lead an afternoon stroll, let alone an army. So much depends on who Galba chooses to replace poor old Capito in Lower Germania.’

  ‘And what sort of governor do you want?’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’ I asked.

  Vocula shrugged. ‘I can’t make you out. You’re the emperor’s blue-eyed boy, aren’t you? I mean, you’re given a legion to command before finishing your year as a quaestor, years ahead of your turn. But on the other hand, there isn’t likely to be another German campaign for at least a decade, the frontier is nice and quiet. What ambitious young legate wouldn’t want to have his shot at glory? And it’s almost certain Galba will die before your few years here are up, and when you return to Rome you will have lost your patron. So I say again, what sort of governor do you want?’

  I liked the simple honesty of the man, and I tried to repay it.

  ‘Another Flaccus,’ I said.

  ‘Putting the good of Rome ahead of your own, eh?’

  ‘I know it may be hard to believe, but just because I am young that doesn’t make me an ambitious plotter, not like some I could mention.’

  ‘Ah, so you’ve met Fabius Valens then.’

  ‘How did you guess?’ I said, with a smile.

  ‘We have met. Both of us are the first from our families to be elevated to the Senate, and he assumed I would be an ambitious little toerag the same as him. He suggested, a year or so ago, before all the Vindex business began, that we fake an attack by the Germans on a cohort out on patrol, giving us a reason to start a punitive campaign beyond the Rhine.’

  ‘Gods, has the man no conscience at all?’

  ‘I think it died of neglect under Nero. That one great campaign he planned for Parthia wouldn’t have involved the legions in this province, the frontier on the Rhine is too important. Valens doesn’t want to rot away and miss his chance to further his career. Can you blame him?’

  ‘His frustration I can understand, but not his methods.’

  ‘Ah well, it takes all sorts to make a world.’

  We stopped talking for a moment, as the centurion on duty came along the parapet. He saluted us, and carried on.

  ‘Changing the subject, how did you find Corduba?’

  I blinked. What did he care for my time in Hispania?

  ‘It’s my home town, you see, and I haven’t been back since Seneca convinced me to come to Rome, years ago.’

  ‘You mean you were one of Seneca’s chosen few?’

  He gave a modest smile. ‘You might say that. My father was one of his clients, and Seneca was kind enough to give me a lesson or two. He was a good man, until he started scheming at Nero’s court.’

  ‘Nero demanded his suicide the year I entered the Senate, so I only heard him speak a few times, but he was magnificent. Old and weak, but he could hold the chamber spellbound still. More of a philosopher and poet than a politician, I grant you, but it was a pleasure to listen to him.’

  ‘I know what you mean. Not exactly a Cicero, but then who is? Come to think of it, our generation doesn’t have much to offer in terms of great men. Cicero, Seneca, the house of Caesar, all gone. Galba will be gone soon. Who will take their place?’

  ‘Seneca’s pupil?’ I teased.

  ‘I hope the noblest families in Rome can produce something better than me, or the empire is doomed!’

  Abruptly, we heard the centurion bark out: ‘You! Stand to attention when an officer approaches… didn’t you hear me?’

  I could just make out the silhouette of a man leaning against the wall of the gate, not moving a muscle.

  ‘Jupiter’s balls! WAKE UP!’ The centurion raised his thick staff and struck the man hard in the stomach. The man doubled over in shock and pain, and soon more men were rushing to the scene.

  Vocula and I looked at each other, aghast. Being caught asleep on duty is one of the gravest offences a soldier can commit, and is always punished by death. The words ‘wake up’ shouted so half the camp could hear started a huge commotion, as men instantly guessed what had happened. Soon there were torches lit and soldiers filling up the space below the parapet.

  The centurion dragged the poor wretch towards us with a vice-like grip on the back of his neck.

  ‘Sorry, sirs, but this dozy bastard was asleep on duty.’

  ‘Clean your tongue, Centurion. Now, man, who are you?’ Vocula asked.

  The young legionary had gone ash white, and stammered with fear. ‘Legionary M-m-milo, sir, second century f-f-fifth cohort of the Macedonica.’

  Vocula looked at me. ‘Your legion, your decision.’

  ‘What have you got to say for yourself, Milo?’

  ‘Please, sir, I couldn’t help it. My woman at the camp gave birth about a week before this march, a little baby girl. I’ve had permission to spend the nights in town to help look after her. We think she’s ill, and she’s always crying, and I haven’t been able to sleep at all. Last night was the third night I’ve been without sleep. I know I was meant to be keeping a lookout, sir, but I couldn’t help it.’

  I looked at the boy’s face, for he was little more than a boy, perhaps twenty, twenty-one, a worried father with the threat of execution hanging over him. But the army is the army, and discipline is discipline.

  ‘Put him in chains,’ I ordered. ‘I’ll decide what to do with him when we get back to camp.’
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  The centurion nodded, and motioned to a couple of men to take hold of the prisoner. Then he set about dispersing the crowd. ‘Get a move on, you maggots, show’s over. Nothing for you miserable lot to gawp at here.’

  As the men headed back to their beds, Vocula and I were left alone once more on the parapet.

  ‘I don’t envy you your dilemma,’ my colleague said. I said nothing, but just looked out into the darkness, brooding.

  * * *

  I did not have to make an instant decision, thank the gods. There are any number of offences that can be committed in the army, most of them minor affairs that are dealt with privately, within each century. More serious cases are brought before the legate every week. I had held the most recent hearing a couple of days before, which gave me another five days to decide what to do, Milo another five days in the camp prison, and a sick baby girl five days without a father.

  I told Salonina about Milo the day we returned, and I was very surprised by her reaction.

  ‘The poor baby, and the poor mother! Do they know what’s going to happen to Milo?’

  ‘I guess Milo’s friends will have told the girl by now, so yes, probably.’

  ‘And what are you going to do?’

  ‘What can I do? My hands are tied. He fell asleep on sentry duty, in enemy territory. The punishment is death. How can I be lenient with someone who risks the safety of the legion?’

  ‘You can be compassionate.’

  ‘Compassionate? This is the army, not some Christian prayer meeting!’

  ‘I’m not appealing to your sense of charity, my love, but you’re hardly going to endear yourself to the men by executing a terrified father.’

  ‘You think I don’t know that?’

  She thought for a moment, then smiled at me. ‘Your hands may be tied, but mine aren’t.’

  That same day she went into the town, hired a physician, and went to see Milo’s woman and his baby girl. The physician spent a few days with the child, and as Salonina’s purse emptied, the baby began to recover. It was a masterstroke. As she was the legate’s wife, Salonina’s charity would imply that I felt sorry for Milo’s predicament. I did, but there was no way that I could grant the man clemency; the law of the legions demanded his death. But Salonina’s intervention would show the men that we cared.