by James Mace
“Well, you’ve fought them once already,” Valens noted. “But no, I do not expect you to abandon your people here, especially when the nearest province has defected to the traitor.” He let out a sigh of resignation. “There’s nothing for it, then. I will have to travel far into Gaul, and possibly Hispania, to find aid for our emperor. Let us hope those forces still in Italia prove loyal and are able to keep the traitors from taking the capital.”
At the Marius’ insistence, Valens spent the night at his villa, though he slept little. He wondered if Vitellius even knew how rapidly everything was becoming unraveled. If the governor of Narbonensis had become brazen enough to declare for the Flavians, how many other provinces were in danger of falling? Given the nature with which Vitellius seized the throne, and the fact that he scarcely defeated the Othonians before the armies in the east declared for Vespasian, it was difficult to know who could be trusted. Legio VI, Victrix had been sitting idle in Hispania since Galba came to the throne, and they had been unnervingly silent since the fall of Otho. Still, they were his best hope of rallying substantive reinforcements.
While Valens slept fitfully, Marius had a rider dispatched to Valerius Paulinus, informing him of the visit from the Vitellian Army’s chief general.
“I thought you were loyal to Vitellius?” the messenger protested, as he mounted his horse.
“In my heart, I still am,” Marius replied. “But I have the safety and welfare of my people to consider. Governor Paulinus would not have declared for Vespasian were the other western provinces still firm in their loyalty to Vitellius. I’ll not risk subjecting our people to reprisals from those who have already changed their allegiance to the Flavians.”
The next morning he made no attempt to stop Valens from departing. The Vitellian general had come with an armed escort, whereas Marius had but his local city watch available. Valens left the city before dawn. The black clouds in the west boded ill for his pending journey.
Marius was partially shamed by his betrayal of Valens; however, like he told his messenger, he could not allow his personal loyalties to take precedence over the welfare of his people. The war had taken a decisive turn against Vitellius, and even if he managed to somehow win a miraculous victory…well, all Marius had done was inform Governor Paulinus that the Consul of Rome and commander-in-chief of Vitellius’ armies had arrived in his province. It was scarcely a treasonable offense.
For the Flavians, there was a period of rest and recovery. The legions and auxilia regiments were reorganizing, in light of the numerous losses suffered. Those with lesser injuries were assessed as to their ability to return to the ranks, while the more severe were still being tended to at the field hospital. The commanding general had a number of matters that required his attention before the army could advance. No sooner had they completed their victory, with the remains of Cremona a smoldering ruin, than political infighting had broken out amongst the Flavian legates. Before he could sort out the squabbles among his own generals, Antonius Primus had the former Vitellian legions to contend with.
Standing in a massed formation were the soldiers of Legions XXI, Rapax, and XXII, Fortuna Primigenia. All were devoid of armor and helmets. Regardless of rank, every man looked the same. Each stood with his gladius scabbarded and placed on the ground near his feet. The Predator Legion’s new commanding legate, a longtime friend and supporter of Vespasian named Flavius Silva, stood in front of his soldiers, hands clasped behind his back. The commander of Fortuna’s Legion, Claudius Zeno, stood next to him. In one of the few truths told by Manlius to his cousin, Valens, Claudius was the only Vitellian general not sacked by Primus. The Flavian commander-in-chief held immense respect for the legate, who he knew was also extremely popular with his legionaries. The commander of Twenty-First Rapax, however, had not only been wounded in the shoulder during the last battle, but was unrepentant in his loyalty to Vitellius. Primus had therefore sent him to, ‘crawl back to your podgy master in Rome’.
The ceremony with the legions was an important formality. Both Claudius and Silva knew Vitellius was beaten. The only way to restore peace to the empire was to acknowledge Vespasian as Rome’s rightful ruler. That renewed spirit of allegiance now needed to come from the men in the ranks.
“General Primus,” Silva said. “The legions, which formerly served the pretender, Aulus Vitellius, are ready to recant their misguided fidelity and swear the oath of allegiance to Rome’s true emperor, Titus Flavius Vespasian.”
“Fortuna and Predator Legions,” Primus said, addressing the soldiers directly. “Though we fought on opposing sides in this unfortunate conflict, all of us kept true to our oaths. You have fulfilled yours with distinction and valor. The scourge of defeat shall now be cleansed. It is time you rejoined your brothers and took your place as legionaries of the empire. Are you with me?”
“Yes!” ten thousand voices shouted, fists held high in the air.
Primus nodded to the two legates, who turned to face their soldiers.
“Gladius…draw!” both men shouted together.
It was the simplest act, one which legionaries would perform countless times throughout their time in the ranks. Yet, for Primus to watch ten thousand weapons flash from their scabbards simultaneously was a thing of beauty.
“Swear the oath!”
“In the name of the Senate and People of Rome, and by the gods in the heavens, we do pledge our undying fealty to Titus Flavius Vespasian, Emperor of Rome, and Defender of the Empire!”
Flavius Silva and Legio XXI soon departed for their fortress at Vindonissa in the middle of the Alpes Mountains. From there they would return to their duties as guardians of the mountain passes that led into Italia. Legio XXII left for Carnuntum on the Danube, replacing Legio VII, Gemina. Fourth Macedonia was allowed to return to their garrison at Mogontiacum in Germania. Their presence would not only reinforce the frontier, but act as a deterrent for other Germanic forces who would consider heeding Vitellius’ call for reinforcements. Neither Fifth Alaudae nor First Italica would return to their respective posts in Germania or Gaul. Instead, they were sent on a thousand-mile trek to Moesia to replace many of the troops that had taken part in Primus’ invasion force.
Chapter XXII: Loyalties Betrayed
Rome
5 November 69 A.D.
***
While the war in the north, in particular the army’s ignominious defeat, were among the most substantial issues facing Emperor Vitellius, they certainly were not the only ones. The latest ruler of Rome still faced many enemies, both personal and political, who would no doubt rejoice in his downfall. And it was his brother, Lucius Vitellius, who took on the task of rooting out those who could threaten the regime. Chief among these perceived threats was not even an enemy, but rather a friend and benefactor.
Quintus Junius Blaesus had aligned himself with Vitellius since the very beginning of the emperor’s rise. A highly respected patrician, as well as one of the wealthiest members of the senate, he had somehow managed to avoid the purges wrought during the last few years of Nero’s reign. This was, perhaps, because the Junii were among the most ancient and celebrated noble families in Rome, albeit with many rather notorious episodes in their history. Perhaps the most infamous member of the family was Marcus Junius Brutus, the assassin of Julius Caesar. Blaesus’ own grandfather, who had borne the same name as he, was the uncle by marriage of the traitorous praetorian prefect, Lucius Aelius Sejanus. The elder Blaesus had been put to death, with several members of his family, during the brutal vengeance of Tiberius.
“And yet you have somehow managed to remain unscathed all these years,” Lucius Vitellius said. The two men met at a banquet being hosted in Blaesus’ honor by a senator named Caecina Tuscus. They had arrived early, the emperor’s brother deliberately seeking out the guest of honor.
“My father and uncle were, remarkably, spared,” Blaesus recalled. “This was strange, because they both had a fairly amicable relationship with their cousin, Sejanus. Grandfather sc
arcely knew him, yet he was implicated as one of his associates during the plot to overthrow Tiberius. His suicide saved the family fortune from being taken by the state. But that was a long time ago. I was barely twenty-two when Sejanus fell and was serving in North Africa, as laticlavian tribune of the Third Augusta Legion.”
“And will your old legion come now to the emperor’s aid?” Lucius asked.
“I should hope so,” Blaesus replied quickly. “I did not loan half my fortune to the emperor, your good brother, so that some upstart in Judea could cause me to lose it all.”
It was a rather careless thing to say, though both Blaesus and Lucius laughed aloud at the remark.
“Ah, Noble Lucius,” Tuscus said as he joined them. “It is good to see you this fine evening. Can we expect to see the emperor later?”
“Alas, no,” Lucius replied, shaking his head. “He has other matters keeping him indisposed at the moment.”
What he failed to mention was that Vitellius’ gout had been extremely painful lately, and the emperor had eaten what turned out to be a sour batch of snails. He was confined to his bed and was, in fact, resting at the imperial villa located in the Servilian Gardens, scarcely a block away. Lucius had known about Tuscus’ banquet for Blaesus and decided to recommend his brother recuperate at the Servilian Gardens.
“The financier celebrates while his emperor suffers just a building over,” Lucius’ wife, Triaria, said quietly into his ear.
“It would seem he is gloating over my dear brother’s fit of ill health,” Lucius remarked. “He talks about the funds he gave to the emperor to help settle his debts and pay his troops as if it were some kind of loan, rather than his civic duty to the imperial state.”
“He’ll use his past generosity as a means of extortion,” his wife asserted. “He will have to be done away with just like poor Dolabella.”
“Yes, well, we cannot use an assassin to deal with Blaesus,” Lucius observed. “I applaud your initiative in dispatching Dolabella. The few coins and the promise to a praetorian that he could retain his post were a small price to pay. But now that Aulus sits firmly upon the throne, we must observe the formalities of both law and decorum.”
Vitellius could not recall the last time he was this miserable. His gout was getting worse, and since being proclaimed emperor, his weight had continued to increase. He was very much aware that his poor health was, in a large part, his own making. In many ways, he blamed his parents for instilling such a lack of self-esteem in him. He took comfort in food from a very early age. Part of the reason he had banned astrologers from Rome was due to the unnatural influence they had held over his parents. They accepted the ill omens regarding their son almost from the moment he was born, as if there was nothing they could do to help him change the future. At first, Vitellius thought his becoming emperor was the ultimate act of defiance of the fates. And yet his mother, Sextilia, had not so much as said one kind word since his return to Rome. It was with a sense of dread he saw her enter his room. He grumbled something unintelligible and rolled onto his side, away from her.
“And is it my son who greets me so warmly?” Sextilia asked. She used a long staff to help her walk.
Her maidservant carried a bowl and a small bottle.
“Mother, what are you doing here?” Vitellius asked, still facing the open window where the sounds of merriment could be heard from Tuscus’ dinner party.
“I heard you were unwell. A mother always looks after her sick children, no matter how old they are.” She placed a hand on his forehead, which was soaked in sweat and hot to the touch. She thought for a moment and then took the bottle from her servant. “Here, drink this. It will purge the poison from your belly.”
“Please, I have my own doctors.” Vitellius tried to protest.
“A lot of good they have done you,” Sextilia retorted. “Now drink. This will not be pleasant, but you will thank me for it later.”
The concoction, whatever it was, was extremely bitter and vile to the taste. Vitellius struggled to swallow the foul liquid which immediately churned inside his guts. His mother took the bowl and held it under his head as he proceeded to heave and vomit rather violently. After about a minute she handed the bowl, which stunk terribly, to her servant, ordering her to leave them.
“There, how is that?” she asked her son.
Vitellius was panting, though he gave a nod of consent. “Better, actually.” He rolled onto his back and took in a few deep breaths. “Doesn’t do anything for my gout, but at least my stomach pains are subsiding.”
“A change in your diet will help the gout,” Sextilia chastised. “But right now you have greater issues to deal with than just swollen feet.”
“I knew it,” he said, trying to force a laugh and rolling onto his side once more. “My dear mother, concerned about my health, but come to actually tell me how to manage the war and the empire.”
“I cannot tell you to do anything,” Sextilia corrected. “However, I have very grave concerns; not just for you, my son, but for your wife and my grandchildren.”
“So what would you have me do, give up now?” Vitellius asked.
“For the good of the people, not to mention the safety of our family, you must send a deputation to Antonius Primus at once. I have no doubt the battle went very hard for them, and they do not wish to throw away any more lives than they have to.”
“Yes, like they did at Cremona,” the emperor retorted. “One of our proudest ancient cities in Northern Italia, and those bastards razed it to the ground. Only the Temple of Mephitis, outside the city walls, was left unscathed. How many thousands do you think perished?”
“And how many more will you allow to die, if they should lay siege to Rome herself?” his mother countered.
“Please, their outrageous behavior will only steel the resolve of the people. The citizens of Rome will never allow Marcus Antonius Primus to take the capital. Even now, my brother is rallying a large force of volunteers to help us stand up to the usurper’s army.”
“Did someone mention me?” a voice said, from out in the all.
Vitellius felt a sense of relief at seeing his brother strolling into the room. Strangely enough, he carried Aulus’ young son, Germanicus. The little boy was bleary-eyed and rubbing his face. “Mother,” Lucius said in surprise, “what pleasure is this?”
“Just here to look after my son,” she replied, while standing up. She looked to Vitellius and said, “Remember what I have told you.” She then gave Lucius a quick embrace before leaving.
Lucius set the boy down, who rushed over to his father, hugging him around the neck.
“Papa doesn’t feel well,” young Germanicus said.
“It’s alright, my son,” Vitellius said, kissing the boy on top of his head.
“What exactly did Mother tell you?” Lucius asked, once they were alone.
“She thinks I need to attempt to negotiate with Antonius Primus,” his brother replied glumly.
“But that’s absurd!” Lucius retorted. “Parlaying with the same people who destroyed beautiful Cremona would be madness, not to mention treasonous.”
“That’s what I said,” Vitellius replied. “And how goes the recruitment of the citizens’ militia?”
“Very well. We have had thousands of volunteers come forward to defend the city, both men and women alike.”
His brother raised an eyebrow at this last remark.
Lucius simply shrugged. “These are desperate times, let us not pretend otherwise. The women have just as much to lose as the men do, and if they wish to take up arms to fight against the Flavians, I will not stop them.”
“Even if we mobilized the entire city, it would not be enough,” the emperor conjectured. “We need professional soldiers. I only hope what forces Valens has can delay Primus long enough for reinforcements to come from Gaul and Britannia. The year grows late, and any troops from Germania need to depart their garrisons soon.”
“They will come,” Lucius reassured him
. “But Caesar, we must allow Valens and the loyalist armies to do their job. We have a more urgent matter here in the capital.”
“Oh?” Aulus asked, sitting upright. Still hot and flushed, his stomach felt immeasurably relieved. Even the pain in his feet had subsided. “Do I face traitors within my own walls?”
Lucius nodded towards the open window facing Tuscus’ villa. “In a matter of speaking. You can clearly hear the sounds of merriment coming from Tuscus and his guests. They celebrate whilst their emperor lies ill.”
“Yes, well, that may be bad manners, but I would hardly call it treasonous. Why have you come here with my son, who you took from his bed in the middle of the night?” He looked down at the boy. His eyes were closed and he leaned against his father’s side.
“Because I fear for you and for your children,” Lucius replied. “You have no reason to fear Vespasian; not when thousands of our soldiers keep him at bay, with reinforcements on their way from all corners of the empire. And while Tuscus’ banquet is in poor taste, it is his guest of honor I fear.”
“Who is it?”
“None other than the man who helped finance our little venture to get to Rome.”
“Blaesus?” Vitellius was perplexed by this revelation. “But what could he have done that could ever be construed as treachery?”
“Aside from parading before the troops the fact that he descends from both the Junii and Antonii lines?” Lucius asked in return.
“He does claim lineage from two of the most ancient and noble families in Rome, I’ll grant you. But that is something one should be proud of. Why should we hold that against him?”
“Blaesus eyes a position higher than that of a mere senator, or even consul,” his brother explained. “He used his massive fortune to buy his way into our favor. I heard him say this evening that he intends to make good on what he thinks were simple loans.”
