Soldier of Rome- Rise of the Flavians

by James Mace

  “By Vulcan, he could try to blackmail us!” the emperor replied, now alarmed by this latest news. “I have already had one turncoat come from within the imperial court. I am dealing with traitors in the east. Am I to suffer a rival here in Rome?”

  “Undoubtedly. Junius Blaesus is extremely popular with our peers in the senate, many of whom have turned up for Tuscus’ banquet in his honor. And, as you can hear, the celebrations have been quite boisterous. He was named Governor of Gallia Lugdunensis by Galba scarcely a year ago. Yet, he returns to Rome as a member of the imperial entourage, being fawned over by the senate, as if he had won some great victory.”

  “And all the while he has been establishing his power base within the capital,” Vitellius noted. “He must be stopped. But how? If he is loved by the plebs, as well as the senate, any accusations or trial will turn the people against me. Right now we need unity within Rome, not division.”

  “I have a plan, dear brother,” Lucius said, with a malevolent grin. “I think we should take a page from recent history; a rumor, mind you, regarding Empress Agrippina and the death of the divine Emperor Claudius.”

  While Vitellius panicked over perceived plots within Rome, Vespasian had scarcely been sitting dormant while his armies marched towards the Eternal City. As soon as Mucianus departed to rally his legions, the presumptive emperor immediately traveled to Egypt to meet with the very man who first declared him Caesar, Tiberius Julius Alexander. It was a three-day voyage by ship from Caesarea to Alexandria. During this time, his son, Titus, spent several weeks traveling the region and securing the loyalty of the people of Cyprus and Cilicia. The commanding legate of Legio XV then joined his father in Alexandria, where he was establishing his new imperial headquarters.

  Once the issue with Vitellius was decided, Vespasian made it known that he intended to leave Titus in command of the war in Judea. And while this caused some grumblings among several of the older legates, in particular General Placidus, to leave anyone else as commander-in-chief of the eastern armies would have been rather improper. If Titus was to be his father’s presumptive heir, it would not due for the Prince Imperial to fall under the command of one beneath him in the patrician hierarchy. That Titus had performed heroically, while demonstrating exceptional strategic and tactical skill, helped placate any reservations.

  The Calends of November soon came. Primus had won his decisive, albeit improbable, victory ten days prior, though it would still be another week before Vespasian got word of it. On this particular afternoon, he was joined by Octavianus, one of his personal bodyguards. The two shared a unique history, something the emperor was quick to bring up.

  “When Galba dispatched you to bring him my head, did you ever think I would eventually become your emperor?” Vespasian asked. His good-natured grin was rather disarming given the disturbing reminder.

  “To be honest, Caesar, I thought of nothing the entire journey other than how hateful my task was,” the former praetorian centurion replied. Octavianus had served under Vespasian as a young legionary with Legio II, Augusta during the Conquest of Britannia. Galba had likely been oblivious to this. He would have been foolish to think a soldier would kill his own former commander, whom he greatly revered.

  “Well, you were right about one thing,” Vespasian said. “Poor Clodius Macer in North Africa was not as fortunate as I was. The assassin sent to dispose of him was not one of his former soldiers, and had no qualms about driving his blade into the proconsul’s heart.”

  “I wonder who the killer was,” Octavianus mused. “The Praetorian Guard is quite large, but still, I wonder if I know him.”

  “He’s someone who’s been lost to the pages of history,” Vespasian remarked. “And with two emperors sent violently to the gods since then, no one who reads of these rather interesting times will give a shovelful of shit who it was that slew one governor on the coast of Africa.”

  “To live in interesting times seems almost a curse,” the bodyguard stated.

  “Only if we lose,” Vespasian replied, with a grin and a wink. “Our campaigns in Britannia were most certainly interesting times, wouldn’t you say?”

  “That they were, Caesar. That they were.”

  It was during the Calends of November that Vitellius wished to underpin his standing with the people and the senate. There was also much need to fortify their resolve to continue the conflict, in light of Caecina’s betrayal and Valens’ terrible defeat. The emperor hosted a series of private gladiatorial exhibitions for various senators, as well as prominent members of the equites. This was in lead up to the Ludi Plebeii , or Plebeian Games , which took place from the 4 th to 17 th of November. As this was more of a chance for the owners of various gladiator schools to showcase their talent before the emperor, the combatants fought with blunted weapons, in order to minimize injury. During such events, superior gladiators would often be bribed by their owners to lose their matches to an inferior foe. Wealthy patrons would then bet against the man, should he face the same opponent during the actual games. In such a way, many a gladiator owner made fortunes during large festivals off of duped senators.

  “At least the games will keep the people’s minds occupied, and away from the war for the next couple of weeks,” Flavius Sabinus said, to his longtime friend, Suetonius Paulinus.

  In an effort to show his conciliatory nature, a number of the guests were from among his former enemies to include Paulinus, as well as Marius Celsus. The former consul and Othonian speechwriter, Galerius Trachea, was also an honored guest, though this may have been due to the influence of his cousin, Empress Galeria.

  “Right now they need every bit of distraction they can muster,” Paulinus replied. He nodded towards a pair of men battling with gladii and circular shields. “I would pit any one of my legionaries against this lot.”

  “I seem to remember an incident when a legionary fought in the arena,” Sabinus recalled. “I was just a boy of about nine at the time, and it was during the Triumph of Germanicus Caesar, following his defeat of Arminius.”

  “You’ll have to forgive me if my own memory is a little dim. I was two years old then,” Paulinus said, with a short laugh.

  The Prefect of Rome’s gaze was distant as he tried to recall the very old memories. “Yes, I remember now. Julius Sacrovir—the same fellow who led that sad little revolt in Gaul several years later—had owned a substantial number of gladiators. The fiercest of these was a large African, though I cannot recall his name. I do remember the soldier who fought him, though.”

  “Who was he?”

  “His name was Vitruvius. I remember, because the crowd kept chanting it over and over again. I think he was a weapons instructor with one of the Rhine Legions at the time, and was a legend amongst the men in the ranks. He slew Sacrovir’s prized gladiator in less than a minute.”

  “Whatever happened to him?” Paulinus asked.

  “Eleven years later, when I was serving my first term as chief tribune of the Fifth Macedonia Legion, I heard Vitruvius had been killed during the Battle of Braduhenna.”

  “If they draw their blades in battle enough times, even the greatest fighters will eventually lose,” the old general noted.

  “A good thing you and I have drawn ours for the last time,” Sabinus noted. “I decided a long time ago, I would rather die an old man comfortable in my bed than screaming in agony with a sword in my guts.”

  Both men chuckled at this last remark. They were soon joined by Junius Blaesus, who was in rather high spirits on this day.

  “I do hope this is but a taste of things to come, once the games commence,” he said, as he sat next to Sabinus. He nodded across the arena toward where Domitian sat next to Senator Nerva. “Your nephew is enjoying a day with his mentor, I see.”

  “Unfortunately, the two rarely see each other these days,” Sabinus explained. “Vitellius has become a bit paranoid when it comes to the family of his chief rival.”

  “He still allowed you to remain as prefect of the c
ity,” Blaesus remarked. “Why would he do that if he fears where your loyalties lie?”

  “I think he did so, in part, to give the appearance of not being overly paranoid,” Sabinus mused. “However, he has made it a point of keeping his enemies, whether real or imagined, close to him. The emperor’s brother made a rather curt suggestion to Nerva that he would be best served not keeping the son of a traitor under his roof.”

  “A pity, that,” Paulinus remarked. “Domitian is a young man who needs all the mentoring he can muster. Nerva is someone he looks up to who comes from outside of his immediate family.”

  “Yes, well, you are certainly one I suspect Vitellius keeps many sets of eyes on,” Blaesus said, to the former general.

  Paulinus snorted. “Of that I have no doubt.” He then looked over toward Blaesus. “And what of you? Do you sometimes worry about falling out of favor with Vitellius?”

  “Me? No. The emperor got to where he is today because of me. Oh, don’t think I am trying to act all self-important; far from it! No, my friends, I do not have any ambitions about becoming emperor. Nor do I look to place any other man upon the throne. After all, dear Sabinus, were your brother to succeed in his little coup, I would be out a substantial fortune. Not that I have any ill will towards Vespasian; but, there can be only one Caesar.”

  The constant reminders for Sabinus were uncomfortable, not to mention dangerous. Vitellius may have allowed him to maintain his position as Prefect of Rome; however, he had revoked his courier signets. Sabinus knew he was constantly being watched, as were his sons and nephew. He further accepted that, while he openly remained neutral, it was best he no longer had direct contact with his brother. His final directive to Aula Vale was that she would remain with Vespasian and the Flavian Army. By doing so, Sabinus had blinded himself. But with Antonius Primus’ path to Rome only marginally defended against, the end game was surely coming soon. That is, of course, unless Vitellius’ generals managed to rally the remaining legions of the western empire and North Africa to his defense.

  “Hey, you still with me?” Paulinus’ words startled him.

  “Sorry, I was miles away,” Sabinus replied, with a nervous smile.

  “I understand,” his friend replied. He looked up at the sky. “The day grows late, and I have no doubt our presence will be expected at the emperor’s feast this evening.”

  “Yes, if I don’t at least make an appearance, there will be those who insist I have run off to conspire with my brother in Judea.”

  The reassurances of Lucius, as well as the reports of Valens heading west to bring up reinforcements, did not change the harsh reality for Emperor Aulus Vitellius. Antonius Primus could possibly reach the imperial capital within the next month or so. Therefore, the emperor looked forward to the distraction that would be brought on by the Plebeian Games even more than the rest of the populace. And, as Vitellius could not host any sort of event without a lavish dinner party, he had earlier announced his intent to invite guests to the palace after the gladiatorial exhibition. Even more importantly, he had a rather delicate matter that would be settled this evening.

  Sunset came early in November, and it was well after dark by the time most of the guests arrived at the palace. There were roughly a hundred senators in all, plus their wives and freedman servants. As Paulinus had suspected, many of the noblemen present were former Otho supporters. Vitellius had previously treated most of these men, in particular Paulinus, with contempt. With the Flavian Army breathing down his neck, he was now anxious to reconcile with his former adversaries. No surprise most of these men sat together with the exception of Marius Celsus. The former consul lounged with the two current suffect consuls, Quintius Atticus and Caesilius Simplex.

  The turmoil of the past year, with three factions claiming the imperial throne, had led to a string of short-term suffect consulships. Fifteen men had been named consul during the year, albeit this included the one day term of Rosius Regulus. Vitellius was anxious to restore a bit of stability to the senate’s highest office and named his son-in-law, Valerius Asiaticus, to a full year term. Though initially naming himself consul for the next ten years, Vitellius had decided to leave the other consulship election up to the senate. Its members naturally selected the emperor himself to fill the vacancy.

  “The noble senator, Quintus Junius Blaesus!” the porter’s voice sounded, as the emperor’s financier walked into the dining hall.

  “Ah, Blaesus!” Vitellius shouted, from across the large room. His wine chalice sloshed. He waved his hand carelessly towards a pair of ornate couches. “You are most welcome. We have saved a pair of couches for you and your wife at the head table!”

  “Honored, sire,” Blaesus said, with a respectful bow.

  The emperor’s countenance was its usual flushed and covered in sweat. This was the case whenever he engaged in one of his hours-long feasts. On this night, however, there was something far more pressing on his mind. While Blaesus and his wife took the couches on Vitellius’ left, Empress Galeria and his brother, Lucius, occupied those on the right. Lucius had tempered his wine consumption. It was he who would oversee the emperor’s plan. He considered enlisting the aid of the praetorian prefects but because one of them, Junius Priscus, was a distant relative of Blaesus, that was immediately scuttled. “The Junii tend to stick together, no matter how thin their blood relations are,” Lucius had said.

  About an hour into the banquet, a theatre troupe burst its way into the hall to the boisterous tune from numerous musicians. At this time, Vitellius subtly nodded to his brother who recused himself. The emperor turned to Blaesus. “I have specially acquired the services of this particular group.”

  “I have seen them before,” Blaesus replied. “They are quite good. Only last month we saw their performance of Miles Gloriosus, the Vainglorious Soldier .”

  Vitellius then said, “I wanted this to be a more festive occasion without thought of soldiers. I have charged them with performing Melissus’ A Comedy of Manners .”

  The farcical play, written during the reign of Augustus, was well-known by all of the assembled guests. There was much laughter, especially from Blaesus who had an affinity for classical comedy. During a brief intermission between the first and second act, Lucius Vitellius returned bearing a small plate of mushrooms.

  “As Agrippina once fed the divine Claudius,” he whispered into his brother’s ear. This was in reference to the rumor that Emperor Claudius had been poisoned by his wife with a plate of mushrooms. Something, ironically, that neither Agrippina nor her son Nero ever outright denied. Lucius tapped the edge of the plate closest to his brother, who took a few of the sliced mushrooms. As he ate, he gave an exaggerated groan of approval.

  “My dear Blaesus!” he said exuberantly. “You must try these, they are an absolute pleasure!”

  The senator, Lucius knew, had a passion for mushrooms and was only too happy to oblige.

  “Delighted, sire.”

  Vitellius handed him the entire plate, giving a curious glance to his brother. Lucius gave a quick nod of affirmation.

  The play continued as before. Vitellius continued to watch Blaesus out of the corner of his eye. Other than wiping the sweat from his brow a few times, there seemed to be little wrong with him. The emperor did not know what his brother had laced the mushrooms with, but it seemed as if the plan had failed. Lucius, unconcerned, had become completely engrossed in the play.

  Around midnight, the banquet was finally brought to a close. Scores of slaves were beginning to clean up the piles of plates and serving platters. Others took rags to wipe up the various amounts of spillage on the floor.

  “An excellent feast, sire,” Blaesus said with a bow, as he and his wife took their leave. “A fitting way to start the Plebeian Games.”

  “This same theater troupe is performing again tomorrow near the Circus Flaminius,” Vitellius replied. “Perhaps you will join me?”

  “It would be a pleasure,” the senator said. Bowing once more, he departed th
e hall.

  Another hour would pass before the last of the guests were gone.

  “Damn it, man!” Vitellius spat, once he and Lucius were the only ones remaining. Triaria and Empress Galeria had long since retired to their bed chambers.

  “Calm yourself, dear brother,” Lucius said reassuringly. “It is a slow-acting substance we gave him. Something I purchased from the great concoctor, Locusta, before Galba had her put to death.”

  “I see,” Vitellius nodded. “Then when can I expect to be rid of the troublesome Blaesus.”

  “Trust me, he will not survive the night. There was enough on that plate to slay a dozen men. Even if he does have a jar of Mithridatium lying around, by the time he realizes he’s been poisoned it will be far too late. By morning, you will have one less rival to the throne.”

  Chapter XXIII: Ashes of Victory

  Alexandria, Egypt

  10 November 69 A.D.

  ***

  Aula had been correct when she speculated that her message regarding Antonius Primus’ advance on Northern Italia would come around the same time as a seaborne message, denoting the outcome. It had taken her the better part of two weeks by horse to reach Macedonia. With great relief she came upon Mucianus’ army. The Flavian general was irate, albeit unsurprised, to hear Primus invaded Italia without waiting for him. With a verbal message to reassure Vespasian he was proceeding with all haste, Mucianus arranged for Aula to sail directly to Caesarea from the port of Thessalonica. Her journey was not ended there, however. As soon as she arrived, she was informed that Vespasian was in Alexandria. She was back aboard a ship the following morning, and two days later finally caught up with the Flavian Emperor. Though glad to be at the end of her journey, for the young Lady Vale there would be little reprieve.