Soldier of Rome- Rise of the Flavians

by James Mace

  “Yes, sir.”

  Nicanor and Gaius, along with the decani in their century, proceeded to conduct the day’s inspection, specifically, their soldiers’ footwear. While inspections were a part of every legionary’s daily routine, in this case, the centurion had stressed the need for serviceable caligae. They expected to be on the march practically nonstop for up to six months. Each squad of legionaries stood in a long line. All were barefoot, holding up their sandals for the officers to inspect. Hobnails on the bottom, serviceability of straps, as well as the condition of the soles, were all checked thoroughly.

  “This strap needs replacing,” Gaius said, as he checked one legionary’s sandals. The man’s decanus made notes on a small wax tablet. “Two hobnails are missing,” he observed on another. He continued down the line, each squad leader denoting any deficiencies found. The inspection was quick yet thorough. Within twenty minutes, he and Nicanor had finished and stood in front of their century.

  “All legionaries have until tomorrow to sort out any issues with their caligae,” Nicanor said. “Decani will conduct their own re-inspections before breakfast. That is all. Dismissed!”

  “I suppose we should check our own footwear,” Gaius said in a low voice, as they walked away from their men.

  Nicanor snorted. “You can check mine. If so much as one hobnail is loose, I, too, will be spending the day sorting out my damned sandals instead of relaxing in one of the brothels.”

  “Centurion Nicanor!”

  Their cohort commander, Centurion Galeo, walked briskly towards them.

  “Sir,” Nicanor replied. “What news?”

  “Seems we won’t be walking all the way to Rome after all,” Galeo replied. “Emperor Vespasian has scrounged together enough ships for three cohorts, one from each legion, to sail to Pannonia where they will be attached to General Primus’ division.”

  “And we drew Fortuna’s lot?” Nicanor asked.

  “Both figuratively and literally,” the pilus prior replied. “The master centurion said it was the only fair way to determine who got to ride most of the way to Rome.”

  “When do we depart?”

  “In three days,” Galeo answered. “There are two ships from Cyprus already in port at Caesarea. The rest are coming from Egypt and should be arriving tomorrow. And, of course, there will be all the logistical issues to sort out first. With no room for horses, it looks like you and I will be doing a fair amount of walking.”

  “Very good, sir,” Nicanor acknowledged. He turned to his optio. “We’ll inform the men, but I still want their caligae repaired by tomorrow.”

  “Five hundred miles of walking certainly beats three to four thousand,” Gaius noted with a short laugh. “What do we know about General Primus? I have only heard rumors, many of which are rather unsavory.”

  “Which means they are probably true,” Nicanor snickered. “I would say, don’t let him anywhere near your coin pouch and hide all the expensive silver when he comes over for supper. But give him a sword and an army and he’ll win you an empire.”

  Three thousand miles away, it was a blue-sky summer afternoon in the Italian coastal city of Ariminum. Lucius Artorius had recently returned, though he immediately informed his deputy that he would soon be departing. His meeting with Emperor Vitellius had gone far better than he could have possibly imagined. Instead of another six-month tour as a staff tribune, he now had command of a cavalry regiment for the next three years.

  “I suppose the news we heard will preclude me from journeying with you,” Laura said somberly, as she met her husband in the palace garden following his meeting with Porcius.

  She had at first been happy for Lucius. Laura had come to accept the fact that he would never be truly happy until he fulfilled what he thought was his destiny, to truly become a soldier of Rome. Just days before his scheduled departure, they received the news that Vespasian had declared Vitellius an illegitimate usurper, whom he intended to remove from the imperial throne. With war now on the horizon and Lucius likely to be right in the thick of it, Laura was completely devastated. But like any good Roman wife, she dried her fearful tears and stoically accepted his decision.

  “Only for a short time,” Lucius assured her. “But until we know what these Flavian rebels are about, I would rather you remained here. Otho’s former soldiers in Pannonia may not be so keen to remain true to their oaths. If they declare for Vespasian, it may not be safe for you to accompany me.”

  They walked through the large complex towards the governor’s house just off the main road along the sandy beach. It truly was a paradise. Yet Lucius had no doubts at all about leaving its comforts for the far more austere life of a cavalry officer. As they strolled through the open archways that led into the fountained courtyard, they were met by one of Lucius’ freedman clerks.

  “Your guests are waiting for you in the reception hall, master,” the man said, ascending the short flight of steps into the palace proper.

  “Guests?” Lucius asked. He wasn’t expecting anyone. He supposed they were either friends of his and Laura’s, or government officials, who would have heard about his assumption of command. Instead, his mouth fell open when he saw his father, Metellus, and his mother, Marcia, waiting for him.

  “Mother…Father!” he said excitedly, rushing forward and embracing the parents he had not seen in over ten years.

  Marcia’s hair was mostly gray now, though her face looked as if she had not aged a day. Metellus, who would be sixty the following year, was still relatively fit, though his years away from the legions had left him a bit slower in the step, with a few extra pounds around his stomach. They had traveled all the way from Britannia to Ariminum. It surprised Lucius, and he told them as much.

  “I received word about your election as governor of the city,” Metellus explained. “I have business to attend to in Gaul, and I wished to see and congratulate my eldest son. Of course, your mother insisted on accompanying me.”

  “And I am delighted that she did,” Lucius said, holding his mother’s hands in his. “When did you arrive?”

  “Early this morning,” Marcia replied. “Your clerk told us you were away but were expected back this afternoon.”

  “I had an important meeting,” Lucius explained, as he ushered his parents into the small chamber he used for meeting with dignitaries and other important persons. Slaves quickly brought wine and trays of appetizers. “I had instructions to give to my deputy, in light of my audience with the emperor.”

  “An esteemed honor for a member of the equites,” Metellus replied. “Provided he manages to retain the throne longer than either of his predecessors.”

  Lucius was uncertain how he should answer this. It had already been a violent and extremely turbulent year for Rome.

  His father then said, “Galba came to the throne via rebellion. He was slain by Otho, who in turn was usurped by Vitellius. And now Vespasian seeks to overthrow Vitellius.”

  “It is all so utterly senseless,” Marcia said, with a trace of venom in her voice. “Rome’s sons have been compelled to kill one another just to satisfy one man’s vanity. At least you will have no part in this madness.”

  “About that,” Lucius said, turning his now empty cup over in his hands, staring at the floor. “I will not be in Ariminum for much longer. Vitellius has offered me a commission to command a regiment of the imperial cavalry.”

  While Metellus’ expression remained impassive, Marcia looked as if she might burst into tears.

  Her pained countenance wounded Lucius. “Are you not proud of me, Mother?”

  “We believe your brother marches with the Flavians,” Marcia replied.

  “I suspect that he does, since the Tenth is one of Vespasian’s legions,” Lucius surmised, casting his gaze down for a brief moment. He looked his mother in the eye. “Have you heard from Gaius?”

  “No,” his father replied. This was not surprising. Personal correspondence between soldiers in the legions and the families they left behi
nd was extremely rare. The only reliable couriers were imperial messengers, whose jobs were to deliver official dispatches around the empire, not ferry letters from homesick sons to their mothers.

  “What we do know is the eastern legions have all declared for Vespasian,” Metellus stated. “In which case, your brother is most likely with those marching on Rome. I suppose we’ll know for certain in a few months.”

  “I don’t give a damn about Vitellius, Vespasian, or whoever else seeks to become emperor with the blood of our children!” Marcia snapped. “Am I to lose both of my sons, like I almost lost your father all those years ago?”

  “You’re being unfair, my love,” Metellus said, taking her hand.

  “And yet, you were always proud of Gaius, the soldier,” Lucius remarked. He immediately regretted expressing his bitter resentment.

  “I wept every night for a week when your brother left to join the legions,” Marcia said. Her voice was calmer now, though her eyes were red and wet with tears. “But after we made certain your career was established, there simply was nothing left in the family coffers to offer our youngest son. We were able to see to his education, and he could have had any of a hundred different professions. I protested his becoming a legionary. Your father overruled me.” There was a sidelong glance to Metellus. It was a sign that they had exchanged many bitter words over his allowing their youngest son to join the legions.

  “As a Roman matron, I am expected to show pride in my sons who defend the empire with their lives,” Marcia continued, her voice cracking with bitter sarcasm.

  Lucius became exasperated, standing up from his couch and pacing around the room.

  “What would you have me do? Resign my command?” he asked, throwing his hands up in frustration. “Am I to pretend that my oath means nothing? Rome has seen three emperors upon the imperial throne since this year began. Shall we make it four? Or how about five? How many times must we allow our rulers to be overthrown at the whims of the legions before we say ‘enough’? I will not sit idly by from the comfort of this magisterial palace, while my country tears itself apart. I am sorry, Mother, for I know this grieves you deeply. But I have my duty to perform, as does Gaius. The gods will determine which of our causes is right.”

  Laura sat next to her mother-in-law and placed an arm around her, while Metellus motioned with his head for his son to follow him out into the gardens. Lucius was angry, with his mother for her overprotective selfishness, and with himself for having berated her.

  “I am sorry for upsetting Mother,” Lucius apologized, once he and his father were alone.

  “She understands why you are doing this,” Metellus replied. “But she is also your mother, and she now has to fear for both you and Gaius. It is the same for all who send their sons off to war. Spartan women may have stoically told their sons to return with their shields or on them, but you cannot tell me they were not crushed inside. As you may recall, I did not join the ranks until after my own mother had passed on to the afterlife.”

  Lucius raised an eyebrow as he turned to face his father. An old memory suddenly resurfaced. He knowingly nodded his head.

  “Of course,” he said. “I often forget Diana was not your mother.”

  “She didn’t raise me, and I was a grown man when I met her. But after I was adopted by her and my uncle, she helped fill that void all sons feel when they bury their mothers.”

  Given his status as a retired centurion primus ordo, and now a respected member of the equites, most knew little about his upbringing. Only a very select few were aware that Metellus Artorius Posthumous was the biological son of a Germanic woman named Rowana and a Roman legionary, also named Metellus. His father had been killed in battle before he was even born. It was only eighteen years later, when Rowana lay dying from a serious illness, that she told him to seek out his uncle, Artorius. Metellus spent a year as an auxiliary infantryman before finally finding his uncle who, at the time, was a centurion with Legio XX along the Rhine. It was during the aftermath of the horrific Battle of Braduhenna in Frisia, where both men were badly wounded, that Metellus and Artorius finally met.

  More than forty years had now passed since Metellus’ adoption by Artorius and his wife, Diana Procula. His status as a Roman citizen confirmed, he had been given an immediate transfer into the legions, where he steadily rose through the ranks. He would later serve with his adoptive father in Judea and during the Invasion of Britannia. The Artorians had since established themselves as respected members of the equites. Even Metellus’ own sons often forgot about his very humble origins.

  “Diana was the strongest woman I have ever known,” Metellus remarked. “She feared greatly for both me and Artorius when we left for Britannia. You were scarcely two then, and your brother not even a year old. But Diana had her duty to perform, just like the rest of us. Hers was to protect your mother, and be that pillar of strength she so desperately needed. Those were difficult times for her.”

  “Some things never change,” Lucius reasoned. He thought for a moment. “But with Gaius and I supporting rival emperors, whose cause is truly right?”

  “I’m not sure how I should answer that,” Metellus replied. “As you know, I served under Vespasian in Britannia. So my feelings are undoubtedly clouded by bias and personal loyalty for my former commanding general. I’ll not pretend to know Vitellius’ motives and will simply assume that, as you are loyal to him, he is worthy to serve.”

  Father and son walked in silence for some time. Metellus wished he had some words of wisdom to impart to his son. “For generations, it has been the duty of the Artorians to take up arms in defense of the empire, sometimes at extreme cost. I would never say this in the presence of your mother. But, if the gods should demand such a price from our family, then may you and Gaius live and die with honor.”

  Chapter VIII: Into the Unknown

  Rome

  14 August 69 A.D.

  ***

  Content to fritter away his remaining years in the imperial palace while his confidants performed most of the duties required of an emperor, Vitellius had been convinced that his legacy was secure. He appointed himself as consul for the next ten years, while intending to have his son, Germanicus, serve as his colleague once he came of age. Unlike Galba or Otho, Vitellius had a son to succeed him, enabling him to found a new dynasty. The populist uprising under a fearsome military leader in the east ended all of this.

  Two weeks had passed since news broke of Vespasian’s rebellion. There was a great deal of tension and unease within the capital, even as the people went about their daily lives. Vitellius’ generals were now filled with a sense of urgency, in some cases bordering on outright panic. And yet, the emperor was largely unconcerned.

  “According to our loyal Governor Saturnius of Moesia, only one legion has rebelled,” Vitellius remarked dismissively.

  “Third Gallica,” Senator Italicus noted. “But he sent his dispatch two weeks ago. A lot could have changed during that time. And he makes no mention of his other two legions, Seventh Claudia and Eighth Augusta. I should remind you, all three were amply rewarded by your predecessor following their crushing of the Rhoxolani incursion.”

  “Yes, and their benefactor is now dead,” the emperor replied, feeling rather irritated. “Had they wished to press the issue, they could have continued to march to Bedriacum. Instead, they returned to their billets like good little soldiers. I’ll not stress over the grumblings of a single legion in the Balkans. And as for Vespasian, I suspect his army will lose heart before they even cross over Asia Minor. Should he still wish to contest the issue, we have the Rhine Legions waiting here for him.”

  “But our legions and auxilia regiments are terribly understrength,” Caecina said plainly. “We not only ceased recruiting efforts, but we’ve stripped a full third of all our forces within Rome in order to fill out the ranks of the Praetorian Guard. The soldiers who remain have done little except gorge themselves on wine and women for the last month.”

 
“A few miles of marching and some drill will have them ready,” Valens countered. “I swear, Caecina, I sometimes wonder whose side you’re on. If I hadn’t turned up before Bedriacum, I daresay Otho would still be emperor.”

  “You are a liar and a cowardly son of a whore!” the younger general snapped. “If you had arrived when you were supposed to, we could have swept Otho’s forces from the field within an hour. Instead, you left my division without reinforcements, almost costing us the entire damned war!”

  “Enough!” Vitellius shouted, slamming his fist onto the arm of his chair. The emperor had been watching his two closest advisors do little except squabble since they returned to Rome.

  “Forgive us, sire,” Valens said, with a bow. “My colleague and I simply have a few differences of opinion, that’s all.”

  “That’s putting it mildly,” Italicus grumbled.

  Vitellius nodded in agreement.

  “You two are taking over the consulship very soon,” he said. “And if Vespasian should decide to foolishly go to war against us, it will be you who I rely upon to stop him. I cannot have my best generals feuding with each other. Now, the first thing we need is intelligence, not just on Vespasian, but on every province from Pannonia to Syria. I need to know who my friends and enemies are.”

  “We should also send word to the governors in Gaul, Hispania, and Britannia,” Caecina added. His face was still red, but his voice had calmed considerably.

  “Yes well, see to it,” Vitellius said, waving dismissively. Once more showing little more than indifference to the pending crisis. The smells wafting up from the trays of food being prepared by servants reminded him that his midafternoon feast was set to commence in less than an hour.

  Caecina was becoming more and more disillusioned with the idea of serving Vitellius. He loathed seeing his emperor demonstrate on a daily basis that gluttony was a way of life and he cared for little else. Vitellius’ ineptitude was a key reason why he and Valens had hoisted him onto the throne, so they might rule through him; however, the bitter rivalry between the two former friends was making Caecina doubt their entire enterprise.