Soldier of Rome- Rise of the Flavians

by James Mace

  My feelings regarding titles and honors aside, I wish to lead Rome into an age of moderation and pragmatism, while we heal from the wounds of this most vulgar civil war. Therefore, I am decreeing that all practitioners of that vile art known as astrology, who threaten public order and morale with their trickery and false prophecies, are hereby banished from Italia. Rome is the heart of logic and reason, not superstitions and barbaric practices. All astrologers have until the first of October to quit Italia, never to return.

  And as the senate and equites are the rulers over this civilization, I am, henceforth, forbidding anyone from the patrician classes from taking part in gladiatorial matches. As gladiators are either slaves, or destitute plebs in seek of pay and renown, it is beneath the dignity of our nobles to actively participate in such activities.

  I am celebrating my victory with a parade and series of games in Lugdunum. After which, I will visit the site of the army’s triumph over the usurper before I return to Rome. My intent is to return to the capital in time for the autumn harvest, at which time we can celebrate the harvest of prosperity and peace in this new age for the empire.

  Until then, I remain your humble servant,

  Aulus Vitellius

  The several hundred senators, who were practically crammed into the chamber, sat in silence for a few moments, while they pondered all that Vitellius had said. His letter showed a strange mix of humility, as well as supreme arrogance, and even blatant hypocrisy. Astrology may have been superstitious nonsense to the rational and scientific mind, but then so was augury, which was both practiced and officially sanctioned by the imperial state. And the banning of senators and equites from participating in gladiatorial matches was strange for an initial decree. Surely there were more pressing matters requiring an emperor’s immediate attention than whether a young nobleman chose to wear a helmet and swing a sword in the arena!

  While most of the senate sat in bemused silence, the recently returned Cornelius Dolabella was smirking and shaking his head. Though he had yet to be fully reinstated as a member of the senate, he had been allowed to sit in on the proceedings, out of respect for his past years of service. Finally, it was Consul Caelius Sabinus who stood from his chair and addressed the assembly.

  “Senators, we have heard from the victor of our grievous civil war. I move that we vote to grant all powers, if not specific titles, to Aulus Vitellius without delay.”

  “It’s not as if we have much of a choice,” Senator Nerva spoke up. His normally good-natured demeanor was replaced with one of grim acceptance. “Since last June, we have sanctioned two usurpers to the imperial throne, and now we are being asked to ratify a third. But let us not pretend that it is we who still rule in Rome. We may give this usurpation our blessing, but it will fool no one. A dangerous precedent has been set, and it is now the legions, not the Senate of Rome, who have the power to sanction an emperor.”

  “And what would you have us do?” Senator Italicus retorted. “Otho took what military forces there were in southern Italia, and they have been defeated. Would you have a handful of urban cohorts defy the Rhine Legions? You would bring war to the very streets of Rome!”

  A series of quarrels soon broke out. Numerous senators called for Vitellius’ ratification without delay, while others shamed their colleagues for cowardice and prostrating themselves before a man who was no more than a military usurper. These arguments lacked conviction, however, as the harsh reality was laid before them by Nerva’s cynical speech. The result of this civil war meant the senate was no longer relevant when it came to naming an emperor. Sabinus turned to the porter, who beat his staff onto the marble floor.

  “Senators, please!” the consul and city prefect pleaded. “Let us not fight amongst each other. Otho may have had the senate’s endorsement for his rise to become Caesar, but like Nero before him, he left no designated heir. Neither his brother nor his nephew, the two most likely candidates, were ever officially declared his successor. As they are in Vitellius’ custody, there is no one who could claim to be Otho’s rightful heir.”

  “And if you listen carefully outside, what do you hear?” Caelius asked. After a brief pause, he said, “Nothing! No cries of lamentation, no calls for Vitellius to pay for his regicide, nothing but complete silence. The people mourned Nero, they cheered Galba’s demise, and yet they are utterly indifferent to the death of Otho. If the people did not care who won between Otho and Vitellius, why should we do other than grant a smooth transition of power to the man who has claimed the imperial throne?”

  “Something else we should remember,” Sabinus added, “is that Otho could very well have continued the war but chose not to. He gave his own life, so others might live. I think even Vitellius will not object to the senate honoring this sacrifice.”

  “More importantly, Vitellius has a son and heir,” Italicus added. “This is something that neither Galba nor Otho provided. Germanicus Vitellius is a young boy of six, and with the right upbringing and mentorship he could make a fine ruler one day. It is to Rome’s future and the stability of the imperial succession we must look.”

  “It’s settled then,” Caelius said. “Otho ruled Rome for a total of ninety days, and his death came scarcely after the farthest corners of the empire heard of his ascension. I think we can agree that the manner of his death was the one, and possibly only, noble act of this ‘second Nero’. And while many of us may view Vitellius as a less-than-inspiring persona, he did manage to rally seven legions, as well as all of Germania, Gaul, and Britannia to proclaim him emperor. That alone tells me there is more to our new ruler than any of us foresaw. Let us finish the business of the day and give Rome her rightful emperor.”

  The total ‘debate’ over Vitellius’ claim to be emperor lasted less than ten minutes. A vote was called and, predictably, every member present voted to award the powers of emperor to Aulus Vitellius, effective immediately. The senate soon concluded its business of the day. Scribes furiously wrote the official decrees, which would be read in the Forum and posted throughout the city.

  As he stepped down from the consul chairs, Sabinus was shamed by his perceived cowering before the demands of a man who was little more than another usurper. And yet, he knew he was completely powerless. He understood, so long as his brother commanded a huge army in the east, he would be under constant suspicion. For the sake of his family’s safety and reputation, he had to be the compliant servant, even when performing the hateful task he now had to see to completion. The sight of Guardsman Statius standing alone in full armor near the large doorways reminded him of this. Sabinus simply nodded to the praetorian, who came to attention and walked a half step behind him to his left.

  As they stepped out into the afternoon sun, Sabinus spotted Cornelius Dolabella talking with a small group of senators on the steps of the senate. Despite currently holding no official position within the assembly, many senators had been welcoming towards him, viewing his exile as little more than the paranoid machinations of the dethroned Otho.

  “Otho accused Galba of paranoia, yet he was an even worse offender,” one senator said to the returned former general.

  “He was simply afraid Galba was about to name me his heir,” Dolabella replied.

  “There are many who would have supported you as Caesar,” another senator remarked. “After all, you are a proven military leader. You defeated the Parthians in Armenia and have a rather distinguished record of service within the army and the senate.”

  “I am also nearly fifty years old,” Dolabella countered. “A potential imperial successor needs to be groomed from a young age. Vitellius is but five or six years older than me, and as he has a son of his own. I can safely say I am off the list of potential Caesars.”

  “Well then, perhaps Vitellius will reward you for your loyalty in some way,” the first senator said. “Another suffect consulship, perhaps?”

  “I doubt it,” Dolabella chuckled. “You forget that my current wife, Petronia, was once married to Vitellius. And wh
ile they may have divorced more than twenty years ago, she has never ceased to tell our friends how much happier I have made her than he was ever able. Needless to say, I doubt either of us will be well-received at any of Vitellius’ lavish banquets. The way I hear it, the cost of each one of his feasts would pay the wages of an entire legion for a year.”

  This brought some appreciative laughs from the senators. That it came at Vitellius’ expense showed just how little regard most of the senate had for their new emperor. And, despite his trepidations, Sabinus begrudgingly understood why both Otho and Vitellius viewed Dolabella as a potential threat. The man was a hero of Rome, a charismatic general, and a man the people loved. Should enough of the senate and people find Vitellius to be as gluttonous and uninspiring an emperor as he had been a senator, what would stop the mob from naming Dolabella Caesar?

  “Ah, Consul Sabinus,” the former general said, as he saw Sabinus approaching him. “A pleasure to see you again, old friend. Once I have reestablished my household in Rome, I should like to have you around for dinner. My wife is anxious to host a dinner party for our friends, and us ‘old soldiers’ can tell stories of our glory days with the legions.”

  Dolabella’s words struck hard. He hated the task he had been given, further loathing himself for seeing it through. Sabinus bit his bottom lip, while handing off a small scroll which bore the seal of Vitellius.

  “Believe me, my friend, nothing would give me greater pleasure,” Sabinus replied. “But I am afraid our new emperor has other ideas.”

  “I see,” Dolabella said with a resigned sigh, as he read the short message. He then looked to the other senators. “My friends, I am regrettably being sent away from Rome once more. It would seem that Otho was not the only emperor wracked by paranoia.”

  “I am truly sorry,” Sabinus said earnestly. He nodded his head back towards Statius. “This guardsman has been assigned to escort you to Interamna.” His eyes were downcast, though the former general did not know the extent of Sabinus’ sadness.

  “It is all well and good,” Dolabella said, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “We all have orders we must follow. Otherwise, this great civilization of ours will fall into chaos. Perhaps you shall just have to come and see us at Interamna.”

  “Perhaps,” Sabinus lied, with a forced smile.

  Dolabella addressed Statius. “Come, praetorian. You shall be a guest within my house this evening, empty as it may be, since we’ve had no time to move our household back to Rome. And tomorrow I will depart from the Eternal City once more.”

  While Vitellius insisted on traveling first to the battlefields between Cremona and Bedriacum, his wife, the Empress Galeria, had taken a ship from Massilia to Rome. The reunion between husband and wife had been short and awkward, much like the vast majority of their marriage. Galeria had sat next to him during the triumphal parade, as well as the series of banquets, yet she quickly came to realize why she found her husband so boring and nearly insufferable. Vitellius himself had offered no protest when Galeria said she wished to return to Rome. And while he loved his wife, the emperor found he was more at ease when she was not around, watching his every move.

  The empress’ cousin, Galerius Trachalus, had accompanied her back to Rome, along with a small entourage of senators’ wives and a few of Vitellius’ personally selected bodyguards. As Otho’s former speechwriter, who’d written some rather damning remarks about his cousin’s husband, Galerius wished to depart the emperor’s entourage as soon as possible. There were those within the new imperial council who called for his immediate trial and execution. It was only the intervention of Galeria, who convinced her husband that it would be both unnecessary, as well as potentially embarrassing for him, that saved Galerius.

  “I was more anxious to see you, dear cousin, than I was my husband,” Galeria confessed, as they stepped off the ship at the Ostia docks. The accompanying guardsmen sent a messenger ahead, with orders to bring litters to carry the empress and her cousin back to Rome.

  “I am flattered.” Galerius smiled warmly. “Of course, now that you are Empress of Rome, it was only fitting that you be by your husband’s side when he celebrated his victory.”

  “ His victory,” Galeria scoffed, shaking her head in disdain.

  A pair of litters, each carried by more than a dozen slaves, arrived. The two cousins lounged comfortably with the inner curtains kept open, so they could talk freely. The senators’ wives were left to wait for their own litters, while armed soldiers marched alongside the empress and Galerius.

  “Aulus cannot even conquer his own gluttony, let alone an empire,” Galeria continued. “He is my husband, the father of my children, and now our emperor. But I also know him better than any, except perhaps his mother. She and I both know it was Caecina and Valens who won the war, not Aulus. And they did not do so out of any sense of loyalty to Rome, or to my husband. They are a pair of vipers who lust for power. Aulus is merely a tool to be used for their own ends.”

  “I know both Caecina and Valens well,” Galerius remarked. “Valens and I are of similar age and were, for a time, in a sort of rivalry within the Cursus Honorum. Caecina is much younger, though I would say he is far more dangerous, as his loyalties are fickle at best.”

  “In other words, he is like almost every other member of the senate,” Galeria replied with a mocking laugh.

  Galerius responded with an understanding chuckle. “Honestly, I no longer give a damn about imperial politics,” he remarked candidly. “I was Silius Italicus’ colleague during last year’s consulship. Though it was a far greater honor being elected to a full year-long term, rather than the two to six month suffect consulships that have sadly become the norm in recent years, I was only too happy to give up the chair. Titus Vinius, who assumed the consulship after me, had played the game of imperial succession for Otho. A lot of good it did him. He took a lance through the back within minutes of Galba’s death, slain by the soldiers of the very man he helped gain the throne.”

  It was almost seventeen miles from the Ostia harbor to the imperial palace in Rome, and it took the litter bearers several hours to negotiate the crowded streets. Curious onlookers tried to get a glimpse of who was behind the drawn curtains. They were forcibly kept at bay by Vitellius’ soldiers. Many wondered aloud if it was the new emperor, while others were dismissive altogether of it being anyone of importance. And since the plebs had no idea what Galeria even looked like, it would have done little to sate their curiosity, even if they had gotten a glimpse.

  “I’m sure your husband will have plenty of coins and statues made in your honor,” Galerius replied, when his cousin made note of this. “Within a few months, the whole of the empire will know your face. For good or for ill, dear cousin, your days of anonymity are over.”

  It was almost nightfall by the time they arrived at the imperial palace. Surprisingly, the emperor’s mother, Sextilia, was waiting for them with her pregnant granddaughter, Vitellia. Vitellia’s husband, Valerius Asiaticus, was there to greet the empress consort. That Asiaticus was thirty-four and had a daughter nearly the same age as his fifteen-year old wife was not out of the ordinary. The two families had been a good match at the time of their wedding, and Asiaticus was most certainly all the more elated to now be the son-in-law of Rome’s emperor.

  “Dearest mother,” he said, taking Galeria’s hand and helping her from her litter. Given Roman marriage conventions, it was also not strange that he was five years older than his mother-in-law.

  “Thank you, Valerius,” the empress replied, standing stiffly for a moment, as she stretched from the long litter ride. She then embraced her daughter, before extending both hands towards the old woman, who now stood from the chair that had been brought out for her.

  “Welcome home, daughter,” Sextilia said, taking Galeria’s hands. “The sight of you fills me with much joy.”

  Being an old stoic, many speculated whether the aged woman had ever smiled. And yet, her daughter-in-law, along with her
grandchildren, provided Sextilia with most of the joy she allowed herself. There were rumors that she loved Galeria more than her own son, and she had never said a word to rebut this.

  Though they had much to talk about, the empress was exhausted from her journey. Sextilia had slaves take Galeria to her rooms. The palace was vast, and the empress wondered how many times she would get lost in its many halls before she knew where she was. And as a servant opened the door to her personal bedchamber, with its enormous bed and beautiful frescos adorning the walls, Galeria surmised that this room alone was larger than the small flat she had lived in for the past few months. It was a strange new world she found herself in, and Empress Galeria Fundana wondered if she would ever truly adapt to it.

  Chapter III: A Desolate Peace

  Caesarea, Judea

  14 May 69 A.D.

  ***

  It was well into spring, and the campaign season should have been fully underway in Judea. The army had not fought a single action in over a year, not since General Trajan had lead a brief invasion of the neighboring kingdom of Perea. However, an internal Jewish civil war was still being bitterly contested between the various zealot factions. Vespasian had ordered his legions to remain in their garrisons. Not only did he not wish to expend valuable Roman lives in an assault on the holy city of Jerusalem, he wanted his men in a state of readiness, should other issues within the empire demand their services.

  Vespasian and the armies in the east first received word about Otho’s demise not from the senate, but from General Marcus Antonius Primus. Primus, who was legate of Legio VII, Gemina, had assumed command of the taskforce of three legions that were en route from the Balkans to reinforce Otho at Bedriacum. The impatience of the late emperor’s brother had led to the war being decided before these forces could arrive. They were perhaps a week’s march from Bedriacum, when a dispatch rider from Valens informed them the war was over.